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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/77782-0.txt b/77782-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..386cea2 --- /dev/null +++ b/77782-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16534 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77782 *** + + + + + BLACK MAGIC + + A TALE OF THE RISE AND + FALL OF ANTICHRIST + + + BY + MARJORIE BOWEN + + + + + LONDON: ALSTON RIVERS, LTD. + BROOKE STREET, HOLBORN, E.C. + 1909 + + + + + [COPYRIGHT] + +_Copyright, 1909, by Marjorie Bowen_ + + + + + CONTENTS + + PART I. THE NUN + I. SUNSHINE + II. THE STUDENTS + III. THE EXPERIMENT + IV. THE DEPARTURE + V. COMRADES + VI. THE LADY + VII. SPELLS + VIII. THE CASTLE + IX. SEBASTIAN + X. THE SAINT + XI. THE WITCH + XII. YSABEAU + XII. THE SNARING OF JACOBEA + XIV. THE SNARING OF THEIRRY + XV. MELCHOIR OF BRABANT + XVI. THE QUARREL + XVII. THE MURDER + XVIII. THE PURSUIT OF JACOBEA + XIX. SYBILLA + XX. HUGH OF ROOSELAARE + XXI. BETRAYED + XXII. BLAISE + PART II. THE POPE + I. CARDINAL LUIGI CAPRAROLA + II. THE CONFESSION + III. THE EMPRESS + IV. THE DANCER IN ORANGE + V. THE POPE + VI. SAN GIOVANNI IN LATERANO + VII. THE VENGEANCE OF MICHAEL II + VIII. URSULA OF ROOSELAARE + IX. POPE AND EMPRESS + X. THE EVENING BEFORE THE CORONATION + XI. THE ANGELS + XII. IN THE VATICAN + XIII. THE SECRET + + + + + BLACK MAGIC + + PART I. + THE NUN + + CHAPTER I. + SUNSHINE + +In the large room of a house in a certain quiet city in Flanders, a +man was gilding a devil. + +The chamber looked on to the quadrangle round which the house was +built; and the sun, just overhead, blazed on the vine leaves clinging +to the brick and sent a reflected glow into the sombre spaces of the +room. + +The devil, rudely cut out of wood, rested by his three tails and his +curled-back horns against the wall, and the man sat before him on a +low stool. + +On the table in front of the open window stood a row of knights in +fantastic armour, roughly modelled in clay; beside them was a pile of +vellum sheets covered with drawings in brown and green. + +By the door a figure of St. Michael leant against a chair, and round +his feet were painted glasses of every colour and form. + +On the white-washed wall hung a winged picture representing a +martyrdom; its vivid hues were the most brilliant thing in the room. + +The man was dressed in brown; he had a long dark face and straight +dull hair; from the roll of gold leaf on his knee he carefully and +slowly gilded the devil. + +The place was utterly silent, the perfect stillness enhanced by the +dazzle of the blinding sun without; presently the man rose and, +crossing to the window, looked out. + +He could see the sparse plants bordering the neglected grass-grown +paths, the house opposite with its double row of empty windows and the +yellowing vine-leaves climbing up the tiled roof that cut the polished +blue of the August sky. + +In between these windows, that were all closed and glittering in their +golden squares, busts of old and weary philosophers were set; they +peered out blindly into the unfathomable sunshine, and the dry +tendrils of the vine curled across their leanness. + +In the centre square of grass was an ancient and broken fountain; some +tall white daisies grew there, and the pure gold of their hearts was +as bright as the gilding on the devil within. + +The silence and the blaze of the sun were one and indescribable. + +The man at the window rested his elbows on the sill; it was so hot +that he felt it burning through his sleeve; he had the air of one +habitually alone, the unquestioning calm that comes of long silences; +he was young and, in a quiet fashion, well-looking, wide in the brows +and long in the jaw, with a smooth pale skin and cloudy dark eyes, his +hair hung very straightly, his throat was full and beautiful. + +In expression he was reserved and sombre; his lips, well shaped but +pale, were resolutely set, and there was a fine curve of strength to +his prominent chin. + +After a time of expressionless gazing at the sun-filled garden, he +turned back into the room, and stood in the centre of the floor, with +his teeth set in his forefinger looking ponderingly at the half-gilded +devil. + +Then he took a bunch of beautifully wrought keys from his belt, and +swinging them softly in his hand left the chamber. + +The house was built without corridors or passages, each room opened +into another and the upper ones were reached by short dark stairways +against the walls; there were many apartments, each of a lordly design +with the windows in the side facing the quadrangle. + +As the man moved lightly from one chamber to the next his footfall +displaced dust and his gaze fell on cobwebs and the new nets of +spiders, that hung in some places across the very doorways. + +Many curious and gorgeous objects were in those deserted rooms; carved +presses full of tarnished silver, paintings of holy subjects, +furniture covered with rich-hued tapestry, other pieces of arras on +the walls, and in one chamber purple silk hangings worked with ladies’ +hair in shades of brown and gold. + +One room was full of books, piled up on the floor, and in the midst of +them stood a table bearing strange goblets of shells set in silver and +electrum. + +Passing these things without a glance the young man mounted to the +upper storey and unlocked a door whose rusty lock took his utmost +strength to turn. It was a store-room he entered--lit by low long +windows looking on the street and carefully shrouded by linen drawn +across them; the chamber was chokingly full of dust and a sickly musty +smell. + +About the floor lay bales of stuff, scarlet, blue and green, painted +tiles, old lanterns, clothes, priests’ garments, wonderfully worked, +glasses and little rusty iron coffers. + +Before one of these the young man went on his knees and unlocked it. + +It contained a number of bits of glass cut to represent gems; he +selected two of an equal size and a clear green colour, then, with the +same gravity and silence with which he had come, he returned to the +workshop. + +When he saw the devil, half bright gold, half bald wood, he frowned, +then set the green glass in the thing’s hollow eye-sockets. + +At the twinkling effect of light and life produced by this his frown +relaxed; he stood for a while contemplating his handiwork, then washed +his brushes and put away his paints and gold leaf. + +By now the sun had changed and was shining full into the room casting +hot shadows of the vine leaves over the little clay knights, and +dazzling in St. Michael’s wet red robe. + +For the second time the young man left the room, now to go into the +hall and open the door that gave upon the street. + +He looked on to an empty market-place surrounded by small houses +falling into decay, beyond them the double towers of the Cathedral +flying upwards across the gold and blue. + +Not long ago the town had been besieged and this part of it +devastated; now new quarters had been built and this left neglected. + +Grass grew between the cobbles, and there was no soul in sight. + +The young man shaded his eyes and gazed across the dazzling +dreariness; the shadow of his slack, slim figure was cast into the +square of sun thrown across the hall through the open door. + +Under the iron bell that hung against the lintel stood a basket of +bread, a can of milk and some meat wrapped in a linen cloth; the youth +took these in and closed the door. + +He traversed a large dining-room, finely furnished, a small +ante-chamber, came out into the arcaded end of the courtyard, entered +the house by a low door next the pump and so into his workshop again. + +There he proceeded to prepare his food; on the wide tiled hearth stood +a tripod and an iron pot; he lit a fire under this, filled the pot +with water and put the meat in; then he took a great book down off a +shelf and bent over it, huddled up on a stool in the corner where the +shade still lingered. + +It was a book filled with drawings of strange and horrible things, and +close writing embellished with blood-red capitals. As the young man +read, his face grew hot and flushed where it rested on his hand, and +the heavy volume fell cumbrous either side his knee; not once did he +look up or change his twisted position, but with parted lips and +absorbed eyes pored over the black lettering. + +The sun sank the other side of the house, so that the garden and room +were alike in shadow, and the air became cooler; still the young man +made no movement. + +The flames leapt on the hearth and the meat seethed in the pot +unheeded. + +Outside the vine leaves curled against the brick, and the stone faces +looked down at the broken fountain, the struggling grass and the tall +white daisies; still the young man, bending lower, his heated cheek +pressed into his palm, his hair touching the page, bent over the great +tome on his knee. + +Not the devil with his green eyes staring before him, not St. Michael +in his red robe by the door, not the martyr in the bright winged +picture were more still than he, crouched upon his wooden stool. + +Then, without prelude or warning, the heavy clang of a bell woke the +silence into trembling echoes. + +The young man dropped the book and sprang to his feet; red and white +chased across his face, he stood panting, bewildered, with one hand on +his heart, and dazed eyes. + +Again the bell sounded. + +It could only be that which hung at the front door; not for years had +one rung it; he picked up the book, put it back on the shelf, and +stood irresolute. + +For a third time the iron clang, insistent, impatient, rang through +the quiet. + +The young man frowned, pushed back the hair from his hot forehead and +went, with a light and cautious step, across the courtyard, through +the dark dining-chamber into the hall. + +Here for a second he hesitated, then drew back the bolt and opened the +door. + +Two men stood without. + +One was most gorgeously attired, the other wore a dark cloak and +carried his hat in his hand. + +“You cannot want me,” said the youth, surveying them. “And there is no +one else here.” + +His voice fell full and low, of a soft quality, but the tone was +sombre and cold. + +The splendidly-dressed stranger answered-- + +“If you are Master Dirk Renswoude, we are most desirous to see and +speak with you.” + +The young man opened the door a little wider. + +“I am Dirk Renswoude, but I know neither of you!” + +“I did not think so,” the other answered. “Still, we have a matter to +ask you of. I am Balthasar of Courtrai and this is my friend, whom you +may call Theirry, born of Dendermonde.” + +“Balthasar of Courtrai!” repeated the youth softly; he stood aside and +motioned them to enter. + +When they had passed into the hall he carefully bolted the door; then +turned to them with a grave absorbed manner. + +“Will you follow me?” he said, and went before them to his workroom. + +The sun had left chamber and garden now, but the air was golden warm +with it, and a sense of great heat still lay over the grass and vines +seen through the open window. + +Dirk Renswoude moved St. Michael from the chair and tossed a pile of +parchments off a stool. + +He offered these seats to his guests, who accepted them in silence. + +“You must needs wait till the supper is prepared,” he said, and with +that placed himself on the stool by the pot, and, while he stirred it +with an iron spoon, openly studied the two men. + +Balthasar of Courtrai was gorgeous; his age might be perhaps +twenty-six or seven; he was of a large make, florid in the face with a +high red colour and blunt features; his brows were straight and over +fair, his eyes deep blue and expressionless; his heavy yellow hair was +cut low on his forehead and fell straightly on to his neck. + +He wore a flat orange hat, slashed and cut, fastened by purple cords +to the shoulder of a gold doublet that opened on a shirt of fine lawn; +his sleeves were enormous, fantastic, puffed and gathered; round his +waist was a linked belt into which were thrust numerous daggers and a +short sword. + +His breeches, of a most vivid blue, were beruffled with knots and +tassels, his riding-boots, that came to his knees, stained with the +summer dust, showed a small foot decorated with gilt spurs. + +He sat with one hand on his hip, and in the other held his leathern +gloves. + +Such the picture, Master Dirk Renswoude, considering him coldly, +formed of Balthasar of Courtrai. + +His companion was younger; dressed sombrely in black and violet, but +as well-looking as a man may be; he was neither dark nor fair, but of +a clear brown hue, and his eyes were hazel, swift and brilliant; his +mouth was set smilingly, yet the whole face expressed reserve and some +disdain; he had laid his hat on the floor beside him, and with an +interested glance was observing the room. + +But Balthasar of Courtrai returned Master Dirk Renswoude’s steady +gaze. + +“You have heard of me?” he said suddenly. + +“Yes,” was the instant answer. + +“Then, belike, you know what I am here for?” + +“No,” said Master Dirk, frowning. + +Balthasar glanced at his companion, who gave no heed to either of +them, but stared at the half-gilded devil with interest and some +wonder; seeing this, Balthasar answered for himself, in a manner half +defiant and wholly arrogant. + +“My father is Margrave of East Flanders, and the Emperor knighted me +when I was fifteen. Now I am tired of Courtrai, of the castle, of my +father. I have taken the road.” + +Master Dirk lifted the iron pot from the fire to the hearth. + +“The road to--where?” he asked. + +Balthasar made a large gesture with his right hand. + +“To Cologne, perhaps to Rome, to Constantinople… to Turkey or +Hungary.” + +“Knight errant,” said Master Dirk. + +Balthasar tossed his fine head. + +“By the Rood, no. I have ambitions.” + +Master Dirk laughed. + +“And your friend?” he asked. + +“A wandering scholar,” smiled Balthasar. “Also weary of the town of +Courtrai. He dreams of fame.” + +Theirry looked round at this. + +“I am going to the Universities,” he said quietly. “To Paris, Basle, +Padua--you have heard of them?” + +The youth’s cloudy eyes gleamed. + +“Ah, I have heard of them,” he replied upon a quick breath. + +“I have a great desire for learning,” said Theirry. + +Balthasar made an impatient movement that shook the tassels and +ribbons on his sleeves. + +“God help us, yes! And I for other things.” + +Master Dirk was moving about setting the supper. He placed the little +clay knights on the window-sill, and flung, without any ado, drawings, +paints and brushes on to the floor. + +Silence fell on them; the young host’s bearing did not encourage +comment, and the atmosphere of the room was languid and remote, not +conducive to talk. + +Master Dirk, composed and aloof, opened a press in the wall, and took +thence a fine cloth that he laid smoothly on the rough table; then he +set on it earthenware dishes and plates, drinking-glasses painted in +bright colours, and forks with agate handles. + +They were well served for food, even though it might not be the +princely fare the Margrave’s son was used to; honey in a silver jar, +shining apples lying among their leaves, wheaten cakes in a plaited +basket, grapes on a gold salver, lettuces and radishes fragrantly wet; +these Master Dirk brought from the press and set on the table. Then he +helped his guests to meat, and Balthasar spoke. + +“You live strangely here--so much alone.” + +“I have no desire for company. I work and take pleasure in it. They +buy my work, pictures, carvings, sculptures for churches--very +readily.” + +“You are a good craftsman,” said Theirry. “Who taught you?” + +“Old Master Lukas, born of Ghent, and taught in Italy. When he died he +left me this house and all it holds.” + +Again their speech sank into silence; Balthasar ate heavily, but with +elegance; Dirk, seated next the window, rested his chin on his palm +and stared out at the bright yet fading blue of the sky, at the row of +closed windows opposite, and the daisies waving round the broken +fountain; he ate very little. Theirry, placed opposite, was of the +same mind and, paying little heed to Balthasar, who seemed not to +interest him in the least, kept curious eyes on Dirk’s strange, grave +face. + +After a while the Margrave’s son asked shamelessly for wine, and the +youth rose languidly and brought it; tall bottles, white, red and +yellow in wicker cases, and an amber-hued beer such as the peasants +drank. + +The placing of these before Balthasar seemed to rouse him from his +apathy. + +“Why have you come here?” he demanded. + +Balthasar laughed easily. + +“I am married,” he said as a prelude, and lifted his glass in a large, +well-made hand. + +At that Master Dirk frowned. + +“So are many men.” + +Balthasar surveyed the tilting wine through half-closed eyes. + +“It is about my wife, Master, that I am here now.” + +Dirk Renswoude leant forward in his chair. + +“I know of your wife.” + +“Tell me of her,” said Balthasar of Courtrai. “I have come here for +that.” + +Dirk slightly smiled. + +“Should I know more than you?” + +The Margrave’s son flushed. + +“What you do know?--tell me.” + +Dirk’s smile deepened. + +“She was one Ursula, daughter of the Lord of Rooselaare, she was sent +to the convent of the White Sisters in this town.” + +“So you know it all,” said Balthasar. “Well, what else?” + +“What else? I must tell you a familiar tale.” + +“Certes, more so to you than to me.” + +“Then, since you wish it, here is your story, sir.” + +Dirk spoke in an indifferent voice well suited to the peace of the +chamber; he looked at neither of his listeners, but always out of the +window. + +“She was educated for a nun and, I think, desired to become one of the +Order of the White Sisters. But when she was fifteen her brother died +and she became her father’s heiress. So many entered the lists for her +hand--they contracted her to you.” + +Balthasar pulled at the orange tassels on his sleeve. + +“Without my wish or consent,” he said. + +The young man took no heed. + +“They sent a guard to bring her back to Rooselaare, but because they +were fearful of the danger of the journey, and that she might be +captured by one of the pretenders to her fortunes, they married her +fast and securely, by proxy, to you. At this the maid, who wished most +heartily, I take it, to become a nun, fell ill of grief, and in her +despair she confided her misery to the Abbess.” + +Balthasar’s eyes flickered and hardened behind their fair lashes. + +“I tell you a tale,” said Dirk, “that I believe you know, but since +you have come to hear me speak on this matter, I relate what has come +to me--of it. This Ursula was heiress to great wealth, and in her love +to the Sisters, and her dislike to this marriage, she promised them +all her worldly goods, when she should come into possession of them, +if they would connive at saving her from her father and her husband. +So the nuns, tempted by greed, spread the report that she had died in +her illness, and, being clever women, they blinded all. There was a +false funeral, and Ursula was kept secret in the convent among the +novices. All this matter was put into writing and attested by the +nuns, that there might be no doubt of the truth of it when the maid +came into her heritage. And the news went to her home that she was +dead.” + +“And I was glad of it,” said Balthasar. “For then I loved another +woman and was in no need for money.” + +“Peace, shameless,” said Theirry, but Dirk Renswoude laughed softly. + +“She took the final, the irrevocable vows, and lived for three years +among the nuns. And the life became bitter and utterly unendurable to +her, and she dared not make herself known to her father because of the +deeds the nuns held, promising them her lands. So, as the life became +more and more horrible to her, she wrote, in her extremity, and found +means to send, a letter to her husband.” + +“I have it here.” Balthasar touched his breast. “She said she had +sworn herself to me before she had vowed herself to God--told me of +her deceit,” he laughed, “and asked me to come and rescue her.” + +Dirk crossed his hands, that were long and beautiful, upon the table. + +“You did not come and you did not answer.” + +The Margrave’s son glanced at Theirry, as he had a habit of doing, as +if he reluctantly desired his assistance or encouragement; but again +he obtained nothing and answered for himself, after the slightest +pause. + +“No, I did not come. Her father had taken another wife and had a son +to inherit. And I,” he lowered his eyes moodily, “I was thinking of +another woman. She had lied, my wife, to God, I think. Well, let her +take her punishment, I said.” + +“She did not wait beyond some months for your answer,” said Master +Dirk. “Master Lukas, born of Ghent, was employed in the chapel of the +convent, and she, who had to wait on him, told him her story. And when +he had finished the chapel she fled with him here--to this house. And +again she wrote to her husband, speaking of the old man who had +befriended her and telling him of her abode. And again he did not +answer. That was five years ago.” + +“And the nuns made no search for her?” asked Theirry. + +“They knew now that the girl was no heiress, and they were afraid that +the tale might get blown abroad. Then there was war.” + +“Ay, had it not been for that I might have come,” said Balthasar. “But +I was much occupied with fighting.” + +“The convent was burnt and the sisters fled,” continued Dirk. “And the +maid lived here, learning many crafts from Master Lukas. He had no +apprentices but us.” + +Balthasar leant back in his chair. + +“That much I learnt. And that the old man, dying, left his place to +you, and--what more of this Ursula?” + +The young man gave him a slow, full glance. + +“Strangely late you inquire after her, Balthasar of Courtrai.” + +The Knight turned his head away, half sullenly. + +“A man must know how he is encumbered. No one save I is aware of her +existence… yet she is my wife.” + +Dusk, hot and golden, had fallen on the chamber. The half-gilded devil +gleamed dully; above his violet vestment Theirry’s handsome face +showed with a half smile on the curved lips; the Knight was a little +ill at ease, a little sullen, but glowingly massive, gorgeous and +finely coloured. + +The young sculptor rested his smooth pale face on his palm; cloudy +eyes and cloudy hair were hardly discernible in the twilight, but the +line of the resolute chin was clear cut. + +“She died four years ago,” he said. “And her grave is in the garden… +where those white daisies grow.” + + + + + CHAPTER II. + THE STUDENTS + +“Dead,” repeated Balthasar; he pushed back his chair and then +laughed. “Why--so is my difficulty solved--I am free of that, +Theirry.” + +His companion frowned. + +“Do you take it so? I think it is pitiful--the fool was so young.” He +turned to Dirk. “Of what did she die?” + +The sculptor sighed, as if weary of the subject. + +“I know not. She was happy here, yet she died.” + +Balthasar rose. + +“Why did you bury her within the house?” he asked half uneasily. + +“It was in time of war,” answered Dirk. “We did what we could--and +she, I think, had wished it.” + +The young Knight leant a little way from the open window and looked at +the daisies; they gleamed hard and white through the deepening +twilight, and he could imagine that they were growing from the heart, +from the eyes and lips of the wife whom he had never seen. + +He wished her grave was not there; he wished she had not appealed to +him; he was angry with her that she had died and shamed him; yet this +same death was a vast relief to him. + +Dirk got softly to his feet and laid his hand on Balthasar’s fantastic +sleeve. + +“We buried her deep enough,” he said. “She does not rise.” + +The Knight turned with a little start and crossed himself. + +“God grant that she sleep in peace,” he cried. + +“Amen,” said Theirry gravely. + +Dirk took a lantern from the wall and lit it from the coals still +smouldering on the hearth. + +“Now you know all I know of this matter,” he remarked. “I thought that +some day you might come. I have kept for you her ring--your ring----” + +Balthasar interrupted. + +“I want none of it,” he said hastily. + +Dirk lifted the lantern; its fluttering flame flushed the twilight +with gold. + +“Will you please to sleep here to-night?” he asked. + +The Knight, with his back to the window, assented, in defiance of a +secret dislike to the place. + +“Follow me,” commanded Dirk, then to the other, “I shall be back +anon.” + +“Good rest,” nodded Balthasar. “To-morrow we will get horses in the +town and start for Cologne.” + +“Good even,” said Theirry. + +The Knight went after his host through the silent rooms, up a twisting +staircase into a low chamber looking on to the quadrangle. + +It contained a wooden bedstead covered with a scarlet quilt, a table, +and some richly carved chairs; Dirk lit the candles standing on the +table, bade his guest a curt good-night and returned to the workroom. + +He opened the door of this softly and looked in before he entered. + +By the window stood Theirry striving to catch the last light on the +pages of a little book he held. + +His tall, graceful figure was shadowed by his sombre garments, but the +fine oval of his face was just discernible above the white pages of +the volume. + +Dirk pushed the door wide and stepped in softly. + +“You love reading?” he said, and his eyes shone. + +Theirry started, and thrust the book into the bosom of his doublet. + +“Ay--and you?” he asked tentatively. + +Dirk set the lantern among the disordered supper things. + +“Master Lukas left me his manuscripts among his other goods,” he +answered. “Being much alone--I have--read them.” + +In the lantern light, that the air breathed from the garden fanned +into a flickering glow, the two young men looked at each other. + +An extraordinary expression, like a guilty excitement, came into the +eyes of each. + +“Ah!” said Dirk, and drew back a little. + +“Being much alone,” whispered Theirry, “with--a dead maid in the +house--how have you spent your time?” + +Dirk crouched away against the wall; his hair hung lankly over his +pallid face. + +“You--you--pitied her?” he breathed. + +Theirry shuddered. + +“Balthasar sickens me--yea, though he be my friend.” + +“You would have come?” questioned Dirk. “When she sent to you?” + +“I should have seen no other thing to do,” answered Theirry. “What +manner of a maid was she?” + +“I did think her fair,” said Dirk slowly. “She had yellow hair--you +may see her likeness in that picture on the wall. But now it is too +dark.” + +Theirry came round the table. + +“You also follow knowledge?” he inquired eagerly. + +But Dirk answered almost roughly. + +“Why should I confide in you? I know nothing of you.” + +“There is a tie in kindred pursuits,” replied the scholar more +quietly. + +Dirk caught up the lantern. + +“You are not aware of the nature of my studies,” he cried, and his +eyes shone wrathfully. “Come to bed. I am weary of talking.” + +Theirry bent his head. + +“This is a fair place for silences,” he said. + +As if gloomily angry, yet disdaining the expression of it, Dirk +conducted him to a chamber close to that where Balthasar lay, and left +him, without speech, nor did Theirry solicit any word of him. + +Dirk did not return to the workroom, but went into the garden and +paced to and fro under the stars that burnt fiercely and seemed to +hang very low over the dark line of the house. + +His walk was hasty, his steps uneven, he bit, with an air of absorbed +distraction, his lip, his finger, the ends of his straight hair, and +now and then he looked with tumultuous eyes up at the heavens, down at +the ground and wildly about him. + +It was well into the night when he at last returned into the house, +and, taking a candle in his hand, went stealthily up to Balthasar’s +chamber. + +With a delicate touch he unfastened the door, and very lightly +entered. + +Shielding the candle flame with his hand he went up to the bed. + +The young Knight lay heavily asleep; his yellow hair was tumbled over +his flushed face and about the pillow; his arms hung slackly outside +the red coverlet; on the floor were his brilliant clothes, his sword, +his belt, his purse. + +Where his shirt fell open at the throat a narrow blue cord showed a +charm attached. + +Dirk stood still, leaning forward a little, looking at the sleeper, +and expressions of contempt, of startled anger, of confusion, of +reflection passed across his haggard features. + +Balthasar did not stir in his deep sleep; neither the light held above +him nor the intense gaze of the young man’s dark eyes served to wake +him, and after a while Dirk left him and passed to the chamber +opposite. + +There lay Theirry, fully dressed, on his low couch. Dirk set the +candle on the table and came on tiptoe to his side. + +The scholar’s fair face was resting on his hand, his chin up-tilted, +his full lips a little apart; his lashes lay so lightly on his cheek +it seemed he must be glancing from under them; his hair, dark, yet +shining, was heaped round his temples. + +Dirk, staring down at him, breathed furiously, and the colour flooded +his face, receded, and sprang up again. + +Then retreating to the table he sank on to the rush-bottomed chair, +and put his hands over his eyes; the candle flame leapt in unison with +his uneven breaths. + +Looking round, after a while, with a wild glance, he gave a long, +distraught sigh, and Theirry moved in his sleep. + +At this the watcher sat expectant. + +Theirry stirred again, turned, and rose on his elbow with a start. + +Seeing the light and the young man sitting by it, staring at him with +brilliant eyes, he set his feet to the ground. + +Before he could speak Dirk put his finger on his lips. + +“Hush,” he whispered, “Balthasar is asleep.” + +Theirry, startled, frowned. + +“What do you want with me?” + +For answer the young sculptor moaned, and dropped his head into the +curve of his arm. + +“You are strange,” said Theirry. + +Dirk glanced up. + +“Will you take me with you to Padua--to Basle?” he said. “I have money +and some learning.” + +“You are free to go as I,” answered Theirry, but awakened interest +shone in his eyes. + +“I would go with you,” insisted Dirk intensely. “Will you take me?” + +Theirry rose from the bed uneasily. + +“I have had no companion all my life,” he said. “The man whom I would +take into my confidence must be of rare quality----” + +He came to the other side of the table and across the frail gleam of +the candle looked at Dirk. + +Their eyes met and instantly sank, as if each were afraid of what the +other might reveal. + +“I have studied somewhat,” said Dirk hoarsely. “You also--I think, in +the same science----” + +The silent awe of comprehension fell upon them, then Theirry spoke. + +“So few understand--can it be possible--that you----?” + +Dirk rose. + +“I have done something.” + +Theirry paled, but his hazel eyes were bright as flame. + +“How much?” then he broke off--“God help us----” + +“Ah!--do you use that name?” cried Dirk, and showed his teeth. + +The other, with cold fingers, clutched at the back of the +rush-bottomed chair. + +“So it is true--you deal with--you--ah, you----” + +“What was that book you were reading?” asked Dirk sharply. + +Theirry suddenly laughed. + +“What is your study, that you desire to perfect at Basle, at Padua?” +he counter-questioned. + +There was a pause; then Dirk crushed the candle out with his open +palm, and answered on a half sob of excitement-- + +“Black magic--black magic!” + + + + + CHAPTER III. + THE EXPERIMENT + +“I guessed it,” said Theirry under his breath, “when I entered the +house.” + +“And you?” came Dirk’s voice. + +“I--I also.” + +There was silence; then Dirk groped his way to the door. + +“Come after me,” he whispered. “There is a light downstairs.” + +Theirry had no words to answer; his throat was hot, his lips dry with +excitement, he felt his temples pulsating and his brow damp. + +Cautiously they crept down the stairs and into the workroom, where the +lantern cast long pale rays of light across the hot dark. + +Dirk set the window as wide as it would go and crouched into the chair +under it; his face was flushed, his hair tumbled, his brown clothes +dishevelled. + +“Tell me about yourself,” he said. + +Theirry leant against the wall, for he felt his limbs trembling. + +“What do you want to know?” he asked, half desperately; “I can do very +little.” + +Dirk set his elbows on the table and his chin in his hand; his +half-veiled gleaming eyes held Theirry’s fascinated, reluctant gaze. + +“I have had no chance to learn,” he whispered. “Master Lukas had some +books--not enough--but what one might do----!” + +“I came upon old writings,” said Theirry slowly. “I thought one might +be great--that way, so I fled from Courtrai.” + +Dirk rose and beckoned. + +“I will work a spell to-night. You shall see.” + +He took up the lantern and Theirry followed him; they traversed the +chamber and entered another; in the centre of that Dirk stopped, and +gave the light into the cold hand of his companion. + +“Here we shall be secret,” he murmured, and raised, with some +difficulty, a trap-door in the floor. Theirry peered into the +blackness revealed below. + +“Have you done this before?” he asked fearfully. + +“This spell? No.” + +Dirk was descending the stairs into the dark. + +“God will never forgive,” muttered Theirry, hanging back. + +“Are you afraid?” asked Dirk wildly. + +Theirry set his lips. + +“No. No.” + +He stepped on to the ladder, and holding the light above his head, +followed. + +They found themselves in a large vault entirely below the surface of +the ground, so that air was attained only from the trap-door that they +had left open behind them. + +Floor and walls were paved with smooth stones, the air was thick and +intolerably hot; the roof only a few inches above Theirry’s head. + +In one corner stood a tall dark mirror, resting against the wall; +beside it were a pile of books and an iron brazier full of ashes. + +Dirk took the lantern from Theirry and hung it to a nail on the wall. + +“I have been studying,” he whispered, “how to raise spirits and see +into the future--I think I begin to feel my way;” his great eyes +suddenly unclosed and flashed over his companion. “Have you the +courage?” + +“Yes,” said Theirry hoarsely. “For what else have I left my home if +not for this?” + +“It is strange we should have met,” shuddered Dirk. + +Their guilty eyes glanced away from each other; Dirk took a piece of +white chalk from his pocket and began drawing circles, one within the +other on the centre of the floor. + +He marked them with strange signs and figures that he drew carefully +and exactly. + +Theirry stayed by the lantern, his handsome face drawn and pale, his +eyes intent on the other’s movements. + +The upper part of the vault was in darkness; shadows like a bat’s +wings swept either side of the lantern that cast a sickly yellow light +on the floor, and the slender figure of Dirk on one knee amid his +chalk circles. + +When he had completed them he rose, took one of the books from the +corner and opened it. + +“Do you know this?” With a delicate forefinger he beckoned Theirry, +who came and read over his shoulder. + +“I have tried it. It has never succeeded.” + +“To-night it may,” whispered Dirk. + +He shook the ashes out of the brazier and filled it with charcoal that +he took from a pile near. This he lit and placed before the mirror. + +“The future--we must know the future,” he said, as if to himself. + +“They will not come,” said Theirry, wiping his damp forehead. +“I--heard them once--but they never came.” + +“Did you tempt them enough?” breathed Dirk. “If you have Mandrake they +will do anything.” + +“I had none.” + +“Nor I--still one can force them against their will--though it +is--terrible.” + +The thin blue smoke from the charcoal was filling the vault; they felt +their heads throbbing, their nostrils dry. + +Dirk stepped into the chalk circles holding the book. + +In a slow, unsteady voice he commenced to read. + +As Theirry caught the words of the blasphemous and horrible invocation +he shook and shuddered, biting his tongue to keep back the instinctive +prayer that rose to his lips. + +But Dirk gained courage as he read; he drew himself erect; his eyes +flashed, his cheeks burnt crimson; the smoke had cleared from the +brazier, the charcoal glowed red and clear; the air grew hotter; it +seemed as if a cloak of lead had been flung over their heads. + +At last Dirk stopped. + +“Put out the lantern,” he muttered. + +Theirry opened it and stifled the flame. + +There was now only the light of the burning charcoal that threw a +ghastly hue over the dark surface of the mirror. + +Theirry drew a long sighing breath; Dirk, swaying on his feet, began +speaking again in a strange and heavy tongue. + +Then he was silent. + +Faint muttering noises grew out of the darkness, indistinct sounds of +howling, sobbing. + +“They come,” breathed Theirry. + +Dirk repeated the invocation. + +The air shuddered with moanings. + +“A--ah!” cried Dirk. + +Into the dim glow of the brazier a creature was crawling, the size of +a dog, the shape of a man, of a hideous colour of mottled black; it +made a wretched crying noise, and moved slowly as if in pain. + +Theirry gave a great sob, and pressed his face against the wall. + +But Dirk snarled at it across the dark. + +“So you have come. Show us the future. I have the power over you. You +know that.” + +The thin flames leapt suddenly high, a sound of broken wailings came +through the air; something ran round the brazier; the surface of the +mirror was troubled as if dark water ran over it; then suddenly was +flashed on it a faint yet bright image of a woman, crowned, and with +yellow hair; as she faded, a semblance of one wearing a tiara appeared +but blurred and faint. + +“More,” cried Dirk passionately. “Show us more----” + +The mirror brightened, revealing depths of cloudy sky; against them +rose the dark line of a gallows tree. + +Theirry stepped forward. + +“Ah, God!” he shrieked, and crossed himself. + +With a sharp sound the mirror cracked and fell asunder; a howl of +terror arose, and dark shapes leapt into the air to be absorbed in it +and disappear. + +Dirk staggered out of the circle and caught hold of Theirry. + +“You have broken the spell!” he gibbered. “You have broken the spell!” + +An icy stillness had suddenly fallen; the brazier flickered rapidly +out, and even the coals were soon black and dead; the two stood in +absolute darkness. + +“They have gone!” whispered Theirry; he wrenched himself free from +Dirk’s clutch and fumbled his way to the ladder. + +Finding this by reason of the faint patch of light overhead, he +climbed up through the trap-door, his body heaving with long-drawn +breaths. + +Dirk, light-footed and lithe, followed him, and dropped the flap. + +“The charm was not strong enough,” he said through his teeth. “And +you----” + +Theirry broke in. + +“I could not help myself--I--I--saw them.” + +He sank on a chair by the open window and dropped his brow into his +hand. + +The room was full of a soft starlight, far away and infinitely sweet; +the vines and grasses made a quivering sound in the night wind and +tapped against the lattice. + +Dirk moved into the workshop and came back with the candle and a great +green glass of wine. + +He held up the light so that he could see the scholar’s beautiful +agonised face, and with his other hand gave him the goblet. + +Theirry looked up and drank silently. + +When he had finished, the colour was back in his cheeks. + +Dirk took the glass from him and set it beside the candle on the +window-sill. + +“What did you see--in the mirror?” he asked. + +“I do not know,” answered Theirry wildly. “A woman’s face----” + +“Ay,” broke in Dirk. “Now, what was she to us? And a figure like--the +Pope?” + +He smiled derisively. + +“I saw that,” said Theirry. “But what should they do with holy +things?--and then I saw----” + +Dirk swung round on him; each white despite the candle-light. + +“Nay--there was no more after that!” + +“There was,” insisted Theirry. “A stormy sky and a gallows tree----” +His voice fell hollowly. + +Dirk strode across the room into the trailing shadows. + +“The foul little imps!” he said passionately. “They deceived us!” + +Theirry rose in his place. + +“Will you continue these studies?” he questioned. + +The other gave him a quick look over his shoulder. + +“Do you think of turning aside?” + +“Nay, nay,” answered Theirry. “But one may keep knowledge this side of +things blasphemous and unholy.” + +Dirk laughed hoarsely. + +“I have no fear of God!” he said in a thick voice. “But you--you are +afraid of Sathanas. Well, go your way. Each man to his master. Mine +will give me many things--look to it yours does the like by you----” + +He opened the door, and was leaving, when Theirry came after him and +caught him by the robe. + +“Listen to me. I am not afraid. Nay, why did I leave Courtrai?” + +With resolute starry eyes Dirk gazed up at Theirry (who was near a +head taller), and his proud mouth curled a little. + +“I may not disregard the fate that sent me here,” continued Theirry. +“Will you come with me? I can be loyal.” + +His words were earnest, his face eager; still Dirk was mute. + +“I have hated men, not loved them, all my life--yet most wonderfully +am I drawn to thee----” + +“Oh!” cried Dirk, and gave a little quivering laugh. + +“Together might we do much, and it is ill work studying alone.” + +The younger man put out his hand. + +“If I come, will you swear a pact with me of friendship?” + +“We will be as brothers,” said Theirry gravely. “Sharing good and +ill.” + +“Keeping our secret?” whispered Dirk--“allowing none to come between +us?” + +“Yea.” + +“You are a-tune to me,” said Dirk. “So be it. I will come with you to +Basle.” + +He raised his strange face; in the hollowed eyes, in the full +colourless lips, were a resolution and a strength that held and +commanded the other. + +“We may be great,” he said. + +Theirry took his hand; the red candle-light was being subdued and +vanquished by a glimmering grey that overspread the stars; the dawn +was peering in at the window. + +“Can you sleep?” asked Theirry. + +Dirk withdrew his hand. + +“At least I can feign it--Balthasar must not guess--get you to +bed--never forget to-night and what you swore.” + +With a soft gliding step he gained the door, opened it noiselessly, +and departed. + +Theirry stood for a while, listening to the slight sound of the +retreating footfall, then he pressed his hands to his forehead and +turned to the window. + +A pale pure flush of saffron stained the sky above the roof-line; +there were no clouds, and the breeze had dropped again. + +In the vast and awful stillness, Theirry, feeling marked, set apart +and defiled with blasphemy, yet elated also, in a wild and wicked +manner, tiptoed up to his chamber. + +Each creaking board he stepped on, each shadow that seemed to change +as he passed it, caused his blood to tingle guiltily; when he had +gained his room he bolted the door and flung himself along his tumbled +couch, holding his fingers to his lips, and with strained eyes gazing +at the window. So he lay through long hours of sunshine in a +half-swoon of sleep. + + + + + CHAPTER IV. + THE DEPARTURE + +He was at length fully aroused by the sound of loud and cheerful +singing. + + + “My heart’s a nun within my breast + So cold is she, so cloistered cold”… + + +Theirry sat up, conscious of a burning, aching head and a room flooded +with sunshine. + + + “To her my sins are all confest-- + So wise is she, so wise and old-- + So I blow off my loves like the thistledown”… + + +A burst of laughter interrupted the song; Theirry knew now that it was +Balthasar’s voice, and he rose from the couch with a sense of haste +and discomfiture. + +What hour was it? + +The day was of a drowsing heat; the glare of the sun had taken all +colour out of the walls opposite, the grass and vines; they all blazed +together, a shimmer of gold. + + + “So I blow off my loves like the thistledown, + And ride from the gates of Courtrai town”… + + +Theirry descended. + +He found Balthasar in the workshop; there were the remains of a meal +on the table, and the Knight, red and fresh as a rose, was polishing +up his sword handle, singing the while, as if in pleased expression of +his own thoughts. + +In the corner sat Dirk, drawn into himself and gilding the devil. + +Theirry was conscious of a great dislike to Balthasar; ghosts nor +devils, nor the thought of them had troubled _his_ repose; there was +annoyance in the fact that he had slept well, eaten well, and was now +singing in sheer careless gaiety of heart; yet what other side of life +should a mere animal like Balthasar know? + +Dirk looked up, then quickly down again; Theirry sank on a stool by +the table. + +Balthasar turned to him. + +“Are you sick?” he asked, wide-eyed. + +The scholar’s dishevelled appearance, haggard eyes, tumbled locks and +peevish gathering of the brows, justified his comment, but Theirry +turned an angry eye on him. + +“Something sick,” he answered curtly. + +Balthasar glanced from him to Dirk’s back, bending over his work. + +“There is much companionship to be got from learned men, truly!” he +remarked; his blue eyes and white teeth flashed in a half amusement; +he put one foot on a chair and balanced his glittering sword across +his knee; Theirry averted a bitter gaze from his young splendour, but +Balthasar laughed and broke into his song again. + + + “My heart’s a nun within my breast, + So proud is she, so hard and proud, + Absolving me, she gives me rest”… + + +“We part ways here,” said Theirry. + +“So soon?” asked the Knight, then sang indifferently-- + + + “So I blow off my loves like the thistledown, + And ride through the gates of Courtrai town.”… + + +Theirry glanced now at his bright face, smooth yellow hair and +gorgeous vestments. + +“Ay,” he said. “I go to Basle.” + +“And I to Frankfort; still, we might have kept company a little +longer.” + +“I have other plans,” said Theirry shortly. + +Balthasar smiled good-humouredly. + +“You are not wont to be so evil-tempered,” he remarked. + +Then he looked from one to the other; silent both and unresponsive. + +“I will even take my leave;” he laid the great glittering sword across +the table. + +Dirk turned on his stool with the roll of gilding in his hand. + +At his cold gaze, that seemed to hold something of enmity and an +unfriendly knowledge, Balthasar’s dazzlingly fresh face flushed deeper +in the cheeks. + +“Since I have been so manifestly unwelcome,” he said, “I will pay for +what I have had of you.” + +Dirk rose. + +“You mistake,” he answered. “I have been pleased to see you for many +reasons, Balthasar of Courtrai.” + +The young Knight thrust his hands into his linked belt and eyed the +speaker. + +“You condemn me,” he said defiantly. “Well, Theirry is more to your +mind----” + +He opened his purse of curiously cut and coloured leather, and taking +from it four gold coins laid them on the corner of the table. + +“So you may buy masses for the soul of Ursula of Rooselaare.” He +indicated the money with a swaggering gesture. + +“Think you her soul is lost?” queried Dirk. + +“A choired saint is glad of prayers,” returned Balthasar. “But you are +in an ill mood, master, so good-bye to you and God send you sweeter +manners when next we meet.” + +He moved to the door, vivid blue and gold and purple; without looking +back he flung on his orange hat. + +Theirry roused himself and turned with a reluctant interest. + +“You are going to Frankfort?” he asked. + +“Ay,” Balthasar nodded pleasantly. “I shall see in the town to the +hire of a horse and man--mine own beast being lamed, as you know, +Theirry.” + +The scholar rose. + +“Why do you go to Frankfort?” he asked. + +He spoke with no object, in a half-sick envy of the Knight’s gaiety +and light-heartedness, but Balthasar coloured for the second time. + +“All men go to Frankfort,” he answered. “Is not the Emperor there?” + +Theirry lifted his shoulders. + +“’Tis no matter of mine.” + +“Nay,” said Balthasar, who appeared to have been both disturbed and +confused by the question, “no more than it is my affair to ask +you--why go you to Basle?” + +The scholar’s eyes gleamed behind his thick lashes. + +“It is very clear why I go to Basle. To study medicine and +philosophy.” + +They quitted the room, leaving Dirk looking covertly after them, and +were proceeding through the dusty, neglected rooms. + +“I do not like the place,” said Balthasar. “Nor yet the youth. But he +has served my purpose.” + +And now they were in the hall. + +“We shall meet again,” said Theirry, opening the door. + +The Knight turned his bright face. + +“Like enough,” he answered easily. “Farewell.” + +With that and a smile he was swinging off across the cobbles, +tightening his sword straps. + +Against the sun-dried, decayed houses, across the grass-grown square +his vivid garments flashed and his voice came over his shoulder +through the hot blue air-- + + + “So I blew off my loves like the thistledown + And rode through the gates of Courtrai town.” + + +Theirry watched him disappear round the angle of the houses, then +bolted the door and returned to the workroom. + +Dirk was standing very much as he had left him, half resting against +the table with the roll of gilding in his white fingers. + +“What do you know of that man?” he asked as Theirry entered. “Where +did you meet him?” + +“Balthasar?” + +“Yea.” + +Theirry frowned. + +“At his father’s house. I taught his sister music. There was, in a +manner, some friendship between us… we both wearied of Courtrai… so it +came we were together. I never loved him.” + +Dirk returned quietly to the now completely gilded devil. + +“Know you anything of the woman he spoke of?” he asked. + +“Did he speak of one?” + +Dirk looked over his shoulder. + +“Yea,” he said; “‘besides, I was thinking of another woman.’ They were +his words.” + +Theirry sat down; he felt faint and weak. + +“I know not. There were so many. As we travelled together he made his +prayers to one Ysabeau, but he was secret about her--never his way.” + +“Ysabeau,” repeated Dirk. “A common name.” + +“Ay,” said Theirry indifferently. + +Dirk suddenly raised his hand, and pointed out of the window at the +daisies and the broken fountain. + +“What had he done if _she_ had been living?” he asked, then without +waiting for a reply he began swiftly on another subject. + +“I have finished my work. I wished to leave it complete--it was for +the church of St. Bavon, but I shall not give it them. Now, we can +start when you will.” + +Theirry looked up. + +“What of your house and goods?” he asked. + +“I have thought of that. There are some valuables, some money; these +we can take--I shall lock up the house.” + +“It will fall into decay.” + +“I care not.” With a clear flame of eagerness alight in his eyes he +flashed a full glance at Theirry, and, seeing the young scholar pale +and drooping, disappointment clouded his face. + +“Do you commence so slackly?” he demanded. “Are you not eager to be +abroad?” + +“Yea,” answered Theirry. “But----” + +Dirk stamped his foot. + +“We do not begin with ‘buts’!” he cried passionately. “If you have no +heart for the enterprise----” + +Theirry half smiled. + +“Give me some food, I pray you,” he said. “For I ate but little +yesterday.” + +Dirk glanced at him. + +“I forgot,” he answered, and set about re-arranging the remains of the +meal he and Balthasar had shared in silence. + +Theirry sat very still; the door into the next room was open as he had +left it on his return, and he could see the line of the trap-door; he +felt a great desire to raise it, to descend into the vault and gaze at +the cracked mirror, the brazier of dead coals and the mystic circles +on the floor. + +Looking up, his eyes met Dirk’s, and without words his thought was +understood. + +“Leave it alone now,” said the sculptor softly. “Let us not speak of +it before we reach Basle.” + +At these words Theirry felt a great relief; the idea of discussing, +even with the youth who so fascinated him, the horrible, alluring +thing that was an intimate of his thoughts but a stranger to his lips, +had filled him with uneasiness and dread. While he ate the food put +before him, Dirk picked up the four gold coins Balthasar had left and +looked at them curiously. + +“Masses for her soul!” he cried. “Did he think that I would enter a +church and bargain with a priest for that!” + +He laughed, and flung the money out of the window at the nodding +daisies. + +Theirry gave him a startled glance. + +“Why, till now I had thought that you felt tenderly towards the maid.” + +Dirk laughed. + +“Not I. I have never cared for women.” + +“Nor I,” said Theirry simply; he leant back in his chair and his +dreamy eyes were grave. “When young they are ornaments, it is true, +but pleasant only if you flatter them, when they are overlooked they +become dangerous--and a woman who is not young is absorbed in little +concerns that are no matter to any but herself.” + +The smile, still lingering on Dirk’s face, deepened derisively, it +seemed. + +“Oh, my fine philosopher!” he mocked. “Are you well fed now, and +preaching again?” + +He leant against the wall by the window, and the intense sunlight made +his dull brown hair glitter here and there; he folded his arms and +looked at Theirry narrowly. + +“I warrant your mother was a fair woman,” he said. + +“I do not remember her. They say she had the loveliest face in +Flanders, though she was only a clerk’s wife,” answered the young man. + +“I can believe it,” said Dirk. + +Theirry glanced at him, a little bewildered; the youth had such abrupt +changes of manner, such voice and eyes unfathomable, such a pale, +fragile appearance, yet such a spirit of tempered courage. + +“I marvel at you,” he said. “You will not always be unknown.” + +“No,” answered Dirk. “I have never meant that I should be soon +forgotten.” + +Then he was beside Theirry, with a strip of parchment in his hand. + +“I have made a list of what we have in the place of value--but I care +not to sell them here.” + +“Why?” questioned Theirry. + +Dirk frowned. + +“I want no one over the threshold. I have a reputation--not one for +holiness,” his strange face relaxed into a smile. + +Theirry glanced at the list. + +“Certes! How might one carry that even to the next town? Without a +horse it were impossible.” + +Silver ware, glass, pictures, raiment, were marked on the strip of +parchment. + +Dirk bit his finger. + +“We will not sell these things Master Lukas left to me,” he said +suddenly. “Only a few. Such as the silver and the red copper wrought +in Italy.” + +Theirry lifted his grave eyes. + +“I will carry those into the town if you give me a merchant’s name.” + +Dirk mentioned one instantly, and where his house might be found. + +“A Jew, but a secretive and wealthy man,” he added. “I carved a +staircase in his mansion.” + +Theirry rose; the ache in his head and the horror in his heart had +ceased together; the sense of coming excitement crept through his +veins. + +“There is much here that is worthless,” said Dirk, “and many things +dangerous to reveal, yet a few of those that are neither might bring a +fair sum--come, and I will show you.” + +Theirry followed him through the dusty, sunny chambers to the +store-rooms on the upper floor. Here Dirk brought treasures from a +press in the wall; candlesticks, girdles with enamel links, carved +cups, crystal goblets. + +Selecting the finest of these he put them in a coffer, locked it and +gave the key to Theirry. + +“There should be the worth of some gulden there,” he said, red in the +face from stooping, and essayed to lift the coffer but failed. + +Theirry, something amazed, raised it at once. + +“’Tis not heavy,” he said. + +“Nay,” answered Dirk, “but I am not strong,” and his eyes were angry. + +Theirry was brought by this to give him some closer personal scrutiny +than as yet he had. + +“How old are you?” he asked. + +“Twenty-five,” Dirk answered curtly. + +“Certes!” Theirry’s hazel eyes flew wide. “I had said eighteen.” + +Dirk swung on his heel. + +“Oh, get you gone,” he said roughly, “and be not over long--for I +would be away from this place at once--do you hear?--at once.” + +They left the room together. + +“You have endured this for years,” said Theirry curiously. “And +suddenly you count the hours to your departure.” + +Dirk ran lightly ahead down the stairs, and his laugh came low and +pleasant. + +“Untouched, the wood will lie for ever,” he answered, “but set it +alight and it will flame to the end.” + + + + + CHAPTER V. + COMRADES + +They had been a week on the road and now were nearing the borders of +Flanders. The company of the other had become precious to each; though +Theirry was grave and undemonstrative, Dirk, changeable, and quick of +temper; to-day, however, the silence of mutual discontent was upon +them. + +Open disagreement had happened once before, at the beginning of their +enterprise, when the young sculptor resolutely refused, foolishly it +seemed to Theirry, to sell his house and furniture, or even to deliver +at the church of St. Bavon the figures of St. Michael and the Devil, +though the piece was finished. + +Instead, he had turned the key on his possessions, leaving them the +prey of dust, spiders and rats, and often Theirry would think uneasily +of the shut-up house in the deserted square, and how the merciless +sunlight must be streaming over the empty workroom and the daisies +growing upon the grave of Balthasar’s wife. + +Nevertheless, he was in thrall to the attraction of Dirk Renswoude; +never in his life had he been so at ease with any one, never before +felt his aims and ambitions understood and shared by another. + +He knew nothing of his companion’s history nor did he care to question +it; he fancied that Dirk was of noble birth; it seemed in his blood to +live gently and softly; at the hostel where they rested, it was he who +always insisted upon the best of accommodation, a chamber to himself, +fine food and humble service. + +This nicety of his it was that caused the coolness between them now. + +At the little town they had just left a fair was in holding, and the +few inns were full; lodging had been offered them in a barn with some +merchants’ clerks, and this Theirry would have accepted gladly, but +Dirk had refused peremptorily, to the accompaniment of much jeering +from those who found this daintiness amusing in a poor traveller on +foot. + +After an altercation between the landlord and Theirry, a haughty +silence of flashing eyes and red cheeks from Dirk, they had turned +away through the gay fair, wound across the town and out on to the +high road. + +This led up a steep, mountainous incline; they were carrying their +possessions in bundles on their backs, and when they reached the top +of the hill they turned off from the road on to the meadows that +bordered it, and sank on the grass exhausted. + +Theirry, though coldly angry with the whim that had brought them here +to sleep under the trees, could not but admit it was an exquisite +place. + +The evening sun overspread it all with a soft yet sparkling veil of +light; the fields of long grass that spread to right and left were +more golden than green; close by was a grove of pine-trees, whose tall +red trunks shone delicately; above them, piled up rocks starred with +white flowers mounted against the pale blue sky, beneath them the +hillside sloped to the valley where lay the little town. + +The streets of it were built up and down the slopes of the hill, and +Theirry could see the white line of them and the irregular shapes and +colours of the roofs; the church spire sprang from the midst like a +spear head, strong and delicate, and here and there pennons fluttered; +they could see the Emperor’s flag stirring slowly above the round +tourelles of the city gate. + +Theirry found the prospect very pleasant; he delighted in the long +flowering grass that, as he lay stretched out, with his face resting +in his hand, brushed against his cheek; in the clear-cut grey rocks +and the hardy yet frail-looking white flowers growing on the face of +them; in the up-springing lines of the pine-trees and the deep green +of their heavy foliage, intensified by the fading blue beyond. Then, +as his weariness was eased, he glanced over his shoulder at Dirk; not +being passionate by nature, and controlled by habit, his tempers +showed themselves in a mere coldness, not sullenness, the resort of +the fretful. + +Dirk sat apart, resting his back against the foremost of the +pine-trees; he was wrapped in a dark red cloak, his pale profile +turned towards the town lying below; the evening air just stirred the +heavy, smooth locks on his uncovered head; he was sitting very still. + +The cause of the quarrel had ceased to be any matter to Theirry; +indeed he could not but admit it preferable to lie here than to herd +with noisy beer-drinking clerks in a close barn, but recollection of +the haughty spirit Dirk had discovered held him estranged still. + +Yet his companion occupied his thoughts; his wonderful skill in those +matters he himself was most desirous of fathoming, the strange way in +which they had met, and the pleasure of having a companion--so +different from Balthasar--of a kindred mind, however whimsical his +manner. + +At this point in his reflections Dirk turned his head. + +“You are angry with me,” he said. + +Theirry answered calmly. + +“You were foolish.” + +Dirk frowned and flushed. + +“Certes!--a fine comrade!” his voice was vehement. “Did you not swear +fellowship with me? How do you fulfil that compact by being wrathful +the first time our wills clash?” + +Theirry turned on his elbow and gazed across the flowering grass. + +“I am not wrathful,” he smiled. “And you have had many whims… none of +them have I opposed.” + +Dirk answered angrily. + +“You make me out a fantastical fellow--it is not true.” + +Theirry sat up and gazed at the lazy sunset slowly enveloping the +distant town and the hills beyond in crimson light. + +“It is true you are as nice as a girl,” he answered. “Many a time I +would have slept by the kitchen hearth--ay, and have done, but you +must always lie soft as a prince.” + +Dirk was scarlet from brow to chin. + +“Well, if I choose,” he said defiantly. “If I choose, as long as I +have money in my pocket, to live gently.…” + +“Have I interfered?” interrupted Theirry. “You are of a lordly birth, +belike.” + +“Yea, I am of a great family,” flashed Dirk. “Ill did they treat me. +No more of them… are you still angry with me?” + +He rose; the red cloak slipped from his shoulders to the ground; he +stood with his hand on his hip, looking down at Theirry. + +“Come,” he said gravely. “We must not quarrel, my comrade, my one +friend… when shall we find another with such aims as ours… we are +bound to each other, are we not? Certes! you swore it.” + +Theirry lifted his beautiful face. + +“I do like you greatly,” he answered. “And in no wise blame you +because you are weakly and used to luxury. Others have found _me_ over +gentle.” + +Dirk looked at him out of the corners of his eyes. + +“Then I am pardoned?” + +Theirry smiled. + +“Nay, I do regret my evil humour. The sun was fierce and the bundles +heavy to drag up the hill.” + +Dirk sank down upon the grass beside him. + +“Truly I am wearied to death!” + +Theirry considered him; panting a little, Dirk stretched himself his +full length on the blowing grass. The young scholar, used and +indifferent to his own great beauty, was deadened to the effect of it +in others, and to any eye Dirk could be no more than well-looking; but +Theirry was conscious of the charm of his slender make, his feet and +hands of feminine delicacy, his fair, full throat, and pale, curved +mouth, even the prominent jaw and square chin that marred the symmetry +of the face were potent to attract in their suggestion of strength and +the power to command. + +His near presence, too, was fragrant; he breathed a faint atmosphere +of essences and was exquisite in his clothes. + +As Theirry studied him, he spoke. + +“My heart! it is sweet here--oh, sweet!” + +Faint airs wafted from the pine, and the wild flowers hidden in the +woods below them stole through the grass; a glowing purple haze began +to obscure the valley, and where it melted into the sky the first +stars shone, pale as the moon. Overhead the dome of heaven was still +blue, and in the tops of the pines was a continuous whispering of the +perfumed boughs one to another. + +“Now wish yourself back in the town among their drinking and +swearing,” said Dirk. + +“Nay,” smiled Theirry. “I am content.” + +The faint purple colour slowly spread over everything; the towers of +the town became dark, and little sharp lights twinkled in them. + +Dirk drew a great breath. + +“What will you do with your life?” he asked. + +Theirry started. + +“In what manner?” + +“Why, if we succeed--in any way--if we obtain great power… what would +you do with it?” + +Theirry felt his brain spin at the question; he gazed across the world +that was softly receding into darkness and his blood tingled. + +“I would be great,” he whispered. “Like Flaccus Alcuin, like +Abelard--like St. Bernard.” + +“And I would be greater than any of these--as great as the Master we +serve can make his followers.” + +Theirry shuddered. + +“These I speak of were great, serving God.” + +Dirk looked up quickly. + +“How know you that? Many of these holy men owe their position to +strange means. I, at least, would not be content to live and die in +woollens when I could command the means to clothe me in golden silks.” + +The beautiful darkness now encompassed them; below them the lights of +the town, above them the stars, and here, in the meadow land, the +night breeze in the long grass and in the deep boughs of pine. + +“I am but a neophyte,” said Theirry after a pause. “Very little have I +practised of these things. I had a book of necromancy and learnt a +little there… but…” + +“Why do you pause?” demanded Dirk. + +“One may not do these things,” answered Theirry slowly, +“without--great blasphemy----” + +Dirk laughed. + +“I care nothing for all the angels and all the saints.…” + +“Ah, peace!” cried Theirry, and he put his hand to his brow growing +damp with terror. + +The other was silent a while, but Theirry could hear his quick +breathing rising from the grass. At length he spoke in a quiet voice. + +“I desire vast wealth, huge power. I would see nations at my +footstool… ah!… but I have a boundless ambition.…” He sat up, suddenly +and softly, and laid his hand on Theirry’s arm. “If… they… the evil +ones… offered you that, would you not take it?” + +Theirry shuddered. + +“You would! you would!” cried Dirk. “And pay your soul for +it--gladly.” + +The scholar made no answer, but reclined motionless, gazing over the +human lights in the valley to the stars beyond them; Dirk continued-- + +“See what a liking I have for you that I tell you this--that I give +you the secret of my power to come.…” + +“’Tis my secret also,” answered Theirry hastily. “I have done enough +to bring the everlasting wrath of the Church upon me.” + +“The Church,” repeated Dirk musingly; he was of a daring that knew not +the word fear, and at this moment his thoughts put into words would +have made his companion shudder indeed. + +Gradually, by ones and twos, the lights in the town were extinguished +and the valley was in darkness. + +Theirry folded up his cloak as a pillow for his head and lay down in +the scented grass; as he fell into a half sleep the great sweetness of +the place was present to his mind, torturing him. + +He knew by the pictures he had seen that Paradise was like this, +remote and infinitely peaceful. Meadows and valleys spreading beneath +a tranquil sky… he knew it was desirable and that he longed for it, +yet he must meddle with matters that repelled him, even as they drew +him, with their horror. + +He fell into heavy dreams, moaning in his sleep. + +Dirk rose from beside him and walked up and down in the dark; the dew +was falling, his head uncovered; he stooped, felt for his mantle, +found it and wrapped it about him, pacing to and fro with calm eyes +defying the dark. + +Then finally he lay down under the pines and slept, to awake suddenly +and find himself in a sitting posture. + +The dawn was breaking, the landscape lay in mists of purple under a +green sky, pellucid and pale as water; the pines shot up against it +black, clear cut, and whispering still in their upper branches. + +Dirk rose and tiptoed across the wet grass to Theirry, looking at him +asleep for the second time. + +The scholar lay motionless, with his head flung back on his violet +cloak; Dirk looked down at the beautiful sleeping face with a wild and +terrible expression on his own. + +Like wine poured into a cup, light began to fill the valley and the +hollows in the hills; faint mystic clouds gathered and spread over the +horizon. Dirk shudderingly drew his mantle closer; Theirry sighed and +woke. + +Dirk gave him a distracted glance and turned away so rapidly and +softly that Theirry, with the ugly shapes of dreams still riding his +brain, cried out-- + +“Is that you, Dirk?” and sprang to his feet. + +Dirk stayed his steps half-way to the pines. + +“What is the matter?” he asked in an odd voice. + +Theirry pushed the hair away from his forehead. + +“I know not--nothing.” + +The air seemed suddenly to become colder; the hills that on all sides +bounded their vision rose up stark from grey mists; an indescribable +tension made itself felt, like a pause in stillness. + +Dirk stepped back to Theirry and caught his arm; they stood +motionless, in an attitude of expectancy. + +A roll of thunder pealed from the brightening sky and faded slowly +into silence; they were looking along the hills with straining eyes. + +On the furthest peak appeared a gigantic black horseman outlined +against the ghostly light; he carried a banner in his hand; it was the +colour of blood and the colour of night; for a moment he sat his +horse, motionless, facing towards the east; then the low thunder +pealed again; he raised the banner, shook it above his head, and +galloped down the hillside. + +Before he reached the valley he had disappeared, and at that instant +the sun rose above the horizon and sparkled across the country. + +Theirry hid his face in his sleeve and trembled terribly; but Dirk +gazed over his bent head with undaunted eyes. + + + + + CHAPTER VI. + THE LADY + +Through the blunt-pointed arches that gave on to the sunny gardens a +thin stream of students issued from the lecture-room. + +Behind the castellated roof of the university the mountains appeared, +snow cold against the sun-lit sky; at the bottom of the gently sloping +garden lay the town of Basle with the broad blue Rhine flowing between +the glittering houses. + +The students came in twos and threes and little groups, laughing +together over the doctor who had been lecturing them, over some point +in their studies that had roused their amusement, or merely because it +was a relief after being confined for hours in the dark hall. + +The long straight robes, dark shades of purple, blue and violet, +fluttered behind them in the summer wind as they gradually dispersed +to right and left among the trees. + +Theirry, walking with two others, looked about him for Dirk, who had +not attended the lecture. + +“We are going up the river,” said one of his companions. “We have a +fair sailing boat--it will be pleasant, by Ovid!” + +“Will you come?” asked the other. + +Theirry shook his head. + +“Nay, I cannot.” + +They both laughed. + +“See how he is given to meditation! He will be a great man, certes!” + +“I have a matter that commands my time,” said Theirry. + +“Dear lover of rhetoric! Hark to him--he will even sit in the shade +and muse!” + +“’Tis cooler,” smiled Theirry. + +They came to a pathway bordered with laurels and dark glossy plants, +and from a seat amid them Dirk rose at their approach. + +He was distinguished from the others by the greater richness of his +dress; his robe, very voluminous and heavy, was of brown silk; he wore +a gold chain twisted round his flat black cap, and his shirt was of +fine lawn, laced and embroidered. + +The two students doffed their hats in half-mocking recognition of the +exquisite air of aloofness that was his habitual manner. + +He gave them a steady look out of half-closed eyes. + +“Hast learnt much to-day?” he asked. + +“Aristotle is not comprehended in an afternoon,” answered the student, +smiling. “And I was at the back--Master Joris of Thuringia yawned and +yawned, and fell off his stool asleep! The Doctor was bitter!” + +“It was amusing,” said the other. “Yet he was not asleep, but swooned +from the heat. Mass! but it was hot! Where were you?” + +“Improving my Latin in the library. This afternoon I have put the +story of Tereus and Philomena into the vulgar tongue.” + +“Give you good even.” The two linked arms. “We know a joyful inn up +the river.” + +As they disappeared Dirk turned sharply to Theirry. + +“Did they ask your company?” + +“Yea.” + +Dirk frowned. + +“You should have gone.” + +“I had no mind to it. They are foolish.” + +“Ay, but we are beginning to be remarked for closeness in our habits. +It would not be pleasant should they--suspect.” + +“’Tis not possible,” said Theirry hastily. + +“It _must_ not be,” was the firm answer. “But be not churlish or over +reserved.” + +“I wish for no company but thine,” replied Theirry. “What have I in +common with these idlers?” + +Dirk gave him a bright tender look. + +“We need not stay here over long,” he answered. “I do think we know +all this school can teach us.” + +Theirry put back the laurel bough that swung between them. + +“Where would you go?” he asked; it was noticeable how in all things he +had begun to defer to the younger man. + +“Paris! Padua!” flashed Dirk. “Would you consider that? One might +attain a reputation, and then--or one might lecture--in any large +town--Cologne, Strasbourg.” + +“Meanwhile----?” + +“Meanwhile I progress,” was the whispered answer. “I have +essayed--some things. Will you come to my chamber to-night?” + +“Ay--secretly?” + +Dirk nodded; his grave young face under the student’s flat hat was +slightly flushed; he laid his hand on Theirry’s arm. + +“I have something to tell you. Here it is scarcely wise to speak. +There is one who hates me--Joris of Thuringia. Now, good-bye.” + +His great eyes lit with a look of strong affection that was flashed +back in Theirry’s glance; they clasped hands and parted. + +Theirry looked after the brown, silk-clad figure, as it moved rapidly +towards the university, then he took his own way, out of the gardens +on to the hill-side, away from the town. + +With his hands clasped behind his back, and his handsome head bent, he +followed aimlessly a little path, and as he wound his way through the +trees wild day-dreams stirred his blood. + +He was on the eve of putting himself in possession of immense power; +these evil spirits whom he would force to serve him could give him +anything in the world--anything in the world! + +The phantasmagoria of golden visions that arose to blind and +intoxicate him, the horror of the means employed, dread of the +unthinkable end to come, were not to be put into any words. + +He sat down at length on a fallen tree trunk and gazed with rapt eyes +down the silent forest path. + +He did not know where he was; certainly he had come farther than ever +before, or else taken a strange turn, for through the pine-stems he +could perceive castle walls, the gates rising from the piled-up rocks, +and it was unknown to him. + +Presently he rose and walked on, because his galloping thoughts would +not allow his body to rest, and still giving no heed to the way, he +wandered out of the forest into a green valley shaded by thick trees. + +Down the centre ran a stream, and the grass, of a deep green colour, +was thickly sown with daisies white as the snow shining on the far-off +mountains. + +Here and there down the edge of the stream grew young poplar trees, +and their flat gold leaves fluttered like a gipsy’s sequins, even in +the breezeless air. + +Theirry, absorbed and withdrawn into himself, walked by the side of +the water; he was unconscious of the shadowed hush and quiet of the +valley, of the voices of birds falling softly from the peace of the +trees, and the marvellous sunlight on the mountains, the castle, +rising beyond its circle of shade up into the crystal blue; before his +eyes danced thrones and crowns, gold and painted silks, glimpses of +princely dwellings and little winged, creeping fiends that offered him +these things. + +Presently a human sound forced itself on his senses, insistently, even +through his abstraction. + +The sound of weeping, sobbing. + +He started, gazed about him with dazed eyes, like a blind man +recovering sight, and discerned a lady upon the other side of the +stream, seated on the grass, her head bowed in her right hand. + +Theirry paused, frowned, and hesitated. + +The lady, warned of something, glanced up and sprang to her feet; he +saw now that she held a dead bird in her left hand; her face was +flushed with weeping, her long yellow hair disordered about her brow; +she gazed at him with wet grey eyes, and Theirry felt it imperative to +speak. + +“You are troubled?” he asked, then flushed, thinking she might term it +insolence. + +But she answered simply and at once. + +“About him I am”--she held the little brown bird out on her palm; “he +was on the small poplar tree--and singing--he held his head up +so”--she lifted her long throat--“and I could see his heart beating +behind the feathers--I listened to him, oh! with pleasure”--fresh +tears started to the eyes that she turned on Theirry--“then my +miserable cat that had followed me leapt on him--and slew him. Oh, I +chased them, but when I got him back he was dead.” + +Theirry was extraordinarily moved by this homely tragedy; it could not +have occurred to him that there was matter for tears in such a common +thing; but as the lady told the story, holding out, as if secure of +his sympathy, the poor little ruffled body, he felt that it was both +pitiful and monstrous. + +“You may chastise the cat,” he said, for he saw the elegant soft +animal rubbing itself against the stem of the poplar. + +“I have beaten her,” she confessed. + +“You can hang her,” said Theirry, thinking to console still more. + +But the lady flushed up. + +“She is an agreeable cat,” she answered. “She cannot help her nature. +Oh, it would be an odious cruelty to hang her!--see, she does not +understand!” + +Theirry, rebuked, was at a loss; he stood looking at the lady, feeling +helpless and useless. + +She wiped her eyes with a silk handkerchief, and stood in a piteous +meek silence, holding her dead bird in a trembling hand. + +“If you buried it----” suggested Theirry desperately. “I do think it +would have wished to be buried here----” + +To his joy she brightened a little. + +“You think so?” she asked wistfully. + +“Certes!” he reassured her eagerly. “See, I have a knife--I will make +a pleasant grave.” + +She stepped to the edge of the stream as near as she could to him, and +because she came unconsciously, with no thought for anything save the +bird in her hand, Theirry thrilled with a great pleasure, as should a +wild deer come fearlessly. + +“I cannot cross--the water is too wide,” she said. “But will you take +him and make his grave?” + +She went on one knee among the sorrel leaves and daisies. Theirry had +a swift picture of her as she leant forward, stretching her arm +towards him over the stream that divided them. He had seen fair women +in Courtrai, he saw in her the most admired points of these, glass +grey eyes, small features, an arched red mouth, white skin and yellow +hair; she was no more beautiful than many ladies who had left him +cold, but he found himself anxious to please her, and he had so far +never tried to win a woman’s favour. + +Her pale red dress rippled about her on the grass; her curls and her +veil were blown back from her face; Theirry knelt and held out his +hand. + +Over mid-stream their fingers touched; he took the bird, and she drew +back hastily. + +As he, still on his knees, looked at her, he saw that she was no +longer unconscious; she stood erect as if commanding herself not to +fly, and (as she was very slender) he likened her to the pale crimson +pistil of a lily which has yellow on the head--her hair, he told +himself. + +“I am vexed to trouble you”--she spoke haltingly. + +There were so many things he wished to say in answer to this that he +said nothing, but took his knife from his belt and cut a little square +of turf. + +“You are a clerk from the college?” she asked. + +“Ay,” he answered, and wished fiercely he could have given himself a +finer name. + +“There are many learned men there,” she said courteously. + +He would not have believed it possible to find in himself such care +over a trivial thing as he now took over this little bird’s grave, for +he knew she watched him with judgment in her eyes. + +The unholy day-dreams that had vexed and enthralled him were +completely forgotten in this new feeling. + +The lines of a verse he had not noticed when he read it came back to +him, beating in his head. + + + “Pleasant is she of a fair white favour, + Sweet her caress as the ripe grape’s flavour, + And her lips are like the rose in their savour. + + Seeing her my pulses quicken, + I turn from common things and sicken, + For the quiet wood where the May buds thicken. + + Hearing her my breath is taken, + My bold heart bowed and shaken, + And I from sloth at last awaken.” + + +He dug into the soft brown earth with the point of his knife, lined +the grave with leaves, and picked up the little bird. + +For a moment he held it in his hand as she had done. + +And he dared not look at her. + +Then he laid it in the ground and replaced the grass and daisies. + +When he raised his head, his face flushed from stooping, he saw that +she was no longer watching him, but she had turned sideways and was +gazing at the distant woods. + +He had leisure now to mark the details of her appearance. + +Though slender she was of a full make and tall; her brows were very +arched and darker than her hair, her mouth dipped at the corners and +was firmly set; she seemed of a grave manner and very modest in her +bearing. + +Theirry rose from his knees; she turned. + +“I thank you,” she said; then, on a quick breath--“do you often come +here?” + +He answered foolishly. + +“Nay--never before--I did not know the place.” + +“That is my home yonder,” said the lady. + +“Yours?” and he pointed to the castle walls. + +“Yea. I am an orphan, and the Emperor’s ward.” + +She looked at the point of her shoe showing beneath her pale crimson +robe. “What town do you come from?” she asked. + +“Courtrai.” + +“I know no town save Frankfort.” + +A silence fell between them; the wicked grey cat walked in a stately +manner along the edge of the stream. + +“I shall lose her,” said the lady. “Good even, gentle clerk. My name +is Jacobea of Martzburg. Perhaps I shall see you again.” + +He had never felt more desirous of speaking, never less capable; he +murmured-- + +“I do hope it,” and coloured burningly at his awkwardness. + +She gave him a half look, a flash from grave grey eyes, instantly +veiled, and with an unsmiling mouth bade him again, “Good even.” + +Then she was gone after the cat. + +He saw her hasten down the side of the stream, her dress bending the +grasses and leaves; he saw her stoop and snatch up the creature, and, +holding it in her arms, take the path towards those lordly gates. He +hoped she might look back and see that he gazed after her, but she did +not turn her head, and when the last flutter of pale red had +disappeared he moved reluctantly from the place. + +The sky was gay with sunset; as he walked through the wood, bars of +orange light fell athwart the straight pine trunks and made a glitter +on his path; he thought neither of those things that had occupied him +when he had passed through these trees before, nor of the lady he had +left; in his mind reigned a golden confusion, in which everything was +unformed and exquisite; he had no wish and no ability to reduce this +to definite schemes, hopes or fears, but walked on, enwrapped with +fancies. + +On the slopes that adjoined the garden of the college Theirry came +upon a little group of students lying on the grass. + +Just beyond them the others were standing; Dirk noticeable by his rich +dress and elegant bearing, and another youth whom Theirry knew for +Joris of Thuringia. + +A glance told him there were words between them; even from where he +stood he could see Dirk was white and taut, Joris hot and flushed. + +He crossed the grass swiftly; he knew that it was their policy to +avoid quarrels in the college. + +“Sirs, what is this?” he asked. + +The students looked at him; some seemed amused, some excited; his +heart gave a sick throb as he saw that their glances were both +unfriendly and doubtful. + +One gave him half-scornful information. + +“Thy friend was caught with an unholy forbidden book, though he denies +it; he cast it into the river sooner than allow us a sight of it, and +now he is bitter with Joris’ commentary thereon.” + +Dirk saw Theirry, and turned his pale face towards him. + +“This churl insulted me,” he said; “yea, laid hands on me.” + +A burst of half angry, half good-humoured laughter came from Joris. + +“I cannot get the little youth to fight--by Christus his Mother! he is +afraid because I could break his neck between my finger and thumb!” + +Dirk flashed burning eyes over him. + +“I am not afraid, never could I fear such as thee; but neither my +profession nor my degree permit me to brawl--be silent and begone.” + +The tone could not fail to rouse the other. + +“Who art thou,” he shouted--“to speak as if thou wert a noble’s son? I +did but touch thy arm to get the book----” + +The rest joined in. + +“Certes, he did no more, and what _was_ the book?” + +Dirk held himself very proudly. + +“I will no more be questioned than I will be touched.” + +“Fine words for a paltry Flemish knave!” jeered one of the students. + +“Words I can make good,” flashed Dirk, and turned towards the college. + +Joris was springing after him when Theirry caught his arm. + +“’Tis but a peevish youth,” he said. + +The other shook himself free and stared after the bright figure in +silk. + +“He called me ‘son of a Thuringian thief!’” he muttered. + +A laugh rose from the group. + +“How knew he that?--from the unholy book?” + +Joris frowned heavily; his wrath flared in another direction. + +“Ya! Silence! Son of a British swineherd, thou, red face!” + +The group seethed into fisticuffs; Theirry followed Dirk across the +gardens. + + + + + CHAPTER VII. + SPELLS + +Theirry found Dirk as he was passing under the arched colonnade. + +“Prudence!” he quoted. “Where is _your_ prudence now?” + +Dirk turned quickly. + +“I had to put on a bold front. Certes, I hate that knave. But let him +go now. Come with me.” + +Theirry followed him through the college, up the dark stairway into +his chamber. + +It was a low arched room, looking on to the garden, barely furnished, +and containing only the bed, a chair and some books on a shelf. + +Dirk opened the window on the sun-flushed twilight. + +“The students are jealous of me because of my reputation with the +doctors,” he said, smiling. “One told me to-day I was the most learned +youth in the college. And how long have we been here? But ten months.” + +Theirry was silent; the triumph in his companion’s voice could find no +echo in his heart; neither in his legitimate studies nor in his secret +experiments had he been as successful as Dirk, who in ancient and +modern lore, in languages, algebra, theology, oratory had far outshone +all competitors, and who had progressed dangerously in forbidden +things. + +Theirry shook off the feeling of jealousy that possessed him, and +spoke on another subject. + +“Dirk, I saw a lady to-day--such a lady!” + +In their constant, close and tender companionship neither had ever +failed in sympathy, therefore it was with surprise that Theirry saw +Dirk perceptibly harden. + +“A lady!” he repeated, and turned from the window so that the shadows +of the room were over his face. + +Theirry must have a listener, must loosen his tongue on the subject of +his delicate adventure, so he proceeded. + +“Ay--’twas in the valley--a valley, I mean--which I had never seen +before. Oh, Dirk!” he was leaning against the end of the bed, gazing +across the dusk. “’Twas a lady so sweet--she had----” + +Dirk interrupted him. + +“Certes!” he cried angrily; “she had grey eyes belike, and yellow +hair--have they not always yellow hair?--and a mincing mouth and a +manner of glancing sideways, and cunning words, I’ll warrant me----” + +“Why, she had all this,” answered Theirry, bewildered. “But she was +pleasant, had you but seen her, Dirk.” + +The youth sneered. + +“Who is she--thy lady?” + +“Jacobea of Martzburg.” He took obvious pleasure in saying her name. +“She is a great lady and gracious.” + +“Out on ye!” exclaimed Dirk passionately. “What is she to us? Have we +not other matters to think of? I did not think ye so weak as to come +chanting the praises of the first thing that smiles on ye!” + +Theirry was angered. + +“’Tis not the first time--and what have I said of her?” + +“Oh enough--ye have lost your heart to her, I doubt not--and what use +will ye be--a love-sick knave!” + +“Nay,” answered Theirry hotly. “You have no warrant for this speech. +How should I love the lady, seeing her once? I did but say she was +fair and gentle.” + +“’Tis the first woman you have spoken of to me--in that voice--did ye +not say--‘such a lady’?” + +Theirry felt the blood stinging his cheeks. + +“Could you have seen her,” he repeated. + +“Ay, had I seen her I could tell you how much paint she wore, how +tight her lace was----” + +Theirry interrupted. + +“I’ll hear no more--art a peevish youth, knowing nothing of women; she +was one of God’s roses, pink and white, and we not fit to kiss her +little shoes--ay, that’s pure truth.” + +Dirk stamped his foot passionately. + +“Little shoes! If you come home to me to rave of her little shoes, and +her pink and white, you may bide alone for me. Speak no more of her.” + +Theirry was silent a while; he could not afford to lose Dirk’s +companionship or to have him in an ill temper, nor did he in any way +wish to jeopardise the good understanding between them, so he quelled +the anger that rose in him at the youth’s unreasonableness, and +answered quietly-- + +“On what matter did you wish to see me?” + +Dirk struggled for a moment with a heaving breast and closed his teeth +over a rebellious lip, then he crossed the room and opened the door of +an inner chamber. + +He had obtained permission to use this apartment for his studies; the +key of it he carried always with him, and only he and Theirry had ever +entered it. + +In silence, lighting a lamp, and placing it on the window-sill, he +beckoned Theirry to follow him. + +It was a dismal room; piled against the walls were the books Dirk had +brought with him, and on the open hearth some dead charred sticks lay +scattered. + +“See,” said Dirk; he drew from a dark corner a roughly carved wooden +figure some few inches high. “I wrought this to-day--and if I know the +spells aright there is one will pay for his insolence.” + +Theirry took the figure in his hand. + +“’Tis Joris of Thuringia.” + +Dirk nodded sombrely. + +The room was thick with unhealthy odours, and a close stagnant smoke +seemed to hang round the roof; the lamp cast a pulsating yellow light +over the dreariness and threw strange shaped shadows from the jars and +bottles standing about the floor. + +“What is this Joris to you?” asked Theirry curiously. + +Dirk was unrolling a manuscript inscribed in Persian. + +“Nothing. I would see what skill I have.” + +The old evil excitement seized Theirry; they had tried spells before, +on cattle and dogs, but without success; his blood tingled at the +thought of an enchantment potent to confound enemies. + +“Light the fire,” commanded Dirk. + +Theirry set the image by the lamp, and poured a thick yellow fluid +from one of the bottles over the dead sticks. + +Then he flung on a handful of grey powder. + +A close dun-coloured vapour rose, and a sickly smell filled the room; +then the sticks burst suddenly into a tall and beautiful flame that +sprang noiselessly up the chimney and cast a clear and unnatural glow +round the chamber. + +Theirry drew three circles round the fire, and marked the outer one +with characters taken from the manuscripts Dirk held. + +Dirk was looking at him as he knelt in the splendid glow of the +flames, and his own heavy brows were frowning. + +“Was she beautiful?” he asked abruptly. + +Theirry took this as an atonement for the late ill temper, and +answered pleasantly-- + +“Why, she was beautiful, Dirk.” + +“And fair?” + +“Certes, yellow hair.” + +“No more of her,” said the youth in a kind of fierce mournfulness. +“The legend is finished?” + +“Yea.” Theirry rose from his knees. “And now?” + +Dirk was anointing the little image of the student on the breast, the +eyes and mouth with a liquid poured from a purple phial; then he set +it within the circle round the flame. + +“’Tis carved of ash plucked from a churchyard,” he said. “And the +ingredients of the fire are correct. Now if this fails, Zerdusht +lies.” + +He stepped up to the fire and addressed an invocation in Persian to +the soaring flame, then retreated to Theirry’s side. + +The whole room was glowing in the clear red light cast by the unholy +fire; the cobweb-hung rafters, the gaunt walls, the books and jars on +the bare floor were all distinctly visible, and the two could see each +other, red, from head to foot. + +“Look,” said Dirk, with a slow smile. + +The image lying in the magic circle and almost touching the flames +(though not burnt or even scorched), was beginning to writhe and twist +on its back like a creature in pain. + +“Ah!” Dirk showed his teeth. “The Magian spell has worked.” + +A sensation of giddiness seized Theirry; he heard something beating +loud and fast in his ear, it seemed, but he knew it was his heart that +thumped so, up and down. + +The figure, horribly like Joris with its flat hat and student’s robe, +was struggling to its feet and emitting little moans of agony. + +“It cannot get out,” breathed Theirry. + +“Nay,” whispered Dirk, “wherefore did ye draw the circle?” + +The flame was a column of pure fire, and it cast a glow of gold on the +thing imprisoned in the ring Theirry had made; Dirk watched in an +eager way, with neither fear nor compunction, but Theirry felt a wave +of sickness mount to his brain. + +The creature was making useless endeavours to escape from the fiery +glare; it groaned and fell on its face, twisted on its back and made +frantic attempts to cross the line that imprisoned it. + +“Let it out,” whispered Theirry faintly. + +But Dirk was elate with success. + +“Ye are mad,” he retorted. “The spell works bravely.” + +On the end of his words came a sound that caused both to wince; even +in the lurid light Dirk saw his companion pale. + +It was the bell of the college chapel ringing the students to the +vespers. + +“I had forgotten,” muttered Dirk. “We must go--it would be noticed.” + +“We cannot put the fire out,” cried Theirry. + +“Nay, we must leave it--it must burn out,” answered Dirk hurriedly. + +The creature, after rushing round the circle in an attempt to escape +had fallen, as if exhausted with its agony, and lay quivering. + +“We will leave him, too,” said Dirk unpleasantly. + +But Theirry had a tearing memory of a lady kneeling among green +grasses and bending towards him with a dead bird in her hand--tears +for it on her cheeks--a dead bird, and this---- + +He stooped and snatched up the creature; it shrieked dismally as he +touched it, and he felt the quick flame burn his fingers. + +Instantly the fire had sunk into ashes, and he held in his hand a mere +morsel of charred wood. + +With a sound of disgust he flung this on the ground. + +“Should have let it burn,” said Dirk, with the lamp held aloft to show +him the way across the now dark chamber. “Perchance we cannot relight +it, and I have not finished with the ugly knave.” + +They stepped into the outer chamber and Dirk locked the door; Theirry +gasped to feel the fresher air in his nostrils, and a sense of terror +clouded his brain; but Dirk was in high spirits; his eyes narrowed +with excitement, his pale lips set in a hard fashion. + +They descended into the hall. + +It was a close and sultry evening; through the blunt arches of the +window, dark purple clouds could be seen, lying heavily across the +horizon; the clang of the vesper bell came persistently and with a +jarring note; though the sun had set it was still light, which had a +curious effect of strangeness after the dark chambers upstairs. + +Without a word to each other, but side by side, the two students +passed into the ante-chamber that led into the chapel. + +And there they stopped. + +The pale rays of a candle dispersed the gathering dark and revealed a +group of men standing together and conversing in whispers. + +“Why do they not enter the church?” breathed Theirry, with a curious +sensation at his heart. “Something has happened.” + +Some of the students turned and saw them; they were forced to come +forward; Dirk was silent and smiling. + +“Have you heard?” asked one; all were sober and subdued. + +“A horrible thing,” said another. “Joris of Thuringia is struck with a +strange illness. Certes! he fell down amongst us as if in the grip of +hell fire.” + +The speaker crossed himself; Theirry could not answer, he felt that +they were all looking at him suspiciously, accusingly, and he +trembled. + +“We carried him up to his chamber,” said another. “He shrieked and +tore at his flesh, imploring us to keep the flames off. The priest is +with him now--God guard us from unholy things.” + +“Why do you say that?” demanded Theirry fiercely. “Belike his disease +was but natural.” + +A look passed round the students. + +“I know not,” one muttered. “It was strange.” + +Dirk, still smiling and silent, turned into the chapel; Theirry and +the others, hushing their surmises, followed. + +There were candles on the altar, six feet high, and a confusion of the +senses came over Theirry, in which he saw them as white angels with +flaming haloes coming grievingly for his destruction. A wave of fear +and sorrow rushed over him; he sank on his knees on the stone floor +and fixed his eyes on the priest, whose chasuble was gleaming gold +through the dimness of the incense-filled chapel. + +The blasphemy and mortal sin of what he had done sickened and +frightened him; was not his being here the most horrible blasphemy of +all?--he had no right; he had made false confessions to the priest, he +had received absolution on lies; daily he had come here worshipping +God with his lips and Satan with his heart. + +A groan broke from him, he bowed his beautiful face in his hands and +his shoulders shook. He thought of Joris of Thuringia writhing in the +agony caused by their unhallowed spells, of the eager devils crowding +to their service--and far away, in a blinding white mist, he seemed to +see the arc of the saints and angels looking down on him while he fell +away further, further, into unfathomable depths of darkness. With an +uncontrollable movement of agony he looked up, and his starting eyes +fell on the figure of Dirk kneeling in front of him. + +The youth’s calm both horrified and soothed him; there he knelt, who +had but a little while before been playing with devils, with a face as +unmoved as a sculptured saint, with a placid brow, quiet eyes and +hands folded on his breviary. + +He seemed to feel Theirry’s intense gaze, for he looked swiftly round +and a look of caution, of warning shot under his white lids. + +Theirry’s glance fell; his companions were singing with uplifted +faces, but he could not join them; the pillars with their foliated +capitals oppressed him by their shadow, the saints glowing in mosaic +on the drums of the arches frightened him with the unforgiving look in +their long eyes. + + + “Laudate, pueri Dominum, + Laudate nomen Domini, + Sit nomen Domini benedictum, + Ex hoc nunc et usque in saeculum. + + A Solis ortu usque ad occasum + Laudabile nomen Domini.” + + +The fresh young voices rose lustily; the church was full of incense +and music; Theirry rose with the hymn ringing in his head and left the +chapel. + +The singers cast curious glances at him as he passed, and when he +reached the door he heard a patter of feet behind him and turned to +see Dirk at his elbow. + +“I have done with it,” he said hoarsely. + +Dirk’s eyes were flaming. + +“Do you want to make public confession?” he demanded, breathing hard. +“Remember, it is our lives to pay, if they discover.” + +Theirry shuddered. + +“I cannot pray. I cannot stay in the church. For days I have felt the +blessing scorch me.” + +“Come upstairs,” said Dirk. + +As they went down the long hall they met one who was a friend of Joris +of Thuringia. + +Dirk stopped. + +“Hast come from the sick man?” + +“Yea.” + +“He is mending?” + +Theirry stared with wild eyes, waiting the answer. + +“I know not,” said the youth. “He lies in a swoon and pants for +breath.” + +He passed on, something abruptly. + +“Did ye hear that?” whispered Theirry. “If he should die!” + +They went up to Dirk’s bare little chamber; the clouds had completely +overspread the sky, and neither moon nor stars were visible. + +Dirk lit the lamp, and Theirry sank on to the bed with his hands +clasped between his knees. + +“I cannot go on,” he said. “It is too horrible.” + +“Art afraid?” asked Dirk quietly. + +“Yea, I am afraid.” + +“So am not I,” answered Dirk composedly. + +“I cannot stay here,” breathed Theirry, with agonised brows. + +Dirk bit his forefinger. + +“Nay, for we have but little money and know all these pedants can +teach us. ’Tis time we began to lay the corner-stones of our fortune.” + +Theirry rose, twisting his fingers together. + +“Talk not to me of fortunes. I have set my soul in deadly peril. I +cannot pray, I cannot take the names of holy things upon my lips.” + +“Is this your courage?” said Dirk softly. “Is this your ambition, your +loyalty to me? Would you run whining to a priest with a secret that is +mine as well as yours? Is this, O noble youth, what all your dreams +have faded to?” + +Theirry groaned. + +“I know not. I know not.” + +Dirk came slowly nearer. + +“Is this to be the end of comradeship--our league?” + +He took the other’s slack hand in his, and as he seldom offered or +suffered a touch, Theirry thrilled at it as a great mark of affection, +and at the feel of the smooth, cool fingers, the fascination, the +temptation that this youth stood for stirred his pulses; still he +could not forget the stern angel he thought he had seen upon the +altar, and the way his tongue had refused to move when he had striven +to pray. + +“Belike, I have gone too far to turn back,” he panted, with +questioning eyes. + +Dirk dropped his hand. + +“Be of me or not with me,” he said coldly. “Surely I can stand alone.” + +“Nay,” answered Theirry. “Certes, I love thee, Dirk, as I have never +cared for any do I care for thee.…” + +Dirk stepped back and looked at him out of half-closed eyes. + +“Well, do not stop to palter with talk of priests. Certainly I will be +faithful to you unto death and damnation, and be you true to me.” + +Theirry made a movement to answer, but a sudden and violent knock on +the door checked him. + +They looked at each other, and the same swift thoughts came to each; +the students had suspected, had come to take them by surprise--and the +consequences---- + +For a second Dirk shook with suppressed wrath. + +“Curse the Magian spell!” he muttered. “Curse Zerdusht and his foul +brews, for we are trapped and undone!” + +Theirry sprang up and tried the inner door. + +“’Tis secure,” he said; he was now quite calm. + +“I have the key.” Dirk laid his hand on his breast, then snatched a +couple of volumes from the shelf and flung them on the table. + +The knock was repeated. + +“Unbolt the door,” said Theirry; he seated himself at the table and +opened one of the volumes. + +Dirk slipped the bolt, the door sprang back and a number of students, +headed by a monk bearing a crucifix, surged into the room. + +“What do you want?” demanded Dirk, fronting them quietly. “You +interrupt our studies.” + +The priest answered sternly-- + +“There are strange and horrible accusations against you, my son, that +you must disprove.” + +Theirry slowly closed his book and slowly rose; all the terror and +remorse of a few moments ago had changed into wrath and defiance, and +the glow his animal courage sent through his body at the prospect of +an encounter; he saw the eager, excited faces of his fellow-students, +crowding in the doorway, the hard and unforgiving countenance of the +monk, and he felt unaccountably justified in his own eyes; he did not +see his antagonists standing for Good, and himself for Evil, he saw +mere men whose evident enmity roused his own. + +“What accusations?” asked Dirk; his demeanour appeared to have changed +as completely as Theirry’s had done; he had lost his assured calm; his +defiant bearing was maintained by an obvious effort, and his lips +twitched with agitation. + +The students murmured and forced further into the room; the monk +answered-- + +“Ye are suspected of procuring the dire illness of Joris of Thuringia +by spells.” + +“It is a lie,” said Dirk faintly, and without conviction, but Theirry +replied boldly-- + +“Upon what do you base this charge, father?” + +The monk was ready. + +“Upon your strange and close behaviour--the two of you, upon our +ignorance of whence you came--upon the suddenness of the youth’s +illness after words passed between him and Master Dirk.” + +“Ay,” put in one of the students eagerly. “And he lapped water like a +dog.” + +“I have seen a light here well into the night,” said another. + +“And why left they before the vespers were finished?” demanded a +third. + +Theirry smiled; he felt that they were discovered, but fear was far +from him. + +“These are childish accusations,” he answered. “Get you gone to find a +better.” + +Dirk, who had retreated behind the table, spoke now. + +“Ye smirch us with wanton words,” he said pantingly. “It is a lie.” + +“Will you swear to that?” asked the monk quickly. + +Theirry interposed. + +“Search the chamber, my father--I warrant you have already been +peering through mine.” + +“Yea.” + +“And you found----?” + +“Nothing.” + +“Then are you not content?” cried Dirk. + +The murmur of the students swelled into an angry cry. + +“Nay--can ye not spirit away your implements if ye be wizards?” + +“Great skill do you credit us with,” smiled Theirry. “But on nothing +you can prove nothing.” + +Although he knew that he could never allay their suspicions, it +occurred to him that it might be possible to prevent the discovery of +what the locked room held, and in that case, though they might have to +leave the college, their lives would be safe; he snatched up the +lantern and held it aloft. + +“See you anything here?” + +They stared round the bare walls with eager, straining eyes; one came +to the table and turned over the volumes there. + +“Seneca!” he flung them down with disappointment; the priest advanced +and gazed about him; Dirk stood silent and scornful, Theirry was bold +to defy them all. + +“I see no holy thing,” said the monk. “Neither Virgin, nor saint, nor +_prie-Dieu_, nor holy water.” + +Dirk’s eyes flashed fiercely. + +“Here is my breviary;” he pointed to it on the table. + +One of the students cried-- + +“Where is the key? To the inner chamber!” + +There were three or four of them about the door; Dirk, turning to see +them striving with the handle, went ghastly pale and could not speak, +but Theirry broke out into great wrath. + +“The room is disused. No affair of mine or Dirk. We know nothing of +it.” + +“Will you swear?” asked the priest. + +“Certes--I will swear.” + +But the student struggling with the door cried out-- + +“Dirk Renswoude asked for this room for his studies! I do know it, and +he had the key.” + +Dirk gave a great start. + +“Nay, nay,” he said hurriedly, “I have no key.” + +“Search, my sons,” said the priest. + +Their blood was up; some ten or twelve had crowded into the chamber; +they hurled the books off the shelf, scattered the garments out of the +coffer, pulled the quilt off the bed and turned up the mattress. + +Finding nothing they turned on Dirk. + +“He has the key about him!” + +All eyes were fixed now on the youth, who stood a little in front of +Theirry, he continuing to hold the lamp scornfully aloft to aid them +in their search. + +The light rested on Dirk’s shoulders, causing the bright silk to +glitter, and flickered in his short waving hair; there was no trace of +colour in his face, his brows were raised and gathered into a hard +frown. + +“Have you the key of that chamber?” demanded the priest. + +Dirk tried to speak, but could not find his voice; he moved his head +stiffly in denial. + +“But answer,” insisted the monk. + +“What should it avail me if I swore?” The words seemed wrenched from +him. “Would ye believe me?” His eyes were bright with hate of all of +them. + +“Swear on this.” The monk proffered the crucifix. + +Dirk did not touch it. + +“I have no key,” he said. + +“There is your answer,” flashed Theirry, and set the lamp on the +table. + +The foremost student laughed. + +“Search _him_,” he cried. “His garments--belike he has the key in his +breast.” + +Again Dirk gave a great start; the table was between him and his +enemies, it was the only protection he had; Theirry, knowing that he +must have the key upon him, saw the end and was prepared to fight it +finely. + +“What are ye going to do now?” he challenged. + +For answer one of them leant across the table and seized Dirk by the +arm, swinging him easily into the centre of the room, another caught +his mantle. + +A yell of “Search him!” rose from the others. + +Dirk bent his head in a curious manner, snatched the key from inside +his shirt and flung it on the floor; instantly they let go of him to +pick it up, and he staggered back beside Theirry. + +“Do not let them touch me,” he said. “Do not let them touch me.” + +“Art a coward?” answered Theirry angrily. “Now we are utterly lost.…” + +He thrust Dirk away as if he would abandon him; but that youth caught +hold of him in desperation. + +“Do not leave me--they will tear me to pieces.” + +The students were rushing through the unlocked door shouting for +lights; the priest caught up the lamp and followed them; the two were +left in darkness. + +“Ye are a fool,” said Theirry. “With some cunning the key might have +been saved.…” + +A horrid shout arose from those in the inner room as they discovered +the remains of the incantations.… + +Theirry sprang to the window, Dirk after him. + +“Theirry, gentle Theirry, take me also--can see I am helpless! A--ah! +I am small and pitiful, Theirry!” + +Theirry had one leg over the window-sill. + +“Come, then, in the fiend’s name,” he answered. + +A hoarse shout told them the students had found the little image of +Joris; those still on the stair-way saw them at the window. + +“The warlocks escape!” + +Theirry helped Dirk on to the window-ledge; the night air blew hot on +their faces and they felt warm rain falling on them; there was no +light anywhere. + +The students were yelling in a thick fury as they discovered the +unholy unguents and implements. They turned suddenly and dashed to the +window. Theirry swung himself by his hands, then let go. + +With a shock that jarred every nerve in his body he landed on the +balcony of the room beneath. + +“Jump!” he called up to Dirk, who still crouched on the window-sill. + +“Ah, soul of mine! Ah, I cannot!” Dirk stared through the darkness in +a wild endeavour to discern Theirry. + +“I am holding out my arms! Jump!” + +The students had knocked over the lamp and it had checked them for the +moment; but Dirk, looking back, saw the room flaring with fresh lights +and seething figures pushing up to the window. + +He closed his eyes and leapt in the darkness; the distance was not +great; Theirry half caught him; he half staggered against the balcony. + +A torch was thrust out of the window above them; frenzied faces looked +down. + +Theirry pushed Dirk roughly through the window before them, which +opened on to the library, and followed. + +“Now--for our lives,” he said. + +They ran down the dark length of the chamber and gained the stairs; +the students, having guessed their design, were after them--they could +hear the clatter of feet on the upper landing. + +How many stairs, how many before they reach the hall! + +Dirk tripped and fell, Theirry dragged him up; a breathless youth +overtook them; Theirry, panting, turned and struck him backwards +sprawling. So they reached the hall, fled along it and out into the +dark garden. + +A minute after, the pursuers bearing lights, and half delirious with +wrath and terror, surged out of the college doors. + +Theirry caught Dirk’s arm and they ran; across the thick grass, +crashing through the bushes, trampling down the roses, blindly through +the dark till the shouts and the lights grew fainter behind them and +they could feel the trunks of trees impeding them and so knew that +they must have reached the forest. + +Then Theirry let go of Dirk, who sank down by his side and lay sobbing +in the grass. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII. + THE CASTLE + +Theirry spoke angrily through the dark. + +“Little fool, we are safe enough. They think the Devil has carried us +off. Be silent.” + +Dirk gasped from where he lay. + +“Am not afraid. But spent… they have gone?” + +“Ay,” said Theirry, peering about him; there was no trace of light +anywhere in the murky dark nor any sound; he put his hand out and +touched the wet trunk of a tree, resting his shoulder against this +(for he also was exhausted) he considered, angrily, the situation. + +“Have you any money?” he asked. + +“Not one white piece.” + +Theirry felt in his own pockets. + +Nothing. + +Their plight was pitiable; their belongings were in the college, +probably by now being burnt with a sprinkling of holy water--they were +still close to those who would kill them upon sight, with no means of +escape; daylight must discover them if they lingered, and how to be +gone before daylight? + +If they tried to wander in this dark likely enough they would but find +themselves at the college gates; Theirry cursed softly. + +“Little avail our enchantments now,” he commented bitterly. + +It was raining heavily, drumming on the leaves above them, splashing +from the boughs and dripping on the grass; Dirk raised himself feebly. + +“Cannot we get shelter?” he asked peevishly. “I am all bruised, shaken +and wet--wet----” + +“Likely enough,” responded Theirry grimly. “But unless the charms you +know, Zerdusht’s incantations and Magian spells, can avail to spirit +us away we must even stay where we are.” + +“Ah, my manuscripts, my phials and bottles!” cried Dirk. “I left them +all!” + +“They will burn them,” said Theirry. + +“Plague blast and blight the thieving, spying knaves!” answered Dirk +fiercely. + +He got on to his feet and supported himself the other side of the +tree. + +“Certes, curse them all!” said Theirry, “if it anything helps.” + +He felt anger and hate towards the priest and his followers who had +hounded him from the college; no remorse stung him now, their action +had swung him violently back into his old mood of defiance and +hard-heartedness; his one thought was neither repentance nor shame, +but a hot desire to triumph over his enemies and outwit their pursuit. + +“My ankle,” moaned Dirk. “Ah! I cannot stand.…” + +Theirry turned to where the voice came out of the blackness. + +“Deafen me not with thy complaints, weakling,” he said fiercely. “Hast +behaved in a cowardly fashion to-night.” + +Dirk was silent before a new phase of Theirry’s character; he saw that +his hold on his companion had been weakened by his display of fear, +his easy surrender of the key. + +“Moans make neither comfort nor aid,” added Theirry. + +Dirk’s voice came softly. + +“Had you been sick I had not been so harsh, and surely I am sick… when +I breathe my heart hurts and my foot is full of pain.” + +Theirry softened. + +“Because I love you, Dirk, I will, if you complain no more, say nought +of your ill behaviour.” + +He put out his hand round the tree and touched the wet silk mantle; +despite the heat Dirk was shivering. + +“What shall we do?” he asked, and strove to keep his teeth from +chattering. “If we might journey to Frankfort----” + +“Why Frankfort?” + +“Certes, I know an old witch there who was friendly to Master Lukas, +and she would receive us, surely.” + +“We cannot reach Frankfort or any place without money… how dark it +is!” + +“Ugh! How it rains! I am wet to the skin… and my ankle…” + +Theirry set his teeth. + +“We will get there in spite of them. Are we so easily daunted?” + +“A light!” whispered Dirk. “A light!” + +Theirry stared about him and saw in one part of the universal darkness +a small light with a misty halo about it, slowly coming nearer. + +“A traveller,” said Theirry. “Now shall he see us or no?” + +“Belike he would show us on our way,” whispered Dirk. + +“If he be not from the college.” + +“Nay, he rides.” + +They could hear now, through the monotonous noise of the rain, the +sound of a horse slowly, cautiously advancing; the light swung and +flickered in a changing oval that revealed faintly a man holding it +and a horseman whose bridle he caught with the other hand. + +They came at a walking pace, for the path was unequal and slippery, +and the illumination afforded by the lantern feeble at best. + +“I will accost him,” said Theirry. + +“If he demand who we are?” + +“Half the truth then--we have left the college because of a fight.” + +The horseman and his attendant were now quite close; the light showed +the overgrown path they came upon, the wet foliage either side and the +slanting silver rain; Theirry stepped out before them. + +“Sir,” he said, “know you of any habitation other than the town of +Basle?” + +The rider was wrapped in a mantle to his chin and wore a pointed felt +hat; he looked sharply under this at his questioner. + +“My own,” he said, and halted his horse. “A third of a league from +here.” + +At first he had seemed fearful of robbers, for his hand had sought the +knife in his belt; but now he took it away and stared curiously, +attracted by the student’s dress and the obvious beauty of the young +man who was looking straight at him with dark, challenging eyes. + +“We should be indebted for your hospitality--even the shelter of your +barns,” said Theirry. + +The horseman’s glance travelled to Dirk, shivering in his silk. + +“Clerks from the college?” he questioned. + +“Yea,” answered Theirry. “We were. But I sorely wounded one in a fight +and fled. My comrade chose to follow me.” + +The stranger touched up his horse. + +“Certes, you may come with me. I wot there is room enow.” + +Theirry caught Dirk by the arm. + +“Sir, we are thankful,” he answered. + +The light held by the servant showed a muddy, twisting path, the +shining wet trunks, the glistening leaves either side, the great brown +horse, steaming and passive, with his bright scarlet trappings and his +rider muffled in a mantle to the chin; Dirk looked at man and horse +quickly in silence; Theirry spoke. + +“It is an ill night to be abroad.” + +“I have been in the town,” answered the stranger, “buying silks for my +lady. And you--so you killed a man?” + +“He is not dead,” answered Theirry. “But we shall never return to the +college.” + +The horseman had a soft and curiously pleasing voice; he spoke as if +he cared nothing what he said or how he was answered. + +“Where will you go?” he asked. + +“To Frankfort,” said Theirry. + +“The Emperor is there now, though he leaves for Rome within the year, +they say,” remarked the horseman, “and the Empress. Have you seen the +Empress?” + +Theirry put back the boughs that trailed across the path. + +“No,” he said. + +“Of what town are you?” + +“Courtrai.” + +“The Empress was there a year ago--and you did not see her? One of the +wonders of the world, they say, the Empress.” + +“I have heard of her,” said Dirk, speaking for the first time. “But, +sir, we go not to Frankfort to see the Empress.” + +“Likely ye do not,” answered the horseman, and was silent. + +They cleared the wood and were crossing a sloping space of grass, the +rain full in their faces; then they again struck a well-worn path, now +leading upwards among scattered rocks. + +As they must wait for the horse to get a foothold on the slippery +stones, for the servant to go ahead and cast the lantern light across +the blackness, their progress was slow, but neither of the three spoke +until they halted before a gate in a high wall that appeared to rise +up, suddenly before them, out of the night. + +The servant handed the lantern to his master and clanged the bell that +hung beside the gate. + +Theirry could see by the massive size of the buttresses that flanked +the entrance that it was a large castle the night concealed from him; +the dwelling, certainly, of some great noble. + +The gates were opened by two men carrying lights. The horseman rode +through, the two students at his heels. + +“Tell my lady,” said he to one of the men, “that I bring two who +desire her hospitality;” he turned and spoke over his shoulder to +Theirry, “I am the steward here, my lady is very gentle-hearted.” + +They crossed a courtyard and found themselves before the square door +of the donjon. + +Dirk looked at Theirry, but he kept his eyes lowered and was markedly +silent; their guide dismounted, gave the reins to one of the varlets +who hung about the door, and commanded them to follow him. + +The door opened straight on to a large chamber the entire size of the +donjon; it was lit by torches stuck into the wall and fastened by iron +clamps; a number of men stood or sat about, some in a livery of bright +golden-coloured and blue cloth, others in armour or hunting attire; +one or two were pilgrims with the cockle-shells round their hats. + +The steward passed through this company, who saluted him with but +little attention to his companions, and ascended a flight of stairs +set in the wall at the far end; these were steep, damp and gloomy, ill +lit by a lamp placed in the niche of the one narrow deep-set window; +Dirk shuddered in his soaked clothes; the steward was unfastening his +mantle; it left trails of wet on the cold stone steps; Theirry marked +it, he knew not why. + +At the top of the stairs they paused on a small stone landing. + +“Who is your lady?” asked Theirry. + +“Jacobea of Martzburg, the Emperor’s ward,” answered the steward. He +had taken off his mantle and his hat, and showed himself to be young +and dark, plainly dressed in a suit of deep rose colour, with high +boots, spurred, and a short sword in his belt. + +As he opened the door Dirk whispered to Theirry, “It is the lady--ye +met to-day?” + +“To-day!” breathed Theirry. “Yea, it is the lady.” + +They entered by a little door and stepped into an immense chamber; the +great size of the place was emphasised by the bareness of it and the +dim shifting light that fell from the circles of candles hanging from +the roof; facing them, in the opposite wall, was a high arched window, +faintly seen in the shadows, to the left a huge fire-place with a +domed top meeting the wooden supports of the lofty beamed roof, beside +this a small door stood open on a flight of steps and beyond were two +windows, deep set and furnished with stone seats. + +The brick walls were hung with tapestries of a dull purple and gold +colour, the beams of the ceiling painted; at the far end was a table, +and in the centre of the hearth lay a slender white boarhound, asleep. + +So vast was the chamber and so filled with shadows that it seemed as +if empty save for the dog; but Theirry, after a second discerned the +figures of two ladies in the furthest window-seat. + +The steward crossed to them and the students followed. + +One lady sat back in the niched seat, her feet on the stone ledge, her +arm along the window-sill; she wore a brown dress shot with gold +thread, and behind her and along the seat hung and lay draperies of +blue and purple; on her lap rested a small grey cat, asleep. + +The other lady sat along the floor on cushions of crimson and yellow; +her green dress was twisted tight about her feet and she stitched a +scarlet lily on a piece of red samite. + +“This is the chatelaine,” said the steward; the lady in the +window-seat turned her head; it was Jacobea of Martzburg, as Theirry +had known since his eyes first rested on her. “And this is my wife, +Sybilla.” + +Both women looked at the strangers. + +“These are your guests until to-morrow, my lady,” said the steward. + +Jacobea leant forward. + +“Oh!” she exclaimed, and flushed faintly. “Why, you are welcome.” + +Theirry found it hard to speak; he cursed the chance that had made him +beholden to her hospitality. + +“We are leaving the college,” he answered, not looking at her. “And +for to-night could find no shelter.” + +“Meeting them I brought them here,” added the steward. + +“You did well, Sebastian, surely,” answered Jacobea. “Will it please +you sit, sirs?” + +It seemed that she would leave it at that, with neither question nor +comment, but Sybilla, the steward’s wife, looked up smiling from her +embroidery. + +“Now wherefore left you the college, on foot on a wet night?” she +said. + +“I killed a man--or nearly,” answered Theirry curtly. + +Jacobea looked at her steward. + +“Are they not wet, Sebastian?” + +“I am well enough,” said Theirry quickly; he unclasped his mantle. +“Certes, under this I am dry.” + +“That am not I!” cried Dirk. + +At the sound of his voice both women looked at him; he stood apart +from the others and his great eyes were fixed on Jacobea. + +“The rain has cut me to the skin,” he said, and Theirry crimsoned for +shame at his complaining tone. + +“It is true,” answered Jacobea courteously. “Sebastian, will you not +take the gentle clerk to a chamber--we have enough empty, I wot--and +give him another habit?” + +“Mine are too large,” said the steward in his indifferent voice. + +“The youth will fall with an ague,” remarked his wife. “Give him +something, Sebastian, I warrant he will not quarrel about the fit.” + +Sebastian turned to the open door beside the fireplace. + +“Follow him, fair sir,” said Jacobea gently; Dirk bent his head and +ascended the stairs after the steward. + +The chatelaine pulled a red bell-rope that hung close to her, and a +page in the gold and blue livery came after a while; she gave him +instructions in a low voice; he picked up Theirry’s wet mantle, set +him a carved chair and left. + +Theirry seated himself; he was alone with the two women and they were +silent, not looking at him; a sense of distraction, of uneasiness was +over him--he wished that he was anywhere but here, sitting a dumb +suppliant in this woman’s presence. + +Furtively he observed her--her clinging gown, her little velvet shoes +beneath the hem of it, her long white hands resting on the soft grey +fur of the cat on her knee, her yellow hair, knotted on her neck, and +her lovely, meek face. + +Then he noticed the steward’s wife, Sybilla; she was pale, of a type +not greatly admired or belauded, but gorgeous, perhaps, to the taste +of some; her russet red hair was splendid in its gleam through the +gold net that confined it; her mouth was a beautiful shape and colour, +but her brows were too thick, her skin too pale and her blue eyes over +bright and hard. + +Theirry’s glance came back to Jacobea; his pride rose that she did not +speak to him, but sat there idle as if she had forgotten him; words +rose to his lips, but he checked them and was mute, flushing now and +then as she moved in her place and still did not speak. + +Presently the steward returned and took his place on a chair between +Theirry and his wife, for no reason save that it happened to be there, +it seemed. + +He played with the tagged laces on his sleeves and said nothing. + +The mysterious atmosphere of the place stole over Theirry with a sense +of the portentous; he felt that something was brooding over these +quiet people who did not speak to each other, something intangible yet +horrible; he clasped his hands together and stared at Jacobea. + +Sebastian spoke at last. + +“You go to Frankfort?” + +“Yea,” answered Theirry. + +“We also, soon, do we not, Sebastian?” said Jacobea. + +“You will go to the court,” said Theirry. + +“I am the Emperor’s ward,” she answered. + +Again there was silence; only the sound of the silk drawn through the +samite as Sybilla stitched the red lily; her husband was watching her; +Theirry glancing at him saw his face fully for the first time, and was +half startled. + +It was a passionate face, in marked contrast with his voice; a dark +face with a high arched nose and long black eyes; a strange face. + +“How quiet the castle is to-night,” said Jacobea; her voice seemed to +faint beneath the weight of the stillness. + +“There is noise enough below,” answered Sebastian, “but we cannot hear +it.” + +The page returned, carrying a salver bearing tall glasses of wine, +which he offered to Theirry, then to the steward. + +Theirry felt the green glass cold to his fingers and shuddered; was +that sense of something awful impending only matter of his own mind, +stored of late with terrible images? + +What was the matter with these people… Jacobea had seemed so different +this afternoon… he tasted the wine; it burnt and stung his lips, his +tongue, and sent the blood to his face.… + +“It still rains,” said Jacobea; she put her hand out of the open +window and brought it back wet. + +“But it is hot,” said Sybilla. + +Once more the heavy silence; the page took back the glasses and left +the room. + +Then the door beside the fire-place was pushed open and Dirk entered +softly into the mute company. + + + + + CHAPTER IX. + SEBASTIAN + +He wore a flame-coloured mantle that hung about him in heavy folds, +and under that a tight yellow doublet; his hair drooped smoothly, +there was a bright colour in his face, and his eyes sparkled. + +“Ye are merry,” he mocked, glancing round him. “Will you that I play +or sing?” He looked, in his direct burning way at Jacobea, and she +answered hastily-- + +“Certes, with all my heart--the air is hot--and thick--to-night.” + +Dirk laughed, and Theirry stared at him bewildered, so utterly had his +demeanour changed; he was gay now, radiant; he leant against the wall +in the centre of them and glanced from one silent face to another. + +“I can play rarely,” he smiled. + +Jacobea took an instrument from among the cushions in the window-seat; +it was red, with a heart-shaped body, a long neck and three strings. + +“You can play this?” she asked in a half-frightened manner. + +“Ay.” Dirk came forward and took it. “I will sing you a fine tune, +surely.” + +Theirry was something of a musician himself, but he had never heard +that Dirk had any such skill; he said nothing, however; a sense of +helplessness was upon him; the atmosphere of gloom and horror that he +felt held him chained and gagged. + +Dirk returned to his place against the wall; Sybilla had dropped the +red lily on to her lap; they were all looking at him. + +“I will sing you the tune of a foolish lady,” he smiled. + +His shadow was heavy on the wall behind him; the dark purple hues of +the tapestry threw into brilliant relief the flame hues of his robe +and the clear pale colour of his strange face; he held the instrument +across his knees and commenced playing on it with the long bow Jacobea +had given him; an irregular quick melody arose, harsh and jeering. + +After he had played a while he began to sing, but in a chant under his +breath, so that the quality of his voice was not heard. + +He sang strange meaningless words at first; the four listening sat +very still; only Sybilla had picked up her sewing, and her fingers +rose and fell steadily as the bodkin glittered over the red lily. + +Theirry hid his face in his hands; he hated the place, the woman +quietly sewing, the dark-faced man beside him; he even hated the image +of Jacobea, that he saw, as clearly as if he looked at her, brightly +before him. + +Dirk broke into a little doggerel rhyme, every word of which was hard +and clear. + + + “The turkis in my fine spun hair + Was brought to me from Barbarie. + My pointed shield is rouge and vair, + Where mullets three shine royallie. + + Now if he guessed, + He need not wait in poor estate, + But on his breast + Wear all my state and be my mate. + + For sick for very love am I, + My heart is weak to kiss his cheek; + But he is low, and I am high, + I cannot speak, for I am weak.” + + +Jacobea put the cat among the cushions and rose; she had a curious set +smile on her lips. + +“Do you call that the rhyme of a foolish lady?” she asked. + +“Ay, for if she had offered her love, surely it had not been refused,” +answered Dirk, dragging the bow across the strings. + +“You think so?” said Jacobea in a shrinking tone. + +“Mark you, she was a rich lady,” smiled Dirk, “and fair enough, and +young and gentle, and he was poor; so I think, if she had not been so +foolish, she might have been his second wife.” + +At these words Theirry looked up; he saw Jacobea standing in a +bewildered fashion, as if she knew not whether to go or stay, and in +her eyes an unmistakable look of amazement and horror. + +“The rhyme said nothing of the first wife,” remarked Sybilla, without +looking up from the red lily. + +“The rhyme says very little,” answered Dirk. “It is an old story--the +squire had a wife, but if the lady had told her love belike he had +found himself a widower.” + +Jacobea touched the steward’s wife on the shoulder. + +“Dear heart,” she said, “I am weary--very weary with doing nought. And +it is late--and the place strange--to-night--at least”--she gave a +trembling smile--“I feel it--strange--so--good even.” + +Sybilla rose, Jacobea’s lips touched her on the forehead. + +The steward watched them; Jacobea, the taller of the two, stooping to +kiss his wife. + +Theirry got to his feet; the chatelaine raised her head and looked +towards him. + +“To-morrow I will bid you God speed, sirs;” her blue eyes glanced +aside at Dirk, who had moved to the door by the fire-place, and held +it open for her; she looked back at Theirry, then round in silence and +coloured swiftly. + +Sybilla glanced at the sand clock against the wall. + +“Yea, it is near midnight. I will come with you.” + +She put her arm round Jacobea’s waist, and smiled backwards over her +shoulder at Theirry; so they went, the sound of their garments on the +stairs making a faint soft noise; the little cat rose from her +cushions, stretched herself, and followed them. + +Sebastian picked up the red silk lily that his wife had flung down on +the cushions; the candles were guttering to the iron sockets, making +the light in the chamber still dimmer, the corners still more deeply +obscured with waving shadows. + +“You know your chamber,” said the steward to Dirk. “You will find me +here in the morning. Good-night.” + +He took a bunch of keys from his belt and swung them in his hand. + +“Good-night,” said Theirry heavily. + +Dirk smiled, and threw himself into the vacated window-seat. + +The steward crossed the room to the door by which they had entered; he +did not look back, though both were watching him; the door closed +after him violently, and they were alone in the vast darkening hall. + +“This is fine hospitality,” sneered Dirk. “Is there none to light us +to our chamber?” + +Theirry walked to and fro with an irregular agitated step. + +“What was that song of yours?” he asked. “What did you mean? What ails +this place and these people? She never looked at me.” + +Dirk pulled at the strings of the instrument he still held; they +emitted little wailing sounds. + +“She is pretty, your chatelaine,” he said. “I did not think to see her +so soon. You love her--or you might love her.” + +His bright eyes glanced across the shadowy space between them. + +“Ye mock and sneer at me,” answered Theirry hotly, “because she is a +great dame. I do not love her, and yet----” + +“And yet----?” goaded Dirk. + +“If our arts can do anything for us--could they not--if I wished +it--some day--get this lady for me?” + +He paused, his hand to his pale brow. + +“You shall never have her,” said Dirk, biting his under lip. + +Theirry turned on him violently. + +“You cannot tell. Of what use to serve Evil for nought?” + +“Ye have done with remorse belike?” mocked Dirk. “Ye have ceased to +long for priests and holy water?” + +“Ay,” said Theirry recklessly, “I shall not falter again--I will take +these means--any means----” + +“To attain--her?” Dirk got up from the window-seat and rose to his +full height. + +Theirry gave him a sick look. + +“I will not bandy taunts with you. I must sleep a little.” + +“They have given us the first chamber ye come to, ascending those +stairs,” answered Dirk quietly. “There is a lamp, and the door is set +open. Good-night.” + +“You will not come?” asked Theirry sullenly. + +“Nay. I will sleep here.” + +“Why? You are strange to-night.” + +Dirk smiled unpleasantly. + +“There is a reason. A good reason. Get to bed.” + +Theirry left him without an answer, and closed the door upon him. + +When he had gone, and there was no longer a sound of his footstep, a +rustle of the arras to tell he had been, a great change swept over +Dirk’s face; a look of agony, of distraction contorted his proud +features, he paced softly here and there, twisting his hands together +and lifting his eyes blindly to the painted ceiling. + +Half the candles had flickered out; the others smoked and flared in +the sockets; the rain dripping on the window-sill without made an +insistent sound. + +Dirk paused before the vast bare hearth. + +“He shall never have her,” he said in a low, steady voice as if he saw +and argued with some personage facing him. “No. You will prevent it. +Have I not served you well? Ever since I left the convent? Did you not +promise me great power--as the black letters of the forbidden books +swam before my eyes; did I not hear you whispering, whispering?” + +He turned about as though following a movement in the person he spoke +to, and shivered. + +“I will keep my comrade. Do you hear me? Did you send me here to +prevent it?--they seemed to know you were at my elbow +to-night--hush!--one comes!” + +He fell back against the wall, his finger on his lips, his other hand +clutching the arras behind him. + +“Hush!” he repeated. + +The door at the far end of the chamber was slowly opened; a man +stepped in and cautiously closed it; a little cry of triumph rose to +Dirk’s lips, but he repressed it and gave a glance into the pulsating +shadows as if he communicated with some mysterious companion. + +It was Sebastian who had entered; he looked swiftly round, and seeing +Dirk, came towards him. + +In the steward’s hand was a little cresset lamp; the clear, +heart-shaped flame illuminated his dark face and his pink habit; his +eyes looked over this light in a burning way at Dirk. + +“So--you are not abed?” he said. + +There was more than the aimless comment in his tone, an expectation, +an excitement. + +“You came to find me,” answered Dirk. “Why?” + +Sebastian set the lamp on a little bracket by the window; he put his +hand to his neck, loosening his doublet, and looked away. + +“It is very hot,” he said in a low voice. “I cannot rest. I feel +to-night as I have never felt--I think the cause is with you--what you +said has distracted me;” he turned his head. “Who are you? What did +you mean?” + +“You know,” answered Dirk, “what I am--a poor student from Basle +college. And in your heart you know what I meant.” + +Sebastian stared at him a moment. + +“God! But how could you discern--even if it be true?--you, a stranger. +But now I think of it, belike there is reason in it--certes, she has +shown me favour.” + +Dirk smiled. + +“’Tis a rich lady, her husband would be a noble, think of it.” + +“What ye put into me!” cried Sebastian in a distracted voice. “That I +should talk thus to a prating boy! But the thought clings and +burns--and surely ye are wise.” + +Dirk, still leaning against the wall, smoothed the arras with delicate +fingers. + +“Surely I am wise. Well skilled in difficult sciences am I, and quick +to see--and understand--take this for your hospitality, sir +steward--watch your mistress.” + +Sebastian put his hand to his head. + +“I have a wife.” + +Dirk laughed. + +“Will she live for ever?” + +Sebastian looked at him and stammered, as if some sudden sight of +terror seared his eyes. + +“There--there is witchcraft in this--your meaning----” + +“Think of it!” flashed Dirk. “Remember it! Ye get no more from me.” + +The steward stood quite still, gazing at him. + +“I think that I have lost my wits to-night,” he said in a low voice. +“I do not know what I came down to you for--nor whence come these +strange thoughts.” + +Dirk nodded his head; a small, slow smile trembled on the corners of +his lips. + +“Perchance I shall see you in Frankfort, sir steward.” + +Sebastian caught at the words with eagerness. + +“Yea--I go there with--my lady----” He stopped blankly. + +“As yet,” said Dirk, “I know neither my dwelling there nor the name I +shall assume. But you--if I need to I shall find you at the Emperor’s +court?” + +“Yea,” answered Sebastian; then, reluctantly, “What should you want +with me?” + +“Will it not be you who may need me?” smiled Dirk. “I, who have +to-night put thoughts into your brain that you will not forget?” + +Sebastian turned about quickly, and caught up the cresset lamp. + +“I will see you before you go,” he whispered, horror in his face. +“Yea, on the morrow I shall desire more speech with you.” + +Like a man afraid, in terror of himself, filled with a dread of his +companion, Sebastian, the pure flame of the lamp quivering with the +shaking of his hand, crossed the long chamber and left by the door +through which he had entered. + +Dirk gave a half-suppressed shiver of excitement; the candles had +mostly burnt out; the hall seemed monstrous in the gusty, straggling +light. He crept to the window; the rain had ceased, and he looked out +on a hot starless darkness, disturbed by no sound. + +He shivered again, closed the window and flung himself along the +cushions in the niched seat. Lying there, where Jacobea had sat, he +thought of her; she was more present to his mind than all the crowded +incidents of the past day; his afternoon passed in the sunny library, +his evening before the beautiful witch fire, the wild escape into the +night, the flight through the wet forest, the sombre arrival at the +castle, were but flitting backgrounds to the slim figure of the +chatelaine. + +Certainly she had a potent personality; she was exquisite, a thing +shut away in sweet fragrancy. He thought of her as an ivory pyx filled +with red flowers; there were her trembling passionate emotions, her +modest secrets, that she guarded delicately. + +It was his intention to tear open this tabernacle to wrench from her +her treasures and scatter them among blood and ruin; he meant to bring +her to utter destruction; not her body, perhaps, but her soul. + +And this because she had interfered with the one being on earth he +cared about--Theirry; not because he hated her for herself. + +“How beautiful she is!” he said aloud, almost tenderly. + +The last candle fluttered up and sank out; Dirk, lying luxuriously +among the cushions, looked into the complete blackness with +half-closed eyes. + +“How beautiful!” he repeated; he felt he could have loved her himself; +he thought of her now, lying in her white bed, her hair unbound; he +wished himself kneeling beside her, caressing those yellow locks; a +desire possessed him to touch her curls, her soft cheek, to have her +hand in his and hear her laugh; surely she was a sweet thing, made to +be loved. + +Yet the power that had brought him here to-night had made plain that +if he did not take the chance of her destruction set in his way, she +would win Theirry from him for ever. + +He had made the first move; in the dark face of Sebastian the steward +he had seen the beginning of--the end. + +But thinking of her he felt the tears come to his eyes; suddenly he +fell into weary weeping, thinking of her, and sobbed sadly, face +downwards, on the cushion. + +Her yellow hair, mostly he thought of that, her long, fine, soft, +yellow hair, and how, before the end, it would be trailing in the dust +of despair and humiliation. + +Presently he laughed at himself for his tears, and drying them, fell +asleep; and awoke from blank dreamlessness to hear his name ringing in +his ears. He sat up in the window-seat. + +His eyes were hot with his late tears; the misty blue light of dawn +that he found about him hurt them; he shrank from this light that came +in a clear shaft through the arched window, and, crouching away from +it, saw Theirry standing close to him, Theirry, fully dressed and +pale, looking at him earnestly. + +“Dirk, we must go now. I cannot stay any longer in this place.” + +Dirk, leaning his head against the cushions, said nothing, impressed +anew with his friend’s beauty. How fine and fair a thing Theirry’s +face was in the colourless early light; in hue and line splendid, in +expression wild and pained. + +“I could not sleep much,” continued Theirry. “I do not want to see +them--her--again--not like this--get up, Dirk--why did you not come to +bed? I wanted your company--things were haunting me.” + +“Mostly her face?” breathed Dirk. + +“Ay,” said Theirry sombrely. “Mostly her face.” + +Dirk was silent again; was not her loveliness the counterpart of his +friend’s?--he imagined them together--close--touching hands, lips--and +as he pictured this he grew paler. + +“The castle is open, there are varlets abroad,” cried Theirry. “Let us +go--supposing--oh, my heart! supposing one came from the college to +look for us!” + +Dirk considered; he reflected that he had no desire to meet Sebastian +again; he had said all he wished to. + +“Let us go,” he assented; his one regret was that he should not see +again the delicate face crowned with the yellow hair. + +He rose from the seat and shook out his borrowed flame-coloured +mantle, then he closed his tired eyes as he stood, for a very +exquisite sensation rushed over him; nothing had come between him and +his friend; Theirry of his own choice had roused him--wanting +him--they were to go forth together alone. + + + + + CHAPTER X. + THE SAINT + +They were wandering through the forest in an endeavour to find the +high road; the sun, nearly at its full strength, dazzled through the +pines and traced figures of gold on the path they followed. + +Theirry was silent; they were hungry, without money or any hope of +procuring any, fatigued with the rough walking through the heat, and +also, it seemed, lost; these facts were ever present to his mind; +also, every step was taking him further away from Jacobea of +Martzburg, and he longed to see her again, to make her notice him, +speak to him; yet of his own desire he had left her castle +ungraciously; these things held him bitterly silent. + +But Dirk, though he was pale and weary, kept a light joyous heart; he +had trust in the master he was serving. + +“We shall be helped yet,” he said. “Were we not hopeless last night +when one came and gave us shelter?” + +Theirry did not answer. + +The forest grew up the base of the mountain chain, and after a while, +walking steadily, they came out upon a gorge some landslip had torn, +uprooting trees and hurling aside rocks; over this bare space harshly +cleared, water rippled and dripped, finding its way through fern-grown +rocks and boulders until it fell into a little stream that ran across +the open space of grass and was lost in the shadow of the trees. + +By the side of it, on the pleasant stretch of grass, a small white +horse was browsing, and a man sat near, on one of the uprooted pines. + +The two students paused and contemplated him; he was a monk in a +blue-grey habit; his face was infinitely sweet; with his hands clasped +in his lap and his head a little raised he gazed with large, peaceful +eyes through the shifting fir boughs to the blue sky beyond them. + +“Of what use he!” said Theirry bitterly; since the Church had hurled +him out the Devil was gaining such sure possession of his soul that he +loathed all things holy. + +“Nay,” said Dirk, with a little smile. “We will speak to him.” + +The monk, hearing their voices, looked round and fixed on them a calm +smiling gaze. + +“Dominus det nobis suam pacem,” he said. + +Dirk replied instantly. + +“Et vitam aeternam. Amen.” + +“We have missed our way,” said Theirry curtly. + +The monk rose and stood in a courteous, humble position. + +“Can you put us on the high road, my father?” asked Dirk. + +“Surely!” The monk glanced at the weary face of his questioner. “I am +myself travelling from town to town, my son. And know this country +well. Will you not rest a while?” + +“Ay.” Dirk came down the slope and flung himself along the grass; +Theirry, half sullen, followed. + +“Ye are both weary and in lack of food,” said the monk gently. “Praise +be to the angels that I have wherewithal to aid ye.” + +He opened one of the leather bags resting against the fallen tree, +took out a loaf, a knife and a cup, cut the bread and gave them a +portion each, then filled the cup from the clear dripping water. + +They disdained thanks for such miserable fare and ate in silence. + +Theirry, when he had finished, asked for the remainder of the loaf and +devoured that; Dirk was satisfied with his allowance, but he drank +greedily of the beautiful water. + +“Ye have come from Basle?” asked the monk. + +Dirk nodded. + +“And we go to Frankfort.” + +“A long way,” said the monk cheerfully. “And on foot, but a pleasant +journey, certes.” + +“Who are you, my father?” asked Theirry abruptly. “I saw you in +Courtrai, surely.” + +“I am Ambrose of Menthon,” answered the monk. “And I have preached in +Courtrai. To the glory of God.” + +Both students knew the name of Saint Ambrose. + +Theirry flushed uneasily. + +“What do you here, father?” he asked. “I thought you were in Rome.” + +“I have returned,” replied the saint humbly. “It came to me that I +could serve Christus”--he crossed himself--“better here. If God His +angel will it I desire to build a monastery up yonder--above the +snow.” + +He pointed through the trees towards the mountains; his eyes, that +were blue-grey, the colour of his habit, sparkled softly. + +“A house to God His glory,” he murmured. “In the whiteness of the +snows. That is my intent.” + +“How will you attain it, holy sir?” questioned Theirry. + +Saint Ambrose did not seem to notice the mocking tone. + +“I have,” he said, “already considerable moneys. I beg in the great +castles, and they are generous to God His poor servant. We, my +brethren and I, have sold some land. I return to them now with much +gold. Deo gratias.” + +As he spoke there was such a pure sweetness in his fair face that +Theirry turned away abashed, but Dirk, lying on his side and pulling +up the grass, answered-- + +“Are you not afraid of robbers, my father?” + +The saint smiled. + +“Nay; God His money is sacred even unto the evil-doer. Surely I fear +nothing.” + +“There is much wickedness in the heart of man,” said Dirk. And he also +smiled. + +“Judge with charity,” answered Ambrose of Menthon. “There is also much +goodness. You speak, my son, with seeming bitterness which showeth a +soul not yet at peace. The wages of the world are worthless, but God +giveth immortality.” + +He rose and began fastening the saddle bags on the pony; as his back +was turned Theirry and Dirk exchanged a quick look. + +Dirk rose from the grass and spoke. + +“May we, my father, come with you, as we know not the way?” + +“Surely!” The saint looked at them, his eyes fixed half yearningly on +Theirry’s beautiful face. “Ye are most welcome to my poor company.” + +The little procession started through the pine forest; Ambrose of +Menthon, erect, spare, walking lightly with untroubled face and +leading the white pony, burdened with the saddle bags containing the +gold; Theirry, sombre, silent, striding beside him, and Dirk, a little +behind, in his flame-coloured mantle, his eyes bright in a weary face. + +Saint Ambrose spoke, beautifully, on common things; he spoke of birds, +of St. Hieronymus and his writings, of Jovinian and his enemy Ambrose +of Milan, of Rufinus and Pelagius the Briton, of Vigilantius and +violets, with which flowers, he said, the first court of Paradise was +paved. + +Dirk answered with a learning, both sacred and profane, that surprised +the monk; he knew all these writers, all the fathers of the Church and +many others, he quoted from them in different tongues; he knew Pagan +philosophies and the history of the old world; he argued theology like +a priest and touched on geometry, mathematics, astrology. + +“Ye have a vast knowledge,” said Saint Ambrose, amazed; and in his +heart Theirry was jealous. + +And so they came, towards evening, on to the road and saw in a valley +beneath them a little town. + +All three halted. + +The Angelus was ringing, the sound came sweetly up the valley. + +Saint Ambrose sank on his knees and bowed his head; the students fell +back among the trees. + +“Well?” whispered Dirk. + +“It is our chance,” frowned Theirry in the same tone. “I have been +thinking of it all day----” + +“I also; there is much money.…” + +“We could get it without… blood?” + +“Surely, but if need be even that.” + +Their eyes met; in the pleasant green shade they saw each other’s +excited faces. + +“It is God His money,” murmured Theirry. + +“What matter for that, if the Devil be stronger?” + +“Hush! the Angelus ends.” + +“Now--we join him.” + +They sank on their knees, to rise as the saint got to his feet and +glanced about him; at the edge of the wood they joined him and looked +down at the town below. + +“Now we can find our way,” said Dirk in a firm, suddenly changed +voice. + +Ambrose of Menthon considered him over the little white pony. + +“Will you not bear me company into the town?” he asked wistfully; he +did not notice that Theirry had slipped behind him. + +Dirk’s eyes flashed a signal to his companion. + +“We will into the town,” he said, “but without thy company, Sir Saint, +now!” + +Theirry flung his mantle from behind and twisted it tightly over the +monk’s head and face, causing him to stagger backwards; Dirk rushed, +seized his thin hands, and strapped them together with the leather +belt he had just loosened from his waist, and between them they +dragged him into the trees. + +“My ears are weary of thy tedious talk,” said Theirry viciously, “my +eyes of thy sickly face.” + +They took the straps from the pony and bound their victim to a tree; +it was an easy matter, for he made no resistance and no sound came +from under the mantle twisted over his face. + +“There is much evil in the heart of man,” mocked Dirk. “And much +folly, oh, guileless, in the hearts of saints!” + +Having seen to it that he was securely fastened the two returned to +the pony and examined their plunder. + +In one bag there were parchments, books, and a knotted rope, in the +other numerous little linen sacks of varying sizes. + +These they turned out upon the grass and swiftly unfastened the +strings. + +Gold--each one filled with gold, fine, shining coins with the head of +the Emperor glittering on them. + +Dirk retied the sacks and replaced them in the saddle bags; neither of +them had seen so much gold together before; because of it they were +silent and a little trembling. + +Theirry, as he heard the good yellow money chink together, felt his +last qualms go; for the first time since he had entered into league +with the spirits of evil he had plain evidence it was a fine thing to +have the Devil on his side. A stupefying pleasure and exaltation came +over him, he did not doubt that Satan had sent this saintly man their +way, and he was grateful; to find himself possessed of this amount of +money was a greater delight than any he had known, even a more +delightful thing than seeing Jacobea of Martzburg lean across the +stream towards him. + +As they reloaded the pony, managing as best they might without the +straps, Dirk fell to laughing. + +“I will get my mantle,” said Theirry; he went up to Ambrose of +Menthon, telling himself he was not afraid of meeting the saint’s +eyes, and unwound the heavy mantle from his head. + +The saint sank together like the dead. + +Dirk still laughed, mounted on the white pony, flourishing a stick. + +“The fellow has swooned,” said Theirry, bewildered. + +“Well,” answered Dirk over his shoulder, “you can bring the straps, +which we need, surely.” + +Theirry unfastened the monk and laid his slack body on the grass; as +he did so he saw that the grey habit was stained with blood, there was +wet blood, too, on the straps. + +“Now what is this?” he cried, and bent over the unconscious man to see +where he was wounded. + +His searching hand came upon cold iron under the rough robe; Ambrose +of Menthon wore a girdle lined with sharp points, that at every +movement must have been torture, and that, at their brutal binding of +him, had entered his flesh with an agony unbearable. + +“Make haste!” cried Dirk. + +Theirry straightened his back and looked down at the sweet face of +Saint Ambrose; he wished that their victim had cried out or moaned, +his silence being a hard thing to think of--and he must have been in a +pain.… + +“Be quick!” urged Dirk. + +Theirry joined him. + +“What shall we do with--that man?” he said awkwardly; his blood was +burning, leaping. + +“’Tis a case for the angels, not for us,” answered Dirk. “But if ye +feel tenderly (and certainly he was pleasant to us) we can tell, in +the town, that we found him. ‘Deo gratias,’” he mocked the saintly, +low calm voice, but Theirry did not laugh. + +A splendid yellow sunset was shimmering in their eyes as they came +slowly down into the valley and passed through the white street of the +little town. + +They visited the hostel, fed the white pony there and recounted how +they had seen a monk in the wood they had just traversed, whether +unconscious in prayer or for want of breath they had not the leisure +to examine. + +Then they went on their way, eschewing, by common consent this time, +the accommodation of the homely inn, and taking with them a basket of +the best food the town afforded. + +Clearing the scattered cottages they gained the heights again and +paused on the grassy borders of a mighty wood that spread either side +the high road. + +There they spread a banquet very different from the saint’s poor +repast; they had yellow wine, red wine, baked meats, cakes, jellies, a +heron and a basket of grapes, all bought with the gold Ambrose of +Menthon had toiled to collect to build God’s house amid the snows. + +Arranging these things on the soft grass they sat in the pleasant +shade, luxuriously, and laughed at each other over their food. + +The heavens were perfectly clear, there was no cloud in all the great +dome of sky, and, reflecting on the night before, and how they had +stood shivering in the wet, they laughed the more. + +Then were they penniless, with neither hope nor prospect and in danger +of pursuit. Now they were on the high road with more gold in their +possession than they had ever seen before, with a horse to carry their +burdens, and good food and delicate wine before them. + +Their master had proved worth serving. They toasted him in the wine +bought with God His money and made merry over it; they did not mention +Ambrose of Menthon. + +Dirk was supremely happy; everything about him was a keen delight, the +fragrant perfume of the pine woods, the dark purple depths of them, +the bright green grass, the sky changing into a richer colour as the +sun faded, the mountain peaks tinged with pearly rose, the whole +beautiful, silent prospect and his comrade looking at him with a smile +on his fair face. + +A troop of white mountain goats driven by a shepherd boy went past, +they were the only living things they saw. + +Dirk watched them going towards the town, then he said-- + +“The chatelaine… Jacobea of Martzburg----” he broke off. “Do you +remember, the first night we met, what we saw in the mirror? A woman, +was it not? Her face--have you forgotten it?” + +“Nay,” answered Theirry, suddenly sombre. + +Dirk turned to look at him closely. + +“It was not Jacobea, was it?” + +“It was utterly different,” said Theirry. “No, she was not Jacobea.” + +He propped a musing face on his hand and stared down at the grass. + +Dirk did not speak again, and after a while of silence Theirry slept. + +With a start he woke, but lay without moving, his eyes closed; some +one was singing, and it was so beautiful that he feared to move lest +it should be in his dreams only that he heard it. + +A woman’s voice, and she sang loud and clearly, in a passion of joyous +gaiety; her notes mounted like birds flying up a mountain, then sank +like snowflakes softly descending. + +After a while the wordless song died away and Theirry sat up, +quivering, in a maze of joy. + +“Who is that?” he called, his eager eyes searching the twilight. + +No one… nothing but the insignificant figure of Dirk, who sat at the +edge of the wood gazing at the stars. + +“I dreamt it,” said Theirry bitterly, and cursed his waking. + + + + + CHAPTER XI. + THE WITCH + +In a back street of the city of Frankfort stood an old one-storied +house, placed a little apart from the others, and surrounded by a +beautiful garden. + +Here lived Nathalie, a woman more than suspected of being a witch, but +of such outward quiet and secretive ways that there never had been the +slightest excuse for even those most convinced of her real character +to interfere with her. + +She was from the East--Syria, Egypt or Persia; no one could remember +her first coming to Frankfort, nor how she had become possessed of the +house where she dwelt; her means of livelihood were also a mystery. It +was guessed that she made complexion washes and dyes supplied secretly +to the great court ladies; it was believed that she sold love potions, +perhaps worse; it was known that in some way she made money, for +though generally clothed in rags, she had been seen wearing very +splendid garments and rich jewels. + +Also, it was rumoured by those living near that strange sounds of +revelry had on occasion arisen from her high-walled garden, as if a +great banquet were given, and dark-robed guests had been seen to enter +her narrow door. + +That garden was empty now and a great stillness lay over the witch’s +house; the hot midsummer sun glowed in the rose bushes that surrounded +it; red roses all of them, and large and beautiful. + +The windows of the great room at the back of the house had their +shutters closed so that only a few squares of light fell through the +lattice-work, and the room was in shadow. + +It was a barely furnished chamber, with an open tiled hearth on which +stood a number of bronze and copper bowls and drinking vessels. In the +low window-seat were cushions of rich Eastern embroidery, hanging on +the walls, hideous distorted masks made of wood and painted +fantastically, some short curved swords, and a parchment calendar. + +Before this stood Dirk, marking with a red pencil a day in the row of +dates. + +This done he stepped back, stared at the calendar and frowned, sucking +the red pencil. + +He was attired in a grave suit of black, and wearing a sober cap that +almost concealed his hair; he held himself very erect, and the firm +set of his mouth emphasised the prominent jaw and chin. + +As he stood there, deep in thought, Theirry entered, nodded at him and +crossed to the window; he also was dressed in dull straight garments, +but they could not obscure the glowing brown beauty of his face. + +Dirk looked at him with eyes that sparkled affection. + +“I am making a name in Frankfort,” he said. + +“Ay,” answered Theirry, not returning his glance. “I have heard you +spoken of by those who have attended your lectures--they said your +doctrines touched infidelity.” + +“Nevertheless they come,” smiled Dirk. “I do not play for a safe +reputation… otherwise should I be here?--living in a place of evil +name?” + +“I do not think,” replied Theirry, “that any go so far as to guess the +real nature of your studies, nor what it is you pursue----” And he +also smiled, but grimly. + +“Every man in Frankfort is not priest-beridden,” said Dirk quickly. +“They would not meddle with me just because I do not preach the laws +of the Church. I teach my scholars rhetoric, logic and philosophy… +they are well pleased.” + +“I have heard it,” answered Theirry, looking out of the window at the +red roses dazzling in the sunshine; Dirk could not guess how it +rankled with his friend that _he_ obtained no pupils, that no one +cared to listen to his teaching; that while Dirk was becoming famous +as the professor of rhetoric at Frankfort college, he remained utterly +unknown. + +“To-day I disclosed to them Procopius,” said Dirk, “and propounded a +hundred propositions out of Priscianus--should improve their +Latin--there were some nobles from the Court. One submitted that my +teaching was heretical--asked if I was a Gnostic or an Arian--said I +should be condemned by the Council of Saragossa--as Avila was, and for +as good reasons.…” + +“Meanwhile…” + +Dirk interrupted. + +“Meanwhile--we know almost all the wise woman can teach us, and are on +the eve of great power.…” + +Theirry pushed wider the shutters so that the strong sunlight fell +over the knee of his dark gown. + +“You perhaps,” he said heavily. “Not I--the spirits will not listen to +me… only with great difficulty can I compel them… well I wot that I am +bound to evil, but I wot also that it doth little for me.” + +At this complaint a look of apprehension came into Dirk’s eyes. + +“My fortune is your fortune,” he said. + +“Nay,” answered Theirry, half fiercely, “it is not… you have been +successful… so have not I… old Nathalie loves you--she cares nothing +for me--you have already a name in Frankfort--I have none, nor money +either… Saint Ambrose’s gold is gone, and I live on your charity.” + +While he was speaking Dirk gazed at him with a strengthening +expression of trouble and dismay; with large distracted eyes full of +tenderness, while his cheeks paled and his mouth quivered. + +“No--no.” He spoke in protest, but his distress was too deep and too +genuine to allow of much speech. + +“I am going away from here,” said Theirry firmly. + +Dirk gasped as if he had been wounded. + +“From Frankfort?” he ejaculated. + +“Nay… from this place.” + +There was a little silence while the last traces of light and colour +seemed to be drained from Dirk’s face. + +“You do not mean that,” he said at length. “After we have been… Oh, +after all of it--you cannot mean…” + +Theirry turned and faced the room. + +“You need not fear that I shall break the bond that unites us,” he +cried. “I have gone too far… yea, and still I hope to attain by the +Devil’s aid my desires. But I will not stay here.” + +“Where will you go?” + +Theirry’s hazel eyes again sought the crimson roses in the witch’s +garden. + +“To-day as I wandered outside the walls I met a hawking party. Jacobea +of Martzburg was among them.” + +They had been in Frankfort many weeks, and so had she, yet this was +the first time that he had mentioned her name. + +“Oh!” cried Dirk. + +“She knew me,” continued Theirry; “and spoke to me. She asked, out of +her graciousness, if I had aught to do in Frankfort… thinking, I wot, +I looked not like it.” He blushed and smiled. “Then she offered me a +post at Court. Her cousin is Chamberlain to the Queen--nay, Empress, I +should say--and he will take me as his secretary. I shall accept.” + +Dirk was miserably, hopelessly silent; all the radiance, the triumph +that had adorned him when Theirry entered were utterly quenched; he +stood like one under the lash, with agonised eyes. + +“Are you not glad?” asked Theirry, with a swell in his voice. “I shall +be near her.…” + +“Is that a vast consideration?” said Dirk faintly. “That you should be +near her?” + +“Did you think that I had forgotten her because I spoke not?” answered +Theirry. “Also there are chances that by your arts I may +strengthen----” + +Through the heavy golden shadows of the room Dirk moved slowly towards +the window where Theirry stood. + +“I shall lose you,” he said. + +Theirry was half startled by the note in his voice. + +“Nay… shall I not come here… often? Are you not my comrade?” + +“So you speak,” answered Dirk, his brow drawn, his lips pale even for +one of his pallor. “But you leave me.… You choose another path from +mine.” He wrung his frail hands together. “I had not thought of this.” + +“It need not grieve you that I go,” answered Theirry, half sullen, +half wondering. “I wot I am pledged deeply enough to thy Master.” His +eyes flashed wildly. “Is there not sin on my soul?--Have I not +awakened in the night to see Saint Ambrose smile at me? Am I not +outside the Church and in league with Hell?” + +“Hush! hush!” warned Dirk. + +Theirry flung himself into the window-seat, his elbows on his knees, +his palms pressed into his cheeks; the sunlight fell through the open +window behind him and shone richly in his dark brown hair. + +Dirk leant against the wall and stared down at him; in his poor pale +face were yearning and tenderness beyond expression. + +At last Theirry rose and turned to the door. + +“Are you going?” questioned Dirk fearfully. + +“Yea.” + +Dirk braced himself. + +“Do _not_ go,” he said. “There is everything before us if we stay +together… if you…” His words choked him, and he was silent. + +“All your reasoning cannot stay me,” answered Theirry, his hand on the +door. “She smiled at me… and I saw her yellow hair… and I am stifled +here and useless.” + +He opened the door and went out. + +Dirk sank on the brilliant gold cushions and twisted his fingers +together; through the half-closed shutters he could see that +marvellous blaze of red roses and their sharp green leaves, the garden +wall and the blue August sky; he could hear a bird singing, far away +and pleasantly, and after a while he heard Theirry sing, too, as he +moved about in an upper chamber. Dirk had not known him sing before, +and now, as the little wordless song fell on his ears, he winced and +writhed. + +“He sings because he is going away.” + +He sprang up and crossed to the calendar; a year ago to-day he and +Theirry had first met; he had marked the day with red--and now---- + +Presently Theirry entered again; he was no longer singing, and he had +his things in a bundle on his back. + +“I will come to-morrow and take leave of Nathalie,” he said; “or +perhaps this evening. But I must see the Chamberlain now.” + +Dirk nodded; he was still standing by the calendar, and for the second +time Theirry passed out. + +“Oh! oh!” whispered Dirk. “He is gone--gone--gone--gone.” + +He remained motionless, picturing the Court Theirry would join, +picturing Jacobea of Martzburg; the other influences that would be +brought to bear on his companion---- + +Then he crept to the window and pushed the shutter wide, so that half +the dark room was flooded with gold. + +The great burning roses nodded in unison, heavy bees humming among +them. Dirk leant from the window and flung out his arms with sudden +passion. + +“Satan! Satan!” he shrieked. “Give him back to me! Everything else you +have promised me for that! Do you hear me! Satan! Satan!” + +His voice died away in a great sob; he rested his throbbing head +against the hot mullions and put his hand over his eyes; red of the +roses and gold of the sunshine of the Eastern cushions blended in one +before him; he sank back into the window-seat, and heard some one +speak his name. + +Lifting his sick gaze, he saw the witch standing in the centre of the +floor, looking at him. + +Dirk gave a great sigh, hunched up his shoulders, and smoothed his +cuffs; then he said, very quietly, looking sideways at the witch-- + +“Theirry has gone.” + +Nathalie, the witch, seated herself on a little stool that was all +inlaid with mother-o’-pearl, folded her hands in her lap and smiled. + +She was not an old nor an ugly woman, but of a pale, insignificant +appearance, with shining, blank-looking eyes set in wrinkles, a narrow +face and dull black hair, threaded now with flat gold coins; she +stooped a little, and had marvellously delicate hands. + +“I knew he would go,” she answered in a small voice. + +“With scant farewell, with little excuse, with small preparation, with +no regret, he has gone,” said Dirk. “To the Court--at the bidding of a +lady. You know her, for I have spoken of our meeting with her when we +were driven forth from Basle.” He closed his eyes, as if he made a +great effort at control. “I think he is on the verge of loving her.” +He unclosed his eyes, full, blazing. “This must be prevented.” + +The witch shook her head. + +“If you are wise, let him go.” She fixed her glimmering glance on +Dirk’s smooth pale face. “He is neither good nor evil; his heart +sayeth one thing, his passions another--let him go. His courage is not +equal to his desires. He would be great--by any means;--yet he is +afraid--let him go. He thinks to serve the Devil while it lurks still +in his heart: ‘At last I will repent--in time I will repent!’--let him +go. He will never be great, or even successful, for he is confused in +his aims, hesitating, passionate and changeable; therefore, you who +can have the world--let him go.” + +“All this I know,” answered Dirk, his fingers clutching the gold +cushions. “But I want him back.” + +“He will come. He has gone too far to stay away.” + +“I want him to return for ever,” cried Dirk. “He is my comrade--he +must be with me always--he must have none in his thoughts save me.” + +Nathalie frowned. + +“This is folly. The day you came here to me with words of Master +Lukas, I saw that you were to be everything--he nothing; I saw that +the world would ring with your name, and that he would die unknown.” +She rose vehemently. “I say, let him go! He will be but a clog, a drag +on your progress. He is jealous of you; he is not over skilful… what +can you say for him save that he is pleasant to gaze upon?” + +Dirk slipped from the cushions and walked slowly up and down the room; +a slow, beautiful smile rested on his lips, and his eyes were gentle. + +“What can I say for him? ’Tis said in three words--I love him.” + +He folded his arms on his breast, and lifted his head. + +“How little you know of me, Nathalie! Though you have taught me all +your wisdom, what do you know of me save that I was Master Lukas’s +apprentice boy?” + +“Ye came from mystery--as you should come,” smiled the witch. + +And now Dirk seemed to smile through agony. + +“It _is_ a mystery--methinks to tell it would be to be blasted as I +stand; it seems so long ago--so strange--so horrible… well, well!”--he +put his hand to his forehead and took a turn about the room--“as I sat +in Master Lukas’s empty house, painting, carving, reading forbidden +books, I was not afraid; it seemed to me I had no soul… so why fear +for that which was lost before I was born? ‘The Devil has put me +here,’ said I, ‘and I will serve him… he shall make me his archetype +on earth,… and I waited for his signal to bid me forth. Men talked of +Antichrist! What if I am he?’… so I thought.” + +“And so you shall be,” breathed the witch. + +Dirk’s great eyes glowed above his smiling lips. + +“Could any but a demon have such thoughts?… then Theirry came, and I +saw in his face that he did what I did--knew what I knew; +and--and”--his voice faltered--“I mind me how I went and watched him +as he slept--and then I thought after all I was no demon, for I was +aware that I loved him. I had terrible thoughts--if I love, I have a +soul, and if I have a soul it is damned;--but he shall go with me--if +I came from hell I shall return to hell, and he shall go with me;--if +I am damned, he shall be damned and go hand in hand with me into the +pit!” + +The smile faded from his face, and an intense, ardent expression took +its place; he seemed almost in an ecstasy. + +“She may make fight with me for his soul--if he love her she might +draw him to heaven--with her yellow hair! Did I not long for yellow +locks when I saw my bridal?… I have forgotten what I spoke of--I would +say that she does not love him.…” + +“Yet she may,” said the witch; “for he is gay and beautiful.” + +Dirk slowly turned his darkening eyes on Nathalie. + +“She must not.” + +The witch fondled her fingers. + +“We can control many things--not love nor hate.” + +Dirk pressed a swelling bosom. + +“Her heart is in the hand of another man--and that man is her steward, +ambitious, poor and married.” + +He came up to the witch, and, slight as he was, beside the withered +Eastern woman, he appeared marvellously fresh, glowing, and even +splendid. + +“Do you understand me?” he said. + +The witch blinked her shining eyes. + +“I understand that there is little need of witchcraft or of black +magic here.” + +“No,” said Dirk. “Her own love shall be her poison… she herself shall +give him back to me.” + +Nathalie moved, the little coins shaking in her hair. + +“Dirk, Dirk, why do you make such a point of this man’s return?” she +said, between reproach and yearning. She fondled the cold, passive and +smiling youth with her tiny hands. “You are going to be great;” she +mouthed the words greedily. “I may never have done much, but you have +the key to many things. You will have the world for your footstool +yet--let him go.” + +Dirk still smiled. + +“No,” he answered quietly. + +The witch shrugged her shoulders and turned away. + +“After all,” she said in a half whine, “I am only the servant now. You +know words that can compel me and all my kind to obey you. So let it +be; bring your Theirry back.” + +Dirk’s smile deepened. + +“I shall not ask your aid. Alone I can manage this matter. Ay, even if +it jeopardise my chance of greatness, I will have my comrade back.” + +“It will not be difficult,” nodded the witch. “A silly maid’s +influence against thine!” she laughed. + +“There is another will seek to detain him at the Court,” said Dirk +reflectively. “His old-time friend, the Margrave’s son, Balthasar of +Courtrai, who shines about the Emperor. I saw him not long ago--he +also is my enemy.” + +“Well, the Devil will play them all into thy hands,” smiled the witch. + +Dirk turned an absent look on her and she crept away. + +It grew to the hour of sunset; the red light of it trembled +marvellously in the red roses and filled the low, dark chamber with a +sombre crimson glow. + +Dirk stood by the window biting his forefinger, revolving schemes in +which Jacobea, her steward, Sybilla and Theirry were to be entangled +as flies in a web; desperate devilry and despairing human love mingled +grotesquely, giving rise to thoughts dark and hideous. + +The clear peal of a bell roused him, and he started with remembrances +of when last this sound through an empty house had broken on his +thoughts--of how he had gone and found Theirry without his door. + +Then he left the room and sought the witch; she had disappeared; he +did not doubt that the summons was for her; not infrequently did she +have hasty and secret visitors, but as she came not he crossed the +dark passage and himself opened the door on to the slip of garden that +divided the house from the cobbled street--opened it on a woman in a +green hood and mantle, who stood well within the shadow of the porch. + +“Whom would you see?” he asked cautiously. + +The stranger answered in a low voice. + +“You. Are you not the young doctor who lectures publicly on--many +things? Constantine they call you.” + +“Yea,” said Dirk; “I am he.” + +“I heard you to-day. I would speak to you.” + +She wore a mask that as completely concealed her face as her cloak +concealed her figure. Dirk’s keen eyes could discover nothing of her +person. + +“Let me in,” she said in an insistent, yet anxious voice. + +Dirk held the door wide, and she stepped into the passage, breathing +quickly. + +“Follow after me,” smiled Dirk; he decided that the lady was Jacobea +of Martzburg. + + + + + CHAPTER XII. + YSABEAU + +Dirk and the lady entered the room he had just quitted; he set a +chair for her near the window and waited for her to speak, but kept +his eyes the while on her shrouded figure. + +She wore a mask such as he had often seen on ladies; fantastic Italian +taste had fashioned them in the likeness of a plague-stricken +countenance, flecked green and yellow, and more lively fancy had +nicknamed them “melons” from their similarity to an unripe melon skin; +these masks, oval-shaped, with a slit for the mouth and eyes, and +extending from the brow to the chin, were an effective concealment of +every feature, and high favourites among ladies. + +For the rest, the stranger’s hood was pulled well forward so that not +a lock of hair was visible, and her mantle was gathered close at her +throat; it was of fine green cloth edged with miniver; she wore thick +gauntlets so that not an inch of her skin was visible. + +“You are well disguised,” said Dirk at last, as she made no sign of +speaking. “What is your business with me?” + +He began to think that she could not be Jacobea since she gave no +indication of revealing herself; also, he fancied that she was too +short. + +“Is there any one to overhear us or interrupt?” the lady spoke at +last, her voice muffled a little by the mask. + +“None,” answered Dirk half impatiently. “I beg that you tell me who +you are.” + +“Certes, that can wait;” her eyes sparkled through their holes in +contrast with the ghastly painted wood that made her face immovable. +“But I will tell you who you are, sir.” + +“You know?” said Dirk coldly. + +It seemed as if she smiled. + +“The student named Dirk Renswoude who was driven forth from Basle +University for practising the black arts.” + +For the first time in his life Dirk was taken aback, and hopelessly +disconcerted; he had not believed it possible for any to discover the +past life of the learned doctor Constantine; he went red and white, +and could say nothing in either defence or denial. + +“It was only about three months ago,” continued the lady. “And both +students and many other in the town of Basle would still know you, +certes.” + +A rush of anger against his unknown accuser nerved Dirk. + +“By what means have you discovered this?” he demanded. “Basle is far +enough from Frankfort, I wot… and how many know… and what is the price +of your silence, dame?” + +The lady lifted her head. + +“I like you,” she said quietly. “You take it well. No one knows save +I. I have made cautious inquiries about you, and pieced together your +story with my own wit.” + +“My story!” flashed Dirk. “Certes! Ye know nought of me beyond Basle.” + +“No,” she assented. “But it is enough. Joris of Thuringia died.” + +“Ah!” ejaculated Dirk. + +The lady sat very still, observing him. + +“So I hold your life, sir,” she said. + +Dirk, goaded, turned on her impetuously. + +“Ye are Jacobea of Martzburg----” + +“No”--she started at the name. “But I know her----” + +“She told you this tale----” + +Again the lady answered-- + +“No.” + +“She is from Basle,” cried Dirk. + +“Believe me,” replied the stranger earnestly, “she knows nothing of +you--I alone in Frankfort hold your secret, and I can help you to keep +it… it were easy to spread a report of Dirk Renswoude’s death.” + +Dirk bit his finger, his lip, glared out at the profusion of roses, at +the darkening sky, then at the quiet figure in the hideous speckled +mask; if she chose to speak he would have, at the best of it, to fly +Frankfort, and that did not suit his schemes. + +“Another youth lives here,” said the lady. “I think he also fled from +Basle.” + +Dirk’s face grew pale and cunning; he was quick to see that she did +not know Theirry was compromised. + +“He was here--now he has gone to Court--he was at Basle, but innocent, +he came with me out of friendship. He is silly and fond.” + +“I have to do with you,” answered the lady. “Ye have a great, a +terrible skill, evil spirits league with you… your spells killed a +man----” She stopped. + +“Poor fool,” said Dirk sombrely. + +The stranger rose; her calm and self-possession had suddenly given way +to fierce only half-repressed passion; she clasped her hands and +trembled as she stood. + +“Well,” she cried thickly. “You could do that again--a softer, more +subtle way?” + +“For you?” he whispered. + +“For me,” she answered, and sank into the window-seat, pulling at her +gloves mechanically. + +A silence, while the dying red sunlight fell over the Eastern cushions +and over her dark mantle and outside the red roses shook and whispered +in the witch’s garden. + +“I cannot help you if you tell me nothing,” said Dirk at length in a +grim manner. + +“I will tell you this,” answered she passionately. “There is a man I +hate, a man in my way--I do not talk wildly; that man must go, and if +you will be the means----” + +“You will be in my power as I am now in yours,” thought Dirk, +completing the broken sentence. + +The lady looked out at the roses. + +“I cannot convey to you what nights of horror and days of bitterness, +what resolutions formed and resolutions broken--what hate, and +what--love have gone to form the impulse that brought me here +to-day--nor does it concern ye; certes enough I am resolved, and if +your spells can aid me----” She turned her head sharply. “I will pay +you very well.” + +“You have told me nothing,” repeated Dirk. “And though I can discover +what you are and who is your enemy, it were better that you told me +with your own lips.” + +She seemed, now, in an ill-concealed agitation. + +“Not to-day will I speak. I will come again. I know this place… +meanwhile, certes, your secret is safe with me--think over what I have +said.” + +She rose as if to take a hasty departure; but Dirk was in her way. + +“Nay,” he said firmly. “At least show your face--how shall I know you +again? And what confidence have you in me if you will not take off +your mask? I say you shall.” + +She trembled between a sigh and a laugh. + +“Perhaps my face is not worth gazing at,” she answered on a breath. + +“I wot ye are a fair woman,” replied Dirk, who heard the consciousness +of it in her alluring voice. + +Still she hesitated. + +“Know ye many about the Court?” she asked. + +“Nay. I have not concerned myself with the Court.” + +“Well, then--and since I must trust you--and like you”--her voice rose +and fell--“look at me and remember me.” + +She loosened her cloak, flung back the hood and quickly unfastening +the mask, snatched it off. + +The disguise flung aside, she was revealed to the shoulders, clearly +in the warm twilight. + +Dirk’s first impression was, that this was beauty that swept from his +mind all other beauty he had ever beheld; his second, that it was the +same face he and Theirry had seen in the mirror. + +“Oh!” he cried. + +“Well?” said the lady, the hideous mask in her hand. + +Now she was disclosed, it was as if another presence had entered the +dusky chamber, so difficult was it to associate this brilliance with +the cloaked figure of a few moments since. + +Certainly she was of a great beauty, smiting into breathlessness, a +beauty not to be realised until beheld; Dirk would not have believed +that a woman could be so fair. + +If Jacobea’s hair was yellow, this lady’s locks were pale, pure +glittering gold, and her eyes a deep, soft, violet hue; the throwing +back of her cloak revealed her round slender throat, and the glimmer +of a rich bodice. + +The smile faded from her lips, and her gorgeous loveliness became +grave, almost tragic. + +“You do not know me?” she asked. + +“No,” answered Dirk; he could not tell her that he had seen her before +in his devil’s mirror. + +“But you will recognise me again?” + +Dirk laughed quietly. + +“You were not made to be forgotten. Strange with such a face ye should +have need of witchcraft!” + +The lady replaced the mottled mask, that looked the more horrible +after that glimpse of gleaming beauty, and drew her mantle over her +shoulders. + +“I shall come to you or send to you, sir. Think on what I have said, +and on what I know.” + +She was obscured again, hidden in her green cloak. Dirk proffered no +question, made no comment, but preceded her down the dark passage and +opened the door; she passed out; her footstep was light on the path; +Dirk watched her walk rapidly down the street, then closed the door +and bolted it. After a pause of breathless confusion and heart-heating +excitement, he ran to the back of the house and out into the garden. + +It was just light enough for the huge dusky roses to be visible as +they nodded on their trailing bushes; Dirk ran between them until he +reached a gaunt stone statue half concealed by laurels; in front of +this were flags irregularly placed; in the centre of one was an iron +ring; Dirk, pulling at this, disclosed a trap door that opened at his +effort, and revealed a flight of steps; he descended from the soft +pure evening and the red roses into the witch’s kitchen, closing the +stone above him. + +The underground chamber was large and lit by lamps hanging from the +roof, revealing smooth stone walls and damp floor; in one side a +gaping blackness showed where a passage twisted to the outer air; on +another was a huge alchemist’s fireplace; before this sat the witch, +about her a quantity of glass vessels, retorts and pots of various +shapes. + +Either side this fireplace hung a human body, black and withered, +swinging from rusted ropes and crowned with wreaths of green and +purple blotched leaves. + +On a table set against the wall was a brass head that glimmered in the +feeble light. + +Dirk crossed the floor with his youthful step and touched Nathalie on +the shoulder. + +“One came to see me,” he said breathlessly. “A marvellous lady.” + +“I know,” murmured the witch. “And was it to play into thy hands?” + +The air was thick and tainted with unwholesome smells; Dirk leant +against the wall and stared down the chamber, his hand to his brow. + +“She threatened me,” he said, “and for a moment I was afraid; for, +certes, I do not wish to leave Frankfort… but she wished me to serve +her--which I will do--for a price.” + +“Who is she?” blinked the witch. + +“That I am come to discover,” frowned Dirk. “And who it is she spoke +of--also somewhat of Jacobea of Martzburg”--he coughed, for the foul +atmosphere had entered his nostrils. “Give me the globe.” + +The witch handed him a ball of a dark muddy colour, which he placed on +the floor, flinging himself beside it; Nathalie drew a pentagon round +the globe and pronounced some words in a low tone; a slight tremor +shook the ground, though it was solid earth they stood on, and the +globe turned a pale, luminous, blue tint. + +Dirk pushed back the damp hair from his eyes, and, resting his face in +his hands, his elbows on the ground, he stared into the depths of the +crystal, the colour of which brightened until it glowed a ball of +azure fire. + +“I see nothing,” he said angrily. + +The witch repeated her incantations; she leant forward, the yellow +coins glistening on her pale forehead. + +Rays of light began to sparkle from the globe. + +“Show me something of the lady who came here to-day,” commanded Dirk. + +They waited. + +“Do ye see anything?” breathed the witch. + +“Yea--very faintly.” + +He gazed for a while in silence. + +“I see a man,” he said at last. “The spells are wrong… I see nothing +of the lady----” + +“Watch, though,” cried the witch. “What is he like?” + +“I cannot see distinctly… he is on horseback… he wears armour… now I +can see his face--he is young, dark--he has black hair----” + +“Do ye know him?” + +“Nay--I have never seen him before.” Dirk did not lift his eyes from +the globe. “He is evidently a knight… he is magnificent but cold… ah!” + +His exclamation was at the change in the ball; slowly it faded into a +faint blue, then became again dark and muddy. + +He flung it angrily out of the pentagon. + +“What has that told me?” he cried. “What is this man?” + +“Question Zerdusht,” said the witch, pointing to the brass head. +“Maybe he will speak to-night.” + +She flung a handful of spices on to the slow-burning fire, and a faint +smoke rose, filling the chamber. + +Dirk crossed to the brass head and surveyed it with eager hollow eyes. + +“The dead men dance,” smiled the witch. “Certes, he will speak +to-night.” + +Dirk turned his wild gaze to where the corpses hung. Their shrivelled +limbs twisted and jerked at the end of their chain, and the horrid +lurid colour of their poisonous wreaths gleamed through the smoke and +shook with the nodding of their faceless heads. + +“Zerdusht, Zerdusht,” murmured Dirk. “In the name of Satan, his +legions, speak to thy servant, show or tell him something of the woman +who came here to-day on an evil errand.” + +A heavy stillness fell with the ending of the words; the smoke became +thick and dense, then suddenly cleared. + +At that instant the lamps were extinguished and the fire fell into +ashes. + +“Something comes,” whispered the witch. + +Through the dark could be heard the dance of the dead men and the +grind of their bones against the ropes. + +Dirk stood motionless, his straining eyes fixed before him. + +Presently a pale light spread over the end of the chamber, and in it +appeared the figure of a young knight; his black hair fell from under +his helmet, his face was composed and somewhat haughty, his dark eyes +fearless and cold. + +“’Tis he I saw in the crystal!” cried Dirk, and as he spoke the light +and the figure disappeared. + +Dirk beat his breast. + +“Zerdusht! ye mock me! I asked ye of this woman! I know not the man.” + +The brass head suddenly glowed out of the darkness as if a light shone +behind it; the lids twitched, opened, and glittering red eyeballs +stared at Dirk, who shouted in triumph. + +He fell on his knees. + +“A year ago to-day I saw a woman in the mirror; to-day she came to me… +who is she?… Zerdusht--her name?” + +The brass lips moved and spoke. + +“Ysabeau.” + +What did this tell him? + +“Who was the knight ye have shown me?” he cried. + +“Her husband,” answered the head. + +“Who is the man she seeks my aid to… to… who is it of whom she spoke +to me?” + +The flaming eyeballs rolled. + +“Her husband.” + +Dirk gave a start. + +“Make haste,” came the witch’s voice through the swimming blackness. +“The light fades.” + +“Who is she?” + +“The Empress of the West,” said the brass head. + +A cry broke from Dirk and the witch; Dirk shrieked another question. + +“She wishes to put another in the Emperor’s place?” + +“Yea;” the light was growing fainter; the eyelids flickered over the +red eyes. + +“Whom?” cried Dirk. + +Faint, yet distinct came the answer-- + +“The Lord of Ursula of Rooselaare, Balthasar of Courtrai.” + +The lids fell and the jaws clicked, the light sank into nothingness, +and the lamps sprang again into dismal flame that disclosed the black +bodies of the dead men, hanging slackly with their wreaths touching +their chests, the witch crouching by the hearth---- + +And in the centre of the floor Dirk, smiling horribly. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII. + THE SNARING OF JACOBEA + +The great forest was so silent, so lonely, the aisles of a vast +church could have been no more sanctified by holy stillness. + +Even the summer wind that trembled in the upper boughs of the huge +trees had not penetrated their thick branches and intertwined leaves, +so that the grass and flowers were standing erect, untroubled by a +breath of air, and the sun, that dazzled without on the town of +Frankfort did not touch the glowing green gloom of the forest. + +Seated low on the grass by a wayside shrine that held a little figure +of the Madonna, Nathalie the witch, hunched together in a brown cloak, +looked keenly into the depths of cool shade between the tree trunks. + +She was watching the distant figure of a lady tremble into sight among +the leaves of the undergrowth. + +A lady who walked hesitatingly and fearfully; as she drew near, the +witch could see that the long yellow dress she held up was torn and +soiled, and that her hair hung disarranged on her shoulders; breathing +in a quick, fatigued manner she came towards the shrine, but seeing +the witch she stopped abruptly and her grey eyes darkened with +apprehension. + +“What is amiss with Jacobea of Martzburg,” asked the witch in her +expressionless way, “that she walks the forest disarrayed and alone?” + +“I am lost,” answered Jacobea, shrinking. “How do you know me?” + +“By your face,” said Nathalie. “How is it you are lost?” + +“Will you tell me the way to Frankfort?” asked Jacobea wearily. “I +have walked since noon. I was accompanying the Empress from the +tournament and my horse broke away with me--I slipped from the saddle. +Now I have lost him.” + +Nathalie smiled faintly. + +“I know not where I am,” said Jacobea, still with that look of +apprehension in her sweet eyes. “Will you set me on my path?” + +She glanced at the shrine, then at the witch, and put her hand to her +forehead; dazed, she seemed, and bewildered. + +“Of what are you afraid?” asked Nathalie. + +“Oh, why should I be afraid!” answered Jacobea, with a start. +“But--why, it is very lonely here and I must get home.” + +“Let me tell your fortune,” said the witch, slowly rising. “You have a +curious fortune, and I will reveal it without gold or silver.” + +“No!” Jacobea’s voice was agitated. “I have no credence in those +things. I will pay you to show me the way out of the forest.” + +But the witch had crossed softly to her side, and, to her manifest +shrinking terror, caught hold of her hand. + +“What do you imagine you hold in your palm?” she smiled. + +Jacobea endeavoured to draw her hand away, the near presence of the +woman quickened her unnamed terror. + +“Lands and castles,” said the witch, while her fingers tightened on +the striving wrist. “Gold and loneliness----” + +“You know me,” answered Jacobea, in anger. “There is no magic in this… +let me go!” + +The witch dropped the lady’s hand and smoothed her own together. + +“I do not need the lines in your palm to tell me your fortune,” she +said sharply. “I know more of you than you would care to hear, Jacobea +of Martzburg.” + +The lady turned away and stepped quickly but aimlessly down the shaded +glade. + +Nathalie, dragging her brown cloak, came lightly after. + +“You cannot escape,” she said. “You may walk in and out the trees +until you die of weariness, yet never find your way to Frankfort.” + +She laid her small thin fingers on the soft velvet of Jacobea’s yellow +sleeve and blinked up into her startled eyes. + +“Who are you?” cried the lady, with a touch of desperation in her +faint voice. “And what do you want with me?” + +The witch licked her pale lips. + +“Come with me and I will show you.” + +Jacobea shuddered. + +“No, I will not.” + +“You cannot find your way alone,” nodded the witch. + +The lady hesitated; she looked around her at the motionless aisles of +trees, the silent glades, she looked up at the arching boughs and +clustering leaves concealing the sky. + +“Indeed I will pay you well if you will guide me out of this,” she +entreated. + +“Come with me now,” answered Nathalie, “and afterwards I will set you +on your way.” + +“To what end should I go with you?” exclaimed Jacobea. “I know you +not, and, God help me, I mistrust you.” + +The witch shot a scornful glance over the lady’s tall figure, supple +with the strength of youth. + +“What evil could _I_ do _you_?” she asked. + +Jacobea considered her intently; indeed she was small, seemed frail +also; Jacobea’s white fingers could have crushed the life out of her +lean throat. + +Still she was reluctant. + +“To what end?” she repeated. + +Nathalie did not answer, but turned into a grass-grown path that +twisted through the trees, and Jacobea, afraid of the loneliness, +followed her slowly. + +As they went through the forest, the green, still forest, with no +flower to vary the clinging creepers and great blossomless plants, +with no sound of bird or insect to mingle with their light tread and +the sweep of their garments on the ground, Jacobea was aware that her +senses were being dulled and drugged with the silence and the +strangeness; she felt no longer afraid or curious. + +After a while they came upon a pool lying in a hollow and grown about +with thick, dark ferns; the sunless waters were black and dull, on the +surface of them floated some dead leaves and the vivid unwholesome +green of a tangled weed. + +A young man in a plain dark dress was seated on the opposite bank. + +On his knees was an open book, and his long straight hair hung either +side of his face and brushed the yellow page. + +Behind him stood the shattered trunk of a blasted tree, grown with +fan-shaped fungi of brilliant scarlet and blotched purple and orange +that glowed gorgeously in the universal cold soft greenness. + +“Oh me!” murmured Jacobea. + +The young man lifted his eyes from the book and looked at her across +the black water. + +Jacobea would have fled, would have flung herself into the forest with +no thought but that of escape from those eyes gazing at her over the +pages of that ancient volume; but the witch’s loathsome little hands +closed on hers with a marvellous strength and drew her, shuddering, +round the edge of the pond. + +The youth shut the book, stretched his slender limbs, and, half +turning on his side, lay and watched. + +Jacobea’s noble and lovely figure, clothed in a thick soft velvet of a +luminous yellow hue; her blonde hair, straying on her shoulders and +mingling with the glowing tint of her gown; her grave and sweet face, +lit and guarded by grey eyes, soft and frightened, made a fair picture +against the sombre background of the dark wood. + +A picture marred only by the insignificant and drab-coloured figure of +the little witch who held her hand and dragged her through the dank +grass. + +“Do you remember me?” asked the youth. + +Jacobea turned her head away. + +“Let go of her, Nathalie,” continued the youth impatiently; he rested +his elbow on the closed book and propped his chin on his hand; his +eyes rested eagerly and admiringly on the lady’s shuddering fairness. + +“She will run,” said Nathalie, but she loosened her hold. + +Jacobea did not stir; she shook the hand Nathalie had held and +caressed it with the other. + +The young man put back his heavy hair. + +“Do you know me?” + +She slowly turned her face, pearl pale above the glowing colour of her +dress. + +“Yes, you came to my castle for shelter once.” + +Dirk did not lower his intense, ardent gaze. + +“Well, how did I reward your courtesy? I told you something.” + +She would not answer. + +“I told you something,” repeated Dirk. “And you have not forgotten +it.” + +“Let me go,” she said. “I do not know who you are nor what you mean. +Let me go.” + +She turned as if to move away, but sank instead on to one of the +moss-covered boulders that edged the pond and clasped her fingers over +the shining locks straying across her bosom. + +“You have never been the same since that time you sheltered me,” said +Dirk. + +She stiffened with dread and pride. + +“Ye are some evil thing,” she said; her glance was fierce for the +passive witch. “Why was I brought here?” + +“Because it was my wish,” answered Dirk gravely. “Your horse does not +often carry you away, Jacobea of Martzburg, and leave you in a +trackless forest.” + +The lady started at his knowledge. + +“That also was my will,” said Dirk. + +“Your will!” she echoed. + +Dirk smiled, with an ugly show of his teeth. + +“Belike the horse was bewitched--have ye not heard of such a thing?” + +“Santa Maria!” she cried. + +Dirk sat up and clasped his long fingers round his knees. + +“You have given a youth I know a post at Court,” he said. “Why?” + +Jacobea shivered and could not move; she looked drearily at the black +water and the damp masses of fern, then with a slow horror at the +figure of the young man seated under the blasted tree. + +“I do not know,” she answered weakly, “I never disliked him.” + +“As ye did me,” added Dirk. + +“Maybe I had no cause to love you,” she returned, goaded. “Why did you +ever come to my castle? why did I ever see you?” + +She put her cold hand over her eyes. + +“No matter for that,” mocked Dirk. “So ye liked my comrade Theirry?” + +She answered as if forced against her will. + +“Well enough I liked him. Was he not pleasured to encounter me again, +and since he was doing nought--I--but why do you question me? Can it +be that you are jealous?” + +The young man pulled his heavy brows together. + +“Am I a silly maid to be jealous? Meddle not with things ye cannot +measure, it had been better for you had you never seen my comrade’s +fair face--ay, and for me also,” and he frowned. + +“Surely he is free to do as he may list,” returned Jacobea. “If he +choose to come to Court…” + +“If ye choose to tempt him,” answered Dirk. “But enough of that.” + +He rose and leant against the tree; above his slender shoulder rose +the jagged tongue of grey wood and the smooth colour of the clustering +fungi, and beyond that the forest sank into immense depths of still +gloom. + +Jacobea strove desperately with her dull dread and terror, but it +seemed to her as if a sickly vapour was rising from the black pool +that chilled her blood to horror; she could not escape Dirk’s steady +eyes that were like bright stones in his smooth face. + +“Come here,” he said. + +Jacobea made no movement to obey until the witch clutched her arm, +when she shook off the clinging fingers and approached the spot where +Dirk waited. + +“I think you have bewitched me,” she said drearily. + +“Not I, another has done that,” he answered. “Certes, ye are slow in +mating, Jacobea of Martzburg.” + +A little shuddering breath stirred her parted lips; she looked to +right and left, saw nothing but the enclosing forest, and turned her +frightened eyes on Dirk. + +“I know some little magic,” he continued. “Shall I show you the man +you would wish to make Lord of Martzburg?” + +“There is no one,” she said feebly. + +“You lie,” he answered. “As I could prove.” + +“As you cannot prove,” she returned, clasping her hands together. + +Dirk smiled. + +“Why, you are a fair thing and a gentle, but you have rebellious +thoughts, thoughts ye would blush to whisper at the confessional +grate.” + +She moved her lips, but did not speak. + +“Why did your steward come with ye to Frankfort?” asked Dirk. “And his +wife stay as chatelaine of Martzburg? It had been more fitting had he +remained. What reward will he receive for his services as your +henchman at the Court?” + +Jacobea drew her handkerchief from her girdle and pressed it to her +lips. + +“What reward do you imagine I should offer?” she answered very slowly. + +“I cannot tell,” said Dirk, with a hot force behind every word. “For I +do not know if you are a fool or no, but this I know, the man waits a +word from you----” + +“Stop!” said Jacobea. + +But Dirk continued ruthlessly-- + +“He waits, I tell you----” + +“Oh God, for what?” she cried. + +“For you to say--‘you think me fair, Sebastian, you know me rich and +all my life shall prove me loving, and only a red-browed woman in +Martzburg Castle prevents you coming from my footstool to my +side’--said you that, he would take horse to-morrow for Martzburg and +return a free man.” + +The handkerchief fell from Jacobea’s fingers and fluttered on the dark +ferns. + +“You are a fiend,” she said in a sick voice. “You cannot be human to +so touch my heart, and you are wrong, I dare to tell you in the name +of God that you are wrong--those evil thoughts have never come to me.” + +“In the name of the Devil I am right,” smiled Dirk. + +“The Devil! Ye are one of his agents!” she cried in a trembling +defiance. “Or how could you guess what I scarcely knew until ye came +that baleful night?--what he never knew till then--ah, I swear it, he +never dreamt that I--never dreamt what my favour meant, but +now--his--eyes--I cannot mistake them.” + +“He is a dutiful servant,” said Dirk, “he waits for his mistress to +speak.” + +Jacobea sank to her knees on the grass. + +“I entreat you to forbear,” she whispered. “Whoever you are, whatever +your object I ask your mercy. I am very unhappy--do not goad me--drive +me further.” + +Dirk stepped forward and caught her drooping shoulders in his firm +hands. + +“Pious fool!” he cried. “How long do you think you can endure this? +how long do you think he will remain the servant when he knows he +might be the master?” + +She averted her agonised face. + +“Then it was from you he learned it, you----” + +Dirk interrupted hotly-- + +“He knows, remember that! he knows and he waits. Already he hates the +woman who keeps him dumb; it were very easily done--one look, some few +words--ye would not find him slow of understanding.” He loosened his +grasp on her and Jacobea fell forward and clasped his feet. + +“I implore you take back this wickedness, I am weak; since my first +sight of you I have been striving against your influence that is +killing me; man or demon, I beseech you, let me be!” + +She raised her face, the slow, bitter tears forced out of her sweet, +worn eyes; her hair fell like golden embroidery over the yellow gown, +and her fingers fluttered on her unhappy bosom. + +Dirk considered her curiously and coldly. + +“I am neither man nor demon,” he said. “But this I tell you, as surely +as he is more to you than your own soul, so surely are you lost.” + +“Lost! lost!” she repeated, and half raised herself. + +“Certes, therefore get the price of your soul,” he mocked. “What is +the woman to you? A cold-hearted jade, as good dead now as fifty years +hence--what is one sin the more? I tell you while you set that man’s +image up in your heart before that of God ye are lost already.” + +“I am so lonely,” she whispered piteously. “Had I one friend----” She +paused, as though some one came into her mind with the words, and +Dirk, intently watching her, suddenly flushed and glowed with anger. + +He stepped back and clapped his hands. + +“I promised you a sight of your lover,” he said. “Now let him speak +for himself.” + +Jacobea turned her head sharply. + +A few feet away from her stood Sebastian, holding back the heavy +boughs and looking at her. + +She gave a shriek and swiftly rose; Dirk and the witch had +disappeared; if they had slipped into the undergrowth and were yet +near they gave no answer when she wildly called to them; the vast +forest seemed utterly empty save for the silent figure of Sebastian. + +Not doubting now that Dirk was some evil being whom her own wicked +thoughts had evoked, believing that the appearance of her steward was +some phantom sent for her undoing, she, unfortunate, distracted with +misery and terror, turned with a shuddering relief to the oblivion of +the still pool. + +Hastening with trembling feet through the clinging weeds and ferns, +she climbed down the damp bank and would have cast herself into the +dull water, when she heard his voice calling her--a human voice. + +She paused, lending a fearful ear to the sound while the water rippled +from her foot. + +“It is I,” he called. “My lady, it is I.” + +This was Sebastian himself, no delusion nor ghost but her living +steward, as she had seen him this morning in his brown riding-habit, +wearing her gold and blue colours round his hat. + +She mastered her terror and confusion. + +“Indeed, you frightened me,”--a lie rose to save her. “I thought it +some robber--I did not know you.” + +Fear of his personal aid gave her strength to move away from the water +and gain the level ground. + +“I have been searching for you,” said Sebastian. “We came upon your +horse on the high road and then upon your gloves in the grass, so, as +no rider could come among these trees, on foot I sought for you. I am +glad that you are safe.” + +This calm and carefully ordered speech gave her time to gather +courage; she fumbled at her bosom, drew forth a crucifix and clutched +it to her lips with a murmur of passionate prayers. + +He could not but notice this; he must perceive her soiled torn dress, +her wild face, her white exhaustion, but he gave no sign of it. + +“It was a fortunate chance that sent me here,” he said gravely. “The +wood is so vast----” + +“Ay, so vast,” she answered. “Know you the way out, Sebastian?” + +She tried to nerve herself to look at him, but her glance was lifted +only to fall instantly again. + +“You must forgive me,” she said, struggling with a fainting voice. “I +have walked very far, I am so weary--I must rest a while.” + +But she did not sit, nor did he urge that she should. + +“Have you met no one?” he asked. + +She hesitated; if he had encountered neither the woman nor the young +man, then they were indeed wizards or of some unearthly race--she +could not bring herself to speak of them. + +“No,” she answered at length. + +“We have a long way to walk,” said the steward. + +Jacobea felt his look upon her, and grasped her crucifix until the +sharp edges of it cut her palm. + +“Do you know the way?” she repeated dully. + +“Ay,” he answered now. “But it is far.” + +She gathered up her long skirt and shook off the withered leaves that +clung to it. + +“Will you lead the way?” she said. + +He turned and moved ahead of her down the narrow path by which he had +come; as she followed him she heard his foot fall soft on the thick +grass and the swishing sound of the straying boughs as he held them +back for her to pass, till she found the silence so unendurable that +she nerved herself to break it; but several times she gathered her +strength in vain for the effort, and when at last some foolish words +had come to her lips, he suddenly looked back over his shoulder and +checked her speech. + +“’Tis strange that your horse should have gone mad in such a manner,” +he said. + +“But ye found him?” she faltered. + +“Ay, a man found him, exhausted and trembling like a thing bewitched.” + +Her heart gave a great leap--had he used that word by chance---- + +She could not answer. + +“Ye were not hurt, my lady, when ye were thrown?” said the steward. + +“No,” said Jacobea, “no.” + +Silence again; no bird nor butterfly disturbed the sombre stillness of +the wood, no breeze stirred the thick leaves that surrounded them; +gradually the path widened until it brought them into a great space +grown with ferns and overarched with trees. + +Then Sebastian paused. + +“It is a long way yet,” he said. “Will you rest a while?” + +“No,” she replied vehemently. “Let us get on--where are the others? +surely we must meet some one soon!” + +“I do not know that any came this way,” he answered, and cast his +brooding glance over the trembling weariness of her figure. + +“Ye must rest, certes, it is folly to persist,” he added, with some +authority. + +She seated herself, lifting the hand that held the crucifix to her +bosom. + +“How full of shadows it is here,” she said. “It is difficult to fancy +the shining of the sun on the tops of these darkened trees.” + +“I do not love forests,” answered Sebastian. + +As he stood his profile was towards her; and she must mark again the +face that she knew so bitterly well, his thin dark cheek, his +heavy-lidded eyes, his contained mouth. + +Gazing down into the clusters of ferns at his feet, he spoke-- + +“I think I must return to Martzburg,” he said. + +She braced herself, making a gesture with her hand as if she would +ward off his words. + +“You know that you are free to do what you will, Sebastian.” + +He took off his right glove slowly and looked at his hand. + +“Is it not better that I should go?” + +He challenged her with a full sideways glance. + +“I do not know,” she said desperately, “why you put this to me, here +and now.” + +“I do not often see you alone.” + +He was not a man of winning manners or of easy speech; his words came +stiffly, yet with a purpose in them that chilled her with a deeper +sense of dread. + +She opened her hand to stare down at the crucifix in her palm. + +“You can leave Frankfort when you wish--why not?” she said. + +He faced her quickly. + +“But I may come back?” + +It seemed to Jacobea that he echoed Dirk’s words; the crucifix slipped +through her trembling fingers on to the grass. + +“What do you mean? Oh, Sebastian, what do you mean?” The words were +forced from her, but uttered under her breath; she added instantly, in +a more courageous voice, “Go and come as you list, are you not free?” + +He saw the crucifix at her feet and picked it up, but she drew back as +he came near and held out her hand. + +He put the crucifix into it, frowning, his eyes dark and bright with +excitement. + +“Do you recall the two students who were housed that night in +Martzburg?” he asked. + +“Yes,” she said. “Is not one now at Court?” + +“I would mean the other--the boy,” answered Sebastian. + +She averted her face and drooped until the ends of her hair touched +her knees. + +“I met him again to-day,” continued the steward, with a curious lift +in his voice, “here, in this forest, while searching for you. He spoke +to me.” + +Certainly the Devil was enmeshing her, surely he had brought her to +this pass, sent Sebastian, of all men, to find her in her weariness +and loneliness. + +And Sebastian knew--knew also that she knew--outspoken words between +them could be hardly more intolerable shame than this. + +“He is cunning beyond most,” said the steward. + +Jacobea lifted her head. + +“He is an enchanter--a wizard, do not listen to him, do not speak to +him--as you value your soul, Sebastian, do not think of him.” + +“As I value some other things,” he answered grimly, “I must both +listen to him and consider what he says.” + +She rose. + +“We will go on our way. I cannot talk with you now, Sebastian.” + +But he stood in her path. + +“Let me journey to Martzburg,” he said thickly; “one word--I shall +understand you.” + +She glanced and saw him extraordinarily keen and moved; he was lord of +Martzburg could he but get her to pledge herself; in his eagerness, +however, he forgot advice. “Tell her,” said Dirk, “you have adored her +for years in secret.” This escaped his keenness, for though his wife +was nothing to him compared with his ambition, he had no tenderness +for Jacobea. Had he remembered to feign it he might have triumphed and +now; but though her gentle heart believed he held her dear, that he +did not say so made firmness possible for her. + +“You shall stay in Frankfort,” she said, with sudden strength. + +“Sybilla asks my return,” he said, gazing at her passionately. “Do we +not understand each other without words?” + +“The fiend has bewitched you also,” she answered fearfully. “You know +too much--you guess too much--and yet I tell you nothing, and I, I +also am bewitched, for I cannot reply to you as I should.” + +“I have been silent long,” he said. “But I have dared to think--had I +been free--as I can be free----” + +The crucifix was forgotten in her hand. + +“We do evil to talk like this,” she said, half fainting. + +“You will bid me go to Martzburg,” he insisted, and took her long cold +fingers. + +She raised her eyes to the boughs above her. + +“No, no!” then, “God have compassion on me!” she said. + +The thick foliage stirred--Jacobea felt as if the bars of a cage were +being broken about her--she turned her head and a little colour +flushed her cheek. + +Through the silvery stems of the larches came some knights and a page +boy, members of the party left to search for her. + +She moved towards them; she hailed them almost gaily; none, save +Sebastian, saw her as they turned towards Frankfort raise the crucifix +and press her lips to it. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV. + THE SNARING OF THEIRRY + +Dirk and the witch kept company until they reached the gates of +Frankfort. + +There the young man took his own way through the busy town, and +Nathalie slipped aside into the more retired streets; many of the +passers-by saluted Dirk, some halted to speak with him; the brilliant +young doctor of rhetoric, with a reputation made fascinating by an air +of mystery, was a desired acquaintance among the people of Frankfort. +He returned their greetings pleasantly yet absently; he was thinking +of Jacobea of Martzburg, whom he had left behind in the great forest, +and considering what chances there might be, either for Theirry or +Sybilla the steward’s wife. + +He passed the tall red front of the college, where the quiet trees +tapped their leaves against the arched windows, turned over the narrow +curved bridge that spanned the steadily flowing waters of the Main, +and came to the thick walls surrounding the Emperor’s castle. + +There for a moment he paused and looked thoughtfully up at the +Imperial flag that fluttered softly against the evening sky. + +When he passed on it was with a cheerful step and whistling a little +tune under his breath; a few moments brought him to the long street +where the witch lived, a few more to her gate, and then his face lit +and changed wonderfully, for ahead of him was Theirry. + +Flushed and panting, he ran to his friend’s side and touched him on +the arm. + +Theirry turned, his hand on the latch; his greeting was hurried, half +shamefaced. + +“My master and most of the Court were at the tourney to-day,” he said. +“I thought it safe to come.” + +Dirk withdrew his hand, and his eyes narrowed. + +“Ah!--ye are beginning to be circumspect how ye visit here.” + +“You word it unkindly,” answered Theirry hastily. “Let us enter the +house, where we can talk at ease.” + +They passed into the witch’s dwelling, and to the room at the back +that looked into the garden of red roses. + +The windows were set wide, and the scented softness of the evening +filled the half-darkened chamber; Dirk lit a little lamp that had a +green glass, and by the faint flame of it gazed long and lingeringly +at Theirry. + +He found his friend richly dressed in black and crimson, wearing an +enamel chain round his bonnet, and a laced shirt showing at his bosom; +he found the glowing, bright charm of his face disturbed by some +embarrassment or confusion, the beautiful mouth uneasily set, the +level brows slightly frowning. + +“Oh, Theirry!” he cried in a half-mournful yearning. “Come back to +me--come back.” + +“I am very well at Court,” was the quick answer. “My master is gentle +and my tasks easy.” + +Dirk seated himself at the table; he watched the other intently and +rested his pale cheek on his hand. + +“Very clearly can I see ye are well, and very well at Court--seldom do +ye leave it.” + +“I find it difficult to get here often,” said Theirry. + +He crossed to the window and looked out, as if the room oppressed him, +and he thought the prospect of the roses pleasanter than the shadows +and lamplight within. + +“Ye find it difficult,” said Dirk, “because your desires chain you to +the Court. I think ye are a faithless friend.” + +“That am not I--ye know more of me than any man--I care more for ye +than for any man----” + +“Or woman?” added Dirk dryly. + +An impatient colour came into Theirry’s cheeks; he looked resolutely +at the red roses. + +“That is unworthy in you, Dirk--is it disloyal to you to know a +lady--to--to--admire a lady, to strive to serve and please a +lady----?” + +He turned his charming face, and, in his effort to conciliate, his +voice was gentle and winning. “Truly she is the sweetest of her kind, +Dirk; if you knew her--evil is abashed before her----” + +“Then it is as well I do not know her,” Dirk retorted grimly. +“Strangely ye talk--you and I know we are not saints--but belike ye +would reform--belike a second time ye have repented.” + +Theirry seemed in some agitation. + +“No, no--have I not gone too far? Do I not still hope to gain +something--perhaps everything?” He paused, then added in a low voice, +“But I wish I had never laid hands on the monk. I wish I had not +touched God His money--and when I see her I cannot prevent my heart +from smarting at the thought of what I am.” + +“How often do you see her?” asked Dirk quietly. + +“But seldom,” answered Theirry sadly. “And it is better--what could I +ever be to her?” + +Dirk smiled sombrely. + +“That is true. Yet you would waste your life dallying round the places +where you may sometimes see her face.” + +Theirry bit his lip. + +“Oh, you think me a fool--to falter, to regret;--but what have my sins +ever done for me? There are many honest men better placed than I--and +without the prospect of hell to blast their souls.” + +Dirk looked at him with lowering eyes. + +“You had been content had you not met this lady.” + +“Enough of her,” answered Theirry wearily. “You make too much of it. I +do not think I love her; but one who is fallen must view such +sweetness, such gentle purity with sorrow--yea, with yearning.” + +Dirk clasped his hand on the edge of the table. + +“Maybe she is neither so pure nor so gentle as you think. Certes! she +is but as other women, as one day ye may see.” + +Theirry turned from the window half in protest, half in excuse. + +“Cannot you understand how one may hold a fair thing dear--how one +might worship--even--love?” + +“Yes,” answered Dirk, and his great eyes were bright and misty. “But +if I--loved”--he spoke the word beautifully, and rose as he uttered +it--“I would so grapple his--her soul to mine that we should be +together to all eternity; nor devil nor angel should divide us. +But--but there is no need to talk of that--there are other matters to +deal with.” + +“Would I had never seen the evil books or never seen her face,” said +Theirry restlessly. “So at least I had been undivided in my thoughts.” + +He came to the table and looked at Dirk across the sickly, struggling +flame of the lamp; in his hazel eyes was an expression of appeal, the +call of the weak to the strong, and the other held out his hands +impulsively. + +“Ah, I am a fool to trouble with ye, my friend,” he said, and his +voice broke with tenderness. “For ye are headstrong and unstable, and +care not for me one jot, I warrant me--yet--yet you may do what you +will with this silly heart of mine.” + +There was a grace, a wistful affection in his face, in his words, in +his gesture of outstretched hands that instantly moved Theirry, ever +quick to respond. He took the young doctor’s slender fingers in a warm +clasp; they were very quickly withdrawn. Dirk had a notable dislike to +a touch, but his deep eyes smiled. + +“I have somewhat to tell you,” he said, “at which your impatience will +be pleased.” + +He went lightly to a press in the wall and brought forth a mighty +candlestick of red copper, branched and engraved; three half-burnt +candles remained in the sockets; he lit these, and the room was filled +with a brighter and pleasanter light. + +Setting the candlestick on the table, where it glowed over Theirry’s +splendid presence, he returned to the cupboard and took out a tall +bottle of yellow wine and two glasses with milk-white lines about the +rims. + +Theirry seated himself at the table, pulled off his gloves and +smoothed his hair back from his face. + +“Have you seen the Empress?” asked Dirk, pouring out the wine. + +“Yea,” answered Theirry, without interest. + +“She is very beautiful?” + +“Certes!--but of a cloying sweetness--there is no touch of nobility in +her.” + +Dirk held the wine out across the table and seated himself. + +“I have heard she is ambitious,” he said. + +“Ay, she gives the Emperor no rest; for ever urging him to Rome, to be +crowned by the Pope as Emperor of the West;--but he better loves the +North, and has no spirit to rule in Italy.” + +“The nobles chafe at his inaction?” asked Dirk. “’Tis not idle +questioning.” + +“Mostly, I think--do we not all have golden dreams of Rome? +Balthasar--ye mind him, he is Margrave of East Flanders now, since his +father was killed at the boar hunt--and powerful, he is mad to cross +the Alps--he has great influence with the Emperor. Indeed, I think he +loves him.” + +Dirk set down the untasted wine. + +“Balthasar loves the Emperor!” he cried. + +“Certes! yes--why not? The Margrave was always affectionate, and the +Emperor is lovable.” + +A second time Dirk raised the glass, and now drained it. + +“Here is good matter for plots,” he said, elegantly wiping his lips. +“Here is occasion for you and me to make our profit. Said ye the Devil +was a bad master?--listen to this.” + +Theirry moved the candlestick; the gold light dazzled in his eyes. + +“What can Emperor or Empress be to us?” he asked, a half-bewildered +fear darkening his brows. + +“She has been here,” said Dirk. “The Lady Ysabeau.” + +Theirry stared intently; a quick breath stirred his parted lips; his +cheeks glowed with excited colour. + +“She knows,” continued Dirk, “that I, Doctor Constantine of Frankfort +College, and you, meek secretary to her Chamberlain, are the two +students chased from Basle University.” + +Theirry gave a little sound of pain, and drew back in the huge carved +chair. + +“So,” said Dirk slowly, “she has it in her power to ruin us--at least +in Frankfort.” + +“How can I hold up my head at Court again!” exclaimed Theirry +bitterly. + +Dirk noted the utterly selfish thought; he did not mention how he had +shielded Theirry from suspicion. + +“There is more in it than that,” he answered quietly. “Did she choose +she might have us burnt in the market place--Joris of Thuringia died +of his illness that night.” + +“Oh!” cried Theirry, blenching. + +“But she will not choose,” said Dirk calmly. “She needs me--us--that +threat is but her means of forcing obedience; she came secretly to my +lectures--she had heard somewhat--she discovered more.” + +Theirry filled his glass. + +“She needs us?” he repeated falteringly. + +“Cannot ye guess in what way?” + +Theirry drank, set down the half-emptied glass, and looked at the +floor with troubled eyes that evaded the other’s bright eyes. + +“How can I tell?” he asked, as if reluctant to speak at all. + +Dirk repressed a movement of impatience. + +“Come, you know. Shall I speak plainly?” + +“Certes!--yes,” answered Theirry, still with averted face. + +“There is a man in her way.” + +Theirry looked up now; his eyes showed pale in his flushed face. + +“Who must die as Joris of Thuringia died?” he asked. + +“Yes.” + +Theirry moistened his lips. + +“Am I to help you?” + +“Are we not one--inseparable? The reward will be magnificent.” + +Theirry put his hand to a damp brow. + +“Who is the man?” + +“Hush!” whispered Dirk, peering through the halo of the candle-flame. +“It is the Emperor.” + +With a violent movement, Theirry pushed back his chair and rose. + +“Her husband! I will not do it, Dirk!” + +“I do not think ye have a choice,” was the cold answer. “Ye gave +yourself unto the Devil and unto me--and you shall serve us both.” + +“I will not do it,” repeated Theirry in a shuddering voice. + +Dirk’s eyes glimmered wrathfully. + +“Take care how you say that. There are two already--what of the monk? +I do not think you can turn back.” + +Theirry showed a desperate face. + +“Why have ye drawn me into this? Ye are deeper in devils’ arts than +I.” + +“That is a strange thing to say,” answered Dirk, very pale, his lips +quivering. “You swore comradeship with me--together we were to pursue +success--fame--power--you knew the means--ay, you knew by whose aid we +were to rise, you shared with me the labours, the disgrace that fell +on both of us. Together we worked the spells that slew Joris of +Thuringia--together we stole God His gold from the monk; now--ay, and +now when I tell you our chance has come--this is your manner of +thanking me!” + +“A chance!--to help a woman in a secret murder?” + +Theirry spoke sullenly. + +“Ye never thought our way would be the way of saintship--ye were not +so nice that time ye bound Ambrose of Menthon to the tree.” + +“How often must you remind me of that?” cried Theirry fiercely. “I had +not done it but for you.” + +“Well, say the same of this; if you be weak, I am strong enough for +two.” + +Theirry pulled at the crimson tassels on his slashed sleeves. + +“It is not that I am afraid,” he said, flushing. + +“Certes! you are afraid,” mocked Dirk. “Afraid of God, of justice, +maybe of man--but I tell you that these things are nought to us.” He +paused, lifted his eyes and lowered them again. “Our destiny is not of +our shaping;--we take the weapons laid to our hands and use them as we +are bid. Life and death shall both serve us to our appointed end.” + +Theirry came to the other side of the table and gazed, fearfully, +across at him. + +“Who are you?” he questioned softly. + +Dirk did not answer; an expression of dread and despair withered all +the life in his features; the extraordinary look in his suddenly +dimmed eyes sent a chill to Theirry’s heart. + +“Ah!” he cried, stepping back with manifest loathing. + +Dirk put his hand over his eyes and moaned. + +“Do you hate me, Theirry? Do you hate me?” + +“I--I do not know.” He could not explain his own sudden revulsion as +he saw the change in Dirk’s face; he paced to and fro in a tumult. + +Dark had closed in upon them and now blackness lay beyond the window +and the half-open door; shadows obscured the corners of the long +chamber; all the light, the red gleam of the candles, the green glow +of the lamp, shone over the table and the slight figure of Dirk. + +As Theirry stopped to gaze at him anew, Dirk suddenly lowered his +white hand, and his eyes, blinking above his long fingers, held +Theirry in a keen glance. + +“This will make us more powerful than the Empress or the Emperor,” he +said. “Leave your thoughts of me and ponder on that.” + +He withdrew his hand and revealed lips as pale as his cheeks. + +“What does that mean?” cried Theirry. “I am distracted.” + +“We shall go to Rome,” replied Dirk; there was a lulling quality of +temptation in his tone. “And you shall have your desires.” + +“My desires!” echoed Theirry wildly. “I have trod an unholy path, +pursuing the phantom of--my desires! Do you still promise me I shall +one day grasp it?” + +“Surely--money--and power and pleasure, these things wait you in Rome +when Ysabeau shall have placed the imperial diadem on Balthasar’s +brow. These things--and”--it seemed as if Dirk’s voice broke--“even +Jacobea of Martzburg,” he added slowly. + +“Can one win a saint by means of devilry?” cried Theirry. + +“She is only a woman,” said Dirk wearily. “But, since you hesitate, +and falter, I will absolve you from this league with me;--go your way, +serve your saint, renounce your sins--and see what God will give you.” + +Theirry crossed the room with unequal steps. + +“No--I cannot--I will not forego even the hope of what you offer me.” +His great eyes glittered with excitement; the hot blood darkened his +cheek. “And I pledged myself to you and your master. Do not think me +cowardly because I paused--who is the Emperor?” He spoke hoarsely. +“Nothing to you or to me.… As you say, Joris of Thuringia died.” + +“Now you speak like my comrade at Basle,” cried Dirk joyfully. “Now I +see again the spirit that roused me to swear friendship with you the +night we first met. Now I--ah, Theirry, we will be very faithful to +one another, will we not?” + +“I have no choice.” + +“Swear it,” cried Dirk. + +“I swear it,” said Theirry. + +He went to the window, pushed it wider open and gazed out into the +moonless night. + +Dirk clasped and unclasped his hands on the table, murmuring-- + +“I have won him back--won him back!” + +Theirry spoke, without turning his head. + +“What do you mean to do next?” + +“I shall see the Empress again,” answered Dirk. “At present--be very +secret;--that is all--there is no need to speak of it.” + +Now it was he that was anxious to evade the subject; his eyes, bright +under the drooping lids, marked the vehement, desperate eagerness of +Theirry’s flushing face, and he smiled to see it. + +“Your absence may be noticed at the palace,” he said softly. “You must +return. How you can help me I will let you know.” + +But Theirry stood irresolute. + +“It seems I have no will when you command me,” he said, half in +protest. “I come and go as you bid me--you stir my cold blood, and +then will not give me satisfaction.” + +“You know all that I do,” returned Dirk. He rose and raised the copper +candlestick in both hands. “I am very weary. I will light you to the +door.” + +“Where have you been to-day?” asked Theirry. “Did you see the Court +returning from the tourney?” + +The candle-flames, flaring with the movement, cast a rich glow over +Dirk’s pallid face. + +“No--why do you ask?” he said. + +“I know not.” Theirry’s crimson doublet sparkled in its silk threads +as his breast rose with the irregular breaths; he walked heavily to +the door, gathering up his black mantle over his arm. + +“When may I come again?” he asked. + +“When you will,” answered Dirk. He entered the passage and held up the +heavy candlestick, so that a great circle of light was cast on the +darkness. “Ye are pledged to me whether ye come or no--are ye not?” + +“Certes! I do think so,” said Theirry. He hesitated. + +“Good-night,” whispered Dirk. + +Theirry went down the passage. + +“Good-night.” + +He found the door and unlatched it; a soft but powerful breath of air +fluttered the candle-flames almost on to Dirk’s face; he turned back +into the room and shut himself in, leaving darkness behind him. + +Theirry stepped into the street and drew the latch; a few stars were +out, but the night was cloudy. He leant against the side of the house; +he felt excited, confused, impatient; Dirk’s abrupt dismissal rankled, +he was half ashamed of the power exercised over him by his frail +comrade, half bewildered by the allurement of the reward that promised +to be so near now. + +Rome--splendour, power--Jacobea of Martzburg--and only one stranger +between him and this consummation; he wondered why he had ever +hesitated, ever been horrified; his anticipations became so brilliant +that they mounted like winged spirits to the clouds, catching him up +with them; he could scarcely breathe in the close atmosphere of +excitement; a thousand questions to which he might have demanded +answer of Dirk occurred to him and stung with impatience his elated +heart. + +On a quick impulse he turned to the door and tried the handle. + +To his surprise he found it bolted from within; he wondered both at +Dirk’s caution and his softness of tread, for he had heard no sound. + +It was not yet late, but he did not desire to attract attention by +knocking. + +Full of his resolution to speak further with Dirk, he passed round the +house and entered the garden with the object of gaining admittance by +the low windows of the room where they had been conversing. + +But the light had gone from the chamber, and the windows were closed. + +With an exclamation of impatience Theirry stepped back among the rose +bushes and looked up. + +Dirk’s bedchamber was also in darkness; black and silent the witch’s +dwelling showed against the still but stormy sky. Theirry felt a chill +run to his heart--where had the youth gone so instantly, so silently? +Who had noiselessly bolted door and windows? + +Then suddenly a light flashed across his vision; it appeared in the +window of a room built out from the house at the side--a room that +Theirry had always imagined was used only as a store-place for +Nathalie’s drugs and herbs; he did not remember that he had ever +entered it or ever seen a light there before. + +His curiosity was stirred; Dirk had spoken of weariness--perhaps this +was the witch herself. He waited for the light to disappear, but it +continued to glow, like a steady star across the darkness of the rose +garden. + +The heavy scent of the half-seen blooms filled the gusty wind that +began to arise; great fragments of cloud sped above the dark roof-line +of the house; Theirry crept nearer the light. + +It had crossed his mind many times that Dirk and Nathalie held secrets +they kept from him, and the doubt had often set him raging inwardly, +as well he knew the witch despised him as a useless novice in the +black arts; old suspicions returned to him as, advancing warily, he +drew near the light and crouched against the wall of the house. A +light curtain was pulled across the window, but carelessly, and drawn +slightly awry to avoid the light set in the window-seat. + +Theirry, holding his breath, looked in. + +He saw an oval room hung with Syrian tapestries of scarlet and yellow, +and paved with black and white marble; the air was thick with the blue +vapour of some perfume burning in a copper brazier, and lit by lamps +suspended from the wall, their light glowing from behind screens of a +pure pink silk. The end of the apartment was hidden by a violet velvet +curtain embroidered with grapes and swans; near this a low couch +covered with scarlet draperies and purple cushions was placed, and +close to this a table, set with a white cloth bearing moons and stars +worked in blue. + +Across this cloth a thick chain of amber beads was flung; a single +tall glass edged with gold and a silver dish of apples stood together +in the centre of the table. + +As there was no one in the room to attract his attention, Theirry had +leisure to remark these details. + +He noticed, also, that the light close to him in the window-seat was +the copper candlestick he had seen, not long since, in Dirk’s hands. + +With a certain angry jealousy at being, as he considered, duped, he +waited for his friend’s appearance. + +Mystery and horror both had he seen at the witch’s house, yet nothing +ever disclosed to him helped him now to read the meaning of this room +he peered into. + +As he gazed, his brows contracted in wonderment; he saw the violet +curtain gently shaken, then drawn slightly apart in the middle. + +Theirry almost betrayed himself by a cry of surprise. + +A long, slender woman’s hand and arm slipped between the folds of the +velvet; a delicate foot appeared; the curtain trembled, the aperture +widened, and the figure of a girl was revealed in dusky shadow. + +She was tall, and wore a long robe of yellow sendal that she held up +over her bosom with her left hand. She might have just come forth from +the bath, for her shoulders, arms and feet were bare, and the lines of +her limbs noticeable through the thin silk. + +Her head and face were wrapped in a silver gauze. She stood quite +still, half withdrawn behind the curtain, only the finely shaped white +arm that held it back fully revealed. + +Her appearance impressed Theirry with unnameable dread and terror; he +remained rigid at the window gazing at her, not able, if he would, to +fly. Through the veil that concealed her face he could see restless +dark eyes and the line of dark hair; he thought that she must see him, +that she looked at him even as he looked at her, but he could not +stir. + +Slowly she came forward into the room; her feet were noiseless on the +stone floor, but as she moved Theirry heard a curious dragging sound +he could not explain. + +She took up the amber beads from the table and put them down again; on +her left hand was a silver ring set with a flat red stone; supporting +her drapery with her other hand, she looked at this ornament, moved +her finger so that the crimson jewel flashed, then shook her hand, +angrily it seemed. + +As the ring was large it fell and rolled across the floor. Theirry saw +it sparkling under the edge of one of the hangings. + +The woman looked after it, then straight at the window, and the pale +watcher could have shrieked in horror. + +Again she moved, and again Theirry heard that noise as of something +being trailed across the floor. + +She was drawing nearer the window; as she approached she half turned, +and Theirry saw flat green and dull wings of wrinkled skin folded on +her back; the tips of them touched the floor--these had made the +dragging sound he had heard. + +With a tortured cry wrung from him he flung up his hand to shut out +the dreadful thing. She heard him, stopped and gave a shriek of dread +and anguish; the lights were instantly extinguished, the room was in +absolute darkness. + +Theirry turned and rushed across the garden. He thought the rose +bushes catching on his garments were hands seeking to detain him; he +thought that he heard a window open and a flapping of wings in the air +above him. + +He cried out to the God on whom he had turned his back-- + +“Christus have mercy!” + +And so he stumbled to the gate and out into the quiet street of +Frankfort. + + + + + CHAPTER XV. + MELCHOIR OF BRABANT + +The last chant of the monks died away. + +The Sabbath service was ended and the Court rose from its place in the +Emperor’s chapel, but Jacobea remained on her knees and tried to pray. + +The Empress, very fair and childishly sweet, drooping under the weight +of her jewelled garments even with three pages to lift her train, +raised her brows to see her lady remaining and gave her a little smile +as she passed. + +The Emperor, dark, reserved, devout and plainly habited, followed with +his eyes still on his breviary; he was leaning on the arm of Balthasar +of Courtrai; the sun falling slantwise through the high coloured +windows made the fair locks and golden clothes of the Margrave one +glitter in a dazzling brightness. + +Jacobea could not bring her thoughts to dwell on holy things; her +hands were clasped on her _prie-Dieu_, her open book was before her, +but her eyes wandered from the altar to the crowd passing down the +aisle. + +Among the faces that went by she could not but mark the beautiful +countenance of Theirry the secretary to the Queen’s Chamberlain; she +noticed him, as she always did, for his obvious calm handsomeness, +to-day she noticed further that he looked grieved, distraught and +pale. Wondering at this she observed him so intently that his long +hazel eyes glanced aside and met hers in an intense gaze, grave and +sad. + +She thought there was a question or an appeal--some meaning in his +look, and she turned her slender neck and stared after him, so that +two ladies following smiled at each other. + +Theirry kept his eyes fixed on her until he left the chapel, and a +slow colour crept into his cheek. + +When the last courtier had glittered away out of the low arched door, +Jacobea bent her head and rested her cheek against the top of the high +_prie-Dieu_; her yellow hair, falling from under her close linen cap, +hung in a shimmering line over her tight blue velvet gown, her hands +were interlaced beside her cheek, and her long skirt rippled over her +feet on to the stone pavement. + +Could her prayers have been shaped into words they would have been +such as these-- + +“Oh Mary, Empress of Heaven, oh saints and angels, defend me from the +Devil and my own wicked heart, shelter me in my weakness and arm me to +victory!” + +Incense still lingered in the air; it stole pleasantly to her +nostrils; she raised her eyes timidly to the red light on the altar, +then rose from her knees clasping her breviary to her bosom, and +turning she saw Theirry standing inside the door watching her. + +She knew that he was waiting to speak to her, and, she knew not why, +it gave her a sense of comfort and pleasure. + +Slowly she came down the aisle towards him, and as she approached, +smiled. + +He took a step into the church; there was no answering smile on his +face. + +“Teach me to pray, I beseech you,” he said ardently. “Let me kneel +beside you----” + +She looked at him in a troubled way. + +“I?--alas!” she answered. “You do not know me.” + +“I know that if any one could lead a soul upwards it would be you.” + +Jacobea shook her head sadly. + +“Scarcely can I pray for myself,” she answered. “I am weak, unhappy +and alone. Sir, whatever your trouble you must not come to me for +aid.” + +His dark eyes flashed softly. + +“You--unhappy? I have ever thought of you as gay and careless as the +roses.” + +She gazed on him wistfully. + +“Once I was. That day I saw you first--do you remember, sir? I often +recall it because it seemed--that after that I changed----” She +shuddered, and her grey eyes grew wet and mournful. “It was your +friend.” + +Theirry’s face hardened. + +“My friend?” + +She leant against the chapel wall and gazed passionately at the +Chamberlain’s secretary. + +“Who is he? Surely you must know somewhat of him.” + +“My friend----” repeated Theirry. + +“The young scholar,” she said quickly and fearfully, “he--he is in +Frankfort now.” + +“You have seen him?” + +She bowed her head. “What does he want with me? He will not let me be +in peace--he pursues me with horrible thoughts--he hates me, he will +undo my soul----” + +She stopped, catching close to her the ivory-covered book and +shivering. + +“I think,” she said after a second, “he is an evil thing.” + +“When did you meet him?” asked Theirry in a low fearful voice. + +Jacobea told him of the encounter in the forest; he marked that it was +the day of the great tourney, the day when he had last seen Dirk; he +remembered certain matters he had uttered concerning Jacobea. + +“If he has been tampering with you,” he cried wrathfully, “if he +dares----” + +“Then you know somewhat of him?” she interrupted in a half horror. + +“Ay, to my shame I do,” he answered. “I know him for what he is; if +you value your peace, your soul--do not heed him.” + +She drew away. + +“But you--you---- Are you in league with him?” + +Theirry groaned and set his teeth. + +“He holds me in a mesh of temptation--he lures me into great +wickedness.” + +Jacobea moved still further back; shrinking from him into the gloom of +the chapel. + +“Oh!” she said. “Who--who is he?” + +Theirry lowered his eyes and frowned. + +“You must not ask me.” He fingered the base of the pilaster against +the door. + +“But he troubles me,” she answered intensely. “The thought of him is +like some one clinging to my garments to drag me down.” + +Theirry lifted his head sharply to gaze at her tall slender figure; +but lifted his eyes no higher than her clasped hands that lay over the +breviary below her heart. + +“How can he or such as he disturb you? What temptation can you be +beguiled with?” + +And as he saw the delicate fingers tremble on the ivory cover, his +soul was hot and sore against Dirk. + +“I will not speak of what might beguile me,” said Jacobea in a low +voice. “I dare not speak of it--let it go--it is great sin.” + +“There is sin for me also,” murmured Theirry, “but the prize seems +almost worth it.” + +He bit his finger and stared on the ground; he felt that she +shuddered, and heard the shiver of her silks against the chapel wall. + +“Worth it, you say?” she whispered, “worth it?” + +Her tone made him wince; he could fancy Dirk at her shoulder prompting +her, and he lifted his head and answered strongly-- + +“You cannot care to know, and I dare not tell, what has put me in the +power of this young scholar, nor what are the temptations with which +he enmeshes me--but this you must hear”--his hand was outspread on his +bosom, pressing on his heart, his hazel eyes were dilated and +intense--“this--I should be his, utterly, wholly his, one with him in +evil, if it were not for you and the thought of you.” + +She leant her whole weight against the stone wall and stared at him; a +shaft of dusty sunlight played on the smooth ivory book and her long +fingers; fell, too, glowingly across the blue velvet bosom of her +dress; but her throat and face were in shadow. + +“You are the chatelaine of Martzburg,” continued Theirry in a less +steady voice, “and you do not know me--it is not fit that you +should--but twice you have been gentle with me, and if--and if you +could so care, for your sake I would shake the clinging devils off--I +would live good and humble, and scorn the tempting youth.” + +“What must I do to help you?” answered Jacobea. “Alas! why do you rate +me so high?” + +Theirry came a step nearer; he touched the border of her long sleeve. + +“Be what you are--that is all. Be noble, pure--ah, sweet!--that seeing +you I can still believe in heaven and strive for it.” + +She looked at him earnestly. + +“Why--you are the only one to care, that I should be noble and sweet. +And it would make a difference to you?” Her questioning voice fell +wistfully. “Ah, sir--were you to hear a wicked thing of me and know it +true--did I become a vile, a hideous creature--would it make a +difference?” + +“It would--for me--make the difference between hell and paradise.” + +She flushed and trembled. + +“Certes, you have heartened me--nay, you must not set me in a +shrine--but, but---- Oh, sir, honour me and I will be worthy of it.” + +She raised an appealing face. + +“On my knees,” answered Theirry earnestly, “I will do you worship. I +am no knight to wear your colours boldly--but you shall win a fairer +triumph than ever graced the jousts, for I will come back to God +through you and live my days a repentant man--because of you.” + +“Nay--each through the other,” said Jacobea. “I think I too--had… ah, +Jesu! fallen--if some one had not cared.” + +He paled with pain. + +“What did he--that youth--tempt you with?” + +“No matter,” she said faintly. “It is over now--I will be equal to +your thoughts of me, sir. I have no knight, nor have wished for +one--but I will often think of you who have encouraged me in this my +loneliness.” + +“Please God,” he said. “We both are free of devilry--will you make +that a pact with me? that I may think of you as far above it all as is +the moon above the mire--will you give me leave to think you always as +innocent as I would have my saint?” + +“Your worship, sir, shall make me so,” she answered gravely. “Think no +ill of me and I will do no ill.” + +He went on his knee and kissed the hem of her soft gown. + +“You have saved me,” he whispered, “from everlasting doom.” + +As he rose, Jacobea held out her hand and touched him gently on the +sleeve. + +“God be thanked,” she said. + +He bent his head and left her; she drew from her bosom the crucifix +that had been her companion in the forest and kissed it reverently, +her heart more at ease than since the day when first she met Dirk +Renswoude. + +Returning to the great hall of the palace with quick resolve to return +to Martzburg or to send for Sybilla forming in her mind, she +encountered the Empress walking up and down the long chamber +discontentedly. + +Ysabeau, who affected a fondness for Jacobea, smiled on her +indolently, but Jacobea, always a little overawed by her great +loveliness, and, in her soul, disliking her, would have passed on. + +The Empress raised her hand. + +“Nay, stay and talk to your poor deserted lady,” she said in her +babyish voice. “The Emperor is in his chamber writing Latin +prayers--on a day like this!” She kissed her hand to the sunshine and +the flowers seen through the window. “My dames are all abroad with +their gallants--and I---- Hazard what I have been doing?” + +She held her left hand behind her and laughed in Jacobea’s face; seen +thus in her over-gorgeous clothes, her childlike appearance and beauty +giving her an air of fresh innocence, she was not unlike the little +image of the Virgin often set above her altars. + +“Guess!” she cried again; then, without waiting for an +answer--“Catching butterflies in the garden.” + +She showed her hand now, and held delicately before Jacobea’s eyes a +white net drawn tightly together full of vari-coloured butterflies. + +“What is the use of them, poor souls?” asked Jacobea. + +The Empress looked at her prisoners. + +“Their wings are very lovely,” she said greedily. “If I pulled them +off would they last? Sewn on silk how they would shimmer!” + +“Nay, they would fade,” answered Jacobea hastily. + +“Ye have tried it?” demanded the Empress. + +“Nay, I could not be so cruel… I love such little gay creatures.” + +Reflection darkened Ysabeau’s gorgeous eyes. + +“Well, I will take the wings off and see if they lose their +brightness.” She surveyed the fluttering victims. “Some are purple… a +rare shade!” + +Jacobea’s smooth brow gathered in a frown of distress. + +“They are alive,” she said, “and it is agreeable to them to live; will +you not let them free?” + +Ysabeau laughed; not at all babyishly now. + +“You need not watch me, dame.” + +“Your Grace does not consider how gentle and helpless they are, +indeed”--Jacobea flushed in her eagerness--“they have faces and little +velvet jackets on their bodies.” + +Ysabeau frowned and turned away. + +“It amuses you to thwart my pleasures,” she answered. She suddenly +flung the net at Jacobea. “Take them and begone.” + +The chatelaine of Martzburg, knowing something of the Empress, was +surprised at this sudden yielding; looking round, however, she learnt +the cause of it. The Margrave of East Flanders had entered the hall. + +She caught up the rescued butterflies and left the chamber, while the +Empress sank into the window-seat among the crimson cushions patterned +with sprawling lions, pulled a white rose out of her belt and set her +teeth in the stem of it. + +“Where is Melchoir?” asked the Margrave, coming towards her; his +immense size augmented by his full rich clothes gave him the air of a +golden giant. + +“Writing Latin prayers,” she mocked. “Were you Emperor of the West, +Lord Balthasar, would you do that?” + +He frowned. + +“I am not such a holy man as Melchoir.” + +Ysabeau laughed. + +“Were you my husband would you do that?” + +His fresh fair face flushed rose colour. + +“This is among the things I may not even fancy.” + +She looked out of the window; her dress was low and loosened about the +shoulders, by cause of the heat, she said, but she loved to make a +pageant of her beauty; red, bronze and purple silks clung about her +fastened with a thick belt; her pale gold hair was woven into a great +diadem of curls above her brow, and round her throat was a string of +emeralds, a gift from Byzantium, her home. + +Purposely she was silent, hoping Balthasar would speak; but he stood, +without a word, leaning against the tapestry. + +“Oh God!” she said at last, without turning her head, “I loathe +Frankfort!” + +His eyes glittered, but he made no answer. + +“Were I a man I would not be so tame.” + +Now he spoke. + +“Princess, you know that I am sick for Rome, but what may we do when +the Emperor makes delays?” + +“Melchoir should be a monk,” his wife returned bitterly, “since a +German township serves him when he might rule half the world.” Now she +gave Balthasar her lovely face, and fixed on him her violet eyes. “We +of the East do not understand this diffidence. My father was an Aegean +groom who took the throne by strangling the life out of his master--he +ruled strongly in Ravenna, I was born in the purple, nursed in the +gold--I do not fathom your northern tardiness.” + +“The Emperor _will_ go to Rome,” said the Margrave in a troubled +voice. “He will cross the Alps this year, I think.” + +Her white lids drooped. + +“You love Melchoir--therefore you bear with him.” + +He lifted his head. + +“You, too, must bear with him, since he is your lord, Princess,” he +answered. + +And the Empress repressed the words she longed to utter, and forced a +smile. + +“How stern you are, Margrave; if I but turn a breath against +Melchoir--and, sometimes, you wrong me, forgetting that I also am your +friend.” + +Her eyes were quick to flash over him, to mark how stiffly and +awkwardly he stood and could not look at her. + +“My duty to the Emperor,” she said softly, “and my love, cannot blind +me to his weakness now; come, Lord Balthasar, to you also it is +weakness--even your loyalty must admit we lose the time. The Pope +says--Come--the King of the Lombards will acknowledge my lord his +suzerain--and here we stay in Frankfort waiting for the winter to cut +off the Alps.” + +“Certes he is wrong,” frowned the Margrave. “Wrong… if I were he--I +would be Emperor in good sooth and all the world should know that I +ruled in Rome----” + +She drew a long breath. + +“Strange that we, his friend and his wife, cannot persuade him; the +nobles are on our side also.” + +“Save Hugh of Rooselaare, who is ever at his ear,” answered Balthasar. +“He brings him to stay in Germany.” + +“The Lord of Rooselaare!” echoed the Empress. “His daughter was your +wife?” + +“I never saw her,” he interrupted quickly. “And she died. Her father +seems, therefore, to hate me.” + +“And me also, I think, though why I do not know,” she smiled. “His +daughter’s dead, dead… oh, we are very sure that she is dead.” + +“Certes, she was as good as another;” the Margrave spoke gloomily. +“Now I must wed again.” + +The Empress stared at him. + +“I did not think you considered that.” + +“I must. I am the Margrave now.” + +Ysabeau turned her head and fixed her eyes on the palace garden. + +“There is no lady worthy of your rank and at the same time free,” she +said. + +“You have an heiress in your train, Princess--Jacobea of Martzburg--I +have thought of her.” + +The rich colours in the Empress’s gown shimmered together with her +hidden trembling. + +“Can you think of her? She is near as tall as you, Margrave, and not +fair--oh, a gentle fool enough--but--but”--she looked over her +shoulder--“am _I_ not your lady?” + +“Ay, and ever will be,” he answered, lifting his bright blue eyes. “I +wear your favour, I do battle for you, in the jousts you are my Queen +of Love--I make my prayers in your name and am your servant, +Princess.” + +“Well--you need not a wife.” She bit her lips to keep them still. + +“Certes,” answered Balthasar wonderingly. “A knight must have a wife +besides a lady--since his lady is ofttimes the spouse of another, and +his highest thought is to touch her gown--but a wife is to keep his +castle and do his service.” + +The Empress twisted her fingers in and out her girdle. + +“I had rather,” she cried passionately, “be wife than lady.” + +“Ye are both,” he answered, flushing. “The Emperor’s wife and my +lady.” + +She gave him a curious glance. + +“Sometimes I think you are a fool, yet maybe it is only that I am not +used to the North. How you would show in Byzantium, my cold Margrave!” +And she leant across the gold and red cushions towards him. “Certes, +you shall have your long straight maiden. I think her heart is as +chill as yours.” + +He moved away from her. + +“Ye shall not mock me, Princess,” he said fiercely. “My heart is hot +enough, let me be.” + +She laughed at him. + +“Are you afraid of me? Why do you move away? Come back, and I will +recount you the praises of Jacobea of Martzburg.” + +He gave her a sullen look. + +“No more of her.” + +“And yet your heart is hot enough----” + +“Not with the thought of her--God knows.” + +But the Empress pressed her hands together and slowly rose, looking +past Balthasar at the door. + +“Melchoir, we speak of you,” she said. + +The Margrave turned; the Emperor, velvet shod, was softly entering; he +glanced gravely at his wife and smilingly at Balthasar. + +“We speak of you,” repeated Ysabeau, dark-eyed and flushed, “of you… +and Rome.” + +Melchoir of Brabant, third of his name, austere, reserved, proud and +cold, looked more like a knight of the Church than King of Germany and +Emperor of the West; he was plainly habited, his dark hair cut close, +his handsome, slightly haughty face composed and stern; too earnest +was he to be showily attractive yet many men adored him, among them +Balthasar of Courtrai, for in himself the Emperor was both brave and +lovable. + +“Cannot you have done with Rome?” he asked sadly, while his large +intelligent eyes rested affectionately on the Margrave. “Is Frankfort +grown so distasteful?” + +“Certes, no, Lord Melchoir--it is the chance! the chance!” + +The Emperor sank in a weary manner on to a seat. + +“Hugh of Rooselaare and I have spoken together and we have agreed, +Balthasar, not to go to Rome.” + +The Empress stiffened and drooped her lids; the Margrave turned +swiftly to face his master, and all the colour was dashed out of his +fresh face. + +Melchoir smiled gently. + +“My friend, ye are an adventurer, and think of the glory to be +gained--but I must think of my people who need me here--the land is +not fit to leave. It will need many men to hold Rome; we must drain +the land of knights, wring money from the poor, tax the +churches--leave Germany defenceless, a prey to the Franks, and this +for the empty title of Emperor.” + +Balthasar’s breast heaved. + +“Is this your decision?” + +The Emperor answered gravely-- + +“I do not think it God His wish that I should go to Rome.” + +The Margrave bent his head and was silent, but Ysabeau flung her clear +voice into the pause. + +“In Constantinople a man such as _you_ would not long fill a throne; +ere now you had been a blinded monk and I free to choose another +husband!” + +The Emperor rose from his seat. + +“The woman raves,” he said to the pale Margrave. “Begone, Balthasar.” + +The German left them; when his heavy footfall had died into silence, +Melchoir looked at his wife and his eyes flashed. + +“God forgive my father,” he said bitterly, “for tying me to this +Eastern she-cat!” + +The Empress crouched in the window-seat and clutched the cushions. + +“I was meant for a man’s mate,” she cried fiercely, “for a Cæsar’s +wife. I would they had flung me to a foot-boy sooner than given me to +thee--thou trembling woman’s soul!” + +“Thou hast repaid the injury,” answered the Emperor sternly, “by the +great unhappiness I have in thee. My life is not sweet with thee nor +easy. I would thou hadst less beauty and more gentleness.” + +“I am gentle enough when I choose,” she mocked. “Balthasar and the +Court think me a loving wife.” + +He took a step towards her; his cheek showed pale. + +“It is most true none save I know you for the thing you +are--heartless, cruel, fierce and hard----” + +“Leave that!” she cried passionately. “You drive me mad. I hate you, +yea, you thwart me every turn----” + +She came swiftly across the floor to him. + +“Have you any courage--any blood in you--will you go to Rome?” + +“To please your wanton ambition I will do nothing, nor will I for any +reason go to Rome.” + +Ysabeau quivered like an infuriated animal. + +“I will talk no more of it,” said Melchoir coldly and wearily. “Too +often do we waste ourselves in such words as these.” + +The Greek could scarcely speak for passion; her nostrils were dilated, +her lips pale and compressed. + +“I am ashamed to call you lord,” she said hoarsely; “humbled before +every woman in the kingdom who sees her husband brave at least--while +I--know you coward----” + +Melchoir clenched his hands to keep them off her. + +“Hark to me, my wife. I am your master and the master of this land--I +will not be insulted, nay, nor flouted, by your stinging tongue. Hold +me in what contempt ye will, you shall not voice it--by St. George, +no!--not if I have to take the whip to hold you dumb!” + +“Ho! a Christian knight!” she jeered. “I loathe your Church as I +loathe you. I am not Ysabeau, but still Marozia Porphyrogentris.” + +“Do not remind me thy father was a stableman and a murderer,” said +Melchoir. “Nor that I caused thee to change a name the women of thy +line had made accursed. Would I could send thee back to Ravenna!--for +thou hast brought to me nought but bitterness!” + +“Be careful,” breathed Ysabeau. “Be careful.” + +“Stand out of my way,” he commanded. + +For answer she loosened the heavy girdle round her waist; he saw her +purpose and caught her hands. + +“You shall not strike me.” The links of gold hung from her helpless +fingers while she gazed at him with brilliant eyes. “_Would_ you have +struck me?” + +“Yea--across your mouth,” she answered. “Now were you a man, you would +kill me.” + +He took the belt from her arm, releasing her. “That _you_ should +trouble me!” he said wearily. + +At this she stood aside to let him pass; he turned to the door, and as +he lifted the tapestry flung down her belt. + +The Empress crept along the floor, snatched it up and stood still, +panting. + +Before the passion had left her face the hangings were stirred again. + +One of her Chamberlains. + +“Princess, there is a young doctor below desires to see you. +Constantine, his name, of Frankfort College.” + +“Oh!” said Ysabeau; a guilty colour touched her whitened cheek. “I +know nothing of him,” she added quickly. + +“Pardon, Princess, he says ’tis to decipher an old writing you have +sent to him; his words are, when you see him you will remember.” + +The blood burnt more brightly still under the exquisite skin. + +“Bring him here,” she said. + +But even as the Chamberlain moved aside, the slender figure of Dirk +appeared in the doorway. + +He looked at her, smiling calmly, his scholar’s cap in his hand. + +“You do remember me?” he asked. + +The Empress moved her head in assent. + + + + + CHAPTER XVI. + THE QUARREL + +Dirk Renswoude laid down the pen and pushed aside the parchment, and +lifted heavy eyes with a sigh of weariness. + +It was midday and very hot; the witch’s red roses were beginning to +shed their petals and disclose their yellow hearts, and the leaves of +the great trees that shaded the house were curling and yellowing in +the fierce sun. + +From his place at the table Dirk could mark these signs of autumn +without; yet by the look in his eyes it seemed that he saw neither +trees nor flowers, but only some image evoked by his thoughts; +presently he picked up the quill, bit the end of it, frowned and laid +it down. + +Then he started and looked round with some eagerness, for a light +sound broke the sleepy stillness, the door opened, and before his +expectant gaze Theirry appeared. + +Dirk flushed and smiled. + +“Well met,” he said. “I have much to say to you.” He rose and held out +his hand. + +Theirry merely touched it with his fingers. + +“And I am come because I also have much to say.” + +Dirk’s manner changed, the warmth died from his face, and he gave the +other a keen glance. + +“Speak, then.” He returned to his seat, took his face between his two +delicate hands, and rested his elbows on the table. “I was writing my +lecture for to-night, certes, I shall be glad of a diversion.” + +“You will not be pleased with mine,” answered Theirry; his expression +was grave and cold, his dress plain and careless; he frowned, lifted +his eyebrows continually, and played with the buttons on his doublet. + +“Be seated,” said Dirk. + +Theirry took the chair he proffered. + +“There is no need to make an ado,” he began, obviously with an effort. +“I am not going on with you.” + +“You are not going on?” repeated Dirk. “Well, your reasons?” + +“May God forgive me what I have done,” cried Theirry in great +agitation; “but I will sin no more--I have resolved it--and ye cannot +tempt me.” + +“And all you swore--to me?” demanded Dirk; his eyes narrowed, but he +remained composed. + +Theirry clasped his restless fingers. + +“No man is bound to bargains with the Devil… I have been weak and +wicked--but I mingle no more in your fiendish councils----” + +“This is for Jacobea of Martzburg’s sake.” + +“It _is_ for her sake--because of her that I am here now to tell you I +have done with it--done with you!” + +Dirk dropped his hands on to the table. + +“Theirry! Theirry!” he cried wildly and sorrowfully. + +“I have measured the temptation,” said Theirry; “I have thought of the +gain--the loss--I have put it aside, with God’s help and hers--I will +not aid you in the way you asked me--nor will I see it done.” + +“And ye call that virtue!” cried Dirk. “Poor fool--all it amounts to +is that you, alas!--love the chatelaine.” + +“Nay,” he answered hotly. “It is that, having seen her, I would not be +vile. You meditate a dastard thing--the Emperor is a noble knight.” + +“Ambrose of Menthon was a holy monk,” retorted Dirk. “Who choked the +pious words in his throat? Joris of Thuringia was an innocent +youth--who sent him to a hideous death?” + +“I!” cried Theirry fiercely; “but always with you to goad me on! +Before the Devil sent you across my way I had never touched sin save +in dim thoughts… but you, with talk of friendship, lured me from an +honest man’s company to poison me with forbidden knowledge, to tempt +me into hideous blasphemies--and I will have no more of it!” + +“Yet you vowed comradeship with me,” said Dirk. “Is your loyalty of +such quality?” + +Theirry sprang violently from his chair and paced heavily up and down +the room. + +“You blinded me… I knew not what I did… but now I know; when +I--I--heard her speak, and heard that you had dared to try to trap her +to destruction----” + +Dirk interrupted with a low laugh. + +“So she told you that! But I warrant that she was dumb about the +nature of her temptation!” + +“That is no matter,” answered Theirry; “now she is free of you, as I +shall be----” + +“As you vowed to her you would be,” added Dirk. “Well, go your way--I +thought you loved me a little--but the first woman’s face----!” + +Theirry stood still to front him. + +“I cannot love that which--I fear.” + +Dirk went swiftly very pale. + +“Do you--fear me, Theirry?” he asked wistfully. + +“Ay, ye know too much of Satan’s lore--more than you ever taught me,” +he shuddered uncontrollably; “there are things in this very house----” + +“What do you mean--what do you mean?” Dirk rose in his place. + +“Who is the woman?” whispered Theirry fearfully; “there is a woman +here----” + +“In this house there are none save Nathalie and me,” answered Dirk on +the defensive, his eyes dark and glowing. + +“There you lie to me; the last time I was here, I turned back swiftly +on leaving, but found the door bolted, the lights out, all save +one--in the little chamber next to this--I watched at the window and +saw a gorgeous room and a woman, a winged woman.” + +“You dream,” answered Dirk in a low voice. “Do you think I have enough +power to raise such shapes?” + +“I think ’twas some love of yours from Hell--whence you came----” + +“My love is not in Hell, but on the earth,” answered Dirk +quietly--“yet shall we go together into the pit--as for the woman, it +was a dream--there is no gorgeous chamber there.” + +He crossed the room and flung open a little door in the wall. + +“See--old Nathalie’s closet--full of herbs and charms----” + +Theirry peered into an ill-lit apartment fitted with shelves +containing jars and bottles. + +“The enchantment that could bring the woman could change the room,” he +muttered, unconvinced. + +Dirk gave a slow, strange look. + +“Was she beautiful?” + +“Yea--but----” + +“More beautiful than Jacobea of Martzburg?” + +Theirry laughed. + +“I cannot compare Satan’s handmaiden with a lily from Paradise.” + +Dirk closed the closet door. + +“Theirry,” he said falteringly, “do not leave me--you are the only +thing in all the universe can move me to joy or pain--I love you, +utterly.” + +“Out on such affection that would steal my soul----” + +He was turning away when Dirk laid a timid hand upon his sleeve. + +“I will make you great, ay, very great… do not hate me----” + +But Theirry gazed fearfully at the youth’s curious pale face. + +“I will have none of you.” + +“You do not know how dear I hold you,” insisted Dirk in a trembling +voice; “come back to me, and I will let your lady be----” + +“She can scorn ye… defy ye… as I do now!” + +And he flung off the slim hand from his arm and strode away down the +long room. + +Dirk drew himself together and crouched against the wall. + +“Will she? certes, I wonder, will she?” he cried. “You will have none +of me, you say, you reject me; but for how long?” + +“For ever,” answered Theirry hoarsely. + +“Or until Jacobea of Martzburg falls.” + +Theirry swung round. + +“That leaves it still for ever.” + +“Maybe, however, only for a few poor weeks--your lily is very fragile, +Theirry, so look to see it broken in the mud----” + +“If you harm her,” cried Theirry fiercely, “if you blast her with your +hellish spells----” + +“Nay--I will not; of herself she shall come to ruin.” + +“When that is, I will return to you, so--farewell for ever----” + +He made a passionate gesture with his hand as if he swept aside Dirk +and all thoughts of him, and turned quickly towards the door. + +“Wait!” Dirk called to him. “What of this that you know of me?” + +Theirry paused. + +“So much I owe you--that I should be silent.” + +“Since, if you speak, you bring to light your own history,” smiled +Dirk. “But--about the Emperor?” + +“God helping me I will prevent that.” + +“How will you prevent it?” Dirk asked quietly; “would you betray me as +a first offering to your outraged God?” + +Theirry pressed his hand to his brow in a bewildered, troubled manner. + +“No, no, not that; but I will take occasion to warn him--to warn some +one of the Empress.” + +Dirk hunched his shoulders scornfully. + +“Ah, begone, ye are a foolish creature--go and put them on their +guard.” + +Theirry flushed. + +“Ay, I will,” he answered hotly. “I know one honest man about the +Court--Hugh of Rooselaare.” + +A quick change came over Dirk’s face. + +“The Lord of Rooselaare?” he said. “I should remember him, certes; his +daughter was Balthasar’s wife--Ursula.” + +“She was, and he is the Emperor’s friend, and opposed to the schemes +of Ysabeau.” + +Dirk returned to the table and took up one of the books lying there; +mechanically he turned the pages, and his eyes were bright on +Theirry’s pallid face. + +“Warn whom you will, say what you will; save, if ye can, Melchoir of +Brabant; begone, see, I seek not to detain you. One day you shall come +back to me, when yon soft saint fails, and I shall be waiting for you; +till then, farewell.” + +“For _ever_ farewell,” answered Theirry. “I take up your challenge; I +go to save the Emperor.” + +Their eyes met; Theirry’s were the first to falter; he muttered +something like a malediction on himself, lifted the latch and strode +away. + +Dirk sank into his chair; he looked very young and slight in his plain +brown silk; his brow was drawn with pain, his eyes large and grieved; +he turned the books and parchments over as though he did not see them. + +He had not been long alone when the door was pushed open and Nathalie +crept in. + +“He has gone?” she whispered, “and in enmity?” + +“Ay,” answered Dirk slowly. “Renouncing me.” + +The witch came to the table, took up the youth’s passive hand and +fawned over it. + +“Let him go,” she said in an insinuating voice. “He is a fool.” + +“Why, I have put no strain on him to stay,” Dirk smiled faintly. “But +he will return.” + +“Nay,” pleaded Nathalie, “forget him.” + +“Forget him!” repeated Dirk mournfully. “But I love him.” + +Nathalie stroked the still, slim fingers anxiously. + +“This affection will be your ruin,” she moaned. + +Dirk gazed past her at the autumn sky and the overblown red roses. + +“Well, if it be so,” he said pantingly, “it will be his ruin also; he +must go with me when I leave the world--the world! after all, +Nathalie”--he turned his strange gaze on the witch--“it does not +matter if she hold him here, so long as he is mine through eternity.” + +His cheeks flushed and quivered, the long lashes drooped over his +eyes; then suddenly he smiled. + +“Nathalie, he has good intentions; he hopes to save the Emperor.” + +The witch blinked up at him. + +“But it is too late?” + +“Certes; I conveyed the potion to Ysabeau this morning.” And Dirk’s +smile deepened. + + + + + CHAPTER XVII. + THE MURDER + +“Balthasar,” said the Emperor, in pity of his friend’s sullen face, +“I will send ye to Rome to make treaty with the Pope since it goes so +heavily with you to stay in Frankfort.” + +The Margrave bit the ends of his yellow hair and made no answer. + +The Empress half lay along the seat against the wall. She wore a white +and silver gown; on the cushion, where her elbow rested to support her +head, lay a great cluster of crimson roses. + +On low stools near her sat her maidens sewing, three of them +embroidering between them a strip of scarlet silk. + +It was the dining hall, the table laid already with rudely magnificent +covers; through the low windows, from which the tapestry was looped +back, was to be seen a red sunset sky flaming over Frankfort. + +“Nay, be pleasant with me,” smiled the Emperor; he laid his arm +affectionately round the Margrave’s huge shoulders. “Certes, since I +took this resolution not to go to Rome, I have nought but sour looks +from all, save Hugh.” + +Balthasar’s good-humoured face cleared. + +“Ye are wrong, my Prince; but God wot, I am not angered--we can manage +without Rome”--he heroically stifled his sigh--“and who knows that ye +may not change yet?” he added cheerfully. + +Ysabeau looked at them as they paced up and down, their arms about +each other, the golden locks and the black almost touching, the +gorgeous purple and red habit of the Margrave against the quiet black +garments of the Emperor. + +She yawned as she looked, but her eyes were very bright; slowly she +rose and stretched her slender body while the red roses fell softly to +the ground, but she took no heed of them, fixing her gaze on the two +men; her husband seemed not to know of her presence, but the Margrave +was hotly conscious of her eyes upon him, and though he would not turn +his upon her, nevertheless, she marked it and, in a half-smiling way, +came and leant on the table that divided them. + +The sunset flashed final beams that fell in flushing rosy lines on the +gold and silver goblets and dishes, struck the Empress’s embroideries +into points of vivid light, and shone marvellously through Balthasar’s +brilliant locks. + +“Surely we are late to-night,” said the Emperor. + +“Yea,” answered Balthasar; “I do not love to wait.” + +He stopped to pour himself a tankard of amber wine and drank it at a +draught. + +Ysabeau watched him, then snatched up the fallen roses and laid them +on the cloth. + +“Will not my lord also drink?” she asked; the fingers of her right +hand were hidden in the red flowers, with her left she raised a chased +flagon in which the sunlight burnt and sparkled. + +“As you please, Princess,” answered Melchoir, and gazed towards the +light indifferently. + +“Ye might have poured for me,” murmured the Margrave in a half voice. + +Her hand came from the roses and touched a horn glass bound with +silver, it lingered there a moment, then rose to her bosom; Balthasar, +absorbing her face, did not notice the gesture. + +“Another time,” she answered, “I will serve you, Balthasar of +Courtrai.” She filled the glass until the wine bubbled at the brim. +“Give it to my lord,” she said. + +Balthasar laughed uneasily; their fingers touched upon the glass, and +a few drops were spilled. + +“Take care!” cried the Empress. + +Melchoir turned and took the goblet. + +“Why did you say--take care?” he asked. + +“Between us we upset the wine,” said Ysabeau. + +Melchoir drank. + +“It has an ugly taste,” he said. + +She laughed. + +“Is it the cupbearer, perchance?” + +“The wine is good enough,” put in Balthasar. + +The Emperor drank again, then set it down. + +“I say it is strange--taste it, Balthasar.” + +In an instant the Empress intervened. + +“Nay”--she caught up the glass with a movement swifter than the +Margrave’s--“since I poured, the fault--if fault there be--is mine.” + +“Give it to me!” cried Balthasar. + +But she made a quick motion aside, the glass slipped from her fingers +and the wine was lost on the floor. + +As Balthasar stooped to pick up the goblet, the Emperor smiled. + +“I warn you of that flagon, Margrave.” + +The pages and varlets entered with the meats and set them on the +table; they who sat at the Emperor’s board came to take their places; +Theirry followed his master and fixed quick eyes on the Emperor. + +He knew that Melchoir had been abroad all day at the hunt and could +not have long returned, hardly could their designs upon him be put in +practice to-night; after the supper he meant to speak to Hugh of +Rooselaare, this as an earnest of his final severance with Dirk. + +As the beautiful shining crowd settled to their seats, the young +secretary, whose place was behind his master’s chair, took occasion to +note carefully the lord who was to receive his warning. + +The candles, hanging in their copper circlets, were lit, and the ruddy +light shone over the company, while bright pages drew the curtains +over the last sunset glow. + +Theirry marked the Empress, sitting languorously and stripping a red +rose of its petals; Melchoir, austere, composed, as always; Balthasar, +gay and noisy; then he turned his gaze on Hugh of Rooselaare. + +That noble sat close to the Emperor. Theirry had not, so far, studied +his personal appearance though acquainted with his reputation; +observing him intently he saw a tall, well-made man dressed with +sombre elegance, a man with a strong, rather curious face framed in +straight, dull brown hair. + +There was something in the turn of the features, the prominent chin, +dark, clear eyes, pale complexion and resolute set of the mouth that +gradually teased Theirry as he gazed; the whole expression reminded +him of another face, seen under different circumstances, whose he +could not determine. + +Suddenly the Lord of Rooselaare, becoming aware of this scrutiny, +turned his singularly intent eyes in the direction of the young +scholar. + +At once Theirry had it, he placed the likeness. In this manner had +Dirk Renswoude often looked at him. + +The resemblance was unmistakable if elusive; this man’s face was of +necessity sterner, darker, older and more set; he was of larger make, +moreover, than Dirk could ever be, his nose was heavier, his jaw more +square, yet the likeness, once noticed, could not be again overlooked. + +It strangely discomposed Theirry, he felt he could not take his +warning to one who had Dirk’s trick of the intense gaze and +inscrutable set of the lips; he considered if there were not some one +else--let him go straightway, he thought, to the Emperor himself. + +His reflections were interrupted by a little movement near the table, +a pause in the converse. + +All eyes were turned to Melchoir of Brabant. + +He leant back in his seat and stared before him as if he saw a sight +of horror at the other end of the table; he was quite pale, his mouth +open, his lips strained and purplish. + +The Empress sprang up from beside him and caught his arm. + +“Melchoir!” she shrieked. “Jesu, he does not hear me!” + +Balthasar rose in his place. + +“My lord,” he said hoarsely, “Melchoir.” + +The Emperor moved faintly like one struggling hopelessly under water. + +“Melchoir!”--the Margrave pushed back his chair and seized his +friend’s cold hand--“do you not hear us… will you not speak?” + +“Balthasar”--the Emperor’s voice came as if from depths of +distance--“I am bewitched!” + +Ysabeau shrieked and beat her hands together. + +Melchoir sank forward, while his face glistened with drops of agony; +he gave a low crying sound and fell across the table. + +With an instantaneous movement of fright and horror, the company rose +from their seats and pressed towards the Emperor. + +But the Margrave shouted at them-- + +“Stand back--would you stifle him?--he is not dead, nor, God be +thanked, dying.” + +He lifted up the unconscious man and gazed eagerly into his face, as +he did so his own blanched despite his brave words; Melchoir’s eyes +and cheeks had fallen hollow, a ghastly hue overspread his features, +his jaw dropped and his lips were cracked, as if his breath burnt the +blood. + +The Empress shrieked again and again and wrung her hands; no one took +any heed of her, she was that manner of woman. + +Attendants, with torches and snatched-up candles, white, breathless +ladies and eager men, pressed close about the Emperor’s seat. + +“We must take him hence,” said Hugh of Rooselaare, with authority. +“Help me, Margrave.” + +He forced his way to Balthasar’s side. + +The Empress had fallen to her husband’s feet, a gleam of white and +silver against the dark trappings of the throne. + +“What shall I do!” she moaned. “What shall I do!” + +The Lord of Rooselaare glanced at her fiercely. + +“Cease to whine and bring hither a physician and a priest,” he +commanded. + +Ysabeau crouched away from him and her purple eyes blazed. + +The Margrave and Hugh lifted the Emperor between them; there was a +swaying confusion as chair and seats were pulled out, lights swung +higher, and a passage forced through the bewildered crowd for the two +nobles and their burden. + +Some flung open the door of the winding stairway that ascended to the +Emperor’s bed-chamber, and slowly, with difficulty, Melchoir of +Brabant was borne up the narrow steps. + +Ysabeau rose to her feet and watched it; Balthasar’s gorgeous attire +flashing in the torchlight, Hugh of Rooselaare’s stern pale face, her +husband’s slack body and trailing white hands, the eager group that +pressed about the foot of the stairs. + +She put her hands on her bosom and considered a moment, then ran +across the room and followed swiftly after the cumbrous procession. + +It was now a quarter of an hour since the Emperor had fainted, and the +hall was left--empty. + +Only Theirry remained, staring about him with sick eyes. + +A flaring flambeau stuck against the wall cast a strong light over the +disarranged table, the disordered seats, scattered cushions and the +rich array of gold vessels; from without came sounds of hurrying to +and fro, shouted commands, voices rising and falling, the clink of +arms, the closing of doors. + +Theirry crossed to the Emperor’s seat where the gorgeous cushions were +thrown to right and left; in Ysabeau’s place lay a single red rose, +half stripped of its leaves, a great cluster of red roses on the floor +beside it. + +This was confirmation; he did not think there was any other place in +Frankfort where grew such blooms; so he was too late, Dirk might well +defy him, knowing that he would be too late. + +His resolution was very quickly taken: he would be utterly silent, not +by a word or a look would he betray what he knew, since it would be +useless. What could save the Emperor now? It was one thing to give +warning of evil projected, another to reveal evil performed; besides, +he told himself, the Empress and her faction would be at once in +power--Dirk a high favourite. + +He backed fearfully from the red roses, glowing sombrely by the empty +throne. + +He would be very silent, because he was afraid; softly he crept to the +window-seat and stood there, motionless, his beautiful face +overclouded; in an agitated manner he bit his lip and reflected +eagerly on his own hopes and dangers… on how this affected him--and +Jacobea of Martzburg. + +To the man, dying miserably above, he gave no thought at all; the +woman, who waited impatiently for her husband’s death to put his +friend in his place, he did not consider, nor did the fate of the +kingship trouble him; he pictured Dirk as triumphant, potent, the +close ally of the wicked Empress, and he shivered for his own +treasured soul that he had just snatched from perdition; he knew he +could not fight nor face Dirk triumphant, armed with success, and his +outlook narrowed to the one idea--“let me get away.” + +But where? Martzburg!--would the chatelaine let him follow her? It was +too near Basle; he clasped his hands over his hot brow, calling on +Jacobea. + +As he dallied and trembled with his fears and terrors, one entered the +hall from the little door leading to the Emperor’s chamber. + +Hugh of Rooselaare holding a lamp. + +A feverish feeling of guilt made Theirry draw back, as if what he knew +might be written on his face for this man to read, this man whom he +had meant to warn of a disaster already befallen. + +The Lord of Rooselaare advanced to the table; he was frowning +fiercely, about his mouth a dreadful look of Dirk that fascinated +Theirry’s gaze. + +Hugh held up the lamp, glanced down and along the empty seats, then +noticed the crimson flowers by Ysabeau’s chair and picked them up. + +As he raised his head his grey eyes caught Theirry’s glance. + +“Ah! the Queen’s Chamberlain’s scrivener,” he said. “Do you chance to +know how these roses came here?” + +“Nay,” answered Theirry hastily. “I could not know.” + +“They do not grow in the palace garden,” remarked Hugh; he laid them +on the throne and walked the length of the table, scrutinising the +dishes and goblets. + +In the flare of flambeaux and candles there was no need for his lamp, +but he continued to hold it aloft as if he hoped it held some special +power. + +Suddenly he stopped, and called to Theirry in his quiet, commanding +way. + +The young man obeyed, unwillingly. + +“Look at that,” said Hugh of Rooselaare grimly. + +He pointed to two small marks in the table, black holes in the wood. + +“Burns,” said Theirry, with pale lips, “from the candles, lord.” + +“Candles do not burn in such fashion.” As he spoke Hugh came round the +table and cast the lamplight over the shadowed floor. + +“What is that?” He bent down before the window. + +Theirry saw that he motioned to a great scar in the board, as if fire +had been flung and had bitten into the wood before extinguished. + +The Lord of Rooselaare lifted a grim face. + +“I tell you the flames that made that mark are now burning the heart +and blood out of Melchoir of Brabant.” + +“Do not say that--do not speak so loud!” cried Theirry desperately, +“it cannot be true.” + +Hugh set his lamp upon the table. + +“I am not afraid of the Eastern witch,” he said sternly; “the man was +my friend and she has bewitched and poisoned him; now, God hear me, +and you, scrivener, mark my vow, if I do not publish this before the +land.” + +A new hope rose in Theirry’s heart; if this lord would denounce the +Empress before power was hers, if her guilt could be brought home +before all men--yet through no means of his own--why, she and Dirk +might be defeated yet! + +“Well,” he said hoarsely, “make haste, lord, for when the breath is +out of the Emperor it is too late… she will have means to silence you, +and even now be careful… she has many champions.” + +Hugh of Rooselaare smiled slowly. + +“You speak wisely, scrivener, and know, I think, something, hereafter +I shall question you.” + +Theirry made a gesture for silence; a heavy step sounded on the stair, +and Balthasar, pallid but still magnificent, swept into the room. + +A great war-sword clattered after him, he wore a gorget and carried +his helmet; his blue eyes were wild in his colourless face; he gave +Hugh a look of some defiance. + +“Melchoir is dying,” he said, his tone rough with emotion, “and I must +go look after the soldiery or some adventurer will seize the town.” + +“Dying!” repeated Hugh. “Who is with him?” + +“The Empress; they have sent for the bishop… until he come none is to +enter the chamber.” + +“By whose command?” + +“By order of the Empress.” + +“Yet I will go.” + +The soldier paused at the doorway. + +“Well, ye were his friend, belike she will let you in.” + +He swung away with a chink of steel. + +“Belike she will not,” said Hugh. “But I can make the endeavour.” + +With no further glance at the shuddering young man, who held himself +rigid against the wall, Hugh of Rooselaare ascended to the Emperor’s +chamber. + +He found the ante-room crowded with courtiers and monks; the Emperor’s +door was closed, and before it stood two black mutes brought by the +Empress from Greece. + +Hugh touched a black-robed brother on the arm. + +“By what authority are we excluded from the Emperor’s death-bed?” + +Several answered him-- + +“The Queen! she claims to know as much of medicine as any of the +physicians.” + +“She is in possession.” + +Hugh shouldered his way through them. + +“Certes, I must see him--and her.” + +But not one stepped forward to aid or encourage; Melchoir was beyond +protecting his adherents, he was no longer Emperor, but a man who +might be reckoned with the dead, the Empress and Balthasar of Courtrai +had already seized the governance, and who dared interfere; the great +nobles even held themselves in reserve and were silent. + +But Hugh of Rooselaare’s blood was up, he had always held Ysabeau +vile, nor had he any love for the Margrave, whose masterful hand he +saw in this. + +“Since none of you will stand by me,” he cried, speaking aloud to the +throng, “I will by myself enter, and by myself take the consequences!” + +Some one answered-- + +“I think it is but folly, lord.” + +“Shall a woman hold us all at bay?” he cried. “What title has she to +rule in Frankfort?” + +He advanced to the door with his sword drawn and ready, and the crowd +drew back neither supporting nor preventing; the slaves closed +together, and made a gesture warning him to retire. + +He seized one by his gilt collar and swung him violently against the +wall, then, while the other crouched in fear, he opened the door and +strode into the Emperor’s bed-chamber. + +It was a low room, hung with gold and brown tapestry; the windows were +shut and the air faint; the bed stood against the wall, and the heavy, +dark curtains, looped back, revealed Melchoir of Brabant, lying in his +clothes on the coverlet with his throat bare and his eyes staring +across the room. + +A silver lamp stood on a table by the window, and its faint radiance +was the only light. + +On the steps of the bed stood Ysabeau; over her white dress she had +flung a long scarlet cloak, and her pale, bright hair had fallen on to +her shoulders. + +At the sight of Hugh she caught hold of the bed-hangings and gazed at +him fiercely. + +He sheathed his sword as he came across the room. + +“Princess, I must see the Emperor,” he said sternly. + +“He will see no man--he knows none nor can he speak,” she answered, +her bearing prouder and more assured than he had ever known it. “Get +you gone, sir; I know not how ye forced an entry.” + +“You have no power to keep the nobles from their lord,” he replied. +“Nor will I take your bidding.” + +She held herself in front of her husband so that her shadow obscured +his face. + +“I will have you put without the doors if you so disturb the dying.” + +But Hugh of Rooselaare advanced to the bed. + +“Let me see him,” he demanded, “he speaks to me!” + +Indeed, he thought that he heard from the depths of the great bed a +voice saying faintly-- + +“Hugh, Hugh!” + +The Empress drew the curtain, further concealing the dying man. + +“He speaks to none. Begone!” + +The Lord of Rooselaare came still nearer. + +“Why is there no priest here?” + +“Insolent! the bishop comes.” + +“Meanwhile he dies, and there are monks enow without.” + +As he spoke Hugh sprang lightly and suddenly on to the steps, pushed +aside the slight figure of the Empress and caught back the curtains. + +“Melchoir!” he cried, and snatched up the Emperor by the shoulders. + +“He is dead,” breathed the Empress. + +But Hugh continued to gaze into the distorted, hollow face, while with +eager fingers he pushed back the long, damp hair. + +“He is dead,” repeated Ysabeau, fearing nothing now. + +With a slow step she went to the table and seated herself before the +silver lamp, while she uttered sigh on sigh and clasped her hands over +her eyes. + +Then the hot stillness began to quiver with the distant sound of +numerous bells; they were holding services for the dying in every +church in Frankfort. + +The Emperor stirred in Hugh’s arms; without opening his eyes he +spoke-- + +“Pray for me… Balthasar. They did not slay me honourably----” + +He raised his hands to his heart, to his lips, moaned and sank from +Hugh’s arm on to the pillow. + +“Quia apud Dominum misericordia, et copiosa apud eum,” he murmured. + +“Eum redemptio,” finished Hugh. + +“Amen,” moaned Melchoir of Brabant, and so died. + +For a moment the chamber was silent save for the insistent bells, then +Hugh turned his white face from the dead, and Ysabeau shivered to her +feet. + +“Call in the others,” murmured the Empress, “since he is dead.” + +The Lord of Rooselaare descended from the bed. + +“Ay, I will call in the others, thou Eastern witch, and show them the +man thou hast murdered.” + +She stared at him a moment, her face like a mask of ivory set in the +glittering hair. + +“Murdered?” she said at last. + +“Murdered!” He fingered his sword fiercely. “And it shall be my duty +to see you brought to the stake for this night’s work.” + +She gave a shriek and ran towards the door. + +Before she reached it, it was flung open, and Balthasar of Courtrai +sprang into the room. + +“You called?” he panted, his eyes blazing on Hugh of Rooselaare. + +“Yes; he is dead--Melchoir is dead, and this lord says I slew +him--Balthasar, answer for me!” + +“Certes!” cried Hugh. “A fitting one to speak for you--your +accomplice!” + +With a short sound of rage the Margrave dragged out his sword and +struck the speaker a blow across the breast with the flat of it. + +“So ho!” he shouted, “it pleases you to lie!” He yelled to his men +without, and the death-chamber was filled with a clatter of arms that +drowned the mournful pealing of the bells. “Take away this lord, on my +authority.” + +Hugh drew his sword, only to have it wrenched away. The soldiers +closed round him and swept their prisoner from the chamber, while +Balthasar, flushed and furious, watched him dragged off. + +“I always hated him,” he said. + +Ysabeau fell on her knees and kissed his mailed feet. + +“Melchoir is dead, and I have no champion save you.” + +The Margrave stooped and raised her, his face burning with blushes +till it was like a great rose. + +“Ysabeau, Ysabeau!” he stammered. + +She struggled out of his arms. + +“Nay, not now,” she whispered in a stifled voice, “not now can I speak +to you, but afterwards--my lord! my lord!” + +She went to the bed and flung herself across the steps, her face +hidden in her hands. + +Balthasar took off his helmet, crossed himself and humbly bent his +great head. + +Melchoir IV lay stiffly on the lily-sewn coverlet, and without the +great bells tolled and the monks’ chant rose. + +“De Profundis…” + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII. + THE PURSUIT OF JACOBEA + +The chatelaine of Martzburg sat in the best guest-chamber of a +wayside hostel that lay a few hours’ journeying from her home. Outside +the rain dripped in the trees and a cold mountain wind shook the +sign-board. Jacobea trimmed the lamp, drew the curtains, and began +walking up and down the room; the inner silence broken only by the +sound of her footfall and an occasional sharp patter as the rain fell +on to the bare hearth. + +So swiftly had she fled from Frankfort that its last scenes were still +before her eyes like a gorgeous and disjointed pageant; the Emperor +stricken down at the feast, the brief, flashing turmoil, Ysabeau’s +peerless face, that her own horrid thoughts coloured with a sinister +expression, Balthasar of Courtrai bringing the city to his feet--Hugh +of Rooselaare snatched away to a dungeon--and over it all the leaping +red light of a hundred flambeaux. + +She herself was free here of everything save the sound of the rain, +yet she must needs think of and brood on the tumult she had left. + +The quiet about her now, the distance she had put between herself and +Frankfort, gave her no sense of peace or safety; she strove, indeed, +with a feeling of horror, as if they from whom she had fled were about +her still, menacing her in this lonely room. + +Presently she passed into the little bed-chamber and took up a mirror +into which she gazed long and earnestly. + +“Is it a wicked face?” + +She answered herself--“No, no.” + +“Is it a weak face?” + +“Alas!” + +The wind rose higher, fluttered the lamp-flame and stirred the arras +on the wall; and laying the mirror down she returned to the outer +chamber. Her long hair that hung down her back was the only bright +thing in the gloomy apartment where the tapestry was old and dusty, +the furniture worn and faded; she wore a dark dress of embroidered +purple, contrasting with her colourless face; only her yellow locks +glittered as the lamplight fell on them. + +The wind rose yet higher, struggled at the casement, seized and shook +the curtains and whistled in the chimney. + +Up and down walked Jacobea of Martzburg, clasping and unclasping her +soft young hands, her grey eyes turning from right to left. + +It was very cold, blowing straight from the great mountains the dark +hid; she wished she had asked for a fire and that she had kept one of +the women to sleep with her--it was so lonely, and the sound of the +rain reminded her of that night at Martzburg when the two scholars had +been given shelter. + +She wanted to go to the door and call some one, but a curious +heaviness in her limbs began to make movement irksome; she could no +longer drag her steps, and with a sigh she sank into the frayed velvet +chair by the fireplace. + +She tried to tell herself that she was free, that she was on her way +to escape, but could not form the words on her lips, hardly the +thought; her head throbbed, and a cold sensation gripped her heart; +she moved in the chair, only to feel as if held down in it; she +struggled in vain to rise. “Barbara!” she whispered, and thought she +was calling aloud. + +A gathering duskiness seemed to overspread the chamber, and the +tongue-shaped flame of the lamp showed through it distinct yet very +far away; the noise of the wind and rain made one long insistent +murmur and moaning. + +Jacobea laughed drearily, and lifted her hands to her bosom to try to +find the crucifix that hung there, but her fingers were like lead, and +fell uselessly into her lap again. + +Her brain whirled with memories, with anticipations and vague +expectations, tinged with fear like the sensations of a dream; she +felt that she was sinking into soft infolding darkness; the lamp-flame +changed into a fire-pointed star that rested on a knight’s helm, the +sound of wind and rain became faint human cries. + +She whispered, as the dying Emperor had done--“I am bewitched.” + +Then the Knight, with the star glittering above his brow, came towards +her and offered her a goblet. + +“Sebastian!” she cried, and sat up with a face of horror; the chamber +was spinning about her; she saw the Knight’s long painted shield and +his bare hand holding out the wine; his visor was down. + +She shrieked and laughed together, and put the goblet aside. + +Some one spoke out of the mystery. + +“The Empress found happiness--why not you?--may not a woman die as +easily as a man?” + +She tried to remember her prayers, to find her crucifix; but the cold +edge of the gold touched her lips, and she drank. + +The hot wine scorched her throat and filled her with strength; as she +sprang up the Knight’s star quivered back into the lamp-flame, the +vapours cleared from the room; she found herself staring at Dirk +Renswoude, who stood in the centre of the room and smiled at her. + +“Oh!” she cried in a bewildered way, and put her hands to her +forehead. + +“Well,” said Dirk; he held a rich gold goblet, empty, and his was the +voice she had already heard. “Why did you leave Frankfort?” + +Jacobea shuddered. + +“I do not know;” her eyes were blank and dull. “I think I was +afraid----” + +“Lest you might do as Ysabeau did?” asked Dirk. + +“What has happened to me?” was all her answer. + +All sound without had ceased; the light burnt clear and steadily, +casting its faint radiance over the slim outlines of the young man and +the shuddering figure of the lady. + +“What of your steward?” whispered Dirk. + +She responded mechanically as if she spoke by rote. + +“I have no steward. I am going alone to Martzburg.” + +“What of Sebastian?” urged the youth. + +Jacobea was silent; she came slowly down the chamber, guiding herself +with one hand along the wall, as though she could not see; the wind +stirred the arras under her fingers and ruffled her gown about her +feet. + +Dirk set the goblet beside the lamp the while he watched her intently +with frowning eyes. + +“What of Sebastian?” he repeated. “Ye fled from him, but have ye +ceased to think of him?” + +“No,” said the chatelaine of Martzburg; “no, day and night--what is +God, that He lets a man’s face to come between me and Him?” + +“The Emperor is dead,” said Dirk. + +“Is dead,” she repeated. + +“Ysabeau knows how.” + +“Ah!” she whispered. “I think I knew it.” + +“Shall the Empress be happy and you starve your heart to death?” + +Jacobea sighed. “Sebastian! Sebastian!” She had the look of one +walking in sleep. + +“What is Sybilla to you?” + +“His wife,” answered Jacobea in the same tone; “his wife.” + +“The dead do not bind the living.” + +Jacobea laughed. + +“No, no--how cold it is here; do you not feel the wind across the +floor?” Her fingers wandered aimless over her bosom. “Sybilla is dead, +you say?” + +“Nay--Sybilla might die--so easily.” + +Jacobea laughed again. + +“Ysabeau did it--she is young and fair,” she said. “And she could do +it--why not I? But I cannot bear to look on death.” + +Her expressionless eyes turned on Dirk still in sightless fashion. + +“A word,” said Dirk--“that is all your part; send him ahead to +Martzburg.” + +Jacobea nodded aimlessly. + +“Why not?--why not?--Sybilla would be in bed, lying awake, listening +to the wind as I have done--so often--and he would come up the steep, +dark stairs. Oh, and she would raise her head----” + +Dirk put in-- + +“‘Has the chatelaine spoken?’ she would say, and he would make an end +of it.” + +“Perhaps she would be glad to die,” said Jacobea dreamily. “I have +thought that I should be glad to die.” + +“And Sebastian?” said Dirk. + +Her strangely altered face lit and changed. + +“Does _he_ care for _me_?” she asked piteously. + +“Enough to make life and death of little moment,” answered Dirk. “Has +he not followed you from Frankfort?” + +“Followed me?” murmured Jacobea. “I thought he had forsaken me.” + +“He is here.” + +“Here--here?” She turned, her movements still curiously blind, and the +long strand of her hair shone on her dark gown as she stood with her +back to the light. + +“Sebastian,” said Dirk softly. + +He waved his little hand, and the steward appeared in the dark doorway +of the inner room; he looked from one to the other swiftly, and his +face was flushed and dangerous. + +“Sebastian,” said Jacobea; there was no change in voice nor +countenance; she was erect and facing him, yet it might well be she +did not see him, for there seemed no life in her eyes. + +He came across the room to her, speaking as he came, but a sudden +fresh gust of wind without scattered his words. + +“Have you followed me?” she asked. + +“Yea,” he answered hoarsely, staring at her; he had not dreamed a +living face could look so white as hers, no, nor dead face either. He +dropped to one knee before her, and took her limp hand. + +“Shall we be free to-night?” she asked gently. + +“You have but to speak,” he said. “So much will I do for you.” + +She bent forward, and with her other hand touched his tumbled hair. + +“Lord of Martzburg and my lord,” she said, and smiled sweetly. “Do you +know how much I love you, Sebastian? why, you must ask the image of +the Virgin--I have told her so often, and no one else; nay, no one +else.” + +Sebastian sprang to his feet. + +“Oh God!” he cried. “I am ashamed--ye have bewitched her--she knows +not what she says.” + +Dirk turned on him fiercely. + +“Did ye not curse me when ye thought she had escaped? did I not swear +to recover her for you? is she not yours? Saint Gabriel cannot save +her now.” + +“If she had not said that,” muttered Sebastian; he turned distracted +eyes upon her standing with no change in her expression, the tips of +her fingers resting on the table; her wide grey eyes gazing before +her. + +“Fool,” answered Dirk; “an’ she did _not_ love you, what chance had +you? I left my fortunes to help you to this prize, and I will not see +you palter now--lady, speak to him.” + +“Ay, speak to me,” cried Sebastian earnestly; “tell me if it be your +wish that I, at all costs, should become your husband, tell me if it +is your will that the woman in our way should go.” + +A slow passion stirred the calm of her face; her eyes glittered. + +“Yes,” she said; “yes.” + +“Jacobea!”--he took her arm and drew her close to him--“look me in the +face and repeat that to me; think if it is worth--Hell--to you and +me.” + +She gazed up at him, then hid her face on his sleeve. + +“Ay, Hell,” she answered heavily; “go to Martzburg to-night; she +cannot claim you when she is dead; how I have striven not to hate +her--_my_ lord, _my_ husband.” She clung to him like a sleepy child +that feels itself falling into oblivion. “Now it is all over, is it +not?--the unrest, the striving. Sebastian, beware of the storm--it +blows so loud.” + +He put her from him into the worn old chair. “I will come back to +you--to-morrow.” + +“To-morrow,” she repeated--“when the sun is up.” + +The wind rushed between them and made the lamp-flame leap wildly. + +“Make haste!” cried Dirk; “away--the horse is below.” + +But Sebastian still gazed at Jacobea. + +“It is done,” said Dirk impatiently, “begone.” + +The steward turned away. + +“They are all asleep below?” he questioned. + +“Nor will they wake.” + +Sebastian opened the door on to the dark stairway and went softly out. + +“Now, it _is_ done,” repeated Dirk in a swelling whisper, “and she is +lost.” + +He snatched up the lamp, and, holding it aloft, looked down at the +drooping figure in the chair; Jacobea’s head sank back against the +tarnished velvet; there was a smile on her white lips, and her hands +rested in her lap; even with Dirk’s intent face bending over her and +the full light pouring down on her, she did not look up. + +“Gold hair and grey eyes--and her little feet,” murmured Dirk; “one of +God’s own flowers--what are you now?” + +He laughed to himself and reset the lamp on the table; the lull in the +storm was over, wind and rain strove together in the bare trees, and +the howlings of the tempest shook the long bare room. + +Jacobea moved in her seat. + +“Is he gone?” she asked fearfully. + +“Certes, he has gone,” smiled Dirk. “Would you have him dally on such +an errand?” + +Jacobea rose swiftly and stood a moment listening to the unhappy wind. + +“I thought he was here,” she said under her breath. “I thought that he +had come at last.” + +“He came,” said Dirk. + +The chatelaine looked swiftly round at him; there was a dawning +knowledge in her eyes. + +“Who are you?” she demanded, and her voice had lost its calm; “what +has happened?” + +“Do you not remember me?” smiled Dirk. + +Jacobea staggered back. + +“Why,” she stammered, “he was here, down at my feet, and we +spoke--about Sybilla.” + +“And now,” said Dirk, “he has gone to free you of Sybilla--as you bid +him.” + +“As I bid him?” + +Dirk clasped his cloak across his breast. + +“At this moment he rides to Martzburg on this service of yours, and I +must begone to Frankfort where my fortunes wait. For you, these words: +should you meet again one Theirry, a pretty scholar, do not prate to +him of God and Judgment, nor try to act the saint. Let him alone, he +is no matter of yours, and maybe some woman cares for him as ye care +for Sebastian, ay, and will hold him, though she have not yellow +hair.” + +Jacobea uttered a moan of anguish. + +“_I_ bid him go,” she whispered. “Did God utterly forsake me and I bid +him go?” + +She gave Dirk a wild look over her shoulders, huddling them to her +ears, as she crouched upon the floor. + +“You are the Devil!” she shrieked. “I have delivered myself unto the +Devil!” + +She beat her hands together, and fell towards his feet. + +Dirk stepped close and peered curiously into her unconscious face. + +“Why, she is not so fair,” he murmured, “and grief will spoil her +bloom, and ’twas only her face he loved.” + +He extinguished the lamp and smiled into the darkness. + +“I do think God is very weak.” + +He drew the curtain away from the deep-set window, and the moon, +riding the storm clouds like a silver armoured Amazon, cast a ghastly +light over the huddled figure of Jacobea of Martzburg, and threw her +shadow dark and trailing across the cold floor. + +Dirk left the chamber and the hostel unseen and unheard. The wind made +too great a clamour for stray sounds to tell. Out in the wild, wet +night he paused a moment to get his bearings; then turned towards the +shed where he and Sebastian had left their horses. + +The trees and the sign-board creaked and swung together; the long +lances of the rain struck his face and the wind dashed his hair into +his eyes, but he sang to himself under his breath with a joyous note. + +The angry triumphant moon, casting her beams down the clouds, served +to light the little wooden shed--the inn-stable--built against the +rocks. + +There were the chatelaine’s horses asleep in their stalls, here was +his own; but the place beside it where Sebastian’s steed had waited +was empty. + +Dirk, shivering a little in the tempest, unfastened his horse, and was +preparing to depart, when a near sound arrested him. + +Some one was moving in the straw at the back of the shed. + +Dirk listened, his hand on the bridle, till a moonbeam striking across +his shoulder revealed a cloaked figure rising from the ground. + +“Ah,” said Dirk softly, “who is this?” + +The stranger got to his feet. + +“I have but taken shelter here, sir,” he said, “deeming it too late to +rouse the hostel----” + +“Theirry!” cried Dirk, and laughed excitedly. “Now, this is +strange----” + +The figure came forward. + +“Theirry--yes; have you followed me?” he exclaimed wildly, and his +face showed drawn and wan in the silver light. “I left Frankfort to +escape you; what fiend’s trick has brought you here?” + +Dirk softly stroked his horse’s neck. + +“Are you afraid of me, Theirry?” he asked mournfully. “Certes, there +is no need.” + +But Theirry cried out at him with the fierceness of one at bay-- + +“Begone, I want none of you nor of your kind; I know how the Emperor +died, and I fled from a city where such as you come to power, ay, even +as Jacobea of Martzburg did--I am come after her.” + +“And where think you to find her?” asked Dirk. + +“By now she is at Basle.” + +“Are ye not afraid to go to Basle?” + +Theirry trembled, and stepped back into the shadows of the shed. + +“I want to save my soul; no, I am not afraid; if need be, I will +confess.” + +Dirk laughed. + +“At the shrine of Jacobea of Martzburg? Look to it she be not trampled +in the mire by then.” + +“You lie, you malign her!” cried the other in strong agitation. + +But Dirk turned on him with imperious sternness. + +“I did not leave Frankfort on a fool’s errand--I was triumphant, at +the high tide of my fortunes, my foot on Ysabeau’s neck. I had good +reason to have left this alone. Come with me to Martzburg and see my +work, and know the saint you worship.” + +“To Martzburg?” Theirry’s voice had terror in it. + +“Certes--to Martzburg.” Dirk began to lead his horse into the open. + +“Is the chatelaine there?” + +“If not yet, she will be soon; take one of these horses,” he added. + +“I know not your meaning,” answered Theirry fearfully; “but my road +was to Martzburg. I mean to pray Jacobea, who left without a word to +me, to give me some small place in her service.” + +“Belike she will,” mocked Dirk. + +“You shall not go alone,” cried Theirry, becoming more distracted, +“for no good purpose can you be pursuing her.” + +“I asked your company.” + +Impatiently and feverishly Theirry unfastened and prepared himself a +mount. + +“If ye have evil designs on her,” he cried, “be very sure ye will be +defeated, for her strength is as the strength of angels.” + +Dirk delicately guided his steed out of the shed; the moon had at last +conquered the cloud battalions, and a clear cold light revealed the +square dark shape of the hostel, the flapping sign, the bare +pine-trees and the long glimmer of the road; Dirk’s eyes turned to the +blank window of the room where Jacobea lay, and he smiled wickedly. + +“The night has cleared,” he said, as Theirry, leading one of the +chatelaine’s horses, came out of the stable; “and we should reach +Martzburg before the dawn.” + + + + + CHAPTER XIX. + SYBILLA + +Sebastian paused on the steep, dark stairs and listened. + +Castle Martzburg was utterly silent; he knew that there were one or +two servants only within the walls, and that they slept at a distance; +he knew that his cautious entry by the donjon door had made no sound, +yet on every other step or so he stood still and listened. + +He had procured a light; it fluttered in danger of extinction in the +draughty stairway, and he had to shield it with his hand. + +Once, when he stopped, he took from his belt the keys that had gained +him admission and slipped them into the bosom of his doublet; hanging +at his waist, they made a little jingling sound as he moved. + +When he gained the great hall he opened the door as softly and slowly +as if he did not know emptiness alone awaited him the other side. + +He entered, and his little light only served to show the expanses of +gloom. + +It was very cold; he could hear the rain falling in a thin stream from +the lips of the gargoyles without; he remembered that same sound on +the night the two students took shelter; the night when the deed he +was about to do had by a devil, in a whisper, been first put into his +head. + +He crossed to the hearth and set the lamp in the niche by the +chimney-piece; he wished there was a fire--certainly it was cold. + +The dim rays of the lamp showed the ashes on the hearth, the cushions +in the window-seat, and something that, even in that dullness, shone +with fiery hue. + +Sebastian looked at it in a half horror: it was Sybilla’s red lily, +finished and glowing from a samite cushion; by the side of it slept +Jacobea’s little grey cat. + +The steward gazing in curiously intent fashion recalled the fact that +he had never conversed with his wife and never liked her; he could not +tell of one sharp word between them, yet had she said she hated him he +would have felt no surprise; he wondered, in case he had ever loved +her, would he have been here to-night on this errand. + +Lord of Martzburg!--lord of as fine a domain as any in the empire, +with a chance of the imperial crown itself--nay, had he loved his wife +it would have made no difference; what sorry fool even would let a +woman interfere with a great destiny--Lord of Martzburg. + +With little reflection on the inevitable for his wife, he fell to +considering Jacobea; until to-night she had been a cipher to him--that +she favoured him a mere voucher for his crime; for the procuring of +this or that for him--a fact to be accepted and used; but that she +should _pray_ about him--speak as she had--that was another matter, +and for the first time in his cold life he was both moved and ashamed. +His thin, dark face flushed; he looked askance at the red lily and +took the light from its niche. + +The shadows seemed to gather and throng out of the silence, bearing +down on him and urging him forward; he found the little door by the +fireplace open, and ascended the steep stone stairs to his wife’s +room. + +Here there was not even the drip of the rain or the wail of the wind +to disturb the stillness; he had taken off his boots, and his +silk-clad feet made no sound, but he could not hush the catch of his +breath and the steady thump of his heart. + +When he reached her room he paused again, and again listened. + +Nothing--how could there be? Had he not come so softly even the little +cat had slept on undisturbed? + +He opened the door and stepped in. + +It was a small, low chamber; the windows were unshrouded, and fitful +moonlight played upon the floor; Sebastian looked at once towards the +bed, that stood to his left; it was hung with dark arras, now drawn +back from the pillows. + +Sybilla was asleep; her thick, heavy hair lay outspread under her +cheek; her flesh and the bed-clothes were turned to one dazzling +whiteness by the moon. + +Worked into the coverlet, that had slipped half to the polished floor, +were great wreaths of purple roses, showing dim yet gorgeous. + +Her shoes stood on the bed steps; her clothes were flung over a chair; +near by a crucifix hung against the wall, with her breviary on a shelf +beneath. + +The passing storm clouds cast luminous shadows across the chamber; but +they were becoming fainter, the tempest was dying away. Sebastian put +the lamp on a low coffer inside the door and advanced to the bed. + +A large dusky mirror hung beside the window, and in it he could see +his wife again, reflected dimly in her ivory whiteness with the dark +lines of her hair and brows. + +He came to the bedside so that his shadow was flung across her +sleeping face. + +“Sybilla,” he said. + +Her regular breathing did not change. + +“Sybilla.” + +A swift cloud obscured the moon; the sickly rays of the lamp struggled +with darkness. + +“Sybilla.” + +Now she stirred; he heard her fetch a sigh as one who wakens +reluctantly from soft dreams. + +“Do you not hear me speak, Sybilla?” + +From the bewildering glooms of the bed he heard her silk bed-clothes +rustle and slip; the moon came forth again and revealed her sitting +up, wide awake now and staring at him. + +“So you have come home, Sebastian?” she said. “Why did you rouse me?” + +He looked at her in silence; she shook back her hair from her eyes. + +“What is it?” she asked softly. + +“The Emperor died,” said Sebastian. + +“I know--what is that to me? Bring the light, Sebastian; I cannot see +your face.” + +“There is no need; the Emperor had not time to pray, I would not deal +so with you, therefore I woke you.” + +“Sebastian!” + +“By my mistress’s commands you must die to-night, and by my desire; I +shall be Lord of Martzburg, and there is no other way----” + +She moved her head, and, peering forward, tried to see his face. + +“Make your peace with Heaven,” he said hoarsely; “for to-morrow I must +go to her a free man.” + +She put her hand to her long throat. + +“I wondered if you would ever say this to me--I did not think so, for +it did not enter my mind that she could give commands.” + +“Then you knew?” + +Sybilla smiled. + +“Before ever you did, Sebastian, and I have so thought of it, in these +long days when I have been alone, it seemed that I must sew it even +into my embroideries--‘Jacobea loves Sebastian.’” + +He gripped the bed-post. + +“It is the strangest thing,” said his wife, “that she should love +you--you--and send you here to-night; she was a gracious maiden.” + +“I am not here to talk of that,” answered Sebastian; “nor have we +long--the dawn is not far off.” + +Sybilla rose, setting her long feet on the bed step. + +“So I must die,” she said--“must die. Certes! I have not lived so ill +that I should fear to die, nor so pleasantly that I should yearn to +live; it will be a poor thing in you to kill me, but no shame to me to +be slain, my lord.” + +As she stood now against the shadowed curtains her hair caught the +lamplight and flashed into red gold about her colourless face; +Sebastian looked at her with hatred and some terror, but she smiled +strangely at him. + +“You never knew me, Sebastian, but I am very well acquainted with you, +and I do scorn you so utterly that I am sorry for the chatelaine.” + +“She and I will manage that,” answered Sebastian fiercely; “and if you +seek to divert or delay me by this talk it is useless, for I am +resolved, nor will I be moved.” + +“I do not seek to move you, nor do I ask you for my life. I have ever +been dutiful, have I not?” + +“Do not smile at me!” he cried. “You should hate me.” + +She shook her head. + +“Certes! I hate you not.” + +She moved from the bed, in the long linen garment that she wore, slim +and childish to see. She took a wrap of gold-coloured silk from a +chair and put it about her. The man gazed at her the while with sullen +eyes. + +She glanced at the crucifix. + +“I have nothing to say; God knows it all. I am ready.” + +“I do not want your soul,” he cried. + +Sybilla smiled. + +“I made confession yesterday. How cold it is for this time of the +year!--I do not shiver for fear, my lord.” + +She put on her shoes, and as she stooped her brilliant hair fell and +touched the patch of fading moonshine. + +“Make haste,” breathed Sebastian. + +His wife raised her face. + +“How long have we been wed?” she asked. + +“Let that be.” He paled and bit his lip. + +“Three years--nay, not three years. When I am dead give my +embroideries to Jacobea, they are in these coffers; I have finished +the red lily--I was sewing it when the two scholars came, that night +_she_ first knew--and you first knew--but I had known a long while.” + +Sebastian caught up the lamp. + +“Be silent or speak to God,” he said. + +She came gently across the floor, holding the yellow silk at her +breast. + +“What are you going to do with me?” she whispered. “Strangle me?--nay, +they would see that--afterwards.” + +Sebastian went to a little door that opened beside the bed and pulled +aside the arras. + +“That leads to the battlements,” she said. + +He pointed to the dark steps. + +“Go up, Sybilla.” + +He held the lamp above his haggard face, and the light of it fell over +the narrow winding stone steps; she looked at them and ascended. +Sebastian followed, closing the door after him. + +In a few moments they were out on the donjon roof. + +The vast stretch of sky was clear now and paling for the dawn; faint +pale clouds clustered round the dying moon, and the scattered stars +pulsed wearily. + +Below them lay the dark masses of the other portions of the castle, +and beside them rose the straining pole and wind-tattered banner of +Jacobea of Martzburg. + +Sybilla leant against the battlements, her hair fluttering over her +face. + +“How cold it is!” she said in a trembling voice. “Make haste, my +lord.” + +He was shuddering, too, in the keen, insistent wind. + +“Will you not pray?” he asked again. + +“No,” she answered, and looked at him vacantly. “If I shriek would any +one hear me?--Will it be more horrible than I thought? Make +haste--make haste,--or I shall be afraid.” + +She crouched against the stone, shivering violently. Sebastian put the +lamp upon the ground. + +“Take care it does not go out,” she said, and laughed. “You would not +like to find your way back in the dark--the little cat will be sorry +for me.” + +She broke off to watch what he was doing. + +A portion of the tower projected; here the wall was of a man’s height, +and pierced with arblast holes; through there Sybilla had often looked +and seen the country below framed in the stone like a picture in a +letter of an horäe, so small it seemed, and yet clear and brightly +coloured. + +Beneath the wall was a paving-stone, raised at will by an iron ring; +when lifted it revealed a sheer open drop the entire height of the +donjon, through which stones and fire could be hurled in time of siege +upon the assailants in the courtyard below; but Jacobea had always +shuddered at it, nor had there been occasion to open it for many +years. + +Sybilla saw her husband strain at the ring and bend over the hole, and +stepped forward. + +“Must it be that way?--O Jesu! Jesu! shall I not be afraid?” + +She clasped her hands and fixed her eyes on the figure of Sebastian as +he raised the slab and revealed the black aperture; quickly he stepped +back as stone rang on stone. + +“So,” he said; “I shall not touch you, and it will be swiftly +over--walk across, Sybilla.” + +She closed her eyes and drew a long breath. + +“Have you not the courage?” he cried violently. “Then I must hurl you +from the battlements… it shall not look like murder.…” + +She turned her face to the beautiful brightening sky. + +“My soul is not afraid, but… how my body shrinks!--I do not think I +can do it.…” + +He made a movement towards her; at that she gathered herself. + +“No--you shall not touch me.” + +Across the donjon roof she walked with a firm step. + +“Farewell, Sebastian; may God assoil me and thee.” + +She put her hands to her face and moaned as her foot touched the edge +of the hole… no shriek nor cry disturbed the serenity of the night, +she made no last effort to save herself; but disappeared silently to +the blackness of her death. + +Sebastian listened to the strange indefinite sound of it, and drops of +terror gathered on his brow; then all was silent again save for the +monotonous flap of the banner. + +“Lord of Martzburg,” he muttered to steady himself; “Lord of +Martzburg.” + +He dropped the stone into place, picked up the lantern and returned +down the close, cold stairs. Her room… on the pillow the mark where +her head had lain, her clothes over the coffer; well, he hated her, no +less than he had ever done; to the last she had shamed him; why had he +been so long?--too long--soon some one would be stirring, and he must +be far from Martzburg before they found Sybilla. + +He crept from the chamber with the same unnecessary stealth he had +observed in entering, and in a cautious manner descended the stairs to +the great hall. + +To reach the little door that had admitted him he must traverse nearly +half the castle; he cursed the distance, and the grey light that crept +in through every window he passed and revealed to him his own shaking +hand holding the useless lamp. Martzburg, his castle soon to be, had +become hateful to him; always had he found it too vast, too empty; but +now he would fill it as Jacobea had never done; the knights and her +kinsfolk who had ever overlooked him should be his guests and his +companions. + +The thoughts that chased through his brain took curious turns; Jacobea +was the Emperor’s ward… but the Emperor was dead, should he wed her +secretly and how long need he wait?… Sybilla was often on the donjon +keep, let it seem that she had fallen… none had seen him come, none +would see him go… and Jacobea, strangest thing of all (he seemed to +hear Sybilla saying it) that she should love him.… + +The pale glow of a dreary dawn filled the great hall as he entered it; +the grey cat was still asleep, and the shining silks of the red lily +shone like the hair of the strange woman who had worked it patiently +into the samite. He tiptoed across the hall, descended the wider +stairs and made his way to the first chamber of the donjon. + +Carefully he returned the lamp to the niche where he had found it; +wondering, as he extinguished it, if any would note that it had been +burnt that night; carefully he drew on his great muddy boots and crept +out by the little postern door into the court. + +So sheltered was the castle, and situated in so peaceful a place, that +when the chatelaine was not within the walls the huge outer gates that +required many men to close them stood open on to the hillside; beyond +them Sebastian saw his patient horse, fastened to the ring of the bell +chain, and beyond him the clear grey-blue hills and trees. + +His road lay open; yet he closed the door slowly behind him and +hesitated. He strove with a desire to go and look at her; he knew just +how she had fallen… when he had first come to Martzburg, the hideous +hole in the battlements exercised a great fascination over him; he had +often flung down stones, clods of grass, even once a book, that he +might hear the hollow whistling sound and imagine a furious enemy +below. + +Afterwards he had noticed these things and how they struck the bottom +of the shaft,--lying where she would be now; he desired to see her, +yet loathed the thought of it; there was his horse, there the open +road, and Jacobea waiting a few miles away, yet he must linger while +the accusing daylight gathered about him, while the rising sun +discovered him; he must dally with the precious moments, bite the ends +of his black hair, frown and stare at the round tower of the donjon +the other side of which she lay. + +At last he crossed the rough cobbles; skirted the keep and stood +still, looking at her. + +Yes--he had pictured her; yet he saw her more distinctly than he had +imagined he would in this grey light. Her hair and her cloak seemed to +be wrapped close about her; one hand still clung to her face; her feet +showed bare and beautiful. + +Sebastian crept nearer; he wanted to see her face and if her eyes were +open; to be certain, also, if that dark red that lay spread on the +ground was all her scattered locks… the light was treacherous. + +He was stooping to touch her when the quick sound of an approaching +horseman made him draw back and glance round. + +But before he could even tell himself it were well to fly they were +upon him; two horsemen, finely mounted, the foremost Dirk Renswoude, +bare-headed, a rich colour in his cheek and a sparkle in his eyes; he +reined up the slim brown horse. + +“So--it is done?” he cried, leaning from the saddle towards Sebastian. + +The steward stepped back. + +“Whom have you with you?” he asked in a shaking voice. + +“A friend of mine and a suitor to the chatelaine--of which folly you +and I shall cure him.” + +Theirry pressed forward, the hoofs of his striving horse making +musical clatter on the cobbles. + +“The steward!” he cried; “and…” + +His voice sank; he turned burning eyes on Dirk. + +“--the steward’s wife that was,” smiled the youth. “But, certes! you +must do him worship now, he will be Lord of Martzburg.” + +Sebastian was staring at Sybilla. + +“You tell too much,” he muttered. + +“Nay, my friend is one with me, and I can answer for his silence.” +Dirk patted the horse’s neck and laughed again; laughter with a high +triumphant note in it. + +Theirry swung round on him in a desperate, bitter fierceness. + +“Why have you brought me here? Where is the chatelaine?--by God His +saints that woman has been murdered.…” + +Dirk turned in the saddle and faced him. + +“Ay, and by Jacobea of Martzburg’s commands.” + +Theirry laughed aloud. + +“The lie is dead as you give it being,” he answered--“nor can all your +devilry make it live.” + +“Sebastian,” said Dirk, “has not this woman come to her death by the +chatelaine’s commands?” + +He pointed to Sybilla. + +“You know it, since in your presence she bade me hither,” answered +Sebastian heavily. + +Dirk’s voice rose clear and musical. + +“You see your piece of uprightness thought highly of her steward, and +that she might endow him with her hand his wife must die----” + +“Peace! peace!” cried Sebastian fiercely, and Theirry rose in his +saddle. + +“It is a lie!” he repeated wildly. “If ’tis not a lie God has turned +His face from me, and I am lost indeed!” + +“If ’tis no lie,” cried Dirk exultingly, “you are mine--did ye not +swear it?” + +“An’ she be this thing you name her,” answered Theirry +passionately--“then the Devil is cunning indeed, and I his servant; +but if you speak false I will kill you at her feet.” + +“And by that will I abide,” smiled Dirk. “Sebastian, you shall return +with us to give this news to your mistress.” + +“Is she not here?” cried Theirry. + +Dirk pointed to the silver-plated harness. + +“You ride her horse. See her arms upon his breast. Sweet fool, we left +her behind in the hostel, waiting the steward’s return.…” + +“All ways ye trap and deceive me,” exclaimed Theirry hotly. + +“Let us begone,” said Sebastian; he looked at Dirk as if at his +master. “Is it not time for us to begone?” + +It was full daylight now, though the sun had not yet risen above the +hills; the lofty walls and high towers of the huge grey castle blocked +up the sky and threw into the gloom the three in their shadow. + +“Hark!” said Dirk, and lifted his finger delicately. + +Again the sound of a horse approaching on the long white road, the +rise and fall of the quick trot bitterly distinct in the hard +stillness. + +“Who is this?” whispered Sebastian; he caught Dirk’s bridle as if he +found protection in the youth’s near presence, and stared towards the +blank open gates. + +A white horse appeared against the cold misty background of grey +country; a woman was in the saddle: Jacobea of Martzburg. + +She paused, peered up at the high little windows in the donjon, then +turned her gaze on the silent three. + +“Now can the chatelaine speak for herself,” breathed Dirk. + +Theirry gave a great sigh, his eyes fixed with a painful intensity on +the approaching lady, but she did not seem to see either of them. + +“Sebastian,” she cried, and drew rein gazing at him, “where is your +wife?” + +Her words rang on the cold, clear air like strokes on a bell. + +“Sybilla died last night,” answered the steward, “but I did nought. +And you should not have come.” + +Jacobea shaded her brows with her gloved hand and stared past the +speaker. + +Theirry broke out in a trembling passion. + +“In the name of the angels in whose company I ever placed you, what do +you know of this that has been done?” + +“What is that on the ground?” cried Jacobea. “Sybilla--he has slain +Sybilla--but, sirs,”--she looked round her distractedly--“ye must not +blame him--he saw my wish.…” + +“From your own lips!” cried Theirry. + +“Who are you who speak?” she demanded haughtily. “_I_ sent him to slay +Sybilla.…” She interrupted herself with a hideous shriek. “Sebastian, +ye are stepping in her blood!” + +And, letting go of the reins, she sank from the saddle; the steward +caught her, and as she slipped from his hold to her knees her +unconscious head came near to the stiff white feet of the dead. + +“Her yellow hair!” cried Dirk. “Let us leave her to her steward--you +and I have another way!” + +“May God curse her as He has me,” said Theirry in an agony,--“for she +has slain my hope of heaven!” + +“You will not leave me?” called Sebastian. “What shall I say?--what +shall I do?” + +“Lie and lie again!” answered Dirk with a wild air; “wed the dame and +damn her people--let fly your authority and break her heart as quickly +as you may----” + +“Amen to that!” added Theirry. + +“And now to Frankfort!” cried Dirk, exultant. + +They set their horses to a furious pace and galloped out of Castle +Martzburg. + + + + + CHAPTER XX. + HUGH OF ROOSELAARE + +Dirk took off his riding-coat and listened with a smile to the quick +step of Theirry overhead; he was again in the long low chamber looking +out on the witch’s garden, and nothing was changed save that the roses +bloomed no longer on the bare thorny bushes. + +“So you have brought him back,” said Nathalie, caressing the youth’s +soft sleeve; “pulled his saint out of her shrine and given her over to +the demons.” + +Dirk turned his head; a beautiful look was in his eyes. + +“Yea, I have brought him back,” he said musingly. + +“You have done a foolish thing,” grumbled the witch, “he will ruin you +yet; beware, for even now you hold him against his will; I marked his +face as he went into his old chamber.” + +Dirk seated himself with a sigh. + +“In this matter I am not to be moved, and now some food, for I am so +weary that I can scarcely think. Nathalie, the toil it has been, the +rough roads, the delays, the long hours in the saddle--but it was +worth it!” + +The witch set the table with a rich service of ivory and silver. + +“Worth leaving your fortunes at the crisis? Ye left Frankfort the day +after the Emperor died, and have been away two months. Ysabeau thinks +you dead.” + +Dirk frowned. + +“No matter, to-morrow she shall know me living. Martzburg is far away +and the weather delayed us, but it had to be; now I am free to work my +own advancement.” + +He drank eagerly of the wine put before him, and began to eat. + +“Ye have heard,” asked Nathalie, “that Balthasar of Courtrai has been +elected Emperor?” + +“Yea,” smiled Dirk, “and is to marry Ysabeau within the year; we knew +it, did we not?” + +“Next spring they go to Rome to receive the Imperial crown.” + +“I shall be with them,” said Dirk. “Well, it is good to rest. What a +thick fool Balthasar is!” + +He smiled, and his eyes sparkled. + +“The Empress is a clever woman,” answered the witch, “she came here +once to know whither you had gone. I told her, for the jest, that you +were dead. At that she must think her secret dead with you, yet she +gave no sign of joy nor relief, nor any hint of what her business +was.” + +Dirk elegantly poured out more wine. + +“She is never betrayed by her puppet’s face--an iron-hearted fiend, +the Empress.” + +“They say, though, that she is a fool for Balthasar, a dog at his +heels.” + +“Until she change.” + +“Belike you will be her next fancy,” said Nathalie; “the crystals +always foretell a throne for you.” + +Dirk laughed. + +“I do not mean to share my honours with any--woman,” he answered; +“pile up the fire, Nathalie, certes, it is cold.” + +He pushed back his chair with a half sigh on his lips, and turned +contented eyes on the glowing hearth Nathalie replenished. + +“And none has thought evil of Melchoir’s death?” he asked curiously. + +The witch returned to her little stool and rubbed her hands together; +the leaping firelight cast a false colour over her face. + +“Ay, there was Hugh of Rooselaare.” + +Dirk sat up. + +“The Lord of Rooselaare?” + +“Certes, the night Melchoir died he flung ‘Murderess!’ in the +Empress’s face.” + +Dirk showed a grave, alert face. + +“I never heard of that.” + +“Nay,” answered the witch with some malice, “ye were too well engaged +in parting that boy from his love--it is a pretty jest--certainly, she +is a clever woman, she enlists Balthasar as her champion--he becomes +enraged, furious, and Hugh is cast into the dungeons for his pains.” +The witch laughed softly. “He would not retract, his case swayed to +and fro, but Balthasar and the Empress always hated him, he had never +a chance.” + +Dirk rose and pressed his clasped hand to his temple. + +“What do you say? never a chance?” + +Nathalie stared at him. + +“Why, you seem moved.” + +“Tell me of Hugh of Rooselaare,” commanded Dirk in an intense voice. + +“He is to die to-night at sunset.” + +Dirk uttered a hoarse exclamation. + +“Old witch!” he cried bitterly, “why did you not tell me this before? +I lose time, time.” + +He snatched his cloak from the wall and flung on his hat. + +“What is Hugh of Rooselaare to you?” asked Nathalie, and she crept +across the room and clung to the young man’s garments. + +He shook her off fiercely. + +“He must not die--he, on the scaffold! I, as you say, I was following +that boy and his love while _this_ was happening!” + +The witch fell back against the wall, while overhead the restless +tread of Theirry sounded. Dirk dashed from the room and out into the +quiet street. + +For a second he paused; it was late afternoon, he had perhaps an hour +or an hour and a half. Clenching his hands, he drew a deep breath, and +turned in the direction of the palace at a steady run. + +By reason of the snow clouds and the bitter cold there were few abroad +to notice the slim figure running swiftly and lightly; those who were +about made their way in the direction of the market-place, where the +Lord of Rooselaare was presently to meet his death. + +Dirk arrived at the palace one hand over his heart, stinging him with +the pain of his great speed; he demanded the Empress. + +None among the guards knew either him or his name, but, at his +imperious insistence, they sent word by a page to Ysabeau that the +young doctor Constantine had a desire to see her. + +The boy returned, and Dirk was admitted instantly, smiling gloomily to +think with what feelings Ysabeau would look on him. + +So far all had been swiftly accomplished; he was conducted to her +private chamber and brought face to face with her while he still +panted from his running. + +She stood against a high arched window that showed the heavy +threatening winter clouds without; her purple, green and gold +draperies shone warmly in the glitter of the fire; a tray of incense +stood on the hearth after the manner of the East, and the hazy clouds +of it rose before her. + +Until the page had gone neither spoke, then Dirk said quickly-- + +“I returned to Frankfort to-day.” + +Ysabeau was agitated to fear by his sudden appearance. + +“Where have you been?” she asked. “I thought you dead.” + +Dirk, pale and grave, gave her a penetrating glance. + +“I have no time for speech with you now--you owe me something, do you +not? Well, I am here to ask part payment.” + +The Empress winced. + +“Well--what? I had no wish to be ungrateful, ’twas you avoided me.” + +She crossed to the hearth and fixed her superb eyes intently on the +youth. + +“Hugh of Rooselaare is to die this evening,” he said. + +“Yea,” answered Ysabeau, and her childish loveliness darkened. + +For a while Dirk was silent; he showed suddenly frail and ill; on his +face was an expression of emotion, mastered and held back. + +“He must not die,” he said at last and lifted his eyes, shadowed with +fatigue. “That is what I demand of you, his pardon, now, and at +once--we have but little time.” + +Ysabeau surveyed him curiously and fearfully. + +“You ask too much,” she replied in a low voice; “do you know why this +man is to die?” + +“For speaking the truth,” he said, with a sudden sneer. + +The Empress flushed, and clutched the embroidery on her bodice. + +“You of all men should know why he must be silenced,” she retorted +bitterly. “What is your reason for asking his life?” + +Dirk’s mouth took on an ugly curl. + +“My reason is no matter--it is my will.” + +Ysabeau beat her foot on the edge of the Eastern carpet. + +“Have I made you so much my master?” she muttered. + +The young man answered impatiently. + +“You will give me his pardon, and make haste, for I must ride with it +to the market-place.” + +She answered with a lowering glance. + +“I think I will not; I am not so afraid of you, and I hate this +man--my secret is your secret after all.” + +Dirk gave a wan smile. + +“I can blast you as I blasted Melchoir of Brabant, Ysabeau, and do you +think I have any fear of what you can say? But”--he leaned towards +her--“suppose I go with what I know to Balthasar?” + +The name humbled the Empress like a whip held over her. + +“So, I am helpless,” she muttered, loathing him. + +“The pardon,” insisted Dirk; “sound the bell and write me a pardon.” + +Still she hesitated; it was a hard thing to lose her vengeance against +a dangerous enemy. + +“Choose another reward,” she pleaded. “Of what value can this man’s +life be to you?” + +“You seek to put me off until it be too late,” cried Dirk hoarsely--he +stepped forward and seized the hand-bell on the table--“now an’ you +show yourself obstinate, I go straight from here to Balthasar and tell +him of the poisoning of Melchoir.” + +Instinct and desire rose in Ysabeau to defy him with everything in her +possession, from her guards to her nails; she shuddered with +suppressed wrath, and pressed her little clenched hands against the +wall. + +Her Chamberlain entered. + +“Write out a pardon for the Lord of Rooselaare,” commanded Dirk, “and +haste, as you love your place.” + +When the man had gone, Ysabeau turned with an ill-concealed savagery. + +“What will they think! What will Balthasar think!” + +“That must be your business,” said Dirk wearily. + +“And Hugh himself!” flashed the Empress. + +The youth coloured painfully. + +“Let him be sent to his castle in Flanders,” he said, with averted +face. “He must not remain here.” + +“So much you give in!” cried Ysabeau. “I do not understand you.” + +He responded with a wild look. + +“No one will ever understand me, Ysabeau.” + +The Chamberlain returned, and in a shaking hand the Empress took the +parchment and the reed pen, while Dirk waved the man’s dismissal. + +“Sign,” he cried to her. + +Ysabeau set the parchment on the table and looked out at the gathering +clouds; the Lord of Rooselaare must have already left the prison. + +She dallied with the pen; then took a little dagger from her hair and +sharpened it; Dirk read her purpose in her lovely evil eyes, and +snatched the lingering right hand into his own long fingers. + +The Empress drew together and looked up at him bitterly and darkly, +but Dirk’s breath stirred the ringlets that touched her cheek, his +cool grip guided her reluctant pen; she shivered with fear and +defiance; she wrote her name. + +Dirk flung her hand aside with a great sigh of relief. + +“Do not try to foil me again, Marozia Porphyrogentris,” he cried, and +caught up the parchment, his hat and cloak. + +She watched him leave the room; heard the heavy door close behind him, +and she writhed with rage, thrusting, with an uncontrollable gesture +of passion, the dagger into the table; it quivered in the wood, then +broke under her hand. + +With an ugly cry she ran to the window, flung it open and cast the +handle out. + +When it rattled on the cobbled yard Dirk was already there; he marked +it fall, knew the gold and red flash, and smiled. + +Showing the parchment signed by the Empress, he had commanded the +swiftest horse in the stables. He cursed and shivered, waiting while +the seconds fled; his slight figure and fierce face awed into silence +the youngest in the courtyard as he paced up and down. At last--the +horse; one of the grooms gave him a whip; he put it under his left arm +and leapt to his seat; they opened the gate and watched him take the +wind-swept street. + +The market-place lay at the other end of the town; and the hour for +the execution was close at hand--but the white horse he rode was fresh +and strong. + +The thick grey clouds had obscured the sunset and covered the sky; a +few trembling flakes of snow fell, a bitter wind blew between the high +narrow houses; here and there a light sparkling in a window emphasized +the colourless cold without. + +Dirk urged the steed till he rocked in the saddle; curtains were +pulled aside and doors opened to see who rode by so furiously; the +streets were empty--but there would be people enough in the +market-place. + +He passed the high walls of the college, galloped over the bridge that +crossed the sullen waters of the Main, swept by the open doors of St. +Wolfram, then had to draw rein, for the narrow street began to be +choked with people. + +He pulled his hat over his eyes and flung his cloak across the lower +half of his face; with one hand he dragged on the bridle, with the +other waved the parchment. + +“A pardon!” he cried. “A pardon! Make way!” + +They drew aside before the plunging steed; some answered him-- + +“It is no pardon--he wears not the Empress’s livery.” + +One seized his bridle; Dirk leant from the saddle and dashed the +parchment into the fellow’s face, the horse snorted, and plunging +cleared a way and gained the market-place. + +Here the press was enormous; men, women and children were gathered +close round the mounted soldiers who guarded the scaffold; the armour, +yellow and blue uniforms and bright feathers of the horsemen showed +vividly against the grey houses and greyer sky. + +On the scaffold were two dark, graceful figures; a man kneeling, with +his long throat bare, and a man standing with a double-edged sword in +his hands. + +“A pardon!” shrieked Dirk. “In the name of the Emperor!” + +He was wedged in the crowd, who made bewildered movements but could +not give place to him; the soldiers did not or would not hear. + +Dirk rose desperately in his stirrups; as he did so the hat and cloak +fell back and his head and shoulders were revealed clearly above the +swaying mass. + +Hugh of Rooselaare heard the cry; he looked across the crowd and his +eyes met the eyes of Dirk Renswoude. + +“A pardon!” cried Dirk hoarsely; he saw the condemned man’s lips move. + +The sword fell.… + +“A woman screamed,” said the monk on the scaffold, “and proclaimed a +pardon.” + +And he pointed to the commotion gathered about Dirk, while the +executioner displayed to the crowd the serene head of Hugh of +Rooselaare. + +“Nay, it was not a woman,” one of the soldiers answered the monk, +“’twas this youth.” + +Dirk forced to the foot of the scaffold. + +“Let me through,” he said in a terrible voice; the guard parted; and +seeing the parchment in his hand, let him mount the steps. + +“You bring a pardon?” whispered the monk. + +“I am too late,” said Dirk; he stood among the hurrying blood that +stained the platform, and his face was hard. + +“Dogs! was this an end for a lord of Rooselaare!” he cried, and +clasped his hand on a straining breast. “Could you not have waited a +little--but a few moments more?” + +The snow was falling fast; it lay on Dirk’s shoulders and on his +smooth hair; the monk drew the parchment from his passive hand and +read it in a whisper to the officer; they both looked askance at the +young man. + +“Give me his head,” said Dirk. + +The executioner had placed it at a corner of the scaffold; he left off +wiping his sword and brought it forward. + +Dirk watched without fear or repulsion, and took Hugh’s head in his +slim fair hands. + +“How heavy it is,” he whispered. + +The quick distortion of death had left the proud features; Dirk held +the face close to his own, with no heed to the blood that trickled +down his doublet. + +Priest and captain standing apart, noticed a horrible likeness between +the dead and the living, but would not speak of it. + +“Churl,” said Dirk, gazing into the half-closed grey eyes that +resembled so his own. “He spoke--as he saw me; what did he say?” + +The headsman polished the mighty blade. + +“Nought to do with you, or with any,” he answered, “the words had no +meaning, certes.” + +“What were they?” whispered the youth. + +“‘Have you come for me, Ursula?’ then he said again, ‘Ursula.’” + +A quiver ran through Dirk’s frame. + +“She shall repent this, the Eastern witch!” he said wildly. “May the +Devil snatch you all to bitter judgment!” + +He turned to the captain, with the head held against his breast. + +“What are you going to do with this?” + +“His wife has asked for his head and his body that he may be buried +befitting his estate.” + +“His wife!” echoed Dirk; then slowly, “Ay, he had a wife--and a son, +sir?” + +“The child is dead.” + +Dirk set the head down gently by the body. + +“And his lands?” he asked. + +“They go, sir, by favour of the Empress, to Balthasar of Courtrai, who +married, as you may know, this lord’s heiress, Ursula, dead now many +years.” + +The snow had scattered the crowd; the soldiers were impatient to +begone; the blood stiffened and froze about their feet; Dirk looked +down at the dead man with an anguished and hopeless expression. + +“Sir,” said the officer, “will you return with me to the palace, and +we will tell the Empress how this mischance arose, how you came too +late.” + +“Nay,” replied Dirk fiercely. “Take that good news alone.” + +He turned and descended the scaffold steps in a proud, gloomy manner. + +One of the soldiers held his horse; he mounted in silence and rode +away; they who watched saw the thick snowflakes blot out the solitary +figure, and shuddered with no cause they understood. + + + + + CHAPTER XXI. + BETRAYED + +Nathalie stood at the door with a lantern in her hand. + +Dirk was returning; the witch held up the light to catch a glimpse of +his face, then, whispering and crying under her breath, followed into +the house. + +“There is blood on your shoes and on your breast,” she whispered, when +they reached the long chamber at the back. + +Dirk flung himself on a chair and moaned; the snow lay still on his +hair and his shoulders; he buried his face in the bend of his arm. + +“Zerdusht and his master have forsaken us,” whimpered the witch. “I +could work no spells to-night, and the mirror was blank.” + +Dirk spoke in a muffled voice, without raising his head. + +“Of what use magic to me? I should have stayed in Frankfort.” + +Nathalie drew his wet cloak from his shoulders. + +“Have I not warned you? has not the brass head warned you that the +young scholar will be your ruin, bringing you to woe and misery and +shame?” + +Dirk rose with a sob, and turned to the fire; the one dim lamp alone +dispelled the cold darkness of the room, and the thin flames on the +hearth fell into ashes before their eyes. + +“Look at his blood on me!” cried Dirk, “his blood! Balthasar and +Ysabeau make merry with his lands, but my hate shall mean something to +them yet--I should not have left Frankfort.” + +He rested his head against one of the supports of the chimney-piece, +and Nathalie, peering into his face, saw that his eyes were wet. + +“Alas! who was this man?” + +“I did all I could,” whispered Dirk… “the Empress shall burn in hell.” + +The sickly creeping flames illuminated his pallid face and his small +hand, hanging clenched by his side. + +“This is an evil day for us,” moaned the witch, “the spirits will not +answer, the flames will not burn… some horrible misfortune threatens.” + +Dirk turned his gaze into the half-dark room. + +“Where is Theirry?” + +“Gone.” Nathalie rocked to and fro on her stool. + +“Gone!” shivered Dirk, “gone where?” + +“Soon after you left he crept from his chamber, and his face was +evil--he went into the street.” + +Dirk paced up and down with uneven steps. + +“He will come back, he must come back! Ah, my heart! You say Zerdusht +will not speak to-night?” + +The witch moaned and trembled over the fire. + +“Nay, nor will the spirits come.” + +Dirk shook his clenched fist in the air. + +“They _shall_ answer me.” + +He went to the window, opened it and looked out into blackness. + +“Bring the lamp.” + +Nathalie obeyed; the faint light showed the hastening snowflakes, no +more. + +“Maybe they will listen to me, nay, as I say, they _shall_.” + +The witch followed with the swinging lamp in her hand, while they made +their way in silence through the darkness and the snow, in between the +bare rose bushes, over the wet, cold earth until they reached the +trap-door at the end of the garden that led to the witch’s kitchen. +Here she paused while Dirk raised the stone. + +“Surely the earth shook then,” he said. “I felt it tremble beneath my +feet--hush, there is a light below!” + +The witch peered over his shoulder and saw a faint glow rising from +the open trap, while at that moment her own lamp went suddenly out. + +They stood in outer darkness. + +“Will you dare descend?” muttered Nathalie. + +“What should I fear?” came the low, wild answer, and Dirk put his foot +on the ladder… the witch followed… they found themselves in the +chamber, and saw that it was lit by an immense fire, seated before +which was an enormous man, with his back towards them; he was dressed +in black, and at his feet lay stretched a huge black hound. + +The snow dripped from the garments of the new-comers as it melted in +the hot air; they stood very still. + +“Good even,” said Dirk in a low voice. + +The stranger turned a face as black as his garments; round his neck he +wore a collar of most brilliant red and purple stones. + +“A cold night,” he said, and again it seemed as if the earth rumbled +and shook. + +“You find our fire welcome,” answered Dirk, but the witch crouched +against the wall, muttering to herself. + +“A good heat, a good heat,” said the Blackamoor. + +Dirk crossed the room, his arms folded on his breast, his head erect. + +“What are you doing here?” he asked. + +“Warming myself, warming myself.” + +“What have you to say to me?” + +The Blackamoor drew closer to the fire. + +“Ugh! how cold it is!” he said, and stuck out his leg and thrust it +deep into the seething flames. + +Dirk drew still nearer. + +“If you be what I think you, you have some reason in coming here.” + +The black man put his other leg into the fire, and the flames curled +to his knees. + +“I have been to the palace, I have been to the palace. I sat under the +Empress’s chair while she talked to a pretty youth whose name is +Theirry--a-ah! it was cold in the palace, there was snow on the +youth’s garments, as there is blood on yours, and the Emperor was +there.…” + +All this while he looked into the fire, not at Dirk. + +“Theirry has betrayed me,” said the youth. + +The Blackamoor took his legs from the fire unscorched and untouched, +and the hell-hound rose and howled. + +“He has betrayed you, and Ysabeau accuses you to save herself; but the +devils are on your side since there is other work for you to do; flee +from Frankfort, and I will see that you fulfil your destiny.” + +And now he glanced over his shoulder. + +“The witch comes home to-night, to-night, the work here is done, take +the road through Frankfort.” + +He stood up, and his head touched the roof; the gems on his throat +gave out long rays of light… the fire grew dim; the Blackamoor changed +into a thick column of smoke… that spread.… + +“Hell will not forsake you, Ursula of Rooselaare.” + +Dirk fell back against the wall, thick vapours encompassing him; he +put his hands over his face.… + +When he looked up again the room was clear and lit by the beams of the +dying fire; he gazed round for the witch, but Nathalie had gone. + +With a thick sob in his throat he sprang up the ladder into the outer +air, and rushed towards the desolate house. + +Desolate indeed; empty, dark and cold it stood, the snow drifting in +through the open windows, the fires extinguished on the hearths, a +dead place never more to be inhabited. + +Dirk leant against the door, breathing hard. + +Here was a crisis of his fate; betrayed by the one whom he loved, +deserted, too, it seemed, since Nathalie had disappeared… the +Blackamoor… he remembered him as a vision… a delusion perhaps. + +Oh, how cold it was! Would his accusers come for him to-night? He +crept to the gate that gave on to the street and listened. + +“Nathalie!” he cried forlornly. + +Out of the further darkness came a distant hurry and confusion of +sound. + +Horses, shouting, eager feet; a populace roused, on the heels of the +dealer in black magic, armed with fire and sword for the witches.… + +Dirk opened the gate, for the last time stepped from the witch’s +garden; he wondered if Theirry was with the oncoming crowd, yet he did +not think so, probably he was in the palace, probably he had repented +already of what he had done; but the Empress had found her chance; her +accusation falling first, who would take his word against her?… + +He wore neither cloak nor hat, and as he waited against the open gate +the thick snow covered him from head to foot; his spirit had never +been afraid, was not afraid now, but his frail body shivered and +shrank back as when the angry students fronted him at Basle. + +He listened to the noises of the approaching people, till through +these another sound, nearer and stranger, made him turn his head. + +It came from the witch’s house. + +“Nathalie!” called Dirk in a half hope. + +But the blackness rippled into fire, swift flames sprang up, a column +of gold and scarlet enveloped house and garden in a curling embrace. + +Dirk ran out into the road, where the glare of the fire lit the +swirling snow for a trembling circle, and shading his eyes he stared +at the flames that consumed all his books, his magic herbs and +potions, the strange things, rich and beautiful, that Nathalie had +gathered in her long evil life; then he turned and ran down the street +as the crowd surged in at the other end, to fall back upon one another +aghast before the mighty flames that gave them mocking welcome. + +Their dismayed and angry shouts came to Dirk’s ears as he ran through +the snow; he fled the faster, towards the eastern gate. + +It was not yet shut; light of foot and swift he darted through before +they could challenge him, perhaps even before the careless guards saw +him. + +He was a fine runner, not easily fatigued, but he had already strained +his endurance to the utmost, and, after he had well cleared the city +gates, his limbs failed him and he fell to a walk. + +The intense darkness produced a feeling of bewilderment, almost of +light-headedness; he kept looking back over his shoulder, at the +distant lights of Frankfort, to assure himself that he was not +unwittingly stumbling back to the gates. + +Finally he stood still and listened; he must be near the river; and +after a while he could distinguish the sound of its sullen flow coming +faintly out of the silent dark. + +Well, of what use was the river to him, or aught else; he was cold, +weary, pursued and betrayed; all he had with him were some few pieces +of white money and a little phial of swift and keen poison that he +never failed to carry in his breast; if his master failed him he would +not go alive into the flames. + +But, hopeless as his case might seem, he was far from resorting to +this last refuge; he remembered the Blackamoor’s words, and dragged +his numbed and aching limbs along. + +After a while he saw, glimmering ahead of him, a light. + +It was neither in a house nor carried in the hand, for it shone low on +the ground, lower, it seemed to Dirk, than his own feet. + +He paused, listened, and proceeded cautiously for fear of the river, +that must lie, he thought, very close to his left. + +As he neared the light he saw it to be a lantern, that cast long rays +across the clearing snowstorm; a glittering, trembling reflection +beneath it told him it belonged to a boat roped to the bank. + +Dirk crept towards it, went on his knees in the snow and mud, and +beheld a small, empty craft, the lantern hanging at the prow. + +He paused; the waters, rushing by steadily and angrily, must be +flowing towards the Rhine and the town of Cologne.… + +He stepped into the boat that rocked while the water splashed beneath +him; but with cold hands he undid the knotted rope. + +The boat trembled a moment, then sped on with the current as if glad +to be freed. + +An oar lay in the bottom, with which for a while Dirk helped himself +along, fearful lest the owners of the boat should pursue, then he let +himself float down stream as he might. The water lapped about him, and +the snow fell on his unprotected and already soaked figure; he +stretched himself along the bottom of the boat and hid his face in the +cushioned seat. + +“Hugh of Rooselaare is dead and Theirry has betrayed me,” he whispered +into the darkness. + +Then he began sobbing, very bitterly. + +His anguished tears, the cruel cold, the steady sound of the unseen +water exhausted and numbed him till he fell into a sleep that was half +a swoon, while the boat drifted towards the town. + +When he awoke he was still in the open country. The snow had ceased, +but lay on the ground thick and untouched to the horizon. + +Dirk dragged his cramped limbs to a sitting posture and stared about +him; the river was narrow, the banks flat; the boat had been caught by +a clump of stiff withered reeds and the prow driven into the snowy +earth. + +On either side the prospect was wintry and dreary; a grey sky brooded +over a white land, a pine forest showed sadly in dark mournfulness, +while near by a few bare isolated trees bent under their weight of +snow; the very stillness was horribly ominous. + +Dirk found it ill to move, for his limbs were frozen, his clothes wet +and clinging to his wincing flesh, while his eyes smarted with his +late weeping, and his head was racked with giddy pains. + +For a while he sat, remembering yesterday till his face hardened and +darkened, and he set his pale lips and crawled painfully out of the +boat. + +Before him was a sweep of snow leading to the forest, and as he gazed +at this with dimmed, hopeless eyes, a figure in a white monk’s habit +emerged from the trees. + +He carried a rude wooden spade in his hand, and walked with a slow +step; he was coming towards the river, and Dirk waited. + +As the stranger neared he lifted his eyes, that had hitherto been cast +on the ground, and Dirk recognised Saint Ambrose of Menthon. + +Nevertheless Dirk did not despair; before the saint had recognised him +his part was resolved upon.… + +Ambrose of Menthon gazed with pity and horror at the forlorn little +figure shivering by the reeds. It was not strange that he did not at +once know him; Dirk’s face was of a ghastly hue, his eyes shadowed +underneath, red and swollen, his lank hair clinging close to his small +head, his clothes muddy, wet and soiled, his figure bent. + +“Sir,” he said, and his voice was weak and sweet, “have pity on an +evil thing.” + +He fell on his knees and clasped his hands on his breast. + +“Rise up,” answered the saint. “What God has given me is yours; poor +soul, ye are very miserable.” + +“More miserable than ye wot of,” said Dirk, through chattering teeth, +still on his knees. “Do you not know me?” + +Ambrose of Menthon looked at him closely. + +“Alas!” he murmured slowly, “I know you.” + +Dirk beat his breast. + +“Mea culpa!” he moaned. “Mea culpa!” + +“Rise. Come with me,” said the saint. “I will attend your wants.” + +The youth did not move. + +“Will you solace my soul, sir?” he cried. “God must have sent you here +to save my soul--for long days I have sought you.” + +Saint Ambrose’s face glowed. + +“Have ye, then, repented?” + +Dirk rose slowly to his feet and stood with bent head. + +“May one repent of such offences?” + +“God is very merciful,” breathed the saint tenderly. + +“Remorse and sorrow fill my heart,” murmured Dirk. “I have cast off my +evil comrades, renounced my vile gains and journeyed into the +loneliness to find God His pardon… and it seemed He would not hear +me.…” + +“He hears all who come in grief and penitence,” said the saint +joyously. “And He has heard you, for has He not sent me to find you, +even in this most desolate place?” + +“You feed me with hope,” answered Dirk in a quivering voice, “and +revive me with glad tidings… may I dare, I, poor lost wretch, to be +uplifted and exalted?” + +“Poor youth,” was the tender murmur. “Come with me.” + +He led the way across the thick snow, Dirk following with downcast +eyes and white cheeks. + +They skirted the forest and came upon a little hut, set back and +sheltered among the scattered trees. + +Saint Ambrose opened the rude door. + +“I am alone now,” he said softly, as he entered. “I had with me a +frail holy youth, who was travelling to Paris; last night he died, I +have just laid his body in the earth, his soul rests on the bosom of +the Lord.” + +Dirk stepped into the hut and stood meekly on the threshold, and Saint +Ambrose glanced at him wistfully. + +“Maybe God has sent me this soul to tend and succour in place of that +He has called home.” + +Dirk whispered humbly-- + +“If I might think so.” + +The saint opened an inner door. + +“Your garments are wet and soiled.” + +A sudden colour stained Dirk’s face. + +“I have no others.” + +Ambrose of Menthon pointed to the inner chamber. + +“There Blaise died yester-eve; there are his clothes, enter and put +them on.” + +“It will be the habit of a novice?” asked Dirk softly. + +“Yea.” + +Dirk bent and kissed the saint’s fingers with ice-cold lips. + +“I have dared,” he whispered, “to hope that I might die wearing the +garb of God His servants, and now I dare even to hope that He shall +grant my prayer.” + +He stepped into the inner chamber and closed the door. + + + + + CHAPTER XXII. + BLAISE + +Ambrose of Menthon and his meek and humble follower rested at +Châlons, on their way to Paris. + +For many weeks they had begged from door to door, sleeping in some +hermit’s cell or by the roadside when the severity of the bitter +nights permitted, occasionally finding shelter in a wayside convent. + +So patient, so courageous before hardship, so truly sad and +remorseful, so grateful for the distant chance of ultimate pardon was +Dirk, that the saint grew to love the penitent vagabond. + +No one eager to look for it could have found any fault with his +behaviour; he was gentle as a girl, obedient as a servant, rigid in +his prayers (and he had a strangely complete knowledge of the offices +and penances of the Church), silent and sorrowful often, taking no +pleasure in anything save the saint’s talk of Paradise and holy +things. + +Particularly he loved to hear of the dead youth Blaise, of his saintly +life, of his desire to join the stern Brotherhood of the Sacred Heart, +in Paris, of his fame as one beloved of God, of the convent’s wish to +receive him, of his great learning, of his beautiful death in the +snowy evening. + +To all this Dirk listened with still attention, and from Saint +Ambrose’s rapt and loving recital he gathered little earthly details +of the subject of their speech. + +Such as that he was from Flanders, of a noble family, that his +immediate relatives were dead, that his years were no more than +twenty, and that he was dark and pale. + +For himself Dirk had little to say; he described simply his shame and +remorse after he had stolen the holy gold, his gradual sickening of +his companions, the long torture of his awakening soul, his attempts +to find the saint, and how, finally, after he had resolved to flee his +evil life and enter a convent, he had run out of Frankfort, found a +boat waiting--and so drifted to Saint Ambrose’s feet. + +The saint, rejoicing in his penitence, suggested that he should enter +the convent whither they journeyed with the tidings of the holy +youth’s death, and Dirk consented with humble gratitude. + +And so they passed through Châlons, and rested in a deserted hut +overlooking the waters of the Marne. + +Having finished their scanty meal they were seated together under the +rough shelter; the luxury of a fire was denied their austerity; a cold +wind blew in and out of the ill-built doors, and a colourless light +filled the mean bare place. Dirk sat on a broken stool, reading aloud +the writings of Saint Jerome. + +He wore a coarse brown robe, very different from his usual attire, +fastened round the waist with a rope into which was twisted a wooden +rosary; his feet were encased in rude leather boots, his hands +reddened with the cold, his face hollow and of a bluish pallor in +which his eyes shone feverishly large and dark. + +His smooth hair hung on to his shoulders; he stooped, in contrast with +his usual erect carriage. + +Pausing on his low and gentle reading he looked across at the saint. + +Ambrose of Menthon sat on a rough-hewn bench against the rougher wall; +weariness, exposure, and sheer weakness of body had done their work at +last; Dirk knew that for three nights he had not slept… he was asleep +now or had swooned; his fair head fell forward on his breast, his +hands hung by his side. + +As Dirk became assured that his companion was unconscious, he slowly +rose and set down the holy volume. He was himself half starved, cold +to the heart and shuddering; he looked round the plaster walls and the +meek expression of his face changed to one of scorn, derision and +wicked disdain; he darted a bitter glance at the wan man, and crept +towards the door. + +Opening it softly, he gazed out; the scene was fair and lonely--the +distant tourelles of Châlons rose clear and pointed against the +winter clouds; near by the grey river flowed between its high banks, +where the bare willows grew and the snow-wreaths still lay. + +Dirk took shivering steps into the open and turned towards the Marne; +the keen wind penetrated his poor garments and lifted the heavy hair +from his thin cheeks; he beat his breast, chafed his hands and walked +rapidly. + +Reaching the bank he looked up and down the river; there was no one in +sight, neither boat nor animal nor house to break the monotony of +land, sky and water, only those distant towers of the town. + +Dirk walked among the twisted willows, then came to a pause. + +A little ahead of him were a black man and a black dog, both seated on +the bank and gazing towards Châlons. + +The youth came a little nearer. + +“Good even,” he said. “It is very cold.” + +The Blackamoor looked round. + +“Are you pleased with the way you travel?” he asked, nodding his head. +“And your companion?” + +Dirk’s face lowered. + +“How much longer am I to endure it?” + +“You must have patience,” said the black man, “and endurance.” + +“I have both,” answered Dirk. “Look at my hands--they are no longer +soft, but red and hard; my feet are galled and wounded in rough +boots--I must walk till I am sick, then pray instead of sleeping; I +see no fire, and scarcely do I touch food.” + +The hell-hound stirred and whined among the osiers, the jewels in the +Blackamoor’s collar flashed richly, though there was no light to +strike them. + +“You will be rewarded,” he said, “and revenged too--o--ho--o! it is +very cold, as you say, very cold.” + +“What must I do?” asked Dirk. + +The black man rubbed his hands together. + +“You know--you know.” + +Dirk’s pinched wan face grew intent, and eager. + +“Am I to use… this?” He touched the breast of his rough habit. + +“Yea.” + +“Then shall I be left defenceless.” Dirk’s voice shook a little. “If +anything should happen--I would not, I could not--oh, Sathanas!--I +could not be revealed!” + +The Blackamoor rose from among the willows. + +“Do you trust yourself and me?” he asked. + +Dirk put his thin hand over his eyes. + +“Yea, master.” + +“Then you know what to do. You will not see me for many years--when +you have triumphed I shall come.” + +He turned swiftly and ran down the bank, the hound at his heels; one +after another they leaped into the waters of the Marne and disappeared +with an inner sound. + +Dirk straightened himself and set his lips. He reentered the hut to +find Ambrose of Menthon still against the wall, now indeed wearily +asleep; Dirk came softly forward; slowly and cautiously he put his +hand into his bosom and drew out a small green-coloured phial. + +With his eyes keenly on the saint he broke the seal, then crept close. + +By Saint Ambrose’s side hung his rosary, every bead smooth with the +constant pressure of his lips; Dirk raised the heavy crucifix +attached, and poured on to it the precious drop contained in the +phial. + +Saint Ambrose did not wake nor move; Dirk drew away and crouched +against the wall, cursing the bitter wind with fierce eyes.… + +When the saint awoke, Dirk was on the broken stool reading aloud the +writings of Saint Jerome. + +“Is it still light?” asked Ambrose of Menthon amazedly. + +“It is the dawn,” answered Dirk. + +“And I have slept the night through.” The saint dragged his stiff +limbs from the seat and fell on his knees in a misery of prayer. + +Dirk closed the book and watched him; watched his long fingers twining +in the beads of his rosary, watched him kiss the crucifix, again and +again; then he, too, knelt, his face hidden in his hands. + +He was the first to rise. + +“Master, shall we press on to Paris?” he asked humbly. + +The saint lifted dazed eyes from his devotions. + +“Yea,” he said. “Yea.” + +Dirk began putting together in a bundle their few books, and the +wooden platter in which they collected their broken food; this being +their all. + +“I dreamt last night of Paradise,” said Saint Ambrose faintly, “the +floor was so thick-strewn with close little flowers, red, white, and +purple… and it was warm as Italy in May.…” + +Dirk swung the bundle on to his shoulder and opened the door of the +hut. + +“There is no sun to-day,” he remarked. + +“How long it is since we have seen the sun!” said Saint Ambrose +wistfully. + +They passed out into the dreary landscape and took their slow way +along the banks of the Marne. + +Until midday they did not pause, scarcely spoke; then they passed +through a little village, and the charitable gave them food. + +That night they slept in the open, under shelter of a hedge, and +Ambrose of Menthon complained of weakness; Dirk, waking in the dark, +heard him praying… heard, too, the rattle of the wooden rosary. + +When the light came and they once more recommenced their journey the +saint was so feeble he was fain to lean on Dirk’s shoulder. + +“I think I am dying,” he said; his face was flushed, his eyes burning, +he smiled continuously. + +“Let me reach Paris,” he added, “that I may tell the Brethren of +Blaise.…” + +The youth supporting him wept bitterly. + +Towards noon they met a woodman’s cart that helped them on their way; +that night they spent in the stable of an inn; the next day they +descended into the valley of the Seine, and by the evening reached the +gates of Paris. + +As the bells over all the beautiful city were ringing to vespers they +arrived at their destination, an old and magnificent convent +surrounded with great gardens set near the river bank. + +The winter sky had broken at last, and wreathed and motionless clouds +curled back from a clear expanse of gold and scarlet, against which +the houses, churches and palaces rose from out the blue mist of +evening. + +The straight roof of the convent, the little tower with its +slow-moving bell, the bare bent fruit trees, the beds of herbs, +sweet-smelling even now, the red lamp glowing in the dark doorway, +showed themselves to Dirk as he entered the gate,--he looked at them +all intently, and bitter distant memories darkened his hollow face. + +The monks were singing the Magnificat; their thin voices came clearly +on the frosty air. + + + “Fecit potentiam in brachio suo: + dispersit superbos mente cordis sui.” + + +Ambrose of Menthon took his feeble hand from Dirk’s arm and sank on +his knees. + + + “Deposuit potentes de sede, + et exaltavit humiles.” + + +But Dirk’s pale lips curled, and as he gazed at the sunset flaming +beyond the convent walls, there was a haughty challenge in his +brooding eyes. + + + “Esurientes implevit bonis, + et divites dimisit inanes. + Suscepit Israel puerum suum, + recordatus misercordiae suae.” + + +The saint murmured the chanted words and clasped his hands on his +breast, while the sky brightened vividly above the wide waters of the +Seine. + + + “Sicut locutus est ad patres nostros + Abraham et semini ejus in saecula.” + + +The chant faded away on the still evening, but the saint remained +kneeling. + +“Master,” whispered Dirk, “shall we not go in to them?” + +Ambrose of Menthon raised his fair face. + +“I am dying,” he smiled. “A keen flame licks up my blood and burns my +heart to ashes--‘Sustinuit anima mea in verbo ejus.’” His voice +failed, he sank forward and his head fell against the grey beds of rue +and fennel. + +“Alas! alas!” cried Dirk; he made no attempt to bring assistance nor +called aloud, but stood still, gazing with intent eyes at the +unconscious man. + +But when the monks came out of the chapel and turned two by two +towards the convent, Dirk pulled off his worn cap. + + + “Divinum auxilium maneat semper + nobiscum.” + + +“Amen,” said Dirk, then he ran lightly forward and flung himself +before the procession. + +“My father!” he cried, with a sob in his voice. + +The priests stopped, the “amens” still trembling on their lips. + +“Ambrose of Menthon lies within your gates a dying man,” said Dirk +meekly and sadly. + +With little exclamations of awe and grief the grey-clad figures +followed him to where the saint lay. + +“Ah me!” murmured Dirk. “The way has been so long, so rough, so cold.” + +Reverently they raised Saint Ambrose. + +“He has done with his body,” said an old monk, holding up the dying +man. + +The flushed sky faded behind them; the saint stirred and half opened +his eyes. + +“Blaise,” he whispered. “Blaise”--he tried to point to Dirk who knelt +at his feet--“he will tell you.” His eyes closed again, he strove to +pray; the “De profundis” trembled on his lips, he made a sudden upward +gesture with his hands, smiled and died. + +For a while there was silence among them, broken only by a short sob +from Dirk, then the monks turned to the ragged, emaciated youth who +crouched at the dead feet. + +“Blaise, he said,” one murmured, “it is the holy youth.” + +Dirk roused himself as from a silent prayer, made the sign of the +cross and rose. + +“Who art thou?” they asked reverently. + +Dirk raised a tear-stained, weary face. + +“The youth Blaise, my fathers,” he answered humbly. + + + + + PART II. + THE POPE + + CHAPTER I. + CARDINAL LUIGI CAPRAROLA + +The evening service in the Basilica of St. Peter was over; pilgrims, +peasants and monks had departed; the last chant of the officiating +Cardinal’s train still trembled on the incense-filled air and the slim +novices were putting out the lights, when a man, richly and +fantastically dressed, entered the bronze doors and advanced a little +way down the centre aisle. + +He bent his head to the altar, then paused and looked about him with +the air of a stranger. He was well used to magnificence, but this +first sight of the chapel of the Vatican caused him to catch his +breath. + +Surrounding him were near a hundred pillars, each of a different +marble and carving; they supported a roof that glittered with the +manifold colours of mosaic; the rich walls were broken by numerous +chapels, from which issued soft gleams of purple and violet light; +mysterious shrines of porphyry and cipolin, jasper and silver showed +here and there behind red lamps. A steady glow of candles shone on a +mosaic and silver arch, beyond which the high altar sparkled like one +great jewel; the gold lamps on it were still alight, and it was heaped +with white lilies, whose strong perfume was noticeable even through +the incense. + +To one side of the high altar stood a purple chair, and a purple +footstool, the seat of the Cardinal, sometimes of the Pontiff. + +This splendid and holy beauty abashed, yet inspired the stranger; he +leant against one of the smooth columns and gazed at the altar. + +The five aisles were crossed by various shafts of delicate trembling +light that only half dispersed the lovely gloom; some of the columns +were slender, some massive--the spoils from ancient palaces and +temples, no two of them were alike; those in the distance took on a +sea-green hue, luminous and exquisite; one or two were of deep rose +red, others black or dark green, others again pure ghostly white, and +all alike enveloped in soft shadows and quivering lights, violet, blue +and red. + +The novices were putting out the candles and preparing to close the +church; their swift feet made no sound; silently the little stars +about the high altar disappeared and deeper shadows fell over the +aisles. + +The stranger watched the white figures moving to and fro until no +light remained, save the purple and scarlet lamps that cast rich rays +over the gold and stained the pure lilies into colour, then he left +his place and went slowly towards the door. + +Already the bronze gates had been closed; only the entrance to the +Vatican and one leading into a side street remained open. + +Several monks issued from the chapels and left by this last; the +stranger still lingered. + +Down from the altar came the two novices, prostrated themselves, then +proceeded along the body of the church. + +They extinguished the candles in the candelabra set down the aisles, +and a bejewelled darkness fell on the Basilica. + +The stranger stood under a malachite and platinum shrine that blinded +with the glimmer and sparkle of golden mosaic; before it burnt +graduated tapers; one of the novices came towards it, and the man +waiting there moved towards him. + +“Sir,” he said in a low voice, “may I speak to you?” + +He spoke in Latin, with the accent of a scholar, and his tone was deep +and pleasant. + +The novice paused and looked at him, gazed intently and beheld a very +splendid person, a man in the prime of life, tall above the ordinary, +and, above the ordinary, gorgeous to the eyes; his face was sunburnt +to a hue nearly as dark as his light bronze hair, and his Western eyes +showed clearly bright and pale in contrast; in his ears hung long +pearl and gold ornaments that touched his shoulders; his dress was +half Eastern, of fine violet silk and embroidered leather; he carried +in his belt a curved scimitar inset with turkis, by his side a short +gold sword, and against his hip he held a purple cap ornamented with a +plume of peacocks’ feathers, and wore long gloves fretted in the palm +with the use of rein and sword. + +But more than these details did the stranger’s face strike the novice; +a face almost as perfect as the masks of the gods found in the +temples; the rounded and curved features were over-full for a man, and +the expression was too indifferent, troubled, almost weak, to be +attractive, but taken in itself the face was noticeably beautiful. + +Noting the novice’s intent gaze, a flush crept into the man’s dark +cheek. + +“I am a stranger,” he said. “I want to ask you of Cardinal Caprarola. +He officiated here to-day?” + +“Yea,” answered the novice. “What can I tell you of him? He is the +greatest man in Rome--now his Holiness is dying,” he added. + +“Why, I have heard of him--even in Constantinople. I think I saw +him--many years ago, before I went to the East.” + +The novice began to extinguish the candles round the shrine. + +“It may be, sir,” he said. “His Eminence was a poor youth as I might +be; he came from Flanders.” + +“It was in Courtrai I thought I saw him.” + +“I know not if he was ever there; he became a disciple of Saint +Ambrose of Menthon when very young, and after the saint’s death he +joined the Convent of the Sacred Heart in Paris--you have heard that, +sir?” + +The stranger lowered his magnificent eyes. + +“I have heard nothing--I have been away--many years; this man, +Cardinal Caprarola--_he_ is a saint also--is he not?… tell me more of +him.” + +The youth paused in his task, leaving half the candles alight to cast +a trembling glow over the man’s gold and purple splendour; he smiled. + +“Born of Dendermonde he was, sir, Louis his name, in our tongue Luigi, +Blaise the name he took in the convent--he came to Rome, seven, nay, +it must be eight years ago. His Holiness created him Bishop of Ostia, +then of Caprarola, which last name he retains now he is Cardinal--he +is the greatest man in Rome,” repeated the novice. + +“And a saint?” asked the other with a wistful eagerness. + +“Certes, when he was a youth he was famous for his holy austere life, +now he lives in magnificence as befits a prince of the Church… he is +very holy.” + +The novice put out the remaining candles, leaving only the flickering +red lamp. + +“There was a great service here to-day?” the stranger asked. + +“Yea, very many pilgrims were here.” + +“I grieve that I was too late--think you Cardinal Caprarola would see +one unknown to him?” + +“If the errand warranted it, sir.” + +From the rich shadows came a sigh. + +“I seek peace--if it be anywhere it is in the hands of this servant of +God--my soul is sick, will he help me heal it?” + +“Yea, I do think so.” + +The youth turned, as he spoke, towards the little side door. + +“I must close the Basilica, sir,” he added. + +The stranger seemed to rouse himself from depths of unhappy thoughts, +and followed through the quivering gloom. + +“Where should I find the Cardinal?” he asked. + +“His palace lies in the Via di San Giovanni in Laterano, any will tell +you the way, sir.” The novice opened the door. “God be with you.” + +“And with you;” the stranger stepped into the open and the church door +was locked behind him. + +The purple after-glow still lingered over Rome; it was May and sweetly +warm; as the stranger crossed the Piazza of St. Peter the breeze was +like the touch of silk on his face; he walked slowly and presently +hesitated, looking round the ruined temples, broken palaces and walls; +there were people about, not many, mostly monks; the man glanced back +at the Vatican, where the lights had begun to sparkle in the windows, +then made his way, as rapidly as his scant knowledge served, across +the superb and despoiled city. + +He reached the Via Sacra; it was filled with a gay and splendid crowd, +in chariots, on foot, and on horse, that mingled unheeding with the +long processions of penitents winding in and out the throng, both here +and in the Appian Way. He turned towards the Arch of Titus; the ladies +laughed and stared as he passed; one took a flower from her hair and +threw it after him, at which he frowned, blushed, and hastened on; he +had never been equal to the admiration he roused in women, though he +disliked neither them nor their admiration; he carried still on his +wrist the mark of a knife left there by a Byzantine Princess who had +found his face fair and his wooing cold; the laughter of the Roman +ladies gave him the same feeling of hot inadequacy as when he felt +that angry stab. + +Passing the fountain of Meta Sudans and the remains of the Flavian +Amphitheatre, he gained the Via di San Giovanni in Laterano leading to +the Cælimontana Gate. + +Here he drew a little apart from the crowd and looked about him; in +the distance the Vatican and Castel San Angelo showed faintly against +the remote Apennines; he could distinguish the banner of the Emperor +hanging slackly in the warm air, the little lights in St. Peter’s. + +Behind him rose the Janiculum Hill set with magnificent palaces and +immense gardens, beneath the city lay dark in the twilight, and the +trees rising from the silent temples made a fair murmur as they shook +in their upper branches. + +The stranger sighed and stepped again into the crowd, composed now of +all ranks and all nationalities; he touched a young German on the +shoulder. + +“Which is Cardinal Caprarola’s palace?” + +“Sir, the first.” He pointed to a gorgeous building on the slope of +the hill. + +The stranger caught a glimpse of marble porticoes half obscured by +soft foliage. + +With a “Thank you” he turned in the direction of the Palatine. + +A few moments brought him to the magnificent gates of the Villa +Caprarola; they stood open upon a garden of flowers just gleamingly +visible in the dusk; the stranger hesitated in the entrance, fixing +his gaze on the luminous white walls of the palace that showed between +the boughs of citron and cypress. + +This Cardinal, this Prince, who was the greatest man in Rome, which +was to say in Christendom, had strangely captured his imagination; he +liked to think of him as an obscure and saintly youth devoting his +life to the service of God, rising by no arts or intrigues but by the +pure will of his Master solely until he dominated the great Empire of +the West; the stranger now at his beautiful gates had been searching +for peace for many years, in many lands, and always in vain. + +In Constantinople he had heard of the holy Frankish priest who was +already a greater power than the old and slowly dying Pope, and it had +comforted his tired heart to think that there was one man in a high +place set there by God alone--one, too, of a pure life and a noble +soul; if any could give him promise of salvation, if any could help +him to redeem his wasted, weak life, it would be he--this Cardinal who +could not know evil save as a name. + +With this object he came to Rome; he wished to lay his sins and +penitence at the feet of him who had been a meek and poor novice, and +now by his virtues was Luigi Caprarola as mighty as the Emperor and as +innocent as the angels. + +Shame and awe for a while held him irresolute, how could he dare +relate his miserable and horrible story to this saint?… but God had +bidden him, and the holy were always the merciful. + +He walked slowly between the dim flowers and bushes to the stately +columned portico; with a thickly beating heart and a humble carriage +he mounted the low wide steps and stood at the Cardinal’s door, which +stood open on a marble vestibule dimly lit with a soft roseate violet +colour; the sound of a fountain came to his ears, and pungent aromas +mingled with the perfume of the blossoms. + +Two huge negroes, wearing silver collars and tiger-skins, were on +guard at each column of the door, and as the new-comer set foot within +the portals one of them struck the silver bell attached to his wrist. + +Instantly appeared a slim and gorgeous youth, habited in black, a +purple flower fastened at his throat. + +The stranger took off his cap. + +“This is the residence of his Eminence, Cardinal Caprarola?” he asked, +and the hint of hesitation always in his manner was accentuated. + +“Yea,” the youth bowed gracefully; “I am his Eminence’s secretary, +Messer Paolo Orsini.” + +“I do desire to see the Cardinal.” + +The young Roman’s dark eyes flashed over the person of the speaker. + +“What is your purpose, sir?” + +“One neither political nor worldly;” he paused, flushed, then added, +“I would confess to his Eminence; I have come from Constantinople for +that--for that alone.” + +Paolo Orsini answered courteously. + +“The Cardinal hears confession in the Basilica.” + +“Certes, I know, yet I would crave to see him privately, I have +matters relating to my soul to put before him, surely he will not +refuse me.” The stranger’s voice was unequal, his bearing troubled, as +the secretary curiously observed; penitents anxious for their souls +did not often trouble the Cardinal, but Orsini’s aristocratic manner +showed no surprise. + +“His Eminence,” he said, “is ever loath to refuse himself to the +faithful; I will ask him if he will give you audience; what, sir, is +your quality and your name?” + +“I am unknown here,” answered the other humbly; “lately have I come +from Constantinople, where I held an office at the court of Basil, but +by birth I am a Frank, of the Cardinal’s own country.” + +“Sir, your name?” repeated the elegant secretary. + +The stranger’s beautiful face clouded. + +“I have been known by many… but let his Eminence have the truth--I am +Theirry, born of Dendermonde.” + +Paolo Orsini bowed again. + +“I will acquaint the Cardinal,” he said. “Will you await me here?” + +He was gone as swiftly and silently as he had come; Theirry put his +hand to a hot brow and gazed about him. + +The vestibule was composed of Numidian marble toned by time to a deep +orange hue; the capitals of the Byzantine columns were encrusted with +gold and supported a ceiling that glittered with violet glass mosaic; +gilt lamps, screened with purple or crimson silk, cast a coloured glow +down the sloping walls; a double staircase sprang from the serpentine +and malachite floor, and where the gold hand-rails ended a silver lion +stood on a cipolin pillar, holding between his paws a dish on which +burnt aromatic incense; in the space between the staircases was an +alabaster fountain--the basin, raised on the backs of other silver +lions, and filled with iridescent sea shells, over which the water +splashed and fell, changed by the lamplight to a glimmering rose +purple. + +Either side the fountain were placed great bronze bowls of roses, pink +and white, and their petals were scattered over the marble pavement. +Against the walls ran low seats, cushioned with dark rich tapestries, +and above them, at intervals, marvellous antique statues showed white +in deep niches. + +Theirry had seen nothing more lavishly splendid in the East; Cardinal +Caprarola was no ascetic whatever the youth Blaise may have been, and +for a moment Theirry was bewildered and disappointed--could a saint +live thus? + +Then he reflected; good it was to consider that God, and not the +Devil, who so often used beauty and wealth for his lures, had given a +man this. + +He walked up and down, none to watch him but the four silent and +motionless negroes; the exquisite lights, the melody of the fountain, +the sweet odours that rose from the slow-curling blue vapours, the +gorgeous surroundings, lulled and soothed; he felt that at last, after +his changeful wanderings, his restless unhappiness, he had found his +goal and his haven. + +In this man’s hands was redemption, this man was housed as befitted an +Ambassador of the Lord of Heaven. + +Paolo Orsini, in person as rare and splendid as the palace, returned. + +“The Cardinal will receive you, sir,” he said; if the message +astonished him he did not show it; he bowed before Theirry, and +preceded him up the magnificent stairs. + +The first landing was entirely hung with scarlet embroidery worked +with peacocks’ feathers, and lit by pendent crystal lamps; at either +end a silver archway led into a chamber. + +The secretary, slim and black against the vivid colours, turned to the +left; Theirry followed him into a long hall illuminated by bronze +statues placed at intervals and holding scented flambeaux; between +them were set huge porphyry bowls containing orange trees and +oleanders; the walls and ceiling were of rose-hued marble inlaid with +basalt, the floor of a rich mosaic. + +Theirry caught his breath; the Cardinal must possess the fabled wealth +of India.… + +Paolo Orsini opened a gilt door and held it wide while Theirry +entered, then he bowed himself away, saying-- + +“His Eminence will be with you presently.” + +Theirry found himself in a fair-sized chamber, walls, floor and +ceiling composed of ebony and mother-of-pearl. + +Door and window were curtained by hangings of pale colours, on which +were stitched in glittering silks stories from Ovid. + +In the centre of the floor was a Persian carpet of a faint hue of +mauve and pink; three jasper and silver lamps hung by silken cords +from the ceiling and gave the pale glow of moonlight; an ivory chair +and table raised on an ebony step stood in one corner; on the table +was a sand clock, a blood-red glass filled with lilies and a gold book +with lumps of turkis set in the covers; on the chair was a purple +velvet cushion. + +Opposite this hung a crucifix, a scarlet light burning beneath it; to +this, the first holy thing Theirry had seen in the palace, he bent the +knee. + +Incense burnt in a gold brazier, the rich scent of it growing almost +insupportable in the close confined space. + +A silver footstool and a low ebony chair completed the furniture; +against the wall facing the door was a gilt and painted shrine, of +which the glittering wings were closed, but Theirry, turning from the +crucifix, bent his head to that. + +A great excitement crept into his blood, he could not feel that he was +in a holy or sacred place, awaiting the coming of the saint who was to +ease the burden of his sin, yet what but this feeling of relief, of +righteous joy should be heating his blood now.… + +The dim blue light, the strong perfumes were confusing to the senses; +his pulses throbbed, his heart leapt; it did not seem as if he could +speak to the Cardinal… then it seemed as if he could tell him +everything and leave--absolved. + +Yet--and yet--what was there in the place reviving memories that had +been thrust deep into his heart for years… a certain room in an old +house in Antwerp with the August sunlight over the figure of a young +man gilding a devil… a chamber in the college at Basle and two youths +bending over a witch’s fire… a dark wet night, and the sound of a weak +voice coming to him… Frankfort and a garden blazing with crimson +roses, other scenes, crowded, horrible… why did he think of them here… +in this remote land, among strangers… here where he had come to purge +his soul? + +He began to murmur a prayer; giddiness touched him, and the blue light +seemed to ripple and dim before his eyes. + +He walked up and down the soft carpet clasping his hands. + +All at once he paused and turned. + +There was a shiver of silks, and the Cardinal stepped into the +chamber. + +Theirry sank on his knees and bowed his throbbing head. + +The Cardinal slowly closed the door; a low rumble of thunder sounded; +a great storm was gathering over the Tyrrhenian Sea. + + + + + CHAPTER II. + THE CONFESSION + +“‘In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti,’ I give you +greeting,” said the Cardinal in a low grave voice; he crossed to the +ivory chair and seated himself. + +Theirry lifted his head and looked eagerly at the man who he hoped +would be his saviour. + +The Cardinal was young, of the middle height, of a full but elegant +person and conveying an impression of slightness and delicacy, though +he was in reality neither small nor fragile. His face was pale, by +this light only dimly to be seen; he wore a robe of vivid pink and +violet silk that spread about the step on which his chair was placed; +his hands were very beautiful, and ornamented with a variety of costly +rings; on his head was a black skull-cap, and outside it his hair +showed, thick, curling and of a chestnut-red colour; his foot, very +small and well shaped, encased in a gold slipper, showed beneath his +gown. + +He caught hold of the ivory arms of his seat and looked straight at +Theirry with intense, dark eyes. + +“On what matters did you wish to speak with me?” he asked. + +Theirry could not find words, a choking sense of horror, of something +dreadful and blasphemous beyond all words clutched at his heart… he +stared at the young Cardinal… he must be going mad.… + +“The air--the incense makes me giddy, holy father,” he murmured. + +The Cardinal touched a bell that stood by the sand clock, and motioned +to Theirry to rise. + +A beautiful boy in a white tunic answered the summons. + +“Extinguish the incense,” said the Cardinal, “and open the window, +Gian… it is very hot, a storm gathers, does it not?” + +The youth drew apart the painted curtains and unlatched the window; as +the cooler air was wafted into the close chamber Theirry breathed more +freely. + +“The stars are all hidden, your Eminence,” said Gian, looking at the +night. “Certainly, it is a storm.” + +He raised the brazier, shook out the incense, leaving it smouldering +greyly, went on one knee to the Cardinal, then withdrew backwards. + +As the door closed behind him Luigi Caprarola turned to the man +standing humbly before him. + +“Now can you speak?” he said gravely. + +Theirry flushed. + +“Scarcely have I the heart… your Eminence abashes me, I have a +sickening tale to relate… hearing of you I thought, this holy man can +give me peace, and I came half across the world to lay my troubles at +your feet; but now, sir, now--I fear to speak, indeed, am scarce able, +unreal and hideous it seems in this place.” + +“In brief, sir,” said the Cardinal, “ye have changed your mind--I +think ye were ever of a changeful disposition, Theirry of +Dendermonde.” + +“How does your Eminence know that of me?--it is, alas! true.” + +“I see it in your face,” answered the Cardinal, “and something else I +see--you are, and long have been, unhappy.” + +“It is my great unhappiness that has brought me before your Eminence.” + +Luigi Caprarola rested his elbow on the ivory chair arm and his cheek +on his palm; the pale, dim light was full on his face; because of +something powerful and intense that shone in his eyes Theirry did not +care to look at him. + +“Weary of sin and afraid of Heaven ye have come to seek absolution of +me,” said the Cardinal. + +“Yea, if it might be granted me, if by any penitence I might obtain +pardon.” + +Then Theirry, whose gaze was fixed on the ground as he spoke, had an +extraordinary vivid impression that the Cardinal was laughing; he +looked up quickly, only to behold Luigi Caprarola calm and grave. + +A peal of thunder sounded, and the echoes hovered in the chamber. + +“The confession must come before the absolution,” said the Cardinal. +“Tell me, my son, what troubles you.” + +Theirry shuddered. + +“It involves others than myself.…” + +“The seal of the confession is sacred, and I will ask for no names. +Theirry of Dendermonde, kneel here and confess.” + +He pointed to the ivory footstool close to his raised seat; Theirry +came and humbly knelt. + +The curtains fluttered in the hot wind, a flash of lightning darted in +between them and mingled with the luminous colour cast by the faint +lamps. + +The Cardinal took up the gold book and laid it on his knee, his pink +silk sleeve almost touched Theirry’s lips… his garments gave out a +strange and beautiful perfume. + +“Tell me of these sins of thine,” he said, half under his breath. + +“I must go far back,” answered the penitent in a trembling voice, “for +your Eminence to understand my sins--they had small beginnings.” + +He paused and fixed his gaze on the Cardinal’s long fair fingers +resting across the gold cover of the breviary. + +“I was born in Dendermonde,” he said at length. “My father was a clerk +who taught me his learning. When he died I came to Courtrai. I was +eighteen, ambitious and clever beyond other scholars of my age. I +wished above everything to go to one of the colleges.…” + +He gave a hot sigh, as if he could still recall the passionate throb +of that early desire. + +“To gain a living I taught the arts I was acquainted with, among +others I gave lessons in music to the daughter of a great lord in +Courtrai… in this manner I came to know her brother, who was a young +knight of lusty desires.” + +The Cardinal was listening intently; his breathing seemed hardly to +stir his robe; the hand on the gilt and turkis cover was very still. + +Theirry wiped his damp forehead, and continued-- + +“He was, as I, restless and impatient with Courtrai… but, unlike me, +he was innocent, for I,”--he moistened his lips--“I about this time +began to practise--black magic.” + +The thunder rolled sombrely yet triumphantly round the seven hills, +and the first rain dashed against the window. + +“Black magic,” repeated the Cardinal, “go on.” + +“I read forbidden books that I found in an old library in the house of +a Jew whose son I taught--I tried to work spells, to raise spirits; I +was very desperate to better myself, I wished to become as Alcuin, as +Saint Jerome--nay, as Zerdusht himself, but I was not skilful enough. +I could do little or nothing.…” + +The Cardinal moved slightly; Theirry, in an agony of old bitter +memories, torn between horror and ease at uttering these things at +last, continued in a low desperate voice-- + +“The young knight I have spoken of was in love with a mighty lady who +came through Courtrai, he wished to follow her to Frankfort, she had +given him hopes that she would find him service there--he asked me to +bear him company, and I was glad to go… on the journey he told me of +his marriage to the daughter of a neighbouring lord--and--though that +is no matter here--he knew not if she were alive or dead, but he knew +of the place where she had last been known of, and we went thither--it +was in the old, half-deserted town of Antwerp.…” + +“And the young knight hoped to find she was dead,” interrupted the +Cardinal. “Was she, I wonder?” + +“All the world thought so. It is a strange story, not for my telling; +we found the house, and there we met a youth, who told us of the +maid’s death and showed us her grave.…” + +The thunder, coming nearer, shook the palace, and Theirry hid his face +in his hands. + +“What of this youth?” asked the Cardinal softly, “tell me of him.” + +“He ruined me--by night he came to me and told me of his +studies--black magic! black magic!… he cast spells and raised a devil… +in a mirror he showed me visions, I swore with him faithful +friendship… he ruined my soul--he sold some of the goods in the house, +and we went together to Basle College.” + +“Ye make him out your evil angel,” said the Cardinal. “Who was he?” + +“I know not; he was high-born, I think, dainty in his ways and +pleasant to look upon; my faltering soul was caught by his wiles, for +he spoke of great rewards; I know not who he was, man or demon.… I +think he loved me.” + +There was a little silence in the chamber, then the Cardinal spoke. + +“Loved you?--what makes you think he loved you?” + +“Certes, he said so, and acted so… we went to Basle College--then, I +also thought I loved him… he was the only thing in the world I had +ever spoken to of my hopes, my desires… we continued our experiments… +our researches were blasphemous, horrible, he was ever more skilful +than I… then one day I met a lady, and then I knew myself hideous, but +that very night I was drawn into the toils again… we cast a spell over +another student--we were discovered and fled the college.” + +A flash of lightning pierced the blue gloom like a sword rending silk; +Theirry winced and shuddered as the thunder crashed overhead. + +“Does your tale end here?” demanded the Cardinal. + +“Alas! alas! no; I fell from worse sin to worse sin--we were poor, we +met a monk, robbed him of God His moneys, and left him for dead… we +came to Frankfort and lived in the house of an Egyptian hag, and I +began to loathe the youth because the lady was ever in my thoughts, +and he hated the lady bitterly because of this; he tempted me to do +murder for gain, and I refused for her sake.” Theirry’s voice became +hot and passionate. “Then I found that he was tempting her--my saint! +but I had no fear that she would fall, and while she spurned him I +thought I could also, ay, and I did… but she proved no stronger--she +loved her steward, and bid him slay his wife: ‘You staked on her +virtue,’ the Devil cried to me, ‘and you’ve lost! lost!’” + +The sobs thickened his voice, and the bitter tears gathered in his +beautiful eyes. + +“I was the youth’s prey again, but now I hated him for his victory… we +came back to Frankfort, and he was sweet and soft to me, while I was +thinking how I might injure him as he had injured me… I dwelt on that +picture of--her--dishonoured and undone, and I hated him, so waited my +chance, and the night we reached the city I betrayed him for what he +was, betrayed him to whom I had sworn friendship… well, half the town +came howling through the snow to seize him, but we were too late, we +found a flaming house… it burnt to ashes, he with it… I had had my +revenge, but it brought me no peace. I left the West and went to the +East, to India, Persia, to Greece, I avoided both God and the Devil, I +dreaded Hell and dared not hope for Heaven, I tried to forget but +could not, I tried to repent but could not. Good and evil strove for +me, until the Lord had pity… I heard of you, and I have come to Rome +to cast myself at your feet, to ask your aid to help throw myself on +God His mercy.” + +He rose with his hands clasped on his breast and his wild eyes fixed +on the white face of Luigi Caprarola; thunder and lightning together +were rending the hot air; Theirry’s gorgeous dress glimmered in gold +and purple, his face was flushed and exalted. + +“God wins, I think, this time,” he said in an unsteady voice. “I have +confessed my sins, I will do penance for them, and die at least in +peace--God and the angels win!” + +The Cardinal rose; with one hand he held to the back of the ivory +chair, with the other he clasped the golden book to his breast; the +light shining on his red hair showed it in filmy brightness against +the wall of ebony and mother-of-pearl; his face and lips were very +pale above the vivid hue of his robe, his eyes, large and dark, stared +at Theirry. + +Again the lightning flashed between the two, and seemed to sink into +the floor at the Cardinal’s feet. + +He lifted his head proudly and listened to the following mighty roll; +when the echoes had quivered again into hot stillness he spoke. + +“The Devil and his legions win, I think,” he said. “At least they have +served Dirk Renswoude well.” + +Theirry fell back, and back, until he crouched against the gleaming +wall. + +“Cardinal Caprarola!” he cried fearfully. “Cardinal Caprarola, speak +to me! even here I hear the fiends jibe!” + +The Cardinal stepped from the ebony dais, his stiff robes making a +rustling as he walked; he laughed. + +“Have I learned a mien so holy my old comrade knows me not? Have I +changed so, I who was dainty and pleasant to look upon, your friend +and your bane?” + +He paused in the centre of the room; the open window, the dark beyond +it, the waving curtains, the fierce lightning made a terrific +background for his haughty figure. + +But Theirry moaned and whispered in his throat. + +“Look at me,” commanded the Cardinal, “look at me well, you who +betrayed me, am I not he who gilded a devil one August afternoon in a +certain town in Flanders?” + +Theirry drew himself up and pressed his clenched hands to his temples. + +“Betrayed!” he shrieked. “It is I who am betrayed. I sought God, and +have been delivered unto the Devil!” + +The thunder crashed so that his words were lost in the great noise of +it, the blue and forked lightning darted between them. + +“You know me now?” asked the Cardinal. + +Theirry slipped to his knees, crying like a child. + +“Where is God? where is God?” + +The Cardinal smiled. + +“He is not here,” he answered, “nor in any place where I have been.” + +An awful stillness fell after the crash of thunder; Theirry hid his +face, cowering like a man who feels his back bared to the lash. + +“Cannot you look at me?” asked the Cardinal in a half-mournful scorn; +“after all these years am I to meet you--thus? At my feet!” + +Theirry sprang up, his features mask-like in their unnatural +distortion and lifeless hue. + +“You do well to taunt me,” he answered, “for I am an accursed fool, I +have been seeking for what does not exist--God!--ay, now I know that +there is no God and no Heaven, therefore what matter for my soul… what +matter for any of it since the Devil owns us all!” + +The storm was renewed with the ending of his speech, and he saw +through the open window the vineyards and gardens of the Janiculum +Hill blue for many seconds beneath the black sky. + +“Your soul!” cried the Cardinal, as before. “Always have you thought +too much, and not enough, of that; you served too many masters and not +one faithfully; had you been a stronger man you had stayed with your +fallen saint, not spurned her, and then avenged her by my betrayal.” + +He crossed to the window and closed it, the while the lightning picked +him out in a fierce flash, and waited until the after-crash had rocked +to silence, his eyes all the while not leaving the shrinking, +horror-stricken figure of Theirry. + +“Well, it is all a long while ago,” he said. “And I and you have +changed.” + +“How did you escape that night?” asked Theirry hoarsely; hardly could +he believe that this man was Dirk Renswoude, yet his straining eyes +traced in the altered older face the once familiar features. + +As the Cardinal moved slowly across the gleaming chamber Theirry +marked with a horrible fascination the likeness of the haughty priest +to the poor student in black magic. + +The straight dark hair was now curled, bleached and stained a deep red +colour, after the manner of the women of the East; eyes and brows were +the same as they had ever been, the first as bright and keen, the last +as straight and heavy; his clear skin showed less pallor, his mouth +seemed fuller and more firmly set, the upper lip heavily shaded with a +dark down, the chin less prominent, but the line of the jaw was as +strong and clear as ever; a handsomer face than it had been, a +remarkable face, with an expression composed and imperious, with eyes +to tremble before. + +“I thought you burnt,” faltered Theirry. + +“The master _I_ serve is powerful,” smiled the Cardinal. “He saved me +then and set me where I am now, the greatest man in Rome--so great a +man that did you wish a second time to betray me you might shout the +truth in the streets and find no one to believe you.” + +The lightning darted in vain at the closed window, and the thunder +rolled more faintly in the distance. + +“Betray you!” cried Theirry, wild-eyed. “No, I bow the knee to the +greatest thing I have met, and kiss your hand, your Eminence!” + +The Cardinal turned and looked at him over his shoulder. + +“I never broke _my_ vows,” he said softly, “the vows of comradeship I +made to you; just now you said you thought I loved you, then, I mean, +in the old days…”--he paused and his delicate hand crept over his +heart--“well, I… loved you… and it ruined me, as the devils promised. +Last night I was warned that you would come to-day and that you would +be my bane… well, I do not care since you _are_ come, for, sir, I love +you still.” + +“Dirk!” cried Theirry. + +The Cardinal gazed on him with ardent eyes. + +“Do you suppose it matters to me that you are weak, foolish, or that +you betrayed me? You are the one thing in all the world I care for.… +Love! what was your love when you left her at Sebastian’s feet?--had +she been my lady I had stayed and laughed at all of it.…” + +“It is not the Devil who has taught you to be so faithful,” said +Theirry. + +For the first time a look of trouble, almost of despair, came into the +Cardinal’s eyes; he turned his head away. + +“You shame me,” continued Theirry; “I have no constancy in me; +thinking of my own soul, almost have I forgotten Jacobea of +Martzburg--and yet----” + +“And yet you loved her.” + +“Maybe I did--it is long ago.” + +A bitter little smile curved the Cardinal’s lips. + +“Is that the way men care for women?” he said. “Certes, not in that +manner had I wooed and remembered, had I been a--a--lover.” + +“Strange that we, meeting here like this, should talk of love!” cried +Theirry, his heart heaving, his eyes dilating, “strange that I, driven +round the world by fear of God, that I, coming here to one of God’s +own saints, should find myself in the Devil’s net again; come, he has +done much for you, what will he do for me?” + +The Cardinal smiled sadly. + +“Neither God nor Devil will do anything for you, for you are not +single-hearted, neither constant to good nor evil; but I--will risk +everything to serve your desires.” + +Theirry laughed. + +“Heaven has cast the world away and we are mad! You, _you_ famous as a +holy man--did you murder the young Blaise? I will back to India, to +the East, and die an idol-worshipper. See yonder crucifix, it hangs +upon your walls, but the Christ does not rise to smite you; you handle +the Holy Mysteries in the Church and no angel slays you on the altar +steps--let me away from Rome!” + +He turned to the gilt door, but the Cardinal caught his sleeve. + +“Stay,” he said, “stay, and all I promised you in the old days shall +come true--do you doubt me? Look about you, see what I have won for +myself.…” + +Theirry’s beautiful face was flushed and wild. + +“Nay, let me go.…” + +The last rumble of the thunder crossed their speech. + +“Stay, and I will make you Emperor.” + +“Oh devil!” cried Theirry, “can you do that?” + +“We will rule the world between us; yea, I will make you Emperor, if +you will stay in Rome and serve me; I will snatch the diadem from +Balthasar’s head and cast his Empress out as I ever meant to do, and +you shall bear the sceptre of the Cæsars, oh, my friend, my friend!” + +He held out his right hand as he spoke; Theirry caught it, crushed the +fingers in his hot grasp and kissed the brilliant rings; the Cardinal +flushed and dropped his lids over sparkling eyes. + +“You will stay?” he breathed. + +“Yea, my sweet fiend, I am yours, and wholly yours; lo! were not +rewards such as these better worth crossing the world for than a +pardon from God?” + +He laughed and staggered back against the wall, his look dazed and +reckless; the Cardinal withdrew his hand and crossed to the ivory +seat. + +“Now, farewell,” he said, “the audience has been over-long; I know +where to find you, and in a while I shall send for you; farewell, oh +Theirry of Dendermonde!” + +He spoke the name with a great tenderness, and his eyes grew soft and +misty. + +Theirry drew himself together. + +“Farewell, oh disciple of Sathanas! I, your humble follower, shall +look for fulfilment of your promises.” + +The Cardinal touched the bell; when the fair youth appeared, he bade +him see Theirry from the palace. + +Without another word they parted, Theirry with the look of madness on +him.… + +When Luigi Caprarola was alone he put his hand over his eyes and +swayed backwards as if about to fall, while his breath came in tearing +pants… with an effort he steadied himself, and, clenching his hands +now over his heart, paced up and down the room, his Cardinal’s robe +trailing after him, his golden rosary glittering against his knee. + +As he struggled for control the gilt door was opened and Paolo Orsini +bowed himself into his presence. + +“Your Eminence will forgive me,” he began. + +The Cardinal pressed his handkerchief to his lips. + +“Well, Orsini?” + +“A messenger has just come from the Vatican, my lord----” + +“Ah!--his Holiness?” + +“Was found dead in his sleep an hour ago, your Eminence.” + +The Cardinal paled and fixed his burning eyes on the secretary. + +“Thank you, Orsini; I thought he would not last the spring; well, we +must watch the Conclave.” + +He moved his handkerchief from his mouth and twisted it in his +fingers. + +The secretary was taking his dismissal, when the Cardinal recalled +him. + +“Orsini, it is desirable we should have an audience with the Empress, +she has many creatures in the Church who must be brought to heel; +write to her, Orsini.” + +“I will, my lord.” + +The young man withdrew, and Luigi Caprarola stood very still, staring +at the gleaming walls of his gorgeous cabinet. + + + + + CHAPTER III. + THE EMPRESS + +Ysabeau, wife of Balthasar of Courtrai and Empress of the West, +waited in the porphyry cabinet of Cardinal Caprarola. + +It was but little after midday, and the sun streaming through the +scarlet and violet colours of the arched window, threw a rich and +burning glow over the gilt furniture and the beautiful figure of the +woman; she wore a dress of an orange hue; her hair was bound round the +temples with a chaplet of linked plates of gold and hung below it in +fantastic loops; wrapped about her was a purple mantle embroidered +with ornaments in green glass; she sat on a low chair by the window +and rested her chin on her hand. Her superb eyes were grave and +thoughtful; she did not move from her reflective attitude during the +time the haughty priest kept her waiting. + +When at last he entered with a shimmer and ripple of purple silks, she +rose and bent her head. + +“It pleases you to make me attendant on your pleasure, my lord,” she +said. + +Cardinal Caprarola gave her calm greeting. + +“My time is not my own,” he added. “God His service comes first, +lady.” + +The Empress returned to her seat. + +“Have I come here to discuss God with your Eminence?” she asked, and +her fair mouth was scornful. + +The Cardinal crossed to the far end of the cabinet and slowly took his +place in his carved gold chair. + +“It is of ourselves we will speak,” he said, smiling. “Certes, your +Grace will have expected that.” + +“Nay,” she answered. “What is there we have in common, Cardinal +Caprarola?” + +“Ambition,” said his Eminence, “which is known alike to saint and +sinner.” + +Ysabeau looked at him swiftly; he was smiling with lips and eyes, +sitting back with an air of ease and power that discomposed her; she +had never liked him. + +“If your talk be of policy, my lord, it is to the Emperor you should +go.” + +“I think you have as much influence in Rome as your husband, my +daughter.” + +There was a dazzling glitter of coloured light as the Empress moved +her jewelled hands. + +“It is our _influence_ you wish, my lord--certes, a matter for the +Emperor.” + +His large keen eyes never left her face. + +“Yea, you understand me.” + +“Your Eminence desires our support in the Conclave now sitting,” she +continued haughtily. “But have you ever shown so much duty to us, that +we should wish to see you in St. Peter’s seat?” + +She thought herself justified in speaking thus to a man whose +greatness had always galled her, for she saw in this appeal for her +help an amazing confession of weakness on his part. + +But Luigi Caprarola remained entirely composed. + +“You have your creatures in the Church,” he said, “and you intend one +of them to wear the Tiara--there are sixteen Cardinals in the +Conclave, and I, perhaps, have half of them. Your Grace, you must see +that your faction does not interfere with what these priests +desire--my election namely.” + +“Must?” she repeated, her violet eyes dilating. “Your Eminence has +some reputation as a holy man--and you suggest the corruption of the +Conclave.” + +The Cardinal leant forward in his chair. + +“I do not play for a saintly fame,” he said, “and as for a corrupted +Conclave--your Grace should know corruption, seeing that your art, and +your art alone, achieved the election of Balthasar to the German +throne.” + +Ysabeau stared at him mutely; he gave a soft laugh. + +“You are a clever woman,” he continued. “Your husband is the first +King of the Germans to hold the Empery of the West for ten years and +keep his heel on the home lands as well; but even your wits will +scarcely suffice now; Bohemia revolts, and Basil stretches greedy +fingers from Ravenna, and to keep the throne secure you desire a man +in the Vatican who is Balthasar’s creature.” + +The Empress rose and placed her hand on the gilded ribbing of the +window-frame. + +“Your Eminence shows some understanding,” she flashed, pale beneath +her paint; “we gained the West, and we will keep the West, so you see, +my lord, why my influence will be _against_ you, not with you, in the +Conclave.” + +The Cardinal laid his hand lightly over his heart. + +“Your Grace speaks boldly--you think me your enemy?” + +“You declare yourself hostile, my lord.” + +“Nay, I may be a good friend to you--in St. Peter’s.” + +She smiled. + +“The Conclave have not declared their decision yet, your Eminence; you +are a great prince, but the Imperial party have some power.” + +The Cardinal sat erect, and his intense eyes quelled her despite +herself. + +“Some power--which I ask you to exert in my behalf.” + +She looked away, though angry with herself that his gaze overawed her. + +“You have declared your ambition, my lord; your talents and your +wealth we know--you are too powerful already for us to tolerate you as +master in Rome.” + +“Again you speak boldly,” smiled the Cardinal. “Perhaps too boldly--I +think you will yet help me to the Tiara.” + +Ysabeau gave a quick glance at his pale, handsome face framed in the +red hair. + +“Do you seek to bribe me, my lord?” She remembered the vast riches of +this man and their own empty treasury. + +“Nay,” said Luigi Caprarola, still smiling. “I threaten.” + +“Threaten!” At once she was tempestuous, panting, furious; the jewels +on her breast sparkled with her hastened breathing. + +“I threaten that I will make you an outcast in the streets unless you +serve me well.” + +She was the tiger-cat now, ready to turn at bay, Marozia +Porphyrogentris of Byzantium. + +“I know that of you,” said the Cardinal, “that once revealed, would +make the Emperor hurl you from his side.” + +She sucked in her breath and waited. + +“Melchoir of Brabant died by poison and by witchcraft.” + +“All the world knows that”--her eyes were long and evil; “he was +bewitched by a young doctor of Frankfort College who perished for the +deed.” + +The Cardinal looked down at the hand on his lap. + +“Yea, that young doctor brewed the potion--you administered it.” + +Ysabeau took a step forward into the room. + +“You lie… I am not afraid of you--you lie most utterly.…” + +Luigi Caprarola sprang to his feet. + +“Silence, woman! speak not so to me! It is the truth, and I can prove +it!” + +She bent and crouched; the plates of gold on her hair shook with her +trembling. + +“You cannot prove it”--the words were forced from her quivering +throat; “who are you that you should dare this--should know this?” + +The Cardinal still stood and dominated her. + +“Do you recall a youth who was scrivener to your Chamberlain and +friend of the young doctor of rhetoric--Theirry his name, born of +Dendermonde?” + +“Yea, he is now dead or in the East.…” + +“He is alive, and in Rome. He served you well once, Empress, when he +came to betray his friend, and you were quick to seize the chance--it +suited him then to truckle to you… I think he was afraid of you… he is +not now; _he_ knows, and if I bid him he will speak.” + +“And what is his bare word against my oath and the Emperor’s love?” + +“I am behind his word--I and all the power of the Church.” + +Ysabeau answered swiftly. + +“I am not of a nation easily cowed, my lord, nor are the people of our +blood readily trapped--I can tear your reputed saintship to rags by +spreading abroad this tale of how you tried to bargain with me for the +Popedom.” + +The Cardinal smiled in a way she did not care to see. + +“But first I say to the Emperor--your wife slew your friend that she +might be your wife, your friend Melchoir of Brabant--you loved him +better than you loved the woman--will you not avenge him now?” + +The Empress pressed her clenched hands against her heart and, with an +effort, raised her eyes to her accuser’s masterful face. + +“My lord’s love against it all,” she said hoarsely. “He knows +Melchoir’s murderer perished in Frankfort in the flames, he knows that +I am innocent, and he will laugh at you--weave what tissue of +falsehoods you will, sir, I do defy you, and will do no bargaining to +set you in the Vatican.” + +The Cardinal rested his finger-tips on the arm of the chair, and +looked down at them with a deepening smile. + +“You speak,” he answered, “as one whom I can admire--it requires great +courage to put the front you do on guilt--but I have certain knowledge +of what I say; come, I will prove to you that you cannot deceive +me--you came first to the house of a certain witch in Frankfort on a +day in August, a youth opened the door and took you into a room at the +back that looked on to a garden growing dark red roses; you wore, that +day, a speckled green mask and a green gown edged with fur.” + +He raised his eyes and looked at her; she moved back against the wall, +and outspread her hands either side her on the gleaming porphyry. + +“You threatened the youth as I threaten you now--you knew that he had +been driven from Basle College for witchcraft, even as I know you +compassed the death of your first husband, and you asked him to help +you, even as I ask you to help me now.” + +“Oh!” cried the Empress; she brought her hands to her lips. “How can +you know this?” + +The Cardinal reseated himself in his gold chair and marked with +brilliant, merciless eyes the woman struggling to make a stand against +him. + +“Hugh of Rooselaare died,” he said with sudden venom--“died basely for +justly accusing you, and so shall you die--basely--unless you aid me +in the Conclave.” + +He watched her very curiously; he wondered how soon he would utterly +break her courage, what new turn her defiance would take; he almost +expected to see her at his feet. + +For a few seconds she was silent; then she came a step nearer; the +veins stood out on her forehead and neck; she held her hands by her +side--they were very tightly clenched, but her beautiful eyes were +undaunted. + +“Cardinal Caprarola,” she said, “you ask me to use my influence to +bring about your election to the Popedom--knowing you as I know you +now I cannot fail to see you are a man who would stop at nought… if I +help you I shall help my husband’s enemy--once you are in the Vatican, +how long will you tolerate him in Rome? You will be no man’s creature, +and, I think, no man’s ally--what chance shall we have in Rome once +you are master? Sylvester was old and meek, he let Balthasar hold the +reins--will you do that?” + +“Nay,” smiled the Cardinal. “I shall be no puppet Pope.” + +“I knew it,” answered the Empress with a deep breath; “will you swear +to keep my husband in his place?” + +“That will not I,” said Luigi Caprarola. “If it please me I will hurl +him down and set one of my own followers up. I have no love for +Balthasar of Courtrai.” + +Ysabeau’s face hardened with hate. + +“But you think he can help you to the Tiara----” + +“Through you, lady--you can tell him I am his friend, his ally, what +you will--or you may directly influence the Cardinals, I care not, so +the thing be done; what I shall do if it be not done, I have said.” + +The Empress twisted her fingers together and suddenly laughed. + +“You wish me to deceive my lord to his ruin, you wish me to place his +enemy over him--now, when we are harassed, here and in Germany, you +wish me to do a thing that may bring his fortunes to the dust--why, +you are not so cunning, my lord, if you think you can make me the +instrument of Balthasar’s downfall!” + +The Cardinal looked at her with curiosity. + +“Nevertheless your Grace will do it--sooner than let me say what I can +say.” + +She held up her head and smiled in his face. + +“Then you are wrong; neither threats nor bribery can make me do this +thing--say what you will to the Emperor, I am secure in his good +affections; blight my fame and turn him against me if you can, I am +not so mean a woman that fear can make me betray the fortunes of my +husband and my son.” + +The Cardinal lowered his eyes; he was very pale. + +“You dare death,” he said, “a shameful death--if my accusation be +proved--as proved it shall be.” + +The Empress looked at him over her shoulder. + +“Dare death!” she cried. “You say I have dared Hell for--him!--shall I +be afraid, then, of paltry death?” + +Luigi Caprarola’s breast heaved beneath the vivid silk of his robe. + +“Of what _are_ you afraid?” he asked. + +“Of nothing save evil to my lord.” + +The Cardinal’s lids drooped; he moistened his lips. + +“This is your answer?” + +“Yea, your Eminence; all the power I possess shall go to prevent you +mounting the throne you covet so--and now, seeing you have that answer +I will leave, my courtiers grow weary in your halls.” + +She moved to the door, her limbs trembling beneath her, her brow cold, +her hands chilled and moist, and her heart shivering in her body, yet +with a regal demeanour curbing and controlling her fear. + +As she opened it the Cardinal turned his head. + +“Give me a little longer, your Grace,” he said softly. “I have yet +something to say.” + +She reclosed the door and stood with her back against it. + +“Well, my lord?” + +“You boast you are afraid of nothing--certes, I wonder--you defy me +boldly and something foolishly in this matter of your guilt; will you +be so bold in the matter of your innocence?” + +He leant forward in his chair to gaze at her; she waited silently, +with challenging eyes. + +“You are very loyal to your husband, you will not endanger your son’s +possible heritage; these things, you tell me, are more to you than +shame or death; your lord is Emperor of the West, your son King of the +Romans--well, well--you are too proud----” + +“Nay,” she flashed, “I am not too proud for the wife of Balthasar of +Courtrai and the mother of a line of Emperors--we are the founders of +our house, and it shall be great to rule the world.” + +The Cardinal was pale and scornful, his narrowed eyes and curving +mouth expressed bitterness--and passion. + +“Here is the weapon shall bring you to your knees,” he said, “and make +your boasting die upon your lips--you are not the wife of Balthasar, +and the only heritage your son will ever have is the shame and +weariness of the outcast.” + +She gathered her strength to meet this wild enormity. + +“Not his wife… why, you rave… we were married before all Frankfort… +not Balthasar’s wife!” + +The Cardinal rose; his head was held very erect; he looked down on her +with an intense gaze. + +“Your lord was wed before.” + +“Yea, I know… what of it?” + +“This--Ursula of Rooselaare lives!” + +Ysabeau gave a miserable little cry and turned about as if she would +fall; she steadied herself with a great effort and faced the Cardinal +desperately. + +“She died in a convent at Flanders--this is not the truth----” + +“Did I not speak truth before?” he demanded. “In the matter of +Melchoir.” + +A cry was wrung from the Empress. + +“Ursula of Rooselaare died in Antwerp,” she repeated wildly--“in the +convent of the White Sisters.” + +“She did not, and Balthasar knows she did not--he thinks she died +thereafter, he thinks he saw her grave, but he would find it +empty--she lives, she is in Rome, and she is his wife, his Empress, +before God and man.” + +“How do you know this?” She made a last pitiful attempt to brave him, +but the terrible Cardinal had broken her strength; the horror of the +thing he said had chilled her blood and choked her heart-beats. + +“The youth who helped you once, the doctor Constantine… from him +Balthasar obtained the news of his wife’s death, for Ursula and he +were apprenticed to the same old master--ask Balthasar if this be not +so--well, the youth lied, for purposes of his own; the maid lived +then, and is living now, and if I choose it she will speak.” + +“It is not possible,” shuddered the Empress; “no--you wish to drive me +mad, and so you torture me--why did not this woman speak before?” + +The Cardinal smiled. + +“She did not love her husband as you do, lady, and so preferred her +liberty; you should be grateful.” + +“Alive, you say,” whispered Ysabeau, unheeding, “and in Rome? But none +would know her, she could _not_ prove she was--his--Ursula of +Rooselaare.” + +“She has his ring,” answered Luigi Caprarola, “and her wedding deeds, +signed by him and by the priest--there are those at Rooselaare who +know her, albeit it is near twenty years since she was there; also she +hath the deposition of old Master Lukas that she was a supposed nun +when she came to him, and in reality the wife of Balthasar of +Courtrai; she can prove no one lies buried in the garden of Master +Lukas’s house, and she can bring forward sisters of the Order to which +she belonged to show she did not die on her wedding day--this and +further proof can she show.” + +The Empress bowed her head on her breast and put her hand over her +eyes. + +“She came to you--sir, with… this tale?” + +“That is for me to say or not as I will.” + +“She must be silenced! By Christus His Mother she must be silent!” + +“Secure me the casting vote in the Conclave and she will never speak.” + +“I have said. I… cannot, for his sake, for my son’s sake----” + +“Then I will bring forth Ursula of Rooselaare, and she shall prove +herself the Emperor’s wife--then instantly must you leave him, or both +of you will be excommunicated--your alternative will be to stay and be +his ruin or go to obscurity, never seeing his face again; your son +will no longer be King of the Romans, but a nameless wanderer--spurned +and pitied by those who should be his subjects--and another woman will +sit by Balthasar’s side on the throne of the West!” + +The Empress set her shoulders against the door. + +“And if my lord be loyal to me as I to him--to me and to my son----” + +“Then will he be hounded from his throne, cast out by the Church and +avoided by men; will not Lombardy be glad to turn against him and +Bohemia?” + +For a little while she was silent, and the Cardinal also as he looked +at her, then she raised her eyes to meet his; steadily now she kept +them at the level of his gaze, and her base, bold blood served her +well in the manner of her speech. + +“Lord Cardinal,” she said, “you have won; before you, as before the +world, I stand Balthasar’s wife, nor can you fright me from that proud +station by telling of--this impostor; yet, I am afraid of you; I dare +not come to an issue with you, Luigi Caprarola, and to buy your +silence on these matters I will secure your election--and afterwards +you and my lord shall see who is the stronger.” + +She opened the door, motioning him to silence. + +“My lord, no more,” she cried. “Believe me, I can be faithful to my +word when I am afraid to break it… and be you silent about this woman +Ursula.” The Cardinal came from his seat towards her. + +“We part as enemies,” he answered, “but I kiss the hem of your gown, +Empress, for you are brave as you are beautiful.” + +He gracefully lifted the purple robe to his lips. + +“And above all things do I admire a constant woman;” his voice was +strangely soft. + +Her face, cold, imperial beneath the shining gold and glittering hair, +did not change. + +“But, alas, you hate me!” he suddenly laughed, raising his eyes to +her. + +“To-day I cannot speak further with you, sir.” + +She moved away, steadying her steps with difficulty; the two +chamberlains in the ante-chamber rose as she stepped out of the +cabinet. + +“Benedictus, my daughter,” smiled the Cardinal, and closed the door. + +His face was flushed and bright with triumph; there was a curious +expression in his eyes; he went to the window and looked out on purple +Rome. + +“How she loves him still!” he said aloud; “yet--why do I wonder?--is +he not as fair a man as----” He broke off, then added reflectively, +“Also, she is beautiful.” + +His long fingers felt among his silk robes; he drew forth a little +mirror and gazed at his handsome face with the darkened upper lip and +tonsured head. + +As he looked he smiled, then presently laughed. + + + + + CHAPTER IV. + THE DANCER IN ORANGE + +Theirry walked slowly through the gorgeous ruins of Imperial Rome; +it was something after noon and glowingly hot; the Tiber curled in and +about the stone houses and broken palaces like a bronze and golden +serpent, so smooth and glittering it was. + +He followed the river until it wound round the base of Mount Aventine; +and there he paused and looked up at the Emperor’s palace, set +splendidly on the hill. + +Above the dazzling marble floated the German standard, vivid against +the vivid sky, and Frankish guards were gathered thick about the +magnificent portals. + +The noble summit of Soracté dominated the distance and the city; over +the far-off Campagna quivered a dancing vapour of heat; the little +boats on the Tiber rested lazily in their clear reflections, and their +coloured sails drooped languidly. + +Theirry marked with a vacant gaze the few passers-by; the mongrel +crowd of Rome--Slav, Frank, Jew or Greek, with here and there a Roman +noble in a chariot, or a German knight on horseback. + +He was not considering them, but Cardinal Caprarola. + +Several days now he had been in the city, but there had come no +message from the Cardinal; a dozen times he had gone over every word, +every little incident of his strange interview in the palace on the +Palatine with a wild desire to assure himself of its truth; had he not +been promised the Imperial crown?--impossible that seemed, yet no more +impossible than that Dirk Renswoude should have become a Prince of the +Church and the greatest man in Rome. + +He could not think of those two as the same; different forms of the +same devil, but not actually the same man, the same flesh and blood… +black magic!… it was a terrible thing and a wonderful; if he had +served the fiend better what might it not have done for him, what +might not it still do? Neither could he understand Dirk’s affection or +tenderness; even after the betrayal his one-time comrade was faithful +to those long-ago vows.… + +He looked at the Golden Palace on the Aventine--Emperor of the West! + +Balthasar reigned there now… well, why not he?… with the Devil as an +ally… and there was no God. + +His beautiful face grew sombre with thought; he walked thoughtfully +round the base of the hill, remarked by those coming and going from +the palace for his splendid appearance and rich Eastern dress. + +A little Byzantine chariot, gilt, with azure curtains and drawn by a +white horse, came towards him; the occupant was a lady in a green +dress; the grooms ran either side the horse’s head to assist it up the +hill; the chariot passed Theirry at a walking pace. + +The lady was unveiled, and the sun was full on her face. + +It was Jacobea of Martzburg. + +She did not see him; her car continued its slow way towards the +palace, and Theirry stood staring after it. + +He had last seen her ten years, and more, ago, in her steward’s arms +in the courtyard of Castle Martzburg; beyond them Sebastian’s wife.… + +He wondered if she had married the steward, and smiled to think that +he had once considered her a saint; ten years ago, and he had not yet +learnt his lesson; many men had he met and none holy, many women and +none saintly, and yet he had been fool enough to come to Rome because +he believed God was triumphant in the person of Luigi Caprarola.… + +A fool’s reward had been his; Heaven’s envoy had proved the Devil +incarnate, and he had been mocked with the sight of the woman for +whose sake he had made pitiful attempts to be clean-souled; the woman +who had, for another man’s love, defied the angels and taken her fate +into her own hands. + +For another man’s sake!--this the bitterest thought of all bitter +thoughts yet--and yet--he did not know if he had ever loved her, or +only the sweet purity she was a false symbol of--he was sure of +nothing. This way and that his mind went, ever hesitating, ever +restless--his heart was ready as water to take the colour of what +passed it, and his soul was as a straw before the breath of good and +evil. + +The sound of cymbals and laughter roused him from his agitated +thoughts. + +He looked along the road that wound by the Tiber and saw a little +crowd approaching, evidently following a troupe of jugglers or +mountebanks. + +As they came nearer to where he loitered, Theirry, ever easily +attracted by any passing excitement or attraction, could not choose +but give them a half-sullen attention. + +The centre of the group was a girl in an orange gown, they who +followed her the mere usual citizens of Rome, some courtiers of the +Emperor’s, soldiers, merchants’ clerks, and the rabble of children, +lazy mongrel foreigners and Franks. + +The dancer stopped and spread a scarlet carpet on the roadway; the +crowd gathered about it in a circle, and Theirry drew up with the +rest, interested by what interested them--the two facts, namely, that +marked the girl as different from her kind. + +Firstly, she affected the unusual modesty or coquetry of a black mask +that completely covered her face, and, secondly, she was attended only +by an enormous and hideous ape. + +She wore a short robe in the antique style, girdled under her bosom, +and fastened on her shoulders with clasps of gold; gilt sandals, +closely laced, concealed her feet and ankles; round her bust and arms +was twisted a gauze scarf of the same hue as her gown, a deep, bright +orange, and her hair, which was a dark red gold, was gathered on the +top of her head in a cluster of curls, and bound with a violet fillet. + +Although the mask concealed her charms of face, it was obvious that +she was young, and probably Greek; her figure was tall, full, and +splendidly graceful; she held a pair of brass cymbals and struck them +with a stormy joyousness above her proud head. + +The ape, wearing a collar of bright red stones and a long blue jacket +trimmed with spangles, curled himself on the corner of the carpet and +went to sleep. + +The girl began dancing; she had no music save her cymbals, and needed +none. + +Her movements were quick, passionate, triumphant; she clashed the +brass high in the air and leapt to meet the fierce sound; her +gold-shod feet twinkled like jewels, the clinging skirt showed the +beautiful lines of her limbs, and the gauze floating back revealed her +fair white arms and shoulders. + +Suddenly she lowered the cymbals, struck them together before her +breast, and looked from right to left. + +Theirry caught the gleam of her dark eyes through the holes in her +mask. + +For a while she crouched together, panting, then drew herself erect, +and let her hands fall apart. + +The burning sun shone in her hair, in the metal hems of her robe, in +her sandals, and changed the cymbals into discs of fire. + +She began to sing; her voice was deep and glorious, though muffled by +the mask. + +Slowly she moved round the red carpet, and the words of her song fell +clearly on the hot air. + + + “If Love were all! + His perfect servant I would be, + Kissing where his foot might fall, + Doing him homage on a lowly knee, + If Love were all! + + If Love were all! + And no such thing as Pride nor Empery, + Nor, God, nor sins or great or small, + If Love were all!” + + +She passed Theirry, so close, her fluttering robe touched his slack +hand; he looked at her curiously, for he thought he knew her voice; he +had heard many women sing, in streets and in palaces, and, somewhere, +this one. + + + “If Love were all! + But Love is weak, + And Hate oft giveth him a fall, + And Wisdom smites him on the cheek, + If Love were all! + + If Love were all! + I had lived glad and meek, + Nor heard Ambition call + And Valour speak, + If Love were all!” + + +The song ended as it had begun on a clash of cymbals; the dancer swung +round, stamped her foot and called fiercely to the ape, who leapt up +and began running round the crowd, offering a shell and making an ugly +jabbering noise. + +Theirry flung the hideous thing a silver bezant and moved away; he was +thinking, not of the dancer with the unknown memory in her voice, but +of the lady in the gilt chariot behind the azure curtains; +Jacobea--how little she had changed! + +A burst of laughter made him look round; he saw a quick picture: the +girl’s orange dress flashing in the strong sunlight, the ape on her +shoulder hurling the contents of the shell in the air, which glittered +for a second with silver pieces, and the jesting crowd closing round +both. + +He passed on moodily into the centre of the town; in the unrest and +agitation of his thoughts he had determined to seek Cardinal +Caprarola, since the Cardinal gave no sign of sending for him, even of +remembering him; but to-day it was useless to journey to the Palace on +the Palatine, for the Conclave sat in the Vatican, and the Cardinal +would be of their number. + +The streets, the wine shops, the public squares were full of a mixed +and excited mob; the adherents of the Emperor, who wished to see a +German pontiff, and they who were ardent Romans or Churchmen came, +here and there, to open brawls; the endless processions that crossed +and re-crossed from the various monasteries and churches were +interrupted by the lawless jeers of the Frankish inhabitants, who, +under a strong Emperor and a weak Pope, had begun to assume the +bearing of conquerors. + +Theirry left them all, too concerned, as always, in his own small +affairs to have any interest in larger issues; he turned into the Via +Sacra, and there, under the splendid but broken arch of Constantine, +he saw again the dancing girl and her ape. + +She looked at him intently; of that he could have no doubt, despite +her mask, and, as he turned his hesitating steps towards the Palatine, +she rose and followed him. + +As he ascended the narrow grey road that wound above the city, he kept +looking over his shoulder, and she was always there, following, with +the ape on her shoulder. + +They passed scattered huts, monasteries, decaying temples and villas, +and came out on to the deserted stretches of the upper Palatine, where +the fragmentary glories of another world lay under the cypress and +olive trees. + +Here Theirry paused, and again looked, half fearfully, for the bright +figure of the dancer. + +She stood not far from him, leaning against a slender shaft of marble, +the sole remaining column of a temple to some heathen god; behind it a +blue-green grove of cypress arose, and behind them the city lay wrapt +in the sparkling mist of noonday, through which, at intervals, gleamed +the dusky waters of the Tiber. + +The mighty walls showed brown and dark against the houses they +enclosed, and the dusty vineyards scorched in the sun that blazed on +the lantern of St. Peter and the angel on Castel del’ Angelo. + +The stillness of great heat was over city and ruins, noiseless +butterflies fluttered over the shattered marble, and pale narcissi +quivered in the deep grass; the sky, a bronze gold over the city and +about the mountainous horizon, was overhead a deep and burning blue; a +colour that seemed reflected in the clusters of violets that grew +about the fallen masonry. + +Theirry flung himself on a low marble seat that stood in the shade of +a cypress, and his blood-red robe was vivid even in the shadow; he +looked at the veiled city at his feet, and at the dancing girl resting +against the time-stained, moss-grown column. + +She loosened the cymbals from her hands and flung them on the ground; +the ape jumped from her shoulder and caught them up. + +Again she sang her passionate little song. + + + “If Love were all! + His faithful servant I would be, + Kissing where his foot might fall, + Doing him homage on a lowly knee, + If Love were all!” + + +As she sang, another and very different scene was suddenly brought to +Theirry’s mind; he remembered a night when he had slept on the edge of +a pine forest, in Germany--many years ago--and had suddenly +awoke--nay, he had dreamt he heard singing, and a woman’s singing… if +it were not so mad a thought he would have said--this woman’s singing. + +He turned bitter, dark eyes towards her--why had she followed him? + +Swiftly and lightly she came across the grass, glittering from head to +foot in the sunlight, and paused before him. + +“Certes, you should be in Rome to-day,” she said. “The Conclave come +to their decision this afternoon; do you wish to hear it announced +from the Vatican?” + +“Nay,” smiled Theirry. “I would rather see you dance.” + +Her answer was mocking. + +“You care nothing for my dancing--I would wager to stir any man in +Rome sooner than you!” + +Theirry flushed. + +“Why did you follow me?” he asked in a half-indifferent dislike. + +She seated herself on the other end of his marble bench. + +“My reasons are better than my dancing, and would, could I speak them, +have more effect on you.” + +The light hot wind ruffled back the gauze from her beautiful arms and +shoulders; her bright hair and masked face were in shadow, but her +gold-sandalled foot, which rested lightly on the wild, sweet violets, +blazed in the sunshine. + +Theirry looked at her foot as he answered-- + +“I am a stranger to Rome and know not its customs, but if you are what +you seem you can have no serious reason in following me.” + +The dancing girl laughed. + +“A stranger! then that is why you are the only man in Rome not waiting +eagerly to know who the new Pope will be.” + +“It is curious for a wandering minstrel to have such interest in holy +matters,” said Theirry. + +She leant towards him across the length of the bench, and the perfume +of her orange garments mingled with the odour of the violets. + +“Take me for something other than I appear,” she replied, in a +mournful and passionate voice. “In being here I risk an unthinkable +fate--I stake the proudest hopes… the fairest fortune.…” + +“Who are you?” cried Theirry. “Why are you masked?” + +She drew back instantly, and her tone changed to scorn again. + +“When there are many pilgrims in Rome the monks bid us poor fools wear +masks, lest, with our silly faces, we lure souls away from God.” + +Theirry stared at the proud city beneath him. + +“Could I find God,” he said bitterly, “no fair face should beguile me +away--but God is bound and helpless, I think, at the Devil’s chair.” + +The dancer crushed her bright foot down on the violets. + +“I cannot imagine,” she said intensely, “how a man can spend his life +looking for God and saving his own soul--is not the world beautiful +enough to outweigh heaven?” + +Theirry was silent. + +The dancing girl laughed softly. + +“Are you thinking of--her?” she asked. + +He turned with a start. + +“Thinking of whom?” he demanded. + +“The lady in the Byzantine chariot--Jacobea of Martzburg.” + +He sprang up. + +“Who are you, and what do you know of me?” + +“This, at least--that you have not forgotten her!--Yet you would be +Emperor, too, would you not?” + +Theirry drew back from her stretched along the marble seat, until his +crimson robe touched the dark trunks of the cypress trees. + +“Ye are some witch,” he said. + +“I come from Thessaly, where we have skill in magic,” she answered. + +And now she sat erect, her yellow dress casting a glowing reflection +into the marble. + +“And I tell you this,” she added passionately. “If you would be +Emperor, let that woman be--she will do nought for you--let her +go!--this is a warning, Theirry of Dendermonde!” + +His face flushed, his eyes sparkled. + +“Have I a chance of wearing the Imperial crown?” he cried. “May I--I, +rule the West?--Tell me that, witch!” + +She whistled the ape to her side. + +“I am no witch--but I can warn you to think no more of Jacobea of +Martzburg.” + +He answered hotly. + +“I love not to hear her name on your tongue; she is nothing to me; I +need not your warning.” + +The dancer rose. + +“For your own sake forget her, Theirry of Dendermonde, and you may be +indeed Emperor of the West and Cæsar of the Romans.” + +The gold gleaming on her robe, her sandals, in her hair, confused and +dazzled him, the hideous ape gave him a pang of terror. + +“How came you by your knowledge?” he asked, and clutched the cypress +trunk. + +“I read your fortune in your eyes,” she answered. “We in Thessaly have +skill in these things, as I have said.… Look at the city beneath +us--is it not worth much to reign in it?” + +The gold vapour that lay about the distant hills seemed to be +resolving into heavy, menacing clouds. + +Theirry, following the direction of her slender pointing finger, gazed +at the city and saw the clouds beyond. + +“A storm gathers,” he said, and knew not why he shivered suddenly +until his pearl earrings tinkled on the collar round his neck. + +The dancer laughed, wildly and musically. + +“Come with me to the Piazza of St. Peter,” she said, “and you shall +hear strange words.” + +With that she caught hold of his blood-red garments and drew him +towards the city. + +The perfume from her dress and her hair stole into his nostrils; the +hem of her tunic made a delicate sound as it struck her sandals, the +violet ribbon in her fillet touched his face… he hated the black, +expressionless mask; he had strange thoughts under her touch, but he +came silently. + +As they went down the road that wound through the glorious desolation +Theirry heard the sound of pattering feet, and looked over his +shoulder. + +It was the ape who followed them; he walked on his hind legs… how tall +he was!--Theirry had not thought him so large, nor of such a human +semblance.… + +The dancer was silent, and Theirry could not speak; when they entered +the city gates the dun-coloured clouds had swallowed up the gold +vapour and half covered the sky; as they crossed the Tiber and neared +the Vatican the last beams of the sun disappeared under the shadow of +the oncoming storm. + +Enormous crowds were gathered in the Piazza of St. Peter; it seemed as +if all Rome had assembled there; many faces were turned towards the +sky, and the sudden gloom that had overspread the city seemed to +infect the people, for they were mostly silent, even sombre. + +The enormous and terrible ape cleared an easy way for himself through +the crowd, and Theirry and the dancing girl followed until they had +pushed through the press of people and found themselves under the +windows of the Vatican. + +The heavy, ominous clouds gathered and deepened like a pall over the +city; black, threatening shapes rolled up from behind the Janiculum +Hill, and the air became fiery with the sense of impending tempest. + +Suspense, excitement and the overawing aspect of the sky kept the +crowd in a whispering stillness. + +Theirry heard the dancing girl laugh; she was thrust up close against +him in the press, and, although tall, was almost smothered by a number +of Frankish soldiers pressing together in front of her. + +“I cannot see,” she said--“not even the window----” + +He, with an instinct to assist her, and an impulse to use his +strength, caught her round the waist and lifted her up. + +For a second her breast touched his; he felt her heart beating +violently behind her thin robe, and an extraordinary sensation took +possession of him. + +Occasioned by the touch of her, the sense of her in his arms, there +was communicated, as if from her heart to his, a high and rapturous +passion; it was the most terrible and the most splendid feeling he had +ever known, at once an agony and a delight such as he had never +dreamed of before; unconsciously he gave an exclamation and loosened +his hold. She slipped to the ground with a stifled and miserable cry. + +“Let me alone,” she said wildly. “Let me alone----” + +“Who are you?” he whispered excitedly, and tried to catch hold of her +again; but the great ape came between them, and the seething crowd +roughly pushed him. + +Cardinal Maria Orsini had stepped out on to one of the balconies of +the Vatican; he looked over the expectant crowd, then up at the black +and angry sky, and seemed for a moment to hesitate. + +When he spoke his words fell into a great stillness. + +“The Sacred College has elected a successor to St. Peter in the person +of Louis of Dendermonde, Abbot of the Brethren of the Sacred Heart in +Paris, Bishop of Ostia and Cardinal Caprarola, who will ascend the +Papal throne under the name of Michael II.” + +He finished; the cries of triumph from the Romans, the yells of rage +from the Franks were drowned in a sudden and awful peal of thunder; +the lightning darted across the black heavens and fell on the Vatican +and Castel San’ Angelo. The clouds were rent in two behind the temple +of Mars the Avenger, and a thunderbolt fell with a hideous crash into +the Forum of Augustus. + +Theirry, whipped with terror, turned with the frightened crowd to +flee… he heard the dancing girl laugh, and tried to snatch at her +orange garments, but she swept by him and was lost in the surge.… + +Rome quivered under the onslaught of the thunder, and the lightning +alone lit the murky, hot gloom. + +“The reign of Antichrist has begun!” shrieked Theirry, and laughed +insanely. + + + + + CHAPTER V. + THE POPE + +The chamber in the Vatican was so dimly, richly lit with jewelled +and deep-coloured lamps that at first Theirry thought himself alone. + +He looked round and saw silver walls hung with tapestries of violet +and gold; pillars with columns of sea-green marble and capitals of +shining mosaic supported a roof encrusted with jasper and jade; the +floor, of Numidian marble, was spread with Indian silk carpets; here +and there stood crystal bowls of roses, white and crimson, fainting in +the close, sweet air. + +At the far end of the room was a dais hung with brocade in which +flowers and animals shone in gold and silver on a purple ground; gilt +steps, carved and painted, led up to a throne on the daïs, and +Theirry, as his eyes became used to the wine-coloured gloom, saw that +some one sat there; some one so splendidly robed and so still that it +seemed more like one of the images Theirry had seen worshipped in +Constantinople than a human being. + +He shivered. + +Presently he could discern intense eyes looking at him out of a dazzle +of dark gold and shimmering shadowed colours. + +Michael II moved in his seat. + +“Again do you not know me?” he asked in a low tone. + +“You sent for me,” said Theirry; to himself his voice sounded hoarse +and unnatural. “At last----” + +“At last?” + +“I have been waiting--you have been Pope thirty days, and never have +you given me a sign.” + +“Is thirty days so long?” + +Theirry came nearer the enthroned being. + +“You have done nothing for me--you spoke of favours.” + +Silver, gold and purple shook together as Michael II turned in his +gorgeous chair. + +“Favours!” he echoed. “You are the only man in Christendom who would +stand in my presence; the Emperor kneels to kiss my foot.” + +“The Emperor does not know,” shuddered Theirry; “but I do--and +knowing, I cannot kneel to you… Ah, God!--how can you dare it?” + +The Pope’s soft voice came from the shadows. + +“Your moods change--first this, then that; what humour are you in now, +Theirry of Dendermonde; would you still be Emperor?” + +Theirry put his hand to his brow. + +“Yea, you know it--why do you torture me with suspense, with waiting? +If Evil is to be my master, let me serve him… and be rewarded.” + +Michael II answered swiftly. + +“I was not the one to be faithless to our friendship, nor shall I now +shrink from serving you, at any cost--be you but true.” + +“In what way can I be false?” asked Theirry bitterly. “I, a thing at +your mercy?” + +The Pope held back the blossom-strewn brocade so that he could see the +other’s face. + +“I ask of you to let Jacobea of Martzburg be.” + +Theirry flushed. + +“How ye have always hated her!… since I came to Rome I have seen her +the once.” + +The Pope’s smooth pale face showed a stain of red from the dim beams +of one of the splendid lamps; Theirry observed it as he leant forward. + +“She did not marry her steward,” he said. + +The Pope’s eyes narrowed. + +“Ye have been at the pains to discover that?” + +Theirry laughed mournfully. + +“You have won! you, sitting where you sit now, can afford to mock at +me; at my love, at my hope--both of which I placed once at stake +on--her--and lost!… and lost! Ten years ago--but having again seen +her, sometimes I must think of her, and that she was not vile after +all, but only trapped by you, as I have been… Sebastian went to +Palestine, and she has gone unwed.” + +The Pope gave a quick sigh and bit his lip. + +“I will make you Emperor,” he said. “But that woman shall not be your +Empress.” + +Again Theirry laughed. + +“Did I love her even, which I do not--I would put her gladly aside to +sit on the Imperial throne!--Come, I have dallied long enough on the +brink of devilry--let me sin grandly now, and be grandly paid!” + +Michael II gave so quick a breath the jewels on his breast scattered +coloured light. + +“Come nearer to me,” he commanded, “and take my hand--as you used to, +in Frankfort… I am always Dirk to you--you who never cared for me, +hated me, I think--oh, the traitors our hearts are, neither God nor +devil is so fierce to fight----” + +Theirry approached the gold steps; the Pope leant down and gave him +his cool white hand, heavy with gemmed rings, and looked intently into +his eyes. + +“When they announced your election--how the storm smote the city,” +whispered Theirry fearfully; “were you not daunted?” + +The Pope withdrew his hand. + +“I was not in the Conclave,” he said in a strange tone. “I lay sick in +my villa--as for the storm----” + +“It has not lifted since,” breathed Theirry; “day and night have the +clouds hung over Rome--is not there, after all, a God?” + +“Silence!” cried the Pope in a troubled voice. “You would be Emperor +of the West, would you not?--let us speak of that.” + +Theirry leant against the arm of the throne and stared with an awful +fascination into the other’s face. + +“Ay, let us speak of that,” he answered wildly; “can all your +devilries accomplish it? It is common talk in Rome that you secured +your election by Frankish influence because you vowed to league with +Balthasar--they say you are his ally----” + +The dark intense eyes of Michael II glittered and glowed. + +“Nevertheless I will cast him down and set you in his place--he comes +to-day to ask my aid against Lombardy and Bohemia; and therefore have +I sent for you that you may overhear this audience, and see how I mate +and checkmate an Emperor for your sake.” + +As he spoke, he pointed to the other end of the room where hung a +sombre and rich curtain. + +“Conceal yourself--behind that tapestry--and listen carefully to what +I say, and you will understand how I may humble Balthasar and shake +him from his throne.” + +Theirry, not joyous nor triumphant, but agitated and trembling with a +horrible excitement, crept across the room and passed silently behind +the arras. + +As the long folds shook into place again the Pope touched a bell. + +Paolo Orsini entered. + +“Admit the Emperor.” + +The secretary withdrew; there was a soft sound in the ante-chamber, +the voices of priests. + +Michael II put his hand to his heart and fetched two or three quick +panting breaths; his full lips curved to a strange smile, and a +stranger thought was behind it; a thought that, if expressed, would +not have been understood even by Theirry of Dendermonde, who of all +men knew most of his Holiness. + +This it was-- + +“Did ever lady meet her lord like this before, or like this use him to +advance her love!” + +A heavy tread sounded without, and the Emperor advanced into the +splendid glooms of the audience-chamber. + +He was bare-headed, and at sight of the awe-inspiring figure, went on +his knees at the foot of the daïs. + +Michael II looked at him in silence; the silver door was closed, and +they were alone, save for the unseen listener behind the arras. + +At last the Pope said slowly-- + +“Arise, my son.” + +The Emperor stood erect, showing his magnificent height and bearing; +he wore bronze-hued armour, scaled like a dragon’s breast, the high +gold Imperial buskins, and an immense scarlet mantle that flowed +behind him; his thick yellow hair hung in heavy curls on to his +shoulders, and his enormous sword made a clatter against his armour as +he moved. + +Theirry, cautiously drawing aside the curtain to observe, dug his +nails into his palms with bitter envy. + +Behold the man who had once been his companion--little more than his +equal, and now--an Emperor! + +“You desired an audience of us,” said the Pope. “And some tedium may +be spared, for we can well guess what you have to say.” + +A look of relief came into Balthasar’s great blue eyes; he was no +politician; the Empress, whose wits alone had kept him ten years on a +throne, had trembled for this audience. + +“Your Holiness knows that it is my humble desire to form a firm +alliance between Rome and Germany. I have ruled both long enough to +prove myself neither weak nor false, I have ever been a faithful +servant of Holy Church----” + +The Pope interrupted. + +“And now you would ask her help against your rebellious subjects?” + +“Yea, your Holiness.” + +Michael II smiled. + +“On what right does your Grace presume when you ask us to aid you in +steadying a trembling throne?” + +Balthasar flushed, and came clumsily to the point. + +“I was assured, Holy Father, of your friendliness before the +election--the Empress----” + +Again the Pope cut him short. + +“Cardinal Caprarola was not the Vicegerent of Christ, the High Priest +of Christendom, as we are now--and those whom Louis of Dendermonde +knew, become as nothing before the Pope of Rome, in whose estimate all +men are the same.” + +Balthasar’s spirit rose at this haughty speech; his face turned +crimson, and he savagely caught at one of his yellow curls. + +“Your Holiness can have no object in refusing my alliance,” he +answered. “Sylvester crowned me with his own hands, and I always lived +in friendship with him--he aided me with troops when the Lombards +rebelled against their suzerain, and Suabia he placed under an +interdict----” + +“We are not Sylvester,” said the Pope haughtily--“nor accountable for +his doings; as you may show yourself the obedient son of the Church so +may we support you--otherwise!--we can denounce as we can uphold, pull +down as we can raise up, and it wants but little, Balthasar of +Courtrai, to shake your throne from under you.” + +The Emperor bit his lip, and the scales of his mail gleamed as they +rose with his heavy breathing; he knew that if the power of the +Vatican was placed on the side of his enemies he was ruined. + +“In what way have I offended your Holiness?” he asked, with what +humility he could. + +The fair young face of Michael II was flushed and proud in expression; +the red curls surrounding the tonsure fell across his smooth forehead; +his red lips were sternly set and his heavy brows frowned. + +“Ye have offended Heaven, for whom we stand,” he answered. “And until +by penitence ye assoil your soul we must hold you outcast from the +mercies of the Church.” + +“Tell me my sins,” said Balthasar hoarsely. “And what I can do to blot +them out--masses, money, lands----” + +The Pope made a scornful movement with his little hand. + +“None of these can make your peace with God and us--one thing only can +avail there.” + +“Tell it me,” cried the Emperor eagerly. “If it be a crusade, surely I +will go--after Lombardy is subdued.” + +The Pope flashed a quick glance over him. + +“We want no knight-errantry in the East; we demand this--that you put +away the woman whom you call your wife.” + +Balthasar stared with dilating eyes. + +“Saint Joris guard us!” he muttered; “the woman whom I call my wife!” + +“Ysabeau, first wedded to the man whom you succeeded.” + +Balthasar’s hand made an instinctive movement towards his sword. + +“I do not understand your Holiness.” + +The Pope turned in his chair so that the lamplight made his robe one +bright purple sheen. + +“Come here, my lord.” + +The Emperor advanced to the gold steps; a slim fair hand was held out +to him, holding, between finger and thumb, a ring set with a deep red +stone. + +“Do you know this, my lord?” The Pope’s brilliant eyes were fixed on +him with an intent and terrible expression. + +Balthasar of Courtrai looked at the ring; round the bezel two coats of +arms were delicately engraved in the soft red gold. + +“Why,” he said in a troubled way, “I know the ring--yea, it was made +many years ago----” + +“And given to a woman. + +“Certes--yea----” + +“It is a wedding ring.” + +Again the Emperor assented, his blue eyes darkened and questioning. + +“The woman to whom in your name it was given still lives.” + +“Ursula of Rooselaare!” cried Balthasar. + +“Yea, Ursula of Rooselaare, your wife.” + +“My first wife who died before I had seen her, Holiness,” stammered +the Emperor. + +The Pope’s strange handsome face was hard and merciless; he held the +wedding ring out on his open palm and looked from it to Balthasar. + +“She did not die--neither in the convent, as to your shame you know, +nor in the house of Master Lukas.” + +Balthasar could not speak; he saw that this man knew what he had +considered was a close secret of his own heart alone. + +“Who told you she was dead?” continued the Pope. “A certain youth, +who, for his own ends, I think, lied, a wicked youth he was, and he +died in Frankfort for compassing the death of the late Emperor--or +escaped that end by firing his house, the tale grows faint with years; +’twas he who told you Ursula of Rooselaare was dead; he even showed +you her grave--and you were content to take his word--and she was +content to be silent.” + +“Oh, Christus!” cried the Emperor. “Oh, Saint Joris!--but, holy +father--this thing is impossible!” He wrung his hands together and +beat his mailed breast. “From whom had you this tale?” + +“From Ursula of Rooselaare.” + +“It cannot be… why was she silent all these years? why did she allow +me to take Ysabeau to wife?” + +A wild expression crossed the Pope’s face; he looked beyond the +Emperor with deep soft eyes. + +“Because she loved another man.” + +A pause fell for a second, then Michael II spoke again. + +“I think, too, she something hated you who had failed her, and scorned +her--there was her father also, who died shamefully by Ysabeau’s +command; she meant, I take it, to revenge that upon the Empress, and +now, perhaps, her chance has come.” + +Balthasar gave a dry sob. + +“Where is this woman who has so influenced your Holiness against me? +An impostor! do not listen to her!” + +“She speaks the truth, as God and devils know!” flashed the Pope. “And +we, with all the weight of Holy Church, will support her in the +maintenance of her just rights; we also have no love for this Eastern +woman who slew her lord----” + +“Nay, that is false”--Balthasar ground his teeth. “I know some said it +of her--but it is a lie.” + +“This to me!” cried the Pope. “Beware how ye anger God’s Vicegerent.” + +The Emperor quivered, and put his hand to his brow. + +“I bend my neck for your Holiness to step on--so you do not ask me to +listen to evil of the Empress.” + +The Pope rose with a gleam of silk and a sparkle of jewels. + +“Ysabeau is not Empress, nor your wife; her son is not your heir, and +you must presently part with both of them or suffer the extremity of +our wrath--yea, the woman shall ye give into the hands of the +executioner to suffer for the death of Melchoir, and the child shall +ye turn away from you--and with pains and trouble shall ye search for +Ursula of Rooselaare, and finding her, cause her to be acknowledged +your wife and Empress of the West. That she lives I know, the rest is +for you.” + +The Emperor drew himself up and folded his arms on his breast. + +“This is all I have to say,” added the Pope. “And on those terms alone +will I secure to you the throne.” + +“I have but one answer,” said Balthasar. “And it would be the same did +I deliver it in the face of God--that while I live and have breath to +speak, I shall proclaim Ysabeau and none other as my wife, and our son +as an Empress’s son, and my heir and successor; kingdom and even life +may your Holiness despoil me of--but neither the armies of the earth +nor the angels of heaven shall take from me these two--this my answer +to your Holiness.” + +The Pope resumed his seat. + +“Ye dare to defy me,” he said. “Well--ye are a foolish man to set +yourself against Heaven; go back and live in sin and wait the +judgment.” + +Balthasar’s flesh crept and quivered, but he held his head high, even +though the Pope’s words opened the prospect of a sure hell. + +“Your Holiness has spoken, so also have I,” he answered. “I take my +leave.” + +Michael II gazed at him in silence as he bent his head and backed +towards the silver door. + +No other word passed between Pope and Emperor; the gleaming portals +opened; the mail of Balthasar’s retinue clinked without, and then soft +silence fell on the richly lit room as the door was delicately closed. + +“Theirry.” + +The Pope rose and descended from the daïs; the dark arras was lifted +cautiously, and Theirry crept into the room. + +Michael II stood at the foot of the golden steps; despite his +magnificent and flowing draperies, he looked very young and slender. + +“Well,” he asked, and his eyes were triumphant. “Stand I not in a fair +way to cast down the Emperor?” + +Theirry moistened his lips. + +“Yea--how dared you!--to use the thunderbolts of heaven for such +ends!” + +The Pope smiled. + +“The thunders of heaven may be used to any ends by those who can wield +them.” + +“What you said was false?” whispered Theirry, questioning. + +The jewelled light flickered over the Pope’s face. + +“Nay, it was true, Ursula of Rooselaare lives.” + +“Ye never told me that--in the old days!” + +“Maybe I did not know--she lives, and she is in Rome;” he caught hold +of the robe across his breast as he spoke, and both voice and eyes +were touched with weariness. + +“This is a curious tale,” answered Theirry in a confused manner. “She +must be a strange woman.” + +“She is a strange woman.” + +“I would like to see her--who is it that she loves?” + +The Pope showed pale; he moved slowly across the room with his head +bent. + +“A man for whose sake she puts her very life in jeopardy,” he said in +a low passionate voice. “A man, I think, who is unworthy of her.” + +“She is in Rome?” pondered Theirry. + +The Pope lifted an arras that concealed an inner door. + +“The first move is made,” he said. “Farewell now--I will acquaint you +of the progress of your fortunes;” he gave a slight, queer smile; “as +for Ursula of Rooselaare, ye have seen her----” + +“Seen her?”… + +“Yea; she wears the disguise of a masked dancer in orange.” + +With that he pointed Theirry to the concealed doorway, and turning, +left him. + + + + + CHAPTER VI. + SAN GIOVANNI IN LATERANO + +In the palace on the Aventine, Balthasar stood at a window looking +over Rome. + +The clouds that had hung for weeks above the city cast a dull yellow +glow over marble and stone; the air was hot and sultry, now and then +thunder rolled over the Vatican and a flash of lightning revealed the +Angel on Castel San Angelo poised above the muddy waters of the Tiber. + +A furious, utter dread and terror gripped Balthasar’s heart; days had +passed since his defiance of the Pope and he had heard no more of his +daring, but he was afraid, afraid of Michael II, of the Church, of +Heaven behind it--afraid of this woman who had risen from the dead.… + +He knew the number of his enemies and with what difficulty he held +Rome, he guessed that the Pope intended his downfall and to put +another in his place--but not this almost certain ruin disturbed him +day and night, no--the thought that the Church might throw him out and +consign his soul to smoky hell. + +Bravely enough had he dared the Pope at the time when his heart was +hot within him, but in the days that followed his very soul had +fainted to think what he had done; he could not sleep nor rest while +waiting for outraged Heaven to strike; he darkly believed the +continual storm brooding over Rome to be omen of God’s wrath with him. + +His trouble was the greater because it was secret, the first that, +since they had been wedded, he had concealed from Ysabeau. As this +touched her, in an infamous and horrible manner, he could neither +breathe it to her nor any other, and the loneliness of his miserable +apprehension was an added torture. + +This morning he had interviewed the envoys from Germany and his +chamberlain; tales of anarchy and turmoil in Rome, of rebellion in +Germany had further distracted him; now alone in his little marble +cabinet, he stared across the gorgeous, storm-wrapt city. + +Not long alone; he heard some one quietly enter, and because he knew +who it was, he would not turn his head. + +She came up to him and laid her hand on his plain brown doublet. + +“Balthasar,” she said, “will you never tell me what it is that sits so +heavily on your heart?” + +He commanded his voice to answer. + +“Nothing, Ysabeau--nothing.” + +The Empress gave a long, quivering sigh. + +“This is the first time you have not trusted me.” + +He turned his face; white and wan it was of late, with heavy circles +under the usually joyous eyes; she winced to see it. + +“Oh, my lord!” she cried passionately. “No anguish is so bitter when +shared!” + +He took her hand and pressed it warmly to his breast; he tried to +smile. + +“Certes, you know my troubles, Ysabeau, the discontent, the +factions--matter enough to make any man grave.” + +“And the Pope,” she said, raising her eyes to his; “most of all it is +the Pope.” + +“His Holiness is no friend to me,” said the Emperor in a low voice. +“Oh, Ysabeau, we were deceived to aid him to the tiara.” + +She shuddered. + +“_I_ persuaded you… blame me… I was mad. _I_ set your enemy in +authority.” + +“Nay!” he answered in a great tenderness. “You are to blame for +nothing, you, sweet Ysabeau.” + +He raised the hand he held to his lips; in the thought that he +suffered for her sake was a sweet recompense. + +She coloured, then paled. + +“What will he do?” she asked. “What will he do?” + +“Nay--I know not.” His fair face overclouded again. + +She saw it and terror shook her. + +“He said more to you that day than you will tell me!” she cried. “You +fear something that you will not reveal to me!” + +The Emperor made an attempt at lightness of speech. + +“He is a poor knight who tells his lady of his difficulties,” he said. +“I cannot come crying to you like a child.” + +She turned to him the soft frail beauty of her face and took his great +sword hand between hers. + +“I am very jealous of you, Balthasar,” she said thickly, “jealous that +you should shut me out--from anything.” + +“You will know soon enough,” he answered in a hoarse voice. “But never +from me.” + +The tears lay in her violet eyes as she fondled his hand. + +“Are we not as strong as this man, Balthasar!” + +“Nay,” he shivered, “for he has the Church behind him--to-morrow, we +shall see him again--I dread to-morrow.” + +“Why?” she asked quickly. “To-morrow is the Feast of the Assumption +and we go to the Basilica.” + +“Yea, and the Pope will be there in his power and I must kneel humbly +before him--yet not that alone----” + +“Balthasar! what do you fear?” + +He breathed heavily. + +“Nothing--a folly, an ugly presentiment, of late I have slept so +little.--Why is he quiet?--He meditates something.” + +His blue eyes widened with fear, he put the Empress gently from him. + +“Take no heed, sweet, I am only weary and your dear solicitude +unnerves me--I must go pray Saint Joris to remember me.” + +“The Saints!” she cried hotly. “A knife would serve us better could we +but thrust it into this Caprarola--who is he, this man who dares +menace us?” + +The childishly fair face was drawn with anxious love and bitter fury; +the purple eyes were wet and brilliant, under her long robe of dull +yellow samite her bosom strove painfully with her breath. + +The Emperor turned uneasily aside. + +“The storm,” he said, raising his voice above a whisper with an +effort. “I think that it oppresses me and makes me fearful--how many +days--how many days, Ysabeau, since we have seen a cloudless sky!” + +He moved away from her hastily and left the room with an abrupt step. + +The Empress crouched against the marble columns that supported the +window, and as her unseeing eyes gazed across the shadowed city a look +of cunning calculation, of fierce rage came into her face; it was many +years since that sinister expression had marred her loveliness, for, +since her second marriage she had met no man who threatened her or +menaced her path or the Emperor’s as now did his Holiness, Michael II. + +She half suspected him of having broken his vile bargain with her, she +rightly thought that nothing save the revelation of his first wife’s +existence could have so subdued and troubled Balthasar’s joyous +courage and hopeful heart; she cursed herself that she had been a +frightened fool to be startled into making a pact she might have known +the Cardinal would not keep; she was bitterly furious that she had +helped to set him in the position he now turned against her, it had +been better had she refused to buy his silence at such a price--better +that Cardinal Caprarola should have denounced her than that the Pope +should use this knowledge to unseat her husband. + +She had never imagined that she had a friend in Michael II, but she +had not imagined him so callous, cruel and false as to take her bribe +and still betray her--even though the man had revealed himself to her +for what he was, as ambitious, unscrupulous and hard; she had not +thought he would so shamelessly be false to his word. + +Angry scorn filled her heart when she considered the reputation this +man had won in his youth--that indeed he still bore with some--yet it +could not but stir her admiration to reflect what it must have cost a +man of the Pope’s nature to play the ascetic saint for so many years. +But his piety had been well rewarded--the poor Flemish youth sat in +the Vatican now, lord of her husband’s fortunes and her own honour. + +Then she fell to pondering over the story of Ursula of Rooselaare, +wondering where she was, where she had been these years, and how she +had met Cardinal Caprarola.… The Empress dwelt on these things till +her head ached; impatiently she thrust wider open the stained glass +casement and leant from the window. + +But there was no breeze abroad to cool her burning brow, and on all +sides the sky was heavy with clouds over which the summer lightning +played. + +Ysabeau turned her eyes from the threatening prospect, and with a +stifled groan began pacing up and down the tesselated floor of the +cabinet. + +She was interrupted by the entry of a lady tall and fair, leading a +beautiful child by the hand. + +Jacobea of Martzburg and Ysabeau’s son. + +“We seek for his Grace,” smiled the lady. “Wencelaus wishes to say his +Latin lesson, and to tell the tale of the three Dukes and the sack of +gold that he has lately learnt.” + +The Empress gave her son a quick glance. + +“You shall tell it to me, Wencelaus--my lord is not here.” + +The boy, golden, large and glorious to look upon, scowled at her. + +“Will not tell it you or any woman.” + +Ysabeau answered in a kind of bitter gentleness. + +“Be not too proud, Wencelaus,” and the thought of what his future +might be made her eyes fierce. + +The Prince tossed his yellow curls. + +“I want my father.” + +Jacobea, in pity of the Empress’s distracted bearing, tried to pacify +him. + +“His Grace cannot see you now--but presently----” + +He shook his hand free of hers. + +“Ye cannot put me off--my father said an hour before the Angelus;” his +blue eyes were angry and defiant, but his lips quivered. + +The Empress crushed back the wild misery of her thoughts, and caught +the child’s embroidered yellow sleeve. + +“Certes, ye shall see him,” she said quietly, “if he promised you--I +think he is in the oratory, we will wait at the door until he come +forth.” + +The boy kissed her hand, and the shadow passed from his lovely face. + +Jacobea saw the Empress look down on him with a desperate and +heart-broken expression; she wondered at the anguish revealed to her +in that second, but she was neither disturbed nor touched; her own +heart had been broken so long ago that all emotions were but names to +her. + +The Empress dismissed her with a glance. + +Jacobea left the palace, mounted the little Byzantine chariot with the +blue curtains and drove to the church of San Giovanni in Laterano. She +went there every day to hear a mass sung for the soul of one who had +died long ago. + +A large portion of her immense fortune had gone in paying for masses +and candles for the repose of Sybilla, one time wife of Sebastian her +steward; if gold could send the murdered woman there Jacobea had +opened to her the doors of Paradise. + +In her quiet monotonous life in a strange land, caring for none, and +by none cared for, with a dead heart in her bosom and leaden feet +walking heavily the road to the grave, this Sybilla had come to be +with Jacobea the most potent thing she knew. + +Neither Balthasar nor the Empress, nor any of their Court were so real +to her as the steward’s dead wife. + +She was as certain of her features, her bearing, the manner of her +dress, as if she saw her daily; there was no face so familiar to her +as the pale countenance of Sybilla with the wide brows and heavy red +hair; she saw no ghost, she was not frightened by dreams nor visions, +but the thought of Sybilla was continuous. + +For ten years she had not spoken her name save in a whisper to the +priest, nor had she in any way referred to her; by the people among +whom she moved this woman was utterly forgotten, but in Jacobea’s +bed-chamber stood a samite cushion exquisitely worked with a scarlet +lily, and Jacobea looked at it more often than at anything else in the +world. + +She did not regard this image she had created with terror or dread, +with any shuddering remorse or aversion; it was to her a constant +companion whom she accepted almost as she accepted herself. + +As she stepped from the chariot at the door of San Giovanni in +Laterano the gathering thunder rolled round the hills of Rome; she +pondered a moment on the ominous clouds that had hung so long over the +city that the people began to murmur that they were under God’s +displeasure, and passed through the dark portals into the dimly +illuminated church. + +She turned to a little side chapel and knelt on a purple cushion worn +by her knees. + +Mechanically she listened as the priest murmured over the mass, +hurrying it a little that it might not interfere with the Angelus, +mechanically she made the responses and rose when it was over with a +calm face. + +She had done this every day for nine years. + +There were a few people in the church, kneeling for the Angelus; +Jacobea joined them and fixed her eyes on the altar, where a strong +purple light glowed and flickered, bringing out points of gold in the +moulding of the ancient arches. + +A deep hush held the scented stillness; the scattered bent figures +were dark and motionless against the mystic clouds of incense and the +soft bright lights. + +Monks in long brown habits came and stood in the chancel; the bell +struck the hour, and young novices entered singing-- + + + “Angelus Domini nuntiavit Mariae, + et concepit de Spiritu Sancto.” + + +The monks knelt and folded their hands on their breasts; the response +that still seemed very sweet to Jacobea arose. + + + “Ave Maria, gratia plena----” + + +A side door near Jacobea opened softly and a man stepped into the +church.… + +Now the priest was speaking. + + + “Ecce ancilla Domini, + fiat mihi secundum verbum tuum.” + + +A strong sense that the new-comer was observing her made Jacobea turn, +almost unconsciously, her head towards him as she repeated the “Ave +Maria.” + +A tall richly-dressed man was gazing at her intently; his face was in +shadow, but she could see long pearls softly gleam in his ears. + + + “Et Verbum caro factum est, + et habitavit in nobis.” + + +The deep voices of the monks and the subdued tones of the worshippers +again answered; Jacobea could distinguish the faltering words of the +man near her. + + + “Ora pro nobis, + Sancta Dei Genitrix.” + + +Jacobea bent her head in her hands, as she replied-- + + + “Ut digni efficiamur + promissionibus Christi.” + + +Priests and novices left the church, the monks filed out and the bent +figures rose. + +The man stepped from the shadows as Jacobea rose to her feet, and +their eyes met. + +“Ah--you!” said Jacobea; she had her hands on her breviary as he had +seen them long ago. + +She was so little moved by meeting him that she began to clasp the +ivory covers, bending her head to do so. + +“You remember me?” asked Theirry faintly. + +“I have forgotten nothing,” she answered calmly. “Why do you seek to +recall yourself to me?” + +“I cannot see you and let you pass.” + +She looked at him; it was a different face from the one he had known, +though little changed in line or colour. + +“You must hate me,” he faltered. + +The words did not touch her. + +“Are you free of the devils?” she asked, and crossed herself. + +Theirry winced; he remembered that she believed Dirk was dead, that +she thought of the Pope as a holy man.… + +“Forgive me,” he murmured. + +“For what?” + +“Ah--that I did not understand you to be always a saintly woman.” + +Jacobea laughed sadly. + +“You must not speak of the past, though you may think of nothing else, +even as I do--we might have been friends once, but the Devil was too +strong for us.” + +At that moment Theirry hated Dirk passionately; he felt he could have +been happy with this woman, and with her only in the whole world, and +he loathed Dirk for making it impossible. + +“Well,” said Jacobea, in the same unmoved tone, “I must go +back--farewell, sir.” + +Theirry strove with speech in vain; as she moved towards the door he +came beside her, his beautiful face white and eager. + +Then, by a common impulse, both stopped. + +Round one of the dark glittering pillars a brilliant figure flashed +into the rich light. + +The masked dancer in orange. + +She stepped up to Theirry and laid her fingers on his scarlet sleeve. + +“How does Theirry of Dendermonde keep his word!” she mocked, and her +eyes gleamed from their holes; “is your heart of a feather’s weight +that it flutters this way and that with every breath of air?” + +“What does she mean?” asked Jacobea, as the man flushed and shuddered. +“And what does she here in this attire?” + +The dancer turned to her swiftly. + +“What of one who drags his weary limbs beneath a Syrian sun in +penitence for a deed ye urged him to?” she said in the same tone. + +Jacobea stepped back with a quick cry, and Theirry seized the dancer’s +arm. + +“Begone,” he said threateningly. “I know you, or who you feign to be.” + +She answered between laughter and fear. + +“Let me go--I have not hurt you; why are you angry, my brave knight?” + +At the sound of her voice that she in no way lowered, a monk came +forward and sternly ordered her from the church. + +“Why?” she asked. “I am masked, holy father, so cannot prove a +temptation to the faithful!” + +“Leave the church,” he commanded, “and if you would worship here come +in a fitting spirit and a fitting dress.” + +The dancer laughed. + +“So I am flung out of the house of God--well, sir and sweet lady, will +you come to the Mass at the Basilica to-morrow?--nay, do, it will be +worth beholding--the Basilica to-morrow! I shall be there.” + +With that she darted before them and slipped from the church. + +Man and woman shuddered and knew not why. + +A peal of thunder rolled, the walls of the church shook, and an image +of the Virgin was hurled to the marble pavement and shivered into +fragments. + + + + + CHAPTER VII. + THE VENGEANCE OF MICHAEL II + +From every church and convent in Rome the bells rang out; it was the +Feast of the Assumption and holiday in the city. + +Strange, heavy clouds still obscured the sky, and intermittent thunder +echoed in the distance. + +The Basilica of St. Peter was crowded from end to end; the bewildering +splendour of walls, ceiling and columns was lit by thousands of wax +tapers and coloured lamps; part of the church had been hung with azure +and silver; the altar steps were covered in cloth of gold, the altar +itself almost hidden with lilies; the various gleaming hues of the +marble, orange, rose, pink, mauve, grey and white, the jewel-like +sparkle of the mosaic capitals, the ivory carving on the rood screen, +the silver arch before the high altar, the silk and satin banners of +the church resting here and there before the walls, all combined into +one soft yet burning magnificence. + +The vast congregation all knelt upon the marble floor, save the +Emperor and his wife, who sat under a violet canopy placed opposite +the pulpit. + +Balthasar wore the imperial purple and buskins; round his brows was +the circlet that meant dominion of the Latin world, but his comely +face was pale and anxious and his blue eyes troubled. Ysabeau, seated +close beside him, sparkled with gems from her throat to her feet; her +pale locks, twisted with pearls, hung over her bosom; she wore a high +crown of emeralds and her mantle was cloth of silver. + +Between them, on a lower step of the daïs, stood their little son, +gleaming in white satin and overawed by the glitter and the silence. + +Surrounding the throne were ladies, courtiers, Frankish knights, +members of the Council, German Margraves, Italian nobles, envoys from +France, Spain, and resplendent Greeks from the Court of Basil. + +Theirry, kneeling in the press, distinguished the calm face of Jacobea +of Martzburg among the dames of the Empress’s retinue; but he sought +in vain through the immense and varied crowd for the dancer in orange. + +A faint chant rose from the sacristy, jewelled crosses showed above +the heads of the multitude as the monks entered holding them aloft, +the fresh voices of the choristers came nearer, acolytes took their +places round the altar, and the blue clouds of incense floated over +the hushed multitude. + +The bells ceased. + +The rise and fall of singing filled the Basilica. + +Cardinal Orsini, followed by a number of priests, went slowly down the +aisle towards the open bronze doors. + +His brilliant dalmatica shivered into gleaming light as he moved. + +At the door he paused. + +The Pontifical train was arriving in a gorgeous dazzle of colour and +motion. + +Michael II stepped from a gilt car drawn by four white oxen, whose +polished horns were wreathed with roses white and red. + +Preceded by Cardinals, the vivid tints of whose silk robes burnt in +the golden brightness of the Basilica, the Pope passed down the aisle, +while the congregation crouched low on their knees and hid their +faces. + +Emperor and Empress rose; he looked at his son, but she at the +Pontiff, who took no heed of either. + +Monks, priests and novices moved away from the high altar, where the +rows upon rows of candles shone like stars against the sparkling, +incense-laden air. + +He passed to his gold and ivory seat, and the Cardinals took their +places beside him. + +Ysabeau, as she resumed her place beside her lord, gazed across the +silent, kneeling crowd at Michael II. + +His chasuble was alive with the varying hues of jewels, the purple and +crimson train of his robes spread to right and left along the altar +steps, the triple crown gave forth showers of light from its rubies +and diamonds, while the red hair of the wearer caught the candle-glow +and shone like a halo round his pale calm face, so curiously delicate +of feature to be able to express such resolution, such pride. + +His under-garment of white satin was so thickly sewn with pearls that +the stuff was hardly visible, his fingers so covered with huge and +brilliant rings that they looked of an unnatural slenderness by +contrast; he held a crozier encrusted with rubies that darted red +fire, and carbuncles flashed on his gold shoes. + +The beautiful dark eyes that always held the expression of some +passion for ever surging up, for ever held in before reaching +expression, were fixed steadily on the bronze doors that now closed +the church. + +A little tremor of thunder filled the stillness, then the fair, faint +chant of the boys arose. + + + “Gaudeamus omnes in Domino, + diem festum celebrantes + Sub honore Beatae + Mariae Virginis,.…” + + +Ysabeau murmured the words under her breath; none in the devout +multitude with more sincerity. + +As the notes quivered into silence Cardinal Orsini murmured a prayer, +to which a thousand responses were whispered fervently. + +And again the thunder made sombre echo. + +The Empress put her hand over her eyes; her jewels seemed so heavy +they must drag her from the throne, the crown galled her brow; the +little Wencelaus stood motionless, a bright colour in his cheeks, his +eyes brilliant with excitement; now and then the Emperor looked at him +in a secretive, piteous manner. + +There was an involuntary stir among the people as the rich voices of +the men took up the singing at the end of the epistle, a movement of +joy, of pleasure in the triumphant music. + + + “Alleluia, alleluia, + Assumpta est Maria in Coelum; + Gaudet exercitus Angelorum. + Alleluia.” + + +Then the Pope moved, descended slowly from the daïs and mounted the +steps of the high altar, his train upheld by two Archbishops. + +Emperor and Empress knelt with the rest as he performed the office of +the mass; an intense stillness held the rapt assembly, but as he +turned and displayed the Host, before the vast multitude who hid their +eyes, as he held it like a captured star above the hushed splendour of +the altar, a crash of thunder shook the very foundations of the +church, and the walls shivered as if mighty forces beat on them +without. + +Michael II, the only man erect in the crouching multitude, smiled +slowly as he replaced the Eucharist; lightning darted through the high +coloured windows and quivered a moment before it was absorbed in the +rich lights. + +The voices of the choir rose with a melancholy beauty. + + + “Kyrie eleison, + Christe eleison, + Kyrie eleison.” + + +The Pope turned to the altar; again the thunder rolled, but his low, +steady voice was heard distinctly chanting the “Gloria in excelsis +Deo” with the choir. + +At the finish Cardinal Orsini took up the prayers, and a half-muffled +response came from the crowd. + + + “Gloria tibi, Domine.” + + +Every head was raised, every right hand made the sacred sign. + + + “Laus tibi, Christe.” + + +The Pope blessed the multitude and returned to his seat. + +Then as Emperor and Empress rose from their knees a soft, bright sound +of movement filled the Basilica; Ysabeau put out her hand and caught +hold of her husband’s. + +“Who is this?” she asked in a whisper. + +He turned his eyes in the direction of her gaze. + +Down the chancel came a tall monk in the robe of the Order of the +Black Penitents; his arms were folded, his hands hidden in his +sleeves, his deep cowl cast his face into utter shadow. + +“I thought Cardinal Colonna preached,” whispered Balthasar fearfully, +as the monk ascended the pulpit. “I know not this man.” + +Ysabeau looked at the Pope, who sat motionless in his splendour, his +hands resting on the arms of the gold chair, his gaze riveted on the +black figure of the monk in the glittering pulpit; a faint smile was +on his lips, a faint colour in his cheeks, and Ysabeau’s hand +tightened on the fingers of her lord. + +The monk stood for a moment motionless, evidently contemplating the +multitude from the depth of his hood; Balthasar thought he gazed at +him, and shivered. + +A strange sense of suspense filled the church, even the priests and +Cardinals about the altar glanced curiously at the figure in the +pulpit; some women began to sob under the influence of nameless and +intense excitement. + +The monk drew from his sleeve a parchment from which swung a mighty +seal, slowly he unfurled it; the Empress crouched closer to Balthasar. + +The monk began to speak, and both to Ysabeau and her husband the voice +was familiar--a voice long silent in death. + +“In the name of Michael II, servant of servants of God and Vicegerent +of Christ, I herewith pronounce the anathema over Balthasar of +Courtrai, Emperor of the West, over Ysabeau, born Marozia +Porphyrogentris, over their son, Wencelaus, over their followers, +servants and hosts! I herewith expel them from the pale of Holy +Church, and curse them as heretics! + +“I forbid any to offer them shelter, food or help, I hurl on their +heads the wrath of God and the hatred of man, I forbid any to attend +their sick-bed, to receive their confession or to bury their bodies! + +“I cut asunder the ties that bind the Latin people in obedience to +them, and I lay under an interdict any person, village, town or state +that succours or aids them against our wrath! May they and their +children and their children’s children be blighted and cursed in life +and in death, may they taste misery and desolation on the earth before +they go to everlasting torment in hell!” + +And now the cowled monk caught up one of the candles that lit the +pulpit, and held it aloft. + +“May their race perish with them and their memories be swallowed in +oblivion--thus! As I extinguish this flame may the hand of God +extinguish them!” + +He cast the candle on to the marble floor beneath the pulpit, the +flame was immediately dashed out, a slow smoke curled an instant and +vanished. + +“For Balthasar of Courtrai cherishes a murderess on the throne, and +until he cast her forth and receive his true wife this anathema rests +upon his head!” + +Emperor and Empress listened, holding each other’s hands and staring +at the monk; as he ended, and while the awe of utter fear held the +assembly numb, Ysabeau rose.… + +But at that same instant the monk tossed back his cowl and revealed +the stern, pale features of Melchoir of Brabant, crowned with the +imperial diadem.… + +A frenzied shriek broke from the woman, and she fell across the steps +of the throne; her crown slipped from her fair head and dazzled on the +pavement. + +Groaning in anguish Balthasar stooped to raise her up… when he again +looked at the pulpit it was empty. + +Ysabeau’s cry had loosened the souls of the multitude, they rose to +their feet and began to surge wildly towards the door. + +But the Pontiff rose, approached the altar and began calmly to chant +the Gratias. + +Balthasar gave him a wild and desperate look, staggered and fiercely +recovered himself, then took his child by the hand, and supporting +with the other the Empress, who struggled back to life, he swept down +the aisle, followed by a few of his German knights. + +The people shuddered away to right and left to give him passage; the +bronze doors were opened and the excommunicated man stepped into the +thunder-wrapt streets of the city where he no longer reigned. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII. + URSULA OF ROOSELAARE + +“Say I have done well for you--it seems that I must ask your +thanks.” + +The Pope sat at a little table near the window of his private room in +the Vatican and rested his face on his hand. + +Leaning against the scarlet tapestries that covered the opposite wall +was Theirry, clothed in chain mail and heavily armed. + +“You think I should be grateful?” he asked in a low voice, his +beautiful eyes fixed in a half-frightened, wholly fascinated way on +the slim figure of the other. + +Michael II wore a straight robe of gold-coloured silk and a skull-cap +of crimson and blue; no jewels nor any suggestion of pomp concealed +the youthfulness, almost frailty of his appearance; the red hair made +his face the paler by contrast; his full lips were highly coloured +under the darkened upper lip. + +“Grateful?” he repeated, and his voice was mournful. “I think you do +not know what I have done--I have dared to cast the Emperor from his +throne--lies he not even now without the walls, defying me with a +handful of Frankish knights? Is not the excommunication on him?” + +“Yea,” answered Theirry. “And is it for my sake ye have done this?” + +“Must you question it?” returned Michael, with a quick breath. “Yea, +for your sake, to make you, as I promised, Emperor of the West--my +vengeance had else been more quietly satisfied----” He laughed. “I +have not forgot all my magic.” + +Theirry winced. + +“The vision in the Basilica was proof of that--what are you who can +bring back the hallowed dead to aid your schemes?” + +Michael II answered softly. + +“And who are you who take my aid and my friendship, and all the while +fear and loathe me?” + +He moved his hand from his face and leant forward, showing a deep red +mark on his cheek where the palm had pressed. + +“Do you think I am not human, Theirry?” He gave a sigh. “If you would +believe in me, trust me, be faithful to me--why, our friendship would +be the lever to move the universe, and you and I would rule the world +between us.” + +Theirry fingered the arras beside him. + +“In what way can I be false to you----?” + +“You betrayed me once. You are the only man in Rome who knows my +secret. But this is truth, if again you forsake me, you bring about +your own downfall--stand by me, and I will share with you the dominion +of the earth--this, I say, is truth.” + +Theirry laughed unhappily. + +“Sweet devil, there is no God, and I have no soul!--there, do not +fear--I shall be very faithful to you--since what is there for man +save to glut his desires of pomp and wealth and power?” + +He moved from the wall and took a quick turn about the room. + +“And yet I know not!” he cried. “Can all your magic, all your +learning, all your riches, keep you where you are? The clouds hang +angrily over Rome, nor have they lifted since Orsini announced you +Pope--the people riot in the streets--all beautiful things are dead, +many see ghosts and devils walking at twilight across the Maremma.… +Oh, horror!--they say Pan has left his ruined temple to enter +Christian churches and laugh in the face of the marble Christ--can +these things be?” + +The Pope swept back the hair from his damp brow. + +“The powers that put me here can keep me here--be you but true to me!” + +“Ay, I will be Emperor”--Theirry grasped his sword hilt +fiercely--“though the world I rule rot about me, though ghouls and +fiends make my Imperial train--I will join hands with Antichrist and +see if there be a God or no!” + +The Pope rose. + +“You must go against Balthasar. You must defeat his hosts and bring to +me his Empress, then will I crown you in St. Peter’s.” + +Theirry pressed his hand to his forehead. + +“We start to-morrow with the dawn--beneath the banner of God His +Church; I, in this mail ye gave me, tempered and forged in Hell!” + +“Ye need have no fear of failure; you shall go forth triumphantly and +return victoriously. You shall make your dwelling the Golden Palace on +the Aventine, and neither Heliogabalus nor Basil, nor Charlemagne +shall be more magnificently housed than you.…” + +Michael seemed to check his words suddenly; he turned his face away +and looked across the city which lay beneath the heavy pall of clouds. + +“Be but true to me,” he added in a low voice. + +Theirry smiled wildly. + +“A curious love have you for me, and but little faith in my strength +or constancy--well, you shall see, I go forth to-morrow, with many men +and banners, to rout the Emperor utterly.” + +“Until then, stay in the Vatican,” said Michael II suddenly. “My +prelates and my nobles know you for their leader now.” + +“Nay,”--Theirry flushed as he answered--“I must go to my own abode in +the city.” + +“Jacobea of Martzburg is still in Rome,” said the other. “Do you leave +me to go to _her_?” + +“Nay--I know not even where she lodges,” replied Theirry hastily. + +Michael smiled bitterly and was silent. + +“What is Jacobea to me?” demanded Theirry desperately. + +The other gave him a sinister glance. + +“Why did you approach her after her devotions in San Giovanni in +Laterano--speak to her and recall yourself to her mind?” + +Theirry went swiftly pale. + +“You know that!--Ah, it was the dancer, your accomplice.… What mystery +is this?” he asked in a distracted way. “Why does not Ursula of +Rooselaare come forth under her true name and confound the +Emperor?--why does she follow me, and in such a guise?” + +Without looking at him Michael answered. + +“Maybe because she is very wise--maybe because she is a very fool--let +her pass, she has served her turn. You say you do not go to palter +with Jacobea, then farewell until to-morrow; I have much to do… +farewell, Theirry.” + +He held out his hand with a stately gesture, and, as Theirry took it +in his, the curious thought came to him how seldom he had touched so +much as Dirk’s fingers, even in the old days, so proud a reserve had +always encompassed the youth, and, now, the man. + +Theirry left the rich-scented chamber and the vast halls of the +Vatican and passed into the riotous and lawless streets of Rome. + +The storm that had hung so unnaturally long over the city had affected +the people; bravoes and assassins crept from their hiding-places in +the Catacombs, or the Palatine, and flaunted in the streets; the wine +shops were filled with mongrel soldiers of all nations, attracted by +the declaration of war from the surrounding towns; blasphemers mocked +openly at the processions of monks and pilgrims that traversed the +streets chanting the penitential psalms, or scourging themselves in an +attempt to avert the wrath of Heaven. + +There was no law; crime went unpunished; virtue became a jest; many of +the convents were closed and deserted, while their late occupants +rejoined the world they suddenly longed for; the poor were despoiled, +the rich robbed; ghastly and blasphemous processions nightly paraded +the streets in honour of some heathen deity; the priests inspired no +respect, the name of God no fear; the plague marched among the people, +striking down hundreds; their bodies were flung into the Tiber, and +their spirits went to join the devils that nightly danced on the +Campagna to the accompaniment of rolling storms. + +Witches gathered in the low marches of the Maremma and came at night +into the city, trailing grey, fever-laden vapour after them. + +The bell-ropes began to rot in the churches, and the bells clattered +from the steeples; the gold rusted on the altars, and mice gnawed the +garments on the holy images of the Saints. + +The people lived with reckless laughter and died with hopeless curses; +magicians, warlocks and vile things flourished exceedingly, and all +manner of strange and hideous creatures left their caves to prowl the +streets at nightfall. + +And such under Pope Michael II was Rome, swiftly and in a moment. + +Theirry, like all others, went heavily armed; his hand was constantly +on his sword hilt as he made his way through the city that was +forsaken by God. + +With no faltering step or hesitating bearing he passed through the +crowds that gathered more thickly as the night came on, and turned +towards the Appian Gate. + +Here it was gloomy, almost deserted; dark houses bordered the Appian +Way, and a few strange figures crept along in their shadow; in the +west a sullen glare of crimson showed that the sun was setting behind +the thick clouds. Dark began to fall rapidly. + +Theirry walked long beyond the Gate and stopped at a low convent +building, above the portals of which hung a lamp, its gentle radiance +like a star in the heavy, noisome twilight. + +The gate, that led into a courtyard, stood half open. Theirry softly +pushed it wider and entered. + +The pure perfume of flowers greeted him; a sense of peace and +security, grown strange of late in Rome, filled the square grass +court; in the centre was a fountain, almost hidden in white roses; +behind their leaves the water dripped pleasantly. + +There were no lights in the convent windows, but it was not yet too +dark for Theirry to distinguish the slim figure of a lady seated on a +wooden bench, her hands passive in her lap. + +He latched the gate and softly crossed the lawn. + +“You said that I might come.” + +Jacobea turned her head, unsmiling, unsurprised. + +“Ay, sir; this place is open to all.” + +He uncovered before her. + +“I cannot hope ye are glad to see me.” + +“Glad?” She echoed the word as if it sounded in a foreign tongue; +then, after a pause, “Yes, I am glad that you have come.” + +He seated himself beside her, his splendid mail touching her straight +grey robe, his full, beautiful face turned towards her worn and +expressionless features. + +“What do you do here?” he asked. + +She answered in the same gentle tone; she had a white rose in her +hands, and turned it about as she spoke. + +“So little--there are two sisters here, and I help them; one can do +nothing against the plague, but for the little forsaken children +something, and something for the miserable sick.” + +“The wretched of Rome are not in your keeping,” he said eagerly. “It +will mean your life--why did you not go with the Empress?” + +She shook her head. + +“I was not needed. I suppose what they said of her was true. I cannot +remember clearly, but I think that when Melchoir died I knew it was +her doing.” + +“We must not dwell on the past,” cried Theirry. “Have you heard that I +lead the Pope’s army against Balthasar?” + +“Nay;” her eyes were on the white rose. + +“Jacobea, I shall be the Emperor.” + +“The Emperor,” she repeated dreamily. + +“I shall rule the Latin world--Emperor of the West!” + +In the now complete dark they could scarcely see each other; there +were no stars, and distant thunder rolled at intervals; Theirry +timidly put out his hand and touched the fold of her dress where it +lay along the seat. + +“I wish you would not stay here--it is so lonely----” + +“I think she would wish me to do this.” + +“She?” he questioned. + +Jacobea seemed surprised he did not take her meaning. + +“Sybilla.” + +“O Christus!” shuddered Theirry. “Ye still think of her?” + +Jacobea smiled, as he felt rather than saw. + +“Think of her?… is she not always with me?” + +“She is dead.” + +He saw the blurred outline of the lady’s figure stir. + +“Yea, she died on a cold morning--it was so cold you could see your +breath before you as you rode along, and the road was hard as +glass--there was a yellow dawn that day, and the pine trees seemed +frozen, they stood so motionless--you would not think it was ten years +ago--I wonder how long it seems to her?” + +A silence fell upon them for a while, then Theirry broke out +desperately-- + +“Jacobea--my heart is torn within me--to-day I said there was no +God--but when I sit by you…” + +“Yea, there is a God,” she answered quietly. “Be very sure of that.” + +“Then I am past His forgiveness,” whispered Theirry. + +Again he was mute; he saw before him the regal figure of Dirk--he +heard his words--“Be but true to me”--then he thought of Jacobea and +Paradise… agony ran through his veins. + +“Oh, Jacobea!” he cried at last. “I am beyond all measure mean and +vile.… I know not what to do.… I can be Emperor, yet as I sit here +that seems to me as nothing.” + +“The Pope favours you, you tell me,” she said. “He is a priest, and a +holy man, and yet--it is strange, what is this talk of Ursula of +Rooselaare?--and yet it is no matter.” + +His mail clinked in answer to his tremor. + +“Tell me what I must do--see, I am in a great confusion; the world is +very dark, this way and that show little lights, and I strive to +follow them--but they change and move and blind me--and if I grasp one +it is extinguished into greater darkness; I hear whispers, murmurs, +threats, I believe them, and believe them not, and all is confusion, +confusion!” + +Jacobea rose slowly from the bench. + +“Why do you come to me?” + +“Because ye seem to me nearer heaven than anything I know.…” + +Jacobea pressed the white rose to her bosom. + +“It is dark now--the flowers smell so sweet--come into the house.” + +He followed her dim-seen figure across the grass; she lifted the latch +of the convent door and went before him into the building. + +For a while she left him in the passage, then returned with a pale +lamp in her hand and conducted him into a small, bare chamber, which +seemed mean in contrast with the glowing splendour of his appearance. + +“The sisters are abroad,” said Jacobea. “And I stay here in case any +ring the bell for succour.” + +She set the lamp on the wooden table and slowly turned her eyes on +Theirry. + +“Sir, I am very selfish.” She spoke with difficulty, as if she +painfully forced expression. “I have thought of myself for so many +years--and somehow”--she lightly touched her breast--“I cannot feel, +for myself or for others; nothing seems real, save Sybilla; nothing +matters save her--sometimes I cry for little things I find dying +alone, for poor unnoticed miseries of animals and children--but for +the rest… you must not blame me if I do not sympathise; that has gone +from me. Nor can I help you; God is far away beyond the stars. I do +not think He can stoop to such as you and me--and--and--I do not feel +as if I should wake until I die----” + +Theirry covered his eyes and moaned. + +Jacobea was not looking at him, but at the one bright thing in the +room. + +A samite cushion worked with a scarlet lily that rested on a chair by +the window. + +“Each our own way to death,” she said. “All we can do is so little +compared with that--death--see, I think of it as a great crystal +light, very cold, that will slowly encompass us, revealing everything, +making everything easy to understand--white lilies will not be more +beautiful, nor breeze at summer-time more sweet… so, sir, must you +wait patiently.” + +She took her gaze from the red flower and turned her tired grey eyes +on him. + +The blood surged into his face; he clenched his hands and spoke +passionately. + +“I will renounce the world, I will become a monk.…” + +The words choked in his throat; he looked fearfully round; the +lamplight struck his armour into a hundred points of light and cast +pale shadows over the white-washed walls. + +“What was that?” asked Jacobea. + +One was singing without: Theirry’s strained eyes glistened. + + + “If Love were all! + His perfect servant I would be, + Kissing where his foot might fall, + Doing him homage on a lowly knee, + If Love were all!” + + +Theirry turned and went out into the dark, hot night. + +He could see neither roses, nor fountain, nor even the line of the +convent wall against the sky; but the light above the gate revealed to +him the dancer in orange, who leant against the stone arch of the +entrance and sang to a strange long instrument that hung round her +neck by a gleaming chain. + +At her feet the ape crouched, nodding himself to sleep. + + + “If Love were all! + But Love is weak, + And Hate oft giveth him a fall, + And Wisdom smites him on the cheek, + If Love were all!” + + +Behind Theirry came Jacobea, with the lantern in her hand. + +“Who is this?” she asked. + +The dancer laughed; the sound of it muffled behind her mask. + +Theirry made his way across the dark to her. + +“What do you do here?” he demanded fiercely. “The Pope’s spy, you!” + +“May I not come to worship here as well as another?” she answered. + +“You know too much of me!” he cried distractedly. “But I also have +some knowledge of you, Ursula of Rooselaare!” + +“How does that help you?” she asked, drawing back a little before him. + +“I would discover why you follow me--watch me.” + +He caught her by the arms and held her against the stone gateway. + +“Now tell me the meaning of your disguise,” he breathed--“and of your +league with Michael II.” + +She said a strange little word underneath her breath; the ape jumped +up and tore away the man’s hands while the girl bent to a run and sped +through the gate. + +Theirry gave a cry of pain and rage, and glanced towards the convent; +the door was closed; lady and lamp had disappeared in the darkness. + +“Shut out!” whispered Theirry. “Shut out!” + +He turned into the street and saw, by the scattered lanterns along the +Appian Way, the figure of the dancer slipping fast towards the city +gates. + +But he gained on her, and at sound of his clattering step she looked +round. + +“Ah!” she said; “I thought you had stayed with the sweet-faced saint +yonder----” + +“She wants none of me,” he panted--“but I--I mean to see your face +to-night.…” + +“I am not beautiful,” answered the dancer; “and you have seen my +face----” + +“Seen your face!” + +“Certes! in the Basilica on the Fête.” + +“I knew you not in the press.” + +“Nevertheless I was there.” + +“I looked for you.” + +“I thought ye looked for Jacobea.” + +“Also I sought you,” said Theirry. “Ye madden me.” + +The ever-gathering tempest was drawing near, with fitful flashes of +lightning playing over his jewel-like mail and her orange gown as they +made their way through the ruins. + +“Do you wander here alone at night?” asked Theirry. “It is a vile +place; a man might be afraid.” + +“I have the ape,” she said. + +“But the storm?” + +“In Rome now-a-days we are well used to storms,” she answered in a low +voice. + +“Yea.” + +He did not know what to say to her, but he could not leave her; a +strong, a supreme, fascination compelled him to walk beside her, a +half-delightful excitement stirred his blood. + +“Where are we going?” asked Theirry. The wayside lanterns had ceased; +he could see her only by the lightning gleams. + +“I know not--why do you follow me?” + +“I am mad, I think--the earth rocks beneath me and heaven bends +overhead--you lure me and I follow in sheer confusion--Ursula of +Rooselaare, why have you lured me? What power is it that you have over +me? Wherefore are you disguised?” + +She touched his mail in the dark as she answered-- + +“I am Balthasar’s wife.” + +“Ay,” he responded eagerly; “and I do hear ye loved another man----” + +“What is that to you?” she asked. + +“This--though I have not seen your face--perchance could I love you, +Ursula!” + +“Ursula!” She laughed on the word. + +“Is it not your name?” he cried wildly. + +“Yea--but it is long since any used it----” + +The hot darkness seemed to twist and writhe about Theirry; he seemed +to breathe a nameless and uncontrollable passion in with the +storm-laden air. + +“Witch or demon,” he said, “I have cast in my lot with the Devil and +Michael II his servant--I follow the same master as you, Ursula.” + +He put out his hand through the dark and grasped her arm. + +“Who is the man for whose sake ye are silent?” he demanded. + +There was no answer; he felt her arm quiver under his hand, and heard +the hems of her tunic tinkle against her buskins, as if she trembled. + +The air was chokingly hot; Theirry’s heart throbbed high. + +At last she spoke, in a half-swooning voice. + +“I have taken off my mask… bend your head and kiss me.” + +Invisible and potent powers drew him towards her unseen face; his lips +touched and kissed its softness.… + +The thunder sounded with such a terrific force and clash that Theirry +sprang back; a cry of agony went up from the darkness. He ran blindly +forward; her presence had gone from his side, nor could he see or feel +her as he moved. + +A thousand light shapes danced across the night; witches and warlocks +carrying swinging lanterns, imps and fiends. + +They gathered round Theirry, shrieking and howling to the +accompaniment of the storm. + +He ran sobbing down the Appian Way, and his pace was very swift, for +all the mail he carried. + + + + + CHAPTER IX. + POPE AND EMPRESS + +The Pope walked in the garden of the Vatican, behind him Cardinal +Orsini and Cardinal Colonna; the first carried a cluster of daisies, +white and yellow, strong in colour and pungent of odour, the second +tossed up and down a little ball of gold and blue silk. + +Both talked of the horrible state of Rome, of the unending storm +hanging over the capital, of the army that had gone forth three days +ago to crush the excommunicated Emperor. + +Michael II was silent. + +They went along the marble walks and looked at the goldfish in the +basin under the overhanging branches of the yellow rose bushes; they +passed the trellis over which the jasmine clustered, and came out on +the long terrace, where the peacocks flashed their splendour across +the grass. + +Oleanders grew here, and lilies; laurel trees rose against the murky +heavens that should have shown blue, and curious statues gleamed +beside the dark foliage. + +Cardinal Colonna dropped his ball and let it roll away across the +close grass, and Michael slackened his pace. He wore a white robe, his +soft heavy red hair showing a brilliant colour above it; his dark eyes +were thoughtful, his pale mouth resolutely set. The Cardinals fell +further behind and conversed with the greater ease. + +Suddenly the Pope paused and stood waiting, for Paolo Orsini, with a +sprig of pink flower at his chin, was coming across the lawn. + +Michael II tapped his gold-shod foot on the marble path. “What is it, +Orsini?” + +The secretary went on one knee. + +“Your Holiness, a lady, who will neither unveil nor give her name, has +obtained entry to the Vatican and desires to see your Holiness.” + +The Pope’s face darkened. + +“I thought ye had brought me news of the return of Theirry of +Dendermonde! What can this woman want with us?” + +“She says it is a matter of such import it may avert the war, and she +prays, for the love of God, not to be denied.” + +Michael II reflected a moment, his slim fingers pulling at the laurel +leaves beside him. + +“We will see her,” he said at length. “Bring her here, Orsini.” + +The yellow clouds broke over a brief spell of sunshine that fell +across the Vatican gardens, though the horizon was dark with a freshly +gathering storm; Michael II seated himself on a bench where the sun +gleamed. + +“Sirs,” he said to the two Cardinals, “stand by me and listen to what +this woman may say.” + +And picking a crimson rose from a thorny bush that brushed the seat, +he considered it curiously, and only took his eyes from it when Paolo +Orsini had returned and led the lady almost to his feet. + +Then he looked at her. + +She wore a dark rough dress showing marks of ill usage, and over her +face a thick veil. + +This she loosened as she knelt, and revealed the exceedingly fair, sad +face of Ysabeau the Empress. + +Michael II went swiftly pale, he fixed large wide eyes on her. + +“What do you here, defying us?” he demanded. + +She rose. + +“I am not here in defiance. I have come to give myself up to +punishment for the crime you denounced--the crime for which my lord +now suffers.” + +Michael crushed the rose in his hand and the Cardinals glanced at each +other, having never seen him show agitation. + +“It did not occur to your Holiness,” said Ysabeau, facing him +fearlessly, “that I should do this; you thought that he would never +give me up and you were right--crown, life, heaven he would forfeit +for love of me, but I will not take the sacrifice.” + +The fitful sunshine touched her great beauty, her fair, soft hair +lying loosely on her shoulders, her eyes shadowed and dark, her hollow +face. + +“Mine was the sin,” she continued. “And I who was strong enough to sin +alone can take the punishment alone.” + +At last Michael spoke. + +“Ye slew Melchoir of Brabant--ye confess it!” + +Her bosom heaved. + +“I am here to confess it.” + +“For love of Balthasar you did it.…” + +“As for love of him I stand here now to take the consequences.” + +“We have fire on earth and fire in hell for those who do murder,” said +Michael II; “flames for the body in the market-place, and flames in +the pit for the soul, and though the body will not burn long, the soul +will burn for eternity.” + +“I know--do what you will with me.” + +The Pope cast the crushed rose from him. + +“Has Balthasar sent you here?” + +She smiled proudly. + +“I come without his knowledge.” Her voice trembled a little. “I left a +writing telling him where I had gone and why----” Her hand crept to +her brow. “Enough of that.” + +Michael II rose. + +“Why have you done this?” he cried angrily. + +Ysabeau answered swiftly. + +“That you may take the curse off him--for my sin you cast him forth, +well, if I leave him, if I accept my punishment, if he be free to find +the--woman--who can claim him, your Holiness must absolve him of the +excommunication.” + +Michael flushed. + +“This comes late--too late;” he turned to the Cardinals. “My lords, is +not this love a mad thing?--that she should hope to cheat Heaven so!” + +“My hope is not to cheat Heaven but to appease it,” said Ysabeau; and +the sun, making a pale glimmer in her hair, cast her shadow faintly +before her to the Pontiff’s feet. “If not for myself, for him.” + +“This foolish sacrifice,” said Michael, “cannot avail Balthasar. Since +not of his free will ye are parted from him, how is his sin then +lessened?” + +She trembled exceedingly. + +“Now, perchance he _shall_ loathe me…” she said. + +“Had you told him to his face of your crime, would he have given you +over to our wrath?” + +“Nay,” she flashed. “It would have been only noble in him to refuse; +but since of myself I am come, I pray you, Lord Pope, to send me to +death and take the curse off him.” + +Michael II looked at his hand; the stem of the red rose had scratched +his finger, and a tiny drop of blood showed on the white flesh. + +“You are a wicked woman, by your own confession,” he said, frowning. +“Why should I show you any pity?” + +“I do not ask pity, but justice for the Emperor. I am the cause of the +quarrel, and now ye have me ye can have no bitterness against him.” + +He gave her a quick sidelong look. + +“Do you repent, Ysabeau?” + +She shook the clinging hood free of her yellow hair. + +“No; the gain was worth the sin, nor am I afraid of you nor of Heaven. +I am not of a faltering race, nor of a name easily ashamed. In my own +eyes I am not abashed.” + +Michael raised his head and their eyes met. + +“So you would die for him?” + +Ysabeau smiled. + +“I think I shall. I do not think your Holiness is merciful.” + +He glanced again at the drop of blood on his finger. + +“You show some courage, Ysabeau.” + +She smiled. + +“When I was a child I was taught that they who live as kings and +queens must not look for age--the flame soon burns away, leaving the +ashes--and gorgeous years are like the flame; why should we taste the +dust that follows? I have lived my life.” + +He answered-- + +“This shall not save Balthasar, nor take our curse from off him; +Theirry of Dendermonde has gone forth with many men and banners, and +soon the Roman gates shall open to him and victory lead his charger +through the streets! And his reward shall be the Latin world, his +badge of triumph the Imperial crown. He is our choice to share with us +the dominion of the West, therefore no more of Balthasar--ye might +speak until the heavens fell and still our heart be as brass!” + +He turned swiftly and caught the arm of Cardinal Orsini. + +“Away, my lord, we have given this Greek time enough.” + +Ysabeau fell on her knees. + +“My lord, take off the curse!” + +“What shall we do with her?” asked Cardinal Colonna. + +She clutched, in her desperation, at the priest’s white garments. + +“Show some pity; Balthasar dies beneath your wrath----” + +Paolo Orsini drew her away, while Michael II stared at her with a +touch of fear. + +“Cast her without the walls--since the excommunication is upon her we +do not need her life.” + +“Oh, sirs!” shrieked Ysabeau, striving after them, “my lord is +innocent!” + +“Take her away,” said Michael. “Cast her from Rome,”--he glared at her +over his shoulder--“doubtless the Eastern she-cat will find it worse +so to die than as Hugh of Rooselaare perished; come on, my lords.” + +Leaning on the arm of Cardinal Orsini, he moved away across the +Vatican gardens. + +Paolo Orsini blew a little whistle. + +“You must be turned from the city,” he said. + +Ysabeau rose from the grass. + +“This your Christian priest!” she cried hoarsely, staring after the +white figure; then, as she saw the guards approaching, she fell into +an utter silence. + +As Michael II entered the Vatican the sun was again obscured and the +thunder rolled; he passed up the silver stairs to his cabinet and +closed the door on all. + +The storm grew and rioted angrily in the sky; in the height of it came +a messenger riding straight to the Vatican. + +Blood and dust were smeared on his clothes, and he was weary with +swift travel; they brought him to the ebony cabinet and face to face +with the Pope. + +“From Theirry of Dendermonde?” breathed Michael, his face white as his +robe. + +“From Theirry of Dendermonde, your Holiness.” + +“What says he--victory?” + +“Balthasar of Courtrai is defeated, his army lies dead, men and +horses, in the vale of Tivoli, and his conqueror marches home to-day.” + +A shaft of lightning showed the ghastly face of Michael II, and a peal +of thunder shook the messenger back against the wall. + + + + + CHAPTER X. + THE EVENING BEFORE THE CORONATION + +The orange marble pillars glowing in the light of a hundred lamps +gave the chamber a dazzling brightness; the windows were screened by +scarlet silk curtains, and crystal bowls of purple flowers stood on +the serpentine floor. + +On a low gilt couch against the wall sat Theirry, his gold armour half +concealed by a violet and ermine mantle; round his close dark hair was +a wreath of red roses, and the long pearls in his ears glimmered with +his movements. + +Opposite him on a throne supported by basalt lions was Michael II, +robed in gold and silver tissues under a dalmatica of orange and +crimson brocade. + +“It is done,” he said in a low eager voice, “and to-morrow I crown you +in St. Peter’s church; Theirry, it is done.” + +“Truly our fortunes are marvellous,” answered Theirry, “to-day--when I +heard the Princes elect me--an unknown adventurer!--when I heard the +mob of Rome shout for me--I thought I had gone mad!” + +“It is I who have done this for you,” said the Pope softly. + +Theirry seemed to shudder in his gorgeous mail. + +“Are you afraid of me?” the other asked. “Why do you so seldom look at +me?” + +Theirry slowly turned his beautiful face. + +“I am afraid of my own fortunes--I am not as bold as you,” he said +fearfully. “You never hesitated to sin.” + +The Pope moved, and his garments sparkled against the gleaming marble +wall. + +“I do not sin,” he smiled. “I am Sin--I do no evil for I am Evil--but +you”--his face became grave, almost sad--“you are very human, better +had it been for me never to have met you!” + +He placed his little hands either side of him on the smooth heads of +the basalt lions. + +“Theirry--for your sake I have risked everything, for your sake maybe +I must leave this strange fair life and go back whence I came--so much +I care for you, so dearly have I kept the vows we made in +Frankfort--cannot you meet with courage the destiny I offer you?” + +Theirry hid his face in his hands. + +The Pope flushed, and a wild light sparkled in his dark eyes. + +“Was not your blood warmed by that charge at Tivoli? When knight and +horse fell before your spears and your host humbled an Emperor, when +Rome rose to greet you and I came to meet you with a kingdom for a +gift, did not some fire creep into your veins that might serve to heat +you now?” + +“A kingdom!” cried Theirry, “the kingdom of Antichrist. The victory +was not mine--the cohorts of the Devil galloped beside us and urged us +to unholy triumph--Rome is a place of horror, full of witches, ghosts +and strange beasts!” + +“You said you would be Emperor,” answered the Pope. “And I have +granted you your wish, if you fail me or betray me now… it is +over--for both of us.” + +Theirry rose and paced the chamber. + +“Ay, I will be Emperor,” he cried feverishly. “Theirry of Dendermonde +crowned by the Devil in St. Peter’s church--why should I hesitate? I +am on the road to hell, to hell.…” + +The Pope fixed ardent eyes on him. + +“And if ye fail me ye shall go there instantly.” + +Theirry stopped in his pacing to and fro. + +“Why do you say to me so often, ‘do not fail me, do not betray me’?” + +Michael II answered in a low voice. + +“Because I fear it.” + +Theirry laughed desperately. + +“To whom should I betray you! It seems that you have all the world!” + +“There is Jacobea of Martzburg.” + +“Why do you sting me with that name!” + +“Belike I thought ye might wish to make her your Empress,” said the +Pope in sudden mockery. + +Theirry pressed his hand to his brow. + +“She believes in God… what is such to me?” he cried. + +“The other day you lied to me, saying you knew not where she was--and +straightway ye visited her.” + +“This is your spy’s work, Ursula of Rooselaare.” + +“Maybe,” answered the Pope. + +Theirry paused before the basalt throne. + +“Tell me of her. She follows me--I--I--know not what to think, she has +been much in my mind of late, since I----” He broke off, and looked +moodily at the ground. “Where has she been these years--what does she +mean to do now?” + +“She will not trouble you again,” answered Michael II, “let her go.” + +“I cannot--she said I had seen her face----” + +“Well, if you have?--take it from me she is not fair.” + +“I do not think of her fairness,” answered Theirry sullenly, “but of +the mystery there is behind all of it--why you never told me of her +before, and why she haunts me with witches in her train.” + +The Pope looked at him curiously. + +“For one who has never been an ardent lover ye dwell much on women--I +had rather you thought on battles and kingdoms--had I been a--were I +you, dancer and nun alike would be nothing to me compared with my +coronation on the morrow.” + +Theirry replied hotly. + +“Dancer and nun, as ye term them, are woven in with all I do, I +cannot, if I would, forget them. Ah, that I ever came to Rome--would I +were still a Chamberlain at Basil’s Court or a merchant’s clerk in +India!” + +He covered his face with his trembling hands and turned away across +the golden room. + +The Pope rose in his seat and pressed his jewelled fingers against his +breast. + +“Would ye had never come my way to be my ruin and your own--would you +were not such a sweet fair fool that I must love you!… and so, we make +ourselves the mock of destiny by these complaints. Oh, if you have the +desire to be king show the courage to dare a kingly fate.” + +Theirry leant against one of the orange marble pillars, the violet +mantle falling away from his golden armour, the fainting roses lying +slackly in his dark hair. + +“You must think me a coward,” he said, “and I have been very weak--but +that, I think, is passed; I have reached the summit of all the +greatness I ever dreamed and it confuses me, but when the Imperial +crown is mine you shall find me bold enough.” + +Michael II flushed and gave a dazzling smile. + +“Then are we great indeed!--we shall join hands across the fairest +dominion men ever ruled, Suabia is ours, Bohemia and Lombardy, France +courts our alliance, Cyprus, the isle of Candy and Malta town, in +Rhodes they worship us, and Genoa town owns us master!” + +He paused in his speech and stepped down from the throne. + +“Do you remember that day in Antwerp, Theirry, when we looked in the +mirror?” he said, and his voice was tender and beautiful; “we hardly +dared then to think of this.” + +“We saw a gallows in that mirror,” answered Theirry, “a gallows tree +beside the triple crown.” + +“It was for our enemies!” cried Michael; “our enemies whom we have +triumphed over; Theirry, think of it, we were very young then, and +poor--now I have kings at my footstool, and you will sleep to-night in +the Golden Palace of the Aventine!” He laughed joyously. + +Theirry’s face grew gentle at the old memories. + +“The house still stands, I wot,” he mused, “though the dust be thick +over the deserted rooms and the vine chokes the windows--when I was in +the East, I have thought with great joy of Antwerp.” + +The Pope laid his delicate fragrant hand on the glittering vambrace. + +“Theirry--do you not value me a little now?” + +Theirry smiled into the ardent eyes. + +“You have done more for me than man or God, and above both I do you +worship,” he answered wildly. “I am not fearful any more, and +to-morrow ye shall see me a king indeed.” + +“Until to-morrow then, farewell. I must attend a Conclave of the +Cardinals and show myself unto the multitude in St. Peter’s church. +You to the palace, on the Aventine, there to sleep soft and dream of +gold.” + +They clasped hands, a hot colour was in the Pope’s face. + +“The Syrian guards wait below and the Lombard archers who stood beside +you at Tivoli--they will attend you to the Imperial Palace.” + +“What shall I do there?” asked Theirry. “It is early yet, and I do not +love to sit alone.” + +“Then, come to the service in the Basilica--come with a bold bearing +and a rich dress to overawe these mongrel crowds of Rome.” + +To that Theirry made no answer. + +“Farewell,” he said, and lifted the scarlet curtain that concealed the +door, “until to-morrow.” + +The Pope came quickly to his side. + +“Do not go to Jacobea to-night,” he said earnestly. “Remember, if you +fail me now----” + +“I shall not fail you or myself, again--farewell.” + +His hand was on the latch when Michael spoke once more-- + +“I grieve to let you go,” he murmured in an agitated tone. “I have not +before been fearful, but to-night----” + +Theirry smiled. + +“You have no cause to dread anything, you with your foot on the neck +of the world.” + +He opened the door on to the soft purple light of the stairs and +stepped from the room. + +In a half-stifled voice the Pope called him. + +“Theirry!--be true to me, for on your faith have I staked everything.” + +Theirry looked over his shoulder and laughed. + +“Will you never let me begone?” + +The other pressed his hand to his forehead. + +“Ay, begone--why should I seek to keep you?” + +Theirry descended the stairs and now and then looked up. + +Always to see fixed on him the yearning, fierce gaze of the one who +stood by the gilded rails and stared down at his glittering figure. + +Only when he had completely disappeared in the turn of the stairs did +Michael II slowly return to the golden chamber and close the gorgeous +doors. + +Theirry, splendidly attended, flashed through the riotous streets of +Rome to the palace on the Aventine Hill. + +There he dismissed the knights. + +“I shall not go to the Basilica to-night,” he said, “go thou there +without me.” + +He laid aside the golden armour, the purple cloak, and attired himself +in a dark habit and a steel corselet; he meant to be Emperor +to-morrow, he meant to be faithful to the Pope, but it was in his +heart to see Jacobea once more before he accepted the Devil’s last +gift and sign. + +Leaving the palace secretly, when they all thought him in his chamber, +he took his way towards the Appian Gate. + +Once more, for the last time… he would suggest to her that she +returned to Martzburg. The plague was rampant in the city; more than +once he passed the death-cart attended by friars clanging harsh bells; +several houses were sealed and silent; but in the piazzas the people +danced and sang, and in the Via Sacra they held a carnival in honour +of the victory at Tivoli. + +It was nearly dark, starless, and the air heavy with the sense of +storm; as he neared the less-frequented part of the city Theirry +looked continually behind him to see if the dancer in orange dogged +his footsteps--he saw no one. + +Very lonely, very silent it was in the Appian Way, the only domestic +light he came to the little lamp above the convent gate. + +The stillness and gloom of the place chilled his heart, she could not, +must not stay here.… + +He gently pushed the gate and entered. + +The hot dusk just revealed to him the dim shapes of the white roses +and the dark figure of a lady standing beside them. + +“Jacobea,” he whispered. + +She moved very slowly towards him. + +“Ah! you.” + +“Jacobea--you must not remain in this place!--where are the nuns?” + +She shook her head. + +“They are dead of the plague days past, and I have buried them in the +garden.” + +He gave a start of horror. + +“You shall go back to Martzburg--you are _alone_ here?” + +Her answer came calmly out of the twilight. + +“I think there is no one living anywhere near. The plague has been +very fierce--you should not come here if you do not wish to die.” + +“But what of you?” His voice was full of horror. + +“Why, what can it matter about me?” + +He thought she smiled; he followed her into the house, the chamber +where they had sat before. + +A tall pale candle burnt on the bare table, and by the light of it he +saw her face. + +“Ye are ill already,” he shuddered. + +Again she shook her head. + +“Why do you come here?” she asked gently. “You are to be Emperor +to-morrow.” + +She crept with a slow sick movement to a bench that stood against the +wall and sank down on it; her features showed pinched and wan, her +eyes unnaturally blue in the pallor of her face. + +“You must return to Martzburg,” repeated Theirry distractedly; and +thought of her as he had first seen her, bright and gay, in a pale +crimson dress.… + +“Nay, I shall return to Martzburg no more,” she answered. “He died +to-day.” + +“He?--who died, Jacobea?” + +Very faintly she smiled. + +“Sebastian--in Palestine. God let me see him then, because I had never +looked on him since that morning on which you saw us, sir… he has been +a holy man fighting the infidel; they wounded him, I think, and he was +sick with fever--he crept into the shade (for it is very hot there, +sir), and died.” + +Theirry stood dumb, and the mad hatred of the devil who had brought +about this misery anew possessed him. + +Jacobea spoke again. + +“Maybe they have met in Paradise--and as for me I hope God may think +me fit to die--of late it seemed to me that the fiends were again +troubling me”--she clasped her hands tightly on her knees and +shivered; “something evil is abroad… who is the dancer?… last night I +saw her crouching by my gate as I was making the grave of Sister +Angela, and it seemed, it seemed, that she bewitched me--as the young +scholar did, long ago.” + +Theirry leant heavily against the table. + +“She is the Pope’s spy and tool,” he cried hoarsely, “Ursula of +Rooselaare!” + +Jacobea’s dim eyes were bewildered. + +“Ah, Balthasar’s wife,” she faltered, “but the Pope’s tool--how should +he meddle with an evil thing?” + +Then he told her, in an outburst of wild, unnameable feeling. + +“The Pope is Dirk Renswoude--the Pope is Antichrist--do you not +understand? And I am to help him rule the kingdom of the Devil!” + +Jacobea gave a shuddering cry, half rose in her seat and sank back +against the wall. + +Theirry crossed the room and fell on his knees beside her. + +“It is true, true,” he sobbed. “And I am damned for ever!” + +The lightning darted in from the darkness and thunder crashed above +the convent; Theirry laid his head on her lap and her cold fingers +touched his hair. + +“Since, knowing this, you are his ally,” she whispered fearfully. + +He answered through clenched teeth. + +“Yea, I will be Emperor--and it is too late to turn back.” + +Jacobea stared across the candle-lit room. + +“Dirk Renswoude,” she muttered, “and Ursula of Rooselaare--why--was it +not to save Hugh of Rooselaare that he rode--that night?” + +Theirry lifted his head and looked at her, her utterance was feeble +and confused, her eyes glazing in a livid face; he clasped his hands +tightly over hers. + +“What was Lord Hugh to him?” she asked, “Ursula’s father.…” + +“I do not understand,” cried Theirry. + +“But it is very clear to me--I am dying--she loved you, loves you +still--that such things should be.…” + +“Whom do you speak of--Jacobea?” he cried, distracted. + +She drooped towards him and he caught her in his arms. + +“The city is accursed,” she gasped; “give me Christian burial, if ever +once you cared for me, and fly, fly!” + +She strained and writhed in his frantic embrace. + +“And you never knew it was a woman,” she whispered, “Pope and +dancer.…” + +“God!” shrieked Theirry; and staggered to his feet drawing her with +him. + +She choked her life out against his shoulder, clinging with the +desperation of the dying, to him, while he tried to force her into +speech. + +“Answer me, Jacobea! What authority have you for this hideous thing, +in the name of God, Jacobea!” + +She slipped from him to the bench. + +“Water, a crucifix.… Oh, I have forgot my prayers.” She stretched out +her hands towards a wooden crucifix that hung on the wall, caught hold +of it, pressed her lips to the feet.… + +“Sybilla,” she said, and died with that name struggling in her throat. + +Theirry stepped back from her with a strangled shriek that seemed to +tear the breath from his body, and staggered against the table. + +The lightning leapt in through the dark window, and appeared to plunge +like a sword into the breast of the dead woman. + +Dead!--even as she uttered that horror--dead so suddenly. The plague +had slain her--he did not wish to die, so he must leave this +place--was he not to be Emperor to-morrow? + +He fell to laughing. + +The candle had burnt almost to the socket; the yellow flame struggling +against extinction cast a fantastic leaping light over Jacobea, lying +huddled along the bench with her yellow hair across the breast of her +rough garment; over Theirry, leaning with slack limbs against the +table; it showed his ghastly face, his staring eyes, his dropped +jaw--as his laughter died into silence. + +Fly! Fly! + +He must fly from this Thing that reigned in Rome--he could not face +to-morrow, he could not look again into the face of Antichrist.… + +He crawled across the room and stared at Jacobea. + +She was not beautiful; he noticed that her hands were torn and stained +with earth from making the graves of the nuns… she had asked for +Christian burial… he could not stay to give it her.… + +He fiercely hated her for what she had told him, yet he took up the +ends of her yellow hair and kissed them. + +Again the thunder and lightning and wild howlings reached him from +without, as ghosts and night-hags wandered past to hold court within +the accursed city. + +The candle shot up a long tongue of flame--and went out. + +Theirry staggered across the darkness. + +A flash of lightning showed him the door. As the thunder crashed above +the city he fled from the convent and from Rome. + + + + + CHAPTER XI. + THE ANGELS + +In a ruined villa, shattered by the barbarians and crumbled by time, +sat Ysabeau the Empress looking over the sunless Maremma. + +A few olive trees were all that shaded the bare expanse of marshy +land, where great pools veiled with unhealthy vapours gleamed faintly +under the heavy clouds. + +Here and there rose the straight roof of a forsaken convent, or the +stately pillars of a deserted palace. + +There was no human being in sight. + +A few birds flew low over the marshes; sometimes one screamed in +through the open roof or darted across the gaping broken doorway. + +Then Ysabeau would rise from her sombre silence to spurn them from her +with fierce words and stones. + +The stained marble was grown with reeds and wild flowers; a straggling +vine half twisted round two of the slender columns; and there the +Empress sat, huddled in her cloak and gazing over the forlorn marshes. + +She had dwelt here for three days; at every sunrise a peasant girl, +daring the excommunication, had brought her food, then fled with a +frightened face. + +Ysabeau saw nothing before her save death, but she did not mean to die +by the ignoble way of starvation. + +She had not heard of the defeat of Balthasar at Tivoli, nor of the +election of Theirry to the crown; day and night she thought on her +husband, and pondered how she might still possibly serve him. + +She did not hope to see him again; it never occurred to her to return +to him; when she had fled his camp she had left a confession behind +her--no Greek would have heeded it, but these Saxons, still, to her, +foreigners, were different. + +And Balthasar had loved Melchoir of Brabant. + +It was very hot, with a sullen, close heat; the dreary prospect became +hateful to her, and she rose and moved to the inner portion of the +villa, where the marigold roots thrust up through the inlaid stone +floor, and a remaining portion of the roof cast a shade. + +Here she seated herself on the capital of a broken column, and a +languid weariness subdued her proud spirit; her head sank back against +the stained wall, and she slept. + +When she woke the whole landscape was glowing with the soft red of +sunset. + +She stretched herself, shivered, and looked about her. + +Then she suddenly drew herself together and listened. + +There were faint voices coming from the outer room, and the sound of a +man’s tread. + +Ysabeau held her breath. + +But so close a silence followed that she thought she must have been +deceived. + +For a while she waited, then crept cautiously towards the shattered +doorway that led into the other chamber. + +She gained it and gazed through. + +Sitting where she had just now sat, under the vine-twisted columns, +was a huge knight in defaced armour; his back was towards her; by his +side his helmet stood, and the great glittering dragon that formed the +crest shone in the setting sun. + +He was bending over a child that lay asleep on a crimson cloak. + +“Balthasar,” said Ysabeau. + +He gave a little cry, and looked over his shoulder. + +“Tell me, my lord,” she asked in a trembling voice, “as you would tell +a stranger, if evil fortune brings you here.” + +He rose softly, his face flushed. + +“I am a ruined man. They have elected another Emperor. Now, I think, +it does not matter.” + +Her eyes travelled in a dazed way to the child. + +“Is he sick?” + +“Nay, only weary; we have been wandering since Tivoli----” + +While he spoke he looked at her, as if the world held nothing else +worth gazing on. + +“I must go,” said Ysabeau. + +“Must go?” + +“I am cast out--I may not share your misfortunes.” + +Balthasar laughed. + +“I have been searching for you madly, Ysabeau.” + +“Searching?” + +And now he looked away from her. + +“I thought my heart would have burst when I discovered ye had gone to +Rome----” + +“But you found the writing?” she cried. + +“Yea----” + +“You know--I slew him?” + +“I know you went to give your life for me.” + +“I am accursed!” + +“You have been faithful to me.” + +“Oh, Balthasar!--does it make no difference?” + +“It cannot,” he said, half sadly. “You are my wife--part of me; I have +given you my heart to keep, and nothing can alter it.” + +“You do not mock me?” she questioned, shuddering. “It must be that you +mock me--I will go away----” + +He stepped before her. + +“You shall never leave me again, Ysabeau.” + +“I had not dared--you have forgiven----” + +“I am not your judge----” + +“It cannot be that God is so tender!” + +“I do not speak for Him,” said Balthasar hoarsely--“but for +myself----” + +She could not answer. + +“Ysabeau,” he cried jealously, “you--could you have lived apart from +me?” + +“Nay,” she whispered; “I meant to die.” + +“That I might be forgiven!” + +“What else could I do! Would they had slain me and taken the curse +from you!” + +He put his arm round her bowed shoulders. + +“There is no curse while we are together, Ysabeau.” + +Her marvellous hair lay across his dinted mail. + +“This is sweeter than our marriage day, Balthasar, for now you know +the worst of me----” + +“My wife!--my lady and my wife!” + +He set her gently on the broken shaft by the door and kissed her hand. + +“Wencelaus sleeps,” she smiled through tears. “I could not have put +him to rest more surely----” + +“He slept not much last night,” said Balthasar, “for the owls and +flitter mice--and it was very dark with the moon hidden.” + +Her hand still lay in his great palm. + +“Tell me of yourself,” she whispered. + +And he told her how they had been defeated at Tivoli, how the remnant +of his force had forsaken him, and how Theirry of Dendermonde had been +elected Emperor by the wishes of the Pope. + +Her eyes grew fierce at that. + +“I have ruined you,” she said; “made you a beggar.” + +“If you knew”--he smiled half shyly--“how little I care, for +myself--certes, for you.” + +“Do not shame me,” she cried. + +“Could I have held a throne without you, Ysabeau?” + +Her fingers trembled in his. + +“Would I had been a better woman, for your sake, Balthasar.” + +His swift bright flush dyed his fair face. + +“All I grieve for, Ysabeau, is--God.” + +“God?” she asked, wondering. + +“If He should not forgive?”--his blue eyes were troubled--“and we are +cursed and cast out--what think you?” + +She drew closer to him. + +“Through me!--you grieve, and this is--through me!” + +“Nay, our destiny is one--always. Only, I think--of afterwards--yet, +if you are--damned, as the priest says, why, I will be so too----” + +“Do not fear, Balthasar; if God will not receive me, the little images +at Constantinople will forgive me if I pray to them again as I did +when I was a child----” + +They fell on silence again, while the red colour of the setting sun +deepened and cast a glow over their weary faces and the sleeping +figure of Wencelaus; the vine leaves fluttered from the ancient marble +and the wild-fowl screamed across the marshes. + +“Who is this Pope that he should hate us so?” mused Ysabeau. “And who +Theirry of Dendermonde that he should be Emperor of the West?” + +“He is to be crowned in the Basilica to-day,” said Balthasar. + +“While we sit here!” + +“I do not understand it. Nor do I now, Ysabeau,”--Balthasar looked at +her--“greatly care----” + +“But you shall care!” she cried. “If I be all to you, I will be +that--I must see you again upon the throne; we will to Basil’s Court. +That this Theirry of Dendermonde should sleep to-night in the golden +palace!” + +“We have found each other,” said the Emperor simply. + +She raised his hand, kissed it, and no more was said, while the mists +gathered and thickened over the Maremma and the rich hues faded from +the sky. + +“Who is that?” cried Ysabeau, and pointed across the marsh-land. + +A figure, dark against the mists, was running aimlessly, wildly to and +fro, winding his way in and out the pools, now and then flinging his +arms up in a frantic gesture towards the evening sky. + +“A madman,” said Balthasar; “see, he runs with no object, round and +round, yet always as if pursued----” + +Ysabeau drew close to her husband, as they both watched, with a +curious fascination, the man being driven hither and thither as by an +invisible enemy. + +“Is it a ghost?” whispered Ysabeau; “strangely chilled and +horror-stricken do I feel----” + +The Emperor made the sign of the Cross. + +“Part of the curse, maybe,” he muttered. + +Suddenly, as if exhausted, the man stopped and stood still with +hanging head and arms; the sun burning to the horizon made a vivid +background to his tall dark figure till the heavy noisome vapours rose +to the level of the sunset, and the solitary, motionless stranger was +blotted from the view of the two watching in the ruined villa. + +“Why should we wonder?” said Balthasar. “There must be many men +abroad, both Saxon and Roman----” + +“Yet, he ran strangely,” she murmured; “and I have been here three +days and seen no one.” + +“We must get away,” said Balthasar resolutely. “This is a vile spot.” + +“At dawn a girl comes here with food, enough at least for Wencelaus.” + +“I have food with me, Ysabeau, given by one who did not know that we +were excommunicate.” + +The Empress looked about her fearfully. + +“I heard a step.” + +Balthasar peered through the mist. + +“The man,” whispered Ysabeau. + +Out of the dreary vapours, the forlorn and foul mists of the marshes, +he appeared, stumbling over the stones in his way… + +He caught hold of the slender pillar by the entrance and stared at the +three with distraught eyes. His clothes were dark, wet and soiled, his +hair hung lank round a face hollow and pale but of obvious beauty. + +“Theirry of Dendermonde!” exclaimed Balthasar. + +Ysabeau gave a cry that woke the child and sent him frightened into +her arms. + +“The Emperor,” said the new-comer in a feeble voice. + +Balthasar answered fiercely-- + +“Am I still Emperor to you?--you who to-day were to receive my crown +in St. Peter’s church?” + +Ysabeau clasped Wencelaus tightly to her breast, and her eyes shone +with a wrathful triumph. + +“They have cast him out; Rome rose against such a king!” + +Theirry shivered and crouched like one very cold. + +“Of my own will I fled from Rome, that city of the Devil!” + +Balthasar stared at him. + +“Is this the man who broke our ranks at Tivoli?” + +“Is this he who would be Emperor of the West?” cried Ysabeau. + +“You are the Emperor,” said Theirry faintly, “and I pretend no longer +to these wrongful honours, nor serve I any longer Antichrist----” + +“He is mad!” cried Balthasar. + +“Nay,” Ysabeau spoke eagerly--“listen to him.” + +Theirry moaned. + +“I have nothing to say--give me a place to rest in.” + +“Through you we have no place ourselves to rest in,” answered +Balthasar grimly. “No shelter save these broken walls you see; but +since you have returned to your allegiance, we command that you tell +us of this Antichrist----” + +Theirry straightened himself. + +“He who reigns in Rome is Antichrist, Michael, who was Dirk +Renswoude----” + +“He perished,” said the Emperor, very pale; “and the Pope was Blaise +of Dendermonde.” + +“That was the Devil’s work, black magic!” cried Theirry wildly; “the +youth Blaise died ten years ago, and Dirk Renswoude took his +place----” + +“It is true!” cried the Empress; “by what he said to me I know it +true--now do I see it very clearly----” + +But Balthasar stared at Theirry in a confused manner. + +“I do not understand.” + +The lightning darted through the broken wall, and a solitary winged +thing flapped over the roofless villa. + +Theirry began to speak. + +He told them, in a thick, expressionless voice, all he knew of Dirk +Renswoude. + +He did not mention Ursula of Rooselaare. + +As his tale went on, the storm gathered till all light had vanished +from the sky, the lightning rent a starless gloom, and the continual +roar of the thunder quivered in the stifling air. + +In the pauses between the lightning they could not see each other; +Wencelaus sobbed on his mother’s breast, and the owls hooted in the +crevices of the marble. + +Theirry’s voice suddenly strengthened. + +“Now, turn against Rome, for all men will join you--a force of +Lombards marches up from Trastevere, and the Saxons gather without the +walls of the accursed city.” + +A blue flash showed them his face… they heard him fall.… + +After a while Balthasar made his way to him through the dark. + +“He has fainted,” he said fearfully; “is he, belike, mad?” + +“He speaks the hideous truth,” whispered Ysabeau. + +Suddenly, at its very height the storm ceased, the air became cool and +fragrant, and a bright moon floated from the clouds. + +The silver radiance of it, extraordinarily bright and vivid, +illuminated the Maremma, the pools, the tall reeds, the deserted +buildings, the ruins that sheltered them; the clouds rolled swiftly +from the sky, leaving it clear and blazing with stars. + +The first moon and the first stars that had shone since Michael II’s +reign in the Vatican. + +Theirry’s dark dress and hair, and deathlike face pressed against the +marble pavement showed now plainly. + +Balthasar looked at his wife; neither dared to speak, but Wencelaus +gave a panting sigh of relief at the lifting of the darkness. + +“My lord,” he said, striving out of his mother’s arms, “a goodly +company comes across the marsh----” + +A great awe and fear held them silent, and the wonderful silver shine +of the moon lay over them like a spell. + +They saw, slowly approaching them, two knights and two ladies, who +seemed to advance without motion across the marsh-land. + +The knights wore armour that shone like glass, and long mantles of +white samite; the dames were clad in silver tissue, and around their +brows were close-pressed wreaths of roses mingled red and white. + +Very bright and fair they seemed; the knights came to the fore, +carrying silver trumpets; the ladies held each other’s hands lovingly, +and their gleaming tresses of red and gold wove together as they +walked. + +They reached the portals of the villa, and the air blew cold and pure. + +The lady with the yellow hair who held white violets in her hand, +spoke to the other, and her voice was like the echo of the sea in a +wide-lipped shell. + +They paused; Balthasar drew back before the great light they brought +with them, and Ysabeau hid her face, for some of them she knew. + +On earth their names had been Melchoir, Sebastian, Jacobea and +Sybilla. + +“Balthasar,” said the foremost Knight, “we are come from the courts of +Paradise to bid you march against Rome. In that city reigns Evil, +permitted to punish a sinful people, but now her time is come. Go you +to Viterbo, there you will find the Cardinal of Narbonne, whom God has +ordained Pope, and with him an army; at the head of it storm Rome, and +all the people shall join you in destroying Antichrist.” + +Balthasar fell on his knees. + +“And the curse!” he cried. + +“’Tis not the curse of God upon you, therefore be comforted, Balthasar +of Courtrai, and at the dawn haste to Viterbo.” + +With that they moved away, and were absorbed into the silver light +that transfigured the Maremma. + +Balthasar sprang to his feet, shouting-- + +“I am not excommunicate! I shall be Emperor again. The curse is +lifted!” + +The moonlight faded, again the clouds rolled up.… + +Balthasar caught Theirry by the shoulder. + +“Did you see the vision?--the angels?” + +Theirry came shuddering from his swoon. + +“I saw nothing--Ursula… Ursula.…” + + + + + CHAPTER XII. + IN THE VATICAN + +In the ebony cabinet in the Vatican sat Michael II; an expression of +utter anguish marked his face. + +On the gold table were spread books and parchments; the sullen light +of a stormy midday filtered through the painted curtains and showed +the rich splendours of the chamber, the glittering, closed wings of +the shrine, the carved gold arms of the Pope’s chair, the threads of +silver tissue in his crimson robe. + +He sat very still, his elbow resting on the table, his cheek propped +on his palm, now and then he looked at the little sand clock. + +Presently Paolo Orsini entered; the Pope glanced at him without +moving. + +“No news?” he asked. + +“None of the Lord Theirry, your Holiness.” + +Michael II moistened his lips. + +“They have searched--everywhere?” + +“Throughout Rome, your Holiness, but----” + +“Well?” + +“Only this, my lord, a man might easily disappear--there is no law in +the city.” + +“He was armed, they said, when he left the palace; have you sent to +the convent I told you of--St. Angela, beyond the Appian Gate?” + +“Yea, your Holiness,” answered Orsini, “and they found nought but a +dead woman.” + +The Pope averted his eyes. + +“What did they with her?” + +Orsini lifted his brows. + +“Cast her into the plague pit, Holiness,--that quarter is a +charnel-house.” + +The Pope drew a deep breath. + +“Well, he is gone--I do not think him dead,”--he flung back his +head--“but the game is over, is it not, Orsini? We fling down our +pieces and say--good-night!” + +His nostrils dilated, his eyes flashed, he brought his open hand +softly on to the table. + +“What does your Holiness mean?” asked Orsini. + +“We mean that this puppet Emperor of ours has forsaken us, and that +our position becomes perilous,” answered the Pope. “Cardinal Narbonne, +hurling defiance at us from Viterbo, grows stronger, and the mob--do +not seek to deceive me, Orsini, the mob clamours against us?” + +“It is true, my lord.” + +The Pope gave a terrible smile, and his beautiful eyes widened. + +“And the soldiers mutiny, the Saxons at Trastevere have joined +Balthasar and the Veronese have left me--we have not enough men to +hold Rome an hour; well, Orsini, you shall take a summons to the +Cardinals and we will hold a conclave, there to decide how we may meet +our fortune.” + +He rose and turned towards the window. + +“Hark, do you hear how the factions howl below?--begone, Orsini.” + +The secretary departed in silence. + +Mutterings, murmurings, howlings rose from the accursed city to the +Pontiff’s chamber; lightning darted from the black heavens, and +thunder rolled round the hills of Rome. + +Michael II walked to and fro in his gorgeous cabinet. + +In the three days since Theirry had fled the city, his power had +crumbled like a handful of sand; Rome had turned against him, and +every hour men fell away from his cause. + +The devils, too, had forsaken him; he could not raise the spirits, the +magic fires would not burn… all was blank darkness and silence. + +Up and down he paced, listening to the mob surging in the Piazza of +St. Peter. + +The day wore on and the storm grew in violence. + +Paolo Orsini came again to him, his face pale. + +“Half the Cardinals are fled to Viterbo and those remaining refuse to +acknowledge your Holiness.” + +The Pope smiled. + +“I had expected it.” + +“News comes from a Greek runner that Theirry of Dendermonde is with +Balthasar’s host----” + +“Also I expected that,” said Michael II wildly. + +“And they proclaim you,” continued Orsini in an agitated manner, “an +impostor, one given to evil practices, and by these means incite the +people against you; Cardinal Orvieto has led a thousand men across the +marshes to the Emperor’s army----” + +“And Theirry of Dendermonde has denounced me!” said the Pope. + +As he spoke one beat for admission on the gilt door. + +The secretary opened and there entered an Eastern chamberlain. + +“Holiness,” he cried fearfully, “the people have set fire to your +palace on the Palatine Hill, and Cardinal Colonna, with his brother +Octavian, have seized Castel San Angelo for the Emperor, and hold it +in defiance of your Grace.” + +As he finished the lightning darted into the now darkening chamber, +and the thunder mingled with the howling of the mob that surged +beneath the Vatican walls. + +“The captain of my guard and those faithful to me,” answered the Pope, +“will know how to do what may be done--apprise me of the approach of +Balthasar’s host, and now go.” + +They left him; he stood for a while listening to those ominous sounds +that filled the murky air, then he pressed a spring in one of the +mother-of-pearl panels and stepped into the secret chamber that was +revealed. + +Cautiously he closed the panel by which he had entered, and looked +furtively about him. + +The small windowless space was lit only by one blood-red lamp, locked +cupboards lined the walls, and a huge globe of faint gold, painted +with curious and mystic signs, hung from the ceiling. + +The Pope’s stiff garments made a soft rustling sound as he moved; his +quick desperate breathing disturbed the heavy confined air. + +In his pallid face his eyes rolled and gleamed. + +“Sathanas, Sathanas,” he muttered, “is this the end?” + +A throbbing shook the red-lit gloom, his last words were echoed +mournfully-- + +“The end.” + +He clutched his hands into the jewelled embroidery on his breast. + +“Now you mock me--by my old allegiance, is this the end?” + +Again the echo from the dark walls-- + +“The end.” + +The Pope glared in front of him. + +“Must I die, Sathanas--must I swiftly die?” + +A little confused laughter came before the echo “swiftly die.” + +He paced up and down the narrow space. + +“I staked my fortunes on that man’s faith and he has forsaken me, and +I have lost, lost!” + +“Lost! lost!” + +The Pope laughed frantically. + +“At least she died, Sathanas, her yellow hair rots in the plague pit +now; I had some skill left… but what was all my skill if I could not +keep him faithful to me----” + +He clasped his jewelled hand over his eyes; utter silence followed his +words now; the globe of pallid gold trembled in the darkness of the +domed ceiling, and the mystic characters on it began to writhe and +move. + +“Long had I lived with the earth beneath my feet had I not met that +fair sweet fool, and I go to ruin for his sake who has denounced +me----” + +The red lamp became dull as a dying coal. + +“Ye warned me,” breathed the Pope, “that this man would be my +bane--you promised on his truth to you and me to halve the world +between us; he was false, and you have utterly forsaken me?” + +The echo answered-- + +“Utterly forsaken.…” + +The lamp went out. + +The pale luminous globe expanded to a monstrous size, the circle of +dark little fiends round it danced and whirled madly.… + +Then it burst and fell in a thousand fragments at the Pope’s feet. + +Out of the darkness came a wail as of some thing hurt or dying, then +long sighing shook the close air.… + +The Pope felt along the wall, touched the spring and stepped into the +ebony cabinet. + +He looked quite old and small and bowed. + +Night had fallen; the chamber was lit by perfumed candles in curious +carved sticks of soapstone; faint veils of incense floated in the air. + +Without the thunder rolled and threatened, and the factions of Rome +fought in the streets. + +The Pope sank into a chair and folded his hands in his lap; his head +fell forward on his breast; his lips quivered and two tears rolled +down his cheeks. + +The Angelus bells rang out over the city, there were not many to ring +now; as they quivered away a clock struck, quite near. + +The Pope did not move. + +Once again Paolo Orsini entered, and Michael II averted his face. + +“Holiness, Balthasar marches on Rome,” said the secretary, “the mob +rush forth to join him, and if the gates were brass, and five times +brass, the Vatican could not withstand them.” + +The Pope spoke without looking round. + +“Will they storm the Vatican?” + +“Ay, that they will, Holiness,” answered Orsini. + +Now the Pontiff turned his white face. + +“What may I do?” + +“The captain of the guard suggests that ye come to terms with the +Emperor, and by submission save your life.” + +“That I will not.” + +“Then it were well if your Holiness would flee; there is a secret way +out of the Vatican----” + +“And that I will not.” + +Orsini, too, was very pale. + +“Then are you doomed to fall into the hands of Balthasar, and he and +his faction say--horrible things.” + +The Pope rose. + +“You think they would lay hands on me?” + +“I do fear it!” + +“It would be a shameful death, Orsini?” + +“Surely not that! I cannot think the Emperor would do more than +imprison your Holiness.” + +“Well, you are very faithful, Orsini.” + +The young Roman shrugged his shoulders. + +“Cardinal Narbonne is a Colonna, Holiness, and I have always found you +a generous master.” + +The Pope went to the window. + +“How they howl!” he said through his teeth, “and Balthasar comes +nearer, nearer----” + +He checked himself abruptly. + +“I will dine here to-night, Orsini, see that everything is done as +usual.” + +The secretary bowed himself out of the gilt door. + +Michael II went to the table on the daïs and took from it a scroll of +parchment. + +Standing in the centre of the room he unrolled it; some verses were +written in a scarlet ink on the smooth surface; in a low voice he read +aloud the two last. + + + “If Love were all! + I had lived glad and meek, + Nor heard Ambition call + And Valour speak, + If Love were all!” + + +He smiled bitterly. + + + “But Love is weak, + And often leaves his throne, + Among his scattered roses pale + To weep and moan, + And I, apostate to his whispered creed, + Shall miss his wings above my pall, + Nor find his face in this my bitter need, + When Love is all!” + + +“The metre halts,” said Michael II, “the metre… halts.” + +He tore the parchment into fragments and scattered them on the floor. + +Again the gilt doors were opened, this time a chamberlain entered. + +A herald had brought a fierce and grim message from Balthasar. + +It spoke of the Pope as Antichrist, and called on him to submit if he +would keep his life. + +The Pope read it with haughty eyes; when he had finished he rent it +across and cast the pieces down among the others. + +“And ye shall hang the herald,” he said. “We have so much authority.” + +The chamberlain handed him a second packet, sealed. + +“This also the herald brought, Holiness.” + +“From whom?” + +“From Theirry of Dendermonde.” + +“Theirry of--of Dendermonde?” + +“Yea, Holiness.” + +The Pope took the packet. + +“Let the herald live,” he said, “but cast him into the dungeons.” + +The chamberlain withdrew. + +For a while Michael II stood staring at the packet, while the thunder +crashed over Rome. + +Then he slowly broke the seal. + +“What curses have you for me?” he cried wildly. “What curses? You!” + +He unfolded the long strip of vellum, and went nearer the candles to +read it. + +Thus it ran-- + + + “The Emperor’s camp, marching on Rome, Theirry of Dendermonde to + Michael, Pope of Rome, thus-- + + “I am approaching madness, I cannot sleep or rest--after days of + torment I write to you whom I have twice betrayed. She died on my + breast, but I do not care; Balthasar says he saw her walking on the + Maremma, but I saw nothing… before she died she said something. I + think of you and of nothing else, though I have betrayed you, I have + never uttered what she said. No one guesses. + + “The uncertainty, the horror, gnaw away my heart. So I write this to + you. + + “This is my message-- + + “If you are a devil, be satisfied, for your devil’s work is done. + + “If you are a man, you have befriended, wronged me, and I have avenged + myself. + + “If you are that other thing you may be, then I know you love me, and + that I kissed you once. + + “If this last be true, as I do think it true, have some pity on my + long ignorance and believe I have it in me to love even as you have + loved. + + “Oh, Ursula, I know a city in India where we might live, and you + forget you ever ruled in Rome; yonder are other gods who are so old + they have forgot to punish, and they would smile on you and me there, + Ursula. Balthasar marches on the city, and you must be ruined and + discovered--brought to an end so horrible. You have showed me a secret + way out of the Vatican, use it now, this night. I am in advance of the + host--I shall be without the Appian Gate to-night, and I have means + whereby we may fly to the coast and there take ship to India; until we + meet, farewell! and in the name of all the passions you have roused in + me--come!” + + +As the Pope read, all the colour slowly left his face; when he had +finished he mechanically rolled up the parchment, then unrolled it +again. + +Thunder shook the Vatican and the mob howled without. + +Again he read the letter. + +Then he thrust it into one of the candles and watched it blacken, +curl, burst into flame. + +He flung it on the marble floor and set his gold heel on it, grinding +it into ashes. + +At the usual hour they served his sumptuous supper; when it was +finished and removed, Paolo Orsini came again. + +“Will not your Holiness fly, before it is too late?” + +All traces of anguish and woe had vanished from his master’s features; +he looked proud and beautiful. + +“I shall stay here; but let them who will, seek safety.” + +He dismissed Orsini and the attendants. + +It was now late in the evening--and the thunder unceasing. + +The Pope locked the door of the cabinet, then went to the gilt table, +and wrote a letter rapidly--this he folded, sealed with purple wax and +stamped with his great thumb ring. + +He sat silent a little while after this and stared with great luminous +eyes before him, then roused himself and unlocked a drawer in the +table. + +From this he took some documents, tied together with orange silk, and +a ring with a red stone in it. + +One by one he burnt the parchments in the candle, and when they were +reduced to a little pile of ashes he cast the ring into the midst of +it and turned away. + +He crossed to the window, drew the curtains and looked out over Rome. + +In the black heavens, above the black hills, hung a huge meteor, a +blazing globe of fire with a trail of flame.… + +The Pope let the silk fall together again. + +He took up one of the candles and went to the gold door that led to +his bed-chamber. + +Before he opened it he paused a moment; the candle-flame lit his vivid +eyes, his haughty face, his glittering vestments.… + +He turned the handle and entered the dark, spacious room. + +Through the high, undraped window could clearly be seen the star that +seemed to burn away the very sky. + +The Pope set the candle on a shelf where it showed dim glimpses of +white and gold tapestries, walls of alabaster, a bed of purple and +gilt, mysterious, gorgeous luxury.… + +He returned to the cabinet and took from the bosom of his gown a +little bottle of yellow jade; for the stopper a ruby served. + +The thunder crashed deafeningly; the lightning seemed to split the +room in twain; the Pope stood still, listening. + +Then he blew out the candles and returned to his bed-chamber. + +Softly he passed into the scented, splendid chamber and closed the +door behind him. + +In the little pause between two thunder-peals was the sound of a great +key turning in a lock. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII. + THE SECRET + +The mob had stormed the Vatican; Octavian Colonna, with a handful of +fighting men, ascended the undefended marble staircase. + +The papal guards lay slain in the courtyard and in the entrance hall; +chamberlains, secretary, pages, and priests, fled or surrendered. + +With the Lord Colonna was Theirry of Dendermonde, who had entered Rome +that morning by the Appian Gate and headed a faction of the lawless +crowd in their wild attack on the Vatican. + +To himself he kept saying-- + +“I shall know, she did not come; I shall know, she did not come.” + +It was early morning; the terrific storm of last night still lingered +over Rome; flashes of blue light divided the murky clouds and the +thunder hung about the Aventine; the Colonna grew afraid; he waited +below in the gorgeous audience-chamber and sent up to the Pope’s +apartments, demanding his submission and promising him safety. + +The overawed crowd retired into the courtyard and the Piazza while +Paolo Orsini ascended the silver stairs. + +He returned with this message-- + +“His Holiness’s apartments were locked, nor could they make him hear.” + +“Break down the doors,” said the Colonna, but he trembled. + +It was a common thought among the knights that Michael II had escaped; +a monk offered to show them the secret passage where his Holiness +might be even now; many went; but Theirry followed the attendants to +the gilt door of the ebony cabinet. + +They broke the lock and entered, fearfully. + +On the floor torn fragments of parchments, a pile of ashes with a ruby +ring lying in the midst.… + +Nothing else. + +“His Holiness is in his chamber--we dare not enter.” + +They had always been afraid of him; even now his name held terror. + +“The Colonna waits our news!” cried Theirry wildly, “I--I dare enter.” + +They tiptoed to the other gilt door; it took them some time to remove +the lock. + +When at last the door gave and swung open they shrunk away--but +Theirry passed into the chamber. + +The sombre light of dawn filled it; heavy shadows obscured the rich +splendours of golden colours, of gleaming white walls; the men crept +after him--it seemed to Theirry as if the world had stopped about +them. + +On the magnificent purple bed lay the Pope; on his brow the tiara +glittered, and on his breast the chasuble; the crozier lay by his side +on the samite coverlet, and his feet glittered in their golden shoes; +by the crozier was a letter and a jade bottle. + +The attendants shrieked and fled. + +Theirry crept to the bedside and took up the parchment; his name was +over the top; he broke the seal. + +He read the fair writing. + +“If I be a devil I go whence I came, if a man I lived as one and die +as one, if woman I have known Love, conquered it and by it have been +vanquished. Whatsoever I am, I perish on the heights, but I do not +descend from them. I have known things in their fulness and will not +stay to taste the dregs. So, to you greeting, and not for long +farewell.” + +The letter fell from Theirry’s hand, fluttered and sank to the floor. + +He raised his eyes and saw through the window the meteor, blazing over +Rome. + +Dead.… + +He looked now at the proud smooth face on the pillow; the gems of the +papal crown gleaming above the red locks, the jewelled chasuble +sparkling in the strengthening dawn until he was nearly fooled into +thinking the bosom heaved beneath. + +He was alone. + +At least he could know. + +The air was like incense sweet and stifling; his blood seemed to beat +in his brain with a little foolish sound of melody; a shaft of grey +light fell over the splendours of the bed, the roses and dragons, +hawks and hounds sewn on the curtains and coverlets; from the Pope’s +garments rose a subtle and beautiful perfume. + +“Ursula,” said Theirry; he bent over the bed until the pearls in his +ears touched his cheeks. + +Without the thunder muttered. + +To know-- + +He lifted the dead Pope’s arm; there seemed to be neither weight nor +substance under the stiff silk. + +He dropped the sleeve; his cold fingers unclasped the heavy chasuble, +underneath lay perfumed samite, white and soft. + +An awful sensation crept through his veins; he thought that under +these gorgeous vestments was nothing--nothing--ashes. + +He did not dare to uncover the bosom that lay, that must lie, under +the gleaming samite.… + +But he must know. + +He lifted up the fair crowned head to peer madly into the proud +features.… + +It came away in his hands, like crumbling wood that may preserve, till +touched, the semblance of the carving… so the Pope’s head parted from +the trunk. + +Theirry smiled with horror and stared at what he held. + +Then it disappeared, fell into ashes before his eyes, and the tiara +rolled on to the floor. + +Gone--like an image of smoke. + +He sank across the headless thing on the bed. + +“Must I _follow_ you to know, follow you to hell?” he whispered. + +Now he could open the rich garments. + +They were empty of all save dust. + +The strange strong perfume was stinging and numbing his brain, his +heart; he thought he heard the fiends coming for his soul--at last. + +He hid his face in the purple silk robes and felt his blood grow cold. + +The room darkened about him, he knew he was being drawn downwards into +eternity, he sighed and slipped from the bed on to the floor. + +As his last breath hovered on his lips the meteor vanished, the +thunder-clouds rolled away from a fair blue sky and a glorious sunrise +laughed over the city. + +The reign of Antichrist was ended. + +Through the Pope’s chamber the notes of silver trumpets quivered. + +Balthasar’s trumpets as his hosts marched triumphantly into Rome. + + THE END + + + + + TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES + +Minor spelling inconsistencies (e.g. dais/daïs, fireplace/fire-place, +vine-leaves/vine leaves, etc.) have been preserved. + +Alterations to the text: + +Punctuation: fix some quotation mark pairings/nestings. + +Change five instances of _Thierry_ to _Theirry_. + +[Part I/Chapter IV] + +(“How old are you” he asked.) add a question mark. + +[Part I/Chapter VI] + +“likened her to the pale crimson pistil of a lily _whch_ has yellow” +to _which_. + + [End of text] + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77782 *** diff --git a/77782-h/77782-h.htm b/77782-h/77782-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..eff68c2 --- /dev/null +++ b/77782-h/77782-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,27242 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Black magic | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +/* Headers and Divisions */ + h1, h2, h3, h4 {margin:4em 0em 1em 0em; page-break-before:always; text-align:center;} + +/* General */ + + body {margin:0% 5% 0% 5%;} + + .nobreak {margin:2em auto 1em auto; page-break-before:avoid;} + + p {margin:0em 0em 0em 0em; text-align:justify; text-indent:1em;} + .center {margin:0em 0em 0em 0em; text-align:center; text-indent:0em;} + .noindent {text-indent:0em;} + + .toc_l0 {font-variant:small-caps; margin:0em 0em 0em 2em; text-indent:-2em;} + .toc_l3 {font-variant:small-caps; margin:0em 0em 0em 5em; text-indent:-2em;} + + .chap_sub {font-size:80%;} + .font80 {font-size:80%;} + .sc {font-variant:small-caps;} + +/* special formatting */ + + .stanza {margin:1em 0em 0em 0em; text-indent:0em;} + .i0 {display:inline-block; margin:0em 0em 0em 2em; text-indent:-2em;} + .i1 {display:inline-block; margin:0em 0em 0em 3em; text-indent:-2em;} + .i3 {display:inline-block; margin:0em 0em 0em 5em; text-indent:-2em;} + + blockquote {margin:1em 2em 1em 2em;} + + .mt1 {margin-top:1em;} + .mt4 {margin-top:4em;} + +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77782 ***</div> + +<h1> +BLACK MAGIC +</h1> + +<p class="center"> +A TALE OF THE RISE AND<br> +FALL OF ANTICHRIST +</p> + +<p class="center mt1"> +<span class="font80">BY</span><br> +MARJORIE BOWEN +</p> + +<p class="center mt4"> +LONDON: ALSTON RIVERS, LTD.<br> +BROOKE STREET, HOLBORN, E.C.<br> +1909 +</p> + + +<h2> +[COPYRIGHT] +</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Copyright, 1909, by Marjorie Bowen</i> +</p> + + +<h2> +CONTENTS +</h2> + +<p class="toc_l0"> +<a href="#p1">PART I. THE NUN</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p1ch01">I. SUNSHINE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p1ch02">II. THE STUDENTS</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p1ch03">III. THE EXPERIMENT</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p1ch04">IV. THE DEPARTURE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p1ch05">V. COMRADES</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p1ch06">VI. THE LADY</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p1ch07">VII. SPELLS</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p1ch08">VIII. THE CASTLE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p1ch09">IX. SEBASTIAN</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p1ch10">X. THE SAINT</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p1ch11">XI. THE WITCH</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p1ch12">XII. YSABEAU</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p1ch13">XII. THE SNARING OF JACOBEA</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p1ch14">XIV. THE SNARING OF THEIRRY</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p1ch15">XV. MELCHOIR OF BRABANT</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p1ch16">XVI. THE QUARREL</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p1ch17">XVII. THE MURDER</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p1ch18">XVIII. THE PURSUIT OF JACOBEA</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p1ch19">XIX. SYBILLA</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p1ch20">XX. HUGH OF ROOSELAARE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p1ch21">XXI. BETRAYED</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p1ch22">XXII. BLAISE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l0"> +<a href="#p2">PART II. THE POPE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p2ch01">I. CARDINAL LUIGI CAPRAROLA</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p2ch02">II. THE CONFESSION</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p2ch03">III. THE EMPRESS</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p2ch04">IV. THE DANCER IN ORANGE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p2ch05">V. THE POPE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p2ch06">VI. SAN GIOVANNI IN LATERANO</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p2ch07">VII. THE VENGEANCE OF MICHAEL II</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p2ch08">VIII. URSULA OF ROOSELAARE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p2ch09">IX. POPE AND EMPRESS</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p2ch10">X. THE EVENING BEFORE THE CORONATION</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p2ch11">XI. THE ANGELS</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p2ch12">XII. IN THE VATICAN</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l3"> +<a href="#p2ch13">XIII. THE SECRET</a> +</p> + + +<h2> +BLACK MAGIC +</h2> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="p1"> +PART I.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE NUN</span> +</h2> + + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="p1ch01"> +CHAPTER I.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">SUNSHINE</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">In</span> the large room of a house in a certain quiet city in Flanders, a +man was gilding a devil. +</p> + +<p> +The chamber looked on to the quadrangle round which the house was +built; and the sun, just overhead, blazed on the vine leaves clinging +to the brick and sent a reflected glow into the sombre spaces of the +room. +</p> + +<p> +The devil, rudely cut out of wood, rested by his three tails and his +curled-back horns against the wall, and the man sat before him on a +low stool. +</p> + +<p> +On the table in front of the open window stood a row of knights in +fantastic armour, roughly modelled in clay; beside them was a pile of +vellum sheets covered with drawings in brown and green. +</p> + +<p> +By the door a figure of St. Michael leant against a chair, and round +his feet were painted glasses of every colour and form. +</p> + +<p> +On the white-washed wall hung a winged picture representing a +martyrdom; its vivid hues were the most brilliant thing in the room. +</p> + +<p> +The man was dressed in brown; he had a long dark face and straight +dull hair; from the roll of gold leaf on his knee he carefully and +slowly gilded the devil. +</p> + +<p> +The place was utterly silent, the perfect stillness enhanced by the +dazzle of the blinding sun without; presently the man rose and, +crossing to the window, looked out. +</p> + +<p> +He could see the sparse plants bordering the neglected grass-grown +paths, the house opposite with its double row of empty windows and the +yellowing vine-leaves climbing up the tiled roof that cut the polished +blue of the August sky. +</p> + +<p> +In between these windows, that were all closed and glittering in their +golden squares, busts of old and weary philosophers were set; they +peered out blindly into the unfathomable sunshine, and the dry +tendrils of the vine curled across their leanness. +</p> + +<p> +In the centre square of grass was an ancient and broken fountain; some +tall white daisies grew there, and the pure gold of their hearts was +as bright as the gilding on the devil within. +</p> + +<p> +The silence and the blaze of the sun were one and indescribable. +</p> + +<p> +The man at the window rested his elbows on the sill; it was so hot +that he felt it burning through his sleeve; he had the air of one +habitually alone, the unquestioning calm that comes of long silences; +he was young and, in a quiet fashion, well-looking, wide in the brows +and long in the jaw, with a smooth pale skin and cloudy dark eyes, his +hair hung very straightly, his throat was full and beautiful. +</p> + +<p> +In expression he was reserved and sombre; his lips, well shaped but +pale, were resolutely set, and there was a fine curve of strength to +his prominent chin. +</p> + +<p> +After a time of expressionless gazing at the sun-filled garden, he +turned back into the room, and stood in the centre of the floor, with +his teeth set in his forefinger looking ponderingly at the half-gilded +devil. +</p> + +<p> +Then he took a bunch of beautifully wrought keys from his belt, and +swinging them softly in his hand left the chamber. +</p> + +<p> +The house was built without corridors or passages, each room opened +into another and the upper ones were reached by short dark stairways +against the walls; there were many apartments, each of a lordly design +with the windows in the side facing the quadrangle. +</p> + +<p> +As the man moved lightly from one chamber to the next his footfall +displaced dust and his gaze fell on cobwebs and the new nets of +spiders, that hung in some places across the very doorways. +</p> + +<p> +Many curious and gorgeous objects were in those deserted rooms; carved +presses full of tarnished silver, paintings of holy subjects, +furniture covered with rich-hued tapestry, other pieces of arras on +the walls, and in one chamber purple silk hangings worked with ladies’ +hair in shades of brown and gold. +</p> + +<p> +One room was full of books, piled up on the floor, and in the midst of +them stood a table bearing strange goblets of shells set in silver and +electrum. +</p> + +<p> +Passing these things without a glance the young man mounted to the +upper storey and unlocked a door whose rusty lock took his utmost +strength to turn. It was a store-room he entered—lit by low long +windows looking on the street and carefully shrouded by linen drawn +across them; the chamber was chokingly full of dust and a sickly musty +smell. +</p> + +<p> +About the floor lay bales of stuff, scarlet, blue and green, painted +tiles, old lanterns, clothes, priests’ garments, wonderfully worked, +glasses and little rusty iron coffers. +</p> + +<p> +Before one of these the young man went on his knees and unlocked it. +</p> + +<p> +It contained a number of bits of glass cut to represent gems; he +selected two of an equal size and a clear green colour, then, with the +same gravity and silence with which he had come, he returned to the +workshop. +</p> + +<p> +When he saw the devil, half bright gold, half bald wood, he frowned, +then set the green glass in the thing’s hollow eye-sockets. +</p> + +<p> +At the twinkling effect of light and life produced by this his frown +relaxed; he stood for a while contemplating his handiwork, then washed +his brushes and put away his paints and gold leaf. +</p> + +<p> +By now the sun had changed and was shining full into the room casting +hot shadows of the vine leaves over the little clay knights, and +dazzling in St. Michael’s wet red robe. +</p> + +<p> +For the second time the young man left the room, now to go into the +hall and open the door that gave upon the street. +</p> + +<p> +He looked on to an empty market-place surrounded by small houses +falling into decay, beyond them the double towers of the Cathedral +flying upwards across the gold and blue. +</p> + +<p> +Not long ago the town had been besieged and this part of it +devastated; now new quarters had been built and this left neglected. +</p> + +<p> +Grass grew between the cobbles, and there was no soul in sight. +</p> + +<p> +The young man shaded his eyes and gazed across the dazzling +dreariness; the shadow of his slack, slim figure was cast into the +square of sun thrown across the hall through the open door. +</p> + +<p> +Under the iron bell that hung against the lintel stood a basket of +bread, a can of milk and some meat wrapped in a linen cloth; the youth +took these in and closed the door. +</p> + +<p> +He traversed a large dining-room, finely furnished, a small +ante-chamber, came out into the arcaded end of the courtyard, entered +the house by a low door next the pump and so into his workshop again. +</p> + +<p> +There he proceeded to prepare his food; on the wide tiled hearth stood +a tripod and an iron pot; he lit a fire under this, filled the pot +with water and put the meat in; then he took a great book down off a +shelf and bent over it, huddled up on a stool in the corner where the +shade still lingered. +</p> + +<p> +It was a book filled with drawings of strange and horrible things, and +close writing embellished with blood-red capitals. As the young man +read, his face grew hot and flushed where it rested on his hand, and +the heavy volume fell cumbrous either side his knee; not once did he +look up or change his twisted position, but with parted lips and +absorbed eyes pored over the black lettering. +</p> + +<p> +The sun sank the other side of the house, so that the garden and room +were alike in shadow, and the air became cooler; still the young man +made no movement. +</p> + +<p> +The flames leapt on the hearth and the meat seethed in the pot +unheeded. +</p> + +<p> +Outside the vine leaves curled against the brick, and the stone faces +looked down at the broken fountain, the struggling grass and the tall +white daisies; still the young man, bending lower, his heated cheek +pressed into his palm, his hair touching the page, bent over the great +tome on his knee. +</p> + +<p> +Not the devil with his green eyes staring before him, not St. Michael +in his red robe by the door, not the martyr in the bright winged +picture were more still than he, crouched upon his wooden stool. +</p> + +<p> +Then, without prelude or warning, the heavy clang of a bell woke the +silence into trembling echoes. +</p> + +<p> +The young man dropped the book and sprang to his feet; red and white +chased across his face, he stood panting, bewildered, with one hand on +his heart, and dazed eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Again the bell sounded. +</p> + +<p> +It could only be that which hung at the front door; not for years had +one rung it; he picked up the book, put it back on the shelf, and +stood irresolute. +</p> + +<p> +For a third time the iron clang, insistent, impatient, rang through +the quiet. +</p> + +<p> +The young man frowned, pushed back the hair from his hot forehead and +went, with a light and cautious step, across the courtyard, through +the dark dining-chamber into the hall. +</p> + +<p> +Here for a second he hesitated, then drew back the bolt and opened the +door. +</p> + +<p> +Two men stood without. +</p> + +<p> +One was most gorgeously attired, the other wore a dark cloak and +carried his hat in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“You cannot want me,” said the youth, surveying them. “And there is no +one else here.” +</p> + +<p> +His voice fell full and low, of a soft quality, but the tone was +sombre and cold. +</p> + +<p> +The splendidly-dressed stranger answered— +</p> + +<p> +“If you are Master Dirk Renswoude, we are most desirous to see and +speak with you.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man opened the door a little wider. +</p> + +<p> +“I am Dirk Renswoude, but I know neither of you!” +</p> + +<p> +“I did not think so,” the other answered. “Still, we have a matter to +ask you of. I am Balthasar of Courtrai and this is my friend, whom you +may call Theirry, born of Dendermonde.” +</p> + +<p> +“Balthasar of Courtrai!” repeated the youth softly; he stood aside and +motioned them to enter. +</p> + +<p> +When they had passed into the hall he carefully bolted the door; then +turned to them with a grave absorbed manner. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you follow me?” he said, and went before them to his workroom. +</p> + +<p> +The sun had left chamber and garden now, but the air was golden warm +with it, and a sense of great heat still lay over the grass and vines +seen through the open window. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk Renswoude moved St. Michael from the chair and tossed a pile of +parchments off a stool. +</p> + +<p> +He offered these seats to his guests, who accepted them in silence. +</p> + +<p> +“You must needs wait till the supper is prepared,” he said, and with +that placed himself on the stool by the pot, and, while he stirred it +with an iron spoon, openly studied the two men. +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar of Courtrai was gorgeous; his age might be perhaps +twenty-six or seven; he was of a large make, florid in the face with a +high red colour and blunt features; his brows were straight and over +fair, his eyes deep blue and expressionless; his heavy yellow hair was +cut low on his forehead and fell straightly on to his neck. +</p> + +<p> +He wore a flat orange hat, slashed and cut, fastened by purple cords +to the shoulder of a gold doublet that opened on a shirt of fine lawn; +his sleeves were enormous, fantastic, puffed and gathered; round his +waist was a linked belt into which were thrust numerous daggers and a +short sword. +</p> + +<p> +His breeches, of a most vivid blue, were beruffled with knots and +tassels, his riding-boots, that came to his knees, stained with the +summer dust, showed a small foot decorated with gilt spurs. +</p> + +<p> +He sat with one hand on his hip, and in the other held his leathern +gloves. +</p> + +<p> +Such the picture, Master Dirk Renswoude, considering him coldly, +formed of Balthasar of Courtrai. +</p> + +<p> +His companion was younger; dressed sombrely in black and violet, but +as well-looking as a man may be; he was neither dark nor fair, but of +a clear brown hue, and his eyes were hazel, swift and brilliant; his +mouth was set smilingly, yet the whole face expressed reserve and some +disdain; he had laid his hat on the floor beside him, and with an +interested glance was observing the room. +</p> + +<p> +But Balthasar of Courtrai returned Master Dirk Renswoude’s steady +gaze. +</p> + +<p> +“You have heard of me?” he said suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” was the instant answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, belike, you know what I am here for?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Master Dirk, frowning. +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar glanced at his companion, who gave no heed to either of +them, but stared at the half-gilded devil with interest and some +wonder; seeing this, Balthasar answered for himself, in a manner half +defiant and wholly arrogant. +</p> + +<p> +“My father is Margrave of East Flanders, and the Emperor knighted me +when I was fifteen. Now I am tired of Courtrai, of the castle, of my +father. I have taken the road.” +</p> + +<p> +Master Dirk lifted the iron pot from the fire to the hearth. +</p> + +<p> +“The road to—where?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar made a large gesture with his right hand. +</p> + +<p> +“To Cologne, perhaps to Rome, to Constantinople… to Turkey or +Hungary.” +</p> + +<p> +“Knight errant,” said Master Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar tossed his fine head. +</p> + +<p> +“By the Rood, no. I have ambitions.” +</p> + +<p> +Master Dirk laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“And your friend?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“A wandering scholar,” smiled Balthasar. “Also weary of the town of +Courtrai. He dreams of fame.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry looked round at this. +</p> + +<p> +“I am going to the Universities,” he said quietly. “To Paris, Basle, +Padua—you have heard of them?” +</p> + +<p> +The youth’s cloudy eyes gleamed. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, I have heard of them,” he replied upon a quick breath. +</p> + +<p> +“I have a great desire for learning,” said Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar made an impatient movement that shook the tassels and +ribbons on his sleeves. +</p> + +<p> +“God help us, yes! And I for other things.” +</p> + +<p> +Master Dirk was moving about setting the supper. He placed the little +clay knights on the window-sill, and flung, without any ado, drawings, +paints and brushes on to the floor. +</p> + +<p> +Silence fell on them; the young host’s bearing did not encourage +comment, and the atmosphere of the room was languid and remote, not +conducive to talk. +</p> + +<p> +Master Dirk, composed and aloof, opened a press in the wall, and took +thence a fine cloth that he laid smoothly on the rough table; then he +set on it earthenware dishes and plates, drinking-glasses painted in +bright colours, and forks with agate handles. +</p> + +<p> +They were well served for food, even though it might not be the +princely fare the Margrave’s son was used to; honey in a silver jar, +shining apples lying among their leaves, wheaten cakes in a plaited +basket, grapes on a gold salver, lettuces and radishes fragrantly wet; +these Master Dirk brought from the press and set on the table. Then he +helped his guests to meat, and Balthasar spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“You live strangely here—so much alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no desire for company. I work and take pleasure in it. They +buy my work, pictures, carvings, sculptures for churches—very +readily.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are a good craftsman,” said Theirry. “Who taught you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Old Master Lukas, born of Ghent, and taught in Italy. When he died he +left me this house and all it holds.” +</p> + +<p> +Again their speech sank into silence; Balthasar ate heavily, but with +elegance; Dirk, seated next the window, rested his chin on his palm +and stared out at the bright yet fading blue of the sky, at the row of +closed windows opposite, and the daisies waving round the broken +fountain; he ate very little. Theirry, placed opposite, was of the +same mind and, paying little heed to Balthasar, who seemed not to +interest him in the least, kept curious eyes on Dirk’s strange, grave +face. +</p> + +<p> +After a while the Margrave’s son asked shamelessly for wine, and the +youth rose languidly and brought it; tall bottles, white, red and +yellow in wicker cases, and an amber-hued beer such as the peasants +drank. +</p> + +<p> +The placing of these before Balthasar seemed to rouse him from his +apathy. +</p> + +<p> +“Why have you come here?” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar laughed easily. +</p> + +<p> +“I am married,” he said as a prelude, and lifted his glass in a large, +well-made hand. +</p> + +<p> +At that Master Dirk frowned. +</p> + +<p> +“So are many men.” +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar surveyed the tilting wine through half-closed eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“It is about my wife, Master, that I am here now.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk Renswoude leant forward in his chair. +</p> + +<p> +“I know of your wife.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me of her,” said Balthasar of Courtrai. “I have come here for +that.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk slightly smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Should I know more than you?” +</p> + +<p> +The Margrave’s son flushed. +</p> + +<p> +“What you do know?—tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk’s smile deepened. +</p> + +<p> +“She was one Ursula, daughter of the Lord of Rooselaare, she was sent +to the convent of the White Sisters in this town.” +</p> + +<p> +“So you know it all,” said Balthasar. “Well, what else?” +</p> + +<p> +“What else? I must tell you a familiar tale.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certes, more so to you than to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, since you wish it, here is your story, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk spoke in an indifferent voice well suited to the peace of the +chamber; he looked at neither of his listeners, but always out of the +window. +</p> + +<p> +“She was educated for a nun and, I think, desired to become one of the +Order of the White Sisters. But when she was fifteen her brother died +and she became her father’s heiress. So many entered the lists for her +hand—they contracted her to you.” +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar pulled at the orange tassels on his sleeve. +</p> + +<p> +“Without my wish or consent,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +The young man took no heed. +</p> + +<p> +“They sent a guard to bring her back to Rooselaare, but because they +were fearful of the danger of the journey, and that she might be +captured by one of the pretenders to her fortunes, they married her +fast and securely, by proxy, to you. At this the maid, who wished most +heartily, I take it, to become a nun, fell ill of grief, and in her +despair she confided her misery to the Abbess.” +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar’s eyes flickered and hardened behind their fair lashes. +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you a tale,” said Dirk, “that I believe you know, but since +you have come to hear me speak on this matter, I relate what has come +to me—of it. This Ursula was heiress to great wealth, and in her love +to the Sisters, and her dislike to this marriage, she promised them +all her worldly goods, when she should come into possession of them, +if they would connive at saving her from her father and her husband. +So the nuns, tempted by greed, spread the report that she had died in +her illness, and, being clever women, they blinded all. There was a +false funeral, and Ursula was kept secret in the convent among the +novices. All this matter was put into writing and attested by the +nuns, that there might be no doubt of the truth of it when the maid +came into her heritage. And the news went to her home that she was +dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I was glad of it,” said Balthasar. “For then I loved another +woman and was in no need for money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peace, shameless,” said Theirry, but Dirk Renswoude laughed softly. +</p> + +<p> +“She took the final, the irrevocable vows, and lived for three years +among the nuns. And the life became bitter and utterly unendurable to +her, and she dared not make herself known to her father because of the +deeds the nuns held, promising them her lands. So, as the life became +more and more horrible to her, she wrote, in her extremity, and found +means to send, a letter to her husband.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have it here.” Balthasar touched his breast. “She said she had +sworn herself to me before she had vowed herself to God—told me of +her deceit,” he laughed, “and asked me to come and rescue her.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk crossed his hands, that were long and beautiful, upon the table. +</p> + +<p> +“You did not come and you did not answer.” +</p> + +<p> +The Margrave’s son glanced at Theirry, as he had a habit of doing, as +if he reluctantly desired his assistance or encouragement; but again +he obtained nothing and answered for himself, after the slightest +pause. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I did not come. Her father had taken another wife and had a son +to inherit. And I,” he lowered his eyes moodily, “I was thinking of +another woman. She had lied, my wife, to God, I think. Well, let her +take her punishment, I said.” +</p> + +<p> +“She did not wait beyond some months for your answer,” said Master +Dirk. “Master Lukas, born of Ghent, was employed in the chapel of the +convent, and she, who had to wait on him, told him her story. And when +he had finished the chapel she fled with him here—to this house. And +again she wrote to her husband, speaking of the old man who had +befriended her and telling him of her abode. And again he did not +answer. That was five years ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the nuns made no search for her?” asked Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“They knew now that the girl was no heiress, and they were afraid that +the tale might get blown abroad. Then there was war.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, had it not been for that I might have come,” said Balthasar. “But +I was much occupied with fighting.” +</p> + +<p> +“The convent was burnt and the sisters fled,” continued Dirk. “And the +maid lived here, learning many crafts from Master Lukas. He had no +apprentices but us.” +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar leant back in his chair. +</p> + +<p> +“That much I learnt. And that the old man, dying, left his place to +you, and—what more of this Ursula?” +</p> + +<p> +The young man gave him a slow, full glance. +</p> + +<p> +“Strangely late you inquire after her, Balthasar of Courtrai.” +</p> + +<p> +The Knight turned his head away, half sullenly. +</p> + +<p> +“A man must know how he is encumbered. No one save I is aware of her +existence… yet she is my wife.” +</p> + +<p> +Dusk, hot and golden, had fallen on the chamber. The half-gilded devil +gleamed dully; above his violet vestment Theirry’s handsome face +showed with a half smile on the curved lips; the Knight was a little +ill at ease, a little sullen, but glowingly massive, gorgeous and +finely coloured. +</p> + +<p> +The young sculptor rested his smooth pale face on his palm; cloudy +eyes and cloudy hair were hardly discernible in the twilight, but the +line of the resolute chin was clear cut. +</p> + +<p> +“She died four years ago,” he said. “And her grave is in the garden… +where those white daisies grow.” +</p> + + +<h3 id="p1ch02"> +CHAPTER II.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE STUDENTS</span> +</h3> + +<p> +“<span class="sc">Dead</span>,” repeated Balthasar; he pushed back his chair and then +laughed. “Why—so is my difficulty solved—I am free of that, +Theirry.” +</p> + +<p> +His companion frowned. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you take it so? I think it is pitiful—the fool was so young.” He +turned to Dirk. “Of what did she die?” +</p> + +<p> +The sculptor sighed, as if weary of the subject. +</p> + +<p> +“I know not. She was happy here, yet she died.” +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar rose. +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you bury her within the house?” he asked half uneasily. +</p> + +<p> +“It was in time of war,” answered Dirk. “We did what we could—and +she, I think, had wished it.” +</p> + +<p> +The young Knight leant a little way from the open window and looked at +the daisies; they gleamed hard and white through the deepening +twilight, and he could imagine that they were growing from the heart, +from the eyes and lips of the wife whom he had never seen. +</p> + +<p> +He wished her grave was not there; he wished she had not appealed to +him; he was angry with her that she had died and shamed him; yet this +same death was a vast relief to him. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk got softly to his feet and laid his hand on Balthasar’s fantastic +sleeve. +</p> + +<p> +“We buried her deep enough,” he said. “She does not rise.” +</p> + +<p> +The Knight turned with a little start and crossed himself. +</p> + +<p> +“God grant that she sleep in peace,” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Amen,” said Theirry gravely. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk took a lantern from the wall and lit it from the coals still +smouldering on the hearth. +</p> + +<p> +“Now you know all I know of this matter,” he remarked. “I thought that +some day you might come. I have kept for you her ring—your ring——” +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +“I want none of it,” he said hastily. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk lifted the lantern; its fluttering flame flushed the twilight +with gold. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you please to sleep here to-night?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +The Knight, with his back to the window, assented, in defiance of a +secret dislike to the place. +</p> + +<p> +“Follow me,” commanded Dirk, then to the other, “I shall be back +anon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good rest,” nodded Balthasar. “To-morrow we will get horses in the +town and start for Cologne.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good even,” said Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +The Knight went after his host through the silent rooms, up a twisting +staircase into a low chamber looking on to the quadrangle. +</p> + +<p> +It contained a wooden bedstead covered with a scarlet quilt, a table, +and some richly carved chairs; Dirk lit the candles standing on the +table, bade his guest a curt good-night and returned to the workroom. +</p> + +<p> +He opened the door of this softly and looked in before he entered. +</p> + +<p> +By the window stood Theirry striving to catch the last light on the +pages of a little book he held. +</p> + +<p> +His tall, graceful figure was shadowed by his sombre garments, but the +fine oval of his face was just discernible above the white pages of +the volume. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk pushed the door wide and stepped in softly. +</p> + +<p> +“You love reading?” he said, and his eyes shone. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry started, and thrust the book into the bosom of his doublet. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay—and you?” he asked tentatively. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk set the lantern among the disordered supper things. +</p> + +<p> +“Master Lukas left me his manuscripts among his other goods,” he +answered. “Being much alone—I have—read them.” +</p> + +<p> +In the lantern light, that the air breathed from the garden fanned +into a flickering glow, the two young men looked at each other. +</p> + +<p> +An extraordinary expression, like a guilty excitement, came into the +eyes of each. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Dirk, and drew back a little. +</p> + +<p> +“Being much alone,” whispered Theirry, “with—a dead maid in the +house—how have you spent your time?” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk crouched away against the wall; his hair hung lankly over his +pallid face. +</p> + +<p> +“You—you—pitied her?” he breathed. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry shuddered. +</p> + +<p> +“Balthasar sickens me—yea, though he be my friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“You would have come?” questioned Dirk. “When she sent to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should have seen no other thing to do,” answered Theirry. “What +manner of a maid was she?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did think her fair,” said Dirk slowly. “She had yellow hair—you +may see her likeness in that picture on the wall. But now it is too +dark.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry came round the table. +</p> + +<p> +“You also follow knowledge?” he inquired eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +But Dirk answered almost roughly. +</p> + +<p> +“Why should I confide in you? I know nothing of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is a tie in kindred pursuits,” replied the scholar more +quietly. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk caught up the lantern. +</p> + +<p> +“You are not aware of the nature of my studies,” he cried, and his +eyes shone wrathfully. “Come to bed. I am weary of talking.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry bent his head. +</p> + +<p> +“This is a fair place for silences,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +As if gloomily angry, yet disdaining the expression of it, Dirk +conducted him to a chamber close to that where Balthasar lay, and left +him, without speech, nor did Theirry solicit any word of him. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk did not return to the workroom, but went into the garden and +paced to and fro under the stars that burnt fiercely and seemed to +hang very low over the dark line of the house. +</p> + +<p> +His walk was hasty, his steps uneven, he bit, with an air of absorbed +distraction, his lip, his finger, the ends of his straight hair, and +now and then he looked with tumultuous eyes up at the heavens, down at +the ground and wildly about him. +</p> + +<p> +It was well into the night when he at last returned into the house, +and, taking a candle in his hand, went stealthily up to Balthasar’s +chamber. +</p> + +<p> +With a delicate touch he unfastened the door, and very lightly +entered. +</p> + +<p> +Shielding the candle flame with his hand he went up to the bed. +</p> + +<p> +The young Knight lay heavily asleep; his yellow hair was tumbled over +his flushed face and about the pillow; his arms hung slackly outside +the red coverlet; on the floor were his brilliant clothes, his sword, +his belt, his purse. +</p> + +<p> +Where his shirt fell open at the throat a narrow blue cord showed a +charm attached. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk stood still, leaning forward a little, looking at the sleeper, +and expressions of contempt, of startled anger, of confusion, of +reflection passed across his haggard features. +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar did not stir in his deep sleep; neither the light held above +him nor the intense gaze of the young man’s dark eyes served to wake +him, and after a while Dirk left him and passed to the chamber +opposite. +</p> + +<p> +There lay Theirry, fully dressed, on his low couch. Dirk set the +candle on the table and came on tiptoe to his side. +</p> + +<p> +The scholar’s fair face was resting on his hand, his chin up-tilted, +his full lips a little apart; his lashes lay so lightly on his cheek +it seemed he must be glancing from under them; his hair, dark, yet +shining, was heaped round his temples. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk, staring down at him, breathed furiously, and the colour flooded +his face, receded, and sprang up again. +</p> + +<p> +Then retreating to the table he sank on to the rush-bottomed chair, +and put his hands over his eyes; the candle flame leapt in unison with +his uneven breaths. +</p> + +<p> +Looking round, after a while, with a wild glance, he gave a long, +distraught sigh, and Theirry moved in his sleep. +</p> + +<p> +At this the watcher sat expectant. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry stirred again, turned, and rose on his elbow with a start. +</p> + +<p> +Seeing the light and the young man sitting by it, staring at him with +brilliant eyes, he set his feet to the ground. +</p> + +<p> +Before he could speak Dirk put his finger on his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush,” he whispered, “Balthasar is asleep.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry, startled, frowned. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want with me?” +</p> + +<p> +For answer the young sculptor moaned, and dropped his head into the +curve of his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“You are strange,” said Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk glanced up. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you take me with you to Padua—to Basle?” he said. “I have money +and some learning.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are free to go as I,” answered Theirry, but awakened interest +shone in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I would go with you,” insisted Dirk intensely. “Will you take me?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry rose from the bed uneasily. +</p> + +<p> +“I have had no companion all my life,” he said. “The man whom I would +take into my confidence must be of rare quality——” +</p> + +<p> +He came to the other side of the table and across the frail gleam of +the candle looked at Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +Their eyes met and instantly sank, as if each were afraid of what the +other might reveal. +</p> + +<p> +“I have studied somewhat,” said Dirk hoarsely. “You also—I think, in +the same science——” +</p> + +<p> +The silent awe of comprehension fell upon them, then Theirry spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“So few understand—can it be possible—that you——?” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk rose. +</p> + +<p> +“I have done something.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry paled, but his hazel eyes were bright as flame. +</p> + +<p> +“How much?” then he broke off—“God help us——” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!—do you use that name?” cried Dirk, and showed his teeth. +</p> + +<p> +The other, with cold fingers, clutched at the back of the +rush-bottomed chair. +</p> + +<p> +“So it is true—you deal with—you—ah, you——” +</p> + +<p> +“What was that book you were reading?” asked Dirk sharply. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry suddenly laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“What is your study, that you desire to perfect at Basle, at Padua?” +he counter-questioned. +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause; then Dirk crushed the candle out with his open +palm, and answered on a half sob of excitement— +</p> + +<p> +“Black magic—black magic!” +</p> + + +<h3 id="p1ch03"> +CHAPTER III.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE EXPERIMENT</span> +</h3> + +<p> +“<span class="sc">I guessed</span> it,” said Theirry under his breath, “when I entered the +house.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you?” came Dirk’s voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I also.” +</p> + +<p> +There was silence; then Dirk groped his way to the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Come after me,” he whispered. “There is a light downstairs.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry had no words to answer; his throat was hot, his lips dry with +excitement, he felt his temples pulsating and his brow damp. +</p> + +<p> +Cautiously they crept down the stairs and into the workroom, where the +lantern cast long pale rays of light across the hot dark. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk set the window as wide as it would go and crouched into the chair +under it; his face was flushed, his hair tumbled, his brown clothes +dishevelled. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me about yourself,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry leant against the wall, for he felt his limbs trembling. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want to know?” he asked, half desperately; “I can do very +little.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk set his elbows on the table and his chin in his hand; his +half-veiled gleaming eyes held Theirry’s fascinated, reluctant gaze. +</p> + +<p> +“I have had no chance to learn,” he whispered. “Master Lukas had some +books—not enough—but what one might do——!” +</p> + +<p> +“I came upon old writings,” said Theirry slowly. “I thought one might +be great—that way, so I fled from Courtrai.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk rose and beckoned. +</p> + +<p> +“I will work a spell to-night. You shall see.” +</p> + +<p> +He took up the lantern and Theirry followed him; they traversed the +chamber and entered another; in the centre of that Dirk stopped, and +gave the light into the cold hand of his companion. +</p> + +<p> +“Here we shall be secret,” he murmured, and raised, with some +difficulty, a trap-door in the floor. Theirry peered into the +blackness revealed below. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you done this before?” he asked fearfully. +</p> + +<p> +“This spell? No.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk was descending the stairs into the dark. +</p> + +<p> +“God will never forgive,” muttered Theirry, hanging back. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you afraid?” asked Dirk wildly. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry set his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“No. No.” +</p> + +<p> +He stepped on to the ladder, and holding the light above his head, +followed. +</p> + +<p> +They found themselves in a large vault entirely below the surface of +the ground, so that air was attained only from the trap-door that they +had left open behind them. +</p> + +<p> +Floor and walls were paved with smooth stones, the air was thick and +intolerably hot; the roof only a few inches above Theirry’s head. +</p> + +<p> +In one corner stood a tall dark mirror, resting against the wall; +beside it were a pile of books and an iron brazier full of ashes. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk took the lantern from Theirry and hung it to a nail on the wall. +</p> + +<p> +“I have been studying,” he whispered, “how to raise spirits and see +into the future—I think I begin to feel my way;” his great eyes +suddenly unclosed and flashed over his companion. “Have you the +courage?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Theirry hoarsely. “For what else have I left my home if +not for this?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is strange we should have met,” shuddered Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +Their guilty eyes glanced away from each other; Dirk took a piece of +white chalk from his pocket and began drawing circles, one within the +other on the centre of the floor. +</p> + +<p> +He marked them with strange signs and figures that he drew carefully +and exactly. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry stayed by the lantern, his handsome face drawn and pale, his +eyes intent on the other’s movements. +</p> + +<p> +The upper part of the vault was in darkness; shadows like a bat’s +wings swept either side of the lantern that cast a sickly yellow light +on the floor, and the slender figure of Dirk on one knee amid his +chalk circles. +</p> + +<p> +When he had completed them he rose, took one of the books from the +corner and opened it. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know this?” With a delicate forefinger he beckoned Theirry, +who came and read over his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“I have tried it. It has never succeeded.” +</p> + +<p> +“To-night it may,” whispered Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +He shook the ashes out of the brazier and filled it with charcoal that +he took from a pile near. This he lit and placed before the mirror. +</p> + +<p> +“The future—we must know the future,” he said, as if to himself. +</p> + +<p> +“They will not come,” said Theirry, wiping his damp forehead. +“I—heard them once—but they never came.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you tempt them enough?” breathed Dirk. “If you have Mandrake they +will do anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“I had none.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I—still one can force them against their will—though it +is—terrible.” +</p> + +<p> +The thin blue smoke from the charcoal was filling the vault; they felt +their heads throbbing, their nostrils dry. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk stepped into the chalk circles holding the book. +</p> + +<p> +In a slow, unsteady voice he commenced to read. +</p> + +<p> +As Theirry caught the words of the blasphemous and horrible invocation +he shook and shuddered, biting his tongue to keep back the instinctive +prayer that rose to his lips. +</p> + +<p> +But Dirk gained courage as he read; he drew himself erect; his eyes +flashed, his cheeks burnt crimson; the smoke had cleared from the +brazier, the charcoal glowed red and clear; the air grew hotter; it +seemed as if a cloak of lead had been flung over their heads. +</p> + +<p> +At last Dirk stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“Put out the lantern,” he muttered. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry opened it and stifled the flame. +</p> + +<p> +There was now only the light of the burning charcoal that threw a +ghastly hue over the dark surface of the mirror. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry drew a long sighing breath; Dirk, swaying on his feet, began +speaking again in a strange and heavy tongue. +</p> + +<p> +Then he was silent. +</p> + +<p> +Faint muttering noises grew out of the darkness, indistinct sounds of +howling, sobbing. +</p> + +<p> +“They come,” breathed Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk repeated the invocation. +</p> + +<p> +The air shuddered with moanings. +</p> + +<p> +“A—ah!” cried Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +Into the dim glow of the brazier a creature was crawling, the size of +a dog, the shape of a man, of a hideous colour of mottled black; it +made a wretched crying noise, and moved slowly as if in pain. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry gave a great sob, and pressed his face against the wall. +</p> + +<p> +But Dirk snarled at it across the dark. +</p> + +<p> +“So you have come. Show us the future. I have the power over you. You +know that.” +</p> + +<p> +The thin flames leapt suddenly high, a sound of broken wailings came +through the air; something ran round the brazier; the surface of the +mirror was troubled as if dark water ran over it; then suddenly was +flashed on it a faint yet bright image of a woman, crowned, and with +yellow hair; as she faded, a semblance of one wearing a tiara appeared +but blurred and faint. +</p> + +<p> +“More,” cried Dirk passionately. “Show us more——” +</p> + +<p> +The mirror brightened, revealing depths of cloudy sky; against them +rose the dark line of a gallows tree. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry stepped forward. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, God!” he shrieked, and crossed himself. +</p> + +<p> +With a sharp sound the mirror cracked and fell asunder; a howl of +terror arose, and dark shapes leapt into the air to be absorbed in it +and disappear. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk staggered out of the circle and caught hold of Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“You have broken the spell!” he gibbered. “You have broken the spell!” +</p> + +<p> +An icy stillness had suddenly fallen; the brazier flickered rapidly +out, and even the coals were soon black and dead; the two stood in +absolute darkness. +</p> + +<p> +“They have gone!” whispered Theirry; he wrenched himself free from +Dirk’s clutch and fumbled his way to the ladder. +</p> + +<p> +Finding this by reason of the faint patch of light overhead, he +climbed up through the trap-door, his body heaving with long-drawn +breaths. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk, light-footed and lithe, followed him, and dropped the flap. +</p> + +<p> +“The charm was not strong enough,” he said through his teeth. “And +you——” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry broke in. +</p> + +<p> +“I could not help myself—I—I—saw them.” +</p> + +<p> +He sank on a chair by the open window and dropped his brow into his +hand. +</p> + +<p> +The room was full of a soft starlight, far away and infinitely sweet; +the vines and grasses made a quivering sound in the night wind and +tapped against the lattice. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk moved into the workshop and came back with the candle and a great +green glass of wine. +</p> + +<p> +He held up the light so that he could see the scholar’s beautiful +agonised face, and with his other hand gave him the goblet. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry looked up and drank silently. +</p> + +<p> +When he had finished, the colour was back in his cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk took the glass from him and set it beside the candle on the +window-sill. +</p> + +<p> +“What did you see—in the mirror?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know,” answered Theirry wildly. “A woman’s face——” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” broke in Dirk. “Now, what was she to us? And a figure like—the +Pope?” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled derisively. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw that,” said Theirry. “But what should they do with holy +things?—and then I saw——” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk swung round on him; each white despite the candle-light. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay—there was no more after that!” +</p> + +<p> +“There was,” insisted Theirry. “A stormy sky and a gallows tree——” +His voice fell hollowly. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk strode across the room into the trailing shadows. +</p> + +<p> +“The foul little imps!” he said passionately. “They deceived us!” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry rose in his place. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you continue these studies?” he questioned. +</p> + +<p> +The other gave him a quick look over his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think of turning aside?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay,” answered Theirry. “But one may keep knowledge this side of +things blasphemous and unholy.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk laughed hoarsely. +</p> + +<p> +“I have no fear of God!” he said in a thick voice. “But you—you are +afraid of Sathanas. Well, go your way. Each man to his master. Mine +will give me many things—look to it yours does the like by you——” +</p> + +<p> +He opened the door, and was leaving, when Theirry came after him and +caught him by the robe. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen to me. I am not afraid. Nay, why did I leave Courtrai?” +</p> + +<p> +With resolute starry eyes Dirk gazed up at Theirry (who was near a +head taller), and his proud mouth curled a little. +</p> + +<p> +“I may not disregard the fate that sent me here,” continued Theirry. +“Will you come with me? I can be loyal.” +</p> + +<p> +His words were earnest, his face eager; still Dirk was mute. +</p> + +<p> +“I have hated men, not loved them, all my life—yet most wonderfully +am I drawn to thee——” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” cried Dirk, and gave a little quivering laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Together might we do much, and it is ill work studying alone.” +</p> + +<p> +The younger man put out his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“If I come, will you swear a pact with me of friendship?” +</p> + +<p> +“We will be as brothers,” said Theirry gravely. “Sharing good and +ill.” +</p> + +<p> +“Keeping our secret?” whispered Dirk—“allowing none to come between +us?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are a-tune to me,” said Dirk. “So be it. I will come with you to +Basle.” +</p> + +<p> +He raised his strange face; in the hollowed eyes, in the full +colourless lips, were a resolution and a strength that held and +commanded the other. +</p> + +<p> +“We may be great,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry took his hand; the red candle-light was being subdued and +vanquished by a glimmering grey that overspread the stars; the dawn +was peering in at the window. +</p> + +<p> +“Can you sleep?” asked Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk withdrew his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“At least I can feign it—Balthasar must not guess—get you to +bed—never forget to-night and what you swore.” +</p> + +<p> +With a soft gliding step he gained the door, opened it noiselessly, +and departed. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry stood for a while, listening to the slight sound of the +retreating footfall, then he pressed his hands to his forehead and +turned to the window. +</p> + +<p> +A pale pure flush of saffron stained the sky above the roof-line; +there were no clouds, and the breeze had dropped again. +</p> + +<p> +In the vast and awful stillness, Theirry, feeling marked, set apart +and defiled with blasphemy, yet elated also, in a wild and wicked +manner, tiptoed up to his chamber. +</p> + +<p> +Each creaking board he stepped on, each shadow that seemed to change +as he passed it, caused his blood to tingle guiltily; when he had +gained his room he bolted the door and flung himself along his tumbled +couch, holding his fingers to his lips, and with strained eyes gazing +at the window. So he lay through long hours of sunshine in a +half-swoon of sleep. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p1ch04"> +CHAPTER IV.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE DEPARTURE</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">He</span> was at length fully aroused by the sound of loud and cheerful +singing. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“My heart’s a nun within my breast</span><br> +<span class="i1">So cold is she, so cloistered cold” …</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p class="noindent"> +Theirry sat up, conscious of a burning, aching head and a room flooded +with sunshine. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“To her my sins are all confest—</span><br> +<span class="i1">So wise is she, so wise and old—</span><br> +<span class="i0">So I blow off my loves like the thistledown” …</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +A burst of laughter interrupted the song; Theirry knew now that it was +Balthasar’s voice, and he rose from the couch with a sense of haste +and discomfiture. +</p> + +<p> +What hour was it? +</p> + +<p> +The day was of a drowsing heat; the glare of the sun had taken all +colour out of the walls opposite, the grass and vines; they all blazed +together, a shimmer of gold. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“So I blow off my loves like the thistledown,</span><br> +<span class="i0">And ride from the gates of Courtrai town” …</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p class="noindent"> +Theirry descended. +</p> + +<p> +He found Balthasar in the workshop; there were the remains of a meal +on the table, and the Knight, red and fresh as a rose, was polishing +up his sword handle, singing the while, as if in pleased expression of +his own thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +In the corner sat Dirk, drawn into himself and gilding the devil. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry was conscious of a great dislike to Balthasar; ghosts nor +devils, nor the thought of them had troubled <i>his</i> repose; there was +annoyance in the fact that he had slept well, eaten well, and was now +singing in sheer careless gaiety of heart; yet what other side of life +should a mere animal like Balthasar know? +</p> + +<p> +Dirk looked up, then quickly down again; Theirry sank on a stool by +the table. +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar turned to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you sick?” he asked, wide-eyed. +</p> + +<p> +The scholar’s dishevelled appearance, haggard eyes, tumbled locks and +peevish gathering of the brows, justified his comment, but Theirry +turned an angry eye on him. +</p> + +<p> +“Something sick,” he answered curtly. +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar glanced from him to Dirk’s back, bending over his work. +</p> + +<p> +“There is much companionship to be got from learned men, truly!” he +remarked; his blue eyes and white teeth flashed in a half amusement; +he put one foot on a chair and balanced his glittering sword across +his knee; Theirry averted a bitter gaze from his young splendour, but +Balthasar laughed and broke into his song again. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“My heart’s a nun within my breast,</span><br> +<span class="i1">So proud is she, so hard and proud,</span><br> +<span class="i0">Absolving me, she gives me rest” …</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +“We part ways here,” said Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“So soon?” asked the Knight, then sang indifferently— +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“So I blow off my loves like the thistledown,</span><br> +<span class="i0">And ride through the gates of Courtrai town.” …</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +Theirry glanced now at his bright face, smooth yellow hair and +gorgeous vestments. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” he said. “I go to Basle.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I to Frankfort; still, we might have kept company a little +longer.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have other plans,” said Theirry shortly. +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar smiled good-humouredly. +</p> + +<p> +“You are not wont to be so evil-tempered,” he remarked. +</p> + +<p> +Then he looked from one to the other; silent both and unresponsive. +</p> + +<p> +“I will even take my leave;” he laid the great glittering sword across +the table. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk turned on his stool with the roll of gilding in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +At his cold gaze, that seemed to hold something of enmity and an +unfriendly knowledge, Balthasar’s dazzlingly fresh face flushed deeper +in the cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“Since I have been so manifestly unwelcome,” he said, “I will pay for +what I have had of you.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk rose. +</p> + +<p> +“You mistake,” he answered. “I have been pleased to see you for many +reasons, Balthasar of Courtrai.” +</p> + +<p> +The young Knight thrust his hands into his linked belt and eyed the +speaker. +</p> + +<p> +“You condemn me,” he said defiantly. “Well, Theirry is more to your +mind——” +</p> + +<p> +He opened his purse of curiously cut and coloured leather, and taking +from it four gold coins laid them on the corner of the table. +</p> + +<p> +“So you may buy masses for the soul of Ursula of Rooselaare.” He +indicated the money with a swaggering gesture. +</p> + +<p> +“Think you her soul is lost?” queried Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“A choired saint is glad of prayers,” returned Balthasar. “But you are +in an ill mood, master, so good-bye to you and God send you sweeter +manners when next we meet.” +</p> + +<p> +He moved to the door, vivid blue and gold and purple; without looking +back he flung on his orange hat. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry roused himself and turned with a reluctant interest. +</p> + +<p> +“You are going to Frankfort?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” Balthasar nodded pleasantly. “I shall see in the town to the +hire of a horse and man—mine own beast being lamed, as you know, +Theirry.” +</p> + +<p> +The scholar rose. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you go to Frankfort?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +He spoke with no object, in a half-sick envy of the Knight’s gaiety +and light-heartedness, but Balthasar coloured for the second time. +</p> + +<p> +“All men go to Frankfort,” he answered. “Is not the Emperor there?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry lifted his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“ ’Tis no matter of mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said Balthasar, who appeared to have been both disturbed and +confused by the question, “no more than it is my affair to ask +you—why go you to Basle?” +</p> + +<p> +The scholar’s eyes gleamed behind his thick lashes. +</p> + +<p> +“It is very clear why I go to Basle. To study medicine and +philosophy.” +</p> + +<p> +They quitted the room, leaving Dirk looking covertly after them, and +were proceeding through the dusty, neglected rooms. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not like the place,” said Balthasar. “Nor yet the youth. But he +has served my purpose.” +</p> + +<p> +And now they were in the hall. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall meet again,” said Theirry, opening the door. +</p> + +<p> +The Knight turned his bright face. +</p> + +<p> +“Like enough,” he answered easily. “Farewell.” +</p> + +<p> +With that and a smile he was swinging off across the cobbles, +tightening his sword straps. +</p> + +<p> +Against the sun-dried, decayed houses, across the grass-grown square +his vivid garments flashed and his voice came over his shoulder +through the hot blue air— +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“So I blew off my loves like the thistledown</span><br> +<span class="i0">And rode through the gates of Courtrai town.”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +Theirry watched him disappear round the angle of the houses, then +bolted the door and returned to the workroom. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk was standing very much as he had left him, half resting against +the table with the roll of gilding in his white fingers. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you know of that man?” he asked as Theirry entered. “Where +did you meet him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Balthasar?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry frowned. +</p> + +<p> +“At his father’s house. I taught his sister music. There was, in a +manner, some friendship between us… we both wearied of Courtrai… so it +came we were together. I never loved him.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk returned quietly to the now completely gilded devil. +</p> + +<p> +“Know you anything of the woman he spoke of?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Did he speak of one?” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk looked over his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea,” he said; “ ‘besides, I was thinking of another woman.’ They were +his words.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry sat down; he felt faint and weak. +</p> + +<p> +“I know not. There were so many. As we travelled together he made his +prayers to one Ysabeau, but he was secret about her—never his way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ysabeau,” repeated Dirk. “A common name.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” said Theirry indifferently. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk suddenly raised his hand, and pointed out of the window at the +daisies and the broken fountain. +</p> + +<p> +“What had he done if <i>she</i> had been living?” he asked, then without +waiting for a reply he began swiftly on another subject. +</p> + +<p> +“I have finished my work. I wished to leave it complete—it was for +the church of St. Bavon, but I shall not give it them. Now, we can +start when you will.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry looked up. +</p> + +<p> +“What of your house and goods?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I have thought of that. There are some valuables, some money; these +we can take—I shall lock up the house.” +</p> + +<p> +“It will fall into decay.” +</p> + +<p> +“I care not.” With a clear flame of eagerness alight in his eyes he +flashed a full glance at Theirry, and, seeing the young scholar pale +and drooping, disappointment clouded his face. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you commence so slackly?” he demanded. “Are you not eager to be +abroad?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea,” answered Theirry. “But——” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk stamped his foot. +</p> + +<p> +“We do not begin with ‘buts’!” he cried passionately. “If you have no +heart for the enterprise——” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry half smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Give me some food, I pray you,” he said. “For I ate but little +yesterday.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk glanced at him. +</p> + +<p> +“I forgot,” he answered, and set about re-arranging the remains of the +meal he and Balthasar had shared in silence. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry sat very still; the door into the next room was open as he had +left it on his return, and he could see the line of the trap-door; he +felt a great desire to raise it, to descend into the vault and gaze at +the cracked mirror, the brazier of dead coals and the mystic circles +on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +Looking up, his eyes met Dirk’s, and without words his thought was +understood. +</p> + +<p> +“Leave it alone now,” said the sculptor softly. “Let us not speak of +it before we reach Basle.” +</p> + +<p> +At these words Theirry felt a great relief; the idea of discussing, +even with the youth who so fascinated him, the horrible, alluring +thing that was an intimate of his thoughts but a stranger to his lips, +had filled him with uneasiness and dread. While he ate the food put +before him, Dirk picked up the four gold coins Balthasar had left and +looked at them curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Masses for her soul!” he cried. “Did he think that I would enter a +church and bargain with a priest for that!” +</p> + +<p> +He laughed, and flung the money out of the window at the nodding +daisies. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry gave him a startled glance. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, till now I had thought that you felt tenderly towards the maid.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Not I. I have never cared for women.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I,” said Theirry simply; he leant back in his chair and his +dreamy eyes were grave. “When young they are ornaments, it is true, +but pleasant only if you flatter them, when they are overlooked they +become dangerous—and a woman who is not young is absorbed in little +concerns that are no matter to any but herself.” +</p> + +<p> +The smile, still lingering on Dirk’s face, deepened derisively, it +seemed. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my fine philosopher!” he mocked. “Are you well fed now, and +preaching again?” +</p> + +<p> +He leant against the wall by the window, and the intense sunlight made +his dull brown hair glitter here and there; he folded his arms and +looked at Theirry narrowly. +</p> + +<p> +“I warrant your mother was a fair woman,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not remember her. They say she had the loveliest face in +Flanders, though she was only a clerk’s wife,” answered the young man. +</p> + +<p> +“I can believe it,” said Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry glanced at him, a little bewildered; the youth had such abrupt +changes of manner, such voice and eyes unfathomable, such a pale, +fragile appearance, yet such a spirit of tempered courage. +</p> + +<p> +“I marvel at you,” he said. “You will not always be unknown.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” answered Dirk. “I have never meant that I should be soon +forgotten.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he was beside Theirry, with a strip of parchment in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I have made a list of what we have in the place of value—but I care +not to sell them here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” questioned Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk frowned. +</p> + +<p> +“I want no one over the threshold. I have a reputation—not one for +holiness,” his strange face relaxed into a smile. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry glanced at the list. +</p> + +<p> +“Certes! How might one carry that even to the next town? Without a +horse it were impossible.” +</p> + +<p> +Silver ware, glass, pictures, raiment, were marked on the strip of +parchment. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk bit his finger. +</p> + +<p> +“We will not sell these things Master Lukas left to me,” he said +suddenly. “Only a few. Such as the silver and the red copper wrought +in Italy.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry lifted his grave eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I will carry those into the town if you give me a merchant’s name.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk mentioned one instantly, and where his house might be found. +</p> + +<p> +“A Jew, but a secretive and wealthy man,” he added. “I carved a +staircase in his mansion.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry rose; the ache in his head and the horror in his heart had +ceased together; the sense of coming excitement crept through his +veins. +</p> + +<p> +“There is much here that is worthless,” said Dirk, “and many things +dangerous to reveal, yet a few of those that are neither might bring a +fair sum—come, and I will show you.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry followed him through the dusty, sunny chambers to the +store-rooms on the upper floor. Here Dirk brought treasures from a +press in the wall; candlesticks, girdles with enamel links, carved +cups, crystal goblets. +</p> + +<p> +Selecting the finest of these he put them in a coffer, locked it and +gave the key to Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“There should be the worth of some gulden there,” he said, red in the +face from stooping, and essayed to lift the coffer but failed. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry, something amazed, raised it at once. +</p> + +<p> +“ ’Tis not heavy,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” answered Dirk, “but I am not strong,” and his eyes were angry. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry was brought by this to give him some closer personal scrutiny +than as yet he had. +</p> + +<p> +“How old are you?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Twenty-five,” Dirk answered curtly. +</p> + +<p> +“Certes!” Theirry’s hazel eyes flew wide. “I had said eighteen.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk swung on his heel. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, get you gone,” he said roughly, “and be not over long—for I +would be away from this place at once—do you hear?—at once.” +</p> + +<p> +They left the room together. +</p> + +<p> +“You have endured this for years,” said Theirry curiously. “And +suddenly you count the hours to your departure.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk ran lightly ahead down the stairs, and his laugh came low and +pleasant. +</p> + +<p> +“Untouched, the wood will lie for ever,” he answered, “but set it +alight and it will flame to the end.” +</p> + + +<h3 id="p1ch05"> +CHAPTER V.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">COMRADES</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">They</span> had been a week on the road and now were nearing the borders of +Flanders. The company of the other had become precious to each; though +Theirry was grave and undemonstrative, Dirk, changeable, and quick of +temper; to-day, however, the silence of mutual discontent was upon +them. +</p> + +<p> +Open disagreement had happened once before, at the beginning of their +enterprise, when the young sculptor resolutely refused, foolishly it +seemed to Theirry, to sell his house and furniture, or even to deliver +at the church of St. Bavon the figures of St. Michael and the Devil, +though the piece was finished. +</p> + +<p> +Instead, he had turned the key on his possessions, leaving them the +prey of dust, spiders and rats, and often Theirry would think uneasily +of the shut-up house in the deserted square, and how the merciless +sunlight must be streaming over the empty workroom and the daisies +growing upon the grave of Balthasar’s wife. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, he was in thrall to the attraction of Dirk Renswoude; +never in his life had he been so at ease with any one, never before +felt his aims and ambitions understood and shared by another. +</p> + +<p> +He knew nothing of his companion’s history nor did he care to question +it; he fancied that Dirk was of noble birth; it seemed in his blood to +live gently and softly; at the hostel where they rested, it was he who +always insisted upon the best of accommodation, a chamber to himself, +fine food and humble service. +</p> + +<p> +This nicety of his it was that caused the coolness between them now. +</p> + +<p> +At the little town they had just left a fair was in holding, and the +few inns were full; lodging had been offered them in a barn with some +merchants’ clerks, and this Theirry would have accepted gladly, but +Dirk had refused peremptorily, to the accompaniment of much jeering +from those who found this daintiness amusing in a poor traveller on +foot. +</p> + +<p> +After an altercation between the landlord and Theirry, a haughty +silence of flashing eyes and red cheeks from Dirk, they had turned +away through the gay fair, wound across the town and out on to the +high road. +</p> + +<p> +This led up a steep, mountainous incline; they were carrying their +possessions in bundles on their backs, and when they reached the top +of the hill they turned off from the road on to the meadows that +bordered it, and sank on the grass exhausted. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry, though coldly angry with the whim that had brought them here +to sleep under the trees, could not but admit it was an exquisite +place. +</p> + +<p> +The evening sun overspread it all with a soft yet sparkling veil of +light; the fields of long grass that spread to right and left were +more golden than green; close by was a grove of pine-trees, whose tall +red trunks shone delicately; above them, piled up rocks starred with +white flowers mounted against the pale blue sky, beneath them the +hillside sloped to the valley where lay the little town. +</p> + +<p> +The streets of it were built up and down the slopes of the hill, and +Theirry could see the white line of them and the irregular shapes and +colours of the roofs; the church spire sprang from the midst like a +spear head, strong and delicate, and here and there pennons fluttered; +they could see the Emperor’s flag stirring slowly above the round +tourelles of the city gate. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry found the prospect very pleasant; he delighted in the long +flowering grass that, as he lay stretched out, with his face resting +in his hand, brushed against his cheek; in the clear-cut grey rocks +and the hardy yet frail-looking white flowers growing on the face of +them; in the up-springing lines of the pine-trees and the deep green +of their heavy foliage, intensified by the fading blue beyond. Then, +as his weariness was eased, he glanced over his shoulder at Dirk; not +being passionate by nature, and controlled by habit, his tempers +showed themselves in a mere coldness, not sullenness, the resort of +the fretful. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk sat apart, resting his back against the foremost of the +pine-trees; he was wrapped in a dark red cloak, his pale profile +turned towards the town lying below; the evening air just stirred the +heavy, smooth locks on his uncovered head; he was sitting very still. +</p> + +<p> +The cause of the quarrel had ceased to be any matter to Theirry; +indeed he could not but admit it preferable to lie here than to herd +with noisy beer-drinking clerks in a close barn, but recollection of +the haughty spirit Dirk had discovered held him estranged still. +</p> + +<p> +Yet his companion occupied his thoughts; his wonderful skill in those +matters he himself was most desirous of fathoming, the strange way in +which they had met, and the pleasure of having a companion—so +different from Balthasar—of a kindred mind, however whimsical his +manner. +</p> + +<p> +At this point in his reflections Dirk turned his head. +</p> + +<p> +“You are angry with me,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry answered calmly. +</p> + +<p> +“You were foolish.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk frowned and flushed. +</p> + +<p> +“Certes!—a fine comrade!” his voice was vehement. “Did you not swear +fellowship with me? How do you fulfil that compact by being wrathful +the first time our wills clash?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry turned on his elbow and gazed across the flowering grass. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not wrathful,” he smiled. “And you have had many whims… none of +them have I opposed.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk answered angrily. +</p> + +<p> +“You make me out a fantastical fellow—it is not true.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry sat up and gazed at the lazy sunset slowly enveloping the +distant town and the hills beyond in crimson light. +</p> + +<p> +“It is true you are as nice as a girl,” he answered. “Many a time I +would have slept by the kitchen hearth—ay, and have done, but you +must always lie soft as a prince.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk was scarlet from brow to chin. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if I choose,” he said defiantly. “If I choose, as long as I +have money in my pocket, to live gently.…” +</p> + +<p> +“Have I interfered?” interrupted Theirry. “You are of a lordly birth, +belike.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, I am of a great family,” flashed Dirk. “Ill did they treat me. +No more of them… are you still angry with me?” +</p> + +<p> +He rose; the red cloak slipped from his shoulders to the ground; he +stood with his hand on his hip, looking down at Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“Come,” he said gravely. “We must not quarrel, my comrade, my one +friend… when shall we find another with such aims as ours… we are +bound to each other, are we not? Certes! you swore it.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry lifted his beautiful face. +</p> + +<p> +“I do like you greatly,” he answered. “And in no wise blame you +because you are weakly and used to luxury. Others have found <i>me</i> over +gentle.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk looked at him out of the corners of his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I am pardoned?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, I do regret my evil humour. The sun was fierce and the bundles +heavy to drag up the hill.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk sank down upon the grass beside him. +</p> + +<p> +“Truly I am wearied to death!” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry considered him; panting a little, Dirk stretched himself his +full length on the blowing grass. The young scholar, used and +indifferent to his own great beauty, was deadened to the effect of it +in others, and to any eye Dirk could be no more than well-looking; but +Theirry was conscious of the charm of his slender make, his feet and +hands of feminine delicacy, his fair, full throat, and pale, curved +mouth, even the prominent jaw and square chin that marred the symmetry +of the face were potent to attract in their suggestion of strength and +the power to command. +</p> + +<p> +His near presence, too, was fragrant; he breathed a faint atmosphere +of essences and was exquisite in his clothes. +</p> + +<p> +As Theirry studied him, he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“My heart! it is sweet here—oh, sweet!” +</p> + +<p> +Faint airs wafted from the pine, and the wild flowers hidden in the +woods below them stole through the grass; a glowing purple haze began +to obscure the valley, and where it melted into the sky the first +stars shone, pale as the moon. Overhead the dome of heaven was still +blue, and in the tops of the pines was a continuous whispering of the +perfumed boughs one to another. +</p> + +<p> +“Now wish yourself back in the town among their drinking and +swearing,” said Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” smiled Theirry. “I am content.” +</p> + +<p> +The faint purple colour slowly spread over everything; the towers of +the town became dark, and little sharp lights twinkled in them. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk drew a great breath. +</p> + +<p> +“What will you do with your life?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry started. +</p> + +<p> +“In what manner?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, if we succeed—in any way—if we obtain great power… what would +you do with it?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry felt his brain spin at the question; he gazed across the world +that was softly receding into darkness and his blood tingled. +</p> + +<p> +“I would be great,” he whispered. “Like Flaccus Alcuin, like +Abelard—like St. Bernard.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I would be greater than any of these—as great as the Master we +serve can make his followers.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry shuddered. +</p> + +<p> +“These I speak of were great, serving God.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk looked up quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“How know you that? Many of these holy men owe their position to +strange means. I, at least, would not be content to live and die in +woollens when I could command the means to clothe me in golden silks.” +</p> + +<p> +The beautiful darkness now encompassed them; below them the lights of +the town, above them the stars, and here, in the meadow land, the +night breeze in the long grass and in the deep boughs of pine. +</p> + +<p> +“I am but a neophyte,” said Theirry after a pause. “Very little have I +practised of these things. I had a book of necromancy and learnt a +little there… but…” +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you pause?” demanded Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“One may not do these things,” answered Theirry slowly, +“without—great blasphemy——” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“I care nothing for all the angels and all the saints.…” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, peace!” cried Theirry, and he put his hand to his brow growing +damp with terror. +</p> + +<p> +The other was silent a while, but Theirry could hear his quick +breathing rising from the grass. At length he spoke in a quiet voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I desire vast wealth, huge power. I would see nations at my +footstool… ah! … but I have a boundless ambition.…” He sat up, suddenly +and softly, and laid his hand on Theirry’s arm. “If… they… the evil +ones… offered you that, would you not take it?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry shuddered. +</p> + +<p> +“You would! you would!” cried Dirk. “And pay your soul for +it—gladly.” +</p> + +<p> +The scholar made no answer, but reclined motionless, gazing over the +human lights in the valley to the stars beyond them; Dirk continued— +</p> + +<p> +“See what a liking I have for you that I tell you this—that I give +you the secret of my power to come.…” +</p> + +<p> +“ ’Tis my secret also,” answered Theirry hastily. “I have done enough +to bring the everlasting wrath of the Church upon me.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Church,” repeated Dirk musingly; he was of a daring that knew not +the word fear, and at this moment his thoughts put into words would +have made his companion shudder indeed. +</p> + +<p> +Gradually, by ones and twos, the lights in the town were extinguished +and the valley was in darkness. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry folded up his cloak as a pillow for his head and lay down in +the scented grass; as he fell into a half sleep the great sweetness of +the place was present to his mind, torturing him. +</p> + +<p> +He knew by the pictures he had seen that Paradise was like this, +remote and infinitely peaceful. Meadows and valleys spreading beneath +a tranquil sky… he knew it was desirable and that he longed for it, +yet he must meddle with matters that repelled him, even as they drew +him, with their horror. +</p> + +<p> +He fell into heavy dreams, moaning in his sleep. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk rose from beside him and walked up and down in the dark; the dew +was falling, his head uncovered; he stooped, felt for his mantle, +found it and wrapped it about him, pacing to and fro with calm eyes +defying the dark. +</p> + +<p> +Then finally he lay down under the pines and slept, to awake suddenly +and find himself in a sitting posture. +</p> + +<p> +The dawn was breaking, the landscape lay in mists of purple under a +green sky, pellucid and pale as water; the pines shot up against it +black, clear cut, and whispering still in their upper branches. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk rose and tiptoed across the wet grass to Theirry, looking at him +asleep for the second time. +</p> + +<p> +The scholar lay motionless, with his head flung back on his violet +cloak; Dirk looked down at the beautiful sleeping face with a wild and +terrible expression on his own. +</p> + +<p> +Like wine poured into a cup, light began to fill the valley and the +hollows in the hills; faint mystic clouds gathered and spread over the +horizon. Dirk shudderingly drew his mantle closer; Theirry sighed and +woke. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk gave him a distracted glance and turned away so rapidly and +softly that Theirry, with the ugly shapes of dreams still riding his +brain, cried out— +</p> + +<p> +“Is that you, Dirk?” and sprang to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk stayed his steps half-way to the pines. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter?” he asked in an odd voice. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry pushed the hair away from his forehead. +</p> + +<p> +“I know not—nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +The air seemed suddenly to become colder; the hills that on all sides +bounded their vision rose up stark from grey mists; an indescribable +tension made itself felt, like a pause in stillness. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk stepped back to Theirry and caught his arm; they stood +motionless, in an attitude of expectancy. +</p> + +<p> +A roll of thunder pealed from the brightening sky and faded slowly +into silence; they were looking along the hills with straining eyes. +</p> + +<p> +On the furthest peak appeared a gigantic black horseman outlined +against the ghostly light; he carried a banner in his hand; it was the +colour of blood and the colour of night; for a moment he sat his +horse, motionless, facing towards the east; then the low thunder +pealed again; he raised the banner, shook it above his head, and +galloped down the hillside. +</p> + +<p> +Before he reached the valley he had disappeared, and at that instant +the sun rose above the horizon and sparkled across the country. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry hid his face in his sleeve and trembled terribly; but Dirk +gazed over his bent head with undaunted eyes. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p1ch06"> +CHAPTER VI.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE LADY</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">Through</span> the blunt-pointed arches that gave on to the sunny gardens a +thin stream of students issued from the lecture-room. +</p> + +<p> +Behind the castellated roof of the university the mountains appeared, +snow cold against the sun-lit sky; at the bottom of the gently sloping +garden lay the town of Basle with the broad blue Rhine flowing between +the glittering houses. +</p> + +<p> +The students came in twos and threes and little groups, laughing +together over the doctor who had been lecturing them, over some point +in their studies that had roused their amusement, or merely because it +was a relief after being confined for hours in the dark hall. +</p> + +<p> +The long straight robes, dark shades of purple, blue and violet, +fluttered behind them in the summer wind as they gradually dispersed +to right and left among the trees. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry, walking with two others, looked about him for Dirk, who had +not attended the lecture. +</p> + +<p> +“We are going up the river,” said one of his companions. “We have a +fair sailing boat—it will be pleasant, by Ovid!” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you come?” asked the other. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, I cannot.” +</p> + +<p> +They both laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“See how he is given to meditation! He will be a great man, certes!” +</p> + +<p> +“I have a matter that commands my time,” said Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear lover of rhetoric! Hark to him—he will even sit in the shade +and muse!” +</p> + +<p> +“ ’Tis cooler,” smiled Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +They came to a pathway bordered with laurels and dark glossy plants, +and from a seat amid them Dirk rose at their approach. +</p> + +<p> +He was distinguished from the others by the greater richness of his +dress; his robe, very voluminous and heavy, was of brown silk; he wore +a gold chain twisted round his flat black cap, and his shirt was of +fine lawn, laced and embroidered. +</p> + +<p> +The two students doffed their hats in half-mocking recognition of the +exquisite air of aloofness that was his habitual manner. +</p> + +<p> +He gave them a steady look out of half-closed eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Hast learnt much to-day?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Aristotle is not comprehended in an afternoon,” answered the student, +smiling. “And I was at the back—Master Joris of Thuringia yawned and +yawned, and fell off his stool asleep! The Doctor was bitter!” +</p> + +<p> +“It was amusing,” said the other. “Yet he was not asleep, but swooned +from the heat. Mass! but it was hot! Where were you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Improving my Latin in the library. This afternoon I have put the +story of Tereus and Philomena into the vulgar tongue.” +</p> + +<p> +“Give you good even.” The two linked arms. “We know a joyful inn up +the river.” +</p> + +<p> +As they disappeared Dirk turned sharply to Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“Did they ask your company?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk frowned. +</p> + +<p> +“You should have gone.” +</p> + +<p> +“I had no mind to it. They are foolish.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, but we are beginning to be remarked for closeness in our habits. +It would not be pleasant should they—suspect.” +</p> + +<p> +“ ’Tis not possible,” said Theirry hastily. +</p> + +<p> +“It <i>must</i> not be,” was the firm answer. “But be not churlish or over +reserved.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish for no company but thine,” replied Theirry. “What have I in +common with these idlers?” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk gave him a bright tender look. +</p> + +<p> +“We need not stay here over long,” he answered. “I do think we know +all this school can teach us.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry put back the laurel bough that swung between them. +</p> + +<p> +“Where would you go?” he asked; it was noticeable how in all things he +had begun to defer to the younger man. +</p> + +<p> +“Paris! Padua!” flashed Dirk. “Would you consider that? One might +attain a reputation, and then—or one might lecture—in any large +town—Cologne, Strasbourg.” +</p> + +<p> +“Meanwhile——?” +</p> + +<p> +“Meanwhile I progress,” was the whispered answer. “I have +essayed—some things. Will you come to my chamber to-night?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay—secretly?” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk nodded; his grave young face under the student’s flat hat was +slightly flushed; he laid his hand on Theirry’s arm. +</p> + +<p> +“I have something to tell you. Here it is scarcely wise to speak. +There is one who hates me—Joris of Thuringia. Now, good-bye.” +</p> + +<p> +His great eyes lit with a look of strong affection that was flashed +back in Theirry’s glance; they clasped hands and parted. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry looked after the brown, silk-clad figure, as it moved rapidly +towards the university, then he took his own way, out of the gardens +on to the hill-side, away from the town. +</p> + +<p> +With his hands clasped behind his back, and his handsome head bent, he +followed aimlessly a little path, and as he wound his way through the +trees wild day-dreams stirred his blood. +</p> + +<p> +He was on the eve of putting himself in possession of immense power; +these evil spirits whom he would force to serve him could give him +anything in the world—anything in the world! +</p> + +<p> +The phantasmagoria of golden visions that arose to blind and +intoxicate him, the horror of the means employed, dread of the +unthinkable end to come, were not to be put into any words. +</p> + +<p> +He sat down at length on a fallen tree trunk and gazed with rapt eyes +down the silent forest path. +</p> + +<p> +He did not know where he was; certainly he had come farther than ever +before, or else taken a strange turn, for through the pine-stems he +could perceive castle walls, the gates rising from the piled-up rocks, +and it was unknown to him. +</p> + +<p> +Presently he rose and walked on, because his galloping thoughts would +not allow his body to rest, and still giving no heed to the way, he +wandered out of the forest into a green valley shaded by thick trees. +</p> + +<p> +Down the centre ran a stream, and the grass, of a deep green colour, +was thickly sown with daisies white as the snow shining on the far-off +mountains. +</p> + +<p> +Here and there down the edge of the stream grew young poplar trees, +and their flat gold leaves fluttered like a gipsy’s sequins, even in +the breezeless air. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry, absorbed and withdrawn into himself, walked by the side of +the water; he was unconscious of the shadowed hush and quiet of the +valley, of the voices of birds falling softly from the peace of the +trees, and the marvellous sunlight on the mountains, the castle, +rising beyond its circle of shade up into the crystal blue; before his +eyes danced thrones and crowns, gold and painted silks, glimpses of +princely dwellings and little winged, creeping fiends that offered him +these things. +</p> + +<p> +Presently a human sound forced itself on his senses, insistently, even +through his abstraction. +</p> + +<p> +The sound of weeping, sobbing. +</p> + +<p> +He started, gazed about him with dazed eyes, like a blind man +recovering sight, and discerned a lady upon the other side of the +stream, seated on the grass, her head bowed in her right hand. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry paused, frowned, and hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +The lady, warned of something, glanced up and sprang to her feet; he +saw now that she held a dead bird in her left hand; her face was +flushed with weeping, her long yellow hair disordered about her brow; +she gazed at him with wet grey eyes, and Theirry felt it imperative to +speak. +</p> + +<p> +“You are troubled?” he asked, then flushed, thinking she might term it +insolence. +</p> + +<p> +But she answered simply and at once. +</p> + +<p> +“About him I am”—she held the little brown bird out on her palm; “he +was on the small poplar tree—and singing—he held his head up +so”—she lifted her long throat—“and I could see his heart beating +behind the feathers—I listened to him, oh! with pleasure”—fresh +tears started to the eyes that she turned on Theirry—“then my +miserable cat that had followed me leapt on him—and slew him. Oh, I +chased them, but when I got him back he was dead.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry was extraordinarily moved by this homely tragedy; it could not +have occurred to him that there was matter for tears in such a common +thing; but as the lady told the story, holding out, as if secure of +his sympathy, the poor little ruffled body, he felt that it was both +pitiful and monstrous. +</p> + +<p> +“You may chastise the cat,” he said, for he saw the elegant soft +animal rubbing itself against the stem of the poplar. +</p> + +<p> +“I have beaten her,” she confessed. +</p> + +<p> +“You can hang her,” said Theirry, thinking to console still more. +</p> + +<p> +But the lady flushed up. +</p> + +<p> +“She is an agreeable cat,” she answered. “She cannot help her nature. +Oh, it would be an odious cruelty to hang her!—see, she does not +understand!” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry, rebuked, was at a loss; he stood looking at the lady, feeling +helpless and useless. +</p> + +<p> +She wiped her eyes with a silk handkerchief, and stood in a piteous +meek silence, holding her dead bird in a trembling hand. +</p> + +<p> +“If you buried it——” suggested Theirry desperately. “I do think it +would have wished to be buried here——” +</p> + +<p> +To his joy she brightened a little. +</p> + +<p> +“You think so?” she asked wistfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Certes!” he reassured her eagerly. “See, I have a knife—I will make +a pleasant grave.” +</p> + +<p> +She stepped to the edge of the stream as near as she could to him, and +because she came unconsciously, with no thought for anything save the +bird in her hand, Theirry thrilled with a great pleasure, as should a +wild deer come fearlessly. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot cross—the water is too wide,” she said. “But will you take +him and make his grave?” +</p> + +<p> +She went on one knee among the sorrel leaves and daisies. Theirry had +a swift picture of her as she leant forward, stretching her arm +towards him over the stream that divided them. He had seen fair women +in Courtrai, he saw in her the most admired points of these, glass +grey eyes, small features, an arched red mouth, white skin and yellow +hair; she was no more beautiful than many ladies who had left him +cold, but he found himself anxious to please her, and he had so far +never tried to win a woman’s favour. +</p> + +<p> +Her pale red dress rippled about her on the grass; her curls and her +veil were blown back from her face; Theirry knelt and held out his +hand. +</p> + +<p> +Over mid-stream their fingers touched; he took the bird, and she drew +back hastily. +</p> + +<p> +As he, still on his knees, looked at her, he saw that she was no +longer unconscious; she stood erect as if commanding herself not to +fly, and (as she was very slender) he likened her to the pale crimson +pistil of a lily which has yellow on the head—her hair, he told +himself. +</p> + +<p> +“I am vexed to trouble you”—she spoke haltingly. +</p> + +<p> +There were so many things he wished to say in answer to this that he +said nothing, but took his knife from his belt and cut a little square +of turf. +</p> + +<p> +“You are a clerk from the college?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” he answered, and wished fiercely he could have given himself a +finer name. +</p> + +<p> +“There are many learned men there,” she said courteously. +</p> + +<p> +He would not have believed it possible to find in himself such care +over a trivial thing as he now took over this little bird’s grave, for +he knew she watched him with judgment in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +The unholy day-dreams that had vexed and enthralled him were +completely forgotten in this new feeling. +</p> + +<p> +The lines of a verse he had not noticed when he read it came back to +him, beating in his head. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Pleasant is she of a fair white favour,</span><br> +<span class="i0">Sweet her caress as the ripe grape’s flavour,</span><br> +<span class="i0">And her lips are like the rose in their savour.</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Seeing her my pulses quicken,</span><br> +<span class="i0">I turn from common things and sicken,</span><br> +<span class="i0">For the quiet wood where the May buds thicken.</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hearing her my breath is taken,</span><br> +<span class="i0">My bold heart bowed and shaken,</span><br> +<span class="i0">And I from sloth at last awaken.”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +He dug into the soft brown earth with the point of his knife, lined +the grave with leaves, and picked up the little bird. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment he held it in his hand as she had done. +</p> + +<p> +And he dared not look at her. +</p> + +<p> +Then he laid it in the ground and replaced the grass and daisies. +</p> + +<p> +When he raised his head, his face flushed from stooping, he saw that +she was no longer watching him, but she had turned sideways and was +gazing at the distant woods. +</p> + +<p> +He had leisure now to mark the details of her appearance. +</p> + +<p> +Though slender she was of a full make and tall; her brows were very +arched and darker than her hair, her mouth dipped at the corners and +was firmly set; she seemed of a grave manner and very modest in her +bearing. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry rose from his knees; she turned. +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you,” she said; then, on a quick breath—“do you often come +here?” +</p> + +<p> +He answered foolishly. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay—never before—I did not know the place.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is my home yonder,” said the lady. +</p> + +<p> +“Yours?” and he pointed to the castle walls. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea. I am an orphan, and the Emperor’s ward.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at the point of her shoe showing beneath her pale crimson +robe. “What town do you come from?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Courtrai.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know no town save Frankfort.” +</p> + +<p> +A silence fell between them; the wicked grey cat walked in a stately +manner along the edge of the stream. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall lose her,” said the lady. “Good even, gentle clerk. My name +is Jacobea of Martzburg. Perhaps I shall see you again.” +</p> + +<p> +He had never felt more desirous of speaking, never less capable; he +murmured— +</p> + +<p> +“I do hope it,” and coloured burningly at his awkwardness. +</p> + +<p> +She gave him a half look, a flash from grave grey eyes, instantly +veiled, and with an unsmiling mouth bade him again, “Good even.” +</p> + +<p> +Then she was gone after the cat. +</p> + +<p> +He saw her hasten down the side of the stream, her dress bending the +grasses and leaves; he saw her stoop and snatch up the creature, and, +holding it in her arms, take the path towards those lordly gates. He +hoped she might look back and see that he gazed after her, but she did +not turn her head, and when the last flutter of pale red had +disappeared he moved reluctantly from the place. +</p> + +<p> +The sky was gay with sunset; as he walked through the wood, bars of +orange light fell athwart the straight pine trunks and made a glitter +on his path; he thought neither of those things that had occupied him +when he had passed through these trees before, nor of the lady he had +left; in his mind reigned a golden confusion, in which everything was +unformed and exquisite; he had no wish and no ability to reduce this +to definite schemes, hopes or fears, but walked on, enwrapped with +fancies. +</p> + +<p> +On the slopes that adjoined the garden of the college Theirry came +upon a little group of students lying on the grass. +</p> + +<p> +Just beyond them the others were standing; Dirk noticeable by his rich +dress and elegant bearing, and another youth whom Theirry knew for +Joris of Thuringia. +</p> + +<p> +A glance told him there were words between them; even from where he +stood he could see Dirk was white and taut, Joris hot and flushed. +</p> + +<p> +He crossed the grass swiftly; he knew that it was their policy to +avoid quarrels in the college. +</p> + +<p> +“Sirs, what is this?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +The students looked at him; some seemed amused, some excited; his +heart gave a sick throb as he saw that their glances were both +unfriendly and doubtful. +</p> + +<p> +One gave him half-scornful information. +</p> + +<p> +“Thy friend was caught with an unholy forbidden book, though he denies +it; he cast it into the river sooner than allow us a sight of it, and +now he is bitter with Joris’ commentary thereon.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk saw Theirry, and turned his pale face towards him. +</p> + +<p> +“This churl insulted me,” he said; “yea, laid hands on me.” +</p> + +<p> +A burst of half angry, half good-humoured laughter came from Joris. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot get the little youth to fight—by Christus his Mother! he is +afraid because I could break his neck between my finger and thumb!” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk flashed burning eyes over him. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not afraid, never could I fear such as thee; but neither my +profession nor my degree permit me to brawl—be silent and begone.” +</p> + +<p> +The tone could not fail to rouse the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Who art thou,” he shouted—“to speak as if thou wert a noble’s son? I +did but touch thy arm to get the book——” +</p> + +<p> +The rest joined in. +</p> + +<p> +“Certes, he did no more, and what <i>was</i> the book?” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk held himself very proudly. +</p> + +<p> +“I will no more be questioned than I will be touched.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fine words for a paltry Flemish knave!” jeered one of the students. +</p> + +<p> +“Words I can make good,” flashed Dirk, and turned towards the college. +</p> + +<p> +Joris was springing after him when Theirry caught his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“ ’Tis but a peevish youth,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +The other shook himself free and stared after the bright figure in +silk. +</p> + +<p> +“He called me ‘son of a Thuringian thief!’ ” he muttered. +</p> + +<p> +A laugh rose from the group. +</p> + +<p> +“How knew he that?—from the unholy book?” +</p> + +<p> +Joris frowned heavily; his wrath flared in another direction. +</p> + +<p> +“Ya! Silence! Son of a British swineherd, thou, red face!” +</p> + +<p> +The group seethed into fisticuffs; Theirry followed Dirk across the +gardens. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p1ch07"> +CHAPTER VII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">SPELLS</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">Theirry</span> found Dirk as he was passing under the arched colonnade. +</p> + +<p> +“Prudence!” he quoted. “Where is <i>your</i> prudence now?” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk turned quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“I had to put on a bold front. Certes, I hate that knave. But let him +go now. Come with me.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry followed him through the college, up the dark stairway into +his chamber. +</p> + +<p> +It was a low arched room, looking on to the garden, barely furnished, +and containing only the bed, a chair and some books on a shelf. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk opened the window on the sun-flushed twilight. +</p> + +<p> +“The students are jealous of me because of my reputation with the +doctors,” he said, smiling. “One told me to-day I was the most learned +youth in the college. And how long have we been here? But ten months.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry was silent; the triumph in his companion’s voice could find no +echo in his heart; neither in his legitimate studies nor in his secret +experiments had he been as successful as Dirk, who in ancient and +modern lore, in languages, algebra, theology, oratory had far outshone +all competitors, and who had progressed dangerously in forbidden +things. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry shook off the feeling of jealousy that possessed him, and +spoke on another subject. +</p> + +<p> +“Dirk, I saw a lady to-day—such a lady!” +</p> + +<p> +In their constant, close and tender companionship neither had ever +failed in sympathy, therefore it was with surprise that Theirry saw +Dirk perceptibly harden. +</p> + +<p> +“A lady!” he repeated, and turned from the window so that the shadows +of the room were over his face. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry must have a listener, must loosen his tongue on the subject of +his delicate adventure, so he proceeded. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay—’twas in the valley—a valley, I mean—which I had never seen +before. Oh, Dirk!” he was leaning against the end of the bed, gazing +across the dusk. “ ’Twas a lady so sweet—she had——” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk interrupted him. +</p> + +<p> +“Certes!” he cried angrily; “she had grey eyes belike, and yellow +hair—have they not always yellow hair?—and a mincing mouth and a +manner of glancing sideways, and cunning words, I’ll warrant me——” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, she had all this,” answered Theirry, bewildered. “But she was +pleasant, had you but seen her, Dirk.” +</p> + +<p> +The youth sneered. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is she—thy lady?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jacobea of Martzburg.” He took obvious pleasure in saying her name. +“She is a great lady and gracious.” +</p> + +<p> +“Out on ye!” exclaimed Dirk passionately. “What is she to us? Have we +not other matters to think of? I did not think ye so weak as to come +chanting the praises of the first thing that smiles on ye!” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry was angered. +</p> + +<p> +“ ’Tis not the first time—and what have I said of her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh enough—ye have lost your heart to her, I doubt not—and what use +will ye be—a love-sick knave!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” answered Theirry hotly. “You have no warrant for this speech. +How should I love the lady, seeing her once? I did but say she was +fair and gentle.” +</p> + +<p> +“ ’Tis the first woman you have spoken of to me—in that voice—did ye +not say—‘such a lady’?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry felt the blood stinging his cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“Could you have seen her,” he repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, had I seen her I could tell you how much paint she wore, how +tight her lace was——” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll hear no more—art a peevish youth, knowing nothing of women; she +was one of God’s roses, pink and white, and we not fit to kiss her +little shoes—ay, that’s pure truth.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk stamped his foot passionately. +</p> + +<p> +“Little shoes! If you come home to me to rave of her little shoes, and +her pink and white, you may bide alone for me. Speak no more of her.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry was silent a while; he could not afford to lose Dirk’s +companionship or to have him in an ill temper, nor did he in any way +wish to jeopardise the good understanding between them, so he quelled +the anger that rose in him at the youth’s unreasonableness, and +answered quietly— +</p> + +<p> +“On what matter did you wish to see me?” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk struggled for a moment with a heaving breast and closed his teeth +over a rebellious lip, then he crossed the room and opened the door of +an inner chamber. +</p> + +<p> +He had obtained permission to use this apartment for his studies; the +key of it he carried always with him, and only he and Theirry had ever +entered it. +</p> + +<p> +In silence, lighting a lamp, and placing it on the window-sill, he +beckoned Theirry to follow him. +</p> + +<p> +It was a dismal room; piled against the walls were the books Dirk had +brought with him, and on the open hearth some dead charred sticks lay +scattered. +</p> + +<p> +“See,” said Dirk; he drew from a dark corner a roughly carved wooden +figure some few inches high. “I wrought this to-day—and if I know the +spells aright there is one will pay for his insolence.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry took the figure in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“ ’Tis Joris of Thuringia.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk nodded sombrely. +</p> + +<p> +The room was thick with unhealthy odours, and a close stagnant smoke +seemed to hang round the roof; the lamp cast a pulsating yellow light +over the dreariness and threw strange shaped shadows from the jars and +bottles standing about the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“What is this Joris to you?” asked Theirry curiously. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk was unrolling a manuscript inscribed in Persian. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing. I would see what skill I have.” +</p> + +<p> +The old evil excitement seized Theirry; they had tried spells before, +on cattle and dogs, but without success; his blood tingled at the +thought of an enchantment potent to confound enemies. +</p> + +<p> +“Light the fire,” commanded Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry set the image by the lamp, and poured a thick yellow fluid +from one of the bottles over the dead sticks. +</p> + +<p> +Then he flung on a handful of grey powder. +</p> + +<p> +A close dun-coloured vapour rose, and a sickly smell filled the room; +then the sticks burst suddenly into a tall and beautiful flame that +sprang noiselessly up the chimney and cast a clear and unnatural glow +round the chamber. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry drew three circles round the fire, and marked the outer one +with characters taken from the manuscripts Dirk held. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk was looking at him as he knelt in the splendid glow of the +flames, and his own heavy brows were frowning. +</p> + +<p> +“Was she beautiful?” he asked abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry took this as an atonement for the late ill temper, and +answered pleasantly— +</p> + +<p> +“Why, she was beautiful, Dirk.” +</p> + +<p> +“And fair?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certes, yellow hair.” +</p> + +<p> +“No more of her,” said the youth in a kind of fierce mournfulness. +“The legend is finished?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea.” Theirry rose from his knees. “And now?” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk was anointing the little image of the student on the breast, the +eyes and mouth with a liquid poured from a purple phial; then he set +it within the circle round the flame. +</p> + +<p> +“ ’Tis carved of ash plucked from a churchyard,” he said. “And the +ingredients of the fire are correct. Now if this fails, Zerdusht +lies.” +</p> + +<p> +He stepped up to the fire and addressed an invocation in Persian to +the soaring flame, then retreated to Theirry’s side. +</p> + +<p> +The whole room was glowing in the clear red light cast by the unholy +fire; the cobweb-hung rafters, the gaunt walls, the books and jars on +the bare floor were all distinctly visible, and the two could see each +other, red, from head to foot. +</p> + +<p> +“Look,” said Dirk, with a slow smile. +</p> + +<p> +The image lying in the magic circle and almost touching the flames +(though not burnt or even scorched), was beginning to writhe and twist +on its back like a creature in pain. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” Dirk showed his teeth. “The Magian spell has worked.” +</p> + +<p> +A sensation of giddiness seized Theirry; he heard something beating +loud and fast in his ear, it seemed, but he knew it was his heart that +thumped so, up and down. +</p> + +<p> +The figure, horribly like Joris with its flat hat and student’s robe, +was struggling to its feet and emitting little moans of agony. +</p> + +<p> +“It cannot get out,” breathed Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” whispered Dirk, “wherefore did ye draw the circle?” +</p> + +<p> +The flame was a column of pure fire, and it cast a glow of gold on the +thing imprisoned in the ring Theirry had made; Dirk watched in an +eager way, with neither fear nor compunction, but Theirry felt a wave +of sickness mount to his brain. +</p> + +<p> +The creature was making useless endeavours to escape from the fiery +glare; it groaned and fell on its face, twisted on its back and made +frantic attempts to cross the line that imprisoned it. +</p> + +<p> +“Let it out,” whispered Theirry faintly. +</p> + +<p> +But Dirk was elate with success. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye are mad,” he retorted. “The spell works bravely.” +</p> + +<p> +On the end of his words came a sound that caused both to wince; even +in the lurid light Dirk saw his companion pale. +</p> + +<p> +It was the bell of the college chapel ringing the students to the +vespers. +</p> + +<p> +“I had forgotten,” muttered Dirk. “We must go—it would be noticed.” +</p> + +<p> +“We cannot put the fire out,” cried Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, we must leave it—it must burn out,” answered Dirk hurriedly. +</p> + +<p> +The creature, after rushing round the circle in an attempt to escape +had fallen, as if exhausted with its agony, and lay quivering. +</p> + +<p> +“We will leave him, too,” said Dirk unpleasantly. +</p> + +<p> +But Theirry had a tearing memory of a lady kneeling among green +grasses and bending towards him with a dead bird in her hand—tears +for it on her cheeks—a dead bird, and this—— +</p> + +<p> +He stooped and snatched up the creature; it shrieked dismally as he +touched it, and he felt the quick flame burn his fingers. +</p> + +<p> +Instantly the fire had sunk into ashes, and he held in his hand a mere +morsel of charred wood. +</p> + +<p> +With a sound of disgust he flung this on the ground. +</p> + +<p> +“Should have let it burn,” said Dirk, with the lamp held aloft to show +him the way across the now dark chamber. “Perchance we cannot relight +it, and I have not finished with the ugly knave.” +</p> + +<p> +They stepped into the outer chamber and Dirk locked the door; Theirry +gasped to feel the fresher air in his nostrils, and a sense of terror +clouded his brain; but Dirk was in high spirits; his eyes narrowed +with excitement, his pale lips set in a hard fashion. +</p> + +<p> +They descended into the hall. +</p> + +<p> +It was a close and sultry evening; through the blunt arches of the +window, dark purple clouds could be seen, lying heavily across the +horizon; the clang of the vesper bell came persistently and with a +jarring note; though the sun had set it was still light, which had a +curious effect of strangeness after the dark chambers upstairs. +</p> + +<p> +Without a word to each other, but side by side, the two students +passed into the ante-chamber that led into the chapel. +</p> + +<p> +And there they stopped. +</p> + +<p> +The pale rays of a candle dispersed the gathering dark and revealed a +group of men standing together and conversing in whispers. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do they not enter the church?” breathed Theirry, with a curious +sensation at his heart. “Something has happened.” +</p> + +<p> +Some of the students turned and saw them; they were forced to come +forward; Dirk was silent and smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you heard?” asked one; all were sober and subdued. +</p> + +<p> +“A horrible thing,” said another. “Joris of Thuringia is struck with a +strange illness. Certes! he fell down amongst us as if in the grip of +hell fire.” +</p> + +<p> +The speaker crossed himself; Theirry could not answer, he felt that +they were all looking at him suspiciously, accusingly, and he +trembled. +</p> + +<p> +“We carried him up to his chamber,” said another. “He shrieked and +tore at his flesh, imploring us to keep the flames off. The priest is +with him now—God guard us from unholy things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you say that?” demanded Theirry fiercely. “Belike his disease +was but natural.” +</p> + +<p> +A look passed round the students. +</p> + +<p> +“I know not,” one muttered. “It was strange.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk, still smiling and silent, turned into the chapel; Theirry and +the others, hushing their surmises, followed. +</p> + +<p> +There were candles on the altar, six feet high, and a confusion of the +senses came over Theirry, in which he saw them as white angels with +flaming haloes coming grievingly for his destruction. A wave of fear +and sorrow rushed over him; he sank on his knees on the stone floor +and fixed his eyes on the priest, whose chasuble was gleaming gold +through the dimness of the incense-filled chapel. +</p> + +<p> +The blasphemy and mortal sin of what he had done sickened and +frightened him; was not his being here the most horrible blasphemy of +all?—he had no right; he had made false confessions to the priest, he +had received absolution on lies; daily he had come here worshipping +God with his lips and Satan with his heart. +</p> + +<p> +A groan broke from him, he bowed his beautiful face in his hands and +his shoulders shook. He thought of Joris of Thuringia writhing in the +agony caused by their unhallowed spells, of the eager devils crowding +to their service—and far away, in a blinding white mist, he seemed to +see the arc of the saints and angels looking down on him while he fell +away further, further, into unfathomable depths of darkness. With an +uncontrollable movement of agony he looked up, and his starting eyes +fell on the figure of Dirk kneeling in front of him. +</p> + +<p> +The youth’s calm both horrified and soothed him; there he knelt, who +had but a little while before been playing with devils, with a face as +unmoved as a sculptured saint, with a placid brow, quiet eyes and +hands folded on his breviary. +</p> + +<p> +He seemed to feel Theirry’s intense gaze, for he looked swiftly round +and a look of caution, of warning shot under his white lids. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry’s glance fell; his companions were singing with uplifted +faces, but he could not join them; the pillars with their foliated +capitals oppressed him by their shadow, the saints glowing in mosaic +on the drums of the arches frightened him with the unforgiving look in +their long eyes. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Laudate, pueri Dominum,</span><br> +<span class="i0">Laudate nomen Domini,</span><br> +<span class="i0">Sit nomen Domini benedictum,</span><br> +<span class="i0">Ex hoc nunc et usque in saeculum.</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A Solis ortu usque ad occasum</span><br> +<span class="i0">Laudabile nomen Domini.”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +The fresh young voices rose lustily; the church was full of incense +and music; Theirry rose with the hymn ringing in his head and left the +chapel. +</p> + +<p> +The singers cast curious glances at him as he passed, and when he +reached the door he heard a patter of feet behind him and turned to +see Dirk at his elbow. +</p> + +<p> +“I have done with it,” he said hoarsely. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk’s eyes were flaming. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want to make public confession?” he demanded, breathing hard. +“Remember, it is our lives to pay, if they discover.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry shuddered. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot pray. I cannot stay in the church. For days I have felt the +blessing scorch me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come upstairs,” said Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +As they went down the long hall they met one who was a friend of Joris +of Thuringia. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“Hast come from the sick man?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is mending?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry stared with wild eyes, waiting the answer. +</p> + +<p> +“I know not,” said the youth. “He lies in a swoon and pants for +breath.” +</p> + +<p> +He passed on, something abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +“Did ye hear that?” whispered Theirry. “If he should die!” +</p> + +<p> +They went up to Dirk’s bare little chamber; the clouds had completely +overspread the sky, and neither moon nor stars were visible. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk lit the lamp, and Theirry sank on to the bed with his hands +clasped between his knees. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot go on,” he said. “It is too horrible.” +</p> + +<p> +“Art afraid?” asked Dirk quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, I am afraid.” +</p> + +<p> +“So am not I,” answered Dirk composedly. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot stay here,” breathed Theirry, with agonised brows. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk bit his forefinger. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, for we have but little money and know all these pedants can +teach us. ’Tis time we began to lay the corner-stones of our fortune.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry rose, twisting his fingers together. +</p> + +<p> +“Talk not to me of fortunes. I have set my soul in deadly peril. I +cannot pray, I cannot take the names of holy things upon my lips.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is this your courage?” said Dirk softly. “Is this your ambition, your +loyalty to me? Would you run whining to a priest with a secret that is +mine as well as yours? Is this, O noble youth, what all your dreams +have faded to?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry groaned. +</p> + +<p> +“I know not. I know not.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk came slowly nearer. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this to be the end of comradeship—our league?” +</p> + +<p> +He took the other’s slack hand in his, and as he seldom offered or +suffered a touch, Theirry thrilled at it as a great mark of affection, +and at the feel of the smooth, cool fingers, the fascination, the +temptation that this youth stood for stirred his pulses; still he +could not forget the stern angel he thought he had seen upon the +altar, and the way his tongue had refused to move when he had striven +to pray. +</p> + +<p> +“Belike, I have gone too far to turn back,” he panted, with +questioning eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk dropped his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Be of me or not with me,” he said coldly. “Surely I can stand alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” answered Theirry. “Certes, I love thee, Dirk, as I have never +cared for any do I care for thee.…” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk stepped back and looked at him out of half-closed eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, do not stop to palter with talk of priests. Certainly I will be +faithful to you unto death and damnation, and be you true to me.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry made a movement to answer, but a sudden and violent knock on +the door checked him. +</p> + +<p> +They looked at each other, and the same swift thoughts came to each; +the students had suspected, had come to take them by surprise—and the +consequences—— +</p> + +<p> +For a second Dirk shook with suppressed wrath. +</p> + +<p> +“Curse the Magian spell!” he muttered. “Curse Zerdusht and his foul +brews, for we are trapped and undone!” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry sprang up and tried the inner door. +</p> + +<p> +“ ’Tis secure,” he said; he was now quite calm. +</p> + +<p> +“I have the key.” Dirk laid his hand on his breast, then snatched a +couple of volumes from the shelf and flung them on the table. +</p> + +<p> +The knock was repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“Unbolt the door,” said Theirry; he seated himself at the table and +opened one of the volumes. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk slipped the bolt, the door sprang back and a number of students, +headed by a monk bearing a crucifix, surged into the room. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want?” demanded Dirk, fronting them quietly. “You +interrupt our studies.” +</p> + +<p> +The priest answered sternly— +</p> + +<p> +“There are strange and horrible accusations against you, my son, that +you must disprove.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry slowly closed his book and slowly rose; all the terror and +remorse of a few moments ago had changed into wrath and defiance, and +the glow his animal courage sent through his body at the prospect of +an encounter; he saw the eager, excited faces of his fellow-students, +crowding in the doorway, the hard and unforgiving countenance of the +monk, and he felt unaccountably justified in his own eyes; he did not +see his antagonists standing for Good, and himself for Evil, he saw +mere men whose evident enmity roused his own. +</p> + +<p> +“What accusations?” asked Dirk; his demeanour appeared to have changed +as completely as Theirry’s had done; he had lost his assured calm; his +defiant bearing was maintained by an obvious effort, and his lips +twitched with agitation. +</p> + +<p> +The students murmured and forced further into the room; the monk +answered— +</p> + +<p> +“Ye are suspected of procuring the dire illness of Joris of Thuringia +by spells.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is a lie,” said Dirk faintly, and without conviction, but Theirry +replied boldly— +</p> + +<p> +“Upon what do you base this charge, father?” +</p> + +<p> +The monk was ready. +</p> + +<p> +“Upon your strange and close behaviour—the two of you, upon our +ignorance of whence you came—upon the suddenness of the youth’s +illness after words passed between him and Master Dirk.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” put in one of the students eagerly. “And he lapped water like a +dog.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have seen a light here well into the night,” said another. +</p> + +<p> +“And why left they before the vespers were finished?” demanded a +third. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry smiled; he felt that they were discovered, but fear was far +from him. +</p> + +<p> +“These are childish accusations,” he answered. “Get you gone to find a +better.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk, who had retreated behind the table, spoke now. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye smirch us with wanton words,” he said pantingly. “It is a lie.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you swear to that?” asked the monk quickly. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry interposed. +</p> + +<p> +“Search the chamber, my father—I warrant you have already been +peering through mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you found——?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then are you not content?” cried Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +The murmur of the students swelled into an angry cry. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay—can ye not spirit away your implements if ye be wizards?” +</p> + +<p> +“Great skill do you credit us with,” smiled Theirry. “But on nothing +you can prove nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +Although he knew that he could never allay their suspicions, it +occurred to him that it might be possible to prevent the discovery of +what the locked room held, and in that case, though they might have to +leave the college, their lives would be safe; he snatched up the +lantern and held it aloft. +</p> + +<p> +“See you anything here?” +</p> + +<p> +They stared round the bare walls with eager, straining eyes; one came +to the table and turned over the volumes there. +</p> + +<p> +“Seneca!” he flung them down with disappointment; the priest advanced +and gazed about him; Dirk stood silent and scornful, Theirry was bold +to defy them all. +</p> + +<p> +“I see no holy thing,” said the monk. “Neither Virgin, nor saint, nor +<i>prie-Dieu</i>, nor holy water.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk’s eyes flashed fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +“Here is my breviary;” he pointed to it on the table. +</p> + +<p> +One of the students cried— +</p> + +<p> +“Where is the key? To the inner chamber!” +</p> + +<p> +There were three or four of them about the door; Dirk, turning to see +them striving with the handle, went ghastly pale and could not speak, +but Theirry broke out into great wrath. +</p> + +<p> +“The room is disused. No affair of mine or Dirk. We know nothing of +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you swear?” asked the priest. +</p> + +<p> +“Certes—I will swear.” +</p> + +<p> +But the student struggling with the door cried out— +</p> + +<p> +“Dirk Renswoude asked for this room for his studies! I do know it, and +he had the key.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk gave a great start. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay,” he said hurriedly, “I have no key.” +</p> + +<p> +“Search, my sons,” said the priest. +</p> + +<p> +Their blood was up; some ten or twelve had crowded into the chamber; +they hurled the books off the shelf, scattered the garments out of the +coffer, pulled the quilt off the bed and turned up the mattress. +</p> + +<p> +Finding nothing they turned on Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“He has the key about him!” +</p> + +<p> +All eyes were fixed now on the youth, who stood a little in front of +Theirry, he continuing to hold the lamp scornfully aloft to aid them +in their search. +</p> + +<p> +The light rested on Dirk’s shoulders, causing the bright silk to +glitter, and flickered in his short waving hair; there was no trace of +colour in his face, his brows were raised and gathered into a hard +frown. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you the key of that chamber?” demanded the priest. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk tried to speak, but could not find his voice; he moved his head +stiffly in denial. +</p> + +<p> +“But answer,” insisted the monk. +</p> + +<p> +“What should it avail me if I swore?” The words seemed wrenched from +him. “Would ye believe me?” His eyes were bright with hate of all of +them. +</p> + +<p> +“Swear on this.” The monk proffered the crucifix. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk did not touch it. +</p> + +<p> +“I have no key,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“There is your answer,” flashed Theirry, and set the lamp on the +table. +</p> + +<p> +The foremost student laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Search <i>him</i>,” he cried. “His garments—belike he has the key in his +breast.” +</p> + +<p> +Again Dirk gave a great start; the table was between him and his +enemies, it was the only protection he had; Theirry, knowing that he +must have the key upon him, saw the end and was prepared to fight it +finely. +</p> + +<p> +“What are ye going to do now?” he challenged. +</p> + +<p> +For answer one of them leant across the table and seized Dirk by the +arm, swinging him easily into the centre of the room, another caught +his mantle. +</p> + +<p> +A yell of “Search him!” rose from the others. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk bent his head in a curious manner, snatched the key from inside +his shirt and flung it on the floor; instantly they let go of him to +pick it up, and he staggered back beside Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“Do not let them touch me,” he said. “Do not let them touch me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Art a coward?” answered Theirry angrily. “Now we are utterly lost.…” +</p> + +<p> +He thrust Dirk away as if he would abandon him; but that youth caught +hold of him in desperation. +</p> + +<p> +“Do not leave me—they will tear me to pieces.” +</p> + +<p> +The students were rushing through the unlocked door shouting for +lights; the priest caught up the lamp and followed them; the two were +left in darkness. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye are a fool,” said Theirry. “With some cunning the key might have +been saved.…” +</p> + +<p> +A horrid shout arose from those in the inner room as they discovered +the remains of the incantations.… +</p> + +<p> +Theirry sprang to the window, Dirk after him. +</p> + +<p> +“Theirry, gentle Theirry, take me also—can see I am helpless! A—ah! +I am small and pitiful, Theirry!” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry had one leg over the window-sill. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, then, in the fiend’s name,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +A hoarse shout told them the students had found the little image of +Joris; those still on the stair-way saw them at the window. +</p> + +<p> +“The warlocks escape!” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry helped Dirk on to the window-ledge; the night air blew hot on +their faces and they felt warm rain falling on them; there was no +light anywhere. +</p> + +<p> +The students were yelling in a thick fury as they discovered the +unholy unguents and implements. They turned suddenly and dashed to the +window. Theirry swung himself by his hands, then let go. +</p> + +<p> +With a shock that jarred every nerve in his body he landed on the +balcony of the room beneath. +</p> + +<p> +“Jump!” he called up to Dirk, who still crouched on the window-sill. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, soul of mine! Ah, I cannot!” Dirk stared through the darkness in +a wild endeavour to discern Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“I am holding out my arms! Jump!” +</p> + +<p> +The students had knocked over the lamp and it had checked them for the +moment; but Dirk, looking back, saw the room flaring with fresh lights +and seething figures pushing up to the window. +</p> + +<p> +He closed his eyes and leapt in the darkness; the distance was not +great; Theirry half caught him; he half staggered against the balcony. +</p> + +<p> +A torch was thrust out of the window above them; frenzied faces looked +down. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry pushed Dirk roughly through the window before them, which +opened on to the library, and followed. +</p> + +<p> +“Now—for our lives,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +They ran down the dark length of the chamber and gained the stairs; +the students, having guessed their design, were after them—they could +hear the clatter of feet on the upper landing. +</p> + +<p> +How many stairs, how many before they reach the hall! +</p> + +<p> +Dirk tripped and fell, Theirry dragged him up; a breathless youth +overtook them; Theirry, panting, turned and struck him backwards +sprawling. So they reached the hall, fled along it and out into the +dark garden. +</p> + +<p> +A minute after, the pursuers bearing lights, and half delirious with +wrath and terror, surged out of the college doors. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry caught Dirk’s arm and they ran; across the thick grass, +crashing through the bushes, trampling down the roses, blindly through +the dark till the shouts and the lights grew fainter behind them and +they could feel the trunks of trees impeding them and so knew that +they must have reached the forest. +</p> + +<p> +Then Theirry let go of Dirk, who sank down by his side and lay sobbing +in the grass. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p1ch08"> +CHAPTER VIII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE CASTLE</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">Theirry</span> spoke angrily through the dark. +</p> + +<p> +“Little fool, we are safe enough. They think the Devil has carried us +off. Be silent.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk gasped from where he lay. +</p> + +<p> +“Am not afraid. But spent… they have gone?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” said Theirry, peering about him; there was no trace of light +anywhere in the murky dark nor any sound; he put his hand out and +touched the wet trunk of a tree, resting his shoulder against this +(for he also was exhausted) he considered, angrily, the situation. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you any money?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Not one white piece.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry felt in his own pockets. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing. +</p> + +<p> +Their plight was pitiable; their belongings were in the college, +probably by now being burnt with a sprinkling of holy water—they were +still close to those who would kill them upon sight, with no means of +escape; daylight must discover them if they lingered, and how to be +gone before daylight? +</p> + +<p> +If they tried to wander in this dark likely enough they would but find +themselves at the college gates; Theirry cursed softly. +</p> + +<p> +“Little avail our enchantments now,” he commented bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +It was raining heavily, drumming on the leaves above them, splashing +from the boughs and dripping on the grass; Dirk raised himself feebly. +</p> + +<p> +“Cannot we get shelter?” he asked peevishly. “I am all bruised, shaken +and wet—wet——” +</p> + +<p> +“Likely enough,” responded Theirry grimly. “But unless the charms you +know, Zerdusht’s incantations and Magian spells, can avail to spirit +us away we must even stay where we are.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, my manuscripts, my phials and bottles!” cried Dirk. “I left them +all!” +</p> + +<p> +“They will burn them,” said Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“Plague blast and blight the thieving, spying knaves!” answered Dirk +fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +He got on to his feet and supported himself the other side of the +tree. +</p> + +<p> +“Certes, curse them all!” said Theirry, “if it anything helps.” +</p> + +<p> +He felt anger and hate towards the priest and his followers who had +hounded him from the college; no remorse stung him now, their action +had swung him violently back into his old mood of defiance and +hard-heartedness; his one thought was neither repentance nor shame, +but a hot desire to triumph over his enemies and outwit their pursuit. +</p> + +<p> +“My ankle,” moaned Dirk. “Ah! I cannot stand.…” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry turned to where the voice came out of the blackness. +</p> + +<p> +“Deafen me not with thy complaints, weakling,” he said fiercely. “Hast +behaved in a cowardly fashion to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk was silent before a new phase of Theirry’s character; he saw that +his hold on his companion had been weakened by his display of fear, +his easy surrender of the key. +</p> + +<p> +“Moans make neither comfort nor aid,” added Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk’s voice came softly. +</p> + +<p> +“Had you been sick I had not been so harsh, and surely I am sick… when +I breathe my heart hurts and my foot is full of pain.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry softened. +</p> + +<p> +“Because I love you, Dirk, I will, if you complain no more, say nought +of your ill behaviour.” +</p> + +<p> +He put out his hand round the tree and touched the wet silk mantle; +despite the heat Dirk was shivering. +</p> + +<p> +“What shall we do?” he asked, and strove to keep his teeth from +chattering. “If we might journey to Frankfort——” +</p> + +<p> +“Why Frankfort?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certes, I know an old witch there who was friendly to Master Lukas, +and she would receive us, surely.” +</p> + +<p> +“We cannot reach Frankfort or any place without money… how dark it +is!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ugh! How it rains! I am wet to the skin… and my ankle…” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry set his teeth. +</p> + +<p> +“We will get there in spite of them. Are we so easily daunted?” +</p> + +<p> +“A light!” whispered Dirk. “A light!” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry stared about him and saw in one part of the universal darkness +a small light with a misty halo about it, slowly coming nearer. +</p> + +<p> +“A traveller,” said Theirry. “Now shall he see us or no?” +</p> + +<p> +“Belike he would show us on our way,” whispered Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“If he be not from the college.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, he rides.” +</p> + +<p> +They could hear now, through the monotonous noise of the rain, the +sound of a horse slowly, cautiously advancing; the light swung and +flickered in a changing oval that revealed faintly a man holding it +and a horseman whose bridle he caught with the other hand. +</p> + +<p> +They came at a walking pace, for the path was unequal and slippery, +and the illumination afforded by the lantern feeble at best. +</p> + +<p> +“I will accost him,” said Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“If he demand who we are?” +</p> + +<p> +“Half the truth then—we have left the college because of a fight.” +</p> + +<p> +The horseman and his attendant were now quite close; the light showed +the overgrown path they came upon, the wet foliage either side and the +slanting silver rain; Theirry stepped out before them. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” he said, “know you of any habitation other than the town of +Basle?” +</p> + +<p> +The rider was wrapped in a mantle to his chin and wore a pointed felt +hat; he looked sharply under this at his questioner. +</p> + +<p> +“My own,” he said, and halted his horse. “A third of a league from +here.” +</p> + +<p> +At first he had seemed fearful of robbers, for his hand had sought the +knife in his belt; but now he took it away and stared curiously, +attracted by the student’s dress and the obvious beauty of the young +man who was looking straight at him with dark, challenging eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“We should be indebted for your hospitality—even the shelter of your +barns,” said Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +The horseman’s glance travelled to Dirk, shivering in his silk. +</p> + +<p> +“Clerks from the college?” he questioned. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea,” answered Theirry. “We were. But I sorely wounded one in a fight +and fled. My comrade chose to follow me.” +</p> + +<p> +The stranger touched up his horse. +</p> + +<p> +“Certes, you may come with me. I wot there is room enow.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry caught Dirk by the arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir, we are thankful,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +The light held by the servant showed a muddy, twisting path, the +shining wet trunks, the glistening leaves either side, the great brown +horse, steaming and passive, with his bright scarlet trappings and his +rider muffled in a mantle to the chin; Dirk looked at man and horse +quickly in silence; Theirry spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“It is an ill night to be abroad.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have been in the town,” answered the stranger, “buying silks for my +lady. And you—so you killed a man?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is not dead,” answered Theirry. “But we shall never return to the +college.” +</p> + +<p> +The horseman had a soft and curiously pleasing voice; he spoke as if +he cared nothing what he said or how he was answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Where will you go?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“To Frankfort,” said Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“The Emperor is there now, though he leaves for Rome within the year, +they say,” remarked the horseman, “and the Empress. Have you seen the +Empress?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry put back the boughs that trailed across the path. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Of what town are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Courtrai.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Empress was there a year ago—and you did not see her? One of the +wonders of the world, they say, the Empress.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard of her,” said Dirk, speaking for the first time. “But, +sir, we go not to Frankfort to see the Empress.” +</p> + +<p> +“Likely ye do not,” answered the horseman, and was silent. +</p> + +<p> +They cleared the wood and were crossing a sloping space of grass, the +rain full in their faces; then they again struck a well-worn path, now +leading upwards among scattered rocks. +</p> + +<p> +As they must wait for the horse to get a foothold on the slippery +stones, for the servant to go ahead and cast the lantern light across +the blackness, their progress was slow, but neither of the three spoke +until they halted before a gate in a high wall that appeared to rise +up, suddenly before them, out of the night. +</p> + +<p> +The servant handed the lantern to his master and clanged the bell that +hung beside the gate. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry could see by the massive size of the buttresses that flanked +the entrance that it was a large castle the night concealed from him; +the dwelling, certainly, of some great noble. +</p> + +<p> +The gates were opened by two men carrying lights. The horseman rode +through, the two students at his heels. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell my lady,” said he to one of the men, “that I bring two who +desire her hospitality;” he turned and spoke over his shoulder to +Theirry, “I am the steward here, my lady is very gentle-hearted.” +</p> + +<p> +They crossed a courtyard and found themselves before the square door +of the donjon. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk looked at Theirry, but he kept his eyes lowered and was markedly +silent; their guide dismounted, gave the reins to one of the varlets +who hung about the door, and commanded them to follow him. +</p> + +<p> +The door opened straight on to a large chamber the entire size of the +donjon; it was lit by torches stuck into the wall and fastened by iron +clamps; a number of men stood or sat about, some in a livery of bright +golden-coloured and blue cloth, others in armour or hunting attire; +one or two were pilgrims with the cockle-shells round their hats. +</p> + +<p> +The steward passed through this company, who saluted him with but +little attention to his companions, and ascended a flight of stairs +set in the wall at the far end; these were steep, damp and gloomy, ill +lit by a lamp placed in the niche of the one narrow deep-set window; +Dirk shuddered in his soaked clothes; the steward was unfastening his +mantle; it left trails of wet on the cold stone steps; Theirry marked +it, he knew not why. +</p> + +<p> +At the top of the stairs they paused on a small stone landing. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is your lady?” asked Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“Jacobea of Martzburg, the Emperor’s ward,” answered the steward. He +had taken off his mantle and his hat, and showed himself to be young +and dark, plainly dressed in a suit of deep rose colour, with high +boots, spurred, and a short sword in his belt. +</p> + +<p> +As he opened the door Dirk whispered to Theirry, “It is the lady—ye +met to-day?” +</p> + +<p> +“To-day!” breathed Theirry. “Yea, it is the lady.” +</p> + +<p> +They entered by a little door and stepped into an immense chamber; the +great size of the place was emphasised by the bareness of it and the +dim shifting light that fell from the circles of candles hanging from +the roof; facing them, in the opposite wall, was a high arched window, +faintly seen in the shadows, to the left a huge fire-place with a +domed top meeting the wooden supports of the lofty beamed roof, beside +this a small door stood open on a flight of steps and beyond were two +windows, deep set and furnished with stone seats. +</p> + +<p> +The brick walls were hung with tapestries of a dull purple and gold +colour, the beams of the ceiling painted; at the far end was a table, +and in the centre of the hearth lay a slender white boarhound, asleep. +</p> + +<p> +So vast was the chamber and so filled with shadows that it seemed as +if empty save for the dog; but Theirry, after a second discerned the +figures of two ladies in the furthest window-seat. +</p> + +<p> +The steward crossed to them and the students followed. +</p> + +<p> +One lady sat back in the niched seat, her feet on the stone ledge, her +arm along the window-sill; she wore a brown dress shot with gold +thread, and behind her and along the seat hung and lay draperies of +blue and purple; on her lap rested a small grey cat, asleep. +</p> + +<p> +The other lady sat along the floor on cushions of crimson and yellow; +her green dress was twisted tight about her feet and she stitched a +scarlet lily on a piece of red samite. +</p> + +<p> +“This is the chatelaine,” said the steward; the lady in the +window-seat turned her head; it was Jacobea of Martzburg, as Theirry +had known since his eyes first rested on her. “And this is my wife, +Sybilla.” +</p> + +<p> +Both women looked at the strangers. +</p> + +<p> +“These are your guests until to-morrow, my lady,” said the steward. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea leant forward. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” she exclaimed, and flushed faintly. “Why, you are welcome.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry found it hard to speak; he cursed the chance that had made him +beholden to her hospitality. +</p> + +<p> +“We are leaving the college,” he answered, not looking at her. “And +for to-night could find no shelter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Meeting them I brought them here,” added the steward. +</p> + +<p> +“You did well, Sebastian, surely,” answered Jacobea. “Will it please +you sit, sirs?” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed that she would leave it at that, with neither question nor +comment, but Sybilla, the steward’s wife, looked up smiling from her +embroidery. +</p> + +<p> +“Now wherefore left you the college, on foot on a wet night?” she +said. +</p> + +<p> +“I killed a man—or nearly,” answered Theirry curtly. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea looked at her steward. +</p> + +<p> +“Are they not wet, Sebastian?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am well enough,” said Theirry quickly; he unclasped his mantle. +“Certes, under this I am dry.” +</p> + +<p> +“That am not I!” cried Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +At the sound of his voice both women looked at him; he stood apart +from the others and his great eyes were fixed on Jacobea. +</p> + +<p> +“The rain has cut me to the skin,” he said, and Theirry crimsoned for +shame at his complaining tone. +</p> + +<p> +“It is true,” answered Jacobea courteously. “Sebastian, will you not +take the gentle clerk to a chamber—we have enough empty, I wot—and +give him another habit?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mine are too large,” said the steward in his indifferent voice. +</p> + +<p> +“The youth will fall with an ague,” remarked his wife. “Give him +something, Sebastian, I warrant he will not quarrel about the fit.” +</p> + +<p> +Sebastian turned to the open door beside the fireplace. +</p> + +<p> +“Follow him, fair sir,” said Jacobea gently; Dirk bent his head and +ascended the stairs after the steward. +</p> + +<p> +The chatelaine pulled a red bell-rope that hung close to her, and a +page in the gold and blue livery came after a while; she gave him +instructions in a low voice; he picked up Theirry’s wet mantle, set +him a carved chair and left. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry seated himself; he was alone with the two women and they were +silent, not looking at him; a sense of distraction, of uneasiness was +over him—he wished that he was anywhere but here, sitting a dumb +suppliant in this woman’s presence. +</p> + +<p> +Furtively he observed her—her clinging gown, her little velvet shoes +beneath the hem of it, her long white hands resting on the soft grey +fur of the cat on her knee, her yellow hair, knotted on her neck, and +her lovely, meek face. +</p> + +<p> +Then he noticed the steward’s wife, Sybilla; she was pale, of a type +not greatly admired or belauded, but gorgeous, perhaps, to the taste +of some; her russet red hair was splendid in its gleam through the +gold net that confined it; her mouth was a beautiful shape and colour, +but her brows were too thick, her skin too pale and her blue eyes over +bright and hard. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry’s glance came back to Jacobea; his pride rose that she did not +speak to him, but sat there idle as if she had forgotten him; words +rose to his lips, but he checked them and was mute, flushing now and +then as she moved in her place and still did not speak. +</p> + +<p> +Presently the steward returned and took his place on a chair between +Theirry and his wife, for no reason save that it happened to be there, +it seemed. +</p> + +<p> +He played with the tagged laces on his sleeves and said nothing. +</p> + +<p> +The mysterious atmosphere of the place stole over Theirry with a sense +of the portentous; he felt that something was brooding over these +quiet people who did not speak to each other, something intangible yet +horrible; he clasped his hands together and stared at Jacobea. +</p> + +<p> +Sebastian spoke at last. +</p> + +<p> +“You go to Frankfort?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea,” answered Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“We also, soon, do we not, Sebastian?” said Jacobea. +</p> + +<p> +“You will go to the court,” said Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“I am the Emperor’s ward,” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +Again there was silence; only the sound of the silk drawn through the +samite as Sybilla stitched the red lily; her husband was watching her; +Theirry glancing at him saw his face fully for the first time, and was +half startled. +</p> + +<p> +It was a passionate face, in marked contrast with his voice; a dark +face with a high arched nose and long black eyes; a strange face. +</p> + +<p> +“How quiet the castle is to-night,” said Jacobea; her voice seemed to +faint beneath the weight of the stillness. +</p> + +<p> +“There is noise enough below,” answered Sebastian, “but we cannot hear +it.” +</p> + +<p> +The page returned, carrying a salver bearing tall glasses of wine, +which he offered to Theirry, then to the steward. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry felt the green glass cold to his fingers and shuddered; was +that sense of something awful impending only matter of his own mind, +stored of late with terrible images? +</p> + +<p> +What was the matter with these people… Jacobea had seemed so different +this afternoon… he tasted the wine; it burnt and stung his lips, his +tongue, and sent the blood to his face.… +</p> + +<p> +“It still rains,” said Jacobea; she put her hand out of the open +window and brought it back wet. +</p> + +<p> +“But it is hot,” said Sybilla. +</p> + +<p> +Once more the heavy silence; the page took back the glasses and left +the room. +</p> + +<p> +Then the door beside the fire-place was pushed open and Dirk entered +softly into the mute company. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p1ch09"> +CHAPTER IX.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">SEBASTIAN</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">He</span> wore a flame-coloured mantle that hung about him in heavy folds, +and under that a tight yellow doublet; his hair drooped smoothly, +there was a bright colour in his face, and his eyes sparkled. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye are merry,” he mocked, glancing round him. “Will you that I play +or sing?” He looked, in his direct burning way at Jacobea, and she +answered hastily— +</p> + +<p> +“Certes, with all my heart—the air is hot—and thick—to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk laughed, and Theirry stared at him bewildered, so utterly had his +demeanour changed; he was gay now, radiant; he leant against the wall +in the centre of them and glanced from one silent face to another. +</p> + +<p> +“I can play rarely,” he smiled. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea took an instrument from among the cushions in the window-seat; +it was red, with a heart-shaped body, a long neck and three strings. +</p> + +<p> +“You can play this?” she asked in a half-frightened manner. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay.” Dirk came forward and took it. “I will sing you a fine tune, +surely.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry was something of a musician himself, but he had never heard +that Dirk had any such skill; he said nothing, however; a sense of +helplessness was upon him; the atmosphere of gloom and horror that he +felt held him chained and gagged. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk returned to his place against the wall; Sybilla had dropped the +red lily on to her lap; they were all looking at him. +</p> + +<p> +“I will sing you the tune of a foolish lady,” he smiled. +</p> + +<p> +His shadow was heavy on the wall behind him; the dark purple hues of +the tapestry threw into brilliant relief the flame hues of his robe +and the clear pale colour of his strange face; he held the instrument +across his knees and commenced playing on it with the long bow Jacobea +had given him; an irregular quick melody arose, harsh and jeering. +</p> + +<p> +After he had played a while he began to sing, but in a chant under his +breath, so that the quality of his voice was not heard. +</p> + +<p> +He sang strange meaningless words at first; the four listening sat +very still; only Sybilla had picked up her sewing, and her fingers +rose and fell steadily as the bodkin glittered over the red lily. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry hid his face in his hands; he hated the place, the woman +quietly sewing, the dark-faced man beside him; he even hated the image +of Jacobea, that he saw, as clearly as if he looked at her, brightly +before him. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk broke into a little doggerel rhyme, every word of which was hard +and clear. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“The turkis in my fine spun hair</span><br> +<span class="i1">Was brought to me from Barbarie.</span><br> +<span class="i0">My pointed shield is rouge and vair,</span><br> +<span class="i1">Where mullets three shine royallie.</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now if he guessed,</span><br> +<span class="i1">He need not wait in poor estate,</span><br> +<span class="i0">But on his breast</span><br> +<span class="i1">Wear all my state and be my mate.</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For sick for very love am I,</span><br> +<span class="i1">My heart is weak to kiss his cheek;</span><br> +<span class="i0">But he is low, and I am high,</span><br> +<span class="i1">I cannot speak, for I am weak.”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +Jacobea put the cat among the cushions and rose; she had a curious set +smile on her lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you call that the rhyme of a foolish lady?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, for if she had offered her love, surely it had not been refused,” +answered Dirk, dragging the bow across the strings. +</p> + +<p> +“You think so?” said Jacobea in a shrinking tone. +</p> + +<p> +“Mark you, she was a rich lady,” smiled Dirk, “and fair enough, and +young and gentle, and he was poor; so I think, if she had not been so +foolish, she might have been his second wife.” +</p> + +<p> +At these words Theirry looked up; he saw Jacobea standing in a +bewildered fashion, as if she knew not whether to go or stay, and in +her eyes an unmistakable look of amazement and horror. +</p> + +<p> +“The rhyme said nothing of the first wife,” remarked Sybilla, without +looking up from the red lily. +</p> + +<p> +“The rhyme says very little,” answered Dirk. “It is an old story—the +squire had a wife, but if the lady had told her love belike he had +found himself a widower.” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea touched the steward’s wife on the shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear heart,” she said, “I am weary—very weary with doing nought. And +it is late—and the place strange—to-night—at least”—she gave a +trembling smile—“I feel it—strange—so—good even.” +</p> + +<p> +Sybilla rose, Jacobea’s lips touched her on the forehead. +</p> + +<p> +The steward watched them; Jacobea, the taller of the two, stooping to +kiss his wife. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry got to his feet; the chatelaine raised her head and looked +towards him. +</p> + +<p> +“To-morrow I will bid you God speed, sirs;” her blue eyes glanced +aside at Dirk, who had moved to the door by the fire-place, and held +it open for her; she looked back at Theirry, then round in silence and +coloured swiftly. +</p> + +<p> +Sybilla glanced at the sand clock against the wall. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, it is near midnight. I will come with you.” +</p> + +<p> +She put her arm round Jacobea’s waist, and smiled backwards over her +shoulder at Theirry; so they went, the sound of their garments on the +stairs making a faint soft noise; the little cat rose from her +cushions, stretched herself, and followed them. +</p> + +<p> +Sebastian picked up the red silk lily that his wife had flung down on +the cushions; the candles were guttering to the iron sockets, making +the light in the chamber still dimmer, the corners still more deeply +obscured with waving shadows. +</p> + +<p> +“You know your chamber,” said the steward to Dirk. “You will find me +here in the morning. Good-night.” +</p> + +<p> +He took a bunch of keys from his belt and swung them in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night,” said Theirry heavily. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk smiled, and threw himself into the vacated window-seat. +</p> + +<p> +The steward crossed the room to the door by which they had entered; he +did not look back, though both were watching him; the door closed +after him violently, and they were alone in the vast darkening hall. +</p> + +<p> +“This is fine hospitality,” sneered Dirk. “Is there none to light us +to our chamber?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry walked to and fro with an irregular agitated step. +</p> + +<p> +“What was that song of yours?” he asked. “What did you mean? What ails +this place and these people? She never looked at me.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk pulled at the strings of the instrument he still held; they +emitted little wailing sounds. +</p> + +<p> +“She is pretty, your chatelaine,” he said. “I did not think to see her +so soon. You love her—or you might love her.” +</p> + +<p> +His bright eyes glanced across the shadowy space between them. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye mock and sneer at me,” answered Theirry hotly, “because she is a +great dame. I do not love her, and yet——” +</p> + +<p> +“And yet——?” goaded Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“If our arts can do anything for us—could they not—if I wished +it—some day—get this lady for me?” +</p> + +<p> +He paused, his hand to his pale brow. +</p> + +<p> +“You shall never have her,” said Dirk, biting his under lip. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry turned on him violently. +</p> + +<p> +“You cannot tell. Of what use to serve Evil for nought?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ye have done with remorse belike?” mocked Dirk. “Ye have ceased to +long for priests and holy water?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” said Theirry recklessly, “I shall not falter again—I will take +these means—any means——” +</p> + +<p> +“To attain—her?” Dirk got up from the window-seat and rose to his +full height. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry gave him a sick look. +</p> + +<p> +“I will not bandy taunts with you. I must sleep a little.” +</p> + +<p> +“They have given us the first chamber ye come to, ascending those +stairs,” answered Dirk quietly. “There is a lamp, and the door is set +open. Good-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will not come?” asked Theirry sullenly. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay. I will sleep here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why? You are strange to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk smiled unpleasantly. +</p> + +<p> +“There is a reason. A good reason. Get to bed.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry left him without an answer, and closed the door upon him. +</p> + +<p> +When he had gone, and there was no longer a sound of his footstep, a +rustle of the arras to tell he had been, a great change swept over +Dirk’s face; a look of agony, of distraction contorted his proud +features, he paced softly here and there, twisting his hands together +and lifting his eyes blindly to the painted ceiling. +</p> + +<p> +Half the candles had flickered out; the others smoked and flared in +the sockets; the rain dripping on the window-sill without made an +insistent sound. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk paused before the vast bare hearth. +</p> + +<p> +“He shall never have her,” he said in a low, steady voice as if he saw +and argued with some personage facing him. “No. You will prevent it. +Have I not served you well? Ever since I left the convent? Did you not +promise me great power—as the black letters of the forbidden books +swam before my eyes; did I not hear you whispering, whispering?” +</p> + +<p> +He turned about as though following a movement in the person he spoke +to, and shivered. +</p> + +<p> +“I will keep my comrade. Do you hear me? Did you send me here to +prevent it?—they seemed to know you were at my elbow +to-night—hush!—one comes!” +</p> + +<p> +He fell back against the wall, his finger on his lips, his other hand +clutching the arras behind him. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush!” he repeated. +</p> + +<p> +The door at the far end of the chamber was slowly opened; a man +stepped in and cautiously closed it; a little cry of triumph rose to +Dirk’s lips, but he repressed it and gave a glance into the pulsating +shadows as if he communicated with some mysterious companion. +</p> + +<p> +It was Sebastian who had entered; he looked swiftly round, and seeing +Dirk, came towards him. +</p> + +<p> +In the steward’s hand was a little cresset lamp; the clear, +heart-shaped flame illuminated his dark face and his pink habit; his +eyes looked over this light in a burning way at Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“So—you are not abed?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +There was more than the aimless comment in his tone, an expectation, +an excitement. +</p> + +<p> +“You came to find me,” answered Dirk. “Why?” +</p> + +<p> +Sebastian set the lamp on a little bracket by the window; he put his +hand to his neck, loosening his doublet, and looked away. +</p> + +<p> +“It is very hot,” he said in a low voice. “I cannot rest. I feel +to-night as I have never felt—I think the cause is with you—what you +said has distracted me;” he turned his head. “Who are you? What did +you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“You know,” answered Dirk, “what I am—a poor student from Basle +college. And in your heart you know what I meant.” +</p> + +<p> +Sebastian stared at him a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“God! But how could you discern—even if it be true?—you, a stranger. +But now I think of it, belike there is reason in it—certes, she has +shown me favour.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“ ’Tis a rich lady, her husband would be a noble, think of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What ye put into me!” cried Sebastian in a distracted voice. “That I +should talk thus to a prating boy! But the thought clings and +burns—and surely ye are wise.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk, still leaning against the wall, smoothed the arras with delicate +fingers. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely I am wise. Well skilled in difficult sciences am I, and quick +to see—and understand—take this for your hospitality, sir +steward—watch your mistress.” +</p> + +<p> +Sebastian put his hand to his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I have a wife.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Will she live for ever?” +</p> + +<p> +Sebastian looked at him and stammered, as if some sudden sight of +terror seared his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“There—there is witchcraft in this—your meaning——” +</p> + +<p> +“Think of it!” flashed Dirk. “Remember it! Ye get no more from me.” +</p> + +<p> +The steward stood quite still, gazing at him. +</p> + +<p> +“I think that I have lost my wits to-night,” he said in a low voice. +“I do not know what I came down to you for—nor whence come these +strange thoughts.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk nodded his head; a small, slow smile trembled on the corners of +his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Perchance I shall see you in Frankfort, sir steward.” +</p> + +<p> +Sebastian caught at the words with eagerness. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea—I go there with—my lady——” He stopped blankly. +</p> + +<p> +“As yet,” said Dirk, “I know neither my dwelling there nor the name I +shall assume. But you—if I need to I shall find you at the Emperor’s +court?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea,” answered Sebastian; then, reluctantly, “What should you want +with me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Will it not be you who may need me?” smiled Dirk. “I, who have +to-night put thoughts into your brain that you will not forget?” +</p> + +<p> +Sebastian turned about quickly, and caught up the cresset lamp. +</p> + +<p> +“I will see you before you go,” he whispered, horror in his face. +“Yea, on the morrow I shall desire more speech with you.” +</p> + +<p> +Like a man afraid, in terror of himself, filled with a dread of his +companion, Sebastian, the pure flame of the lamp quivering with the +shaking of his hand, crossed the long chamber and left by the door +through which he had entered. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk gave a half-suppressed shiver of excitement; the candles had +mostly burnt out; the hall seemed monstrous in the gusty, straggling +light. He crept to the window; the rain had ceased, and he looked out +on a hot starless darkness, disturbed by no sound. +</p> + +<p> +He shivered again, closed the window and flung himself along the +cushions in the niched seat. Lying there, where Jacobea had sat, he +thought of her; she was more present to his mind than all the crowded +incidents of the past day; his afternoon passed in the sunny library, +his evening before the beautiful witch fire, the wild escape into the +night, the flight through the wet forest, the sombre arrival at the +castle, were but flitting backgrounds to the slim figure of the +chatelaine. +</p> + +<p> +Certainly she had a potent personality; she was exquisite, a thing +shut away in sweet fragrancy. He thought of her as an ivory pyx filled +with red flowers; there were her trembling passionate emotions, her +modest secrets, that she guarded delicately. +</p> + +<p> +It was his intention to tear open this tabernacle to wrench from her +her treasures and scatter them among blood and ruin; he meant to bring +her to utter destruction; not her body, perhaps, but her soul. +</p> + +<p> +And this because she had interfered with the one being on earth he +cared about—Theirry; not because he hated her for herself. +</p> + +<p> +“How beautiful she is!” he said aloud, almost tenderly. +</p> + +<p> +The last candle fluttered up and sank out; Dirk, lying luxuriously +among the cushions, looked into the complete blackness with +half-closed eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“How beautiful!” he repeated; he felt he could have loved her himself; +he thought of her now, lying in her white bed, her hair unbound; he +wished himself kneeling beside her, caressing those yellow locks; a +desire possessed him to touch her curls, her soft cheek, to have her +hand in his and hear her laugh; surely she was a sweet thing, made to +be loved. +</p> + +<p> +Yet the power that had brought him here to-night had made plain that +if he did not take the chance of her destruction set in his way, she +would win Theirry from him for ever. +</p> + +<p> +He had made the first move; in the dark face of Sebastian the steward +he had seen the beginning of—the end. +</p> + +<p> +But thinking of her he felt the tears come to his eyes; suddenly he +fell into weary weeping, thinking of her, and sobbed sadly, face +downwards, on the cushion. +</p> + +<p> +Her yellow hair, mostly he thought of that, her long, fine, soft, +yellow hair, and how, before the end, it would be trailing in the dust +of despair and humiliation. +</p> + +<p> +Presently he laughed at himself for his tears, and drying them, fell +asleep; and awoke from blank dreamlessness to hear his name ringing in +his ears. He sat up in the window-seat. +</p> + +<p> +His eyes were hot with his late tears; the misty blue light of dawn +that he found about him hurt them; he shrank from this light that came +in a clear shaft through the arched window, and, crouching away from +it, saw Theirry standing close to him, Theirry, fully dressed and +pale, looking at him earnestly. +</p> + +<p> +“Dirk, we must go now. I cannot stay any longer in this place.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk, leaning his head against the cushions, said nothing, impressed +anew with his friend’s beauty. How fine and fair a thing Theirry’s +face was in the colourless early light; in hue and line splendid, in +expression wild and pained. +</p> + +<p> +“I could not sleep much,” continued Theirry. “I do not want to see +them—her—again—not like this—get up, Dirk—why did you not come to +bed? I wanted your company—things were haunting me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mostly her face?” breathed Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” said Theirry sombrely. “Mostly her face.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk was silent again; was not her loveliness the counterpart of his +friend’s?—he imagined them together—close—touching hands, lips—and +as he pictured this he grew paler. +</p> + +<p> +“The castle is open, there are varlets abroad,” cried Theirry. “Let us +go—supposing—oh, my heart! supposing one came from the college to +look for us!” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk considered; he reflected that he had no desire to meet Sebastian +again; he had said all he wished to. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us go,” he assented; his one regret was that he should not see +again the delicate face crowned with the yellow hair. +</p> + +<p> +He rose from the seat and shook out his borrowed flame-coloured +mantle, then he closed his tired eyes as he stood, for a very +exquisite sensation rushed over him; nothing had come between him and +his friend; Theirry of his own choice had roused him—wanting +him—they were to go forth together alone. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p1ch10"> +CHAPTER X.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE SAINT</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">They</span> were wandering through the forest in an endeavour to find the +high road; the sun, nearly at its full strength, dazzled through the +pines and traced figures of gold on the path they followed. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry was silent; they were hungry, without money or any hope of +procuring any, fatigued with the rough walking through the heat, and +also, it seemed, lost; these facts were ever present to his mind; +also, every step was taking him further away from Jacobea of +Martzburg, and he longed to see her again, to make her notice him, +speak to him; yet of his own desire he had left her castle +ungraciously; these things held him bitterly silent. +</p> + +<p> +But Dirk, though he was pale and weary, kept a light joyous heart; he +had trust in the master he was serving. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall be helped yet,” he said. “Were we not hopeless last night +when one came and gave us shelter?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry did not answer. +</p> + +<p> +The forest grew up the base of the mountain chain, and after a while, +walking steadily, they came out upon a gorge some landslip had torn, +uprooting trees and hurling aside rocks; over this bare space harshly +cleared, water rippled and dripped, finding its way through fern-grown +rocks and boulders until it fell into a little stream that ran across +the open space of grass and was lost in the shadow of the trees. +</p> + +<p> +By the side of it, on the pleasant stretch of grass, a small white +horse was browsing, and a man sat near, on one of the uprooted pines. +</p> + +<p> +The two students paused and contemplated him; he was a monk in a +blue-grey habit; his face was infinitely sweet; with his hands clasped +in his lap and his head a little raised he gazed with large, peaceful +eyes through the shifting fir boughs to the blue sky beyond them. +</p> + +<p> +“Of what use he!” said Theirry bitterly; since the Church had hurled +him out the Devil was gaining such sure possession of his soul that he +loathed all things holy. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said Dirk, with a little smile. “We will speak to him.” +</p> + +<p> +The monk, hearing their voices, looked round and fixed on them a calm +smiling gaze. +</p> + +<p> +“Dominus det nobis suam pacem,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk replied instantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Et vitam aeternam. Amen.” +</p> + +<p> +“We have missed our way,” said Theirry curtly. +</p> + +<p> +The monk rose and stood in a courteous, humble position. +</p> + +<p> +“Can you put us on the high road, my father?” asked Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely!” The monk glanced at the weary face of his questioner. “I am +myself travelling from town to town, my son. And know this country +well. Will you not rest a while?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay.” Dirk came down the slope and flung himself along the grass; +Theirry, half sullen, followed. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye are both weary and in lack of food,” said the monk gently. “Praise +be to the angels that I have wherewithal to aid ye.” +</p> + +<p> +He opened one of the leather bags resting against the fallen tree, +took out a loaf, a knife and a cup, cut the bread and gave them a +portion each, then filled the cup from the clear dripping water. +</p> + +<p> +They disdained thanks for such miserable fare and ate in silence. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry, when he had finished, asked for the remainder of the loaf and +devoured that; Dirk was satisfied with his allowance, but he drank +greedily of the beautiful water. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye have come from Basle?” asked the monk. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“And we go to Frankfort.” +</p> + +<p> +“A long way,” said the monk cheerfully. “And on foot, but a pleasant +journey, certes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you, my father?” asked Theirry abruptly. “I saw you in +Courtrai, surely.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am Ambrose of Menthon,” answered the monk. “And I have preached in +Courtrai. To the glory of God.” +</p> + +<p> +Both students knew the name of Saint Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry flushed uneasily. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you here, father?” he asked. “I thought you were in Rome.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have returned,” replied the saint humbly. “It came to me that I +could serve Christus”—he crossed himself—“better here. If God His +angel will it I desire to build a monastery up yonder—above the +snow.” +</p> + +<p> +He pointed through the trees towards the mountains; his eyes, that +were blue-grey, the colour of his habit, sparkled softly. +</p> + +<p> +“A house to God His glory,” he murmured. “In the whiteness of the +snows. That is my intent.” +</p> + +<p> +“How will you attain it, holy sir?” questioned Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +Saint Ambrose did not seem to notice the mocking tone. +</p> + +<p> +“I have,” he said, “already considerable moneys. I beg in the great +castles, and they are generous to God His poor servant. We, my +brethren and I, have sold some land. I return to them now with much +gold. Deo gratias.” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke there was such a pure sweetness in his fair face that +Theirry turned away abashed, but Dirk, lying on his side and pulling +up the grass, answered— +</p> + +<p> +“Are you not afraid of robbers, my father?” +</p> + +<p> +The saint smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay; God His money is sacred even unto the evil-doer. Surely I fear +nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is much wickedness in the heart of man,” said Dirk. And he also +smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Judge with charity,” answered Ambrose of Menthon. “There is also much +goodness. You speak, my son, with seeming bitterness which showeth a +soul not yet at peace. The wages of the world are worthless, but God +giveth immortality.” +</p> + +<p> +He rose and began fastening the saddle bags on the pony; as his back +was turned Theirry and Dirk exchanged a quick look. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk rose from the grass and spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“May we, my father, come with you, as we know not the way?” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely!” The saint looked at them, his eyes fixed half yearningly on +Theirry’s beautiful face. “Ye are most welcome to my poor company.” +</p> + +<p> +The little procession started through the pine forest; Ambrose of +Menthon, erect, spare, walking lightly with untroubled face and +leading the white pony, burdened with the saddle bags containing the +gold; Theirry, sombre, silent, striding beside him, and Dirk, a little +behind, in his flame-coloured mantle, his eyes bright in a weary face. +</p> + +<p> +Saint Ambrose spoke, beautifully, on common things; he spoke of birds, +of St. Hieronymus and his writings, of Jovinian and his enemy Ambrose +of Milan, of Rufinus and Pelagius the Briton, of Vigilantius and +violets, with which flowers, he said, the first court of Paradise was +paved. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk answered with a learning, both sacred and profane, that surprised +the monk; he knew all these writers, all the fathers of the Church and +many others, he quoted from them in different tongues; he knew Pagan +philosophies and the history of the old world; he argued theology like +a priest and touched on geometry, mathematics, astrology. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye have a vast knowledge,” said Saint Ambrose, amazed; and in his +heart Theirry was jealous. +</p> + +<p> +And so they came, towards evening, on to the road and saw in a valley +beneath them a little town. +</p> + +<p> +All three halted. +</p> + +<p> +The Angelus was ringing, the sound came sweetly up the valley. +</p> + +<p> +Saint Ambrose sank on his knees and bowed his head; the students fell +back among the trees. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” whispered Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“It is our chance,” frowned Theirry in the same tone. “I have been +thinking of it all day——” +</p> + +<p> +“I also; there is much money.…” +</p> + +<p> +“We could get it without… blood?” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely, but if need be even that.” +</p> + +<p> +Their eyes met; in the pleasant green shade they saw each other’s +excited faces. +</p> + +<p> +“It is God His money,” murmured Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“What matter for that, if the Devil be stronger?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush! the Angelus ends.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now—we join him.” +</p> + +<p> +They sank on their knees, to rise as the saint got to his feet and +glanced about him; at the edge of the wood they joined him and looked +down at the town below. +</p> + +<p> +“Now we can find our way,” said Dirk in a firm, suddenly changed +voice. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose of Menthon considered him over the little white pony. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you not bear me company into the town?” he asked wistfully; he +did not notice that Theirry had slipped behind him. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk’s eyes flashed a signal to his companion. +</p> + +<p> +“We will into the town,” he said, “but without thy company, Sir Saint, +now!” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry flung his mantle from behind and twisted it tightly over the +monk’s head and face, causing him to stagger backwards; Dirk rushed, +seized his thin hands, and strapped them together with the leather +belt he had just loosened from his waist, and between them they +dragged him into the trees. +</p> + +<p> +“My ears are weary of thy tedious talk,” said Theirry viciously, “my +eyes of thy sickly face.” +</p> + +<p> +They took the straps from the pony and bound their victim to a tree; +it was an easy matter, for he made no resistance and no sound came +from under the mantle twisted over his face. +</p> + +<p> +“There is much evil in the heart of man,” mocked Dirk. “And much +folly, oh, guileless, in the hearts of saints!” +</p> + +<p> +Having seen to it that he was securely fastened the two returned to +the pony and examined their plunder. +</p> + +<p> +In one bag there were parchments, books, and a knotted rope, in the +other numerous little linen sacks of varying sizes. +</p> + +<p> +These they turned out upon the grass and swiftly unfastened the +strings. +</p> + +<p> +Gold—each one filled with gold, fine, shining coins with the head of +the Emperor glittering on them. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk retied the sacks and replaced them in the saddle bags; neither of +them had seen so much gold together before; because of it they were +silent and a little trembling. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry, as he heard the good yellow money chink together, felt his +last qualms go; for the first time since he had entered into league +with the spirits of evil he had plain evidence it was a fine thing to +have the Devil on his side. A stupefying pleasure and exaltation came +over him, he did not doubt that Satan had sent this saintly man their +way, and he was grateful; to find himself possessed of this amount of +money was a greater delight than any he had known, even a more +delightful thing than seeing Jacobea of Martzburg lean across the +stream towards him. +</p> + +<p> +As they reloaded the pony, managing as best they might without the +straps, Dirk fell to laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“I will get my mantle,” said Theirry; he went up to Ambrose of +Menthon, telling himself he was not afraid of meeting the saint’s +eyes, and unwound the heavy mantle from his head. +</p> + +<p> +The saint sank together like the dead. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk still laughed, mounted on the white pony, flourishing a stick. +</p> + +<p> +“The fellow has swooned,” said Theirry, bewildered. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” answered Dirk over his shoulder, “you can bring the straps, +which we need, surely.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry unfastened the monk and laid his slack body on the grass; as +he did so he saw that the grey habit was stained with blood, there was +wet blood, too, on the straps. +</p> + +<p> +“Now what is this?” he cried, and bent over the unconscious man to see +where he was wounded. +</p> + +<p> +His searching hand came upon cold iron under the rough robe; Ambrose +of Menthon wore a girdle lined with sharp points, that at every +movement must have been torture, and that, at their brutal binding of +him, had entered his flesh with an agony unbearable. +</p> + +<p> +“Make haste!” cried Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry straightened his back and looked down at the sweet face of +Saint Ambrose; he wished that their victim had cried out or moaned, +his silence being a hard thing to think of—and he must have been in a +pain.… +</p> + +<p> +“Be quick!” urged Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry joined him. +</p> + +<p> +“What shall we do with—that man?” he said awkwardly; his blood was +burning, leaping. +</p> + +<p> +“ ’Tis a case for the angels, not for us,” answered Dirk. “But if ye +feel tenderly (and certainly he was pleasant to us) we can tell, in +the town, that we found him. ‘Deo gratias,’ ” he mocked the saintly, +low calm voice, but Theirry did not laugh. +</p> + +<p> +A splendid yellow sunset was shimmering in their eyes as they came +slowly down into the valley and passed through the white street of the +little town. +</p> + +<p> +They visited the hostel, fed the white pony there and recounted how +they had seen a monk in the wood they had just traversed, whether +unconscious in prayer or for want of breath they had not the leisure +to examine. +</p> + +<p> +Then they went on their way, eschewing, by common consent this time, +the accommodation of the homely inn, and taking with them a basket of +the best food the town afforded. +</p> + +<p> +Clearing the scattered cottages they gained the heights again and +paused on the grassy borders of a mighty wood that spread either side +the high road. +</p> + +<p> +There they spread a banquet very different from the saint’s poor +repast; they had yellow wine, red wine, baked meats, cakes, jellies, a +heron and a basket of grapes, all bought with the gold Ambrose of +Menthon had toiled to collect to build God’s house amid the snows. +</p> + +<p> +Arranging these things on the soft grass they sat in the pleasant +shade, luxuriously, and laughed at each other over their food. +</p> + +<p> +The heavens were perfectly clear, there was no cloud in all the great +dome of sky, and, reflecting on the night before, and how they had +stood shivering in the wet, they laughed the more. +</p> + +<p> +Then were they penniless, with neither hope nor prospect and in danger +of pursuit. Now they were on the high road with more gold in their +possession than they had ever seen before, with a horse to carry their +burdens, and good food and delicate wine before them. +</p> + +<p> +Their master had proved worth serving. They toasted him in the wine +bought with God His money and made merry over it; they did not mention +Ambrose of Menthon. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk was supremely happy; everything about him was a keen delight, the +fragrant perfume of the pine woods, the dark purple depths of them, +the bright green grass, the sky changing into a richer colour as the +sun faded, the mountain peaks tinged with pearly rose, the whole +beautiful, silent prospect and his comrade looking at him with a smile +on his fair face. +</p> + +<p> +A troop of white mountain goats driven by a shepherd boy went past, +they were the only living things they saw. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk watched them going towards the town, then he said— +</p> + +<p> +“The chatelaine… Jacobea of Martzburg——” he broke off. “Do you +remember, the first night we met, what we saw in the mirror? A woman, +was it not? Her face—have you forgotten it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” answered Theirry, suddenly sombre. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk turned to look at him closely. +</p> + +<p> +“It was not Jacobea, was it?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was utterly different,” said Theirry. “No, she was not Jacobea.” +</p> + +<p> +He propped a musing face on his hand and stared down at the grass. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk did not speak again, and after a while of silence Theirry slept. +</p> + +<p> +With a start he woke, but lay without moving, his eyes closed; some +one was singing, and it was so beautiful that he feared to move lest +it should be in his dreams only that he heard it. +</p> + +<p> +A woman’s voice, and she sang loud and clearly, in a passion of joyous +gaiety; her notes mounted like birds flying up a mountain, then sank +like snowflakes softly descending. +</p> + +<p> +After a while the wordless song died away and Theirry sat up, +quivering, in a maze of joy. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is that?” he called, his eager eyes searching the twilight. +</p> + +<p> +No one… nothing but the insignificant figure of Dirk, who sat at the +edge of the wood gazing at the stars. +</p> + +<p> +“I dreamt it,” said Theirry bitterly, and cursed his waking. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p1ch11"> +CHAPTER XI.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE WITCH</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">In</span> a back street of the city of Frankfort stood an old one-storied +house, placed a little apart from the others, and surrounded by a +beautiful garden. +</p> + +<p> +Here lived Nathalie, a woman more than suspected of being a witch, but +of such outward quiet and secretive ways that there never had been the +slightest excuse for even those most convinced of her real character +to interfere with her. +</p> + +<p> +She was from the East—Syria, Egypt or Persia; no one could remember +her first coming to Frankfort, nor how she had become possessed of the +house where she dwelt; her means of livelihood were also a mystery. It +was guessed that she made complexion washes and dyes supplied secretly +to the great court ladies; it was believed that she sold love potions, +perhaps worse; it was known that in some way she made money, for +though generally clothed in rags, she had been seen wearing very +splendid garments and rich jewels. +</p> + +<p> +Also, it was rumoured by those living near that strange sounds of +revelry had on occasion arisen from her high-walled garden, as if a +great banquet were given, and dark-robed guests had been seen to enter +her narrow door. +</p> + +<p> +That garden was empty now and a great stillness lay over the witch’s +house; the hot midsummer sun glowed in the rose bushes that surrounded +it; red roses all of them, and large and beautiful. +</p> + +<p> +The windows of the great room at the back of the house had their +shutters closed so that only a few squares of light fell through the +lattice-work, and the room was in shadow. +</p> + +<p> +It was a barely furnished chamber, with an open tiled hearth on which +stood a number of bronze and copper bowls and drinking vessels. In the +low window-seat were cushions of rich Eastern embroidery, hanging on +the walls, hideous distorted masks made of wood and painted +fantastically, some short curved swords, and a parchment calendar. +</p> + +<p> +Before this stood Dirk, marking with a red pencil a day in the row of +dates. +</p> + +<p> +This done he stepped back, stared at the calendar and frowned, sucking +the red pencil. +</p> + +<p> +He was attired in a grave suit of black, and wearing a sober cap that +almost concealed his hair; he held himself very erect, and the firm +set of his mouth emphasised the prominent jaw and chin. +</p> + +<p> +As he stood there, deep in thought, Theirry entered, nodded at him and +crossed to the window; he also was dressed in dull straight garments, +but they could not obscure the glowing brown beauty of his face. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk looked at him with eyes that sparkled affection. +</p> + +<p> +“I am making a name in Frankfort,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” answered Theirry, not returning his glance. “I have heard you +spoken of by those who have attended your lectures—they said your +doctrines touched infidelity.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nevertheless they come,” smiled Dirk. “I do not play for a safe +reputation… otherwise should I be here?—living in a place of evil +name?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not think,” replied Theirry, “that any go so far as to guess the +real nature of your studies, nor what it is you pursue——” And he +also smiled, but grimly. +</p> + +<p> +“Every man in Frankfort is not priest-beridden,” said Dirk quickly. +“They would not meddle with me just because I do not preach the laws +of the Church. I teach my scholars rhetoric, logic and philosophy… +they are well pleased.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard it,” answered Theirry, looking out of the window at the +red roses dazzling in the sunshine; Dirk could not guess how it +rankled with his friend that <i>he</i> obtained no pupils, that no one +cared to listen to his teaching; that while Dirk was becoming famous +as the professor of rhetoric at Frankfort college, he remained utterly +unknown. +</p> + +<p> +“To-day I disclosed to them Procopius,” said Dirk, “and propounded a +hundred propositions out of Priscianus—should improve their +Latin—there were some nobles from the Court. One submitted that my +teaching was heretical—asked if I was a Gnostic or an Arian—said I +should be condemned by the Council of Saragossa—as Avila was, and for +as good reasons.…” +</p> + +<p> +“Meanwhile…” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +“Meanwhile—we know almost all the wise woman can teach us, and are on +the eve of great power.…” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry pushed wider the shutters so that the strong sunlight fell +over the knee of his dark gown. +</p> + +<p> +“You perhaps,” he said heavily. “Not I—the spirits will not listen to +me… only with great difficulty can I compel them… well I wot that I am +bound to evil, but I wot also that it doth little for me.” +</p> + +<p> +At this complaint a look of apprehension came into Dirk’s eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“My fortune is your fortune,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” answered Theirry, half fiercely, “it is not… you have been +successful… so have not I… old Nathalie loves you—she cares nothing +for me—you have already a name in Frankfort—I have none, nor money +either… Saint Ambrose’s gold is gone, and I live on your charity.” +</p> + +<p> +While he was speaking Dirk gazed at him with a strengthening +expression of trouble and dismay; with large distracted eyes full of +tenderness, while his cheeks paled and his mouth quivered. +</p> + +<p> +“No—no.” He spoke in protest, but his distress was too deep and too +genuine to allow of much speech. +</p> + +<p> +“I am going away from here,” said Theirry firmly. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk gasped as if he had been wounded. +</p> + +<p> +“From Frankfort?” he ejaculated. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay… from this place.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a little silence while the last traces of light and colour +seemed to be drained from Dirk’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“You do not mean that,” he said at length. “After we have been… Oh, +after all of it—you cannot mean…” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry turned and faced the room. +</p> + +<p> +“You need not fear that I shall break the bond that unites us,” he +cried. “I have gone too far… yea, and still I hope to attain by the +Devil’s aid my desires. But I will not stay here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where will you go?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry’s hazel eyes again sought the crimson roses in the witch’s +garden. +</p> + +<p> +“To-day as I wandered outside the walls I met a hawking party. Jacobea +of Martzburg was among them.” +</p> + +<p> +They had been in Frankfort many weeks, and so had she, yet this was +the first time that he had mentioned her name. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” cried Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“She knew me,” continued Theirry; “and spoke to me. She asked, out of +her graciousness, if I had aught to do in Frankfort… thinking, I wot, +I looked not like it.” He blushed and smiled. “Then she offered me a +post at Court. Her cousin is Chamberlain to the Queen—nay, Empress, I +should say—and he will take me as his secretary. I shall accept.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk was miserably, hopelessly silent; all the radiance, the triumph +that had adorned him when Theirry entered were utterly quenched; he +stood like one under the lash, with agonised eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you not glad?” asked Theirry, with a swell in his voice. “I shall +be near her.…” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that a vast consideration?” said Dirk faintly. “That you should be +near her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you think that I had forgotten her because I spoke not?” answered +Theirry. “Also there are chances that by your arts I may +strengthen——” +</p> + +<p> +Through the heavy golden shadows of the room Dirk moved slowly towards +the window where Theirry stood. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall lose you,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry was half startled by the note in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay… shall I not come here… often? Are you not my comrade?” +</p> + +<p> +“So you speak,” answered Dirk, his brow drawn, his lips pale even for +one of his pallor. “But you leave me.… You choose another path from +mine.” He wrung his frail hands together. “I had not thought of this.” +</p> + +<p> +“It need not grieve you that I go,” answered Theirry, half sullen, +half wondering. “I wot I am pledged deeply enough to thy Master.” His +eyes flashed wildly. “Is there not sin on my soul?—Have I not +awakened in the night to see Saint Ambrose smile at me? Am I not +outside the Church and in league with Hell?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush! hush!” warned Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry flung himself into the window-seat, his elbows on his knees, +his palms pressed into his cheeks; the sunlight fell through the open +window behind him and shone richly in his dark brown hair. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk leant against the wall and stared down at him; in his poor pale +face were yearning and tenderness beyond expression. +</p> + +<p> +At last Theirry rose and turned to the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going?” questioned Dirk fearfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk braced himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Do <i>not</i> go,” he said. “There is everything before us if we stay +together… if you…” His words choked him, and he was silent. +</p> + +<p> +“All your reasoning cannot stay me,” answered Theirry, his hand on the +door. “She smiled at me… and I saw her yellow hair… and I am stifled +here and useless.” +</p> + +<p> +He opened the door and went out. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk sank on the brilliant gold cushions and twisted his fingers +together; through the half-closed shutters he could see that +marvellous blaze of red roses and their sharp green leaves, the garden +wall and the blue August sky; he could hear a bird singing, far away +and pleasantly, and after a while he heard Theirry sing, too, as he +moved about in an upper chamber. Dirk had not known him sing before, +and now, as the little wordless song fell on his ears, he winced and +writhed. +</p> + +<p> +“He sings because he is going away.” +</p> + +<p> +He sprang up and crossed to the calendar; a year ago to-day he and +Theirry had first met; he had marked the day with red—and now—— +</p> + +<p> +Presently Theirry entered again; he was no longer singing, and he had +his things in a bundle on his back. +</p> + +<p> +“I will come to-morrow and take leave of Nathalie,” he said; “or +perhaps this evening. But I must see the Chamberlain now.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk nodded; he was still standing by the calendar, and for the second +time Theirry passed out. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! oh!” whispered Dirk. “He is gone—gone—gone—gone.” +</p> + +<p> +He remained motionless, picturing the Court Theirry would join, +picturing Jacobea of Martzburg; the other influences that would be +brought to bear on his companion—— +</p> + +<p> +Then he crept to the window and pushed the shutter wide, so that half +the dark room was flooded with gold. +</p> + +<p> +The great burning roses nodded in unison, heavy bees humming among +them. Dirk leant from the window and flung out his arms with sudden +passion. +</p> + +<p> +“Satan! Satan!” he shrieked. “Give him back to me! Everything else you +have promised me for that! Do you hear me! Satan! Satan!” +</p> + +<p> +His voice died away in a great sob; he rested his throbbing head +against the hot mullions and put his hand over his eyes; red of the +roses and gold of the sunshine of the Eastern cushions blended in one +before him; he sank back into the window-seat, and heard some one +speak his name. +</p> + +<p> +Lifting his sick gaze, he saw the witch standing in the centre of the +floor, looking at him. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk gave a great sigh, hunched up his shoulders, and smoothed his +cuffs; then he said, very quietly, looking sideways at the witch— +</p> + +<p> +“Theirry has gone.” +</p> + +<p> +Nathalie, the witch, seated herself on a little stool that was all +inlaid with mother-o’-pearl, folded her hands in her lap and smiled. +</p> + +<p> +She was not an old nor an ugly woman, but of a pale, insignificant +appearance, with shining, blank-looking eyes set in wrinkles, a narrow +face and dull black hair, threaded now with flat gold coins; she +stooped a little, and had marvellously delicate hands. +</p> + +<p> +“I knew he would go,” she answered in a small voice. +</p> + +<p> +“With scant farewell, with little excuse, with small preparation, with +no regret, he has gone,” said Dirk. “To the Court—at the bidding of a +lady. You know her, for I have spoken of our meeting with her when we +were driven forth from Basle.” He closed his eyes, as if he made a +great effort at control. “I think he is on the verge of loving her.” +He unclosed his eyes, full, blazing. “This must be prevented.” +</p> + +<p> +The witch shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“If you are wise, let him go.” She fixed her glimmering glance on +Dirk’s smooth pale face. “He is neither good nor evil; his heart +sayeth one thing, his passions another—let him go. His courage is not +equal to his desires. He would be great—by any means;—yet he is +afraid—let him go. He thinks to serve the Devil while it lurks still +in his heart: ‘At last I will repent—in time I will repent!’—let him +go. He will never be great, or even successful, for he is confused in +his aims, hesitating, passionate and changeable; therefore, you who +can have the world—let him go.” +</p> + +<p> +“All this I know,” answered Dirk, his fingers clutching the gold +cushions. “But I want him back.” +</p> + +<p> +“He will come. He has gone too far to stay away.” +</p> + +<p> +“I want him to return for ever,” cried Dirk. “He is my comrade—he +must be with me always—he must have none in his thoughts save me.” +</p> + +<p> +Nathalie frowned. +</p> + +<p> +“This is folly. The day you came here to me with words of Master +Lukas, I saw that you were to be everything—he nothing; I saw that +the world would ring with your name, and that he would die unknown.” +She rose vehemently. “I say, let him go! He will be but a clog, a drag +on your progress. He is jealous of you; he is not over skilful… what +can you say for him save that he is pleasant to gaze upon?” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk slipped from the cushions and walked slowly up and down the room; +a slow, beautiful smile rested on his lips, and his eyes were gentle. +</p> + +<p> +“What can I say for him? ’Tis said in three words—I love him.” +</p> + +<p> +He folded his arms on his breast, and lifted his head. +</p> + +<p> +“How little you know of me, Nathalie! Though you have taught me all +your wisdom, what do you know of me save that I was Master Lukas’s +apprentice boy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ye came from mystery—as you should come,” smiled the witch. +</p> + +<p> +And now Dirk seemed to smile through agony. +</p> + +<p> +“It <i>is</i> a mystery—methinks to tell it would be to be blasted as I +stand; it seems so long ago—so strange—so horrible… well, well!”—he +put his hand to his forehead and took a turn about the room—“as I sat +in Master Lukas’s empty house, painting, carving, reading forbidden +books, I was not afraid; it seemed to me I had no soul… so why fear +for that which was lost before I was born? ‘The Devil has put me +here,’ said I, ‘and I will serve him… he shall make me his archetype +on earth, … and I waited for his signal to bid me forth. Men talked of +Antichrist! What if I am he?’ … so I thought.” +</p> + +<p> +“And so you shall be,” breathed the witch. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk’s great eyes glowed above his smiling lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Could any but a demon have such thoughts? … then Theirry came, and I +saw in his face that he did what I did—knew what I knew; +and—and”—his voice faltered—“I mind me how I went and watched him +as he slept—and then I thought after all I was no demon, for I was +aware that I loved him. I had terrible thoughts—if I love, I have a +soul, and if I have a soul it is damned;—but he shall go with me—if +I came from hell I shall return to hell, and he shall go with me;—if +I am damned, he shall be damned and go hand in hand with me into the +pit!” +</p> + +<p> +The smile faded from his face, and an intense, ardent expression took +its place; he seemed almost in an ecstasy. +</p> + +<p> +“She may make fight with me for his soul—if he love her she might +draw him to heaven—with her yellow hair! Did I not long for yellow +locks when I saw my bridal? … I have forgotten what I spoke of—I would +say that she does not love him.…” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet she may,” said the witch; “for he is gay and beautiful.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk slowly turned his darkening eyes on Nathalie. +</p> + +<p> +“She must not.” +</p> + +<p> +The witch fondled her fingers. +</p> + +<p> +“We can control many things—not love nor hate.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk pressed a swelling bosom. +</p> + +<p> +“Her heart is in the hand of another man—and that man is her steward, +ambitious, poor and married.” +</p> + +<p> +He came up to the witch, and, slight as he was, beside the withered +Eastern woman, he appeared marvellously fresh, glowing, and even +splendid. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you understand me?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +The witch blinked her shining eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I understand that there is little need of witchcraft or of black +magic here.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Dirk. “Her own love shall be her poison… she herself shall +give him back to me.” +</p> + +<p> +Nathalie moved, the little coins shaking in her hair. +</p> + +<p> +“Dirk, Dirk, why do you make such a point of this man’s return?” she +said, between reproach and yearning. She fondled the cold, passive and +smiling youth with her tiny hands. “You are going to be great;” she +mouthed the words greedily. “I may never have done much, but you have +the key to many things. You will have the world for your footstool +yet—let him go.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk still smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he answered quietly. +</p> + +<p> +The witch shrugged her shoulders and turned away. +</p> + +<p> +“After all,” she said in a half whine, “I am only the servant now. You +know words that can compel me and all my kind to obey you. So let it +be; bring your Theirry back.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk’s smile deepened. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall not ask your aid. Alone I can manage this matter. Ay, even if +it jeopardise my chance of greatness, I will have my comrade back.” +</p> + +<p> +“It will not be difficult,” nodded the witch. “A silly maid’s +influence against thine!” she laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“There is another will seek to detain him at the Court,” said Dirk +reflectively. “His old-time friend, the Margrave’s son, Balthasar of +Courtrai, who shines about the Emperor. I saw him not long ago—he +also is my enemy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, the Devil will play them all into thy hands,” smiled the witch. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk turned an absent look on her and she crept away. +</p> + +<p> +It grew to the hour of sunset; the red light of it trembled +marvellously in the red roses and filled the low, dark chamber with a +sombre crimson glow. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk stood by the window biting his forefinger, revolving schemes in +which Jacobea, her steward, Sybilla and Theirry were to be entangled +as flies in a web; desperate devilry and despairing human love mingled +grotesquely, giving rise to thoughts dark and hideous. +</p> + +<p> +The clear peal of a bell roused him, and he started with remembrances +of when last this sound through an empty house had broken on his +thoughts—of how he had gone and found Theirry without his door. +</p> + +<p> +Then he left the room and sought the witch; she had disappeared; he +did not doubt that the summons was for her; not infrequently did she +have hasty and secret visitors, but as she came not he crossed the +dark passage and himself opened the door on to the slip of garden that +divided the house from the cobbled street—opened it on a woman in a +green hood and mantle, who stood well within the shadow of the porch. +</p> + +<p> +“Whom would you see?” he asked cautiously. +</p> + +<p> +The stranger answered in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +“You. Are you not the young doctor who lectures publicly on—many +things? Constantine they call you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea,” said Dirk; “I am he.” +</p> + +<p> +“I heard you to-day. I would speak to you.” +</p> + +<p> +She wore a mask that as completely concealed her face as her cloak +concealed her figure. Dirk’s keen eyes could discover nothing of her +person. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me in,” she said in an insistent, yet anxious voice. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk held the door wide, and she stepped into the passage, breathing +quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Follow after me,” smiled Dirk; he decided that the lady was Jacobea +of Martzburg. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p1ch12"> +CHAPTER XII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">YSABEAU</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">Dirk</span> and the lady entered the room he had just quitted; he set a +chair for her near the window and waited for her to speak, but kept +his eyes the while on her shrouded figure. +</p> + +<p> +She wore a mask such as he had often seen on ladies; fantastic Italian +taste had fashioned them in the likeness of a plague-stricken +countenance, flecked green and yellow, and more lively fancy had +nicknamed them “melons” from their similarity to an unripe melon skin; +these masks, oval-shaped, with a slit for the mouth and eyes, and +extending from the brow to the chin, were an effective concealment of +every feature, and high favourites among ladies. +</p> + +<p> +For the rest, the stranger’s hood was pulled well forward so that not +a lock of hair was visible, and her mantle was gathered close at her +throat; it was of fine green cloth edged with miniver; she wore thick +gauntlets so that not an inch of her skin was visible. +</p> + +<p> +“You are well disguised,” said Dirk at last, as she made no sign of +speaking. “What is your business with me?” +</p> + +<p> +He began to think that she could not be Jacobea since she gave no +indication of revealing herself; also, he fancied that she was too +short. +</p> + +<p> +“Is there any one to overhear us or interrupt?” the lady spoke at +last, her voice muffled a little by the mask. +</p> + +<p> +“None,” answered Dirk half impatiently. “I beg that you tell me who +you are.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certes, that can wait;” her eyes sparkled through their holes in +contrast with the ghastly painted wood that made her face immovable. +“But I will tell you who you are, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know?” said Dirk coldly. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed as if she smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“The student named Dirk Renswoude who was driven forth from Basle +University for practising the black arts.” +</p> + +<p> +For the first time in his life Dirk was taken aback, and hopelessly +disconcerted; he had not believed it possible for any to discover the +past life of the learned doctor Constantine; he went red and white, +and could say nothing in either defence or denial. +</p> + +<p> +“It was only about three months ago,” continued the lady. “And both +students and many other in the town of Basle would still know you, +certes.” +</p> + +<p> +A rush of anger against his unknown accuser nerved Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“By what means have you discovered this?” he demanded. “Basle is far +enough from Frankfort, I wot… and how many know… and what is the price +of your silence, dame?” +</p> + +<p> +The lady lifted her head. +</p> + +<p> +“I like you,” she said quietly. “You take it well. No one knows save +I. I have made cautious inquiries about you, and pieced together your +story with my own wit.” +</p> + +<p> +“My story!” flashed Dirk. “Certes! Ye know nought of me beyond Basle.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she assented. “But it is enough. Joris of Thuringia died.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” ejaculated Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +The lady sat very still, observing him. +</p> + +<p> +“So I hold your life, sir,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk, goaded, turned on her impetuously. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye are Jacobea of Martzburg——” +</p> + +<p> +“No”—she started at the name. “But I know her——” +</p> + +<p> +“She told you this tale——” +</p> + +<p> +Again the lady answered— +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“She is from Basle,” cried Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“Believe me,” replied the stranger earnestly, “she knows nothing of +you—I alone in Frankfort hold your secret, and I can help you to keep +it… it were easy to spread a report of Dirk Renswoude’s death.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk bit his finger, his lip, glared out at the profusion of roses, at +the darkening sky, then at the quiet figure in the hideous speckled +mask; if she chose to speak he would have, at the best of it, to fly +Frankfort, and that did not suit his schemes. +</p> + +<p> +“Another youth lives here,” said the lady. “I think he also fled from +Basle.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk’s face grew pale and cunning; he was quick to see that she did +not know Theirry was compromised. +</p> + +<p> +“He was here—now he has gone to Court—he was at Basle, but innocent, +he came with me out of friendship. He is silly and fond.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have to do with you,” answered the lady. “Ye have a great, a +terrible skill, evil spirits league with you… your spells killed a +man——” She stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor fool,” said Dirk sombrely. +</p> + +<p> +The stranger rose; her calm and self-possession had suddenly given way +to fierce only half-repressed passion; she clasped her hands and +trembled as she stood. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” she cried thickly. “You could do that again—a softer, more +subtle way?” +</p> + +<p> +“For you?” he whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“For me,” she answered, and sank into the window-seat, pulling at her +gloves mechanically. +</p> + +<p> +A silence, while the dying red sunlight fell over the Eastern cushions +and over her dark mantle and outside the red roses shook and whispered +in the witch’s garden. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot help you if you tell me nothing,” said Dirk at length in a +grim manner. +</p> + +<p> +“I will tell you this,” answered she passionately. “There is a man I +hate, a man in my way—I do not talk wildly; that man must go, and if +you will be the means——” +</p> + +<p> +“You will be in my power as I am now in yours,” thought Dirk, +completing the broken sentence. +</p> + +<p> +The lady looked out at the roses. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot convey to you what nights of horror and days of bitterness, +what resolutions formed and resolutions broken—what hate, and +what—love have gone to form the impulse that brought me here +to-day—nor does it concern ye; certes enough I am resolved, and if +your spells can aid me——” She turned her head sharply. “I will pay +you very well.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have told me nothing,” repeated Dirk. “And though I can discover +what you are and who is your enemy, it were better that you told me +with your own lips.” +</p> + +<p> +She seemed, now, in an ill-concealed agitation. +</p> + +<p> +“Not to-day will I speak. I will come again. I know this place… +meanwhile, certes, your secret is safe with me—think over what I have +said.” +</p> + +<p> +She rose as if to take a hasty departure; but Dirk was in her way. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” he said firmly. “At least show your face—how shall I know you +again? And what confidence have you in me if you will not take off +your mask? I say you shall.” +</p> + +<p> +She trembled between a sigh and a laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps my face is not worth gazing at,” she answered on a breath. +</p> + +<p> +“I wot ye are a fair woman,” replied Dirk, who heard the consciousness +of it in her alluring voice. +</p> + +<p> +Still she hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“Know ye many about the Court?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay. I have not concerned myself with the Court.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then—and since I must trust you—and like you”—her voice rose +and fell—“look at me and remember me.” +</p> + +<p> +She loosened her cloak, flung back the hood and quickly unfastening +the mask, snatched it off. +</p> + +<p> +The disguise flung aside, she was revealed to the shoulders, clearly +in the warm twilight. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk’s first impression was, that this was beauty that swept from his +mind all other beauty he had ever beheld; his second, that it was the +same face he and Theirry had seen in the mirror. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said the lady, the hideous mask in her hand. +</p> + +<p> +Now she was disclosed, it was as if another presence had entered the +dusky chamber, so difficult was it to associate this brilliance with +the cloaked figure of a few moments since. +</p> + +<p> +Certainly she was of a great beauty, smiting into breathlessness, a +beauty not to be realised until beheld; Dirk would not have believed +that a woman could be so fair. +</p> + +<p> +If Jacobea’s hair was yellow, this lady’s locks were pale, pure +glittering gold, and her eyes a deep, soft, violet hue; the throwing +back of her cloak revealed her round slender throat, and the glimmer +of a rich bodice. +</p> + +<p> +The smile faded from her lips, and her gorgeous loveliness became +grave, almost tragic. +</p> + +<p> +“You do not know me?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” answered Dirk; he could not tell her that he had seen her before +in his devil’s mirror. +</p> + +<p> +“But you will recognise me again?” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk laughed quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“You were not made to be forgotten. Strange with such a face ye should +have need of witchcraft!” +</p> + +<p> +The lady replaced the mottled mask, that looked the more horrible +after that glimpse of gleaming beauty, and drew her mantle over her +shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall come to you or send to you, sir. Think on what I have said, +and on what I know.” +</p> + +<p> +She was obscured again, hidden in her green cloak. Dirk proffered no +question, made no comment, but preceded her down the dark passage and +opened the door; she passed out; her footstep was light on the path; +Dirk watched her walk rapidly down the street, then closed the door +and bolted it. After a pause of breathless confusion and heart-heating +excitement, he ran to the back of the house and out into the garden. +</p> + +<p> +It was just light enough for the huge dusky roses to be visible as +they nodded on their trailing bushes; Dirk ran between them until he +reached a gaunt stone statue half concealed by laurels; in front of +this were flags irregularly placed; in the centre of one was an iron +ring; Dirk, pulling at this, disclosed a trap door that opened at his +effort, and revealed a flight of steps; he descended from the soft +pure evening and the red roses into the witch’s kitchen, closing the +stone above him. +</p> + +<p> +The underground chamber was large and lit by lamps hanging from the +roof, revealing smooth stone walls and damp floor; in one side a +gaping blackness showed where a passage twisted to the outer air; on +another was a huge alchemist’s fireplace; before this sat the witch, +about her a quantity of glass vessels, retorts and pots of various +shapes. +</p> + +<p> +Either side this fireplace hung a human body, black and withered, +swinging from rusted ropes and crowned with wreaths of green and +purple blotched leaves. +</p> + +<p> +On a table set against the wall was a brass head that glimmered in the +feeble light. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk crossed the floor with his youthful step and touched Nathalie on +the shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“One came to see me,” he said breathlessly. “A marvellous lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” murmured the witch. “And was it to play into thy hands?” +</p> + +<p> +The air was thick and tainted with unwholesome smells; Dirk leant +against the wall and stared down the chamber, his hand to his brow. +</p> + +<p> +“She threatened me,” he said, “and for a moment I was afraid; for, +certes, I do not wish to leave Frankfort… but she wished me to serve +her—which I will do—for a price.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is she?” blinked the witch. +</p> + +<p> +“That I am come to discover,” frowned Dirk. “And who it is she spoke +of—also somewhat of Jacobea of Martzburg”—he coughed, for the foul +atmosphere had entered his nostrils. “Give me the globe.” +</p> + +<p> +The witch handed him a ball of a dark muddy colour, which he placed on +the floor, flinging himself beside it; Nathalie drew a pentagon round +the globe and pronounced some words in a low tone; a slight tremor +shook the ground, though it was solid earth they stood on, and the +globe turned a pale, luminous, blue tint. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk pushed back the damp hair from his eyes, and, resting his face in +his hands, his elbows on the ground, he stared into the depths of the +crystal, the colour of which brightened until it glowed a ball of +azure fire. +</p> + +<p> +“I see nothing,” he said angrily. +</p> + +<p> +The witch repeated her incantations; she leant forward, the yellow +coins glistening on her pale forehead. +</p> + +<p> +Rays of light began to sparkle from the globe. +</p> + +<p> +“Show me something of the lady who came here to-day,” commanded Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +They waited. +</p> + +<p> +“Do ye see anything?” breathed the witch. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea—very faintly.” +</p> + +<p> +He gazed for a while in silence. +</p> + +<p> +“I see a man,” he said at last. “The spells are wrong… I see nothing +of the lady——” +</p> + +<p> +“Watch, though,” cried the witch. “What is he like?” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot see distinctly… he is on horseback… he wears armour… now I +can see his face—he is young, dark—he has black hair——” +</p> + +<p> +“Do ye know him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay—I have never seen him before.” Dirk did not lift his eyes from +the globe. “He is evidently a knight… he is magnificent but cold… ah!” +</p> + +<p> +His exclamation was at the change in the ball; slowly it faded into a +faint blue, then became again dark and muddy. +</p> + +<p> +He flung it angrily out of the pentagon. +</p> + +<p> +“What has that told me?” he cried. “What is this man?” +</p> + +<p> +“Question Zerdusht,” said the witch, pointing to the brass head. +“Maybe he will speak to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +She flung a handful of spices on to the slow-burning fire, and a faint +smoke rose, filling the chamber. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk crossed to the brass head and surveyed it with eager hollow eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“The dead men dance,” smiled the witch. “Certes, he will speak +to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk turned his wild gaze to where the corpses hung. Their shrivelled +limbs twisted and jerked at the end of their chain, and the horrid +lurid colour of their poisonous wreaths gleamed through the smoke and +shook with the nodding of their faceless heads. +</p> + +<p> +“Zerdusht, Zerdusht,” murmured Dirk. “In the name of Satan, his +legions, speak to thy servant, show or tell him something of the woman +who came here to-day on an evil errand.” +</p> + +<p> +A heavy stillness fell with the ending of the words; the smoke became +thick and dense, then suddenly cleared. +</p> + +<p> +At that instant the lamps were extinguished and the fire fell into +ashes. +</p> + +<p> +“Something comes,” whispered the witch. +</p> + +<p> +Through the dark could be heard the dance of the dead men and the +grind of their bones against the ropes. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk stood motionless, his straining eyes fixed before him. +</p> + +<p> +Presently a pale light spread over the end of the chamber, and in it +appeared the figure of a young knight; his black hair fell from under +his helmet, his face was composed and somewhat haughty, his dark eyes +fearless and cold. +</p> + +<p> +“ ’Tis he I saw in the crystal!” cried Dirk, and as he spoke the light +and the figure disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk beat his breast. +</p> + +<p> +“Zerdusht! ye mock me! I asked ye of this woman! I know not the man.” +</p> + +<p> +The brass head suddenly glowed out of the darkness as if a light shone +behind it; the lids twitched, opened, and glittering red eyeballs +stared at Dirk, who shouted in triumph. +</p> + +<p> +He fell on his knees. +</p> + +<p> +“A year ago to-day I saw a woman in the mirror; to-day she came to me… +who is she? … Zerdusht—her name?” +</p> + +<p> +The brass lips moved and spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Ysabeau.” +</p> + +<p> +What did this tell him? +</p> + +<p> +“Who was the knight ye have shown me?” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Her husband,” answered the head. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is the man she seeks my aid to… to… who is it of whom she spoke +to me?” +</p> + +<p> +The flaming eyeballs rolled. +</p> + +<p> +“Her husband.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk gave a start. +</p> + +<p> +“Make haste,” came the witch’s voice through the swimming blackness. +“The light fades.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is she?” +</p> + +<p> +“The Empress of the West,” said the brass head. +</p> + +<p> +A cry broke from Dirk and the witch; Dirk shrieked another question. +</p> + +<p> +“She wishes to put another in the Emperor’s place?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea;” the light was growing fainter; the eyelids flickered over the +red eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Whom?” cried Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +Faint, yet distinct came the answer— +</p> + +<p> +“The Lord of Ursula of Rooselaare, Balthasar of Courtrai.” +</p> + +<p> +The lids fell and the jaws clicked, the light sank into nothingness, +and the lamps sprang again into dismal flame that disclosed the black +bodies of the dead men, hanging slackly with their wreaths touching +their chests, the witch crouching by the hearth—— +</p> + +<p> +And in the centre of the floor Dirk, smiling horribly. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p1ch13"> +CHAPTER XIII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE SNARING OF JACOBEA</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">The</span> great forest was so silent, so lonely, the aisles of a vast +church could have been no more sanctified by holy stillness. +</p> + +<p> +Even the summer wind that trembled in the upper boughs of the huge +trees had not penetrated their thick branches and intertwined leaves, +so that the grass and flowers were standing erect, untroubled by a +breath of air, and the sun, that dazzled without on the town of +Frankfort did not touch the glowing green gloom of the forest. +</p> + +<p> +Seated low on the grass by a wayside shrine that held a little figure +of the Madonna, Nathalie the witch, hunched together in a brown cloak, +looked keenly into the depths of cool shade between the tree trunks. +</p> + +<p> +She was watching the distant figure of a lady tremble into sight among +the leaves of the undergrowth. +</p> + +<p> +A lady who walked hesitatingly and fearfully; as she drew near, the +witch could see that the long yellow dress she held up was torn and +soiled, and that her hair hung disarranged on her shoulders; breathing +in a quick, fatigued manner she came towards the shrine, but seeing +the witch she stopped abruptly and her grey eyes darkened with +apprehension. +</p> + +<p> +“What is amiss with Jacobea of Martzburg,” asked the witch in her +expressionless way, “that she walks the forest disarrayed and alone?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am lost,” answered Jacobea, shrinking. “How do you know me?” +</p> + +<p> +“By your face,” said Nathalie. “How is it you are lost?” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you tell me the way to Frankfort?” asked Jacobea wearily. “I +have walked since noon. I was accompanying the Empress from the +tournament and my horse broke away with me—I slipped from the saddle. +Now I have lost him.” +</p> + +<p> +Nathalie smiled faintly. +</p> + +<p> +“I know not where I am,” said Jacobea, still with that look of +apprehension in her sweet eyes. “Will you set me on my path?” +</p> + +<p> +She glanced at the shrine, then at the witch, and put her hand to her +forehead; dazed, she seemed, and bewildered. +</p> + +<p> +“Of what are you afraid?” asked Nathalie. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, why should I be afraid!” answered Jacobea, with a start. +“But—why, it is very lonely here and I must get home.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me tell your fortune,” said the witch, slowly rising. “You have a +curious fortune, and I will reveal it without gold or silver.” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” Jacobea’s voice was agitated. “I have no credence in those +things. I will pay you to show me the way out of the forest.” +</p> + +<p> +But the witch had crossed softly to her side, and, to her manifest +shrinking terror, caught hold of her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you imagine you hold in your palm?” she smiled. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea endeavoured to draw her hand away, the near presence of the +woman quickened her unnamed terror. +</p> + +<p> +“Lands and castles,” said the witch, while her fingers tightened on +the striving wrist. “Gold and loneliness——” +</p> + +<p> +“You know me,” answered Jacobea, in anger. “There is no magic in this… +let me go!” +</p> + +<p> +The witch dropped the lady’s hand and smoothed her own together. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not need the lines in your palm to tell me your fortune,” she +said sharply. “I know more of you than you would care to hear, Jacobea +of Martzburg.” +</p> + +<p> +The lady turned away and stepped quickly but aimlessly down the shaded +glade. +</p> + +<p> +Nathalie, dragging her brown cloak, came lightly after. +</p> + +<p> +“You cannot escape,” she said. “You may walk in and out the trees +until you die of weariness, yet never find your way to Frankfort.” +</p> + +<p> +She laid her small thin fingers on the soft velvet of Jacobea’s yellow +sleeve and blinked up into her startled eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you?” cried the lady, with a touch of desperation in her +faint voice. “And what do you want with me?” +</p> + +<p> +The witch licked her pale lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Come with me and I will show you.” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea shuddered. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I will not.” +</p> + +<p> +“You cannot find your way alone,” nodded the witch. +</p> + +<p> +The lady hesitated; she looked around her at the motionless aisles of +trees, the silent glades, she looked up at the arching boughs and +clustering leaves concealing the sky. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed I will pay you well if you will guide me out of this,” she +entreated. +</p> + +<p> +“Come with me now,” answered Nathalie, “and afterwards I will set you +on your way.” +</p> + +<p> +“To what end should I go with you?” exclaimed Jacobea. “I know you +not, and, God help me, I mistrust you.” +</p> + +<p> +The witch shot a scornful glance over the lady’s tall figure, supple +with the strength of youth. +</p> + +<p> +“What evil could <i>I</i> do <i>you</i>?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea considered her intently; indeed she was small, seemed frail +also; Jacobea’s white fingers could have crushed the life out of her +lean throat. +</p> + +<p> +Still she was reluctant. +</p> + +<p> +“To what end?” she repeated. +</p> + +<p> +Nathalie did not answer, but turned into a grass-grown path that +twisted through the trees, and Jacobea, afraid of the loneliness, +followed her slowly. +</p> + +<p> +As they went through the forest, the green, still forest, with no +flower to vary the clinging creepers and great blossomless plants, +with no sound of bird or insect to mingle with their light tread and +the sweep of their garments on the ground, Jacobea was aware that her +senses were being dulled and drugged with the silence and the +strangeness; she felt no longer afraid or curious. +</p> + +<p> +After a while they came upon a pool lying in a hollow and grown about +with thick, dark ferns; the sunless waters were black and dull, on the +surface of them floated some dead leaves and the vivid unwholesome +green of a tangled weed. +</p> + +<p> +A young man in a plain dark dress was seated on the opposite bank. +</p> + +<p> +On his knees was an open book, and his long straight hair hung either +side of his face and brushed the yellow page. +</p> + +<p> +Behind him stood the shattered trunk of a blasted tree, grown with +fan-shaped fungi of brilliant scarlet and blotched purple and orange +that glowed gorgeously in the universal cold soft greenness. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh me!” murmured Jacobea. +</p> + +<p> +The young man lifted his eyes from the book and looked at her across +the black water. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea would have fled, would have flung herself into the forest with +no thought but that of escape from those eyes gazing at her over the +pages of that ancient volume; but the witch’s loathsome little hands +closed on hers with a marvellous strength and drew her, shuddering, +round the edge of the pond. +</p> + +<p> +The youth shut the book, stretched his slender limbs, and, half +turning on his side, lay and watched. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea’s noble and lovely figure, clothed in a thick soft velvet of a +luminous yellow hue; her blonde hair, straying on her shoulders and +mingling with the glowing tint of her gown; her grave and sweet face, +lit and guarded by grey eyes, soft and frightened, made a fair picture +against the sombre background of the dark wood. +</p> + +<p> +A picture marred only by the insignificant and drab-coloured figure of +the little witch who held her hand and dragged her through the dank +grass. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you remember me?” asked the youth. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea turned her head away. +</p> + +<p> +“Let go of her, Nathalie,” continued the youth impatiently; he rested +his elbow on the closed book and propped his chin on his hand; his +eyes rested eagerly and admiringly on the lady’s shuddering fairness. +</p> + +<p> +“She will run,” said Nathalie, but she loosened her hold. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea did not stir; she shook the hand Nathalie had held and +caressed it with the other. +</p> + +<p> +The young man put back his heavy hair. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know me?” +</p> + +<p> +She slowly turned her face, pearl pale above the glowing colour of her +dress. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you came to my castle for shelter once.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk did not lower his intense, ardent gaze. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, how did I reward your courtesy? I told you something.” +</p> + +<p> +She would not answer. +</p> + +<p> +“I told you something,” repeated Dirk. “And you have not forgotten +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me go,” she said. “I do not know who you are nor what you mean. +Let me go.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned as if to move away, but sank instead on to one of the +moss-covered boulders that edged the pond and clasped her fingers over +the shining locks straying across her bosom. +</p> + +<p> +“You have never been the same since that time you sheltered me,” said +Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +She stiffened with dread and pride. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye are some evil thing,” she said; her glance was fierce for the +passive witch. “Why was I brought here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because it was my wish,” answered Dirk gravely. “Your horse does not +often carry you away, Jacobea of Martzburg, and leave you in a +trackless forest.” +</p> + +<p> +The lady started at his knowledge. +</p> + +<p> +“That also was my will,” said Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“Your will!” she echoed. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk smiled, with an ugly show of his teeth. +</p> + +<p> +“Belike the horse was bewitched—have ye not heard of such a thing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Santa Maria!” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk sat up and clasped his long fingers round his knees. +</p> + +<p> +“You have given a youth I know a post at Court,” he said. “Why?” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea shivered and could not move; she looked drearily at the black +water and the damp masses of fern, then with a slow horror at the +figure of the young man seated under the blasted tree. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know,” she answered weakly, “I never disliked him.” +</p> + +<p> +“As ye did me,” added Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe I had no cause to love you,” she returned, goaded. “Why did you +ever come to my castle? why did I ever see you?” +</p> + +<p> +She put her cold hand over her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“No matter for that,” mocked Dirk. “So ye liked my comrade Theirry?” +</p> + +<p> +She answered as if forced against her will. +</p> + +<p> +“Well enough I liked him. Was he not pleasured to encounter me again, +and since he was doing nought—I—but why do you question me? Can it +be that you are jealous?” +</p> + +<p> +The young man pulled his heavy brows together. +</p> + +<p> +“Am I a silly maid to be jealous? Meddle not with things ye cannot +measure, it had been better for you had you never seen my comrade’s +fair face—ay, and for me also,” and he frowned. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely he is free to do as he may list,” returned Jacobea. “If he +choose to come to Court…” +</p> + +<p> +“If ye choose to tempt him,” answered Dirk. “But enough of that.” +</p> + +<p> +He rose and leant against the tree; above his slender shoulder rose +the jagged tongue of grey wood and the smooth colour of the clustering +fungi, and beyond that the forest sank into immense depths of still +gloom. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea strove desperately with her dull dread and terror, but it +seemed to her as if a sickly vapour was rising from the black pool +that chilled her blood to horror; she could not escape Dirk’s steady +eyes that were like bright stones in his smooth face. +</p> + +<p> +“Come here,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea made no movement to obey until the witch clutched her arm, +when she shook off the clinging fingers and approached the spot where +Dirk waited. +</p> + +<p> +“I think you have bewitched me,” she said drearily. +</p> + +<p> +“Not I, another has done that,” he answered. “Certes, ye are slow in +mating, Jacobea of Martzburg.” +</p> + +<p> +A little shuddering breath stirred her parted lips; she looked to +right and left, saw nothing but the enclosing forest, and turned her +frightened eyes on Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“I know some little magic,” he continued. “Shall I show you the man +you would wish to make Lord of Martzburg?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is no one,” she said feebly. +</p> + +<p> +“You lie,” he answered. “As I could prove.” +</p> + +<p> +“As you cannot prove,” she returned, clasping her hands together. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you are a fair thing and a gentle, but you have rebellious +thoughts, thoughts ye would blush to whisper at the confessional +grate.” +</p> + +<p> +She moved her lips, but did not speak. +</p> + +<p> +“Why did your steward come with ye to Frankfort?” asked Dirk. “And his +wife stay as chatelaine of Martzburg? It had been more fitting had he +remained. What reward will he receive for his services as your +henchman at the Court?” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea drew her handkerchief from her girdle and pressed it to her +lips. +</p> + +<p> +“What reward do you imagine I should offer?” she answered very slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot tell,” said Dirk, with a hot force behind every word. “For I +do not know if you are a fool or no, but this I know, the man waits a +word from you——” +</p> + +<p> +“Stop!” said Jacobea. +</p> + +<p> +But Dirk continued ruthlessly— +</p> + +<p> +“He waits, I tell you——” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh God, for what?” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +“For you to say—‘you think me fair, Sebastian, you know me rich and +all my life shall prove me loving, and only a red-browed woman in +Martzburg Castle prevents you coming from my footstool to my +side’—said you that, he would take horse to-morrow for Martzburg and +return a free man.” +</p> + +<p> +The handkerchief fell from Jacobea’s fingers and fluttered on the dark +ferns. +</p> + +<p> +“You are a fiend,” she said in a sick voice. “You cannot be human to +so touch my heart, and you are wrong, I dare to tell you in the name +of God that you are wrong—those evil thoughts have never come to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“In the name of the Devil I am right,” smiled Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“The Devil! Ye are one of his agents!” she cried in a trembling +defiance. “Or how could you guess what I scarcely knew until ye came +that baleful night?—what he never knew till then—ah, I swear it, he +never dreamt that I—never dreamt what my favour meant, but +now—his—eyes—I cannot mistake them.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is a dutiful servant,” said Dirk, “he waits for his mistress to +speak.” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea sank to her knees on the grass. +</p> + +<p> +“I entreat you to forbear,” she whispered. “Whoever you are, whatever +your object I ask your mercy. I am very unhappy—do not goad me—drive +me further.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk stepped forward and caught her drooping shoulders in his firm +hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Pious fool!” he cried. “How long do you think you can endure this? +how long do you think he will remain the servant when he knows he +might be the master?” +</p> + +<p> +She averted her agonised face. +</p> + +<p> +“Then it was from you he learned it, you——” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk interrupted hotly— +</p> + +<p> +“He knows, remember that! he knows and he waits. Already he hates the +woman who keeps him dumb; it were very easily done—one look, some few +words—ye would not find him slow of understanding.” He loosened his +grasp on her and Jacobea fell forward and clasped his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“I implore you take back this wickedness, I am weak; since my first +sight of you I have been striving against your influence that is +killing me; man or demon, I beseech you, let me be!” +</p> + +<p> +She raised her face, the slow, bitter tears forced out of her sweet, +worn eyes; her hair fell like golden embroidery over the yellow gown, +and her fingers fluttered on her unhappy bosom. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk considered her curiously and coldly. +</p> + +<p> +“I am neither man nor demon,” he said. “But this I tell you, as surely +as he is more to you than your own soul, so surely are you lost.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lost! lost!” she repeated, and half raised herself. +</p> + +<p> +“Certes, therefore get the price of your soul,” he mocked. “What is +the woman to you? A cold-hearted jade, as good dead now as fifty years +hence—what is one sin the more? I tell you while you set that man’s +image up in your heart before that of God ye are lost already.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am so lonely,” she whispered piteously. “Had I one friend——” She +paused, as though some one came into her mind with the words, and +Dirk, intently watching her, suddenly flushed and glowed with anger. +</p> + +<p> +He stepped back and clapped his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“I promised you a sight of your lover,” he said. “Now let him speak +for himself.” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea turned her head sharply. +</p> + +<p> +A few feet away from her stood Sebastian, holding back the heavy +boughs and looking at her. +</p> + +<p> +She gave a shriek and swiftly rose; Dirk and the witch had +disappeared; if they had slipped into the undergrowth and were yet +near they gave no answer when she wildly called to them; the vast +forest seemed utterly empty save for the silent figure of Sebastian. +</p> + +<p> +Not doubting now that Dirk was some evil being whom her own wicked +thoughts had evoked, believing that the appearance of her steward was +some phantom sent for her undoing, she, unfortunate, distracted with +misery and terror, turned with a shuddering relief to the oblivion of +the still pool. +</p> + +<p> +Hastening with trembling feet through the clinging weeds and ferns, +she climbed down the damp bank and would have cast herself into the +dull water, when she heard his voice calling her—a human voice. +</p> + +<p> +She paused, lending a fearful ear to the sound while the water rippled +from her foot. +</p> + +<p> +“It is I,” he called. “My lady, it is I.” +</p> + +<p> +This was Sebastian himself, no delusion nor ghost but her living +steward, as she had seen him this morning in his brown riding-habit, +wearing her gold and blue colours round his hat. +</p> + +<p> +She mastered her terror and confusion. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, you frightened me,”—a lie rose to save her. “I thought it +some robber—I did not know you.” +</p> + +<p> +Fear of his personal aid gave her strength to move away from the water +and gain the level ground. +</p> + +<p> +“I have been searching for you,” said Sebastian. “We came upon your +horse on the high road and then upon your gloves in the grass, so, as +no rider could come among these trees, on foot I sought for you. I am +glad that you are safe.” +</p> + +<p> +This calm and carefully ordered speech gave her time to gather +courage; she fumbled at her bosom, drew forth a crucifix and clutched +it to her lips with a murmur of passionate prayers. +</p> + +<p> +He could not but notice this; he must perceive her soiled torn dress, +her wild face, her white exhaustion, but he gave no sign of it. +</p> + +<p> +“It was a fortunate chance that sent me here,” he said gravely. “The +wood is so vast——” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, so vast,” she answered. “Know you the way out, Sebastian?” +</p> + +<p> +She tried to nerve herself to look at him, but her glance was lifted +only to fall instantly again. +</p> + +<p> +“You must forgive me,” she said, struggling with a fainting voice. “I +have walked very far, I am so weary—I must rest a while.” +</p> + +<p> +But she did not sit, nor did he urge that she should. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you met no one?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +She hesitated; if he had encountered neither the woman nor the young +man, then they were indeed wizards or of some unearthly race—she +could not bring herself to speak of them. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she answered at length. +</p> + +<p> +“We have a long way to walk,” said the steward. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea felt his look upon her, and grasped her crucifix until the +sharp edges of it cut her palm. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know the way?” she repeated dully. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” he answered now. “But it is far.” +</p> + +<p> +She gathered up her long skirt and shook off the withered leaves that +clung to it. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you lead the way?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +He turned and moved ahead of her down the narrow path by which he had +come; as she followed him she heard his foot fall soft on the thick +grass and the swishing sound of the straying boughs as he held them +back for her to pass, till she found the silence so unendurable that +she nerved herself to break it; but several times she gathered her +strength in vain for the effort, and when at last some foolish words +had come to her lips, he suddenly looked back over his shoulder and +checked her speech. +</p> + +<p> +“ ’Tis strange that your horse should have gone mad in such a manner,” +he said. +</p> + +<p> +“But ye found him?” she faltered. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, a man found him, exhausted and trembling like a thing bewitched.” +</p> + +<p> +Her heart gave a great leap—had he used that word by chance—— +</p> + +<p> +She could not answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye were not hurt, my lady, when ye were thrown?” said the steward. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Jacobea, “no.” +</p> + +<p> +Silence again; no bird nor butterfly disturbed the sombre stillness of +the wood, no breeze stirred the thick leaves that surrounded them; +gradually the path widened until it brought them into a great space +grown with ferns and overarched with trees. +</p> + +<p> +Then Sebastian paused. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a long way yet,” he said. “Will you rest a while?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she replied vehemently. “Let us get on—where are the others? +surely we must meet some one soon!” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know that any came this way,” he answered, and cast his +brooding glance over the trembling weariness of her figure. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye must rest, certes, it is folly to persist,” he added, with some +authority. +</p> + +<p> +She seated herself, lifting the hand that held the crucifix to her +bosom. +</p> + +<p> +“How full of shadows it is here,” she said. “It is difficult to fancy +the shining of the sun on the tops of these darkened trees.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not love forests,” answered Sebastian. +</p> + +<p> +As he stood his profile was towards her; and she must mark again the +face that she knew so bitterly well, his thin dark cheek, his +heavy-lidded eyes, his contained mouth. +</p> + +<p> +Gazing down into the clusters of ferns at his feet, he spoke— +</p> + +<p> +“I think I must return to Martzburg,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +She braced herself, making a gesture with her hand as if she would +ward off his words. +</p> + +<p> +“You know that you are free to do what you will, Sebastian.” +</p> + +<p> +He took off his right glove slowly and looked at his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it not better that I should go?” +</p> + +<p> +He challenged her with a full sideways glance. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know,” she said desperately, “why you put this to me, here +and now.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not often see you alone.” +</p> + +<p> +He was not a man of winning manners or of easy speech; his words came +stiffly, yet with a purpose in them that chilled her with a deeper +sense of dread. +</p> + +<p> +She opened her hand to stare down at the crucifix in her palm. +</p> + +<p> +“You can leave Frankfort when you wish—why not?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +He faced her quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“But I may come back?” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to Jacobea that he echoed Dirk’s words; the crucifix slipped +through her trembling fingers on to the grass. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean? Oh, Sebastian, what do you mean?” The words were +forced from her, but uttered under her breath; she added instantly, in +a more courageous voice, “Go and come as you list, are you not free?” +</p> + +<p> +He saw the crucifix at her feet and picked it up, but she drew back as +he came near and held out her hand. +</p> + +<p> +He put the crucifix into it, frowning, his eyes dark and bright with +excitement. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you recall the two students who were housed that night in +Martzburg?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she said. “Is not one now at Court?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would mean the other—the boy,” answered Sebastian. +</p> + +<p> +She averted her face and drooped until the ends of her hair touched +her knees. +</p> + +<p> +“I met him again to-day,” continued the steward, with a curious lift +in his voice, “here, in this forest, while searching for you. He spoke +to me.” +</p> + +<p> +Certainly the Devil was enmeshing her, surely he had brought her to +this pass, sent Sebastian, of all men, to find her in her weariness +and loneliness. +</p> + +<p> +And Sebastian knew—knew also that she knew—outspoken words between +them could be hardly more intolerable shame than this. +</p> + +<p> +“He is cunning beyond most,” said the steward. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea lifted her head. +</p> + +<p> +“He is an enchanter—a wizard, do not listen to him, do not speak to +him—as you value your soul, Sebastian, do not think of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“As I value some other things,” he answered grimly, “I must both +listen to him and consider what he says.” +</p> + +<p> +She rose. +</p> + +<p> +“We will go on our way. I cannot talk with you now, Sebastian.” +</p> + +<p> +But he stood in her path. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me journey to Martzburg,” he said thickly; “one word—I shall +understand you.” +</p> + +<p> +She glanced and saw him extraordinarily keen and moved; he was lord of +Martzburg could he but get her to pledge herself; in his eagerness, +however, he forgot advice. “Tell her,” said Dirk, “you have adored her +for years in secret.” This escaped his keenness, for though his wife +was nothing to him compared with his ambition, he had no tenderness +for Jacobea. Had he remembered to feign it he might have triumphed and +now; but though her gentle heart believed he held her dear, that he +did not say so made firmness possible for her. +</p> + +<p> +“You shall stay in Frankfort,” she said, with sudden strength. +</p> + +<p> +“Sybilla asks my return,” he said, gazing at her passionately. “Do we +not understand each other without words?” +</p> + +<p> +“The fiend has bewitched you also,” she answered fearfully. “You know +too much—you guess too much—and yet I tell you nothing, and I, I +also am bewitched, for I cannot reply to you as I should.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have been silent long,” he said. “But I have dared to think—had I +been free—as I can be free——” +</p> + +<p> +The crucifix was forgotten in her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“We do evil to talk like this,” she said, half fainting. +</p> + +<p> +“You will bid me go to Martzburg,” he insisted, and took her long cold +fingers. +</p> + +<p> +She raised her eyes to the boughs above her. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no!” then, “God have compassion on me!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +The thick foliage stirred—Jacobea felt as if the bars of a cage were +being broken about her—she turned her head and a little colour +flushed her cheek. +</p> + +<p> +Through the silvery stems of the larches came some knights and a page +boy, members of the party left to search for her. +</p> + +<p> +She moved towards them; she hailed them almost gaily; none, save +Sebastian, saw her as they turned towards Frankfort raise the crucifix +and press her lips to it. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p1ch14"> +CHAPTER XIV.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE SNARING OF THEIRRY</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">Dirk</span> and the witch kept company until they reached the gates of +Frankfort. +</p> + +<p> +There the young man took his own way through the busy town, and +Nathalie slipped aside into the more retired streets; many of the +passers-by saluted Dirk, some halted to speak with him; the brilliant +young doctor of rhetoric, with a reputation made fascinating by an air +of mystery, was a desired acquaintance among the people of Frankfort. +He returned their greetings pleasantly yet absently; he was thinking +of Jacobea of Martzburg, whom he had left behind in the great forest, +and considering what chances there might be, either for Theirry or +Sybilla the steward’s wife. +</p> + +<p> +He passed the tall red front of the college, where the quiet trees +tapped their leaves against the arched windows, turned over the narrow +curved bridge that spanned the steadily flowing waters of the Main, +and came to the thick walls surrounding the Emperor’s castle. +</p> + +<p> +There for a moment he paused and looked thoughtfully up at the +Imperial flag that fluttered softly against the evening sky. +</p> + +<p> +When he passed on it was with a cheerful step and whistling a little +tune under his breath; a few moments brought him to the long street +where the witch lived, a few more to her gate, and then his face lit +and changed wonderfully, for ahead of him was Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +Flushed and panting, he ran to his friend’s side and touched him on +the arm. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry turned, his hand on the latch; his greeting was hurried, half +shamefaced. +</p> + +<p> +“My master and most of the Court were at the tourney to-day,” he said. +“I thought it safe to come.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk withdrew his hand, and his eyes narrowed. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!—ye are beginning to be circumspect how ye visit here.” +</p> + +<p> +“You word it unkindly,” answered Theirry hastily. “Let us enter the +house, where we can talk at ease.” +</p> + +<p> +They passed into the witch’s dwelling, and to the room at the back +that looked into the garden of red roses. +</p> + +<p> +The windows were set wide, and the scented softness of the evening +filled the half-darkened chamber; Dirk lit a little lamp that had a +green glass, and by the faint flame of it gazed long and lingeringly +at Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +He found his friend richly dressed in black and crimson, wearing an +enamel chain round his bonnet, and a laced shirt showing at his bosom; +he found the glowing, bright charm of his face disturbed by some +embarrassment or confusion, the beautiful mouth uneasily set, the +level brows slightly frowning. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Theirry!” he cried in a half-mournful yearning. “Come back to +me—come back.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am very well at Court,” was the quick answer. “My master is gentle +and my tasks easy.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk seated himself at the table; he watched the other intently and +rested his pale cheek on his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Very clearly can I see ye are well, and very well at Court—seldom do +ye leave it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I find it difficult to get here often,” said Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +He crossed to the window and looked out, as if the room oppressed him, +and he thought the prospect of the roses pleasanter than the shadows +and lamplight within. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye find it difficult,” said Dirk, “because your desires chain you to +the Court. I think ye are a faithless friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“That am not I—ye know more of me than any man—I care more for ye +than for any man——” +</p> + +<p> +“Or woman?” added Dirk dryly. +</p> + +<p> +An impatient colour came into Theirry’s cheeks; he looked resolutely +at the red roses. +</p> + +<p> +“That is unworthy in you, Dirk—is it disloyal to you to know a +lady—to—to—admire a lady, to strive to serve and please a +lady——?” +</p> + +<p> +He turned his charming face, and, in his effort to conciliate, his +voice was gentle and winning. “Truly she is the sweetest of her kind, +Dirk; if you knew her—evil is abashed before her——” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it is as well I do not know her,” Dirk retorted grimly. +“Strangely ye talk—you and I know we are not saints—but belike ye +would reform—belike a second time ye have repented.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry seemed in some agitation. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no—have I not gone too far? Do I not still hope to gain +something—perhaps everything?” He paused, then added in a low voice, +“But I wish I had never laid hands on the monk. I wish I had not +touched God His money—and when I see her I cannot prevent my heart +from smarting at the thought of what I am.” +</p> + +<p> +“How often do you see her?” asked Dirk quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“But seldom,” answered Theirry sadly. “And it is better—what could I +ever be to her?” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk smiled sombrely. +</p> + +<p> +“That is true. Yet you would waste your life dallying round the places +where you may sometimes see her face.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry bit his lip. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you think me a fool—to falter, to regret;—but what have my sins +ever done for me? There are many honest men better placed than I—and +without the prospect of hell to blast their souls.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk looked at him with lowering eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“You had been content had you not met this lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“Enough of her,” answered Theirry wearily. “You make too much of it. I +do not think I love her; but one who is fallen must view such +sweetness, such gentle purity with sorrow—yea, with yearning.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk clasped his hand on the edge of the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe she is neither so pure nor so gentle as you think. Certes! she +is but as other women, as one day ye may see.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry turned from the window half in protest, half in excuse. +</p> + +<p> +“Cannot you understand how one may hold a fair thing dear—how one +might worship—even—love?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered Dirk, and his great eyes were bright and misty. “But +if I—loved”—he spoke the word beautifully, and rose as he uttered +it—“I would so grapple his—her soul to mine that we should be +together to all eternity; nor devil nor angel should divide us. +But—but there is no need to talk of that—there are other matters to +deal with.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would I had never seen the evil books or never seen her face,” said +Theirry restlessly. “So at least I had been undivided in my thoughts.” +</p> + +<p> +He came to the table and looked at Dirk across the sickly, struggling +flame of the lamp; in his hazel eyes was an expression of appeal, the +call of the weak to the strong, and the other held out his hands +impulsively. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, I am a fool to trouble with ye, my friend,” he said, and his +voice broke with tenderness. “For ye are headstrong and unstable, and +care not for me one jot, I warrant me—yet—yet you may do what you +will with this silly heart of mine.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a grace, a wistful affection in his face, in his words, in +his gesture of outstretched hands that instantly moved Theirry, ever +quick to respond. He took the young doctor’s slender fingers in a warm +clasp; they were very quickly withdrawn. Dirk had a notable dislike to +a touch, but his deep eyes smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“I have somewhat to tell you,” he said, “at which your impatience will +be pleased.” +</p> + +<p> +He went lightly to a press in the wall and brought forth a mighty +candlestick of red copper, branched and engraved; three half-burnt +candles remained in the sockets; he lit these, and the room was filled +with a brighter and pleasanter light. +</p> + +<p> +Setting the candlestick on the table, where it glowed over Theirry’s +splendid presence, he returned to the cupboard and took out a tall +bottle of yellow wine and two glasses with milk-white lines about the +rims. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry seated himself at the table, pulled off his gloves and +smoothed his hair back from his face. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you seen the Empress?” asked Dirk, pouring out the wine. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea,” answered Theirry, without interest. +</p> + +<p> +“She is very beautiful?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certes!—but of a cloying sweetness—there is no touch of nobility in +her.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk held the wine out across the table and seated himself. +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard she is ambitious,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, she gives the Emperor no rest; for ever urging him to Rome, to be +crowned by the Pope as Emperor of the West;—but he better loves the +North, and has no spirit to rule in Italy.” +</p> + +<p> +“The nobles chafe at his inaction?” asked Dirk. “ ’Tis not idle +questioning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mostly, I think—do we not all have golden dreams of Rome? +Balthasar—ye mind him, he is Margrave of East Flanders now, since his +father was killed at the boar hunt—and powerful, he is mad to cross +the Alps—he has great influence with the Emperor. Indeed, I think he +loves him.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk set down the untasted wine. +</p> + +<p> +“Balthasar loves the Emperor!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Certes! yes—why not? The Margrave was always affectionate, and the +Emperor is lovable.” +</p> + +<p> +A second time Dirk raised the glass, and now drained it. +</p> + +<p> +“Here is good matter for plots,” he said, elegantly wiping his lips. +“Here is occasion for you and me to make our profit. Said ye the Devil +was a bad master?—listen to this.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry moved the candlestick; the gold light dazzled in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“What can Emperor or Empress be to us?” he asked, a half-bewildered +fear darkening his brows. +</p> + +<p> +“She has been here,” said Dirk. “The Lady Ysabeau.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry stared intently; a quick breath stirred his parted lips; his +cheeks glowed with excited colour. +</p> + +<p> +“She knows,” continued Dirk, “that I, Doctor Constantine of Frankfort +College, and you, meek secretary to her Chamberlain, are the two +students chased from Basle University.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry gave a little sound of pain, and drew back in the huge carved +chair. +</p> + +<p> +“So,” said Dirk slowly, “she has it in her power to ruin us—at least +in Frankfort.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can I hold up my head at Court again!” exclaimed Theirry +bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk noted the utterly selfish thought; he did not mention how he had +shielded Theirry from suspicion. +</p> + +<p> +“There is more in it than that,” he answered quietly. “Did she choose +she might have us burnt in the market place—Joris of Thuringia died +of his illness that night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” cried Theirry, blenching. +</p> + +<p> +“But she will not choose,” said Dirk calmly. “She needs me—us—that +threat is but her means of forcing obedience; she came secretly to my +lectures—she had heard somewhat—she discovered more.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry filled his glass. +</p> + +<p> +“She needs us?” he repeated falteringly. +</p> + +<p> +“Cannot ye guess in what way?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry drank, set down the half-emptied glass, and looked at the +floor with troubled eyes that evaded the other’s bright eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“How can I tell?” he asked, as if reluctant to speak at all. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk repressed a movement of impatience. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, you know. Shall I speak plainly?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certes!—yes,” answered Theirry, still with averted face. +</p> + +<p> +“There is a man in her way.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry looked up now; his eyes showed pale in his flushed face. +</p> + +<p> +“Who must die as Joris of Thuringia died?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry moistened his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Am I to help you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Are we not one—inseparable? The reward will be magnificent.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry put his hand to a damp brow. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is the man?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush!” whispered Dirk, peering through the halo of the candle-flame. +“It is the Emperor.” +</p> + +<p> +With a violent movement, Theirry pushed back his chair and rose. +</p> + +<p> +“Her husband! I will not do it, Dirk!” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not think ye have a choice,” was the cold answer. “Ye gave +yourself unto the Devil and unto me—and you shall serve us both.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will not do it,” repeated Theirry in a shuddering voice. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk’s eyes glimmered wrathfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Take care how you say that. There are two already—what of the monk? +I do not think you can turn back.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry showed a desperate face. +</p> + +<p> +“Why have ye drawn me into this? Ye are deeper in devils’ arts than +I.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is a strange thing to say,” answered Dirk, very pale, his lips +quivering. “You swore comradeship with me—together we were to pursue +success—fame—power—you knew the means—ay, you knew by whose aid we +were to rise, you shared with me the labours, the disgrace that fell +on both of us. Together we worked the spells that slew Joris of +Thuringia—together we stole God His gold from the monk; now—ay, and +now when I tell you our chance has come—this is your manner of +thanking me!” +</p> + +<p> +“A chance!—to help a woman in a secret murder?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry spoke sullenly. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye never thought our way would be the way of saintship—ye were not +so nice that time ye bound Ambrose of Menthon to the tree.” +</p> + +<p> +“How often must you remind me of that?” cried Theirry fiercely. “I had +not done it but for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, say the same of this; if you be weak, I am strong enough for +two.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry pulled at the crimson tassels on his slashed sleeves. +</p> + +<p> +“It is not that I am afraid,” he said, flushing. +</p> + +<p> +“Certes! you are afraid,” mocked Dirk. “Afraid of God, of justice, +maybe of man—but I tell you that these things are nought to us.” He +paused, lifted his eyes and lowered them again. “Our destiny is not of +our shaping;—we take the weapons laid to our hands and use them as we +are bid. Life and death shall both serve us to our appointed end.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry came to the other side of the table and gazed, fearfully, +across at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you?” he questioned softly. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk did not answer; an expression of dread and despair withered all +the life in his features; the extraordinary look in his suddenly +dimmed eyes sent a chill to Theirry’s heart. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” he cried, stepping back with manifest loathing. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk put his hand over his eyes and moaned. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you hate me, Theirry? Do you hate me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I—I do not know.” He could not explain his own sudden revulsion as +he saw the change in Dirk’s face; he paced to and fro in a tumult. +</p> + +<p> +Dark had closed in upon them and now blackness lay beyond the window +and the half-open door; shadows obscured the corners of the long +chamber; all the light, the red gleam of the candles, the green glow +of the lamp, shone over the table and the slight figure of Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +As Theirry stopped to gaze at him anew, Dirk suddenly lowered his +white hand, and his eyes, blinking above his long fingers, held +Theirry in a keen glance. +</p> + +<p> +“This will make us more powerful than the Empress or the Emperor,” he +said. “Leave your thoughts of me and ponder on that.” +</p> + +<p> +He withdrew his hand and revealed lips as pale as his cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“What does that mean?” cried Theirry. “I am distracted.” +</p> + +<p> +“We shall go to Rome,” replied Dirk; there was a lulling quality of +temptation in his tone. “And you shall have your desires.” +</p> + +<p> +“My desires!” echoed Theirry wildly. “I have trod an unholy path, +pursuing the phantom of—my desires! Do you still promise me I shall +one day grasp it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely—money—and power and pleasure, these things wait you in Rome +when Ysabeau shall have placed the imperial diadem on Balthasar’s +brow. These things—and”—it seemed as if Dirk’s voice broke—“even +Jacobea of Martzburg,” he added slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“Can one win a saint by means of devilry?” cried Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“She is only a woman,” said Dirk wearily. “But, since you hesitate, +and falter, I will absolve you from this league with me;—go your way, +serve your saint, renounce your sins—and see what God will give you.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry crossed the room with unequal steps. +</p> + +<p> +“No—I cannot—I will not forego even the hope of what you offer me.” +His great eyes glittered with excitement; the hot blood darkened his +cheek. “And I pledged myself to you and your master. Do not think me +cowardly because I paused—who is the Emperor?” He spoke hoarsely. +“Nothing to you or to me.… As you say, Joris of Thuringia died.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now you speak like my comrade at Basle,” cried Dirk joyfully. “Now I +see again the spirit that roused me to swear friendship with you the +night we first met. Now I—ah, Theirry, we will be very faithful to +one another, will we not?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no choice.” +</p> + +<p> +“Swear it,” cried Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“I swear it,” said Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +He went to the window, pushed it wider open and gazed out into the +moonless night. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk clasped and unclasped his hands on the table, murmuring— +</p> + +<p> +“I have won him back—won him back!” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry spoke, without turning his head. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean to do next?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall see the Empress again,” answered Dirk. “At present—be very +secret;—that is all—there is no need to speak of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Now it was he that was anxious to evade the subject; his eyes, bright +under the drooping lids, marked the vehement, desperate eagerness of +Theirry’s flushing face, and he smiled to see it. +</p> + +<p> +“Your absence may be noticed at the palace,” he said softly. “You must +return. How you can help me I will let you know.” +</p> + +<p> +But Theirry stood irresolute. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems I have no will when you command me,” he said, half in +protest. “I come and go as you bid me—you stir my cold blood, and +then will not give me satisfaction.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know all that I do,” returned Dirk. He rose and raised the copper +candlestick in both hands. “I am very weary. I will light you to the +door.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where have you been to-day?” asked Theirry. “Did you see the Court +returning from the tourney?” +</p> + +<p> +The candle-flames, flaring with the movement, cast a rich glow over +Dirk’s pallid face. +</p> + +<p> +“No—why do you ask?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I know not.” Theirry’s crimson doublet sparkled in its silk threads +as his breast rose with the irregular breaths; he walked heavily to +the door, gathering up his black mantle over his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“When may I come again?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“When you will,” answered Dirk. He entered the passage and held up the +heavy candlestick, so that a great circle of light was cast on the +darkness. “Ye are pledged to me whether ye come or no—are ye not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certes! I do think so,” said Theirry. He hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night,” whispered Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry went down the passage. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night.” +</p> + +<p> +He found the door and unlatched it; a soft but powerful breath of air +fluttered the candle-flames almost on to Dirk’s face; he turned back +into the room and shut himself in, leaving darkness behind him. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry stepped into the street and drew the latch; a few stars were +out, but the night was cloudy. He leant against the side of the house; +he felt excited, confused, impatient; Dirk’s abrupt dismissal rankled, +he was half ashamed of the power exercised over him by his frail +comrade, half bewildered by the allurement of the reward that promised +to be so near now. +</p> + +<p> +Rome—splendour, power—Jacobea of Martzburg—and only one stranger +between him and this consummation; he wondered why he had ever +hesitated, ever been horrified; his anticipations became so brilliant +that they mounted like winged spirits to the clouds, catching him up +with them; he could scarcely breathe in the close atmosphere of +excitement; a thousand questions to which he might have demanded +answer of Dirk occurred to him and stung with impatience his elated +heart. +</p> + +<p> +On a quick impulse he turned to the door and tried the handle. +</p> + +<p> +To his surprise he found it bolted from within; he wondered both at +Dirk’s caution and his softness of tread, for he had heard no sound. +</p> + +<p> +It was not yet late, but he did not desire to attract attention by +knocking. +</p> + +<p> +Full of his resolution to speak further with Dirk, he passed round the +house and entered the garden with the object of gaining admittance by +the low windows of the room where they had been conversing. +</p> + +<p> +But the light had gone from the chamber, and the windows were closed. +</p> + +<p> +With an exclamation of impatience Theirry stepped back among the rose +bushes and looked up. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk’s bedchamber was also in darkness; black and silent the witch’s +dwelling showed against the still but stormy sky. Theirry felt a chill +run to his heart—where had the youth gone so instantly, so silently? +Who had noiselessly bolted door and windows? +</p> + +<p> +Then suddenly a light flashed across his vision; it appeared in the +window of a room built out from the house at the side—a room that +Theirry had always imagined was used only as a store-place for +Nathalie’s drugs and herbs; he did not remember that he had ever +entered it or ever seen a light there before. +</p> + +<p> +His curiosity was stirred; Dirk had spoken of weariness—perhaps this +was the witch herself. He waited for the light to disappear, but it +continued to glow, like a steady star across the darkness of the rose +garden. +</p> + +<p> +The heavy scent of the half-seen blooms filled the gusty wind that +began to arise; great fragments of cloud sped above the dark roof-line +of the house; Theirry crept nearer the light. +</p> + +<p> +It had crossed his mind many times that Dirk and Nathalie held secrets +they kept from him, and the doubt had often set him raging inwardly, +as well he knew the witch despised him as a useless novice in the +black arts; old suspicions returned to him as, advancing warily, he +drew near the light and crouched against the wall of the house. A +light curtain was pulled across the window, but carelessly, and drawn +slightly awry to avoid the light set in the window-seat. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry, holding his breath, looked in. +</p> + +<p> +He saw an oval room hung with Syrian tapestries of scarlet and yellow, +and paved with black and white marble; the air was thick with the blue +vapour of some perfume burning in a copper brazier, and lit by lamps +suspended from the wall, their light glowing from behind screens of a +pure pink silk. The end of the apartment was hidden by a violet velvet +curtain embroidered with grapes and swans; near this a low couch +covered with scarlet draperies and purple cushions was placed, and +close to this a table, set with a white cloth bearing moons and stars +worked in blue. +</p> + +<p> +Across this cloth a thick chain of amber beads was flung; a single +tall glass edged with gold and a silver dish of apples stood together +in the centre of the table. +</p> + +<p> +As there was no one in the room to attract his attention, Theirry had +leisure to remark these details. +</p> + +<p> +He noticed, also, that the light close to him in the window-seat was +the copper candlestick he had seen, not long since, in Dirk’s hands. +</p> + +<p> +With a certain angry jealousy at being, as he considered, duped, he +waited for his friend’s appearance. +</p> + +<p> +Mystery and horror both had he seen at the witch’s house, yet nothing +ever disclosed to him helped him now to read the meaning of this room +he peered into. +</p> + +<p> +As he gazed, his brows contracted in wonderment; he saw the violet +curtain gently shaken, then drawn slightly apart in the middle. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry almost betrayed himself by a cry of surprise. +</p> + +<p> +A long, slender woman’s hand and arm slipped between the folds of the +velvet; a delicate foot appeared; the curtain trembled, the aperture +widened, and the figure of a girl was revealed in dusky shadow. +</p> + +<p> +She was tall, and wore a long robe of yellow sendal that she held up +over her bosom with her left hand. She might have just come forth from +the bath, for her shoulders, arms and feet were bare, and the lines of +her limbs noticeable through the thin silk. +</p> + +<p> +Her head and face were wrapped in a silver gauze. She stood quite +still, half withdrawn behind the curtain, only the finely shaped white +arm that held it back fully revealed. +</p> + +<p> +Her appearance impressed Theirry with unnameable dread and terror; he +remained rigid at the window gazing at her, not able, if he would, to +fly. Through the veil that concealed her face he could see restless +dark eyes and the line of dark hair; he thought that she must see him, +that she looked at him even as he looked at her, but he could not +stir. +</p> + +<p> +Slowly she came forward into the room; her feet were noiseless on the +stone floor, but as she moved Theirry heard a curious dragging sound +he could not explain. +</p> + +<p> +She took up the amber beads from the table and put them down again; on +her left hand was a silver ring set with a flat red stone; supporting +her drapery with her other hand, she looked at this ornament, moved +her finger so that the crimson jewel flashed, then shook her hand, +angrily it seemed. +</p> + +<p> +As the ring was large it fell and rolled across the floor. Theirry saw +it sparkling under the edge of one of the hangings. +</p> + +<p> +The woman looked after it, then straight at the window, and the pale +watcher could have shrieked in horror. +</p> + +<p> +Again she moved, and again Theirry heard that noise as of something +being trailed across the floor. +</p> + +<p> +She was drawing nearer the window; as she approached she half turned, +and Theirry saw flat green and dull wings of wrinkled skin folded on +her back; the tips of them touched the floor—these had made the +dragging sound he had heard. +</p> + +<p> +With a tortured cry wrung from him he flung up his hand to shut out +the dreadful thing. She heard him, stopped and gave a shriek of dread +and anguish; the lights were instantly extinguished, the room was in +absolute darkness. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry turned and rushed across the garden. He thought the rose +bushes catching on his garments were hands seeking to detain him; he +thought that he heard a window open and a flapping of wings in the air +above him. +</p> + +<p> +He cried out to the God on whom he had turned his back— +</p> + +<p> +“Christus have mercy!” +</p> + +<p> +And so he stumbled to the gate and out into the quiet street of +Frankfort. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p1ch15"> +CHAPTER XV.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">MELCHOIR OF BRABANT</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">The</span> last chant of the monks died away. +</p> + +<p> +The Sabbath service was ended and the Court rose from its place in the +Emperor’s chapel, but Jacobea remained on her knees and tried to pray. +</p> + +<p> +The Empress, very fair and childishly sweet, drooping under the weight +of her jewelled garments even with three pages to lift her train, +raised her brows to see her lady remaining and gave her a little smile +as she passed. +</p> + +<p> +The Emperor, dark, reserved, devout and plainly habited, followed with +his eyes still on his breviary; he was leaning on the arm of Balthasar +of Courtrai; the sun falling slantwise through the high coloured +windows made the fair locks and golden clothes of the Margrave one +glitter in a dazzling brightness. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea could not bring her thoughts to dwell on holy things; her +hands were clasped on her <i>prie-Dieu</i>, her open book was before her, +but her eyes wandered from the altar to the crowd passing down the +aisle. +</p> + +<p> +Among the faces that went by she could not but mark the beautiful +countenance of Theirry the secretary to the Queen’s Chamberlain; she +noticed him, as she always did, for his obvious calm handsomeness, +to-day she noticed further that he looked grieved, distraught and +pale. Wondering at this she observed him so intently that his long +hazel eyes glanced aside and met hers in an intense gaze, grave and +sad. +</p> + +<p> +She thought there was a question or an appeal—some meaning in his +look, and she turned her slender neck and stared after him, so that +two ladies following smiled at each other. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry kept his eyes fixed on her until he left the chapel, and a +slow colour crept into his cheek. +</p> + +<p> +When the last courtier had glittered away out of the low arched door, +Jacobea bent her head and rested her cheek against the top of the high +<i>prie-Dieu</i>; her yellow hair, falling from under her close linen cap, +hung in a shimmering line over her tight blue velvet gown, her hands +were interlaced beside her cheek, and her long skirt rippled over her +feet on to the stone pavement. +</p> + +<p> +Could her prayers have been shaped into words they would have been +such as these— +</p> + +<p> +“Oh Mary, Empress of Heaven, oh saints and angels, defend me from the +Devil and my own wicked heart, shelter me in my weakness and arm me to +victory!” +</p> + +<p> +Incense still lingered in the air; it stole pleasantly to her +nostrils; she raised her eyes timidly to the red light on the altar, +then rose from her knees clasping her breviary to her bosom, and +turning she saw Theirry standing inside the door watching her. +</p> + +<p> +She knew that he was waiting to speak to her, and, she knew not why, +it gave her a sense of comfort and pleasure. +</p> + +<p> +Slowly she came down the aisle towards him, and as she approached, +smiled. +</p> + +<p> +He took a step into the church; there was no answering smile on his +face. +</p> + +<p> +“Teach me to pray, I beseech you,” he said ardently. “Let me kneel +beside you——” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him in a troubled way. +</p> + +<p> +“I?—alas!” she answered. “You do not know me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know that if any one could lead a soul upwards it would be you.” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea shook her head sadly. +</p> + +<p> +“Scarcely can I pray for myself,” she answered. “I am weak, unhappy +and alone. Sir, whatever your trouble you must not come to me for +aid.” +</p> + +<p> +His dark eyes flashed softly. +</p> + +<p> +“You—unhappy? I have ever thought of you as gay and careless as the +roses.” +</p> + +<p> +She gazed on him wistfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Once I was. That day I saw you first—do you remember, sir? I often +recall it because it seemed—that after that I changed——” She +shuddered, and her grey eyes grew wet and mournful. “It was your +friend.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry’s face hardened. +</p> + +<p> +“My friend?” +</p> + +<p> +She leant against the chapel wall and gazed passionately at the +Chamberlain’s secretary. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is he? Surely you must know somewhat of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“My friend——” repeated Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“The young scholar,” she said quickly and fearfully, “he—he is in +Frankfort now.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have seen him?” +</p> + +<p> +She bowed her head. “What does he want with me? He will not let me be +in peace—he pursues me with horrible thoughts—he hates me, he will +undo my soul——” +</p> + +<p> +She stopped, catching close to her the ivory-covered book and +shivering. +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” she said after a second, “he is an evil thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“When did you meet him?” asked Theirry in a low fearful voice. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea told him of the encounter in the forest; he marked that it was +the day of the great tourney, the day when he had last seen Dirk; he +remembered certain matters he had uttered concerning Jacobea. +</p> + +<p> +“If he has been tampering with you,” he cried wrathfully, “if he +dares——” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you know somewhat of him?” she interrupted in a half horror. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, to my shame I do,” he answered. “I know him for what he is; if +you value your peace, your soul—do not heed him.” +</p> + +<p> +She drew away. +</p> + +<p> +“But you—you—— Are you in league with him?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry groaned and set his teeth. +</p> + +<p> +“He holds me in a mesh of temptation—he lures me into great +wickedness.” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea moved still further back; shrinking from him into the gloom of +the chapel. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” she said. “Who—who is he?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry lowered his eyes and frowned. +</p> + +<p> +“You must not ask me.” He fingered the base of the pilaster against +the door. +</p> + +<p> +“But he troubles me,” she answered intensely. “The thought of him is +like some one clinging to my garments to drag me down.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry lifted his head sharply to gaze at her tall slender figure; +but lifted his eyes no higher than her clasped hands that lay over the +breviary below her heart. +</p> + +<p> +“How can he or such as he disturb you? What temptation can you be +beguiled with?” +</p> + +<p> +And as he saw the delicate fingers tremble on the ivory cover, his +soul was hot and sore against Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“I will not speak of what might beguile me,” said Jacobea in a low +voice. “I dare not speak of it—let it go—it is great sin.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is sin for me also,” murmured Theirry, “but the prize seems +almost worth it.” +</p> + +<p> +He bit his finger and stared on the ground; he felt that she +shuddered, and heard the shiver of her silks against the chapel wall. +</p> + +<p> +“Worth it, you say?” she whispered, “worth it?” +</p> + +<p> +Her tone made him wince; he could fancy Dirk at her shoulder prompting +her, and he lifted his head and answered strongly— +</p> + +<p> +“You cannot care to know, and I dare not tell, what has put me in the +power of this young scholar, nor what are the temptations with which +he enmeshes me—but this you must hear”—his hand was outspread on his +bosom, pressing on his heart, his hazel eyes were dilated and +intense—“this—I should be his, utterly, wholly his, one with him in +evil, if it were not for you and the thought of you.” +</p> + +<p> +She leant her whole weight against the stone wall and stared at him; a +shaft of dusty sunlight played on the smooth ivory book and her long +fingers; fell, too, glowingly across the blue velvet bosom of her +dress; but her throat and face were in shadow. +</p> + +<p> +“You are the chatelaine of Martzburg,” continued Theirry in a less +steady voice, “and you do not know me—it is not fit that you +should—but twice you have been gentle with me, and if—and if you +could so care, for your sake I would shake the clinging devils off—I +would live good and humble, and scorn the tempting youth.” +</p> + +<p> +“What must I do to help you?” answered Jacobea. “Alas! why do you rate +me so high?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry came a step nearer; he touched the border of her long sleeve. +</p> + +<p> +“Be what you are—that is all. Be noble, pure—ah, sweet!—that seeing +you I can still believe in heaven and strive for it.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him earnestly. +</p> + +<p> +“Why—you are the only one to care, that I should be noble and sweet. +And it would make a difference to you?” Her questioning voice fell +wistfully. “Ah, sir—were you to hear a wicked thing of me and know it +true—did I become a vile, a hideous creature—would it make a +difference?” +</p> + +<p> +“It would—for me—make the difference between hell and paradise.” +</p> + +<p> +She flushed and trembled. +</p> + +<p> +“Certes, you have heartened me—nay, you must not set me in a +shrine—but, but—— Oh, sir, honour me and I will be worthy of it.” +</p> + +<p> +She raised an appealing face. +</p> + +<p> +“On my knees,” answered Theirry earnestly, “I will do you worship. I +am no knight to wear your colours boldly—but you shall win a fairer +triumph than ever graced the jousts, for I will come back to God +through you and live my days a repentant man—because of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay—each through the other,” said Jacobea. “I think I too—had… ah, +Jesu! fallen—if some one had not cared.” +</p> + +<p> +He paled with pain. +</p> + +<p> +“What did he—that youth—tempt you with?” +</p> + +<p> +“No matter,” she said faintly. “It is over now—I will be equal to +your thoughts of me, sir. I have no knight, nor have wished for +one—but I will often think of you who have encouraged me in this my +loneliness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Please God,” he said. “We both are free of devilry—will you make +that a pact with me? that I may think of you as far above it all as is +the moon above the mire—will you give me leave to think you always as +innocent as I would have my saint?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your worship, sir, shall make me so,” she answered gravely. “Think no +ill of me and I will do no ill.” +</p> + +<p> +He went on his knee and kissed the hem of her soft gown. +</p> + +<p> +“You have saved me,” he whispered, “from everlasting doom.” +</p> + +<p> +As he rose, Jacobea held out her hand and touched him gently on the +sleeve. +</p> + +<p> +“God be thanked,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +He bent his head and left her; she drew from her bosom the crucifix +that had been her companion in the forest and kissed it reverently, +her heart more at ease than since the day when first she met Dirk +Renswoude. +</p> + +<p> +Returning to the great hall of the palace with quick resolve to return +to Martzburg or to send for Sybilla forming in her mind, she +encountered the Empress walking up and down the long chamber +discontentedly. +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau, who affected a fondness for Jacobea, smiled on her +indolently, but Jacobea, always a little overawed by her great +loveliness, and, in her soul, disliking her, would have passed on. +</p> + +<p> +The Empress raised her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, stay and talk to your poor deserted lady,” she said in her +babyish voice. “The Emperor is in his chamber writing Latin +prayers—on a day like this!” She kissed her hand to the sunshine and +the flowers seen through the window. “My dames are all abroad with +their gallants—and I—— Hazard what I have been doing?” +</p> + +<p> +She held her left hand behind her and laughed in Jacobea’s face; seen +thus in her over-gorgeous clothes, her childlike appearance and beauty +giving her an air of fresh innocence, she was not unlike the little +image of the Virgin often set above her altars. +</p> + +<p> +“Guess!” she cried again; then, without waiting for an +answer—“Catching butterflies in the garden.” +</p> + +<p> +She showed her hand now, and held delicately before Jacobea’s eyes a +white net drawn tightly together full of vari-coloured butterflies. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the use of them, poor souls?” asked Jacobea. +</p> + +<p> +The Empress looked at her prisoners. +</p> + +<p> +“Their wings are very lovely,” she said greedily. “If I pulled them +off would they last? Sewn on silk how they would shimmer!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, they would fade,” answered Jacobea hastily. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye have tried it?” demanded the Empress. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, I could not be so cruel… I love such little gay creatures.” +</p> + +<p> +Reflection darkened Ysabeau’s gorgeous eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I will take the wings off and see if they lose their +brightness.” She surveyed the fluttering victims. “Some are purple… a +rare shade!” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea’s smooth brow gathered in a frown of distress. +</p> + +<p> +“They are alive,” she said, “and it is agreeable to them to live; will +you not let them free?” +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau laughed; not at all babyishly now. +</p> + +<p> +“You need not watch me, dame.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your Grace does not consider how gentle and helpless they are, +indeed”—Jacobea flushed in her eagerness—“they have faces and little +velvet jackets on their bodies.” +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau frowned and turned away. +</p> + +<p> +“It amuses you to thwart my pleasures,” she answered. She suddenly +flung the net at Jacobea. “Take them and begone.” +</p> + +<p> +The chatelaine of Martzburg, knowing something of the Empress, was +surprised at this sudden yielding; looking round, however, she learnt +the cause of it. The Margrave of East Flanders had entered the hall. +</p> + +<p> +She caught up the rescued butterflies and left the chamber, while the +Empress sank into the window-seat among the crimson cushions patterned +with sprawling lions, pulled a white rose out of her belt and set her +teeth in the stem of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is Melchoir?” asked the Margrave, coming towards her; his +immense size augmented by his full rich clothes gave him the air of a +golden giant. +</p> + +<p> +“Writing Latin prayers,” she mocked. “Were you Emperor of the West, +Lord Balthasar, would you do that?” +</p> + +<p> +He frowned. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not such a holy man as Melchoir.” +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Were you my husband would you do that?” +</p> + +<p> +His fresh fair face flushed rose colour. +</p> + +<p> +“This is among the things I may not even fancy.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked out of the window; her dress was low and loosened about the +shoulders, by cause of the heat, she said, but she loved to make a +pageant of her beauty; red, bronze and purple silks clung about her +fastened with a thick belt; her pale gold hair was woven into a great +diadem of curls above her brow, and round her throat was a string of +emeralds, a gift from Byzantium, her home. +</p> + +<p> +Purposely she was silent, hoping Balthasar would speak; but he stood, +without a word, leaning against the tapestry. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh God!” she said at last, without turning her head, “I loathe +Frankfort!” +</p> + +<p> +His eyes glittered, but he made no answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Were I a man I would not be so tame.” +</p> + +<p> +Now he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Princess, you know that I am sick for Rome, but what may we do when +the Emperor makes delays?” +</p> + +<p> +“Melchoir should be a monk,” his wife returned bitterly, “since a +German township serves him when he might rule half the world.” Now she +gave Balthasar her lovely face, and fixed on him her violet eyes. “We +of the East do not understand this diffidence. My father was an Aegean +groom who took the throne by strangling the life out of his master—he +ruled strongly in Ravenna, I was born in the purple, nursed in the +gold—I do not fathom your northern tardiness.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Emperor <i>will</i> go to Rome,” said the Margrave in a troubled +voice. “He will cross the Alps this year, I think.” +</p> + +<p> +Her white lids drooped. +</p> + +<p> +“You love Melchoir—therefore you bear with him.” +</p> + +<p> +He lifted his head. +</p> + +<p> +“You, too, must bear with him, since he is your lord, Princess,” he +answered. +</p> + +<p> +And the Empress repressed the words she longed to utter, and forced a +smile. +</p> + +<p> +“How stern you are, Margrave; if I but turn a breath against +Melchoir—and, sometimes, you wrong me, forgetting that I also am your +friend.” +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes were quick to flash over him, to mark how stiffly and +awkwardly he stood and could not look at her. +</p> + +<p> +“My duty to the Emperor,” she said softly, “and my love, cannot blind +me to his weakness now; come, Lord Balthasar, to you also it is +weakness—even your loyalty must admit we lose the time. The Pope +says—Come—the King of the Lombards will acknowledge my lord his +suzerain—and here we stay in Frankfort waiting for the winter to cut +off the Alps.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certes he is wrong,” frowned the Margrave. “Wrong… if I were he—I +would be Emperor in good sooth and all the world should know that I +ruled in Rome——” +</p> + +<p> +She drew a long breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Strange that we, his friend and his wife, cannot persuade him; the +nobles are on our side also.” +</p> + +<p> +“Save Hugh of Rooselaare, who is ever at his ear,” answered Balthasar. +“He brings him to stay in Germany.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Lord of Rooselaare!” echoed the Empress. “His daughter was your +wife?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never saw her,” he interrupted quickly. “And she died. Her father +seems, therefore, to hate me.” +</p> + +<p> +“And me also, I think, though why I do not know,” she smiled. “His +daughter’s dead, dead… oh, we are very sure that she is dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certes, she was as good as another;” the Margrave spoke gloomily. +“Now I must wed again.” +</p> + +<p> +The Empress stared at him. +</p> + +<p> +“I did not think you considered that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must. I am the Margrave now.” +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau turned her head and fixed her eyes on the palace garden. +</p> + +<p> +“There is no lady worthy of your rank and at the same time free,” she +said. +</p> + +<p> +“You have an heiress in your train, Princess—Jacobea of Martzburg—I +have thought of her.” +</p> + +<p> +The rich colours in the Empress’s gown shimmered together with her +hidden trembling. +</p> + +<p> +“Can you think of her? She is near as tall as you, Margrave, and not +fair—oh, a gentle fool enough—but—but”—she looked over her +shoulder—“am <i>I</i> not your lady?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, and ever will be,” he answered, lifting his bright blue eyes. “I +wear your favour, I do battle for you, in the jousts you are my Queen +of Love—I make my prayers in your name and am your servant, +Princess.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well—you need not a wife.” She bit her lips to keep them still. +</p> + +<p> +“Certes,” answered Balthasar wonderingly. “A knight must have a wife +besides a lady—since his lady is ofttimes the spouse of another, and +his highest thought is to touch her gown—but a wife is to keep his +castle and do his service.” +</p> + +<p> +The Empress twisted her fingers in and out her girdle. +</p> + +<p> +“I had rather,” she cried passionately, “be wife than lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ye are both,” he answered, flushing. “The Emperor’s wife and my +lady.” +</p> + +<p> +She gave him a curious glance. +</p> + +<p> +“Sometimes I think you are a fool, yet maybe it is only that I am not +used to the North. How you would show in Byzantium, my cold Margrave!” +And she leant across the gold and red cushions towards him. “Certes, +you shall have your long straight maiden. I think her heart is as +chill as yours.” +</p> + +<p> +He moved away from her. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye shall not mock me, Princess,” he said fiercely. “My heart is hot +enough, let me be.” +</p> + +<p> +She laughed at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you afraid of me? Why do you move away? Come back, and I will +recount you the praises of Jacobea of Martzburg.” +</p> + +<p> +He gave her a sullen look. +</p> + +<p> +“No more of her.” +</p> + +<p> +“And yet your heart is hot enough——” +</p> + +<p> +“Not with the thought of her—God knows.” +</p> + +<p> +But the Empress pressed her hands together and slowly rose, looking +past Balthasar at the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Melchoir, we speak of you,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +The Margrave turned; the Emperor, velvet shod, was softly entering; he +glanced gravely at his wife and smilingly at Balthasar. +</p> + +<p> +“We speak of you,” repeated Ysabeau, dark-eyed and flushed, “of you… +and Rome.” +</p> + +<p> +Melchoir of Brabant, third of his name, austere, reserved, proud and +cold, looked more like a knight of the Church than King of Germany and +Emperor of the West; he was plainly habited, his dark hair cut close, +his handsome, slightly haughty face composed and stern; too earnest +was he to be showily attractive yet many men adored him, among them +Balthasar of Courtrai, for in himself the Emperor was both brave and +lovable. +</p> + +<p> +“Cannot you have done with Rome?” he asked sadly, while his large +intelligent eyes rested affectionately on the Margrave. “Is Frankfort +grown so distasteful?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certes, no, Lord Melchoir—it is the chance! the chance!” +</p> + +<p> +The Emperor sank in a weary manner on to a seat. +</p> + +<p> +“Hugh of Rooselaare and I have spoken together and we have agreed, +Balthasar, not to go to Rome.” +</p> + +<p> +The Empress stiffened and drooped her lids; the Margrave turned +swiftly to face his master, and all the colour was dashed out of his +fresh face. +</p> + +<p> +Melchoir smiled gently. +</p> + +<p> +“My friend, ye are an adventurer, and think of the glory to be +gained—but I must think of my people who need me here—the land is +not fit to leave. It will need many men to hold Rome; we must drain +the land of knights, wring money from the poor, tax the +churches—leave Germany defenceless, a prey to the Franks, and this +for the empty title of Emperor.” +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar’s breast heaved. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this your decision?” +</p> + +<p> +The Emperor answered gravely— +</p> + +<p> +“I do not think it God His wish that I should go to Rome.” +</p> + +<p> +The Margrave bent his head and was silent, but Ysabeau flung her clear +voice into the pause. +</p> + +<p> +“In Constantinople a man such as <i>you</i> would not long fill a throne; +ere now you had been a blinded monk and I free to choose another +husband!” +</p> + +<p> +The Emperor rose from his seat. +</p> + +<p> +“The woman raves,” he said to the pale Margrave. “Begone, Balthasar.” +</p> + +<p> +The German left them; when his heavy footfall had died into silence, +Melchoir looked at his wife and his eyes flashed. +</p> + +<p> +“God forgive my father,” he said bitterly, “for tying me to this +Eastern she-cat!” +</p> + +<p> +The Empress crouched in the window-seat and clutched the cushions. +</p> + +<p> +“I was meant for a man’s mate,” she cried fiercely, “for a Cæsar’s +wife. I would they had flung me to a foot-boy sooner than given me to +thee—thou trembling woman’s soul!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou hast repaid the injury,” answered the Emperor sternly, “by the +great unhappiness I have in thee. My life is not sweet with thee nor +easy. I would thou hadst less beauty and more gentleness.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am gentle enough when I choose,” she mocked. “Balthasar and the +Court think me a loving wife.” +</p> + +<p> +He took a step towards her; his cheek showed pale. +</p> + +<p> +“It is most true none save I know you for the thing you +are—heartless, cruel, fierce and hard——” +</p> + +<p> +“Leave that!” she cried passionately. “You drive me mad. I hate you, +yea, you thwart me every turn——” +</p> + +<p> +She came swiftly across the floor to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you any courage—any blood in you—will you go to Rome?” +</p> + +<p> +“To please your wanton ambition I will do nothing, nor will I for any +reason go to Rome.” +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau quivered like an infuriated animal. +</p> + +<p> +“I will talk no more of it,” said Melchoir coldly and wearily. “Too +often do we waste ourselves in such words as these.” +</p> + +<p> +The Greek could scarcely speak for passion; her nostrils were dilated, +her lips pale and compressed. +</p> + +<p> +“I am ashamed to call you lord,” she said hoarsely; “humbled before +every woman in the kingdom who sees her husband brave at least—while +I—know you coward——” +</p> + +<p> +Melchoir clenched his hands to keep them off her. +</p> + +<p> +“Hark to me, my wife. I am your master and the master of this land—I +will not be insulted, nay, nor flouted, by your stinging tongue. Hold +me in what contempt ye will, you shall not voice it—by St. George, +no!—not if I have to take the whip to hold you dumb!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ho! a Christian knight!” she jeered. “I loathe your Church as I +loathe you. I am not Ysabeau, but still Marozia Porphyrogentris.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do not remind me thy father was a stableman and a murderer,” said +Melchoir. “Nor that I caused thee to change a name the women of thy +line had made accursed. Would I could send thee back to Ravenna!—for +thou hast brought to me nought but bitterness!” +</p> + +<p> +“Be careful,” breathed Ysabeau. “Be careful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stand out of my way,” he commanded. +</p> + +<p> +For answer she loosened the heavy girdle round her waist; he saw her +purpose and caught her hands. +</p> + +<p> +“You shall not strike me.” The links of gold hung from her helpless +fingers while she gazed at him with brilliant eyes. “<i>Would</i> you have +struck me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea—across your mouth,” she answered. “Now were you a man, you would +kill me.” +</p> + +<p> +He took the belt from her arm, releasing her. “That <i>you</i> should +trouble me!” he said wearily. +</p> + +<p> +At this she stood aside to let him pass; he turned to the door, and as +he lifted the tapestry flung down her belt. +</p> + +<p> +The Empress crept along the floor, snatched it up and stood still, +panting. +</p> + +<p> +Before the passion had left her face the hangings were stirred again. +</p> + +<p> +One of her Chamberlains. +</p> + +<p> +“Princess, there is a young doctor below desires to see you. +Constantine, his name, of Frankfort College.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said Ysabeau; a guilty colour touched her whitened cheek. “I +know nothing of him,” she added quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon, Princess, he says ’tis to decipher an old writing you have +sent to him; his words are, when you see him you will remember.” +</p> + +<p> +The blood burnt more brightly still under the exquisite skin. +</p> + +<p> +“Bring him here,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +But even as the Chamberlain moved aside, the slender figure of Dirk +appeared in the doorway. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her, smiling calmly, his scholar’s cap in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“You do remember me?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +The Empress moved her head in assent. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p1ch16"> +CHAPTER XVI.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE QUARREL</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">Dirk Renswoude</span> laid down the pen and pushed aside the parchment, and +lifted heavy eyes with a sigh of weariness. +</p> + +<p> +It was midday and very hot; the witch’s red roses were beginning to +shed their petals and disclose their yellow hearts, and the leaves of +the great trees that shaded the house were curling and yellowing in +the fierce sun. +</p> + +<p> +From his place at the table Dirk could mark these signs of autumn +without; yet by the look in his eyes it seemed that he saw neither +trees nor flowers, but only some image evoked by his thoughts; +presently he picked up the quill, bit the end of it, frowned and laid +it down. +</p> + +<p> +Then he started and looked round with some eagerness, for a light +sound broke the sleepy stillness, the door opened, and before his +expectant gaze Theirry appeared. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk flushed and smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Well met,” he said. “I have much to say to you.” He rose and held out +his hand. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry merely touched it with his fingers. +</p> + +<p> +“And I am come because I also have much to say.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk’s manner changed, the warmth died from his face, and he gave the +other a keen glance. +</p> + +<p> +“Speak, then.” He returned to his seat, took his face between his two +delicate hands, and rested his elbows on the table. “I was writing my +lecture for to-night, certes, I shall be glad of a diversion.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will not be pleased with mine,” answered Theirry; his expression +was grave and cold, his dress plain and careless; he frowned, lifted +his eyebrows continually, and played with the buttons on his doublet. +</p> + +<p> +“Be seated,” said Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry took the chair he proffered. +</p> + +<p> +“There is no need to make an ado,” he began, obviously with an effort. +“I am not going on with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are not going on?” repeated Dirk. “Well, your reasons?” +</p> + +<p> +“May God forgive me what I have done,” cried Theirry in great +agitation; “but I will sin no more—I have resolved it—and ye cannot +tempt me.” +</p> + +<p> +“And all you swore—to me?” demanded Dirk; his eyes narrowed, but he +remained composed. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry clasped his restless fingers. +</p> + +<p> +“No man is bound to bargains with the Devil… I have been weak and +wicked—but I mingle no more in your fiendish councils——” +</p> + +<p> +“This is for Jacobea of Martzburg’s sake.” +</p> + +<p> +“It <i>is</i> for her sake—because of her that I am here now to tell you I +have done with it—done with you!” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk dropped his hands on to the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Theirry! Theirry!” he cried wildly and sorrowfully. +</p> + +<p> +“I have measured the temptation,” said Theirry; “I have thought of the +gain—the loss—I have put it aside, with God’s help and hers—I will +not aid you in the way you asked me—nor will I see it done.” +</p> + +<p> +“And ye call that virtue!” cried Dirk. “Poor fool—all it amounts to +is that you, alas!—love the chatelaine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” he answered hotly. “It is that, having seen her, I would not be +vile. You meditate a dastard thing—the Emperor is a noble knight.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ambrose of Menthon was a holy monk,” retorted Dirk. “Who choked the +pious words in his throat? Joris of Thuringia was an innocent +youth—who sent him to a hideous death?” +</p> + +<p> +“I!” cried Theirry fiercely; “but always with you to goad me on! +Before the Devil sent you across my way I had never touched sin save +in dim thoughts… but you, with talk of friendship, lured me from an +honest man’s company to poison me with forbidden knowledge, to tempt +me into hideous blasphemies—and I will have no more of it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet you vowed comradeship with me,” said Dirk. “Is your loyalty of +such quality?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry sprang violently from his chair and paced heavily up and down +the room. +</p> + +<p> +“You blinded me… I knew not what I did… but now I know; when +I—I—heard her speak, and heard that you had dared to try to trap her +to destruction——” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk interrupted with a low laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“So she told you that! But I warrant that she was dumb about the +nature of her temptation!” +</p> + +<p> +“That is no matter,” answered Theirry; “now she is free of you, as I +shall be——” +</p> + +<p> +“As you vowed to her you would be,” added Dirk. “Well, go your way—I +thought you loved me a little—but the first woman’s face——!” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry stood still to front him. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot love that which—I fear.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk went swiftly very pale. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you—fear me, Theirry?” he asked wistfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, ye know too much of Satan’s lore—more than you ever taught me,” +he shuddered uncontrollably; “there are things in this very house——” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean—what do you mean?” Dirk rose in his place. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is the woman?” whispered Theirry fearfully; “there is a woman +here——” +</p> + +<p> +“In this house there are none save Nathalie and me,” answered Dirk on +the defensive, his eyes dark and glowing. +</p> + +<p> +“There you lie to me; the last time I was here, I turned back swiftly +on leaving, but found the door bolted, the lights out, all save +one—in the little chamber next to this—I watched at the window and +saw a gorgeous room and a woman, a winged woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“You dream,” answered Dirk in a low voice. “Do you think I have enough +power to raise such shapes?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think ’twas some love of yours from Hell—whence you came——” +</p> + +<p> +“My love is not in Hell, but on the earth,” answered Dirk +quietly—“yet shall we go together into the pit—as for the woman, it +was a dream—there is no gorgeous chamber there.” +</p> + +<p> +He crossed the room and flung open a little door in the wall. +</p> + +<p> +“See—old Nathalie’s closet—full of herbs and charms——” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry peered into an ill-lit apartment fitted with shelves +containing jars and bottles. +</p> + +<p> +“The enchantment that could bring the woman could change the room,” he +muttered, unconvinced. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk gave a slow, strange look. +</p> + +<p> +“Was she beautiful?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea—but——” +</p> + +<p> +“More beautiful than Jacobea of Martzburg?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot compare Satan’s handmaiden with a lily from Paradise.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk closed the closet door. +</p> + +<p> +“Theirry,” he said falteringly, “do not leave me—you are the only +thing in all the universe can move me to joy or pain—I love you, +utterly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Out on such affection that would steal my soul——” +</p> + +<p> +He was turning away when Dirk laid a timid hand upon his sleeve. +</p> + +<p> +“I will make you great, ay, very great… do not hate me——” +</p> + +<p> +But Theirry gazed fearfully at the youth’s curious pale face. +</p> + +<p> +“I will have none of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You do not know how dear I hold you,” insisted Dirk in a trembling +voice; “come back to me, and I will let your lady be——” +</p> + +<p> +“She can scorn ye… defy ye… as I do now!” +</p> + +<p> +And he flung off the slim hand from his arm and strode away down the +long room. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk drew himself together and crouched against the wall. +</p> + +<p> +“Will she? certes, I wonder, will she?” he cried. “You will have none +of me, you say, you reject me; but for how long?” +</p> + +<p> +“For ever,” answered Theirry hoarsely. +</p> + +<p> +“Or until Jacobea of Martzburg falls.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry swung round. +</p> + +<p> +“That leaves it still for ever.” +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe, however, only for a few poor weeks—your lily is very fragile, +Theirry, so look to see it broken in the mud——” +</p> + +<p> +“If you harm her,” cried Theirry fiercely, “if you blast her with your +hellish spells——” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay—I will not; of herself she shall come to ruin.” +</p> + +<p> +“When that is, I will return to you, so—farewell for ever——” +</p> + +<p> +He made a passionate gesture with his hand as if he swept aside Dirk +and all thoughts of him, and turned quickly towards the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait!” Dirk called to him. “What of this that you know of me?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry paused. +</p> + +<p> +“So much I owe you—that I should be silent.” +</p> + +<p> +“Since, if you speak, you bring to light your own history,” smiled +Dirk. “But—about the Emperor?” +</p> + +<p> +“God helping me I will prevent that.” +</p> + +<p> +“How will you prevent it?” Dirk asked quietly; “would you betray me as +a first offering to your outraged God?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry pressed his hand to his brow in a bewildered, troubled manner. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, not that; but I will take occasion to warn him—to warn some +one of the Empress.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk hunched his shoulders scornfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, begone, ye are a foolish creature—go and put them on their +guard.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry flushed. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, I will,” he answered hotly. “I know one honest man about the +Court—Hugh of Rooselaare.” +</p> + +<p> +A quick change came over Dirk’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“The Lord of Rooselaare?” he said. “I should remember him, certes; his +daughter was Balthasar’s wife—Ursula.” +</p> + +<p> +“She was, and he is the Emperor’s friend, and opposed to the schemes +of Ysabeau.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk returned to the table and took up one of the books lying there; +mechanically he turned the pages, and his eyes were bright on +Theirry’s pallid face. +</p> + +<p> +“Warn whom you will, say what you will; save, if ye can, Melchoir of +Brabant; begone, see, I seek not to detain you. One day you shall come +back to me, when yon soft saint fails, and I shall be waiting for you; +till then, farewell.” +</p> + +<p> +“For <i>ever</i> farewell,” answered Theirry. “I take up your challenge; I +go to save the Emperor.” +</p> + +<p> +Their eyes met; Theirry’s were the first to falter; he muttered +something like a malediction on himself, lifted the latch and strode +away. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk sank into his chair; he looked very young and slight in his plain +brown silk; his brow was drawn with pain, his eyes large and grieved; +he turned the books and parchments over as though he did not see them. +</p> + +<p> +He had not been long alone when the door was pushed open and Nathalie +crept in. +</p> + +<p> +“He has gone?” she whispered, “and in enmity?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” answered Dirk slowly. “Renouncing me.” +</p> + +<p> +The witch came to the table, took up the youth’s passive hand and +fawned over it. +</p> + +<p> +“Let him go,” she said in an insinuating voice. “He is a fool.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, I have put no strain on him to stay,” Dirk smiled faintly. “But +he will return.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” pleaded Nathalie, “forget him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Forget him!” repeated Dirk mournfully. “But I love him.” +</p> + +<p> +Nathalie stroked the still, slim fingers anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“This affection will be your ruin,” she moaned. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk gazed past her at the autumn sky and the overblown red roses. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if it be so,” he said pantingly, “it will be his ruin also; he +must go with me when I leave the world—the world! after all, +Nathalie”—he turned his strange gaze on the witch—“it does not +matter if she hold him here, so long as he is mine through eternity.” +</p> + +<p> +His cheeks flushed and quivered, the long lashes drooped over his +eyes; then suddenly he smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Nathalie, he has good intentions; he hopes to save the Emperor.” +</p> + +<p> +The witch blinked up at him. +</p> + +<p> +“But it is too late?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certes; I conveyed the potion to Ysabeau this morning.” And Dirk’s +smile deepened. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p1ch17"> +CHAPTER XVII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE MURDER</span> +</h3> + +<p> +“<span class="sc">Balthasar</span>,” said the Emperor, in pity of his friend’s sullen face, +“I will send ye to Rome to make treaty with the Pope since it goes so +heavily with you to stay in Frankfort.” +</p> + +<p> +The Margrave bit the ends of his yellow hair and made no answer. +</p> + +<p> +The Empress half lay along the seat against the wall. She wore a white +and silver gown; on the cushion, where her elbow rested to support her +head, lay a great cluster of crimson roses. +</p> + +<p> +On low stools near her sat her maidens sewing, three of them +embroidering between them a strip of scarlet silk. +</p> + +<p> +It was the dining hall, the table laid already with rudely magnificent +covers; through the low windows, from which the tapestry was looped +back, was to be seen a red sunset sky flaming over Frankfort. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, be pleasant with me,” smiled the Emperor; he laid his arm +affectionately round the Margrave’s huge shoulders. “Certes, since I +took this resolution not to go to Rome, I have nought but sour looks +from all, save Hugh.” +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar’s good-humoured face cleared. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye are wrong, my Prince; but God wot, I am not angered—we can manage +without Rome”—he heroically stifled his sigh—“and who knows that ye +may not change yet?” he added cheerfully. +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau looked at them as they paced up and down, their arms about +each other, the golden locks and the black almost touching, the +gorgeous purple and red habit of the Margrave against the quiet black +garments of the Emperor. +</p> + +<p> +She yawned as she looked, but her eyes were very bright; slowly she +rose and stretched her slender body while the red roses fell softly to +the ground, but she took no heed of them, fixing her gaze on the two +men; her husband seemed not to know of her presence, but the Margrave +was hotly conscious of her eyes upon him, and though he would not turn +his upon her, nevertheless, she marked it and, in a half-smiling way, +came and leant on the table that divided them. +</p> + +<p> +The sunset flashed final beams that fell in flushing rosy lines on the +gold and silver goblets and dishes, struck the Empress’s embroideries +into points of vivid light, and shone marvellously through Balthasar’s +brilliant locks. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely we are late to-night,” said the Emperor. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea,” answered Balthasar; “I do not love to wait.” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped to pour himself a tankard of amber wine and drank it at a +draught. +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau watched him, then snatched up the fallen roses and laid them +on the cloth. +</p> + +<p> +“Will not my lord also drink?” she asked; the fingers of her right +hand were hidden in the red flowers, with her left she raised a chased +flagon in which the sunlight burnt and sparkled. +</p> + +<p> +“As you please, Princess,” answered Melchoir, and gazed towards the +light indifferently. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye might have poured for me,” murmured the Margrave in a half voice. +</p> + +<p> +Her hand came from the roses and touched a horn glass bound with +silver, it lingered there a moment, then rose to her bosom; Balthasar, +absorbing her face, did not notice the gesture. +</p> + +<p> +“Another time,” she answered, “I will serve you, Balthasar of +Courtrai.” She filled the glass until the wine bubbled at the brim. +“Give it to my lord,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar laughed uneasily; their fingers touched upon the glass, and +a few drops were spilled. +</p> + +<p> +“Take care!” cried the Empress. +</p> + +<p> +Melchoir turned and took the goblet. +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you say—take care?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Between us we upset the wine,” said Ysabeau. +</p> + +<p> +Melchoir drank. +</p> + +<p> +“It has an ugly taste,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +She laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it the cupbearer, perchance?” +</p> + +<p> +“The wine is good enough,” put in Balthasar. +</p> + +<p> +The Emperor drank again, then set it down. +</p> + +<p> +“I say it is strange—taste it, Balthasar.” +</p> + +<p> +In an instant the Empress intervened. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay”—she caught up the glass with a movement swifter than the +Margrave’s—“since I poured, the fault—if fault there be—is mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Give it to me!” cried Balthasar. +</p> + +<p> +But she made a quick motion aside, the glass slipped from her fingers +and the wine was lost on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +As Balthasar stooped to pick up the goblet, the Emperor smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“I warn you of that flagon, Margrave.” +</p> + +<p> +The pages and varlets entered with the meats and set them on the +table; they who sat at the Emperor’s board came to take their places; +Theirry followed his master and fixed quick eyes on the Emperor. +</p> + +<p> +He knew that Melchoir had been abroad all day at the hunt and could +not have long returned, hardly could their designs upon him be put in +practice to-night; after the supper he meant to speak to Hugh of +Rooselaare, this as an earnest of his final severance with Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +As the beautiful shining crowd settled to their seats, the young +secretary, whose place was behind his master’s chair, took occasion to +note carefully the lord who was to receive his warning. +</p> + +<p> +The candles, hanging in their copper circlets, were lit, and the ruddy +light shone over the company, while bright pages drew the curtains +over the last sunset glow. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry marked the Empress, sitting languorously and stripping a red +rose of its petals; Melchoir, austere, composed, as always; Balthasar, +gay and noisy; then he turned his gaze on Hugh of Rooselaare. +</p> + +<p> +That noble sat close to the Emperor. Theirry had not, so far, studied +his personal appearance though acquainted with his reputation; +observing him intently he saw a tall, well-made man dressed with +sombre elegance, a man with a strong, rather curious face framed in +straight, dull brown hair. +</p> + +<p> +There was something in the turn of the features, the prominent chin, +dark, clear eyes, pale complexion and resolute set of the mouth that +gradually teased Theirry as he gazed; the whole expression reminded +him of another face, seen under different circumstances, whose he +could not determine. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly the Lord of Rooselaare, becoming aware of this scrutiny, +turned his singularly intent eyes in the direction of the young +scholar. +</p> + +<p> +At once Theirry had it, he placed the likeness. In this manner had +Dirk Renswoude often looked at him. +</p> + +<p> +The resemblance was unmistakable if elusive; this man’s face was of +necessity sterner, darker, older and more set; he was of larger make, +moreover, than Dirk could ever be, his nose was heavier, his jaw more +square, yet the likeness, once noticed, could not be again overlooked. +</p> + +<p> +It strangely discomposed Theirry, he felt he could not take his +warning to one who had Dirk’s trick of the intense gaze and +inscrutable set of the lips; he considered if there were not some one +else—let him go straightway, he thought, to the Emperor himself. +</p> + +<p> +His reflections were interrupted by a little movement near the table, +a pause in the converse. +</p> + +<p> +All eyes were turned to Melchoir of Brabant. +</p> + +<p> +He leant back in his seat and stared before him as if he saw a sight +of horror at the other end of the table; he was quite pale, his mouth +open, his lips strained and purplish. +</p> + +<p> +The Empress sprang up from beside him and caught his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Melchoir!” she shrieked. “Jesu, he does not hear me!” +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar rose in his place. +</p> + +<p> +“My lord,” he said hoarsely, “Melchoir.” +</p> + +<p> +The Emperor moved faintly like one struggling hopelessly under water. +</p> + +<p> +“Melchoir!”—the Margrave pushed back his chair and seized his +friend’s cold hand—“do you not hear us… will you not speak?” +</p> + +<p> +“Balthasar”—the Emperor’s voice came as if from depths of +distance—“I am bewitched!” +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau shrieked and beat her hands together. +</p> + +<p> +Melchoir sank forward, while his face glistened with drops of agony; +he gave a low crying sound and fell across the table. +</p> + +<p> +With an instantaneous movement of fright and horror, the company rose +from their seats and pressed towards the Emperor. +</p> + +<p> +But the Margrave shouted at them— +</p> + +<p> +“Stand back—would you stifle him?—he is not dead, nor, God be +thanked, dying.” +</p> + +<p> +He lifted up the unconscious man and gazed eagerly into his face, as +he did so his own blanched despite his brave words; Melchoir’s eyes +and cheeks had fallen hollow, a ghastly hue overspread his features, +his jaw dropped and his lips were cracked, as if his breath burnt the +blood. +</p> + +<p> +The Empress shrieked again and again and wrung her hands; no one took +any heed of her, she was that manner of woman. +</p> + +<p> +Attendants, with torches and snatched-up candles, white, breathless +ladies and eager men, pressed close about the Emperor’s seat. +</p> + +<p> +“We must take him hence,” said Hugh of Rooselaare, with authority. +“Help me, Margrave.” +</p> + +<p> +He forced his way to Balthasar’s side. +</p> + +<p> +The Empress had fallen to her husband’s feet, a gleam of white and +silver against the dark trappings of the throne. +</p> + +<p> +“What shall I do!” she moaned. “What shall I do!” +</p> + +<p> +The Lord of Rooselaare glanced at her fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +“Cease to whine and bring hither a physician and a priest,” he +commanded. +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau crouched away from him and her purple eyes blazed. +</p> + +<p> +The Margrave and Hugh lifted the Emperor between them; there was a +swaying confusion as chair and seats were pulled out, lights swung +higher, and a passage forced through the bewildered crowd for the two +nobles and their burden. +</p> + +<p> +Some flung open the door of the winding stairway that ascended to the +Emperor’s bed-chamber, and slowly, with difficulty, Melchoir of +Brabant was borne up the narrow steps. +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau rose to her feet and watched it; Balthasar’s gorgeous attire +flashing in the torchlight, Hugh of Rooselaare’s stern pale face, her +husband’s slack body and trailing white hands, the eager group that +pressed about the foot of the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +She put her hands on her bosom and considered a moment, then ran +across the room and followed swiftly after the cumbrous procession. +</p> + +<p> +It was now a quarter of an hour since the Emperor had fainted, and the +hall was left—empty. +</p> + +<p> +Only Theirry remained, staring about him with sick eyes. +</p> + +<p> +A flaring flambeau stuck against the wall cast a strong light over the +disarranged table, the disordered seats, scattered cushions and the +rich array of gold vessels; from without came sounds of hurrying to +and fro, shouted commands, voices rising and falling, the clink of +arms, the closing of doors. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry crossed to the Emperor’s seat where the gorgeous cushions were +thrown to right and left; in Ysabeau’s place lay a single red rose, +half stripped of its leaves, a great cluster of red roses on the floor +beside it. +</p> + +<p> +This was confirmation; he did not think there was any other place in +Frankfort where grew such blooms; so he was too late, Dirk might well +defy him, knowing that he would be too late. +</p> + +<p> +His resolution was very quickly taken: he would be utterly silent, not +by a word or a look would he betray what he knew, since it would be +useless. What could save the Emperor now? It was one thing to give +warning of evil projected, another to reveal evil performed; besides, +he told himself, the Empress and her faction would be at once in +power—Dirk a high favourite. +</p> + +<p> +He backed fearfully from the red roses, glowing sombrely by the empty +throne. +</p> + +<p> +He would be very silent, because he was afraid; softly he crept to the +window-seat and stood there, motionless, his beautiful face +overclouded; in an agitated manner he bit his lip and reflected +eagerly on his own hopes and dangers… on how this affected him—and +Jacobea of Martzburg. +</p> + +<p> +To the man, dying miserably above, he gave no thought at all; the +woman, who waited impatiently for her husband’s death to put his +friend in his place, he did not consider, nor did the fate of the +kingship trouble him; he pictured Dirk as triumphant, potent, the +close ally of the wicked Empress, and he shivered for his own +treasured soul that he had just snatched from perdition; he knew he +could not fight nor face Dirk triumphant, armed with success, and his +outlook narrowed to the one idea—“let me get away.” +</p> + +<p> +But where? Martzburg!—would the chatelaine let him follow her? It was +too near Basle; he clasped his hands over his hot brow, calling on +Jacobea. +</p> + +<p> +As he dallied and trembled with his fears and terrors, one entered the +hall from the little door leading to the Emperor’s chamber. +</p> + +<p> +Hugh of Rooselaare holding a lamp. +</p> + +<p> +A feverish feeling of guilt made Theirry draw back, as if what he knew +might be written on his face for this man to read, this man whom he +had meant to warn of a disaster already befallen. +</p> + +<p> +The Lord of Rooselaare advanced to the table; he was frowning +fiercely, about his mouth a dreadful look of Dirk that fascinated +Theirry’s gaze. +</p> + +<p> +Hugh held up the lamp, glanced down and along the empty seats, then +noticed the crimson flowers by Ysabeau’s chair and picked them up. +</p> + +<p> +As he raised his head his grey eyes caught Theirry’s glance. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! the Queen’s Chamberlain’s scrivener,” he said. “Do you chance to +know how these roses came here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” answered Theirry hastily. “I could not know.” +</p> + +<p> +“They do not grow in the palace garden,” remarked Hugh; he laid them +on the throne and walked the length of the table, scrutinising the +dishes and goblets. +</p> + +<p> +In the flare of flambeaux and candles there was no need for his lamp, +but he continued to hold it aloft as if he hoped it held some special +power. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly he stopped, and called to Theirry in his quiet, commanding +way. +</p> + +<p> +The young man obeyed, unwillingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at that,” said Hugh of Rooselaare grimly. +</p> + +<p> +He pointed to two small marks in the table, black holes in the wood. +</p> + +<p> +“Burns,” said Theirry, with pale lips, “from the candles, lord.” +</p> + +<p> +“Candles do not burn in such fashion.” As he spoke Hugh came round the +table and cast the lamplight over the shadowed floor. +</p> + +<p> +“What is that?” He bent down before the window. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry saw that he motioned to a great scar in the board, as if fire +had been flung and had bitten into the wood before extinguished. +</p> + +<p> +The Lord of Rooselaare lifted a grim face. +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you the flames that made that mark are now burning the heart +and blood out of Melchoir of Brabant.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do not say that—do not speak so loud!” cried Theirry desperately, +“it cannot be true.” +</p> + +<p> +Hugh set his lamp upon the table. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not afraid of the Eastern witch,” he said sternly; “the man was +my friend and she has bewitched and poisoned him; now, God hear me, +and you, scrivener, mark my vow, if I do not publish this before the +land.” +</p> + +<p> +A new hope rose in Theirry’s heart; if this lord would denounce the +Empress before power was hers, if her guilt could be brought home +before all men—yet through no means of his own—why, she and Dirk +might be defeated yet! +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he said hoarsely, “make haste, lord, for when the breath is +out of the Emperor it is too late… she will have means to silence you, +and even now be careful… she has many champions.” +</p> + +<p> +Hugh of Rooselaare smiled slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“You speak wisely, scrivener, and know, I think, something, hereafter +I shall question you.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry made a gesture for silence; a heavy step sounded on the stair, +and Balthasar, pallid but still magnificent, swept into the room. +</p> + +<p> +A great war-sword clattered after him, he wore a gorget and carried +his helmet; his blue eyes were wild in his colourless face; he gave +Hugh a look of some defiance. +</p> + +<p> +“Melchoir is dying,” he said, his tone rough with emotion, “and I must +go look after the soldiery or some adventurer will seize the town.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dying!” repeated Hugh. “Who is with him?” +</p> + +<p> +“The Empress; they have sent for the bishop… until he come none is to +enter the chamber.” +</p> + +<p> +“By whose command?” +</p> + +<p> +“By order of the Empress.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet I will go.” +</p> + +<p> +The soldier paused at the doorway. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, ye were his friend, belike she will let you in.” +</p> + +<p> +He swung away with a chink of steel. +</p> + +<p> +“Belike she will not,” said Hugh. “But I can make the endeavour.” +</p> + +<p> +With no further glance at the shuddering young man, who held himself +rigid against the wall, Hugh of Rooselaare ascended to the Emperor’s +chamber. +</p> + +<p> +He found the ante-room crowded with courtiers and monks; the Emperor’s +door was closed, and before it stood two black mutes brought by the +Empress from Greece. +</p> + +<p> +Hugh touched a black-robed brother on the arm. +</p> + +<p> +“By what authority are we excluded from the Emperor’s death-bed?” +</p> + +<p> +Several answered him— +</p> + +<p> +“The Queen! she claims to know as much of medicine as any of the +physicians.” +</p> + +<p> +“She is in possession.” +</p> + +<p> +Hugh shouldered his way through them. +</p> + +<p> +“Certes, I must see him—and her.” +</p> + +<p> +But not one stepped forward to aid or encourage; Melchoir was beyond +protecting his adherents, he was no longer Emperor, but a man who +might be reckoned with the dead, the Empress and Balthasar of Courtrai +had already seized the governance, and who dared interfere; the great +nobles even held themselves in reserve and were silent. +</p> + +<p> +But Hugh of Rooselaare’s blood was up, he had always held Ysabeau +vile, nor had he any love for the Margrave, whose masterful hand he +saw in this. +</p> + +<p> +“Since none of you will stand by me,” he cried, speaking aloud to the +throng, “I will by myself enter, and by myself take the consequences!” +</p> + +<p> +Some one answered— +</p> + +<p> +“I think it is but folly, lord.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall a woman hold us all at bay?” he cried. “What title has she to +rule in Frankfort?” +</p> + +<p> +He advanced to the door with his sword drawn and ready, and the crowd +drew back neither supporting nor preventing; the slaves closed +together, and made a gesture warning him to retire. +</p> + +<p> +He seized one by his gilt collar and swung him violently against the +wall, then, while the other crouched in fear, he opened the door and +strode into the Emperor’s bed-chamber. +</p> + +<p> +It was a low room, hung with gold and brown tapestry; the windows were +shut and the air faint; the bed stood against the wall, and the heavy, +dark curtains, looped back, revealed Melchoir of Brabant, lying in his +clothes on the coverlet with his throat bare and his eyes staring +across the room. +</p> + +<p> +A silver lamp stood on a table by the window, and its faint radiance +was the only light. +</p> + +<p> +On the steps of the bed stood Ysabeau; over her white dress she had +flung a long scarlet cloak, and her pale, bright hair had fallen on to +her shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +At the sight of Hugh she caught hold of the bed-hangings and gazed at +him fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +He sheathed his sword as he came across the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Princess, I must see the Emperor,” he said sternly. +</p> + +<p> +“He will see no man—he knows none nor can he speak,” she answered, +her bearing prouder and more assured than he had ever known it. “Get +you gone, sir; I know not how ye forced an entry.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have no power to keep the nobles from their lord,” he replied. +“Nor will I take your bidding.” +</p> + +<p> +She held herself in front of her husband so that her shadow obscured +his face. +</p> + +<p> +“I will have you put without the doors if you so disturb the dying.” +</p> + +<p> +But Hugh of Rooselaare advanced to the bed. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me see him,” he demanded, “he speaks to me!” +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, he thought that he heard from the depths of the great bed a +voice saying faintly— +</p> + +<p> +“Hugh, Hugh!” +</p> + +<p> +The Empress drew the curtain, further concealing the dying man. +</p> + +<p> +“He speaks to none. Begone!” +</p> + +<p> +The Lord of Rooselaare came still nearer. +</p> + +<p> +“Why is there no priest here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Insolent! the bishop comes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Meanwhile he dies, and there are monks enow without.” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke Hugh sprang lightly and suddenly on to the steps, pushed +aside the slight figure of the Empress and caught back the curtains. +</p> + +<p> +“Melchoir!” he cried, and snatched up the Emperor by the shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“He is dead,” breathed the Empress. +</p> + +<p> +But Hugh continued to gaze into the distorted, hollow face, while with +eager fingers he pushed back the long, damp hair. +</p> + +<p> +“He is dead,” repeated Ysabeau, fearing nothing now. +</p> + +<p> +With a slow step she went to the table and seated herself before the +silver lamp, while she uttered sigh on sigh and clasped her hands over +her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Then the hot stillness began to quiver with the distant sound of +numerous bells; they were holding services for the dying in every +church in Frankfort. +</p> + +<p> +The Emperor stirred in Hugh’s arms; without opening his eyes he +spoke— +</p> + +<p> +“Pray for me… Balthasar. They did not slay me honourably——” +</p> + +<p> +He raised his hands to his heart, to his lips, moaned and sank from +Hugh’s arm on to the pillow. +</p> + +<p> +“Quia apud Dominum misericordia, et copiosa apud eum,” he murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“Eum redemptio,” finished Hugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Amen,” moaned Melchoir of Brabant, and so died. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment the chamber was silent save for the insistent bells, then +Hugh turned his white face from the dead, and Ysabeau shivered to her +feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Call in the others,” murmured the Empress, “since he is dead.” +</p> + +<p> +The Lord of Rooselaare descended from the bed. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, I will call in the others, thou Eastern witch, and show them the +man thou hast murdered.” +</p> + +<p> +She stared at him a moment, her face like a mask of ivory set in the +glittering hair. +</p> + +<p> +“Murdered?” she said at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Murdered!” He fingered his sword fiercely. “And it shall be my duty +to see you brought to the stake for this night’s work.” +</p> + +<p> +She gave a shriek and ran towards the door. +</p> + +<p> +Before she reached it, it was flung open, and Balthasar of Courtrai +sprang into the room. +</p> + +<p> +“You called?” he panted, his eyes blazing on Hugh of Rooselaare. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; he is dead—Melchoir is dead, and this lord says I slew +him—Balthasar, answer for me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Certes!” cried Hugh. “A fitting one to speak for you—your +accomplice!” +</p> + +<p> +With a short sound of rage the Margrave dragged out his sword and +struck the speaker a blow across the breast with the flat of it. +</p> + +<p> +“So ho!” he shouted, “it pleases you to lie!” He yelled to his men +without, and the death-chamber was filled with a clatter of arms that +drowned the mournful pealing of the bells. “Take away this lord, on my +authority.” +</p> + +<p> +Hugh drew his sword, only to have it wrenched away. The soldiers +closed round him and swept their prisoner from the chamber, while +Balthasar, flushed and furious, watched him dragged off. +</p> + +<p> +“I always hated him,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau fell on her knees and kissed his mailed feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Melchoir is dead, and I have no champion save you.” +</p> + +<p> +The Margrave stooped and raised her, his face burning with blushes +till it was like a great rose. +</p> + +<p> +“Ysabeau, Ysabeau!” he stammered. +</p> + +<p> +She struggled out of his arms. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, not now,” she whispered in a stifled voice, “not now can I speak +to you, but afterwards—my lord! my lord!” +</p> + +<p> +She went to the bed and flung herself across the steps, her face +hidden in her hands. +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar took off his helmet, crossed himself and humbly bent his +great head. +</p> + +<p> +Melchoir IV lay stiffly on the lily-sewn coverlet, and without the +great bells tolled and the monks’ chant rose. +</p> + +<p> +“De Profundis…” +</p> + + +<h3 id="p1ch18"> +CHAPTER XVIII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE PURSUIT OF JACOBEA</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">The</span> chatelaine of Martzburg sat in the best guest-chamber of a +wayside hostel that lay a few hours’ journeying from her home. Outside +the rain dripped in the trees and a cold mountain wind shook the +sign-board. Jacobea trimmed the lamp, drew the curtains, and began +walking up and down the room; the inner silence broken only by the +sound of her footfall and an occasional sharp patter as the rain fell +on to the bare hearth. +</p> + +<p> +So swiftly had she fled from Frankfort that its last scenes were still +before her eyes like a gorgeous and disjointed pageant; the Emperor +stricken down at the feast, the brief, flashing turmoil, Ysabeau’s +peerless face, that her own horrid thoughts coloured with a sinister +expression, Balthasar of Courtrai bringing the city to his feet—Hugh +of Rooselaare snatched away to a dungeon—and over it all the leaping +red light of a hundred flambeaux. +</p> + +<p> +She herself was free here of everything save the sound of the rain, +yet she must needs think of and brood on the tumult she had left. +</p> + +<p> +The quiet about her now, the distance she had put between herself and +Frankfort, gave her no sense of peace or safety; she strove, indeed, +with a feeling of horror, as if they from whom she had fled were about +her still, menacing her in this lonely room. +</p> + +<p> +Presently she passed into the little bed-chamber and took up a mirror +into which she gazed long and earnestly. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it a wicked face?” +</p> + +<p> +She answered herself—“No, no.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it a weak face?” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas!” +</p> + +<p> +The wind rose higher, fluttered the lamp-flame and stirred the arras +on the wall; and laying the mirror down she returned to the outer +chamber. Her long hair that hung down her back was the only bright +thing in the gloomy apartment where the tapestry was old and dusty, +the furniture worn and faded; she wore a dark dress of embroidered +purple, contrasting with her colourless face; only her yellow locks +glittered as the lamplight fell on them. +</p> + +<p> +The wind rose yet higher, struggled at the casement, seized and shook +the curtains and whistled in the chimney. +</p> + +<p> +Up and down walked Jacobea of Martzburg, clasping and unclasping her +soft young hands, her grey eyes turning from right to left. +</p> + +<p> +It was very cold, blowing straight from the great mountains the dark +hid; she wished she had asked for a fire and that she had kept one of +the women to sleep with her—it was so lonely, and the sound of the +rain reminded her of that night at Martzburg when the two scholars had +been given shelter. +</p> + +<p> +She wanted to go to the door and call some one, but a curious +heaviness in her limbs began to make movement irksome; she could no +longer drag her steps, and with a sigh she sank into the frayed velvet +chair by the fireplace. +</p> + +<p> +She tried to tell herself that she was free, that she was on her way +to escape, but could not form the words on her lips, hardly the +thought; her head throbbed, and a cold sensation gripped her heart; +she moved in the chair, only to feel as if held down in it; she +struggled in vain to rise. “Barbara!” she whispered, and thought she +was calling aloud. +</p> + +<p> +A gathering duskiness seemed to overspread the chamber, and the +tongue-shaped flame of the lamp showed through it distinct yet very +far away; the noise of the wind and rain made one long insistent +murmur and moaning. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea laughed drearily, and lifted her hands to her bosom to try to +find the crucifix that hung there, but her fingers were like lead, and +fell uselessly into her lap again. +</p> + +<p> +Her brain whirled with memories, with anticipations and vague +expectations, tinged with fear like the sensations of a dream; she +felt that she was sinking into soft infolding darkness; the lamp-flame +changed into a fire-pointed star that rested on a knight’s helm, the +sound of wind and rain became faint human cries. +</p> + +<p> +She whispered, as the dying Emperor had done—“I am bewitched.” +</p> + +<p> +Then the Knight, with the star glittering above his brow, came towards +her and offered her a goblet. +</p> + +<p> +“Sebastian!” she cried, and sat up with a face of horror; the chamber +was spinning about her; she saw the Knight’s long painted shield and +his bare hand holding out the wine; his visor was down. +</p> + +<p> +She shrieked and laughed together, and put the goblet aside. +</p> + +<p> +Some one spoke out of the mystery. +</p> + +<p> +“The Empress found happiness—why not you?—may not a woman die as +easily as a man?” +</p> + +<p> +She tried to remember her prayers, to find her crucifix; but the cold +edge of the gold touched her lips, and she drank. +</p> + +<p> +The hot wine scorched her throat and filled her with strength; as she +sprang up the Knight’s star quivered back into the lamp-flame, the +vapours cleared from the room; she found herself staring at Dirk +Renswoude, who stood in the centre of the room and smiled at her. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” she cried in a bewildered way, and put her hands to her +forehead. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Dirk; he held a rich gold goblet, empty, and his was the +voice she had already heard. “Why did you leave Frankfort?” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea shuddered. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know;” her eyes were blank and dull. “I think I was +afraid——” +</p> + +<p> +“Lest you might do as Ysabeau did?” asked Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“What has happened to me?” was all her answer. +</p> + +<p> +All sound without had ceased; the light burnt clear and steadily, +casting its faint radiance over the slim outlines of the young man and +the shuddering figure of the lady. +</p> + +<p> +“What of your steward?” whispered Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +She responded mechanically as if she spoke by rote. +</p> + +<p> +“I have no steward. I am going alone to Martzburg.” +</p> + +<p> +“What of Sebastian?” urged the youth. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea was silent; she came slowly down the chamber, guiding herself +with one hand along the wall, as though she could not see; the wind +stirred the arras under her fingers and ruffled her gown about her +feet. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk set the goblet beside the lamp the while he watched her intently +with frowning eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“What of Sebastian?” he repeated. “Ye fled from him, but have ye +ceased to think of him?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said the chatelaine of Martzburg; “no, day and night—what is +God, that He lets a man’s face to come between me and Him?” +</p> + +<p> +“The Emperor is dead,” said Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“Is dead,” she repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“Ysabeau knows how.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” she whispered. “I think I knew it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall the Empress be happy and you starve your heart to death?” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea sighed. “Sebastian! Sebastian!” She had the look of one +walking in sleep. +</p> + +<p> +“What is Sybilla to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“His wife,” answered Jacobea in the same tone; “his wife.” +</p> + +<p> +“The dead do not bind the living.” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no—how cold it is here; do you not feel the wind across the +floor?” Her fingers wandered aimless over her bosom. “Sybilla is dead, +you say?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay—Sybilla might die—so easily.” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea laughed again. +</p> + +<p> +“Ysabeau did it—she is young and fair,” she said. “And she could do +it—why not I? But I cannot bear to look on death.” +</p> + +<p> +Her expressionless eyes turned on Dirk still in sightless fashion. +</p> + +<p> +“A word,” said Dirk—“that is all your part; send him ahead to +Martzburg.” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea nodded aimlessly. +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?—why not?—Sybilla would be in bed, lying awake, listening +to the wind as I have done—so often—and he would come up the steep, +dark stairs. Oh, and she would raise her head——” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk put in— +</p> + +<p> +“ ‘Has the chatelaine spoken?’ she would say, and he would make an end +of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps she would be glad to die,” said Jacobea dreamily. “I have +thought that I should be glad to die.” +</p> + +<p> +“And Sebastian?” said Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +Her strangely altered face lit and changed. +</p> + +<p> +“Does <i>he</i> care for <i>me</i>?” she asked piteously. +</p> + +<p> +“Enough to make life and death of little moment,” answered Dirk. “Has +he not followed you from Frankfort?” +</p> + +<p> +“Followed me?” murmured Jacobea. “I thought he had forsaken me.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Here—here?” She turned, her movements still curiously blind, and the +long strand of her hair shone on her dark gown as she stood with her +back to the light. +</p> + +<p> +“Sebastian,” said Dirk softly. +</p> + +<p> +He waved his little hand, and the steward appeared in the dark doorway +of the inner room; he looked from one to the other swiftly, and his +face was flushed and dangerous. +</p> + +<p> +“Sebastian,” said Jacobea; there was no change in voice nor +countenance; she was erect and facing him, yet it might well be she +did not see him, for there seemed no life in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +He came across the room to her, speaking as he came, but a sudden +fresh gust of wind without scattered his words. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you followed me?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea,” he answered hoarsely, staring at her; he had not dreamed a +living face could look so white as hers, no, nor dead face either. He +dropped to one knee before her, and took her limp hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we be free to-night?” she asked gently. +</p> + +<p> +“You have but to speak,” he said. “So much will I do for you.” +</p> + +<p> +She bent forward, and with her other hand touched his tumbled hair. +</p> + +<p> +“Lord of Martzburg and my lord,” she said, and smiled sweetly. “Do you +know how much I love you, Sebastian? why, you must ask the image of +the Virgin—I have told her so often, and no one else; nay, no one +else.” +</p> + +<p> +Sebastian sprang to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh God!” he cried. “I am ashamed—ye have bewitched her—she knows +not what she says.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk turned on him fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +“Did ye not curse me when ye thought she had escaped? did I not swear +to recover her for you? is she not yours? Saint Gabriel cannot save +her now.” +</p> + +<p> +“If she had not said that,” muttered Sebastian; he turned distracted +eyes upon her standing with no change in her expression, the tips of +her fingers resting on the table; her wide grey eyes gazing before +her. +</p> + +<p> +“Fool,” answered Dirk; “an’ she did <i>not</i> love you, what chance had +you? I left my fortunes to help you to this prize, and I will not see +you palter now—lady, speak to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, speak to me,” cried Sebastian earnestly; “tell me if it be your +wish that I, at all costs, should become your husband, tell me if it +is your will that the woman in our way should go.” +</p> + +<p> +A slow passion stirred the calm of her face; her eyes glittered. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she said; “yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jacobea!”—he took her arm and drew her close to him—“look me in the +face and repeat that to me; think if it is worth—Hell—to you and +me.” +</p> + +<p> +She gazed up at him, then hid her face on his sleeve. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, Hell,” she answered heavily; “go to Martzburg to-night; she +cannot claim you when she is dead; how I have striven not to hate +her—<i>my</i> lord, <i>my</i> husband.” She clung to him like a sleepy child +that feels itself falling into oblivion. “Now it is all over, is it +not?—the unrest, the striving. Sebastian, beware of the storm—it +blows so loud.” +</p> + +<p> +He put her from him into the worn old chair. “I will come back to +you—to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“To-morrow,” she repeated—“when the sun is up.” +</p> + +<p> +The wind rushed between them and made the lamp-flame leap wildly. +</p> + +<p> +“Make haste!” cried Dirk; “away—the horse is below.” +</p> + +<p> +But Sebastian still gazed at Jacobea. +</p> + +<p> +“It is done,” said Dirk impatiently, “begone.” +</p> + +<p> +The steward turned away. +</p> + +<p> +“They are all asleep below?” he questioned. +</p> + +<p> +“Nor will they wake.” +</p> + +<p> +Sebastian opened the door on to the dark stairway and went softly out. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, it <i>is</i> done,” repeated Dirk in a swelling whisper, “and she is +lost.” +</p> + +<p> +He snatched up the lamp, and, holding it aloft, looked down at the +drooping figure in the chair; Jacobea’s head sank back against the +tarnished velvet; there was a smile on her white lips, and her hands +rested in her lap; even with Dirk’s intent face bending over her and +the full light pouring down on her, she did not look up. +</p> + +<p> +“Gold hair and grey eyes—and her little feet,” murmured Dirk; “one of +God’s own flowers—what are you now?” +</p> + +<p> +He laughed to himself and reset the lamp on the table; the lull in the +storm was over, wind and rain strove together in the bare trees, and +the howlings of the tempest shook the long bare room. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea moved in her seat. +</p> + +<p> +“Is he gone?” she asked fearfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Certes, he has gone,” smiled Dirk. “Would you have him dally on such +an errand?” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea rose swiftly and stood a moment listening to the unhappy wind. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought he was here,” she said under her breath. “I thought that he +had come at last.” +</p> + +<p> +“He came,” said Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +The chatelaine looked swiftly round at him; there was a dawning +knowledge in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you?” she demanded, and her voice had lost its calm; “what +has happened?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you not remember me?” smiled Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea staggered back. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” she stammered, “he was here, down at my feet, and we +spoke—about Sybilla.” +</p> + +<p> +“And now,” said Dirk, “he has gone to free you of Sybilla—as you bid +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“As I bid him?” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk clasped his cloak across his breast. +</p> + +<p> +“At this moment he rides to Martzburg on this service of yours, and I +must begone to Frankfort where my fortunes wait. For you, these words: +should you meet again one Theirry, a pretty scholar, do not prate to +him of God and Judgment, nor try to act the saint. Let him alone, he +is no matter of yours, and maybe some woman cares for him as ye care +for Sebastian, ay, and will hold him, though she have not yellow +hair.” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea uttered a moan of anguish. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> bid him go,” she whispered. “Did God utterly forsake me and I bid +him go?” +</p> + +<p> +She gave Dirk a wild look over her shoulders, huddling them to her +ears, as she crouched upon the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“You are the Devil!” she shrieked. “I have delivered myself unto the +Devil!” +</p> + +<p> +She beat her hands together, and fell towards his feet. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk stepped close and peered curiously into her unconscious face. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, she is not so fair,” he murmured, “and grief will spoil her +bloom, and ’twas only her face he loved.” +</p> + +<p> +He extinguished the lamp and smiled into the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +“I do think God is very weak.” +</p> + +<p> +He drew the curtain away from the deep-set window, and the moon, +riding the storm clouds like a silver armoured Amazon, cast a ghastly +light over the huddled figure of Jacobea of Martzburg, and threw her +shadow dark and trailing across the cold floor. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk left the chamber and the hostel unseen and unheard. The wind made +too great a clamour for stray sounds to tell. Out in the wild, wet +night he paused a moment to get his bearings; then turned towards the +shed where he and Sebastian had left their horses. +</p> + +<p> +The trees and the sign-board creaked and swung together; the long +lances of the rain struck his face and the wind dashed his hair into +his eyes, but he sang to himself under his breath with a joyous note. +</p> + +<p> +The angry triumphant moon, casting her beams down the clouds, served +to light the little wooden shed—the inn-stable—built against the +rocks. +</p> + +<p> +There were the chatelaine’s horses asleep in their stalls, here was +his own; but the place beside it where Sebastian’s steed had waited +was empty. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk, shivering a little in the tempest, unfastened his horse, and was +preparing to depart, when a near sound arrested him. +</p> + +<p> +Some one was moving in the straw at the back of the shed. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk listened, his hand on the bridle, till a moonbeam striking across +his shoulder revealed a cloaked figure rising from the ground. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said Dirk softly, “who is this?” +</p> + +<p> +The stranger got to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“I have but taken shelter here, sir,” he said, “deeming it too late to +rouse the hostel——” +</p> + +<p> +“Theirry!” cried Dirk, and laughed excitedly. “Now, this is +strange——” +</p> + +<p> +The figure came forward. +</p> + +<p> +“Theirry—yes; have you followed me?” he exclaimed wildly, and his +face showed drawn and wan in the silver light. “I left Frankfort to +escape you; what fiend’s trick has brought you here?” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk softly stroked his horse’s neck. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you afraid of me, Theirry?” he asked mournfully. “Certes, there +is no need.” +</p> + +<p> +But Theirry cried out at him with the fierceness of one at bay— +</p> + +<p> +“Begone, I want none of you nor of your kind; I know how the Emperor +died, and I fled from a city where such as you come to power, ay, even +as Jacobea of Martzburg did—I am come after her.” +</p> + +<p> +“And where think you to find her?” asked Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“By now she is at Basle.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are ye not afraid to go to Basle?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry trembled, and stepped back into the shadows of the shed. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to save my soul; no, I am not afraid; if need be, I will +confess.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“At the shrine of Jacobea of Martzburg? Look to it she be not trampled +in the mire by then.” +</p> + +<p> +“You lie, you malign her!” cried the other in strong agitation. +</p> + +<p> +But Dirk turned on him with imperious sternness. +</p> + +<p> +“I did not leave Frankfort on a fool’s errand—I was triumphant, at +the high tide of my fortunes, my foot on Ysabeau’s neck. I had good +reason to have left this alone. Come with me to Martzburg and see my +work, and know the saint you worship.” +</p> + +<p> +“To Martzburg?” Theirry’s voice had terror in it. +</p> + +<p> +“Certes—to Martzburg.” Dirk began to lead his horse into the open. +</p> + +<p> +“Is the chatelaine there?” +</p> + +<p> +“If not yet, she will be soon; take one of these horses,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +“I know not your meaning,” answered Theirry fearfully; “but my road +was to Martzburg. I mean to pray Jacobea, who left without a word to +me, to give me some small place in her service.” +</p> + +<p> +“Belike she will,” mocked Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“You shall not go alone,” cried Theirry, becoming more distracted, +“for no good purpose can you be pursuing her.” +</p> + +<p> +“I asked your company.” +</p> + +<p> +Impatiently and feverishly Theirry unfastened and prepared himself a +mount. +</p> + +<p> +“If ye have evil designs on her,” he cried, “be very sure ye will be +defeated, for her strength is as the strength of angels.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk delicately guided his steed out of the shed; the moon had at last +conquered the cloud battalions, and a clear cold light revealed the +square dark shape of the hostel, the flapping sign, the bare +pine-trees and the long glimmer of the road; Dirk’s eyes turned to the +blank window of the room where Jacobea lay, and he smiled wickedly. +</p> + +<p> +“The night has cleared,” he said, as Theirry, leading one of the +chatelaine’s horses, came out of the stable; “and we should reach +Martzburg before the dawn.” +</p> + + +<h3 id="p1ch19"> +CHAPTER XIX.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">SYBILLA</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">Sebastian</span> paused on the steep, dark stairs and listened. +</p> + +<p> +Castle Martzburg was utterly silent; he knew that there were one or +two servants only within the walls, and that they slept at a distance; +he knew that his cautious entry by the donjon door had made no sound, +yet on every other step or so he stood still and listened. +</p> + +<p> +He had procured a light; it fluttered in danger of extinction in the +draughty stairway, and he had to shield it with his hand. +</p> + +<p> +Once, when he stopped, he took from his belt the keys that had gained +him admission and slipped them into the bosom of his doublet; hanging +at his waist, they made a little jingling sound as he moved. +</p> + +<p> +When he gained the great hall he opened the door as softly and slowly +as if he did not know emptiness alone awaited him the other side. +</p> + +<p> +He entered, and his little light only served to show the expanses of +gloom. +</p> + +<p> +It was very cold; he could hear the rain falling in a thin stream from +the lips of the gargoyles without; he remembered that same sound on +the night the two students took shelter; the night when the deed he +was about to do had by a devil, in a whisper, been first put into his +head. +</p> + +<p> +He crossed to the hearth and set the lamp in the niche by the +chimney-piece; he wished there was a fire—certainly it was cold. +</p> + +<p> +The dim rays of the lamp showed the ashes on the hearth, the cushions +in the window-seat, and something that, even in that dullness, shone +with fiery hue. +</p> + +<p> +Sebastian looked at it in a half horror: it was Sybilla’s red lily, +finished and glowing from a samite cushion; by the side of it slept +Jacobea’s little grey cat. +</p> + +<p> +The steward gazing in curiously intent fashion recalled the fact that +he had never conversed with his wife and never liked her; he could not +tell of one sharp word between them, yet had she said she hated him he +would have felt no surprise; he wondered, in case he had ever loved +her, would he have been here to-night on this errand. +</p> + +<p> +Lord of Martzburg!—lord of as fine a domain as any in the empire, +with a chance of the imperial crown itself—nay, had he loved his wife +it would have made no difference; what sorry fool even would let a +woman interfere with a great destiny—Lord of Martzburg. +</p> + +<p> +With little reflection on the inevitable for his wife, he fell to +considering Jacobea; until to-night she had been a cipher to him—that +she favoured him a mere voucher for his crime; for the procuring of +this or that for him—a fact to be accepted and used; but that she +should <i>pray</i> about him—speak as she had—that was another matter, +and for the first time in his cold life he was both moved and ashamed. +His thin, dark face flushed; he looked askance at the red lily and +took the light from its niche. +</p> + +<p> +The shadows seemed to gather and throng out of the silence, bearing +down on him and urging him forward; he found the little door by the +fireplace open, and ascended the steep stone stairs to his wife’s +room. +</p> + +<p> +Here there was not even the drip of the rain or the wail of the wind +to disturb the stillness; he had taken off his boots, and his +silk-clad feet made no sound, but he could not hush the catch of his +breath and the steady thump of his heart. +</p> + +<p> +When he reached her room he paused again, and again listened. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing—how could there be? Had he not come so softly even the little +cat had slept on undisturbed? +</p> + +<p> +He opened the door and stepped in. +</p> + +<p> +It was a small, low chamber; the windows were unshrouded, and fitful +moonlight played upon the floor; Sebastian looked at once towards the +bed, that stood to his left; it was hung with dark arras, now drawn +back from the pillows. +</p> + +<p> +Sybilla was asleep; her thick, heavy hair lay outspread under her +cheek; her flesh and the bed-clothes were turned to one dazzling +whiteness by the moon. +</p> + +<p> +Worked into the coverlet, that had slipped half to the polished floor, +were great wreaths of purple roses, showing dim yet gorgeous. +</p> + +<p> +Her shoes stood on the bed steps; her clothes were flung over a chair; +near by a crucifix hung against the wall, with her breviary on a shelf +beneath. +</p> + +<p> +The passing storm clouds cast luminous shadows across the chamber; but +they were becoming fainter, the tempest was dying away. Sebastian put +the lamp on a low coffer inside the door and advanced to the bed. +</p> + +<p> +A large dusky mirror hung beside the window, and in it he could see +his wife again, reflected dimly in her ivory whiteness with the dark +lines of her hair and brows. +</p> + +<p> +He came to the bedside so that his shadow was flung across her +sleeping face. +</p> + +<p> +“Sybilla,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Her regular breathing did not change. +</p> + +<p> +“Sybilla.” +</p> + +<p> +A swift cloud obscured the moon; the sickly rays of the lamp struggled +with darkness. +</p> + +<p> +“Sybilla.” +</p> + +<p> +Now she stirred; he heard her fetch a sigh as one who wakens +reluctantly from soft dreams. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you not hear me speak, Sybilla?” +</p> + +<p> +From the bewildering glooms of the bed he heard her silk bed-clothes +rustle and slip; the moon came forth again and revealed her sitting +up, wide awake now and staring at him. +</p> + +<p> +“So you have come home, Sebastian?” she said. “Why did you rouse me?” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her in silence; she shook back her hair from her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” she asked softly. +</p> + +<p> +“The Emperor died,” said Sebastian. +</p> + +<p> +“I know—what is that to me? Bring the light, Sebastian; I cannot see +your face.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is no need; the Emperor had not time to pray, I would not deal +so with you, therefore I woke you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sebastian!” +</p> + +<p> +“By my mistress’s commands you must die to-night, and by my desire; I +shall be Lord of Martzburg, and there is no other way——” +</p> + +<p> +She moved her head, and, peering forward, tried to see his face. +</p> + +<p> +“Make your peace with Heaven,” he said hoarsely; “for to-morrow I must +go to her a free man.” +</p> + +<p> +She put her hand to her long throat. +</p> + +<p> +“I wondered if you would ever say this to me—I did not think so, for +it did not enter my mind that she could give commands.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you knew?” +</p> + +<p> +Sybilla smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Before ever you did, Sebastian, and I have so thought of it, in these +long days when I have been alone, it seemed that I must sew it even +into my embroideries—‘Jacobea loves Sebastian.’ ” +</p> + +<p> +He gripped the bed-post. +</p> + +<p> +“It is the strangest thing,” said his wife, “that she should love +you—you—and send you here to-night; she was a gracious maiden.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not here to talk of that,” answered Sebastian; “nor have we +long—the dawn is not far off.” +</p> + +<p> +Sybilla rose, setting her long feet on the bed step. +</p> + +<p> +“So I must die,” she said—“must die. Certes! I have not lived so ill +that I should fear to die, nor so pleasantly that I should yearn to +live; it will be a poor thing in you to kill me, but no shame to me to +be slain, my lord.” +</p> + +<p> +As she stood now against the shadowed curtains her hair caught the +lamplight and flashed into red gold about her colourless face; +Sebastian looked at her with hatred and some terror, but she smiled +strangely at him. +</p> + +<p> +“You never knew me, Sebastian, but I am very well acquainted with you, +and I do scorn you so utterly that I am sorry for the chatelaine.” +</p> + +<p> +“She and I will manage that,” answered Sebastian fiercely; “and if you +seek to divert or delay me by this talk it is useless, for I am +resolved, nor will I be moved.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not seek to move you, nor do I ask you for my life. I have ever +been dutiful, have I not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do not smile at me!” he cried. “You should hate me.” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Certes! I hate you not.” +</p> + +<p> +She moved from the bed, in the long linen garment that she wore, slim +and childish to see. She took a wrap of gold-coloured silk from a +chair and put it about her. The man gazed at her the while with sullen +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +She glanced at the crucifix. +</p> + +<p> +“I have nothing to say; God knows it all. I am ready.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not want your soul,” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +Sybilla smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“I made confession yesterday. How cold it is for this time of the +year!—I do not shiver for fear, my lord.” +</p> + +<p> +She put on her shoes, and as she stooped her brilliant hair fell and +touched the patch of fading moonshine. +</p> + +<p> +“Make haste,” breathed Sebastian. +</p> + +<p> +His wife raised her face. +</p> + +<p> +“How long have we been wed?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Let that be.” He paled and bit his lip. +</p> + +<p> +“Three years—nay, not three years. When I am dead give my +embroideries to Jacobea, they are in these coffers; I have finished +the red lily—I was sewing it when the two scholars came, that night +<i>she</i> first knew—and you first knew—but I had known a long while.” +</p> + +<p> +Sebastian caught up the lamp. +</p> + +<p> +“Be silent or speak to God,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +She came gently across the floor, holding the yellow silk at her +breast. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you going to do with me?” she whispered. “Strangle me?—nay, +they would see that—afterwards.” +</p> + +<p> +Sebastian went to a little door that opened beside the bed and pulled +aside the arras. +</p> + +<p> +“That leads to the battlements,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +He pointed to the dark steps. +</p> + +<p> +“Go up, Sybilla.” +</p> + +<p> +He held the lamp above his haggard face, and the light of it fell over +the narrow winding stone steps; she looked at them and ascended. +Sebastian followed, closing the door after him. +</p> + +<p> +In a few moments they were out on the donjon roof. +</p> + +<p> +The vast stretch of sky was clear now and paling for the dawn; faint +pale clouds clustered round the dying moon, and the scattered stars +pulsed wearily. +</p> + +<p> +Below them lay the dark masses of the other portions of the castle, +and beside them rose the straining pole and wind-tattered banner of +Jacobea of Martzburg. +</p> + +<p> +Sybilla leant against the battlements, her hair fluttering over her +face. +</p> + +<p> +“How cold it is!” she said in a trembling voice. “Make haste, my +lord.” +</p> + +<p> +He was shuddering, too, in the keen, insistent wind. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you not pray?” he asked again. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she answered, and looked at him vacantly. “If I shriek would any +one hear me?—Will it be more horrible than I thought? Make +haste—make haste,—or I shall be afraid.” +</p> + +<p> +She crouched against the stone, shivering violently. Sebastian put the +lamp upon the ground. +</p> + +<p> +“Take care it does not go out,” she said, and laughed. “You would not +like to find your way back in the dark—the little cat will be sorry +for me.” +</p> + +<p> +She broke off to watch what he was doing. +</p> + +<p> +A portion of the tower projected; here the wall was of a man’s height, +and pierced with arblast holes; through there Sybilla had often looked +and seen the country below framed in the stone like a picture in a +letter of an horäe, so small it seemed, and yet clear and brightly +coloured. +</p> + +<p> +Beneath the wall was a paving-stone, raised at will by an iron ring; +when lifted it revealed a sheer open drop the entire height of the +donjon, through which stones and fire could be hurled in time of siege +upon the assailants in the courtyard below; but Jacobea had always +shuddered at it, nor had there been occasion to open it for many +years. +</p> + +<p> +Sybilla saw her husband strain at the ring and bend over the hole, and +stepped forward. +</p> + +<p> +“Must it be that way?—O Jesu! Jesu! shall I not be afraid?” +</p> + +<p> +She clasped her hands and fixed her eyes on the figure of Sebastian as +he raised the slab and revealed the black aperture; quickly he stepped +back as stone rang on stone. +</p> + +<p> +“So,” he said; “I shall not touch you, and it will be swiftly +over—walk across, Sybilla.” +</p> + +<p> +She closed her eyes and drew a long breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you not the courage?” he cried violently. “Then I must hurl you +from the battlements… it shall not look like murder.…” +</p> + +<p> +She turned her face to the beautiful brightening sky. +</p> + +<p> +“My soul is not afraid, but… how my body shrinks!—I do not think I +can do it.…” +</p> + +<p> +He made a movement towards her; at that she gathered herself. +</p> + +<p> +“No—you shall not touch me.” +</p> + +<p> +Across the donjon roof she walked with a firm step. +</p> + +<p> +“Farewell, Sebastian; may God assoil me and thee.” +</p> + +<p> +She put her hands to her face and moaned as her foot touched the edge +of the hole… no shriek nor cry disturbed the serenity of the night, +she made no last effort to save herself; but disappeared silently to +the blackness of her death. +</p> + +<p> +Sebastian listened to the strange indefinite sound of it, and drops of +terror gathered on his brow; then all was silent again save for the +monotonous flap of the banner. +</p> + +<p> +“Lord of Martzburg,” he muttered to steady himself; “Lord of +Martzburg.” +</p> + +<p> +He dropped the stone into place, picked up the lantern and returned +down the close, cold stairs. Her room… on the pillow the mark where +her head had lain, her clothes over the coffer; well, he hated her, no +less than he had ever done; to the last she had shamed him; why had he +been so long?—too long—soon some one would be stirring, and he must +be far from Martzburg before they found Sybilla. +</p> + +<p> +He crept from the chamber with the same unnecessary stealth he had +observed in entering, and in a cautious manner descended the stairs to +the great hall. +</p> + +<p> +To reach the little door that had admitted him he must traverse nearly +half the castle; he cursed the distance, and the grey light that crept +in through every window he passed and revealed to him his own shaking +hand holding the useless lamp. Martzburg, his castle soon to be, had +become hateful to him; always had he found it too vast, too empty; but +now he would fill it as Jacobea had never done; the knights and her +kinsfolk who had ever overlooked him should be his guests and his +companions. +</p> + +<p> +The thoughts that chased through his brain took curious turns; Jacobea +was the Emperor’s ward… but the Emperor was dead, should he wed her +secretly and how long need he wait? … Sybilla was often on the donjon +keep, let it seem that she had fallen… none had seen him come, none +would see him go… and Jacobea, strangest thing of all (he seemed to +hear Sybilla saying it) that she should love him.… +</p> + +<p> +The pale glow of a dreary dawn filled the great hall as he entered it; +the grey cat was still asleep, and the shining silks of the red lily +shone like the hair of the strange woman who had worked it patiently +into the samite. He tiptoed across the hall, descended the wider +stairs and made his way to the first chamber of the donjon. +</p> + +<p> +Carefully he returned the lamp to the niche where he had found it; +wondering, as he extinguished it, if any would note that it had been +burnt that night; carefully he drew on his great muddy boots and crept +out by the little postern door into the court. +</p> + +<p> +So sheltered was the castle, and situated in so peaceful a place, that +when the chatelaine was not within the walls the huge outer gates that +required many men to close them stood open on to the hillside; beyond +them Sebastian saw his patient horse, fastened to the ring of the bell +chain, and beyond him the clear grey-blue hills and trees. +</p> + +<p> +His road lay open; yet he closed the door slowly behind him and +hesitated. He strove with a desire to go and look at her; he knew just +how she had fallen… when he had first come to Martzburg, the hideous +hole in the battlements exercised a great fascination over him; he had +often flung down stones, clods of grass, even once a book, that he +might hear the hollow whistling sound and imagine a furious enemy +below. +</p> + +<p> +Afterwards he had noticed these things and how they struck the bottom +of the shaft,—lying where she would be now; he desired to see her, +yet loathed the thought of it; there was his horse, there the open +road, and Jacobea waiting a few miles away, yet he must linger while +the accusing daylight gathered about him, while the rising sun +discovered him; he must dally with the precious moments, bite the ends +of his black hair, frown and stare at the round tower of the donjon +the other side of which she lay. +</p> + +<p> +At last he crossed the rough cobbles; skirted the keep and stood +still, looking at her. +</p> + +<p> +Yes—he had pictured her; yet he saw her more distinctly than he had +imagined he would in this grey light. Her hair and her cloak seemed to +be wrapped close about her; one hand still clung to her face; her feet +showed bare and beautiful. +</p> + +<p> +Sebastian crept nearer; he wanted to see her face and if her eyes were +open; to be certain, also, if that dark red that lay spread on the +ground was all her scattered locks… the light was treacherous. +</p> + +<p> +He was stooping to touch her when the quick sound of an approaching +horseman made him draw back and glance round. +</p> + +<p> +But before he could even tell himself it were well to fly they were +upon him; two horsemen, finely mounted, the foremost Dirk Renswoude, +bare-headed, a rich colour in his cheek and a sparkle in his eyes; he +reined up the slim brown horse. +</p> + +<p> +“So—it is done?” he cried, leaning from the saddle towards Sebastian. +</p> + +<p> +The steward stepped back. +</p> + +<p> +“Whom have you with you?” he asked in a shaking voice. +</p> + +<p> +“A friend of mine and a suitor to the chatelaine—of which folly you +and I shall cure him.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry pressed forward, the hoofs of his striving horse making +musical clatter on the cobbles. +</p> + +<p> +“The steward!” he cried; “and…” +</p> + +<p> +His voice sank; he turned burning eyes on Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“—the steward’s wife that was,” smiled the youth. “But, certes! you +must do him worship now, he will be Lord of Martzburg.” +</p> + +<p> +Sebastian was staring at Sybilla. +</p> + +<p> +“You tell too much,” he muttered. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, my friend is one with me, and I can answer for his silence.” +Dirk patted the horse’s neck and laughed again; laughter with a high +triumphant note in it. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry swung round on him in a desperate, bitter fierceness. +</p> + +<p> +“Why have you brought me here? Where is the chatelaine?—by God His +saints that woman has been murdered.…” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk turned in the saddle and faced him. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, and by Jacobea of Martzburg’s commands.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry laughed aloud. +</p> + +<p> +“The lie is dead as you give it being,” he answered—“nor can all your +devilry make it live.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sebastian,” said Dirk, “has not this woman come to her death by the +chatelaine’s commands?” +</p> + +<p> +He pointed to Sybilla. +</p> + +<p> +“You know it, since in your presence she bade me hither,” answered +Sebastian heavily. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk’s voice rose clear and musical. +</p> + +<p> +“You see your piece of uprightness thought highly of her steward, and +that she might endow him with her hand his wife must die——” +</p> + +<p> +“Peace! peace!” cried Sebastian fiercely, and Theirry rose in his +saddle. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a lie!” he repeated wildly. “If ’tis not a lie God has turned +His face from me, and I am lost indeed!” +</p> + +<p> +“If ’tis no lie,” cried Dirk exultingly, “you are mine—did ye not +swear it?” +</p> + +<p> +“An’ she be this thing you name her,” answered Theirry +passionately—“then the Devil is cunning indeed, and I his servant; +but if you speak false I will kill you at her feet.” +</p> + +<p> +“And by that will I abide,” smiled Dirk. “Sebastian, you shall return +with us to give this news to your mistress.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is she not here?” cried Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk pointed to the silver-plated harness. +</p> + +<p> +“You ride her horse. See her arms upon his breast. Sweet fool, we left +her behind in the hostel, waiting the steward’s return.…” +</p> + +<p> +“All ways ye trap and deceive me,” exclaimed Theirry hotly. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us begone,” said Sebastian; he looked at Dirk as if at his +master. “Is it not time for us to begone?” +</p> + +<p> +It was full daylight now, though the sun had not yet risen above the +hills; the lofty walls and high towers of the huge grey castle blocked +up the sky and threw into the gloom the three in their shadow. +</p> + +<p> +“Hark!” said Dirk, and lifted his finger delicately. +</p> + +<p> +Again the sound of a horse approaching on the long white road, the +rise and fall of the quick trot bitterly distinct in the hard +stillness. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is this?” whispered Sebastian; he caught Dirk’s bridle as if he +found protection in the youth’s near presence, and stared towards the +blank open gates. +</p> + +<p> +A white horse appeared against the cold misty background of grey +country; a woman was in the saddle: Jacobea of Martzburg. +</p> + +<p> +She paused, peered up at the high little windows in the donjon, then +turned her gaze on the silent three. +</p> + +<p> +“Now can the chatelaine speak for herself,” breathed Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry gave a great sigh, his eyes fixed with a painful intensity on +the approaching lady, but she did not seem to see either of them. +</p> + +<p> +“Sebastian,” she cried, and drew rein gazing at him, “where is your +wife?” +</p> + +<p> +Her words rang on the cold, clear air like strokes on a bell. +</p> + +<p> +“Sybilla died last night,” answered the steward, “but I did nought. +And you should not have come.” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea shaded her brows with her gloved hand and stared past the +speaker. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry broke out in a trembling passion. +</p> + +<p> +“In the name of the angels in whose company I ever placed you, what do +you know of this that has been done?” +</p> + +<p> +“What is that on the ground?” cried Jacobea. “Sybilla—he has slain +Sybilla—but, sirs,”—she looked round her distractedly—“ye must not +blame him—he saw my wish.…” +</p> + +<p> +“From your own lips!” cried Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you who speak?” she demanded haughtily. “<i>I</i> sent him to slay +Sybilla.…” She interrupted herself with a hideous shriek. “Sebastian, +ye are stepping in her blood!” +</p> + +<p> +And, letting go of the reins, she sank from the saddle; the steward +caught her, and as she slipped from his hold to her knees her +unconscious head came near to the stiff white feet of the dead. +</p> + +<p> +“Her yellow hair!” cried Dirk. “Let us leave her to her steward—you +and I have another way!” +</p> + +<p> +“May God curse her as He has me,” said Theirry in an agony,—“for she +has slain my hope of heaven!” +</p> + +<p> +“You will not leave me?” called Sebastian. “What shall I say?—what +shall I do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Lie and lie again!” answered Dirk with a wild air; “wed the dame and +damn her people—let fly your authority and break her heart as quickly +as you may——” +</p> + +<p> +“Amen to that!” added Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“And now to Frankfort!” cried Dirk, exultant. +</p> + +<p> +They set their horses to a furious pace and galloped out of Castle +Martzburg. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p1ch20"> +CHAPTER XX.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">HUGH OF ROOSELAARE</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">Dirk</span> took off his riding-coat and listened with a smile to the quick +step of Theirry overhead; he was again in the long low chamber looking +out on the witch’s garden, and nothing was changed save that the roses +bloomed no longer on the bare thorny bushes. +</p> + +<p> +“So you have brought him back,” said Nathalie, caressing the youth’s +soft sleeve; “pulled his saint out of her shrine and given her over to +the demons.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk turned his head; a beautiful look was in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, I have brought him back,” he said musingly. +</p> + +<p> +“You have done a foolish thing,” grumbled the witch, “he will ruin you +yet; beware, for even now you hold him against his will; I marked his +face as he went into his old chamber.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk seated himself with a sigh. +</p> + +<p> +“In this matter I am not to be moved, and now some food, for I am so +weary that I can scarcely think. Nathalie, the toil it has been, the +rough roads, the delays, the long hours in the saddle—but it was +worth it!” +</p> + +<p> +The witch set the table with a rich service of ivory and silver. +</p> + +<p> +“Worth leaving your fortunes at the crisis? Ye left Frankfort the day +after the Emperor died, and have been away two months. Ysabeau thinks +you dead.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk frowned. +</p> + +<p> +“No matter, to-morrow she shall know me living. Martzburg is far away +and the weather delayed us, but it had to be; now I am free to work my +own advancement.” +</p> + +<p> +He drank eagerly of the wine put before him, and began to eat. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye have heard,” asked Nathalie, “that Balthasar of Courtrai has been +elected Emperor?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea,” smiled Dirk, “and is to marry Ysabeau within the year; we knew +it, did we not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Next spring they go to Rome to receive the Imperial crown.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be with them,” said Dirk. “Well, it is good to rest. What a +thick fool Balthasar is!” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled, and his eyes sparkled. +</p> + +<p> +“The Empress is a clever woman,” answered the witch, “she came here +once to know whither you had gone. I told her, for the jest, that you +were dead. At that she must think her secret dead with you, yet she +gave no sign of joy nor relief, nor any hint of what her business +was.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk elegantly poured out more wine. +</p> + +<p> +“She is never betrayed by her puppet’s face—an iron-hearted fiend, +the Empress.” +</p> + +<p> +“They say, though, that she is a fool for Balthasar, a dog at his +heels.” +</p> + +<p> +“Until she change.” +</p> + +<p> +“Belike you will be her next fancy,” said Nathalie; “the crystals +always foretell a throne for you.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not mean to share my honours with any—woman,” he answered; +“pile up the fire, Nathalie, certes, it is cold.” +</p> + +<p> +He pushed back his chair with a half sigh on his lips, and turned +contented eyes on the glowing hearth Nathalie replenished. +</p> + +<p> +“And none has thought evil of Melchoir’s death?” he asked curiously. +</p> + +<p> +The witch returned to her little stool and rubbed her hands together; +the leaping firelight cast a false colour over her face. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, there was Hugh of Rooselaare.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk sat up. +</p> + +<p> +“The Lord of Rooselaare?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certes, the night Melchoir died he flung ‘Murderess!’ in the +Empress’s face.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk showed a grave, alert face. +</p> + +<p> +“I never heard of that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” answered the witch with some malice, “ye were too well engaged +in parting that boy from his love—it is a pretty jest—certainly, she +is a clever woman, she enlists Balthasar as her champion—he becomes +enraged, furious, and Hugh is cast into the dungeons for his pains.” +The witch laughed softly. “He would not retract, his case swayed to +and fro, but Balthasar and the Empress always hated him, he had never +a chance.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk rose and pressed his clasped hand to his temple. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you say? never a chance?” +</p> + +<p> +Nathalie stared at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you seem moved.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me of Hugh of Rooselaare,” commanded Dirk in an intense voice. +</p> + +<p> +“He is to die to-night at sunset.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk uttered a hoarse exclamation. +</p> + +<p> +“Old witch!” he cried bitterly, “why did you not tell me this before? +I lose time, time.” +</p> + +<p> +He snatched his cloak from the wall and flung on his hat. +</p> + +<p> +“What is Hugh of Rooselaare to you?” asked Nathalie, and she crept +across the room and clung to the young man’s garments. +</p> + +<p> +He shook her off fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +“He must not die—he, on the scaffold! I, as you say, I was following +that boy and his love while <i>this</i> was happening!” +</p> + +<p> +The witch fell back against the wall, while overhead the restless +tread of Theirry sounded. Dirk dashed from the room and out into the +quiet street. +</p> + +<p> +For a second he paused; it was late afternoon, he had perhaps an hour +or an hour and a half. Clenching his hands, he drew a deep breath, and +turned in the direction of the palace at a steady run. +</p> + +<p> +By reason of the snow clouds and the bitter cold there were few abroad +to notice the slim figure running swiftly and lightly; those who were +about made their way in the direction of the market-place, where the +Lord of Rooselaare was presently to meet his death. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk arrived at the palace one hand over his heart, stinging him with +the pain of his great speed; he demanded the Empress. +</p> + +<p> +None among the guards knew either him or his name, but, at his +imperious insistence, they sent word by a page to Ysabeau that the +young doctor Constantine had a desire to see her. +</p> + +<p> +The boy returned, and Dirk was admitted instantly, smiling gloomily to +think with what feelings Ysabeau would look on him. +</p> + +<p> +So far all had been swiftly accomplished; he was conducted to her +private chamber and brought face to face with her while he still +panted from his running. +</p> + +<p> +She stood against a high arched window that showed the heavy +threatening winter clouds without; her purple, green and gold +draperies shone warmly in the glitter of the fire; a tray of incense +stood on the hearth after the manner of the East, and the hazy clouds +of it rose before her. +</p> + +<p> +Until the page had gone neither spoke, then Dirk said quickly— +</p> + +<p> +“I returned to Frankfort to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau was agitated to fear by his sudden appearance. +</p> + +<p> +“Where have you been?” she asked. “I thought you dead.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk, pale and grave, gave her a penetrating glance. +</p> + +<p> +“I have no time for speech with you now—you owe me something, do you +not? Well, I am here to ask part payment.” +</p> + +<p> +The Empress winced. +</p> + +<p> +“Well—what? I had no wish to be ungrateful, ’twas you avoided me.” +</p> + +<p> +She crossed to the hearth and fixed her superb eyes intently on the +youth. +</p> + +<p> +“Hugh of Rooselaare is to die this evening,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea,” answered Ysabeau, and her childish loveliness darkened. +</p> + +<p> +For a while Dirk was silent; he showed suddenly frail and ill; on his +face was an expression of emotion, mastered and held back. +</p> + +<p> +“He must not die,” he said at last and lifted his eyes, shadowed with +fatigue. “That is what I demand of you, his pardon, now, and at +once—we have but little time.” +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau surveyed him curiously and fearfully. +</p> + +<p> +“You ask too much,” she replied in a low voice; “do you know why this +man is to die?” +</p> + +<p> +“For speaking the truth,” he said, with a sudden sneer. +</p> + +<p> +The Empress flushed, and clutched the embroidery on her bodice. +</p> + +<p> +“You of all men should know why he must be silenced,” she retorted +bitterly. “What is your reason for asking his life?” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk’s mouth took on an ugly curl. +</p> + +<p> +“My reason is no matter—it is my will.” +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau beat her foot on the edge of the Eastern carpet. +</p> + +<p> +“Have I made you so much my master?” she muttered. +</p> + +<p> +The young man answered impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +“You will give me his pardon, and make haste, for I must ride with it +to the market-place.” +</p> + +<p> +She answered with a lowering glance. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I will not; I am not so afraid of you, and I hate this +man—my secret is your secret after all.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk gave a wan smile. +</p> + +<p> +“I can blast you as I blasted Melchoir of Brabant, Ysabeau, and do you +think I have any fear of what you can say? But”—he leaned towards +her—“suppose I go with what I know to Balthasar?” +</p> + +<p> +The name humbled the Empress like a whip held over her. +</p> + +<p> +“So, I am helpless,” she muttered, loathing him. +</p> + +<p> +“The pardon,” insisted Dirk; “sound the bell and write me a pardon.” +</p> + +<p> +Still she hesitated; it was a hard thing to lose her vengeance against +a dangerous enemy. +</p> + +<p> +“Choose another reward,” she pleaded. “Of what value can this man’s +life be to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“You seek to put me off until it be too late,” cried Dirk hoarsely—he +stepped forward and seized the hand-bell on the table—“now an’ you +show yourself obstinate, I go straight from here to Balthasar and tell +him of the poisoning of Melchoir.” +</p> + +<p> +Instinct and desire rose in Ysabeau to defy him with everything in her +possession, from her guards to her nails; she shuddered with +suppressed wrath, and pressed her little clenched hands against the +wall. +</p> + +<p> +Her Chamberlain entered. +</p> + +<p> +“Write out a pardon for the Lord of Rooselaare,” commanded Dirk, “and +haste, as you love your place.” +</p> + +<p> +When the man had gone, Ysabeau turned with an ill-concealed savagery. +</p> + +<p> +“What will they think! What will Balthasar think!” +</p> + +<p> +“That must be your business,” said Dirk wearily. +</p> + +<p> +“And Hugh himself!” flashed the Empress. +</p> + +<p> +The youth coloured painfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Let him be sent to his castle in Flanders,” he said, with averted +face. “He must not remain here.” +</p> + +<p> +“So much you give in!” cried Ysabeau. “I do not understand you.” +</p> + +<p> +He responded with a wild look. +</p> + +<p> +“No one will ever understand me, Ysabeau.” +</p> + +<p> +The Chamberlain returned, and in a shaking hand the Empress took the +parchment and the reed pen, while Dirk waved the man’s dismissal. +</p> + +<p> +“Sign,” he cried to her. +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau set the parchment on the table and looked out at the gathering +clouds; the Lord of Rooselaare must have already left the prison. +</p> + +<p> +She dallied with the pen; then took a little dagger from her hair and +sharpened it; Dirk read her purpose in her lovely evil eyes, and +snatched the lingering right hand into his own long fingers. +</p> + +<p> +The Empress drew together and looked up at him bitterly and darkly, +but Dirk’s breath stirred the ringlets that touched her cheek, his +cool grip guided her reluctant pen; she shivered with fear and +defiance; she wrote her name. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk flung her hand aside with a great sigh of relief. +</p> + +<p> +“Do not try to foil me again, Marozia Porphyrogentris,” he cried, and +caught up the parchment, his hat and cloak. +</p> + +<p> +She watched him leave the room; heard the heavy door close behind him, +and she writhed with rage, thrusting, with an uncontrollable gesture +of passion, the dagger into the table; it quivered in the wood, then +broke under her hand. +</p> + +<p> +With an ugly cry she ran to the window, flung it open and cast the +handle out. +</p> + +<p> +When it rattled on the cobbled yard Dirk was already there; he marked +it fall, knew the gold and red flash, and smiled. +</p> + +<p> +Showing the parchment signed by the Empress, he had commanded the +swiftest horse in the stables. He cursed and shivered, waiting while +the seconds fled; his slight figure and fierce face awed into silence +the youngest in the courtyard as he paced up and down. At last—the +horse; one of the grooms gave him a whip; he put it under his left arm +and leapt to his seat; they opened the gate and watched him take the +wind-swept street. +</p> + +<p> +The market-place lay at the other end of the town; and the hour for +the execution was close at hand—but the white horse he rode was fresh +and strong. +</p> + +<p> +The thick grey clouds had obscured the sunset and covered the sky; a +few trembling flakes of snow fell, a bitter wind blew between the high +narrow houses; here and there a light sparkling in a window emphasized +the colourless cold without. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk urged the steed till he rocked in the saddle; curtains were +pulled aside and doors opened to see who rode by so furiously; the +streets were empty—but there would be people enough in the +market-place. +</p> + +<p> +He passed the high walls of the college, galloped over the bridge that +crossed the sullen waters of the Main, swept by the open doors of St. +Wolfram, then had to draw rein, for the narrow street began to be +choked with people. +</p> + +<p> +He pulled his hat over his eyes and flung his cloak across the lower +half of his face; with one hand he dragged on the bridle, with the +other waved the parchment. +</p> + +<p> +“A pardon!” he cried. “A pardon! Make way!” +</p> + +<p> +They drew aside before the plunging steed; some answered him— +</p> + +<p> +“It is no pardon—he wears not the Empress’s livery.” +</p> + +<p> +One seized his bridle; Dirk leant from the saddle and dashed the +parchment into the fellow’s face, the horse snorted, and plunging +cleared a way and gained the market-place. +</p> + +<p> +Here the press was enormous; men, women and children were gathered +close round the mounted soldiers who guarded the scaffold; the armour, +yellow and blue uniforms and bright feathers of the horsemen showed +vividly against the grey houses and greyer sky. +</p> + +<p> +On the scaffold were two dark, graceful figures; a man kneeling, with +his long throat bare, and a man standing with a double-edged sword in +his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“A pardon!” shrieked Dirk. “In the name of the Emperor!” +</p> + +<p> +He was wedged in the crowd, who made bewildered movements but could +not give place to him; the soldiers did not or would not hear. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk rose desperately in his stirrups; as he did so the hat and cloak +fell back and his head and shoulders were revealed clearly above the +swaying mass. +</p> + +<p> +Hugh of Rooselaare heard the cry; he looked across the crowd and his +eyes met the eyes of Dirk Renswoude. +</p> + +<p> +“A pardon!” cried Dirk hoarsely; he saw the condemned man’s lips move. +</p> + +<p> +The sword fell.… +</p> + +<p> +“A woman screamed,” said the monk on the scaffold, “and proclaimed a +pardon.” +</p> + +<p> +And he pointed to the commotion gathered about Dirk, while the +executioner displayed to the crowd the serene head of Hugh of +Rooselaare. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, it was not a woman,” one of the soldiers answered the monk, +“ ’twas this youth.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk forced to the foot of the scaffold. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me through,” he said in a terrible voice; the guard parted; and +seeing the parchment in his hand, let him mount the steps. +</p> + +<p> +“You bring a pardon?” whispered the monk. +</p> + +<p> +“I am too late,” said Dirk; he stood among the hurrying blood that +stained the platform, and his face was hard. +</p> + +<p> +“Dogs! was this an end for a lord of Rooselaare!” he cried, and +clasped his hand on a straining breast. “Could you not have waited a +little—but a few moments more?” +</p> + +<p> +The snow was falling fast; it lay on Dirk’s shoulders and on his +smooth hair; the monk drew the parchment from his passive hand and +read it in a whisper to the officer; they both looked askance at the +young man. +</p> + +<p> +“Give me his head,” said Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +The executioner had placed it at a corner of the scaffold; he left off +wiping his sword and brought it forward. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk watched without fear or repulsion, and took Hugh’s head in his +slim fair hands. +</p> + +<p> +“How heavy it is,” he whispered. +</p> + +<p> +The quick distortion of death had left the proud features; Dirk held +the face close to his own, with no heed to the blood that trickled +down his doublet. +</p> + +<p> +Priest and captain standing apart, noticed a horrible likeness between +the dead and the living, but would not speak of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Churl,” said Dirk, gazing into the half-closed grey eyes that +resembled so his own. “He spoke—as he saw me; what did he say?” +</p> + +<p> +The headsman polished the mighty blade. +</p> + +<p> +“Nought to do with you, or with any,” he answered, “the words had no +meaning, certes.” +</p> + +<p> +“What were they?” whispered the youth. +</p> + +<p> +“ ‘Have you come for me, Ursula?’ then he said again, ‘Ursula.’ ” +</p> + +<p> +A quiver ran through Dirk’s frame. +</p> + +<p> +“She shall repent this, the Eastern witch!” he said wildly. “May the +Devil snatch you all to bitter judgment!” +</p> + +<p> +He turned to the captain, with the head held against his breast. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you going to do with this?” +</p> + +<p> +“His wife has asked for his head and his body that he may be buried +befitting his estate.” +</p> + +<p> +“His wife!” echoed Dirk; then slowly, “Ay, he had a wife—and a son, +sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“The child is dead.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk set the head down gently by the body. +</p> + +<p> +“And his lands?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“They go, sir, by favour of the Empress, to Balthasar of Courtrai, who +married, as you may know, this lord’s heiress, Ursula, dead now many +years.” +</p> + +<p> +The snow had scattered the crowd; the soldiers were impatient to +begone; the blood stiffened and froze about their feet; Dirk looked +down at the dead man with an anguished and hopeless expression. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” said the officer, “will you return with me to the palace, and +we will tell the Empress how this mischance arose, how you came too +late.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” replied Dirk fiercely. “Take that good news alone.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned and descended the scaffold steps in a proud, gloomy manner. +</p> + +<p> +One of the soldiers held his horse; he mounted in silence and rode +away; they who watched saw the thick snowflakes blot out the solitary +figure, and shuddered with no cause they understood. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p1ch21"> +CHAPTER XXI.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">BETRAYED</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">Nathalie</span> stood at the door with a lantern in her hand. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk was returning; the witch held up the light to catch a glimpse of +his face, then, whispering and crying under her breath, followed into +the house. +</p> + +<p> +“There is blood on your shoes and on your breast,” she whispered, when +they reached the long chamber at the back. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk flung himself on a chair and moaned; the snow lay still on his +hair and his shoulders; he buried his face in the bend of his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Zerdusht and his master have forsaken us,” whimpered the witch. “I +could work no spells to-night, and the mirror was blank.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk spoke in a muffled voice, without raising his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Of what use magic to me? I should have stayed in Frankfort.” +</p> + +<p> +Nathalie drew his wet cloak from his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“Have I not warned you? has not the brass head warned you that the +young scholar will be your ruin, bringing you to woe and misery and +shame?” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk rose with a sob, and turned to the fire; the one dim lamp alone +dispelled the cold darkness of the room, and the thin flames on the +hearth fell into ashes before their eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at his blood on me!” cried Dirk, “his blood! Balthasar and +Ysabeau make merry with his lands, but my hate shall mean something to +them yet—I should not have left Frankfort.” +</p> + +<p> +He rested his head against one of the supports of the chimney-piece, +and Nathalie, peering into his face, saw that his eyes were wet. +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! who was this man?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did all I could,” whispered Dirk… “the Empress shall burn in hell.” +</p> + +<p> +The sickly creeping flames illuminated his pallid face and his small +hand, hanging clenched by his side. +</p> + +<p> +“This is an evil day for us,” moaned the witch, “the spirits will not +answer, the flames will not burn… some horrible misfortune threatens.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk turned his gaze into the half-dark room. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is Theirry?” +</p> + +<p> +“Gone.” Nathalie rocked to and fro on her stool. +</p> + +<p> +“Gone!” shivered Dirk, “gone where?” +</p> + +<p> +“Soon after you left he crept from his chamber, and his face was +evil—he went into the street.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk paced up and down with uneven steps. +</p> + +<p> +“He will come back, he must come back! Ah, my heart! You say Zerdusht +will not speak to-night?” +</p> + +<p> +The witch moaned and trembled over the fire. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nor will the spirits come.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk shook his clenched fist in the air. +</p> + +<p> +“They <i>shall</i> answer me.” +</p> + +<p> +He went to the window, opened it and looked out into blackness. +</p> + +<p> +“Bring the lamp.” +</p> + +<p> +Nathalie obeyed; the faint light showed the hastening snowflakes, no +more. +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe they will listen to me, nay, as I say, they <i>shall</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +The witch followed with the swinging lamp in her hand, while they made +their way in silence through the darkness and the snow, in between the +bare rose bushes, over the wet, cold earth until they reached the +trap-door at the end of the garden that led to the witch’s kitchen. +Here she paused while Dirk raised the stone. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely the earth shook then,” he said. “I felt it tremble beneath my +feet—hush, there is a light below!” +</p> + +<p> +The witch peered over his shoulder and saw a faint glow rising from +the open trap, while at that moment her own lamp went suddenly out. +</p> + +<p> +They stood in outer darkness. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you dare descend?” muttered Nathalie. +</p> + +<p> +“What should I fear?” came the low, wild answer, and Dirk put his foot +on the ladder… the witch followed… they found themselves in the +chamber, and saw that it was lit by an immense fire, seated before +which was an enormous man, with his back towards them; he was dressed +in black, and at his feet lay stretched a huge black hound. +</p> + +<p> +The snow dripped from the garments of the new-comers as it melted in +the hot air; they stood very still. +</p> + +<p> +“Good even,” said Dirk in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +The stranger turned a face as black as his garments; round his neck he +wore a collar of most brilliant red and purple stones. +</p> + +<p> +“A cold night,” he said, and again it seemed as if the earth rumbled +and shook. +</p> + +<p> +“You find our fire welcome,” answered Dirk, but the witch crouched +against the wall, muttering to herself. +</p> + +<p> +“A good heat, a good heat,” said the Blackamoor. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk crossed the room, his arms folded on his breast, his head erect. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you doing here?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Warming myself, warming myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“What have you to say to me?” +</p> + +<p> +The Blackamoor drew closer to the fire. +</p> + +<p> +“Ugh! how cold it is!” he said, and stuck out his leg and thrust it +deep into the seething flames. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk drew still nearer. +</p> + +<p> +“If you be what I think you, you have some reason in coming here.” +</p> + +<p> +The black man put his other leg into the fire, and the flames curled +to his knees. +</p> + +<p> +“I have been to the palace, I have been to the palace. I sat under the +Empress’s chair while she talked to a pretty youth whose name is +Theirry—a-ah! it was cold in the palace, there was snow on the +youth’s garments, as there is blood on yours, and the Emperor was +there.…” +</p> + +<p> +All this while he looked into the fire, not at Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“Theirry has betrayed me,” said the youth. +</p> + +<p> +The Blackamoor took his legs from the fire unscorched and untouched, +and the hell-hound rose and howled. +</p> + +<p> +“He has betrayed you, and Ysabeau accuses you to save herself; but the +devils are on your side since there is other work for you to do; flee +from Frankfort, and I will see that you fulfil your destiny.” +</p> + +<p> +And now he glanced over his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“The witch comes home to-night, to-night, the work here is done, take +the road through Frankfort.” +</p> + +<p> +He stood up, and his head touched the roof; the gems on his throat +gave out long rays of light… the fire grew dim; the Blackamoor changed +into a thick column of smoke… that spread.… +</p> + +<p> +“Hell will not forsake you, Ursula of Rooselaare.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk fell back against the wall, thick vapours encompassing him; he +put his hands over his face.… +</p> + +<p> +When he looked up again the room was clear and lit by the beams of the +dying fire; he gazed round for the witch, but Nathalie had gone. +</p> + +<p> +With a thick sob in his throat he sprang up the ladder into the outer +air, and rushed towards the desolate house. +</p> + +<p> +Desolate indeed; empty, dark and cold it stood, the snow drifting in +through the open windows, the fires extinguished on the hearths, a +dead place never more to be inhabited. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk leant against the door, breathing hard. +</p> + +<p> +Here was a crisis of his fate; betrayed by the one whom he loved, +deserted, too, it seemed, since Nathalie had disappeared… the +Blackamoor… he remembered him as a vision… a delusion perhaps. +</p> + +<p> +Oh, how cold it was! Would his accusers come for him to-night? He +crept to the gate that gave on to the street and listened. +</p> + +<p> +“Nathalie!” he cried forlornly. +</p> + +<p> +Out of the further darkness came a distant hurry and confusion of +sound. +</p> + +<p> +Horses, shouting, eager feet; a populace roused, on the heels of the +dealer in black magic, armed with fire and sword for the witches.… +</p> + +<p> +Dirk opened the gate, for the last time stepped from the witch’s +garden; he wondered if Theirry was with the oncoming crowd, yet he did +not think so, probably he was in the palace, probably he had repented +already of what he had done; but the Empress had found her chance; her +accusation falling first, who would take his word against her? … +</p> + +<p> +He wore neither cloak nor hat, and as he waited against the open gate +the thick snow covered him from head to foot; his spirit had never +been afraid, was not afraid now, but his frail body shivered and +shrank back as when the angry students fronted him at Basle. +</p> + +<p> +He listened to the noises of the approaching people, till through +these another sound, nearer and stranger, made him turn his head. +</p> + +<p> +It came from the witch’s house. +</p> + +<p> +“Nathalie!” called Dirk in a half hope. +</p> + +<p> +But the blackness rippled into fire, swift flames sprang up, a column +of gold and scarlet enveloped house and garden in a curling embrace. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk ran out into the road, where the glare of the fire lit the +swirling snow for a trembling circle, and shading his eyes he stared +at the flames that consumed all his books, his magic herbs and +potions, the strange things, rich and beautiful, that Nathalie had +gathered in her long evil life; then he turned and ran down the street +as the crowd surged in at the other end, to fall back upon one another +aghast before the mighty flames that gave them mocking welcome. +</p> + +<p> +Their dismayed and angry shouts came to Dirk’s ears as he ran through +the snow; he fled the faster, towards the eastern gate. +</p> + +<p> +It was not yet shut; light of foot and swift he darted through before +they could challenge him, perhaps even before the careless guards saw +him. +</p> + +<p> +He was a fine runner, not easily fatigued, but he had already strained +his endurance to the utmost, and, after he had well cleared the city +gates, his limbs failed him and he fell to a walk. +</p> + +<p> +The intense darkness produced a feeling of bewilderment, almost of +light-headedness; he kept looking back over his shoulder, at the +distant lights of Frankfort, to assure himself that he was not +unwittingly stumbling back to the gates. +</p> + +<p> +Finally he stood still and listened; he must be near the river; and +after a while he could distinguish the sound of its sullen flow coming +faintly out of the silent dark. +</p> + +<p> +Well, of what use was the river to him, or aught else; he was cold, +weary, pursued and betrayed; all he had with him were some few pieces +of white money and a little phial of swift and keen poison that he +never failed to carry in his breast; if his master failed him he would +not go alive into the flames. +</p> + +<p> +But, hopeless as his case might seem, he was far from resorting to +this last refuge; he remembered the Blackamoor’s words, and dragged +his numbed and aching limbs along. +</p> + +<p> +After a while he saw, glimmering ahead of him, a light. +</p> + +<p> +It was neither in a house nor carried in the hand, for it shone low on +the ground, lower, it seemed to Dirk, than his own feet. +</p> + +<p> +He paused, listened, and proceeded cautiously for fear of the river, +that must lie, he thought, very close to his left. +</p> + +<p> +As he neared the light he saw it to be a lantern, that cast long rays +across the clearing snowstorm; a glittering, trembling reflection +beneath it told him it belonged to a boat roped to the bank. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk crept towards it, went on his knees in the snow and mud, and +beheld a small, empty craft, the lantern hanging at the prow. +</p> + +<p> +He paused; the waters, rushing by steadily and angrily, must be +flowing towards the Rhine and the town of Cologne.… +</p> + +<p> +He stepped into the boat that rocked while the water splashed beneath +him; but with cold hands he undid the knotted rope. +</p> + +<p> +The boat trembled a moment, then sped on with the current as if glad +to be freed. +</p> + +<p> +An oar lay in the bottom, with which for a while Dirk helped himself +along, fearful lest the owners of the boat should pursue, then he let +himself float down stream as he might. The water lapped about him, and +the snow fell on his unprotected and already soaked figure; he +stretched himself along the bottom of the boat and hid his face in the +cushioned seat. +</p> + +<p> +“Hugh of Rooselaare is dead and Theirry has betrayed me,” he whispered +into the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +Then he began sobbing, very bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +His anguished tears, the cruel cold, the steady sound of the unseen +water exhausted and numbed him till he fell into a sleep that was half +a swoon, while the boat drifted towards the town. +</p> + +<p> +When he awoke he was still in the open country. The snow had ceased, +but lay on the ground thick and untouched to the horizon. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk dragged his cramped limbs to a sitting posture and stared about +him; the river was narrow, the banks flat; the boat had been caught by +a clump of stiff withered reeds and the prow driven into the snowy +earth. +</p> + +<p> +On either side the prospect was wintry and dreary; a grey sky brooded +over a white land, a pine forest showed sadly in dark mournfulness, +while near by a few bare isolated trees bent under their weight of +snow; the very stillness was horribly ominous. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk found it ill to move, for his limbs were frozen, his clothes wet +and clinging to his wincing flesh, while his eyes smarted with his +late weeping, and his head was racked with giddy pains. +</p> + +<p> +For a while he sat, remembering yesterday till his face hardened and +darkened, and he set his pale lips and crawled painfully out of the +boat. +</p> + +<p> +Before him was a sweep of snow leading to the forest, and as he gazed +at this with dimmed, hopeless eyes, a figure in a white monk’s habit +emerged from the trees. +</p> + +<p> +He carried a rude wooden spade in his hand, and walked with a slow +step; he was coming towards the river, and Dirk waited. +</p> + +<p> +As the stranger neared he lifted his eyes, that had hitherto been cast +on the ground, and Dirk recognised Saint Ambrose of Menthon. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless Dirk did not despair; before the saint had recognised him +his part was resolved upon.… +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose of Menthon gazed with pity and horror at the forlorn little +figure shivering by the reeds. It was not strange that he did not at +once know him; Dirk’s face was of a ghastly hue, his eyes shadowed +underneath, red and swollen, his lank hair clinging close to his small +head, his clothes muddy, wet and soiled, his figure bent. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” he said, and his voice was weak and sweet, “have pity on an +evil thing.” +</p> + +<p> +He fell on his knees and clasped his hands on his breast. +</p> + +<p> +“Rise up,” answered the saint. “What God has given me is yours; poor +soul, ye are very miserable.” +</p> + +<p> +“More miserable than ye wot of,” said Dirk, through chattering teeth, +still on his knees. “Do you not know me?” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose of Menthon looked at him closely. +</p> + +<p> +“Alas!” he murmured slowly, “I know you.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk beat his breast. +</p> + +<p> +“Mea culpa!” he moaned. “Mea culpa!” +</p> + +<p> +“Rise. Come with me,” said the saint. “I will attend your wants.” +</p> + +<p> +The youth did not move. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you solace my soul, sir?” he cried. “God must have sent you here +to save my soul—for long days I have sought you.” +</p> + +<p> +Saint Ambrose’s face glowed. +</p> + +<p> +“Have ye, then, repented?” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk rose slowly to his feet and stood with bent head. +</p> + +<p> +“May one repent of such offences?” +</p> + +<p> +“God is very merciful,” breathed the saint tenderly. +</p> + +<p> +“Remorse and sorrow fill my heart,” murmured Dirk. “I have cast off my +evil comrades, renounced my vile gains and journeyed into the +loneliness to find God His pardon… and it seemed He would not hear +me.…” +</p> + +<p> +“He hears all who come in grief and penitence,” said the saint +joyously. “And He has heard you, for has He not sent me to find you, +even in this most desolate place?” +</p> + +<p> +“You feed me with hope,” answered Dirk in a quivering voice, “and +revive me with glad tidings… may I dare, I, poor lost wretch, to be +uplifted and exalted?” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor youth,” was the tender murmur. “Come with me.” +</p> + +<p> +He led the way across the thick snow, Dirk following with downcast +eyes and white cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +They skirted the forest and came upon a little hut, set back and +sheltered among the scattered trees. +</p> + +<p> +Saint Ambrose opened the rude door. +</p> + +<p> +“I am alone now,” he said softly, as he entered. “I had with me a +frail holy youth, who was travelling to Paris; last night he died, I +have just laid his body in the earth, his soul rests on the bosom of +the Lord.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk stepped into the hut and stood meekly on the threshold, and Saint +Ambrose glanced at him wistfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe God has sent me this soul to tend and succour in place of that +He has called home.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk whispered humbly— +</p> + +<p> +“If I might think so.” +</p> + +<p> +The saint opened an inner door. +</p> + +<p> +“Your garments are wet and soiled.” +</p> + +<p> +A sudden colour stained Dirk’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“I have no others.” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose of Menthon pointed to the inner chamber. +</p> + +<p> +“There Blaise died yester-eve; there are his clothes, enter and put +them on.” +</p> + +<p> +“It will be the habit of a novice?” asked Dirk softly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk bent and kissed the saint’s fingers with ice-cold lips. +</p> + +<p> +“I have dared,” he whispered, “to hope that I might die wearing the +garb of God His servants, and now I dare even to hope that He shall +grant my prayer.” +</p> + +<p> +He stepped into the inner chamber and closed the door. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p1ch22"> +CHAPTER XXII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">BLAISE</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">Ambrose of Menthon</span> and his meek and humble follower rested at +Châlons, on their way to Paris. +</p> + +<p> +For many weeks they had begged from door to door, sleeping in some +hermit’s cell or by the roadside when the severity of the bitter +nights permitted, occasionally finding shelter in a wayside convent. +</p> + +<p> +So patient, so courageous before hardship, so truly sad and +remorseful, so grateful for the distant chance of ultimate pardon was +Dirk, that the saint grew to love the penitent vagabond. +</p> + +<p> +No one eager to look for it could have found any fault with his +behaviour; he was gentle as a girl, obedient as a servant, rigid in +his prayers (and he had a strangely complete knowledge of the offices +and penances of the Church), silent and sorrowful often, taking no +pleasure in anything save the saint’s talk of Paradise and holy +things. +</p> + +<p> +Particularly he loved to hear of the dead youth Blaise, of his saintly +life, of his desire to join the stern Brotherhood of the Sacred Heart, +in Paris, of his fame as one beloved of God, of the convent’s wish to +receive him, of his great learning, of his beautiful death in the +snowy evening. +</p> + +<p> +To all this Dirk listened with still attention, and from Saint +Ambrose’s rapt and loving recital he gathered little earthly details +of the subject of their speech. +</p> + +<p> +Such as that he was from Flanders, of a noble family, that his +immediate relatives were dead, that his years were no more than +twenty, and that he was dark and pale. +</p> + +<p> +For himself Dirk had little to say; he described simply his shame and +remorse after he had stolen the holy gold, his gradual sickening of +his companions, the long torture of his awakening soul, his attempts +to find the saint, and how, finally, after he had resolved to flee his +evil life and enter a convent, he had run out of Frankfort, found a +boat waiting—and so drifted to Saint Ambrose’s feet. +</p> + +<p> +The saint, rejoicing in his penitence, suggested that he should enter +the convent whither they journeyed with the tidings of the holy +youth’s death, and Dirk consented with humble gratitude. +</p> + +<p> +And so they passed through Châlons, and rested in a deserted hut +overlooking the waters of the Marne. +</p> + +<p> +Having finished their scanty meal they were seated together under the +rough shelter; the luxury of a fire was denied their austerity; a cold +wind blew in and out of the ill-built doors, and a colourless light +filled the mean bare place. Dirk sat on a broken stool, reading aloud +the writings of Saint Jerome. +</p> + +<p> +He wore a coarse brown robe, very different from his usual attire, +fastened round the waist with a rope into which was twisted a wooden +rosary; his feet were encased in rude leather boots, his hands +reddened with the cold, his face hollow and of a bluish pallor in +which his eyes shone feverishly large and dark. +</p> + +<p> +His smooth hair hung on to his shoulders; he stooped, in contrast with +his usual erect carriage. +</p> + +<p> +Pausing on his low and gentle reading he looked across at the saint. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose of Menthon sat on a rough-hewn bench against the rougher wall; +weariness, exposure, and sheer weakness of body had done their work at +last; Dirk knew that for three nights he had not slept… he was asleep +now or had swooned; his fair head fell forward on his breast, his +hands hung by his side. +</p> + +<p> +As Dirk became assured that his companion was unconscious, he slowly +rose and set down the holy volume. He was himself half starved, cold +to the heart and shuddering; he looked round the plaster walls and the +meek expression of his face changed to one of scorn, derision and +wicked disdain; he darted a bitter glance at the wan man, and crept +towards the door. +</p> + +<p> +Opening it softly, he gazed out; the scene was fair and lonely—the +distant tourelles of Châlons rose clear and pointed against the +winter clouds; near by the grey river flowed between its high banks, +where the bare willows grew and the snow-wreaths still lay. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk took shivering steps into the open and turned towards the Marne; +the keen wind penetrated his poor garments and lifted the heavy hair +from his thin cheeks; he beat his breast, chafed his hands and walked +rapidly. +</p> + +<p> +Reaching the bank he looked up and down the river; there was no one in +sight, neither boat nor animal nor house to break the monotony of +land, sky and water, only those distant towers of the town. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk walked among the twisted willows, then came to a pause. +</p> + +<p> +A little ahead of him were a black man and a black dog, both seated on +the bank and gazing towards Châlons. +</p> + +<p> +The youth came a little nearer. +</p> + +<p> +“Good even,” he said. “It is very cold.” +</p> + +<p> +The Blackamoor looked round. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you pleased with the way you travel?” he asked, nodding his head. +“And your companion?” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk’s face lowered. +</p> + +<p> +“How much longer am I to endure it?” +</p> + +<p> +“You must have patience,” said the black man, “and endurance.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have both,” answered Dirk. “Look at my hands—they are no longer +soft, but red and hard; my feet are galled and wounded in rough +boots—I must walk till I am sick, then pray instead of sleeping; I +see no fire, and scarcely do I touch food.” +</p> + +<p> +The hell-hound stirred and whined among the osiers, the jewels in the +Blackamoor’s collar flashed richly, though there was no light to +strike them. +</p> + +<p> +“You will be rewarded,” he said, “and revenged too—o—ho—o! it is +very cold, as you say, very cold.” +</p> + +<p> +“What must I do?” asked Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +The black man rubbed his hands together. +</p> + +<p> +“You know—you know.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk’s pinched wan face grew intent, and eager. +</p> + +<p> +“Am I to use… this?” He touched the breast of his rough habit. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then shall I be left defenceless.” Dirk’s voice shook a little. “If +anything should happen—I would not, I could not—oh, Sathanas!—I +could not be revealed!” +</p> + +<p> +The Blackamoor rose from among the willows. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you trust yourself and me?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk put his thin hand over his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, master.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you know what to do. You will not see me for many years—when +you have triumphed I shall come.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned swiftly and ran down the bank, the hound at his heels; one +after another they leaped into the waters of the Marne and disappeared +with an inner sound. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk straightened himself and set his lips. He reentered the hut to +find Ambrose of Menthon still against the wall, now indeed wearily +asleep; Dirk came softly forward; slowly and cautiously he put his +hand into his bosom and drew out a small green-coloured phial. +</p> + +<p> +With his eyes keenly on the saint he broke the seal, then crept close. +</p> + +<p> +By Saint Ambrose’s side hung his rosary, every bead smooth with the +constant pressure of his lips; Dirk raised the heavy crucifix +attached, and poured on to it the precious drop contained in the +phial. +</p> + +<p> +Saint Ambrose did not wake nor move; Dirk drew away and crouched +against the wall, cursing the bitter wind with fierce eyes.… +</p> + +<p> +When the saint awoke, Dirk was on the broken stool reading aloud the +writings of Saint Jerome. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it still light?” asked Ambrose of Menthon amazedly. +</p> + +<p> +“It is the dawn,” answered Dirk. +</p> + +<p> +“And I have slept the night through.” The saint dragged his stiff +limbs from the seat and fell on his knees in a misery of prayer. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk closed the book and watched him; watched his long fingers twining +in the beads of his rosary, watched him kiss the crucifix, again and +again; then he, too, knelt, his face hidden in his hands. +</p> + +<p> +He was the first to rise. +</p> + +<p> +“Master, shall we press on to Paris?” he asked humbly. +</p> + +<p> +The saint lifted dazed eyes from his devotions. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea,” he said. “Yea.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk began putting together in a bundle their few books, and the +wooden platter in which they collected their broken food; this being +their all. +</p> + +<p> +“I dreamt last night of Paradise,” said Saint Ambrose faintly, “the +floor was so thick-strewn with close little flowers, red, white, and +purple… and it was warm as Italy in May.…” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk swung the bundle on to his shoulder and opened the door of the +hut. +</p> + +<p> +“There is no sun to-day,” he remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“How long it is since we have seen the sun!” said Saint Ambrose +wistfully. +</p> + +<p> +They passed out into the dreary landscape and took their slow way +along the banks of the Marne. +</p> + +<p> +Until midday they did not pause, scarcely spoke; then they passed +through a little village, and the charitable gave them food. +</p> + +<p> +That night they slept in the open, under shelter of a hedge, and +Ambrose of Menthon complained of weakness; Dirk, waking in the dark, +heard him praying… heard, too, the rattle of the wooden rosary. +</p> + +<p> +When the light came and they once more recommenced their journey the +saint was so feeble he was fain to lean on Dirk’s shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I am dying,” he said; his face was flushed, his eyes burning, +he smiled continuously. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me reach Paris,” he added, “that I may tell the Brethren of +Blaise.…” +</p> + +<p> +The youth supporting him wept bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +Towards noon they met a woodman’s cart that helped them on their way; +that night they spent in the stable of an inn; the next day they +descended into the valley of the Seine, and by the evening reached the +gates of Paris. +</p> + +<p> +As the bells over all the beautiful city were ringing to vespers they +arrived at their destination, an old and magnificent convent +surrounded with great gardens set near the river bank. +</p> + +<p> +The winter sky had broken at last, and wreathed and motionless clouds +curled back from a clear expanse of gold and scarlet, against which +the houses, churches and palaces rose from out the blue mist of +evening. +</p> + +<p> +The straight roof of the convent, the little tower with its +slow-moving bell, the bare bent fruit trees, the beds of herbs, +sweet-smelling even now, the red lamp glowing in the dark doorway, +showed themselves to Dirk as he entered the gate,—he looked at them +all intently, and bitter distant memories darkened his hollow face. +</p> + +<p> +The monks were singing the Magnificat; their thin voices came clearly +on the frosty air. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Fecit potentiam in brachio suo:</span><br> +<span class="i0">dispersit superbos mente cordis sui.”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p class="noindent"> +Ambrose of Menthon took his feeble hand from Dirk’s arm and sank on +his knees. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Deposuit potentes de sede,</span><br> +<span class="i0">et exaltavit humiles.”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +But Dirk’s pale lips curled, and as he gazed at the sunset flaming +beyond the convent walls, there was a haughty challenge in his +brooding eyes. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Esurientes implevit bonis,</span><br> +<span class="i0">et divites dimisit inanes.</span><br> +<span class="i0">Suscepit Israel puerum suum,</span><br> +<span class="i0">recordatus misercordiae suae.”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +The saint murmured the chanted words and clasped his hands on his +breast, while the sky brightened vividly above the wide waters of the +Seine. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Sicut locutus est ad patres nostros</span><br> +<span class="i0">Abraham et semini ejus in saecula.”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +The chant faded away on the still evening, but the saint remained +kneeling. +</p> + +<p> +“Master,” whispered Dirk, “shall we not go in to them?” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrose of Menthon raised his fair face. +</p> + +<p> +“I am dying,” he smiled. “A keen flame licks up my blood and burns my +heart to ashes—‘Sustinuit anima mea in verbo ejus.’ ” His voice +failed, he sank forward and his head fell against the grey beds of rue +and fennel. +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! alas!” cried Dirk; he made no attempt to bring assistance nor +called aloud, but stood still, gazing with intent eyes at the +unconscious man. +</p> + +<p> +But when the monks came out of the chapel and turned two by two +towards the convent, Dirk pulled off his worn cap. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Divinum auxilium maneat semper</span><br> +<span class="i0">nobiscum.”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +“Amen,” said Dirk, then he ran lightly forward and flung himself +before the procession. +</p> + +<p> +“My father!” he cried, with a sob in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +The priests stopped, the “amens” still trembling on their lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Ambrose of Menthon lies within your gates a dying man,” said Dirk +meekly and sadly. +</p> + +<p> +With little exclamations of awe and grief the grey-clad figures +followed him to where the saint lay. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah me!” murmured Dirk. “The way has been so long, so rough, so cold.” +</p> + +<p> +Reverently they raised Saint Ambrose. +</p> + +<p> +“He has done with his body,” said an old monk, holding up the dying +man. +</p> + +<p> +The flushed sky faded behind them; the saint stirred and half opened +his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Blaise,” he whispered. “Blaise”—he tried to point to Dirk who knelt +at his feet—“he will tell you.” His eyes closed again, he strove to +pray; the “De profundis” trembled on his lips, he made a sudden upward +gesture with his hands, smiled and died. +</p> + +<p> +For a while there was silence among them, broken only by a short sob +from Dirk, then the monks turned to the ragged, emaciated youth who +crouched at the dead feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Blaise, he said,” one murmured, “it is the holy youth.” +</p> + +<p> +Dirk roused himself as from a silent prayer, made the sign of the +cross and rose. +</p> + +<p> +“Who art thou?” they asked reverently. +</p> + +<p> +Dirk raised a tear-stained, weary face. +</p> + +<p> +“The youth Blaise, my fathers,” he answered humbly. +</p> + + +<h2 id="p2"> +PART II.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE POPE</span> +</h2> + +<h3 id="p2ch01"> +CHAPTER I.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">CARDINAL LUIGI CAPRAROLA</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">The</span> evening service in the Basilica of St. Peter was over; pilgrims, +peasants and monks had departed; the last chant of the officiating +Cardinal’s train still trembled on the incense-filled air and the slim +novices were putting out the lights, when a man, richly and +fantastically dressed, entered the bronze doors and advanced a little +way down the centre aisle. +</p> + +<p> +He bent his head to the altar, then paused and looked about him with +the air of a stranger. He was well used to magnificence, but this +first sight of the chapel of the Vatican caused him to catch his +breath. +</p> + +<p> +Surrounding him were near a hundred pillars, each of a different +marble and carving; they supported a roof that glittered with the +manifold colours of mosaic; the rich walls were broken by numerous +chapels, from which issued soft gleams of purple and violet light; +mysterious shrines of porphyry and cipolin, jasper and silver showed +here and there behind red lamps. A steady glow of candles shone on a +mosaic and silver arch, beyond which the high altar sparkled like one +great jewel; the gold lamps on it were still alight, and it was heaped +with white lilies, whose strong perfume was noticeable even through +the incense. +</p> + +<p> +To one side of the high altar stood a purple chair, and a purple +footstool, the seat of the Cardinal, sometimes of the Pontiff. +</p> + +<p> +This splendid and holy beauty abashed, yet inspired the stranger; he +leant against one of the smooth columns and gazed at the altar. +</p> + +<p> +The five aisles were crossed by various shafts of delicate trembling +light that only half dispersed the lovely gloom; some of the columns +were slender, some massive—the spoils from ancient palaces and +temples, no two of them were alike; those in the distance took on a +sea-green hue, luminous and exquisite; one or two were of deep rose +red, others black or dark green, others again pure ghostly white, and +all alike enveloped in soft shadows and quivering lights, violet, blue +and red. +</p> + +<p> +The novices were putting out the candles and preparing to close the +church; their swift feet made no sound; silently the little stars +about the high altar disappeared and deeper shadows fell over the +aisles. +</p> + +<p> +The stranger watched the white figures moving to and fro until no +light remained, save the purple and scarlet lamps that cast rich rays +over the gold and stained the pure lilies into colour, then he left +his place and went slowly towards the door. +</p> + +<p> +Already the bronze gates had been closed; only the entrance to the +Vatican and one leading into a side street remained open. +</p> + +<p> +Several monks issued from the chapels and left by this last; the +stranger still lingered. +</p> + +<p> +Down from the altar came the two novices, prostrated themselves, then +proceeded along the body of the church. +</p> + +<p> +They extinguished the candles in the candelabra set down the aisles, +and a bejewelled darkness fell on the Basilica. +</p> + +<p> +The stranger stood under a malachite and platinum shrine that blinded +with the glimmer and sparkle of golden mosaic; before it burnt +graduated tapers; one of the novices came towards it, and the man +waiting there moved towards him. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” he said in a low voice, “may I speak to you?” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke in Latin, with the accent of a scholar, and his tone was deep +and pleasant. +</p> + +<p> +The novice paused and looked at him, gazed intently and beheld a very +splendid person, a man in the prime of life, tall above the ordinary, +and, above the ordinary, gorgeous to the eyes; his face was sunburnt +to a hue nearly as dark as his light bronze hair, and his Western eyes +showed clearly bright and pale in contrast; in his ears hung long +pearl and gold ornaments that touched his shoulders; his dress was +half Eastern, of fine violet silk and embroidered leather; he carried +in his belt a curved scimitar inset with turkis, by his side a short +gold sword, and against his hip he held a purple cap ornamented with a +plume of peacocks’ feathers, and wore long gloves fretted in the palm +with the use of rein and sword. +</p> + +<p> +But more than these details did the stranger’s face strike the novice; +a face almost as perfect as the masks of the gods found in the +temples; the rounded and curved features were over-full for a man, and +the expression was too indifferent, troubled, almost weak, to be +attractive, but taken in itself the face was noticeably beautiful. +</p> + +<p> +Noting the novice’s intent gaze, a flush crept into the man’s dark +cheek. +</p> + +<p> +“I am a stranger,” he said. “I want to ask you of Cardinal Caprarola. +He officiated here to-day?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea,” answered the novice. “What can I tell you of him? He is the +greatest man in Rome—now his Holiness is dying,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, I have heard of him—even in Constantinople. I think I saw +him—many years ago, before I went to the East.” +</p> + +<p> +The novice began to extinguish the candles round the shrine. +</p> + +<p> +“It may be, sir,” he said. “His Eminence was a poor youth as I might +be; he came from Flanders.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was in Courtrai I thought I saw him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know not if he was ever there; he became a disciple of Saint +Ambrose of Menthon when very young, and after the saint’s death he +joined the Convent of the Sacred Heart in Paris—you have heard that, +sir?” +</p> + +<p> +The stranger lowered his magnificent eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard nothing—I have been away—many years; this man, +Cardinal Caprarola—<i>he</i> is a saint also—is he not? … tell me more of +him.” +</p> + +<p> +The youth paused in his task, leaving half the candles alight to cast +a trembling glow over the man’s gold and purple splendour; he smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Born of Dendermonde he was, sir, Louis his name, in our tongue Luigi, +Blaise the name he took in the convent—he came to Rome, seven, nay, +it must be eight years ago. His Holiness created him Bishop of Ostia, +then of Caprarola, which last name he retains now he is Cardinal—he +is the greatest man in Rome,” repeated the novice. +</p> + +<p> +“And a saint?” asked the other with a wistful eagerness. +</p> + +<p> +“Certes, when he was a youth he was famous for his holy austere life, +now he lives in magnificence as befits a prince of the Church… he is +very holy.” +</p> + +<p> +The novice put out the remaining candles, leaving only the flickering +red lamp. +</p> + +<p> +“There was a great service here to-day?” the stranger asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, very many pilgrims were here.” +</p> + +<p> +“I grieve that I was too late—think you Cardinal Caprarola would see +one unknown to him?” +</p> + +<p> +“If the errand warranted it, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +From the rich shadows came a sigh. +</p> + +<p> +“I seek peace—if it be anywhere it is in the hands of this servant of +God—my soul is sick, will he help me heal it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, I do think so.” +</p> + +<p> +The youth turned, as he spoke, towards the little side door. +</p> + +<p> +“I must close the Basilica, sir,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +The stranger seemed to rouse himself from depths of unhappy thoughts, +and followed through the quivering gloom. +</p> + +<p> +“Where should I find the Cardinal?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“His palace lies in the Via di San Giovanni in Laterano, any will tell +you the way, sir.” The novice opened the door. “God be with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“And with you;” the stranger stepped into the open and the church door +was locked behind him. +</p> + +<p> +The purple after-glow still lingered over Rome; it was May and sweetly +warm; as the stranger crossed the Piazza of St. Peter the breeze was +like the touch of silk on his face; he walked slowly and presently +hesitated, looking round the ruined temples, broken palaces and walls; +there were people about, not many, mostly monks; the man glanced back +at the Vatican, where the lights had begun to sparkle in the windows, +then made his way, as rapidly as his scant knowledge served, across +the superb and despoiled city. +</p> + +<p> +He reached the Via Sacra; it was filled with a gay and splendid crowd, +in chariots, on foot, and on horse, that mingled unheeding with the +long processions of penitents winding in and out the throng, both here +and in the Appian Way. He turned towards the Arch of Titus; the ladies +laughed and stared as he passed; one took a flower from her hair and +threw it after him, at which he frowned, blushed, and hastened on; he +had never been equal to the admiration he roused in women, though he +disliked neither them nor their admiration; he carried still on his +wrist the mark of a knife left there by a Byzantine Princess who had +found his face fair and his wooing cold; the laughter of the Roman +ladies gave him the same feeling of hot inadequacy as when he felt +that angry stab. +</p> + +<p> +Passing the fountain of Meta Sudans and the remains of the Flavian +Amphitheatre, he gained the Via di San Giovanni in Laterano leading to +the Cælimontana Gate. +</p> + +<p> +Here he drew a little apart from the crowd and looked about him; in +the distance the Vatican and Castel San Angelo showed faintly against +the remote Apennines; he could distinguish the banner of the Emperor +hanging slackly in the warm air, the little lights in St. Peter’s. +</p> + +<p> +Behind him rose the Janiculum Hill set with magnificent palaces and +immense gardens, beneath the city lay dark in the twilight, and the +trees rising from the silent temples made a fair murmur as they shook +in their upper branches. +</p> + +<p> +The stranger sighed and stepped again into the crowd, composed now of +all ranks and all nationalities; he touched a young German on the +shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Which is Cardinal Caprarola’s palace?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir, the first.” He pointed to a gorgeous building on the slope of +the hill. +</p> + +<p> +The stranger caught a glimpse of marble porticoes half obscured by +soft foliage. +</p> + +<p> +With a “Thank you” he turned in the direction of the Palatine. +</p> + +<p> +A few moments brought him to the magnificent gates of the Villa +Caprarola; they stood open upon a garden of flowers just gleamingly +visible in the dusk; the stranger hesitated in the entrance, fixing +his gaze on the luminous white walls of the palace that showed between +the boughs of citron and cypress. +</p> + +<p> +This Cardinal, this Prince, who was the greatest man in Rome, which +was to say in Christendom, had strangely captured his imagination; he +liked to think of him as an obscure and saintly youth devoting his +life to the service of God, rising by no arts or intrigues but by the +pure will of his Master solely until he dominated the great Empire of +the West; the stranger now at his beautiful gates had been searching +for peace for many years, in many lands, and always in vain. +</p> + +<p> +In Constantinople he had heard of the holy Frankish priest who was +already a greater power than the old and slowly dying Pope, and it had +comforted his tired heart to think that there was one man in a high +place set there by God alone—one, too, of a pure life and a noble +soul; if any could give him promise of salvation, if any could help +him to redeem his wasted, weak life, it would be he—this Cardinal who +could not know evil save as a name. +</p> + +<p> +With this object he came to Rome; he wished to lay his sins and +penitence at the feet of him who had been a meek and poor novice, and +now by his virtues was Luigi Caprarola as mighty as the Emperor and as +innocent as the angels. +</p> + +<p> +Shame and awe for a while held him irresolute, how could he dare +relate his miserable and horrible story to this saint? … but God had +bidden him, and the holy were always the merciful. +</p> + +<p> +He walked slowly between the dim flowers and bushes to the stately +columned portico; with a thickly beating heart and a humble carriage +he mounted the low wide steps and stood at the Cardinal’s door, which +stood open on a marble vestibule dimly lit with a soft roseate violet +colour; the sound of a fountain came to his ears, and pungent aromas +mingled with the perfume of the blossoms. +</p> + +<p> +Two huge negroes, wearing silver collars and tiger-skins, were on +guard at each column of the door, and as the new-comer set foot within +the portals one of them struck the silver bell attached to his wrist. +</p> + +<p> +Instantly appeared a slim and gorgeous youth, habited in black, a +purple flower fastened at his throat. +</p> + +<p> +The stranger took off his cap. +</p> + +<p> +“This is the residence of his Eminence, Cardinal Caprarola?” he asked, +and the hint of hesitation always in his manner was accentuated. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea,” the youth bowed gracefully; “I am his Eminence’s secretary, +Messer Paolo Orsini.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do desire to see the Cardinal.” +</p> + +<p> +The young Roman’s dark eyes flashed over the person of the speaker. +</p> + +<p> +“What is your purpose, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“One neither political nor worldly;” he paused, flushed, then added, +“I would confess to his Eminence; I have come from Constantinople for +that—for that alone.” +</p> + +<p> +Paolo Orsini answered courteously. +</p> + +<p> +“The Cardinal hears confession in the Basilica.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certes, I know, yet I would crave to see him privately, I have +matters relating to my soul to put before him, surely he will not +refuse me.” The stranger’s voice was unequal, his bearing troubled, as +the secretary curiously observed; penitents anxious for their souls +did not often trouble the Cardinal, but Orsini’s aristocratic manner +showed no surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“His Eminence,” he said, “is ever loath to refuse himself to the +faithful; I will ask him if he will give you audience; what, sir, is +your quality and your name?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am unknown here,” answered the other humbly; “lately have I come +from Constantinople, where I held an office at the court of Basil, but +by birth I am a Frank, of the Cardinal’s own country.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir, your name?” repeated the elegant secretary. +</p> + +<p> +The stranger’s beautiful face clouded. +</p> + +<p> +“I have been known by many… but let his Eminence have the truth—I am +Theirry, born of Dendermonde.” +</p> + +<p> +Paolo Orsini bowed again. +</p> + +<p> +“I will acquaint the Cardinal,” he said. “Will you await me here?” +</p> + +<p> +He was gone as swiftly and silently as he had come; Theirry put his +hand to a hot brow and gazed about him. +</p> + +<p> +The vestibule was composed of Numidian marble toned by time to a deep +orange hue; the capitals of the Byzantine columns were encrusted with +gold and supported a ceiling that glittered with violet glass mosaic; +gilt lamps, screened with purple or crimson silk, cast a coloured glow +down the sloping walls; a double staircase sprang from the serpentine +and malachite floor, and where the gold hand-rails ended a silver lion +stood on a cipolin pillar, holding between his paws a dish on which +burnt aromatic incense; in the space between the staircases was an +alabaster fountain—the basin, raised on the backs of other silver +lions, and filled with iridescent sea shells, over which the water +splashed and fell, changed by the lamplight to a glimmering rose +purple. +</p> + +<p> +Either side the fountain were placed great bronze bowls of roses, pink +and white, and their petals were scattered over the marble pavement. +Against the walls ran low seats, cushioned with dark rich tapestries, +and above them, at intervals, marvellous antique statues showed white +in deep niches. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry had seen nothing more lavishly splendid in the East; Cardinal +Caprarola was no ascetic whatever the youth Blaise may have been, and +for a moment Theirry was bewildered and disappointed—could a saint +live thus? +</p> + +<p> +Then he reflected; good it was to consider that God, and not the +Devil, who so often used beauty and wealth for his lures, had given a +man this. +</p> + +<p> +He walked up and down, none to watch him but the four silent and +motionless negroes; the exquisite lights, the melody of the fountain, +the sweet odours that rose from the slow-curling blue vapours, the +gorgeous surroundings, lulled and soothed; he felt that at last, after +his changeful wanderings, his restless unhappiness, he had found his +goal and his haven. +</p> + +<p> +In this man’s hands was redemption, this man was housed as befitted an +Ambassador of the Lord of Heaven. +</p> + +<p> +Paolo Orsini, in person as rare and splendid as the palace, returned. +</p> + +<p> +“The Cardinal will receive you, sir,” he said; if the message +astonished him he did not show it; he bowed before Theirry, and +preceded him up the magnificent stairs. +</p> + +<p> +The first landing was entirely hung with scarlet embroidery worked +with peacocks’ feathers, and lit by pendent crystal lamps; at either +end a silver archway led into a chamber. +</p> + +<p> +The secretary, slim and black against the vivid colours, turned to the +left; Theirry followed him into a long hall illuminated by bronze +statues placed at intervals and holding scented flambeaux; between +them were set huge porphyry bowls containing orange trees and +oleanders; the walls and ceiling were of rose-hued marble inlaid with +basalt, the floor of a rich mosaic. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry caught his breath; the Cardinal must possess the fabled wealth +of India.… +</p> + +<p> +Paolo Orsini opened a gilt door and held it wide while Theirry +entered, then he bowed himself away, saying— +</p> + +<p> +“His Eminence will be with you presently.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry found himself in a fair-sized chamber, walls, floor and +ceiling composed of ebony and mother-of-pearl. +</p> + +<p> +Door and window were curtained by hangings of pale colours, on which +were stitched in glittering silks stories from Ovid. +</p> + +<p> +In the centre of the floor was a Persian carpet of a faint hue of +mauve and pink; three jasper and silver lamps hung by silken cords +from the ceiling and gave the pale glow of moonlight; an ivory chair +and table raised on an ebony step stood in one corner; on the table +was a sand clock, a blood-red glass filled with lilies and a gold book +with lumps of turkis set in the covers; on the chair was a purple +velvet cushion. +</p> + +<p> +Opposite this hung a crucifix, a scarlet light burning beneath it; to +this, the first holy thing Theirry had seen in the palace, he bent the +knee. +</p> + +<p> +Incense burnt in a gold brazier, the rich scent of it growing almost +insupportable in the close confined space. +</p> + +<p> +A silver footstool and a low ebony chair completed the furniture; +against the wall facing the door was a gilt and painted shrine, of +which the glittering wings were closed, but Theirry, turning from the +crucifix, bent his head to that. +</p> + +<p> +A great excitement crept into his blood, he could not feel that he was +in a holy or sacred place, awaiting the coming of the saint who was to +ease the burden of his sin, yet what but this feeling of relief, of +righteous joy should be heating his blood now.… +</p> + +<p> +The dim blue light, the strong perfumes were confusing to the senses; +his pulses throbbed, his heart leapt; it did not seem as if he could +speak to the Cardinal… then it seemed as if he could tell him +everything and leave—absolved. +</p> + +<p> +Yet—and yet—what was there in the place reviving memories that had +been thrust deep into his heart for years… a certain room in an old +house in Antwerp with the August sunlight over the figure of a young +man gilding a devil… a chamber in the college at Basle and two youths +bending over a witch’s fire… a dark wet night, and the sound of a weak +voice coming to him… Frankfort and a garden blazing with crimson +roses, other scenes, crowded, horrible… why did he think of them here… +in this remote land, among strangers… here where he had come to purge +his soul? +</p> + +<p> +He began to murmur a prayer; giddiness touched him, and the blue light +seemed to ripple and dim before his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +He walked up and down the soft carpet clasping his hands. +</p> + +<p> +All at once he paused and turned. +</p> + +<p> +There was a shiver of silks, and the Cardinal stepped into the +chamber. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry sank on his knees and bowed his throbbing head. +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal slowly closed the door; a low rumble of thunder sounded; +a great storm was gathering over the Tyrrhenian Sea. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p2ch02"> +CHAPTER II.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE CONFESSION</span> +</h3> + +<p> +“ ‘In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti,’ I give you +greeting,” said the Cardinal in a low grave voice; he crossed to the +ivory chair and seated himself. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry lifted his head and looked eagerly at the man who he hoped +would be his saviour. +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal was young, of the middle height, of a full but elegant +person and conveying an impression of slightness and delicacy, though +he was in reality neither small nor fragile. His face was pale, by +this light only dimly to be seen; he wore a robe of vivid pink and +violet silk that spread about the step on which his chair was placed; +his hands were very beautiful, and ornamented with a variety of costly +rings; on his head was a black skull-cap, and outside it his hair +showed, thick, curling and of a chestnut-red colour; his foot, very +small and well shaped, encased in a gold slipper, showed beneath his +gown. +</p> + +<p> +He caught hold of the ivory arms of his seat and looked straight at +Theirry with intense, dark eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“On what matters did you wish to speak with me?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry could not find words, a choking sense of horror, of something +dreadful and blasphemous beyond all words clutched at his heart… he +stared at the young Cardinal… he must be going mad.… +</p> + +<p> +“The air—the incense makes me giddy, holy father,” he murmured. +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal touched a bell that stood by the sand clock, and motioned +to Theirry to rise. +</p> + +<p> +A beautiful boy in a white tunic answered the summons. +</p> + +<p> +“Extinguish the incense,” said the Cardinal, “and open the window, +Gian… it is very hot, a storm gathers, does it not?” +</p> + +<p> +The youth drew apart the painted curtains and unlatched the window; as +the cooler air was wafted into the close chamber Theirry breathed more +freely. +</p> + +<p> +“The stars are all hidden, your Eminence,” said Gian, looking at the +night. “Certainly, it is a storm.” +</p> + +<p> +He raised the brazier, shook out the incense, leaving it smouldering +greyly, went on one knee to the Cardinal, then withdrew backwards. +</p> + +<p> +As the door closed behind him Luigi Caprarola turned to the man +standing humbly before him. +</p> + +<p> +“Now can you speak?” he said gravely. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry flushed. +</p> + +<p> +“Scarcely have I the heart… your Eminence abashes me, I have a +sickening tale to relate… hearing of you I thought, this holy man can +give me peace, and I came half across the world to lay my troubles at +your feet; but now, sir, now—I fear to speak, indeed, am scarce able, +unreal and hideous it seems in this place.” +</p> + +<p> +“In brief, sir,” said the Cardinal, “ye have changed your mind—I +think ye were ever of a changeful disposition, Theirry of +Dendermonde.” +</p> + +<p> +“How does your Eminence know that of me?—it is, alas! true.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see it in your face,” answered the Cardinal, “and something else I +see—you are, and long have been, unhappy.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is my great unhappiness that has brought me before your Eminence.” +</p> + +<p> +Luigi Caprarola rested his elbow on the ivory chair arm and his cheek +on his palm; the pale, dim light was full on his face; because of +something powerful and intense that shone in his eyes Theirry did not +care to look at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Weary of sin and afraid of Heaven ye have come to seek absolution of +me,” said the Cardinal. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, if it might be granted me, if by any penitence I might obtain +pardon.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Theirry, whose gaze was fixed on the ground as he spoke, had an +extraordinary vivid impression that the Cardinal was laughing; he +looked up quickly, only to behold Luigi Caprarola calm and grave. +</p> + +<p> +A peal of thunder sounded, and the echoes hovered in the chamber. +</p> + +<p> +“The confession must come before the absolution,” said the Cardinal. +“Tell me, my son, what troubles you.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry shuddered. +</p> + +<p> +“It involves others than myself.…” +</p> + +<p> +“The seal of the confession is sacred, and I will ask for no names. +Theirry of Dendermonde, kneel here and confess.” +</p> + +<p> +He pointed to the ivory footstool close to his raised seat; Theirry +came and humbly knelt. +</p> + +<p> +The curtains fluttered in the hot wind, a flash of lightning darted in +between them and mingled with the luminous colour cast by the faint +lamps. +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal took up the gold book and laid it on his knee, his pink +silk sleeve almost touched Theirry’s lips… his garments gave out a +strange and beautiful perfume. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me of these sins of thine,” he said, half under his breath. +</p> + +<p> +“I must go far back,” answered the penitent in a trembling voice, “for +your Eminence to understand my sins—they had small beginnings.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused and fixed his gaze on the Cardinal’s long fair fingers +resting across the gold cover of the breviary. +</p> + +<p> +“I was born in Dendermonde,” he said at length. “My father was a clerk +who taught me his learning. When he died I came to Courtrai. I was +eighteen, ambitious and clever beyond other scholars of my age. I +wished above everything to go to one of the colleges.…” +</p> + +<p> +He gave a hot sigh, as if he could still recall the passionate throb +of that early desire. +</p> + +<p> +“To gain a living I taught the arts I was acquainted with, among +others I gave lessons in music to the daughter of a great lord in +Courtrai… in this manner I came to know her brother, who was a young +knight of lusty desires.” +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal was listening intently; his breathing seemed hardly to +stir his robe; the hand on the gilt and turkis cover was very still. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry wiped his damp forehead, and continued— +</p> + +<p> +“He was, as I, restless and impatient with Courtrai… but, unlike me, +he was innocent, for I,”—he moistened his lips—“I about this time +began to practise—black magic.” +</p> + +<p> +The thunder rolled sombrely yet triumphantly round the seven hills, +and the first rain dashed against the window. +</p> + +<p> +“Black magic,” repeated the Cardinal, “go on.” +</p> + +<p> +“I read forbidden books that I found in an old library in the house of +a Jew whose son I taught—I tried to work spells, to raise spirits; I +was very desperate to better myself, I wished to become as Alcuin, as +Saint Jerome—nay, as Zerdusht himself, but I was not skilful enough. +I could do little or nothing.…” +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal moved slightly; Theirry, in an agony of old bitter +memories, torn between horror and ease at uttering these things at +last, continued in a low desperate voice— +</p> + +<p> +“The young knight I have spoken of was in love with a mighty lady who +came through Courtrai, he wished to follow her to Frankfort, she had +given him hopes that she would find him service there—he asked me to +bear him company, and I was glad to go… on the journey he told me of +his marriage to the daughter of a neighbouring lord—and—though that +is no matter here—he knew not if she were alive or dead, but he knew +of the place where she had last been known of, and we went thither—it +was in the old, half-deserted town of Antwerp.…” +</p> + +<p> +“And the young knight hoped to find she was dead,” interrupted the +Cardinal. “Was she, I wonder?” +</p> + +<p> +“All the world thought so. It is a strange story, not for my telling; +we found the house, and there we met a youth, who told us of the +maid’s death and showed us her grave.…” +</p> + +<p> +The thunder, coming nearer, shook the palace, and Theirry hid his face +in his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“What of this youth?” asked the Cardinal softly, “tell me of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“He ruined me—by night he came to me and told me of his +studies—black magic! black magic! … he cast spells and raised a devil… +in a mirror he showed me visions, I swore with him faithful +friendship… he ruined my soul—he sold some of the goods in the house, +and we went together to Basle College.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ye make him out your evil angel,” said the Cardinal. “Who was he?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know not; he was high-born, I think, dainty in his ways and +pleasant to look upon; my faltering soul was caught by his wiles, for +he spoke of great rewards; I know not who he was, man or demon.… I +think he loved me.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a little silence in the chamber, then the Cardinal spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Loved you?—what makes you think he loved you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certes, he said so, and acted so… we went to Basle College—then, I +also thought I loved him… he was the only thing in the world I had +ever spoken to of my hopes, my desires… we continued our experiments… +our researches were blasphemous, horrible, he was ever more skilful +than I… then one day I met a lady, and then I knew myself hideous, but +that very night I was drawn into the toils again… we cast a spell over +another student—we were discovered and fled the college.” +</p> + +<p> +A flash of lightning pierced the blue gloom like a sword rending silk; +Theirry winced and shuddered as the thunder crashed overhead. +</p> + +<p> +“Does your tale end here?” demanded the Cardinal. +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! alas! no; I fell from worse sin to worse sin—we were poor, we +met a monk, robbed him of God His moneys, and left him for dead… we +came to Frankfort and lived in the house of an Egyptian hag, and I +began to loathe the youth because the lady was ever in my thoughts, +and he hated the lady bitterly because of this; he tempted me to do +murder for gain, and I refused for her sake.” Theirry’s voice became +hot and passionate. “Then I found that he was tempting her—my saint! +but I had no fear that she would fall, and while she spurned him I +thought I could also, ay, and I did… but she proved no stronger—she +loved her steward, and bid him slay his wife: ‘You staked on her +virtue,’ the Devil cried to me, ‘and you’ve lost! lost!’ ” +</p> + +<p> +The sobs thickened his voice, and the bitter tears gathered in his +beautiful eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I was the youth’s prey again, but now I hated him for his victory… we +came back to Frankfort, and he was sweet and soft to me, while I was +thinking how I might injure him as he had injured me… I dwelt on that +picture of—her—dishonoured and undone, and I hated him, so waited my +chance, and the night we reached the city I betrayed him for what he +was, betrayed him to whom I had sworn friendship… well, half the town +came howling through the snow to seize him, but we were too late, we +found a flaming house… it burnt to ashes, he with it… I had had my +revenge, but it brought me no peace. I left the West and went to the +East, to India, Persia, to Greece, I avoided both God and the Devil, I +dreaded Hell and dared not hope for Heaven, I tried to forget but +could not, I tried to repent but could not. Good and evil strove for +me, until the Lord had pity… I heard of you, and I have come to Rome +to cast myself at your feet, to ask your aid to help throw myself on +God His mercy.” +</p> + +<p> +He rose with his hands clasped on his breast and his wild eyes fixed +on the white face of Luigi Caprarola; thunder and lightning together +were rending the hot air; Theirry’s gorgeous dress glimmered in gold +and purple, his face was flushed and exalted. +</p> + +<p> +“God wins, I think, this time,” he said in an unsteady voice. “I have +confessed my sins, I will do penance for them, and die at least in +peace—God and the angels win!” +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal rose; with one hand he held to the back of the ivory +chair, with the other he clasped the golden book to his breast; the +light shining on his red hair showed it in filmy brightness against +the wall of ebony and mother-of-pearl; his face and lips were very +pale above the vivid hue of his robe, his eyes, large and dark, stared +at Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +Again the lightning flashed between the two, and seemed to sink into +the floor at the Cardinal’s feet. +</p> + +<p> +He lifted his head proudly and listened to the following mighty roll; +when the echoes had quivered again into hot stillness he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“The Devil and his legions win, I think,” he said. “At least they have +served Dirk Renswoude well.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry fell back, and back, until he crouched against the gleaming +wall. +</p> + +<p> +“Cardinal Caprarola!” he cried fearfully. “Cardinal Caprarola, speak +to me! even here I hear the fiends jibe!” +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal stepped from the ebony dais, his stiff robes making a +rustling as he walked; he laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Have I learned a mien so holy my old comrade knows me not? Have I +changed so, I who was dainty and pleasant to look upon, your friend +and your bane?” +</p> + +<p> +He paused in the centre of the room; the open window, the dark beyond +it, the waving curtains, the fierce lightning made a terrific +background for his haughty figure. +</p> + +<p> +But Theirry moaned and whispered in his throat. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at me,” commanded the Cardinal, “look at me well, you who +betrayed me, am I not he who gilded a devil one August afternoon in a +certain town in Flanders?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry drew himself up and pressed his clenched hands to his temples. +</p> + +<p> +“Betrayed!” he shrieked. “It is I who am betrayed. I sought God, and +have been delivered unto the Devil!” +</p> + +<p> +The thunder crashed so that his words were lost in the great noise of +it, the blue and forked lightning darted between them. +</p> + +<p> +“You know me now?” asked the Cardinal. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry slipped to his knees, crying like a child. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is God? where is God?” +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“He is not here,” he answered, “nor in any place where I have been.” +</p> + +<p> +An awful stillness fell after the crash of thunder; Theirry hid his +face, cowering like a man who feels his back bared to the lash. +</p> + +<p> +“Cannot you look at me?” asked the Cardinal in a half-mournful scorn; +“after all these years am I to meet you—thus? At my feet!” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry sprang up, his features mask-like in their unnatural +distortion and lifeless hue. +</p> + +<p> +“You do well to taunt me,” he answered, “for I am an accursed fool, I +have been seeking for what does not exist—God!—ay, now I know that +there is no God and no Heaven, therefore what matter for my soul… what +matter for any of it since the Devil owns us all!” +</p> + +<p> +The storm was renewed with the ending of his speech, and he saw +through the open window the vineyards and gardens of the Janiculum +Hill blue for many seconds beneath the black sky. +</p> + +<p> +“Your soul!” cried the Cardinal, as before. “Always have you thought +too much, and not enough, of that; you served too many masters and not +one faithfully; had you been a stronger man you had stayed with your +fallen saint, not spurned her, and then avenged her by my betrayal.” +</p> + +<p> +He crossed to the window and closed it, the while the lightning picked +him out in a fierce flash, and waited until the after-crash had rocked +to silence, his eyes all the while not leaving the shrinking, +horror-stricken figure of Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it is all a long while ago,” he said. “And I and you have +changed.” +</p> + +<p> +“How did you escape that night?” asked Theirry hoarsely; hardly could +he believe that this man was Dirk Renswoude, yet his straining eyes +traced in the altered older face the once familiar features. +</p> + +<p> +As the Cardinal moved slowly across the gleaming chamber Theirry +marked with a horrible fascination the likeness of the haughty priest +to the poor student in black magic. +</p> + +<p> +The straight dark hair was now curled, bleached and stained a deep red +colour, after the manner of the women of the East; eyes and brows were +the same as they had ever been, the first as bright and keen, the last +as straight and heavy; his clear skin showed less pallor, his mouth +seemed fuller and more firmly set, the upper lip heavily shaded with a +dark down, the chin less prominent, but the line of the jaw was as +strong and clear as ever; a handsomer face than it had been, a +remarkable face, with an expression composed and imperious, with eyes +to tremble before. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you burnt,” faltered Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“The master <i>I</i> serve is powerful,” smiled the Cardinal. “He saved me +then and set me where I am now, the greatest man in Rome—so great a +man that did you wish a second time to betray me you might shout the +truth in the streets and find no one to believe you.” +</p> + +<p> +The lightning darted in vain at the closed window, and the thunder +rolled more faintly in the distance. +</p> + +<p> +“Betray you!” cried Theirry, wild-eyed. “No, I bow the knee to the +greatest thing I have met, and kiss your hand, your Eminence!” +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal turned and looked at him over his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“I never broke <i>my</i> vows,” he said softly, “the vows of comradeship I +made to you; just now you said you thought I loved you, then, I mean, +in the old days…”—he paused and his delicate hand crept over his +heart—“well, I… loved you… and it ruined me, as the devils promised. +Last night I was warned that you would come to-day and that you would +be my bane… well, I do not care since you <i>are</i> come, for, sir, I love +you still.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dirk!” cried Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal gazed on him with ardent eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you suppose it matters to me that you are weak, foolish, or that +you betrayed me? You are the one thing in all the world I care for.… +Love! what was your love when you left her at Sebastian’s feet?—had +she been my lady I had stayed and laughed at all of it.…” +</p> + +<p> +“It is not the Devil who has taught you to be so faithful,” said +Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +For the first time a look of trouble, almost of despair, came into the +Cardinal’s eyes; he turned his head away. +</p> + +<p> +“You shame me,” continued Theirry; “I have no constancy in me; +thinking of my own soul, almost have I forgotten Jacobea of +Martzburg—and yet——” +</p> + +<p> +“And yet you loved her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe I did—it is long ago.” +</p> + +<p> +A bitter little smile curved the Cardinal’s lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that the way men care for women?” he said. “Certes, not in that +manner had I wooed and remembered, had I been a—a—lover.” +</p> + +<p> +“Strange that we, meeting here like this, should talk of love!” cried +Theirry, his heart heaving, his eyes dilating, “strange that I, driven +round the world by fear of God, that I, coming here to one of God’s +own saints, should find myself in the Devil’s net again; come, he has +done much for you, what will he do for me?” +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal smiled sadly. +</p> + +<p> +“Neither God nor Devil will do anything for you, for you are not +single-hearted, neither constant to good nor evil; but I—will risk +everything to serve your desires.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Heaven has cast the world away and we are mad! You, <i>you</i> famous as a +holy man—did you murder the young Blaise? I will back to India, to +the East, and die an idol-worshipper. See yonder crucifix, it hangs +upon your walls, but the Christ does not rise to smite you; you handle +the Holy Mysteries in the Church and no angel slays you on the altar +steps—let me away from Rome!” +</p> + +<p> +He turned to the gilt door, but the Cardinal caught his sleeve. +</p> + +<p> +“Stay,” he said, “stay, and all I promised you in the old days shall +come true—do you doubt me? Look about you, see what I have won for +myself.…” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry’s beautiful face was flushed and wild. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, let me go.…” +</p> + +<p> +The last rumble of the thunder crossed their speech. +</p> + +<p> +“Stay, and I will make you Emperor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh devil!” cried Theirry, “can you do that?” +</p> + +<p> +“We will rule the world between us; yea, I will make you Emperor, if +you will stay in Rome and serve me; I will snatch the diadem from +Balthasar’s head and cast his Empress out as I ever meant to do, and +you shall bear the sceptre of the Cæsars, oh, my friend, my friend!” +</p> + +<p> +He held out his right hand as he spoke; Theirry caught it, crushed the +fingers in his hot grasp and kissed the brilliant rings; the Cardinal +flushed and dropped his lids over sparkling eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“You will stay?” he breathed. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, my sweet fiend, I am yours, and wholly yours; lo! were not +rewards such as these better worth crossing the world for than a +pardon from God?” +</p> + +<p> +He laughed and staggered back against the wall, his look dazed and +reckless; the Cardinal withdrew his hand and crossed to the ivory +seat. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, farewell,” he said, “the audience has been over-long; I know +where to find you, and in a while I shall send for you; farewell, oh +Theirry of Dendermonde!” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke the name with a great tenderness, and his eyes grew soft and +misty. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry drew himself together. +</p> + +<p> +“Farewell, oh disciple of Sathanas! I, your humble follower, shall +look for fulfilment of your promises.” +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal touched the bell; when the fair youth appeared, he bade +him see Theirry from the palace. +</p> + +<p> +Without another word they parted, Theirry with the look of madness on +him.… +</p> + +<p> +When Luigi Caprarola was alone he put his hand over his eyes and +swayed backwards as if about to fall, while his breath came in tearing +pants… with an effort he steadied himself, and, clenching his hands +now over his heart, paced up and down the room, his Cardinal’s robe +trailing after him, his golden rosary glittering against his knee. +</p> + +<p> +As he struggled for control the gilt door was opened and Paolo Orsini +bowed himself into his presence. +</p> + +<p> +“Your Eminence will forgive me,” he began. +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal pressed his handkerchief to his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Orsini?” +</p> + +<p> +“A messenger has just come from the Vatican, my lord——” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!—his Holiness?” +</p> + +<p> +“Was found dead in his sleep an hour ago, your Eminence.” +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal paled and fixed his burning eyes on the secretary. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Orsini; I thought he would not last the spring; well, we +must watch the Conclave.” +</p> + +<p> +He moved his handkerchief from his mouth and twisted it in his +fingers. +</p> + +<p> +The secretary was taking his dismissal, when the Cardinal recalled +him. +</p> + +<p> +“Orsini, it is desirable we should have an audience with the Empress, +she has many creatures in the Church who must be brought to heel; +write to her, Orsini.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will, my lord.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man withdrew, and Luigi Caprarola stood very still, staring +at the gleaming walls of his gorgeous cabinet. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p2ch03"> +CHAPTER III.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE EMPRESS</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">Ysabeau</span>, wife of Balthasar of Courtrai and Empress of the West, +waited in the porphyry cabinet of Cardinal Caprarola. +</p> + +<p> +It was but little after midday, and the sun streaming through the +scarlet and violet colours of the arched window, threw a rich and +burning glow over the gilt furniture and the beautiful figure of the +woman; she wore a dress of an orange hue; her hair was bound round the +temples with a chaplet of linked plates of gold and hung below it in +fantastic loops; wrapped about her was a purple mantle embroidered +with ornaments in green glass; she sat on a low chair by the window +and rested her chin on her hand. Her superb eyes were grave and +thoughtful; she did not move from her reflective attitude during the +time the haughty priest kept her waiting. +</p> + +<p> +When at last he entered with a shimmer and ripple of purple silks, she +rose and bent her head. +</p> + +<p> +“It pleases you to make me attendant on your pleasure, my lord,” she +said. +</p> + +<p> +Cardinal Caprarola gave her calm greeting. +</p> + +<p> +“My time is not my own,” he added. “God His service comes first, +lady.” +</p> + +<p> +The Empress returned to her seat. +</p> + +<p> +“Have I come here to discuss God with your Eminence?” she asked, and +her fair mouth was scornful. +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal crossed to the far end of the cabinet and slowly took his +place in his carved gold chair. +</p> + +<p> +“It is of ourselves we will speak,” he said, smiling. “Certes, your +Grace will have expected that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” she answered. “What is there we have in common, Cardinal +Caprarola?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ambition,” said his Eminence, “which is known alike to saint and +sinner.” +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau looked at him swiftly; he was smiling with lips and eyes, +sitting back with an air of ease and power that discomposed her; she +had never liked him. +</p> + +<p> +“If your talk be of policy, my lord, it is to the Emperor you should +go.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think you have as much influence in Rome as your husband, my +daughter.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a dazzling glitter of coloured light as the Empress moved +her jewelled hands. +</p> + +<p> +“It is our <i>influence</i> you wish, my lord—certes, a matter for the +Emperor.” +</p> + +<p> +His large keen eyes never left her face. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, you understand me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your Eminence desires our support in the Conclave now sitting,” she +continued haughtily. “But have you ever shown so much duty to us, that +we should wish to see you in St. Peter’s seat?” +</p> + +<p> +She thought herself justified in speaking thus to a man whose +greatness had always galled her, for she saw in this appeal for her +help an amazing confession of weakness on his part. +</p> + +<p> +But Luigi Caprarola remained entirely composed. +</p> + +<p> +“You have your creatures in the Church,” he said, “and you intend one +of them to wear the Tiara—there are sixteen Cardinals in the +Conclave, and I, perhaps, have half of them. Your Grace, you must see +that your faction does not interfere with what these priests +desire—my election namely.” +</p> + +<p> +“Must?” she repeated, her violet eyes dilating. “Your Eminence has +some reputation as a holy man—and you suggest the corruption of the +Conclave.” +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal leant forward in his chair. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not play for a saintly fame,” he said, “and as for a corrupted +Conclave—your Grace should know corruption, seeing that your art, and +your art alone, achieved the election of Balthasar to the German +throne.” +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau stared at him mutely; he gave a soft laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“You are a clever woman,” he continued. “Your husband is the first +King of the Germans to hold the Empery of the West for ten years and +keep his heel on the home lands as well; but even your wits will +scarcely suffice now; Bohemia revolts, and Basil stretches greedy +fingers from Ravenna, and to keep the throne secure you desire a man +in the Vatican who is Balthasar’s creature.” +</p> + +<p> +The Empress rose and placed her hand on the gilded ribbing of the +window-frame. +</p> + +<p> +“Your Eminence shows some understanding,” she flashed, pale beneath +her paint; “we gained the West, and we will keep the West, so you see, +my lord, why my influence will be <i>against</i> you, not with you, in the +Conclave.” +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal laid his hand lightly over his heart. +</p> + +<p> +“Your Grace speaks boldly—you think me your enemy?” +</p> + +<p> +“You declare yourself hostile, my lord.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, I may be a good friend to you—in St. Peter’s.” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“The Conclave have not declared their decision yet, your Eminence; you +are a great prince, but the Imperial party have some power.” +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal sat erect, and his intense eyes quelled her despite +herself. +</p> + +<p> +“Some power—which I ask you to exert in my behalf.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked away, though angry with herself that his gaze overawed her. +</p> + +<p> +“You have declared your ambition, my lord; your talents and your +wealth we know—you are too powerful already for us to tolerate you as +master in Rome.” +</p> + +<p> +“Again you speak boldly,” smiled the Cardinal. “Perhaps too boldly—I +think you will yet help me to the Tiara.” +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau gave a quick glance at his pale, handsome face framed in the +red hair. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you seek to bribe me, my lord?” She remembered the vast riches of +this man and their own empty treasury. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said Luigi Caprarola, still smiling. “I threaten.” +</p> + +<p> +“Threaten!” At once she was tempestuous, panting, furious; the jewels +on her breast sparkled with her hastened breathing. +</p> + +<p> +“I threaten that I will make you an outcast in the streets unless you +serve me well.” +</p> + +<p> +She was the tiger-cat now, ready to turn at bay, Marozia +Porphyrogentris of Byzantium. +</p> + +<p> +“I know that of you,” said the Cardinal, “that once revealed, would +make the Emperor hurl you from his side.” +</p> + +<p> +She sucked in her breath and waited. +</p> + +<p> +“Melchoir of Brabant died by poison and by witchcraft.” +</p> + +<p> +“All the world knows that”—her eyes were long and evil; “he was +bewitched by a young doctor of Frankfort College who perished for the +deed.” +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal looked down at the hand on his lap. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, that young doctor brewed the potion—you administered it.” +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau took a step forward into the room. +</p> + +<p> +“You lie… I am not afraid of you—you lie most utterly.…” +</p> + +<p> +Luigi Caprarola sprang to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Silence, woman! speak not so to me! It is the truth, and I can prove +it!” +</p> + +<p> +She bent and crouched; the plates of gold on her hair shook with her +trembling. +</p> + +<p> +“You cannot prove it”—the words were forced from her quivering +throat; “who are you that you should dare this—should know this?” +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal still stood and dominated her. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you recall a youth who was scrivener to your Chamberlain and +friend of the young doctor of rhetoric—Theirry his name, born of +Dendermonde?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, he is now dead or in the East.…” +</p> + +<p> +“He is alive, and in Rome. He served you well once, Empress, when he +came to betray his friend, and you were quick to seize the chance—it +suited him then to truckle to you… I think he was afraid of you… he is +not now; <i>he</i> knows, and if I bid him he will speak.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what is his bare word against my oath and the Emperor’s love?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am behind his word—I and all the power of the Church.” +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau answered swiftly. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not of a nation easily cowed, my lord, nor are the people of our +blood readily trapped—I can tear your reputed saintship to rags by +spreading abroad this tale of how you tried to bargain with me for the +Popedom.” +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal smiled in a way she did not care to see. +</p> + +<p> +“But first I say to the Emperor—your wife slew your friend that she +might be your wife, your friend Melchoir of Brabant—you loved him +better than you loved the woman—will you not avenge him now?” +</p> + +<p> +The Empress pressed her clenched hands against her heart and, with an +effort, raised her eyes to her accuser’s masterful face. +</p> + +<p> +“My lord’s love against it all,” she said hoarsely. “He knows +Melchoir’s murderer perished in Frankfort in the flames, he knows that +I am innocent, and he will laugh at you—weave what tissue of +falsehoods you will, sir, I do defy you, and will do no bargaining to +set you in the Vatican.” +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal rested his finger-tips on the arm of the chair, and +looked down at them with a deepening smile. +</p> + +<p> +“You speak,” he answered, “as one whom I can admire—it requires great +courage to put the front you do on guilt—but I have certain knowledge +of what I say; come, I will prove to you that you cannot deceive +me—you came first to the house of a certain witch in Frankfort on a +day in August, a youth opened the door and took you into a room at the +back that looked on to a garden growing dark red roses; you wore, that +day, a speckled green mask and a green gown edged with fur.” +</p> + +<p> +He raised his eyes and looked at her; she moved back against the wall, +and outspread her hands either side her on the gleaming porphyry. +</p> + +<p> +“You threatened the youth as I threaten you now—you knew that he had +been driven from Basle College for witchcraft, even as I know you +compassed the death of your first husband, and you asked him to help +you, even as I ask you to help me now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” cried the Empress; she brought her hands to her lips. “How can +you know this?” +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal reseated himself in his gold chair and marked with +brilliant, merciless eyes the woman struggling to make a stand against +him. +</p> + +<p> +“Hugh of Rooselaare died,” he said with sudden venom—“died basely for +justly accusing you, and so shall you die—basely—unless you aid me +in the Conclave.” +</p> + +<p> +He watched her very curiously; he wondered how soon he would utterly +break her courage, what new turn her defiance would take; he almost +expected to see her at his feet. +</p> + +<p> +For a few seconds she was silent; then she came a step nearer; the +veins stood out on her forehead and neck; she held her hands by her +side—they were very tightly clenched, but her beautiful eyes were +undaunted. +</p> + +<p> +“Cardinal Caprarola,” she said, “you ask me to use my influence to +bring about your election to the Popedom—knowing you as I know you +now I cannot fail to see you are a man who would stop at nought… if I +help you I shall help my husband’s enemy—once you are in the Vatican, +how long will you tolerate him in Rome? You will be no man’s creature, +and, I think, no man’s ally—what chance shall we have in Rome once +you are master? Sylvester was old and meek, he let Balthasar hold the +reins—will you do that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” smiled the Cardinal. “I shall be no puppet Pope.” +</p> + +<p> +“I knew it,” answered the Empress with a deep breath; “will you swear +to keep my husband in his place?” +</p> + +<p> +“That will not I,” said Luigi Caprarola. “If it please me I will hurl +him down and set one of my own followers up. I have no love for +Balthasar of Courtrai.” +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau’s face hardened with hate. +</p> + +<p> +“But you think he can help you to the Tiara——” +</p> + +<p> +“Through you, lady—you can tell him I am his friend, his ally, what +you will—or you may directly influence the Cardinals, I care not, so +the thing be done; what I shall do if it be not done, I have said.” +</p> + +<p> +The Empress twisted her fingers together and suddenly laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“You wish me to deceive my lord to his ruin, you wish me to place his +enemy over him—now, when we are harassed, here and in Germany, you +wish me to do a thing that may bring his fortunes to the dust—why, +you are not so cunning, my lord, if you think you can make me the +instrument of Balthasar’s downfall!” +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal looked at her with curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +“Nevertheless your Grace will do it—sooner than let me say what I can +say.” +</p> + +<p> +She held up her head and smiled in his face. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you are wrong; neither threats nor bribery can make me do this +thing—say what you will to the Emperor, I am secure in his good +affections; blight my fame and turn him against me if you can, I am +not so mean a woman that fear can make me betray the fortunes of my +husband and my son.” +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal lowered his eyes; he was very pale. +</p> + +<p> +“You dare death,” he said, “a shameful death—if my accusation be +proved—as proved it shall be.” +</p> + +<p> +The Empress looked at him over her shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Dare death!” she cried. “You say I have dared Hell for—him!—shall I +be afraid, then, of paltry death?” +</p> + +<p> +Luigi Caprarola’s breast heaved beneath the vivid silk of his robe. +</p> + +<p> +“Of what <i>are</i> you afraid?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Of nothing save evil to my lord.” +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal’s lids drooped; he moistened his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“This is your answer?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, your Eminence; all the power I possess shall go to prevent you +mounting the throne you covet so—and now, seeing you have that answer +I will leave, my courtiers grow weary in your halls.” +</p> + +<p> +She moved to the door, her limbs trembling beneath her, her brow cold, +her hands chilled and moist, and her heart shivering in her body, yet +with a regal demeanour curbing and controlling her fear. +</p> + +<p> +As she opened it the Cardinal turned his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Give me a little longer, your Grace,” he said softly. “I have yet +something to say.” +</p> + +<p> +She reclosed the door and stood with her back against it. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, my lord?” +</p> + +<p> +“You boast you are afraid of nothing—certes, I wonder—you defy me +boldly and something foolishly in this matter of your guilt; will you +be so bold in the matter of your innocence?” +</p> + +<p> +He leant forward in his chair to gaze at her; she waited silently, +with challenging eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“You are very loyal to your husband, you will not endanger your son’s +possible heritage; these things, you tell me, are more to you than +shame or death; your lord is Emperor of the West, your son King of the +Romans—well, well—you are too proud——” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” she flashed, “I am not too proud for the wife of Balthasar of +Courtrai and the mother of a line of Emperors—we are the founders of +our house, and it shall be great to rule the world.” +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal was pale and scornful, his narrowed eyes and curving +mouth expressed bitterness—and passion. +</p> + +<p> +“Here is the weapon shall bring you to your knees,” he said, “and make +your boasting die upon your lips—you are not the wife of Balthasar, +and the only heritage your son will ever have is the shame and +weariness of the outcast.” +</p> + +<p> +She gathered her strength to meet this wild enormity. +</p> + +<p> +“Not his wife… why, you rave… we were married before all Frankfort… +not Balthasar’s wife!” +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal rose; his head was held very erect; he looked down on her +with an intense gaze. +</p> + +<p> +“Your lord was wed before.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, I know… what of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“This—Ursula of Rooselaare lives!” +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau gave a miserable little cry and turned about as if she would +fall; she steadied herself with a great effort and faced the Cardinal +desperately. +</p> + +<p> +“She died in a convent at Flanders—this is not the truth——” +</p> + +<p> +“Did I not speak truth before?” he demanded. “In the matter of +Melchoir.” +</p> + +<p> +A cry was wrung from the Empress. +</p> + +<p> +“Ursula of Rooselaare died in Antwerp,” she repeated wildly—“in the +convent of the White Sisters.” +</p> + +<p> +“She did not, and Balthasar knows she did not—he thinks she died +thereafter, he thinks he saw her grave, but he would find it +empty—she lives, she is in Rome, and she is his wife, his Empress, +before God and man.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know this?” She made a last pitiful attempt to brave him, +but the terrible Cardinal had broken her strength; the horror of the +thing he said had chilled her blood and choked her heart-beats. +</p> + +<p> +“The youth who helped you once, the doctor Constantine… from him +Balthasar obtained the news of his wife’s death, for Ursula and he +were apprenticed to the same old master—ask Balthasar if this be not +so—well, the youth lied, for purposes of his own; the maid lived +then, and is living now, and if I choose it she will speak.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is not possible,” shuddered the Empress; “no—you wish to drive me +mad, and so you torture me—why did not this woman speak before?” +</p> + +<p> +The Cardinal smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“She did not love her husband as you do, lady, and so preferred her +liberty; you should be grateful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alive, you say,” whispered Ysabeau, unheeding, “and in Rome? But none +would know her, she could <i>not</i> prove she was—his—Ursula of +Rooselaare.” +</p> + +<p> +“She has his ring,” answered Luigi Caprarola, “and her wedding deeds, +signed by him and by the priest—there are those at Rooselaare who +know her, albeit it is near twenty years since she was there; also she +hath the deposition of old Master Lukas that she was a supposed nun +when she came to him, and in reality the wife of Balthasar of +Courtrai; she can prove no one lies buried in the garden of Master +Lukas’s house, and she can bring forward sisters of the Order to which +she belonged to show she did not die on her wedding day—this and +further proof can she show.” +</p> + +<p> +The Empress bowed her head on her breast and put her hand over her +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“She came to you—sir, with… this tale?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is for me to say or not as I will.” +</p> + +<p> +“She must be silenced! By Christus His Mother she must be silent!” +</p> + +<p> +“Secure me the casting vote in the Conclave and she will never speak.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have said. I… cannot, for his sake, for my son’s sake——” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I will bring forth Ursula of Rooselaare, and she shall prove +herself the Emperor’s wife—then instantly must you leave him, or both +of you will be excommunicated—your alternative will be to stay and be +his ruin or go to obscurity, never seeing his face again; your son +will no longer be King of the Romans, but a nameless wanderer—spurned +and pitied by those who should be his subjects—and another woman will +sit by Balthasar’s side on the throne of the West!” +</p> + +<p> +The Empress set her shoulders against the door. +</p> + +<p> +“And if my lord be loyal to me as I to him—to me and to my son——” +</p> + +<p> +“Then will he be hounded from his throne, cast out by the Church and +avoided by men; will not Lombardy be glad to turn against him and +Bohemia?” +</p> + +<p> +For a little while she was silent, and the Cardinal also as he looked +at her, then she raised her eyes to meet his; steadily now she kept +them at the level of his gaze, and her base, bold blood served her +well in the manner of her speech. +</p> + +<p> +“Lord Cardinal,” she said, “you have won; before you, as before the +world, I stand Balthasar’s wife, nor can you fright me from that proud +station by telling of—this impostor; yet, I am afraid of you; I dare +not come to an issue with you, Luigi Caprarola, and to buy your +silence on these matters I will secure your election—and afterwards +you and my lord shall see who is the stronger.” +</p> + +<p> +She opened the door, motioning him to silence. +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, no more,” she cried. “Believe me, I can be faithful to my +word when I am afraid to break it… and be you silent about this woman +Ursula.” The Cardinal came from his seat towards her. +</p> + +<p> +“We part as enemies,” he answered, “but I kiss the hem of your gown, +Empress, for you are brave as you are beautiful.” +</p> + +<p> +He gracefully lifted the purple robe to his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“And above all things do I admire a constant woman;” his voice was +strangely soft. +</p> + +<p> +Her face, cold, imperial beneath the shining gold and glittering hair, +did not change. +</p> + +<p> +“But, alas, you hate me!” he suddenly laughed, raising his eyes to +her. +</p> + +<p> +“To-day I cannot speak further with you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +She moved away, steadying her steps with difficulty; the two +chamberlains in the ante-chamber rose as she stepped out of the +cabinet. +</p> + +<p> +“Benedictus, my daughter,” smiled the Cardinal, and closed the door. +</p> + +<p> +His face was flushed and bright with triumph; there was a curious +expression in his eyes; he went to the window and looked out on purple +Rome. +</p> + +<p> +“How she loves him still!” he said aloud; “yet—why do I wonder?—is +he not as fair a man as——” He broke off, then added reflectively, +“Also, she is beautiful.” +</p> + +<p> +His long fingers felt among his silk robes; he drew forth a little +mirror and gazed at his handsome face with the darkened upper lip and +tonsured head. +</p> + +<p> +As he looked he smiled, then presently laughed. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p2ch04"> +CHAPTER IV.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE DANCER IN ORANGE</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">Theirry</span> walked slowly through the gorgeous ruins of Imperial Rome; +it was something after noon and glowingly hot; the Tiber curled in and +about the stone houses and broken palaces like a bronze and golden +serpent, so smooth and glittering it was. +</p> + +<p> +He followed the river until it wound round the base of Mount Aventine; +and there he paused and looked up at the Emperor’s palace, set +splendidly on the hill. +</p> + +<p> +Above the dazzling marble floated the German standard, vivid against +the vivid sky, and Frankish guards were gathered thick about the +magnificent portals. +</p> + +<p> +The noble summit of Soracté dominated the distance and the city; over +the far-off Campagna quivered a dancing vapour of heat; the little +boats on the Tiber rested lazily in their clear reflections, and their +coloured sails drooped languidly. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry marked with a vacant gaze the few passers-by; the mongrel +crowd of Rome—Slav, Frank, Jew or Greek, with here and there a Roman +noble in a chariot, or a German knight on horseback. +</p> + +<p> +He was not considering them, but Cardinal Caprarola. +</p> + +<p> +Several days now he had been in the city, but there had come no +message from the Cardinal; a dozen times he had gone over every word, +every little incident of his strange interview in the palace on the +Palatine with a wild desire to assure himself of its truth; had he not +been promised the Imperial crown?—impossible that seemed, yet no more +impossible than that Dirk Renswoude should have become a Prince of the +Church and the greatest man in Rome. +</p> + +<p> +He could not think of those two as the same; different forms of the +same devil, but not actually the same man, the same flesh and blood… +black magic! … it was a terrible thing and a wonderful; if he had +served the fiend better what might it not have done for him, what +might not it still do? Neither could he understand Dirk’s affection or +tenderness; even after the betrayal his one-time comrade was faithful +to those long-ago vows.… +</p> + +<p> +He looked at the Golden Palace on the Aventine—Emperor of the West! +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar reigned there now… well, why not he? … with the Devil as an +ally… and there was no God. +</p> + +<p> +His beautiful face grew sombre with thought; he walked thoughtfully +round the base of the hill, remarked by those coming and going from +the palace for his splendid appearance and rich Eastern dress. +</p> + +<p> +A little Byzantine chariot, gilt, with azure curtains and drawn by a +white horse, came towards him; the occupant was a lady in a green +dress; the grooms ran either side the horse’s head to assist it up the +hill; the chariot passed Theirry at a walking pace. +</p> + +<p> +The lady was unveiled, and the sun was full on her face. +</p> + +<p> +It was Jacobea of Martzburg. +</p> + +<p> +She did not see him; her car continued its slow way towards the +palace, and Theirry stood staring after it. +</p> + +<p> +He had last seen her ten years, and more, ago, in her steward’s arms +in the courtyard of Castle Martzburg; beyond them Sebastian’s wife.… +</p> + +<p> +He wondered if she had married the steward, and smiled to think that +he had once considered her a saint; ten years ago, and he had not yet +learnt his lesson; many men had he met and none holy, many women and +none saintly, and yet he had been fool enough to come to Rome because +he believed God was triumphant in the person of Luigi Caprarola.… +</p> + +<p> +A fool’s reward had been his; Heaven’s envoy had proved the Devil +incarnate, and he had been mocked with the sight of the woman for +whose sake he had made pitiful attempts to be clean-souled; the woman +who had, for another man’s love, defied the angels and taken her fate +into her own hands. +</p> + +<p> +For another man’s sake!—this the bitterest thought of all bitter +thoughts yet—and yet—he did not know if he had ever loved her, or +only the sweet purity she was a false symbol of—he was sure of +nothing. This way and that his mind went, ever hesitating, ever +restless—his heart was ready as water to take the colour of what +passed it, and his soul was as a straw before the breath of good and +evil. +</p> + +<p> +The sound of cymbals and laughter roused him from his agitated +thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +He looked along the road that wound by the Tiber and saw a little +crowd approaching, evidently following a troupe of jugglers or +mountebanks. +</p> + +<p> +As they came nearer to where he loitered, Theirry, ever easily +attracted by any passing excitement or attraction, could not choose +but give them a half-sullen attention. +</p> + +<p> +The centre of the group was a girl in an orange gown, they who +followed her the mere usual citizens of Rome, some courtiers of the +Emperor’s, soldiers, merchants’ clerks, and the rabble of children, +lazy mongrel foreigners and Franks. +</p> + +<p> +The dancer stopped and spread a scarlet carpet on the roadway; the +crowd gathered about it in a circle, and Theirry drew up with the +rest, interested by what interested them—the two facts, namely, that +marked the girl as different from her kind. +</p> + +<p> +Firstly, she affected the unusual modesty or coquetry of a black mask +that completely covered her face, and, secondly, she was attended only +by an enormous and hideous ape. +</p> + +<p> +She wore a short robe in the antique style, girdled under her bosom, +and fastened on her shoulders with clasps of gold; gilt sandals, +closely laced, concealed her feet and ankles; round her bust and arms +was twisted a gauze scarf of the same hue as her gown, a deep, bright +orange, and her hair, which was a dark red gold, was gathered on the +top of her head in a cluster of curls, and bound with a violet fillet. +</p> + +<p> +Although the mask concealed her charms of face, it was obvious that +she was young, and probably Greek; her figure was tall, full, and +splendidly graceful; she held a pair of brass cymbals and struck them +with a stormy joyousness above her proud head. +</p> + +<p> +The ape, wearing a collar of bright red stones and a long blue jacket +trimmed with spangles, curled himself on the corner of the carpet and +went to sleep. +</p> + +<p> +The girl began dancing; she had no music save her cymbals, and needed +none. +</p> + +<p> +Her movements were quick, passionate, triumphant; she clashed the +brass high in the air and leapt to meet the fierce sound; her +gold-shod feet twinkled like jewels, the clinging skirt showed the +beautiful lines of her limbs, and the gauze floating back revealed her +fair white arms and shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly she lowered the cymbals, struck them together before her +breast, and looked from right to left. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry caught the gleam of her dark eyes through the holes in her +mask. +</p> + +<p> +For a while she crouched together, panting, then drew herself erect, +and let her hands fall apart. +</p> + +<p> +The burning sun shone in her hair, in the metal hems of her robe, in +her sandals, and changed the cymbals into discs of fire. +</p> + +<p> +She began to sing; her voice was deep and glorious, though muffled by +the mask. +</p> + +<p> +Slowly she moved round the red carpet, and the words of her song fell +clearly on the hot air. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“If Love were all!</span><br> +<span class="i1">His perfect servant I would be,</span><br> +<span class="i0">Kissing where his foot might fall,</span><br> +<span class="i1">Doing him homage on a lowly knee,</span><br> +<span class="i3">If Love were all!</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If Love were all!</span><br> +<span class="i1">And no such thing as Pride nor Empery,</span><br> +<span class="i0">Nor, God, nor sins or great or small,</span><br> +<span class="i3">If Love were all!”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p class="noindent"> +She passed Theirry, so close, her fluttering robe touched his slack +hand; he looked at her curiously, for he thought he knew her voice; he +had heard many women sing, in streets and in palaces, and, somewhere, +this one. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“If Love were all!</span><br> +<span class="i1">But Love is weak,</span><br> +<span class="i0">And Hate oft giveth him a fall,</span><br> +<span class="i1">And Wisdom smites him on the cheek,</span><br> +<span class="i3">If Love were all!</span> +</p> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If Love were all!</span><br> +<span class="i1">I had lived glad and meek,</span><br> +<span class="i0">Nor heard Ambition call</span><br> +<span class="i1">And Valour speak,</span><br> +<span class="i3">If Love were all!”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p class="noindent"> +The song ended as it had begun on a clash of cymbals; the dancer swung +round, stamped her foot and called fiercely to the ape, who leapt up +and began running round the crowd, offering a shell and making an ugly +jabbering noise. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry flung the hideous thing a silver bezant and moved away; he was +thinking, not of the dancer with the unknown memory in her voice, but +of the lady in the gilt chariot behind the azure curtains; +Jacobea—how little she had changed! +</p> + +<p> +A burst of laughter made him look round; he saw a quick picture: the +girl’s orange dress flashing in the strong sunlight, the ape on her +shoulder hurling the contents of the shell in the air, which glittered +for a second with silver pieces, and the jesting crowd closing round +both. +</p> + +<p> +He passed on moodily into the centre of the town; in the unrest and +agitation of his thoughts he had determined to seek Cardinal +Caprarola, since the Cardinal gave no sign of sending for him, even of +remembering him; but to-day it was useless to journey to the Palace on +the Palatine, for the Conclave sat in the Vatican, and the Cardinal +would be of their number. +</p> + +<p> +The streets, the wine shops, the public squares were full of a mixed +and excited mob; the adherents of the Emperor, who wished to see a +German pontiff, and they who were ardent Romans or Churchmen came, +here and there, to open brawls; the endless processions that crossed +and re-crossed from the various monasteries and churches were +interrupted by the lawless jeers of the Frankish inhabitants, who, +under a strong Emperor and a weak Pope, had begun to assume the +bearing of conquerors. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry left them all, too concerned, as always, in his own small +affairs to have any interest in larger issues; he turned into the Via +Sacra, and there, under the splendid but broken arch of Constantine, +he saw again the dancing girl and her ape. +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him intently; of that he could have no doubt, despite +her mask, and, as he turned his hesitating steps towards the Palatine, +she rose and followed him. +</p> + +<p> +As he ascended the narrow grey road that wound above the city, he kept +looking over his shoulder, and she was always there, following, with +the ape on her shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +They passed scattered huts, monasteries, decaying temples and villas, +and came out on to the deserted stretches of the upper Palatine, where +the fragmentary glories of another world lay under the cypress and +olive trees. +</p> + +<p> +Here Theirry paused, and again looked, half fearfully, for the bright +figure of the dancer. +</p> + +<p> +She stood not far from him, leaning against a slender shaft of marble, +the sole remaining column of a temple to some heathen god; behind it a +blue-green grove of cypress arose, and behind them the city lay wrapt +in the sparkling mist of noonday, through which, at intervals, gleamed +the dusky waters of the Tiber. +</p> + +<p> +The mighty walls showed brown and dark against the houses they +enclosed, and the dusty vineyards scorched in the sun that blazed on +the lantern of St. Peter and the angel on Castel del’ Angelo. +</p> + +<p> +The stillness of great heat was over city and ruins, noiseless +butterflies fluttered over the shattered marble, and pale narcissi +quivered in the deep grass; the sky, a bronze gold over the city and +about the mountainous horizon, was overhead a deep and burning blue; a +colour that seemed reflected in the clusters of violets that grew +about the fallen masonry. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry flung himself on a low marble seat that stood in the shade of +a cypress, and his blood-red robe was vivid even in the shadow; he +looked at the veiled city at his feet, and at the dancing girl resting +against the time-stained, moss-grown column. +</p> + +<p> +She loosened the cymbals from her hands and flung them on the ground; +the ape jumped from her shoulder and caught them up. +</p> + +<p> +Again she sang her passionate little song. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“If Love were all!</span><br> +<span class="i1">His faithful servant I would be,</span><br> +<span class="i0">Kissing where his foot might fall,</span><br> +<span class="i1">Doing him homage on a lowly knee,</span><br> +<span class="i3">If Love were all!”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +As she sang, another and very different scene was suddenly brought to +Theirry’s mind; he remembered a night when he had slept on the edge of +a pine forest, in Germany—many years ago—and had suddenly +awoke—nay, he had dreamt he heard singing, and a woman’s singing… if +it were not so mad a thought he would have said—this woman’s singing. +</p> + +<p> +He turned bitter, dark eyes towards her—why had she followed him? +</p> + +<p> +Swiftly and lightly she came across the grass, glittering from head to +foot in the sunlight, and paused before him. +</p> + +<p> +“Certes, you should be in Rome to-day,” she said. “The Conclave come +to their decision this afternoon; do you wish to hear it announced +from the Vatican?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” smiled Theirry. “I would rather see you dance.” +</p> + +<p> +Her answer was mocking. +</p> + +<p> +“You care nothing for my dancing—I would wager to stir any man in +Rome sooner than you!” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry flushed. +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you follow me?” he asked in a half-indifferent dislike. +</p> + +<p> +She seated herself on the other end of his marble bench. +</p> + +<p> +“My reasons are better than my dancing, and would, could I speak them, +have more effect on you.” +</p> + +<p> +The light hot wind ruffled back the gauze from her beautiful arms and +shoulders; her bright hair and masked face were in shadow, but her +gold-sandalled foot, which rested lightly on the wild, sweet violets, +blazed in the sunshine. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry looked at her foot as he answered— +</p> + +<p> +“I am a stranger to Rome and know not its customs, but if you are what +you seem you can have no serious reason in following me.” +</p> + +<p> +The dancing girl laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“A stranger! then that is why you are the only man in Rome not waiting +eagerly to know who the new Pope will be.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is curious for a wandering minstrel to have such interest in holy +matters,” said Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +She leant towards him across the length of the bench, and the perfume +of her orange garments mingled with the odour of the violets. +</p> + +<p> +“Take me for something other than I appear,” she replied, in a +mournful and passionate voice. “In being here I risk an unthinkable +fate—I stake the proudest hopes… the fairest fortune.…” +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you?” cried Theirry. “Why are you masked?” +</p> + +<p> +She drew back instantly, and her tone changed to scorn again. +</p> + +<p> +“When there are many pilgrims in Rome the monks bid us poor fools wear +masks, lest, with our silly faces, we lure souls away from God.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry stared at the proud city beneath him. +</p> + +<p> +“Could I find God,” he said bitterly, “no fair face should beguile me +away—but God is bound and helpless, I think, at the Devil’s chair.” +</p> + +<p> +The dancer crushed her bright foot down on the violets. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot imagine,” she said intensely, “how a man can spend his life +looking for God and saving his own soul—is not the world beautiful +enough to outweigh heaven?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry was silent. +</p> + +<p> +The dancing girl laughed softly. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you thinking of—her?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +He turned with a start. +</p> + +<p> +“Thinking of whom?” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“The lady in the Byzantine chariot—Jacobea of Martzburg.” +</p> + +<p> +He sprang up. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you, and what do you know of me?” +</p> + +<p> +“This, at least—that you have not forgotten her!—Yet you would be +Emperor, too, would you not?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry drew back from her stretched along the marble seat, until his +crimson robe touched the dark trunks of the cypress trees. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye are some witch,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I come from Thessaly, where we have skill in magic,” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +And now she sat erect, her yellow dress casting a glowing reflection +into the marble. +</p> + +<p> +“And I tell you this,” she added passionately. “If you would be +Emperor, let that woman be—she will do nought for you—let her +go!—this is a warning, Theirry of Dendermonde!” +</p> + +<p> +His face flushed, his eyes sparkled. +</p> + +<p> +“Have I a chance of wearing the Imperial crown?” he cried. “May I—I, +rule the West?—Tell me that, witch!” +</p> + +<p> +She whistled the ape to her side. +</p> + +<p> +“I am no witch—but I can warn you to think no more of Jacobea of +Martzburg.” +</p> + +<p> +He answered hotly. +</p> + +<p> +“I love not to hear her name on your tongue; she is nothing to me; I +need not your warning.” +</p> + +<p> +The dancer rose. +</p> + +<p> +“For your own sake forget her, Theirry of Dendermonde, and you may be +indeed Emperor of the West and Cæsar of the Romans.” +</p> + +<p> +The gold gleaming on her robe, her sandals, in her hair, confused and +dazzled him, the hideous ape gave him a pang of terror. +</p> + +<p> +“How came you by your knowledge?” he asked, and clutched the cypress +trunk. +</p> + +<p> +“I read your fortune in your eyes,” she answered. “We in Thessaly have +skill in these things, as I have said.… Look at the city beneath +us—is it not worth much to reign in it?” +</p> + +<p> +The gold vapour that lay about the distant hills seemed to be +resolving into heavy, menacing clouds. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry, following the direction of her slender pointing finger, gazed +at the city and saw the clouds beyond. +</p> + +<p> +“A storm gathers,” he said, and knew not why he shivered suddenly +until his pearl earrings tinkled on the collar round his neck. +</p> + +<p> +The dancer laughed, wildly and musically. +</p> + +<p> +“Come with me to the Piazza of St. Peter,” she said, “and you shall +hear strange words.” +</p> + +<p> +With that she caught hold of his blood-red garments and drew him +towards the city. +</p> + +<p> +The perfume from her dress and her hair stole into his nostrils; the +hem of her tunic made a delicate sound as it struck her sandals, the +violet ribbon in her fillet touched his face… he hated the black, +expressionless mask; he had strange thoughts under her touch, but he +came silently. +</p> + +<p> +As they went down the road that wound through the glorious desolation +Theirry heard the sound of pattering feet, and looked over his +shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +It was the ape who followed them; he walked on his hind legs… how tall +he was!—Theirry had not thought him so large, nor of such a human +semblance.… +</p> + +<p> +The dancer was silent, and Theirry could not speak; when they entered +the city gates the dun-coloured clouds had swallowed up the gold +vapour and half covered the sky; as they crossed the Tiber and neared +the Vatican the last beams of the sun disappeared under the shadow of +the oncoming storm. +</p> + +<p> +Enormous crowds were gathered in the Piazza of St. Peter; it seemed as +if all Rome had assembled there; many faces were turned towards the +sky, and the sudden gloom that had overspread the city seemed to +infect the people, for they were mostly silent, even sombre. +</p> + +<p> +The enormous and terrible ape cleared an easy way for himself through +the crowd, and Theirry and the dancing girl followed until they had +pushed through the press of people and found themselves under the +windows of the Vatican. +</p> + +<p> +The heavy, ominous clouds gathered and deepened like a pall over the +city; black, threatening shapes rolled up from behind the Janiculum +Hill, and the air became fiery with the sense of impending tempest. +</p> + +<p> +Suspense, excitement and the overawing aspect of the sky kept the +crowd in a whispering stillness. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry heard the dancing girl laugh; she was thrust up close against +him in the press, and, although tall, was almost smothered by a number +of Frankish soldiers pressing together in front of her. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot see,” she said—“not even the window——” +</p> + +<p> +He, with an instinct to assist her, and an impulse to use his +strength, caught her round the waist and lifted her up. +</p> + +<p> +For a second her breast touched his; he felt her heart beating +violently behind her thin robe, and an extraordinary sensation took +possession of him. +</p> + +<p> +Occasioned by the touch of her, the sense of her in his arms, there +was communicated, as if from her heart to his, a high and rapturous +passion; it was the most terrible and the most splendid feeling he had +ever known, at once an agony and a delight such as he had never +dreamed of before; unconsciously he gave an exclamation and loosened +his hold. She slipped to the ground with a stifled and miserable cry. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me alone,” she said wildly. “Let me alone——” +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you?” he whispered excitedly, and tried to catch hold of her +again; but the great ape came between them, and the seething crowd +roughly pushed him. +</p> + +<p> +Cardinal Maria Orsini had stepped out on to one of the balconies of +the Vatican; he looked over the expectant crowd, then up at the black +and angry sky, and seemed for a moment to hesitate. +</p> + +<p> +When he spoke his words fell into a great stillness. +</p> + +<p> +“The Sacred College has elected a successor to St. Peter in the person +of Louis of Dendermonde, Abbot of the Brethren of the Sacred Heart in +Paris, Bishop of Ostia and Cardinal Caprarola, who will ascend the +Papal throne under the name of Michael II.” +</p> + +<p> +He finished; the cries of triumph from the Romans, the yells of rage +from the Franks were drowned in a sudden and awful peal of thunder; +the lightning darted across the black heavens and fell on the Vatican +and Castel San’ Angelo. The clouds were rent in two behind the temple +of Mars the Avenger, and a thunderbolt fell with a hideous crash into +the Forum of Augustus. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry, whipped with terror, turned with the frightened crowd to +flee… he heard the dancing girl laugh, and tried to snatch at her +orange garments, but she swept by him and was lost in the surge.… +</p> + +<p> +Rome quivered under the onslaught of the thunder, and the lightning +alone lit the murky, hot gloom. +</p> + +<p> +“The reign of Antichrist has begun!” shrieked Theirry, and laughed +insanely. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p2ch05"> +CHAPTER V.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE POPE</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">The</span> chamber in the Vatican was so dimly, richly lit with jewelled +and deep-coloured lamps that at first Theirry thought himself alone. +</p> + +<p> +He looked round and saw silver walls hung with tapestries of violet +and gold; pillars with columns of sea-green marble and capitals of +shining mosaic supported a roof encrusted with jasper and jade; the +floor, of Numidian marble, was spread with Indian silk carpets; here +and there stood crystal bowls of roses, white and crimson, fainting in +the close, sweet air. +</p> + +<p> +At the far end of the room was a dais hung with brocade in which +flowers and animals shone in gold and silver on a purple ground; gilt +steps, carved and painted, led up to a throne on the daïs, and +Theirry, as his eyes became used to the wine-coloured gloom, saw that +some one sat there; some one so splendidly robed and so still that it +seemed more like one of the images Theirry had seen worshipped in +Constantinople than a human being. +</p> + +<p> +He shivered. +</p> + +<p> +Presently he could discern intense eyes looking at him out of a dazzle +of dark gold and shimmering shadowed colours. +</p> + +<p> +Michael II moved in his seat. +</p> + +<p> +“Again do you not know me?” he asked in a low tone. +</p> + +<p> +“You sent for me,” said Theirry; to himself his voice sounded hoarse +and unnatural. “At last——” +</p> + +<p> +“At last?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have been waiting—you have been Pope thirty days, and never have +you given me a sign.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is thirty days so long?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry came nearer the enthroned being. +</p> + +<p> +“You have done nothing for me—you spoke of favours.” +</p> + +<p> +Silver, gold and purple shook together as Michael II turned in his +gorgeous chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Favours!” he echoed. “You are the only man in Christendom who would +stand in my presence; the Emperor kneels to kiss my foot.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Emperor does not know,” shuddered Theirry; “but I do—and +knowing, I cannot kneel to you… Ah, God!—how can you dare it?” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope’s soft voice came from the shadows. +</p> + +<p> +“Your moods change—first this, then that; what humour are you in now, +Theirry of Dendermonde; would you still be Emperor?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry put his hand to his brow. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, you know it—why do you torture me with suspense, with waiting? +If Evil is to be my master, let me serve him… and be rewarded.” +</p> + +<p> +Michael II answered swiftly. +</p> + +<p> +“I was not the one to be faithless to our friendship, nor shall I now +shrink from serving you, at any cost—be you but true.” +</p> + +<p> +“In what way can I be false?” asked Theirry bitterly. “I, a thing at +your mercy?” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope held back the blossom-strewn brocade so that he could see the +other’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“I ask of you to let Jacobea of Martzburg be.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry flushed. +</p> + +<p> +“How ye have always hated her! … since I came to Rome I have seen her +the once.” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope’s smooth pale face showed a stain of red from the dim beams +of one of the splendid lamps; Theirry observed it as he leant forward. +</p> + +<p> +“She did not marry her steward,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +The Pope’s eyes narrowed. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye have been at the pains to discover that?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry laughed mournfully. +</p> + +<p> +“You have won! you, sitting where you sit now, can afford to mock at +me; at my love, at my hope—both of which I placed once at stake +on—her—and lost! … and lost! Ten years ago—but having again seen +her, sometimes I must think of her, and that she was not vile after +all, but only trapped by you, as I have been… Sebastian went to +Palestine, and she has gone unwed.” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope gave a quick sigh and bit his lip. +</p> + +<p> +“I will make you Emperor,” he said. “But that woman shall not be your +Empress.” +</p> + +<p> +Again Theirry laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Did I love her even, which I do not—I would put her gladly aside to +sit on the Imperial throne!—Come, I have dallied long enough on the +brink of devilry—let me sin grandly now, and be grandly paid!” +</p> + +<p> +Michael II gave so quick a breath the jewels on his breast scattered +coloured light. +</p> + +<p> +“Come nearer to me,” he commanded, “and take my hand—as you used to, +in Frankfort… I am always Dirk to you—you who never cared for me, +hated me, I think—oh, the traitors our hearts are, neither God nor +devil is so fierce to fight——” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry approached the gold steps; the Pope leant down and gave him +his cool white hand, heavy with gemmed rings, and looked intently into +his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“When they announced your election—how the storm smote the city,” +whispered Theirry fearfully; “were you not daunted?” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope withdrew his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I was not in the Conclave,” he said in a strange tone. “I lay sick in +my villa—as for the storm——” +</p> + +<p> +“It has not lifted since,” breathed Theirry; “day and night have the +clouds hung over Rome—is not there, after all, a God?” +</p> + +<p> +“Silence!” cried the Pope in a troubled voice. “You would be Emperor +of the West, would you not?—let us speak of that.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry leant against the arm of the throne and stared with an awful +fascination into the other’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, let us speak of that,” he answered wildly; “can all your +devilries accomplish it? It is common talk in Rome that you secured +your election by Frankish influence because you vowed to league with +Balthasar—they say you are his ally——” +</p> + +<p> +The dark intense eyes of Michael II glittered and glowed. +</p> + +<p> +“Nevertheless I will cast him down and set you in his place—he comes +to-day to ask my aid against Lombardy and Bohemia; and therefore have +I sent for you that you may overhear this audience, and see how I mate +and checkmate an Emperor for your sake.” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, he pointed to the other end of the room where hung a +sombre and rich curtain. +</p> + +<p> +“Conceal yourself—behind that tapestry—and listen carefully to what +I say, and you will understand how I may humble Balthasar and shake +him from his throne.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry, not joyous nor triumphant, but agitated and trembling with a +horrible excitement, crept across the room and passed silently behind +the arras. +</p> + +<p> +As the long folds shook into place again the Pope touched a bell. +</p> + +<p> +Paolo Orsini entered. +</p> + +<p> +“Admit the Emperor.” +</p> + +<p> +The secretary withdrew; there was a soft sound in the ante-chamber, +the voices of priests. +</p> + +<p> +Michael II put his hand to his heart and fetched two or three quick +panting breaths; his full lips curved to a strange smile, and a +stranger thought was behind it; a thought that, if expressed, would +not have been understood even by Theirry of Dendermonde, who of all +men knew most of his Holiness. +</p> + +<p> +This it was— +</p> + +<p> +“Did ever lady meet her lord like this before, or like this use him to +advance her love!” +</p> + +<p> +A heavy tread sounded without, and the Emperor advanced into the +splendid glooms of the audience-chamber. +</p> + +<p> +He was bare-headed, and at sight of the awe-inspiring figure, went on +his knees at the foot of the daïs. +</p> + +<p> +Michael II looked at him in silence; the silver door was closed, and +they were alone, save for the unseen listener behind the arras. +</p> + +<p> +At last the Pope said slowly— +</p> + +<p> +“Arise, my son.” +</p> + +<p> +The Emperor stood erect, showing his magnificent height and bearing; +he wore bronze-hued armour, scaled like a dragon’s breast, the high +gold Imperial buskins, and an immense scarlet mantle that flowed +behind him; his thick yellow hair hung in heavy curls on to his +shoulders, and his enormous sword made a clatter against his armour as +he moved. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry, cautiously drawing aside the curtain to observe, dug his +nails into his palms with bitter envy. +</p> + +<p> +Behold the man who had once been his companion—little more than his +equal, and now—an Emperor! +</p> + +<p> +“You desired an audience of us,” said the Pope. “And some tedium may +be spared, for we can well guess what you have to say.” +</p> + +<p> +A look of relief came into Balthasar’s great blue eyes; he was no +politician; the Empress, whose wits alone had kept him ten years on a +throne, had trembled for this audience. +</p> + +<p> +“Your Holiness knows that it is my humble desire to form a firm +alliance between Rome and Germany. I have ruled both long enough to +prove myself neither weak nor false, I have ever been a faithful +servant of Holy Church——” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +“And now you would ask her help against your rebellious subjects?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, your Holiness.” +</p> + +<p> +Michael II smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“On what right does your Grace presume when you ask us to aid you in +steadying a trembling throne?” +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar flushed, and came clumsily to the point. +</p> + +<p> +“I was assured, Holy Father, of your friendliness before the +election—the Empress——” +</p> + +<p> +Again the Pope cut him short. +</p> + +<p> +“Cardinal Caprarola was not the Vicegerent of Christ, the High Priest +of Christendom, as we are now—and those whom Louis of Dendermonde +knew, become as nothing before the Pope of Rome, in whose estimate all +men are the same.” +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar’s spirit rose at this haughty speech; his face turned +crimson, and he savagely caught at one of his yellow curls. +</p> + +<p> +“Your Holiness can have no object in refusing my alliance,” he +answered. “Sylvester crowned me with his own hands, and I always lived +in friendship with him—he aided me with troops when the Lombards +rebelled against their suzerain, and Suabia he placed under an +interdict——” +</p> + +<p> +“We are not Sylvester,” said the Pope haughtily—“nor accountable for +his doings; as you may show yourself the obedient son of the Church so +may we support you—otherwise!—we can denounce as we can uphold, pull +down as we can raise up, and it wants but little, Balthasar of +Courtrai, to shake your throne from under you.” +</p> + +<p> +The Emperor bit his lip, and the scales of his mail gleamed as they +rose with his heavy breathing; he knew that if the power of the +Vatican was placed on the side of his enemies he was ruined. +</p> + +<p> +“In what way have I offended your Holiness?” he asked, with what +humility he could. +</p> + +<p> +The fair young face of Michael II was flushed and proud in expression; +the red curls surrounding the tonsure fell across his smooth forehead; +his red lips were sternly set and his heavy brows frowned. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye have offended Heaven, for whom we stand,” he answered. “And until +by penitence ye assoil your soul we must hold you outcast from the +mercies of the Church.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me my sins,” said Balthasar hoarsely. “And what I can do to blot +them out—masses, money, lands——” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope made a scornful movement with his little hand. +</p> + +<p> +“None of these can make your peace with God and us—one thing only can +avail there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell it me,” cried the Emperor eagerly. “If it be a crusade, surely I +will go—after Lombardy is subdued.” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope flashed a quick glance over him. +</p> + +<p> +“We want no knight-errantry in the East; we demand this—that you put +away the woman whom you call your wife.” +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar stared with dilating eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Saint Joris guard us!” he muttered; “the woman whom I call my wife!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ysabeau, first wedded to the man whom you succeeded.” +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar’s hand made an instinctive movement towards his sword. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not understand your Holiness.” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope turned in his chair so that the lamplight made his robe one +bright purple sheen. +</p> + +<p> +“Come here, my lord.” +</p> + +<p> +The Emperor advanced to the gold steps; a slim fair hand was held out +to him, holding, between finger and thumb, a ring set with a deep red +stone. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know this, my lord?” The Pope’s brilliant eyes were fixed on +him with an intent and terrible expression. +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar of Courtrai looked at the ring; round the bezel two coats of +arms were delicately engraved in the soft red gold. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” he said in a troubled way, “I know the ring—yea, it was made +many years ago——” +</p> + +<p> +“And given to a woman. +</p> + +<p> +“Certes—yea——” +</p> + +<p> +“It is a wedding ring.” +</p> + +<p> +Again the Emperor assented, his blue eyes darkened and questioning. +</p> + +<p> +“The woman to whom in your name it was given still lives.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ursula of Rooselaare!” cried Balthasar. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, Ursula of Rooselaare, your wife.” +</p> + +<p> +“My first wife who died before I had seen her, Holiness,” stammered +the Emperor. +</p> + +<p> +The Pope’s strange handsome face was hard and merciless; he held the +wedding ring out on his open palm and looked from it to Balthasar. +</p> + +<p> +“She did not die—neither in the convent, as to your shame you know, +nor in the house of Master Lukas.” +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar could not speak; he saw that this man knew what he had +considered was a close secret of his own heart alone. +</p> + +<p> +“Who told you she was dead?” continued the Pope. “A certain youth, +who, for his own ends, I think, lied, a wicked youth he was, and he +died in Frankfort for compassing the death of the late Emperor—or +escaped that end by firing his house, the tale grows faint with years; +’twas he who told you Ursula of Rooselaare was dead; he even showed +you her grave—and you were content to take his word—and she was +content to be silent.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Christus!” cried the Emperor. “Oh, Saint Joris!—but, holy +father—this thing is impossible!” He wrung his hands together and +beat his mailed breast. “From whom had you this tale?” +</p> + +<p> +“From Ursula of Rooselaare.” +</p> + +<p> +“It cannot be… why was she silent all these years? why did she allow +me to take Ysabeau to wife?” +</p> + +<p> +A wild expression crossed the Pope’s face; he looked beyond the +Emperor with deep soft eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Because she loved another man.” +</p> + +<p> +A pause fell for a second, then Michael II spoke again. +</p> + +<p> +“I think, too, she something hated you who had failed her, and scorned +her—there was her father also, who died shamefully by Ysabeau’s +command; she meant, I take it, to revenge that upon the Empress, and +now, perhaps, her chance has come.” +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar gave a dry sob. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is this woman who has so influenced your Holiness against me? +An impostor! do not listen to her!” +</p> + +<p> +“She speaks the truth, as God and devils know!” flashed the Pope. “And +we, with all the weight of Holy Church, will support her in the +maintenance of her just rights; we also have no love for this Eastern +woman who slew her lord——” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, that is false”—Balthasar ground his teeth. “I know some said it +of her—but it is a lie.” +</p> + +<p> +“This to me!” cried the Pope. “Beware how ye anger God’s Vicegerent.” +</p> + +<p> +The Emperor quivered, and put his hand to his brow. +</p> + +<p> +“I bend my neck for your Holiness to step on—so you do not ask me to +listen to evil of the Empress.” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope rose with a gleam of silk and a sparkle of jewels. +</p> + +<p> +“Ysabeau is not Empress, nor your wife; her son is not your heir, and +you must presently part with both of them or suffer the extremity of +our wrath—yea, the woman shall ye give into the hands of the +executioner to suffer for the death of Melchoir, and the child shall +ye turn away from you—and with pains and trouble shall ye search for +Ursula of Rooselaare, and finding her, cause her to be acknowledged +your wife and Empress of the West. That she lives I know, the rest is +for you.” +</p> + +<p> +The Emperor drew himself up and folded his arms on his breast. +</p> + +<p> +“This is all I have to say,” added the Pope. “And on those terms alone +will I secure to you the throne.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have but one answer,” said Balthasar. “And it would be the same did +I deliver it in the face of God—that while I live and have breath to +speak, I shall proclaim Ysabeau and none other as my wife, and our son +as an Empress’s son, and my heir and successor; kingdom and even life +may your Holiness despoil me of—but neither the armies of the earth +nor the angels of heaven shall take from me these two—this my answer +to your Holiness.” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope resumed his seat. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye dare to defy me,” he said. “Well—ye are a foolish man to set +yourself against Heaven; go back and live in sin and wait the +judgment.” +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar’s flesh crept and quivered, but he held his head high, even +though the Pope’s words opened the prospect of a sure hell. +</p> + +<p> +“Your Holiness has spoken, so also have I,” he answered. “I take my +leave.” +</p> + +<p> +Michael II gazed at him in silence as he bent his head and backed +towards the silver door. +</p> + +<p> +No other word passed between Pope and Emperor; the gleaming portals +opened; the mail of Balthasar’s retinue clinked without, and then soft +silence fell on the richly lit room as the door was delicately closed. +</p> + +<p> +“Theirry.” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope rose and descended from the daïs; the dark arras was lifted +cautiously, and Theirry crept into the room. +</p> + +<p> +Michael II stood at the foot of the golden steps; despite his +magnificent and flowing draperies, he looked very young and slender. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he asked, and his eyes were triumphant. “Stand I not in a fair +way to cast down the Emperor?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry moistened his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea—how dared you!—to use the thunderbolts of heaven for such +ends!” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“The thunders of heaven may be used to any ends by those who can wield +them.” +</p> + +<p> +“What you said was false?” whispered Theirry, questioning. +</p> + +<p> +The jewelled light flickered over the Pope’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, it was true, Ursula of Rooselaare lives.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ye never told me that—in the old days!” +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe I did not know—she lives, and she is in Rome;” he caught hold +of the robe across his breast as he spoke, and both voice and eyes +were touched with weariness. +</p> + +<p> +“This is a curious tale,” answered Theirry in a confused manner. “She +must be a strange woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“She is a strange woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would like to see her—who is it that she loves?” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope showed pale; he moved slowly across the room with his head +bent. +</p> + +<p> +“A man for whose sake she puts her very life in jeopardy,” he said in +a low passionate voice. “A man, I think, who is unworthy of her.” +</p> + +<p> +“She is in Rome?” pondered Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +The Pope lifted an arras that concealed an inner door. +</p> + +<p> +“The first move is made,” he said. “Farewell now—I will acquaint you +of the progress of your fortunes;” he gave a slight, queer smile; “as +for Ursula of Rooselaare, ye have seen her——” +</p> + +<p> +“Seen her?” … +</p> + +<p> +“Yea; she wears the disguise of a masked dancer in orange.” +</p> + +<p> +With that he pointed Theirry to the concealed doorway, and turning, +left him. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p2ch06"> +CHAPTER VI.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">SAN GIOVANNI IN LATERANO</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">In</span> the palace on the Aventine, Balthasar stood at a window looking +over Rome. +</p> + +<p> +The clouds that had hung for weeks above the city cast a dull yellow +glow over marble and stone; the air was hot and sultry, now and then +thunder rolled over the Vatican and a flash of lightning revealed the +Angel on Castel San Angelo poised above the muddy waters of the Tiber. +</p> + +<p> +A furious, utter dread and terror gripped Balthasar’s heart; days had +passed since his defiance of the Pope and he had heard no more of his +daring, but he was afraid, afraid of Michael II, of the Church, of +Heaven behind it—afraid of this woman who had risen from the dead.… +</p> + +<p> +He knew the number of his enemies and with what difficulty he held +Rome, he guessed that the Pope intended his downfall and to put +another in his place—but not this almost certain ruin disturbed him +day and night, no—the thought that the Church might throw him out and +consign his soul to smoky hell. +</p> + +<p> +Bravely enough had he dared the Pope at the time when his heart was +hot within him, but in the days that followed his very soul had +fainted to think what he had done; he could not sleep nor rest while +waiting for outraged Heaven to strike; he darkly believed the +continual storm brooding over Rome to be omen of God’s wrath with him. +</p> + +<p> +His trouble was the greater because it was secret, the first that, +since they had been wedded, he had concealed from Ysabeau. As this +touched her, in an infamous and horrible manner, he could neither +breathe it to her nor any other, and the loneliness of his miserable +apprehension was an added torture. +</p> + +<p> +This morning he had interviewed the envoys from Germany and his +chamberlain; tales of anarchy and turmoil in Rome, of rebellion in +Germany had further distracted him; now alone in his little marble +cabinet, he stared across the gorgeous, storm-wrapt city. +</p> + +<p> +Not long alone; he heard some one quietly enter, and because he knew +who it was, he would not turn his head. +</p> + +<p> +She came up to him and laid her hand on his plain brown doublet. +</p> + +<p> +“Balthasar,” she said, “will you never tell me what it is that sits so +heavily on your heart?” +</p> + +<p> +He commanded his voice to answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing, Ysabeau—nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +The Empress gave a long, quivering sigh. +</p> + +<p> +“This is the first time you have not trusted me.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned his face; white and wan it was of late, with heavy circles +under the usually joyous eyes; she winced to see it. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my lord!” she cried passionately. “No anguish is so bitter when +shared!” +</p> + +<p> +He took her hand and pressed it warmly to his breast; he tried to +smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Certes, you know my troubles, Ysabeau, the discontent, the +factions—matter enough to make any man grave.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the Pope,” she said, raising her eyes to his; “most of all it is +the Pope.” +</p> + +<p> +“His Holiness is no friend to me,” said the Emperor in a low voice. +“Oh, Ysabeau, we were deceived to aid him to the tiara.” +</p> + +<p> +She shuddered. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> persuaded you… blame me… I was mad. <i>I</i> set your enemy in +authority.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay!” he answered in a great tenderness. “You are to blame for +nothing, you, sweet Ysabeau.” +</p> + +<p> +He raised the hand he held to his lips; in the thought that he +suffered for her sake was a sweet recompense. +</p> + +<p> +She coloured, then paled. +</p> + +<p> +“What will he do?” she asked. “What will he do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay—I know not.” His fair face overclouded again. +</p> + +<p> +She saw it and terror shook her. +</p> + +<p> +“He said more to you that day than you will tell me!” she cried. “You +fear something that you will not reveal to me!” +</p> + +<p> +The Emperor made an attempt at lightness of speech. +</p> + +<p> +“He is a poor knight who tells his lady of his difficulties,” he said. +“I cannot come crying to you like a child.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned to him the soft frail beauty of her face and took his great +sword hand between hers. +</p> + +<p> +“I am very jealous of you, Balthasar,” she said thickly, “jealous that +you should shut me out—from anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will know soon enough,” he answered in a hoarse voice. “But never +from me.” +</p> + +<p> +The tears lay in her violet eyes as she fondled his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Are we not as strong as this man, Balthasar!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” he shivered, “for he has the Church behind him—to-morrow, we +shall see him again—I dread to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” she asked quickly. “To-morrow is the Feast of the Assumption +and we go to the Basilica.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, and the Pope will be there in his power and I must kneel humbly +before him—yet not that alone——” +</p> + +<p> +“Balthasar! what do you fear?” +</p> + +<p> +He breathed heavily. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing—a folly, an ugly presentiment, of late I have slept so +little.—Why is he quiet?—He meditates something.” +</p> + +<p> +His blue eyes widened with fear, he put the Empress gently from him. +</p> + +<p> +“Take no heed, sweet, I am only weary and your dear solicitude +unnerves me—I must go pray Saint Joris to remember me.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Saints!” she cried hotly. “A knife would serve us better could we +but thrust it into this Caprarola—who is he, this man who dares +menace us?” +</p> + +<p> +The childishly fair face was drawn with anxious love and bitter fury; +the purple eyes were wet and brilliant, under her long robe of dull +yellow samite her bosom strove painfully with her breath. +</p> + +<p> +The Emperor turned uneasily aside. +</p> + +<p> +“The storm,” he said, raising his voice above a whisper with an +effort. “I think that it oppresses me and makes me fearful—how many +days—how many days, Ysabeau, since we have seen a cloudless sky!” +</p> + +<p> +He moved away from her hastily and left the room with an abrupt step. +</p> + +<p> +The Empress crouched against the marble columns that supported the +window, and as her unseeing eyes gazed across the shadowed city a look +of cunning calculation, of fierce rage came into her face; it was many +years since that sinister expression had marred her loveliness, for, +since her second marriage she had met no man who threatened her or +menaced her path or the Emperor’s as now did his Holiness, Michael II. +</p> + +<p> +She half suspected him of having broken his vile bargain with her, she +rightly thought that nothing save the revelation of his first wife’s +existence could have so subdued and troubled Balthasar’s joyous +courage and hopeful heart; she cursed herself that she had been a +frightened fool to be startled into making a pact she might have known +the Cardinal would not keep; she was bitterly furious that she had +helped to set him in the position he now turned against her, it had +been better had she refused to buy his silence at such a price—better +that Cardinal Caprarola should have denounced her than that the Pope +should use this knowledge to unseat her husband. +</p> + +<p> +She had never imagined that she had a friend in Michael II, but she +had not imagined him so callous, cruel and false as to take her bribe +and still betray her—even though the man had revealed himself to her +for what he was, as ambitious, unscrupulous and hard; she had not +thought he would so shamelessly be false to his word. +</p> + +<p> +Angry scorn filled her heart when she considered the reputation this +man had won in his youth—that indeed he still bore with some—yet it +could not but stir her admiration to reflect what it must have cost a +man of the Pope’s nature to play the ascetic saint for so many years. +But his piety had been well rewarded—the poor Flemish youth sat in +the Vatican now, lord of her husband’s fortunes and her own honour. +</p> + +<p> +Then she fell to pondering over the story of Ursula of Rooselaare, +wondering where she was, where she had been these years, and how she +had met Cardinal Caprarola.… The Empress dwelt on these things till +her head ached; impatiently she thrust wider open the stained glass +casement and leant from the window. +</p> + +<p> +But there was no breeze abroad to cool her burning brow, and on all +sides the sky was heavy with clouds over which the summer lightning +played. +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau turned her eyes from the threatening prospect, and with a +stifled groan began pacing up and down the tesselated floor of the +cabinet. +</p> + +<p> +She was interrupted by the entry of a lady tall and fair, leading a +beautiful child by the hand. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea of Martzburg and Ysabeau’s son. +</p> + +<p> +“We seek for his Grace,” smiled the lady. “Wencelaus wishes to say his +Latin lesson, and to tell the tale of the three Dukes and the sack of +gold that he has lately learnt.” +</p> + +<p> +The Empress gave her son a quick glance. +</p> + +<p> +“You shall tell it to me, Wencelaus—my lord is not here.” +</p> + +<p> +The boy, golden, large and glorious to look upon, scowled at her. +</p> + +<p> +“Will not tell it you or any woman.” +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau answered in a kind of bitter gentleness. +</p> + +<p> +“Be not too proud, Wencelaus,” and the thought of what his future +might be made her eyes fierce. +</p> + +<p> +The Prince tossed his yellow curls. +</p> + +<p> +“I want my father.” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea, in pity of the Empress’s distracted bearing, tried to pacify +him. +</p> + +<p> +“His Grace cannot see you now—but presently——” +</p> + +<p> +He shook his hand free of hers. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye cannot put me off—my father said an hour before the Angelus;” his +blue eyes were angry and defiant, but his lips quivered. +</p> + +<p> +The Empress crushed back the wild misery of her thoughts, and caught +the child’s embroidered yellow sleeve. +</p> + +<p> +“Certes, ye shall see him,” she said quietly, “if he promised you—I +think he is in the oratory, we will wait at the door until he come +forth.” +</p> + +<p> +The boy kissed her hand, and the shadow passed from his lovely face. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea saw the Empress look down on him with a desperate and +heart-broken expression; she wondered at the anguish revealed to her +in that second, but she was neither disturbed nor touched; her own +heart had been broken so long ago that all emotions were but names to +her. +</p> + +<p> +The Empress dismissed her with a glance. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea left the palace, mounted the little Byzantine chariot with the +blue curtains and drove to the church of San Giovanni in Laterano. She +went there every day to hear a mass sung for the soul of one who had +died long ago. +</p> + +<p> +A large portion of her immense fortune had gone in paying for masses +and candles for the repose of Sybilla, one time wife of Sebastian her +steward; if gold could send the murdered woman there Jacobea had +opened to her the doors of Paradise. +</p> + +<p> +In her quiet monotonous life in a strange land, caring for none, and +by none cared for, with a dead heart in her bosom and leaden feet +walking heavily the road to the grave, this Sybilla had come to be +with Jacobea the most potent thing she knew. +</p> + +<p> +Neither Balthasar nor the Empress, nor any of their Court were so real +to her as the steward’s dead wife. +</p> + +<p> +She was as certain of her features, her bearing, the manner of her +dress, as if she saw her daily; there was no face so familiar to her +as the pale countenance of Sybilla with the wide brows and heavy red +hair; she saw no ghost, she was not frightened by dreams nor visions, +but the thought of Sybilla was continuous. +</p> + +<p> +For ten years she had not spoken her name save in a whisper to the +priest, nor had she in any way referred to her; by the people among +whom she moved this woman was utterly forgotten, but in Jacobea’s +bed-chamber stood a samite cushion exquisitely worked with a scarlet +lily, and Jacobea looked at it more often than at anything else in the +world. +</p> + +<p> +She did not regard this image she had created with terror or dread, +with any shuddering remorse or aversion; it was to her a constant +companion whom she accepted almost as she accepted herself. +</p> + +<p> +As she stepped from the chariot at the door of San Giovanni in +Laterano the gathering thunder rolled round the hills of Rome; she +pondered a moment on the ominous clouds that had hung so long over the +city that the people began to murmur that they were under God’s +displeasure, and passed through the dark portals into the dimly +illuminated church. +</p> + +<p> +She turned to a little side chapel and knelt on a purple cushion worn +by her knees. +</p> + +<p> +Mechanically she listened as the priest murmured over the mass, +hurrying it a little that it might not interfere with the Angelus, +mechanically she made the responses and rose when it was over with a +calm face. +</p> + +<p> +She had done this every day for nine years. +</p> + +<p> +There were a few people in the church, kneeling for the Angelus; +Jacobea joined them and fixed her eyes on the altar, where a strong +purple light glowed and flickered, bringing out points of gold in the +moulding of the ancient arches. +</p> + +<p> +A deep hush held the scented stillness; the scattered bent figures +were dark and motionless against the mystic clouds of incense and the +soft bright lights. +</p> + +<p> +Monks in long brown habits came and stood in the chancel; the bell +struck the hour, and young novices entered singing— +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Angelus Domini nuntiavit Mariae,</span><br> +<span class="i0">et concepit de Spiritu Sancto.”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +The monks knelt and folded their hands on their breasts; the response +that still seemed very sweet to Jacobea arose. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Ave Maria, gratia plena——”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +A side door near Jacobea opened softly and a man stepped into the +church.… +</p> + +<p> +Now the priest was speaking. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Ecce ancilla Domini,</span><br> +<span class="i0">fiat mihi secundum verbum tuum.”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +A strong sense that the new-comer was observing her made Jacobea turn, +almost unconsciously, her head towards him as she repeated the “Ave +Maria.” +</p> + +<p> +A tall richly-dressed man was gazing at her intently; his face was in +shadow, but she could see long pearls softly gleam in his ears. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Et Verbum caro factum est,</span><br> +<span class="i0">et habitavit in nobis.”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +The deep voices of the monks and the subdued tones of the worshippers +again answered; Jacobea could distinguish the faltering words of the +man near her. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Ora pro nobis,</span><br> +<span class="i0">Sancta Dei Genitrix.”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +Jacobea bent her head in her hands, as she replied— +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Ut digni efficiamur</span><br> +<span class="i0">promissionibus Christi.”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +Priests and novices left the church, the monks filed out and the bent +figures rose. +</p> + +<p> +The man stepped from the shadows as Jacobea rose to her feet, and +their eyes met. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah—you!” said Jacobea; she had her hands on her breviary as he had +seen them long ago. +</p> + +<p> +She was so little moved by meeting him that she began to clasp the +ivory covers, bending her head to do so. +</p> + +<p> +“You remember me?” asked Theirry faintly. +</p> + +<p> +“I have forgotten nothing,” she answered calmly. “Why do you seek to +recall yourself to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot see you and let you pass.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him; it was a different face from the one he had known, +though little changed in line or colour. +</p> + +<p> +“You must hate me,” he faltered. +</p> + +<p> +The words did not touch her. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you free of the devils?” she asked, and crossed herself. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry winced; he remembered that she believed Dirk was dead, that +she thought of the Pope as a holy man.… +</p> + +<p> +“Forgive me,” he murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“For what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah—that I did not understand you to be always a saintly woman.” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea laughed sadly. +</p> + +<p> +“You must not speak of the past, though you may think of nothing else, +even as I do—we might have been friends once, but the Devil was too +strong for us.” +</p> + +<p> +At that moment Theirry hated Dirk passionately; he felt he could have +been happy with this woman, and with her only in the whole world, and +he loathed Dirk for making it impossible. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Jacobea, in the same unmoved tone, “I must go +back—farewell, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry strove with speech in vain; as she moved towards the door he +came beside her, his beautiful face white and eager. +</p> + +<p> +Then, by a common impulse, both stopped. +</p> + +<p> +Round one of the dark glittering pillars a brilliant figure flashed +into the rich light. +</p> + +<p> +The masked dancer in orange. +</p> + +<p> +She stepped up to Theirry and laid her fingers on his scarlet sleeve. +</p> + +<p> +“How does Theirry of Dendermonde keep his word!” she mocked, and her +eyes gleamed from their holes; “is your heart of a feather’s weight +that it flutters this way and that with every breath of air?” +</p> + +<p> +“What does she mean?” asked Jacobea, as the man flushed and shuddered. +“And what does she here in this attire?” +</p> + +<p> +The dancer turned to her swiftly. +</p> + +<p> +“What of one who drags his weary limbs beneath a Syrian sun in +penitence for a deed ye urged him to?” she said in the same tone. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea stepped back with a quick cry, and Theirry seized the dancer’s +arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Begone,” he said threateningly. “I know you, or who you feign to be.” +</p> + +<p> +She answered between laughter and fear. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me go—I have not hurt you; why are you angry, my brave knight?” +</p> + +<p> +At the sound of her voice that she in no way lowered, a monk came +forward and sternly ordered her from the church. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” she asked. “I am masked, holy father, so cannot prove a +temptation to the faithful!” +</p> + +<p> +“Leave the church,” he commanded, “and if you would worship here come +in a fitting spirit and a fitting dress.” +</p> + +<p> +The dancer laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“So I am flung out of the house of God—well, sir and sweet lady, will +you come to the Mass at the Basilica to-morrow?—nay, do, it will be +worth beholding—the Basilica to-morrow! I shall be there.” +</p> + +<p> +With that she darted before them and slipped from the church. +</p> + +<p> +Man and woman shuddered and knew not why. +</p> + +<p> +A peal of thunder rolled, the walls of the church shook, and an image +of the Virgin was hurled to the marble pavement and shivered into +fragments. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p2ch07"> +CHAPTER VII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE VENGEANCE OF MICHAEL II</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">From</span> every church and convent in Rome the bells rang out; it was the +Feast of the Assumption and holiday in the city. +</p> + +<p> +Strange, heavy clouds still obscured the sky, and intermittent thunder +echoed in the distance. +</p> + +<p> +The Basilica of St. Peter was crowded from end to end; the bewildering +splendour of walls, ceiling and columns was lit by thousands of wax +tapers and coloured lamps; part of the church had been hung with azure +and silver; the altar steps were covered in cloth of gold, the altar +itself almost hidden with lilies; the various gleaming hues of the +marble, orange, rose, pink, mauve, grey and white, the jewel-like +sparkle of the mosaic capitals, the ivory carving on the rood screen, +the silver arch before the high altar, the silk and satin banners of +the church resting here and there before the walls, all combined into +one soft yet burning magnificence. +</p> + +<p> +The vast congregation all knelt upon the marble floor, save the +Emperor and his wife, who sat under a violet canopy placed opposite +the pulpit. +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar wore the imperial purple and buskins; round his brows was +the circlet that meant dominion of the Latin world, but his comely +face was pale and anxious and his blue eyes troubled. Ysabeau, seated +close beside him, sparkled with gems from her throat to her feet; her +pale locks, twisted with pearls, hung over her bosom; she wore a high +crown of emeralds and her mantle was cloth of silver. +</p> + +<p> +Between them, on a lower step of the daïs, stood their little son, +gleaming in white satin and overawed by the glitter and the silence. +</p> + +<p> +Surrounding the throne were ladies, courtiers, Frankish knights, +members of the Council, German Margraves, Italian nobles, envoys from +France, Spain, and resplendent Greeks from the Court of Basil. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry, kneeling in the press, distinguished the calm face of Jacobea +of Martzburg among the dames of the Empress’s retinue; but he sought +in vain through the immense and varied crowd for the dancer in orange. +</p> + +<p> +A faint chant rose from the sacristy, jewelled crosses showed above +the heads of the multitude as the monks entered holding them aloft, +the fresh voices of the choristers came nearer, acolytes took their +places round the altar, and the blue clouds of incense floated over +the hushed multitude. +</p> + +<p> +The bells ceased. +</p> + +<p> +The rise and fall of singing filled the Basilica. +</p> + +<p> +Cardinal Orsini, followed by a number of priests, went slowly down the +aisle towards the open bronze doors. +</p> + +<p> +His brilliant dalmatica shivered into gleaming light as he moved. +</p> + +<p> +At the door he paused. +</p> + +<p> +The Pontifical train was arriving in a gorgeous dazzle of colour and +motion. +</p> + +<p> +Michael II stepped from a gilt car drawn by four white oxen, whose +polished horns were wreathed with roses white and red. +</p> + +<p> +Preceded by Cardinals, the vivid tints of whose silk robes burnt in +the golden brightness of the Basilica, the Pope passed down the aisle, +while the congregation crouched low on their knees and hid their +faces. +</p> + +<p> +Emperor and Empress rose; he looked at his son, but she at the +Pontiff, who took no heed of either. +</p> + +<p> +Monks, priests and novices moved away from the high altar, where the +rows upon rows of candles shone like stars against the sparkling, +incense-laden air. +</p> + +<p> +He passed to his gold and ivory seat, and the Cardinals took their +places beside him. +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau, as she resumed her place beside her lord, gazed across the +silent, kneeling crowd at Michael II. +</p> + +<p> +His chasuble was alive with the varying hues of jewels, the purple and +crimson train of his robes spread to right and left along the altar +steps, the triple crown gave forth showers of light from its rubies +and diamonds, while the red hair of the wearer caught the candle-glow +and shone like a halo round his pale calm face, so curiously delicate +of feature to be able to express such resolution, such pride. +</p> + +<p> +His under-garment of white satin was so thickly sewn with pearls that +the stuff was hardly visible, his fingers so covered with huge and +brilliant rings that they looked of an unnatural slenderness by +contrast; he held a crozier encrusted with rubies that darted red +fire, and carbuncles flashed on his gold shoes. +</p> + +<p> +The beautiful dark eyes that always held the expression of some +passion for ever surging up, for ever held in before reaching +expression, were fixed steadily on the bronze doors that now closed +the church. +</p> + +<p> +A little tremor of thunder filled the stillness, then the fair, faint +chant of the boys arose. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Gaudeamus omnes in Domino,</span><br> +<span class="i0">diem festum celebrantes</span><br> +<span class="i0">Sub honore Beatae</span><br> +<span class="i0">Mariae Virginis,.…”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +Ysabeau murmured the words under her breath; none in the devout +multitude with more sincerity. +</p> + +<p> +As the notes quivered into silence Cardinal Orsini murmured a prayer, +to which a thousand responses were whispered fervently. +</p> + +<p> +And again the thunder made sombre echo. +</p> + +<p> +The Empress put her hand over her eyes; her jewels seemed so heavy +they must drag her from the throne, the crown galled her brow; the +little Wencelaus stood motionless, a bright colour in his cheeks, his +eyes brilliant with excitement; now and then the Emperor looked at him +in a secretive, piteous manner. +</p> + +<p> +There was an involuntary stir among the people as the rich voices of +the men took up the singing at the end of the epistle, a movement of +joy, of pleasure in the triumphant music. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Alleluia, alleluia,</span><br> +<span class="i0">Assumpta est Maria in Coelum;</span><br> +<span class="i0">Gaudet exercitus Angelorum.</span><br> +<span class="i3">Alleluia.”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +Then the Pope moved, descended slowly from the daïs and mounted the +steps of the high altar, his train upheld by two Archbishops. +</p> + +<p> +Emperor and Empress knelt with the rest as he performed the office of +the mass; an intense stillness held the rapt assembly, but as he +turned and displayed the Host, before the vast multitude who hid their +eyes, as he held it like a captured star above the hushed splendour of +the altar, a crash of thunder shook the very foundations of the +church, and the walls shivered as if mighty forces beat on them +without. +</p> + +<p> +Michael II, the only man erect in the crouching multitude, smiled +slowly as he replaced the Eucharist; lightning darted through the high +coloured windows and quivered a moment before it was absorbed in the +rich lights. +</p> + +<p> +The voices of the choir rose with a melancholy beauty. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Kyrie eleison,</span><br> +<span class="i1">Christe eleison,</span><br> +<span class="i0">Kyrie eleison.”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +The Pope turned to the altar; again the thunder rolled, but his low, +steady voice was heard distinctly chanting the “Gloria in excelsis +Deo” with the choir. +</p> + +<p> +At the finish Cardinal Orsini took up the prayers, and a half-muffled +response came from the crowd. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Gloria tibi, Domine.”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +Every head was raised, every right hand made the sacred sign. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Laus tibi, Christe.”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +The Pope blessed the multitude and returned to his seat. +</p> + +<p> +Then as Emperor and Empress rose from their knees a soft, bright sound +of movement filled the Basilica; Ysabeau put out her hand and caught +hold of her husband’s. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is this?” she asked in a whisper. +</p> + +<p> +He turned his eyes in the direction of her gaze. +</p> + +<p> +Down the chancel came a tall monk in the robe of the Order of the +Black Penitents; his arms were folded, his hands hidden in his +sleeves, his deep cowl cast his face into utter shadow. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought Cardinal Colonna preached,” whispered Balthasar fearfully, +as the monk ascended the pulpit. “I know not this man.” +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau looked at the Pope, who sat motionless in his splendour, his +hands resting on the arms of the gold chair, his gaze riveted on the +black figure of the monk in the glittering pulpit; a faint smile was +on his lips, a faint colour in his cheeks, and Ysabeau’s hand +tightened on the fingers of her lord. +</p> + +<p> +The monk stood for a moment motionless, evidently contemplating the +multitude from the depth of his hood; Balthasar thought he gazed at +him, and shivered. +</p> + +<p> +A strange sense of suspense filled the church, even the priests and +Cardinals about the altar glanced curiously at the figure in the +pulpit; some women began to sob under the influence of nameless and +intense excitement. +</p> + +<p> +The monk drew from his sleeve a parchment from which swung a mighty +seal, slowly he unfurled it; the Empress crouched closer to Balthasar. +</p> + +<p> +The monk began to speak, and both to Ysabeau and her husband the voice +was familiar—a voice long silent in death. +</p> + +<p> +“In the name of Michael II, servant of servants of God and Vicegerent +of Christ, I herewith pronounce the anathema over Balthasar of +Courtrai, Emperor of the West, over Ysabeau, born Marozia +Porphyrogentris, over their son, Wencelaus, over their followers, +servants and hosts! I herewith expel them from the pale of Holy +Church, and curse them as heretics! +</p> + +<p> +“I forbid any to offer them shelter, food or help, I hurl on their +heads the wrath of God and the hatred of man, I forbid any to attend +their sick-bed, to receive their confession or to bury their bodies! +</p> + +<p> +“I cut asunder the ties that bind the Latin people in obedience to +them, and I lay under an interdict any person, village, town or state +that succours or aids them against our wrath! May they and their +children and their children’s children be blighted and cursed in life +and in death, may they taste misery and desolation on the earth before +they go to everlasting torment in hell!” +</p> + +<p> +And now the cowled monk caught up one of the candles that lit the +pulpit, and held it aloft. +</p> + +<p> +“May their race perish with them and their memories be swallowed in +oblivion—thus! As I extinguish this flame may the hand of God +extinguish them!” +</p> + +<p> +He cast the candle on to the marble floor beneath the pulpit, the +flame was immediately dashed out, a slow smoke curled an instant and +vanished. +</p> + +<p> +“For Balthasar of Courtrai cherishes a murderess on the throne, and +until he cast her forth and receive his true wife this anathema rests +upon his head!” +</p> + +<p> +Emperor and Empress listened, holding each other’s hands and staring +at the monk; as he ended, and while the awe of utter fear held the +assembly numb, Ysabeau rose.… +</p> + +<p> +But at that same instant the monk tossed back his cowl and revealed +the stern, pale features of Melchoir of Brabant, crowned with the +imperial diadem.… +</p> + +<p> +A frenzied shriek broke from the woman, and she fell across the steps +of the throne; her crown slipped from her fair head and dazzled on the +pavement. +</p> + +<p> +Groaning in anguish Balthasar stooped to raise her up… when he again +looked at the pulpit it was empty. +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau’s cry had loosened the souls of the multitude, they rose to +their feet and began to surge wildly towards the door. +</p> + +<p> +But the Pontiff rose, approached the altar and began calmly to chant +the Gratias. +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar gave him a wild and desperate look, staggered and fiercely +recovered himself, then took his child by the hand, and supporting +with the other the Empress, who struggled back to life, he swept down +the aisle, followed by a few of his German knights. +</p> + +<p> +The people shuddered away to right and left to give him passage; the +bronze doors were opened and the excommunicated man stepped into the +thunder-wrapt streets of the city where he no longer reigned. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p2ch08"> +CHAPTER VIII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">URSULA OF ROOSELAARE</span> +</h3> + +<p> +“<span class="sc">Say</span> I have done well for you—it seems that I must ask your +thanks.” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope sat at a little table near the window of his private room in +the Vatican and rested his face on his hand. +</p> + +<p> +Leaning against the scarlet tapestries that covered the opposite wall +was Theirry, clothed in chain mail and heavily armed. +</p> + +<p> +“You think I should be grateful?” he asked in a low voice, his +beautiful eyes fixed in a half-frightened, wholly fascinated way on +the slim figure of the other. +</p> + +<p> +Michael II wore a straight robe of gold-coloured silk and a skull-cap +of crimson and blue; no jewels nor any suggestion of pomp concealed +the youthfulness, almost frailty of his appearance; the red hair made +his face the paler by contrast; his full lips were highly coloured +under the darkened upper lip. +</p> + +<p> +“Grateful?” he repeated, and his voice was mournful. “I think you do +not know what I have done—I have dared to cast the Emperor from his +throne—lies he not even now without the walls, defying me with a +handful of Frankish knights? Is not the excommunication on him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea,” answered Theirry. “And is it for my sake ye have done this?” +</p> + +<p> +“Must you question it?” returned Michael, with a quick breath. “Yea, +for your sake, to make you, as I promised, Emperor of the West—my +vengeance had else been more quietly satisfied——” He laughed. “I +have not forgot all my magic.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry winced. +</p> + +<p> +“The vision in the Basilica was proof of that—what are you who can +bring back the hallowed dead to aid your schemes?” +</p> + +<p> +Michael II answered softly. +</p> + +<p> +“And who are you who take my aid and my friendship, and all the while +fear and loathe me?” +</p> + +<p> +He moved his hand from his face and leant forward, showing a deep red +mark on his cheek where the palm had pressed. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think I am not human, Theirry?” He gave a sigh. “If you would +believe in me, trust me, be faithful to me—why, our friendship would +be the lever to move the universe, and you and I would rule the world +between us.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry fingered the arras beside him. +</p> + +<p> +“In what way can I be false to you——?” +</p> + +<p> +“You betrayed me once. You are the only man in Rome who knows my +secret. But this is truth, if again you forsake me, you bring about +your own downfall—stand by me, and I will share with you the dominion +of the earth—this, I say, is truth.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry laughed unhappily. +</p> + +<p> +“Sweet devil, there is no God, and I have no soul!—there, do not +fear—I shall be very faithful to you—since what is there for man +save to glut his desires of pomp and wealth and power?” +</p> + +<p> +He moved from the wall and took a quick turn about the room. +</p> + +<p> +“And yet I know not!” he cried. “Can all your magic, all your +learning, all your riches, keep you where you are? The clouds hang +angrily over Rome, nor have they lifted since Orsini announced you +Pope—the people riot in the streets—all beautiful things are dead, +many see ghosts and devils walking at twilight across the Maremma.… +Oh, horror!—they say Pan has left his ruined temple to enter +Christian churches and laugh in the face of the marble Christ—can +these things be?” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope swept back the hair from his damp brow. +</p> + +<p> +“The powers that put me here can keep me here—be you but true to me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, I will be Emperor”—Theirry grasped his sword hilt +fiercely—“though the world I rule rot about me, though ghouls and +fiends make my Imperial train—I will join hands with Antichrist and +see if there be a God or no!” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope rose. +</p> + +<p> +“You must go against Balthasar. You must defeat his hosts and bring to +me his Empress, then will I crown you in St. Peter’s.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry pressed his hand to his forehead. +</p> + +<p> +“We start to-morrow with the dawn—beneath the banner of God His +Church; I, in this mail ye gave me, tempered and forged in Hell!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ye need have no fear of failure; you shall go forth triumphantly and +return victoriously. You shall make your dwelling the Golden Palace on +the Aventine, and neither Heliogabalus nor Basil, nor Charlemagne +shall be more magnificently housed than you.…” +</p> + +<p> +Michael seemed to check his words suddenly; he turned his face away +and looked across the city which lay beneath the heavy pall of clouds. +</p> + +<p> +“Be but true to me,” he added in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry smiled wildly. +</p> + +<p> +“A curious love have you for me, and but little faith in my strength +or constancy—well, you shall see, I go forth to-morrow, with many men +and banners, to rout the Emperor utterly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Until then, stay in the Vatican,” said Michael II suddenly. “My +prelates and my nobles know you for their leader now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,”—Theirry flushed as he answered—“I must go to my own abode in +the city.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jacobea of Martzburg is still in Rome,” said the other. “Do you leave +me to go to <i>her</i>?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay—I know not even where she lodges,” replied Theirry hastily. +</p> + +<p> +Michael smiled bitterly and was silent. +</p> + +<p> +“What is Jacobea to me?” demanded Theirry desperately. +</p> + +<p> +The other gave him a sinister glance. +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you approach her after her devotions in San Giovanni in +Laterano—speak to her and recall yourself to her mind?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry went swiftly pale. +</p> + +<p> +“You know that!—Ah, it was the dancer, your accomplice.… What mystery +is this?” he asked in a distracted way. “Why does not Ursula of +Rooselaare come forth under her true name and confound the +Emperor?—why does she follow me, and in such a guise?” +</p> + +<p> +Without looking at him Michael answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe because she is very wise—maybe because she is a very fool—let +her pass, she has served her turn. You say you do not go to palter +with Jacobea, then farewell until to-morrow; I have much to do… +farewell, Theirry.” +</p> + +<p> +He held out his hand with a stately gesture, and, as Theirry took it +in his, the curious thought came to him how seldom he had touched so +much as Dirk’s fingers, even in the old days, so proud a reserve had +always encompassed the youth, and, now, the man. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry left the rich-scented chamber and the vast halls of the +Vatican and passed into the riotous and lawless streets of Rome. +</p> + +<p> +The storm that had hung so unnaturally long over the city had affected +the people; bravoes and assassins crept from their hiding-places in +the Catacombs, or the Palatine, and flaunted in the streets; the wine +shops were filled with mongrel soldiers of all nations, attracted by +the declaration of war from the surrounding towns; blasphemers mocked +openly at the processions of monks and pilgrims that traversed the +streets chanting the penitential psalms, or scourging themselves in an +attempt to avert the wrath of Heaven. +</p> + +<p> +There was no law; crime went unpunished; virtue became a jest; many of +the convents were closed and deserted, while their late occupants +rejoined the world they suddenly longed for; the poor were despoiled, +the rich robbed; ghastly and blasphemous processions nightly paraded +the streets in honour of some heathen deity; the priests inspired no +respect, the name of God no fear; the plague marched among the people, +striking down hundreds; their bodies were flung into the Tiber, and +their spirits went to join the devils that nightly danced on the +Campagna to the accompaniment of rolling storms. +</p> + +<p> +Witches gathered in the low marches of the Maremma and came at night +into the city, trailing grey, fever-laden vapour after them. +</p> + +<p> +The bell-ropes began to rot in the churches, and the bells clattered +from the steeples; the gold rusted on the altars, and mice gnawed the +garments on the holy images of the Saints. +</p> + +<p> +The people lived with reckless laughter and died with hopeless curses; +magicians, warlocks and vile things flourished exceedingly, and all +manner of strange and hideous creatures left their caves to prowl the +streets at nightfall. +</p> + +<p> +And such under Pope Michael II was Rome, swiftly and in a moment. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry, like all others, went heavily armed; his hand was constantly +on his sword hilt as he made his way through the city that was +forsaken by God. +</p> + +<p> +With no faltering step or hesitating bearing he passed through the +crowds that gathered more thickly as the night came on, and turned +towards the Appian Gate. +</p> + +<p> +Here it was gloomy, almost deserted; dark houses bordered the Appian +Way, and a few strange figures crept along in their shadow; in the +west a sullen glare of crimson showed that the sun was setting behind +the thick clouds. Dark began to fall rapidly. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry walked long beyond the Gate and stopped at a low convent +building, above the portals of which hung a lamp, its gentle radiance +like a star in the heavy, noisome twilight. +</p> + +<p> +The gate, that led into a courtyard, stood half open. Theirry softly +pushed it wider and entered. +</p> + +<p> +The pure perfume of flowers greeted him; a sense of peace and +security, grown strange of late in Rome, filled the square grass +court; in the centre was a fountain, almost hidden in white roses; +behind their leaves the water dripped pleasantly. +</p> + +<p> +There were no lights in the convent windows, but it was not yet too +dark for Theirry to distinguish the slim figure of a lady seated on a +wooden bench, her hands passive in her lap. +</p> + +<p> +He latched the gate and softly crossed the lawn. +</p> + +<p> +“You said that I might come.” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea turned her head, unsmiling, unsurprised. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, sir; this place is open to all.” +</p> + +<p> +He uncovered before her. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot hope ye are glad to see me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Glad?” She echoed the word as if it sounded in a foreign tongue; +then, after a pause, “Yes, I am glad that you have come.” +</p> + +<p> +He seated himself beside her, his splendid mail touching her straight +grey robe, his full, beautiful face turned towards her worn and +expressionless features. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you do here?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +She answered in the same gentle tone; she had a white rose in her +hands, and turned it about as she spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“So little—there are two sisters here, and I help them; one can do +nothing against the plague, but for the little forsaken children +something, and something for the miserable sick.” +</p> + +<p> +“The wretched of Rome are not in your keeping,” he said eagerly. “It +will mean your life—why did you not go with the Empress?” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“I was not needed. I suppose what they said of her was true. I cannot +remember clearly, but I think that when Melchoir died I knew it was +her doing.” +</p> + +<p> +“We must not dwell on the past,” cried Theirry. “Have you heard that I +lead the Pope’s army against Balthasar?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay;” her eyes were on the white rose. +</p> + +<p> +“Jacobea, I shall be the Emperor.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Emperor,” she repeated dreamily. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall rule the Latin world—Emperor of the West!” +</p> + +<p> +In the now complete dark they could scarcely see each other; there +were no stars, and distant thunder rolled at intervals; Theirry +timidly put out his hand and touched the fold of her dress where it +lay along the seat. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you would not stay here—it is so lonely——” +</p> + +<p> +“I think she would wish me to do this.” +</p> + +<p> +“She?” he questioned. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea seemed surprised he did not take her meaning. +</p> + +<p> +“Sybilla.” +</p> + +<p> +“O Christus!” shuddered Theirry. “Ye still think of her?” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea smiled, as he felt rather than saw. +</p> + +<p> +“Think of her? … is she not always with me?” +</p> + +<p> +“She is dead.” +</p> + +<p> +He saw the blurred outline of the lady’s figure stir. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, she died on a cold morning—it was so cold you could see your +breath before you as you rode along, and the road was hard as +glass—there was a yellow dawn that day, and the pine trees seemed +frozen, they stood so motionless—you would not think it was ten years +ago—I wonder how long it seems to her?” +</p> + +<p> +A silence fell upon them for a while, then Theirry broke out +desperately— +</p> + +<p> +“Jacobea—my heart is torn within me—to-day I said there was no +God—but when I sit by you…” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, there is a God,” she answered quietly. “Be very sure of that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I am past His forgiveness,” whispered Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +Again he was mute; he saw before him the regal figure of Dirk—he +heard his words—“Be but true to me”—then he thought of Jacobea and +Paradise… agony ran through his veins. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Jacobea!” he cried at last. “I am beyond all measure mean and +vile.… I know not what to do.… I can be Emperor, yet as I sit here +that seems to me as nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Pope favours you, you tell me,” she said. “He is a priest, and a +holy man, and yet—it is strange, what is this talk of Ursula of +Rooselaare?—and yet it is no matter.” +</p> + +<p> +His mail clinked in answer to his tremor. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me what I must do—see, I am in a great confusion; the world is +very dark, this way and that show little lights, and I strive to +follow them—but they change and move and blind me—and if I grasp one +it is extinguished into greater darkness; I hear whispers, murmurs, +threats, I believe them, and believe them not, and all is confusion, +confusion!” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea rose slowly from the bench. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you come to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because ye seem to me nearer heaven than anything I know.…” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea pressed the white rose to her bosom. +</p> + +<p> +“It is dark now—the flowers smell so sweet—come into the house.” +</p> + +<p> +He followed her dim-seen figure across the grass; she lifted the latch +of the convent door and went before him into the building. +</p> + +<p> +For a while she left him in the passage, then returned with a pale +lamp in her hand and conducted him into a small, bare chamber, which +seemed mean in contrast with the glowing splendour of his appearance. +</p> + +<p> +“The sisters are abroad,” said Jacobea. “And I stay here in case any +ring the bell for succour.” +</p> + +<p> +She set the lamp on the wooden table and slowly turned her eyes on +Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir, I am very selfish.” She spoke with difficulty, as if she +painfully forced expression. “I have thought of myself for so many +years—and somehow”—she lightly touched her breast—“I cannot feel, +for myself or for others; nothing seems real, save Sybilla; nothing +matters save her—sometimes I cry for little things I find dying +alone, for poor unnoticed miseries of animals and children—but for +the rest… you must not blame me if I do not sympathise; that has gone +from me. Nor can I help you; God is far away beyond the stars. I do +not think He can stoop to such as you and me—and—and—I do not feel +as if I should wake until I die——” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry covered his eyes and moaned. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea was not looking at him, but at the one bright thing in the +room. +</p> + +<p> +A samite cushion worked with a scarlet lily that rested on a chair by +the window. +</p> + +<p> +“Each our own way to death,” she said. “All we can do is so little +compared with that—death—see, I think of it as a great crystal +light, very cold, that will slowly encompass us, revealing everything, +making everything easy to understand—white lilies will not be more +beautiful, nor breeze at summer-time more sweet… so, sir, must you +wait patiently.” +</p> + +<p> +She took her gaze from the red flower and turned her tired grey eyes +on him. +</p> + +<p> +The blood surged into his face; he clenched his hands and spoke +passionately. +</p> + +<p> +“I will renounce the world, I will become a monk.…” +</p> + +<p> +The words choked in his throat; he looked fearfully round; the +lamplight struck his armour into a hundred points of light and cast +pale shadows over the white-washed walls. +</p> + +<p> +“What was that?” asked Jacobea. +</p> + +<p> +One was singing without: Theirry’s strained eyes glistened. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“If Love were all!</span><br> +<span class="i1">His perfect servant I would be,</span><br> +<span class="i0">Kissing where his foot might fall,</span><br> +<span class="i1">Doing him homage on a lowly knee,</span><br> +<span class="i3">If Love were all!”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +Theirry turned and went out into the dark, hot night. +</p> + +<p> +He could see neither roses, nor fountain, nor even the line of the +convent wall against the sky; but the light above the gate revealed to +him the dancer in orange, who leant against the stone arch of the +entrance and sang to a strange long instrument that hung round her +neck by a gleaming chain. +</p> + +<p> +At her feet the ape crouched, nodding himself to sleep. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“If Love were all!</span><br> +<span class="i1">But Love is weak,</span><br> +<span class="i0">And Hate oft giveth him a fall,</span><br> +<span class="i1">And Wisdom smites him on the cheek,</span><br> +<span class="i3">If Love were all!”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +Behind Theirry came Jacobea, with the lantern in her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is this?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +The dancer laughed; the sound of it muffled behind her mask. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry made his way across the dark to her. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you do here?” he demanded fiercely. “The Pope’s spy, you!” +</p> + +<p> +“May I not come to worship here as well as another?” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +“You know too much of me!” he cried distractedly. “But I also have +some knowledge of you, Ursula of Rooselaare!” +</p> + +<p> +“How does that help you?” she asked, drawing back a little before him. +</p> + +<p> +“I would discover why you follow me—watch me.” +</p> + +<p> +He caught her by the arms and held her against the stone gateway. +</p> + +<p> +“Now tell me the meaning of your disguise,” he breathed—“and of your +league with Michael II.” +</p> + +<p> +She said a strange little word underneath her breath; the ape jumped +up and tore away the man’s hands while the girl bent to a run and sped +through the gate. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry gave a cry of pain and rage, and glanced towards the convent; +the door was closed; lady and lamp had disappeared in the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +“Shut out!” whispered Theirry. “Shut out!” +</p> + +<p> +He turned into the street and saw, by the scattered lanterns along the +Appian Way, the figure of the dancer slipping fast towards the city +gates. +</p> + +<p> +But he gained on her, and at sound of his clattering step she looked +round. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” she said; “I thought you had stayed with the sweet-faced saint +yonder——” +</p> + +<p> +“She wants none of me,” he panted—“but I—I mean to see your face +to-night.…” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not beautiful,” answered the dancer; “and you have seen my +face——” +</p> + +<p> +“Seen your face!” +</p> + +<p> +“Certes! in the Basilica on the Fête.” +</p> + +<p> +“I knew you not in the press.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nevertheless I was there.” +</p> + +<p> +“I looked for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought ye looked for Jacobea.” +</p> + +<p> +“Also I sought you,” said Theirry. “Ye madden me.” +</p> + +<p> +The ever-gathering tempest was drawing near, with fitful flashes of +lightning playing over his jewel-like mail and her orange gown as they +made their way through the ruins. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you wander here alone at night?” asked Theirry. “It is a vile +place; a man might be afraid.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have the ape,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“But the storm?” +</p> + +<p> +“In Rome now-a-days we are well used to storms,” she answered in a low +voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea.” +</p> + +<p> +He did not know what to say to her, but he could not leave her; a +strong, a supreme, fascination compelled him to walk beside her, a +half-delightful excitement stirred his blood. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are we going?” asked Theirry. The wayside lanterns had ceased; +he could see her only by the lightning gleams. +</p> + +<p> +“I know not—why do you follow me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am mad, I think—the earth rocks beneath me and heaven bends +overhead—you lure me and I follow in sheer confusion—Ursula of +Rooselaare, why have you lured me? What power is it that you have over +me? Wherefore are you disguised?” +</p> + +<p> +She touched his mail in the dark as she answered— +</p> + +<p> +“I am Balthasar’s wife.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” he responded eagerly; “and I do hear ye loved another man——” +</p> + +<p> +“What is that to you?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“This—though I have not seen your face—perchance could I love you, +Ursula!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ursula!” She laughed on the word. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it not your name?” he cried wildly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea—but it is long since any used it——” +</p> + +<p> +The hot darkness seemed to twist and writhe about Theirry; he seemed +to breathe a nameless and uncontrollable passion in with the +storm-laden air. +</p> + +<p> +“Witch or demon,” he said, “I have cast in my lot with the Devil and +Michael II his servant—I follow the same master as you, Ursula.” +</p> + +<p> +He put out his hand through the dark and grasped her arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is the man for whose sake ye are silent?” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +There was no answer; he felt her arm quiver under his hand, and heard +the hems of her tunic tinkle against her buskins, as if she trembled. +</p> + +<p> +The air was chokingly hot; Theirry’s heart throbbed high. +</p> + +<p> +At last she spoke, in a half-swooning voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I have taken off my mask… bend your head and kiss me.” +</p> + +<p> +Invisible and potent powers drew him towards her unseen face; his lips +touched and kissed its softness.… +</p> + +<p> +The thunder sounded with such a terrific force and clash that Theirry +sprang back; a cry of agony went up from the darkness. He ran blindly +forward; her presence had gone from his side, nor could he see or feel +her as he moved. +</p> + +<p> +A thousand light shapes danced across the night; witches and warlocks +carrying swinging lanterns, imps and fiends. +</p> + +<p> +They gathered round Theirry, shrieking and howling to the +accompaniment of the storm. +</p> + +<p> +He ran sobbing down the Appian Way, and his pace was very swift, for +all the mail he carried. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p2ch09"> +CHAPTER IX.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">POPE AND EMPRESS</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">The</span> Pope walked in the garden of the Vatican, behind him Cardinal +Orsini and Cardinal Colonna; the first carried a cluster of daisies, +white and yellow, strong in colour and pungent of odour, the second +tossed up and down a little ball of gold and blue silk. +</p> + +<p> +Both talked of the horrible state of Rome, of the unending storm +hanging over the capital, of the army that had gone forth three days +ago to crush the excommunicated Emperor. +</p> + +<p> +Michael II was silent. +</p> + +<p> +They went along the marble walks and looked at the goldfish in the +basin under the overhanging branches of the yellow rose bushes; they +passed the trellis over which the jasmine clustered, and came out on +the long terrace, where the peacocks flashed their splendour across +the grass. +</p> + +<p> +Oleanders grew here, and lilies; laurel trees rose against the murky +heavens that should have shown blue, and curious statues gleamed +beside the dark foliage. +</p> + +<p> +Cardinal Colonna dropped his ball and let it roll away across the +close grass, and Michael slackened his pace. He wore a white robe, his +soft heavy red hair showing a brilliant colour above it; his dark eyes +were thoughtful, his pale mouth resolutely set. The Cardinals fell +further behind and conversed with the greater ease. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly the Pope paused and stood waiting, for Paolo Orsini, with a +sprig of pink flower at his chin, was coming across the lawn. +</p> + +<p> +Michael II tapped his gold-shod foot on the marble path. “What is it, +Orsini?” +</p> + +<p> +The secretary went on one knee. +</p> + +<p> +“Your Holiness, a lady, who will neither unveil nor give her name, has +obtained entry to the Vatican and desires to see your Holiness.” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope’s face darkened. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought ye had brought me news of the return of Theirry of +Dendermonde! What can this woman want with us?” +</p> + +<p> +“She says it is a matter of such import it may avert the war, and she +prays, for the love of God, not to be denied.” +</p> + +<p> +Michael II reflected a moment, his slim fingers pulling at the laurel +leaves beside him. +</p> + +<p> +“We will see her,” he said at length. “Bring her here, Orsini.” +</p> + +<p> +The yellow clouds broke over a brief spell of sunshine that fell +across the Vatican gardens, though the horizon was dark with a freshly +gathering storm; Michael II seated himself on a bench where the sun +gleamed. +</p> + +<p> +“Sirs,” he said to the two Cardinals, “stand by me and listen to what +this woman may say.” +</p> + +<p> +And picking a crimson rose from a thorny bush that brushed the seat, +he considered it curiously, and only took his eyes from it when Paolo +Orsini had returned and led the lady almost to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +Then he looked at her. +</p> + +<p> +She wore a dark rough dress showing marks of ill usage, and over her +face a thick veil. +</p> + +<p> +This she loosened as she knelt, and revealed the exceedingly fair, sad +face of Ysabeau the Empress. +</p> + +<p> +Michael II went swiftly pale, he fixed large wide eyes on her. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you here, defying us?” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +She rose. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not here in defiance. I have come to give myself up to +punishment for the crime you denounced—the crime for which my lord +now suffers.” +</p> + +<p> +Michael crushed the rose in his hand and the Cardinals glanced at each +other, having never seen him show agitation. +</p> + +<p> +“It did not occur to your Holiness,” said Ysabeau, facing him +fearlessly, “that I should do this; you thought that he would never +give me up and you were right—crown, life, heaven he would forfeit +for love of me, but I will not take the sacrifice.” +</p> + +<p> +The fitful sunshine touched her great beauty, her fair, soft hair +lying loosely on her shoulders, her eyes shadowed and dark, her hollow +face. +</p> + +<p> +“Mine was the sin,” she continued. “And I who was strong enough to sin +alone can take the punishment alone.” +</p> + +<p> +At last Michael spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye slew Melchoir of Brabant—ye confess it!” +</p> + +<p> +Her bosom heaved. +</p> + +<p> +“I am here to confess it.” +</p> + +<p> +“For love of Balthasar you did it.…” +</p> + +<p> +“As for love of him I stand here now to take the consequences.” +</p> + +<p> +“We have fire on earth and fire in hell for those who do murder,” said +Michael II; “flames for the body in the market-place, and flames in +the pit for the soul, and though the body will not burn long, the soul +will burn for eternity.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know—do what you will with me.” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope cast the crushed rose from him. +</p> + +<p> +“Has Balthasar sent you here?” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled proudly. +</p> + +<p> +“I come without his knowledge.” Her voice trembled a little. “I left a +writing telling him where I had gone and why——” Her hand crept to +her brow. “Enough of that.” +</p> + +<p> +Michael II rose. +</p> + +<p> +“Why have you done this?” he cried angrily. +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau answered swiftly. +</p> + +<p> +“That you may take the curse off him—for my sin you cast him forth, +well, if I leave him, if I accept my punishment, if he be free to find +the—woman—who can claim him, your Holiness must absolve him of the +excommunication.” +</p> + +<p> +Michael flushed. +</p> + +<p> +“This comes late—too late;” he turned to the Cardinals. “My lords, is +not this love a mad thing?—that she should hope to cheat Heaven so!” +</p> + +<p> +“My hope is not to cheat Heaven but to appease it,” said Ysabeau; and +the sun, making a pale glimmer in her hair, cast her shadow faintly +before her to the Pontiff’s feet. “If not for myself, for him.” +</p> + +<p> +“This foolish sacrifice,” said Michael, “cannot avail Balthasar. Since +not of his free will ye are parted from him, how is his sin then +lessened?” +</p> + +<p> +She trembled exceedingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, perchance he <i>shall</i> loathe me…” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Had you told him to his face of your crime, would he have given you +over to our wrath?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” she flashed. “It would have been only noble in him to refuse; +but since of myself I am come, I pray you, Lord Pope, to send me to +death and take the curse off him.” +</p> + +<p> +Michael II looked at his hand; the stem of the red rose had scratched +his finger, and a tiny drop of blood showed on the white flesh. +</p> + +<p> +“You are a wicked woman, by your own confession,” he said, frowning. +“Why should I show you any pity?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not ask pity, but justice for the Emperor. I am the cause of the +quarrel, and now ye have me ye can have no bitterness against him.” +</p> + +<p> +He gave her a quick sidelong look. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you repent, Ysabeau?” +</p> + +<p> +She shook the clinging hood free of her yellow hair. +</p> + +<p> +“No; the gain was worth the sin, nor am I afraid of you nor of Heaven. +I am not of a faltering race, nor of a name easily ashamed. In my own +eyes I am not abashed.” +</p> + +<p> +Michael raised his head and their eyes met. +</p> + +<p> +“So you would die for him?” +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I shall. I do not think your Holiness is merciful.” +</p> + +<p> +He glanced again at the drop of blood on his finger. +</p> + +<p> +“You show some courage, Ysabeau.” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“When I was a child I was taught that they who live as kings and +queens must not look for age—the flame soon burns away, leaving the +ashes—and gorgeous years are like the flame; why should we taste the +dust that follows? I have lived my life.” +</p> + +<p> +He answered— +</p> + +<p> +“This shall not save Balthasar, nor take our curse from off him; +Theirry of Dendermonde has gone forth with many men and banners, and +soon the Roman gates shall open to him and victory lead his charger +through the streets! And his reward shall be the Latin world, his +badge of triumph the Imperial crown. He is our choice to share with us +the dominion of the West, therefore no more of Balthasar—ye might +speak until the heavens fell and still our heart be as brass!” +</p> + +<p> +He turned swiftly and caught the arm of Cardinal Orsini. +</p> + +<p> +“Away, my lord, we have given this Greek time enough.” +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau fell on her knees. +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, take off the curse!” +</p> + +<p> +“What shall we do with her?” asked Cardinal Colonna. +</p> + +<p> +She clutched, in her desperation, at the priest’s white garments. +</p> + +<p> +“Show some pity; Balthasar dies beneath your wrath——” +</p> + +<p> +Paolo Orsini drew her away, while Michael II stared at her with a +touch of fear. +</p> + +<p> +“Cast her without the walls—since the excommunication is upon her we +do not need her life.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, sirs!” shrieked Ysabeau, striving after them, “my lord is +innocent!” +</p> + +<p> +“Take her away,” said Michael. “Cast her from Rome,”—he glared at her +over his shoulder—“doubtless the Eastern she-cat will find it worse +so to die than as Hugh of Rooselaare perished; come on, my lords.” +</p> + +<p> +Leaning on the arm of Cardinal Orsini, he moved away across the +Vatican gardens. +</p> + +<p> +Paolo Orsini blew a little whistle. +</p> + +<p> +“You must be turned from the city,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau rose from the grass. +</p> + +<p> +“This your Christian priest!” she cried hoarsely, staring after the +white figure; then, as she saw the guards approaching, she fell into +an utter silence. +</p> + +<p> +As Michael II entered the Vatican the sun was again obscured and the +thunder rolled; he passed up the silver stairs to his cabinet and +closed the door on all. +</p> + +<p> +The storm grew and rioted angrily in the sky; in the height of it came +a messenger riding straight to the Vatican. +</p> + +<p> +Blood and dust were smeared on his clothes, and he was weary with +swift travel; they brought him to the ebony cabinet and face to face +with the Pope. +</p> + +<p> +“From Theirry of Dendermonde?” breathed Michael, his face white as his +robe. +</p> + +<p> +“From Theirry of Dendermonde, your Holiness.” +</p> + +<p> +“What says he—victory?” +</p> + +<p> +“Balthasar of Courtrai is defeated, his army lies dead, men and +horses, in the vale of Tivoli, and his conqueror marches home to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +A shaft of lightning showed the ghastly face of Michael II, and a peal +of thunder shook the messenger back against the wall. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p2ch10"> +CHAPTER X.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE EVENING BEFORE THE CORONATION</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">The</span> orange marble pillars glowing in the light of a hundred lamps +gave the chamber a dazzling brightness; the windows were screened by +scarlet silk curtains, and crystal bowls of purple flowers stood on +the serpentine floor. +</p> + +<p> +On a low gilt couch against the wall sat Theirry, his gold armour half +concealed by a violet and ermine mantle; round his close dark hair was +a wreath of red roses, and the long pearls in his ears glimmered with +his movements. +</p> + +<p> +Opposite him on a throne supported by basalt lions was Michael II, +robed in gold and silver tissues under a dalmatica of orange and +crimson brocade. +</p> + +<p> +“It is done,” he said in a low eager voice, “and to-morrow I crown you +in St. Peter’s church; Theirry, it is done.” +</p> + +<p> +“Truly our fortunes are marvellous,” answered Theirry, “to-day—when I +heard the Princes elect me—an unknown adventurer!—when I heard the +mob of Rome shout for me—I thought I had gone mad!” +</p> + +<p> +“It is I who have done this for you,” said the Pope softly. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry seemed to shudder in his gorgeous mail. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you afraid of me?” the other asked. “Why do you so seldom look at +me?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry slowly turned his beautiful face. +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid of my own fortunes—I am not as bold as you,” he said +fearfully. “You never hesitated to sin.” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope moved, and his garments sparkled against the gleaming marble +wall. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not sin,” he smiled. “I am Sin—I do no evil for I am Evil—but +you”—his face became grave, almost sad—“you are very human, better +had it been for me never to have met you!” +</p> + +<p> +He placed his little hands either side of him on the smooth heads of +the basalt lions. +</p> + +<p> +“Theirry—for your sake I have risked everything, for your sake maybe +I must leave this strange fair life and go back whence I came—so much +I care for you, so dearly have I kept the vows we made in +Frankfort—cannot you meet with courage the destiny I offer you?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry hid his face in his hands. +</p> + +<p> +The Pope flushed, and a wild light sparkled in his dark eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Was not your blood warmed by that charge at Tivoli? When knight and +horse fell before your spears and your host humbled an Emperor, when +Rome rose to greet you and I came to meet you with a kingdom for a +gift, did not some fire creep into your veins that might serve to heat +you now?” +</p> + +<p> +“A kingdom!” cried Theirry, “the kingdom of Antichrist. The victory +was not mine—the cohorts of the Devil galloped beside us and urged us +to unholy triumph—Rome is a place of horror, full of witches, ghosts +and strange beasts!” +</p> + +<p> +“You said you would be Emperor,” answered the Pope. “And I have +granted you your wish, if you fail me or betray me now… it is +over—for both of us.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry rose and paced the chamber. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, I will be Emperor,” he cried feverishly. “Theirry of Dendermonde +crowned by the Devil in St. Peter’s church—why should I hesitate? I +am on the road to hell, to hell.…” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope fixed ardent eyes on him. +</p> + +<p> +“And if ye fail me ye shall go there instantly.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry stopped in his pacing to and fro. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you say to me so often, ‘do not fail me, do not betray me’?” +</p> + +<p> +Michael II answered in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Because I fear it.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry laughed desperately. +</p> + +<p> +“To whom should I betray you! It seems that you have all the world!” +</p> + +<p> +“There is Jacobea of Martzburg.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you sting me with that name!” +</p> + +<p> +“Belike I thought ye might wish to make her your Empress,” said the +Pope in sudden mockery. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry pressed his hand to his brow. +</p> + +<p> +“She believes in God… what is such to me?” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +“The other day you lied to me, saying you knew not where she was—and +straightway ye visited her.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is your spy’s work, Ursula of Rooselaare.” +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe,” answered the Pope. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry paused before the basalt throne. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me of her. She follows me—I—I—know not what to think, she has +been much in my mind of late, since I——” He broke off, and looked +moodily at the ground. “Where has she been these years—what does she +mean to do now?” +</p> + +<p> +“She will not trouble you again,” answered Michael II, “let her go.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot—she said I had seen her face——” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if you have?—take it from me she is not fair.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not think of her fairness,” answered Theirry sullenly, “but of +the mystery there is behind all of it—why you never told me of her +before, and why she haunts me with witches in her train.” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope looked at him curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“For one who has never been an ardent lover ye dwell much on women—I +had rather you thought on battles and kingdoms—had I been a—were I +you, dancer and nun alike would be nothing to me compared with my +coronation on the morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry replied hotly. +</p> + +<p> +“Dancer and nun, as ye term them, are woven in with all I do, I +cannot, if I would, forget them. Ah, that I ever came to Rome—would I +were still a Chamberlain at Basil’s Court or a merchant’s clerk in +India!” +</p> + +<p> +He covered his face with his trembling hands and turned away across +the golden room. +</p> + +<p> +The Pope rose in his seat and pressed his jewelled fingers against his +breast. +</p> + +<p> +“Would ye had never come my way to be my ruin and your own—would you +were not such a sweet fair fool that I must love you! … and so, we make +ourselves the mock of destiny by these complaints. Oh, if you have the +desire to be king show the courage to dare a kingly fate.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry leant against one of the orange marble pillars, the violet +mantle falling away from his golden armour, the fainting roses lying +slackly in his dark hair. +</p> + +<p> +“You must think me a coward,” he said, “and I have been very weak—but +that, I think, is passed; I have reached the summit of all the +greatness I ever dreamed and it confuses me, but when the Imperial +crown is mine you shall find me bold enough.” +</p> + +<p> +Michael II flushed and gave a dazzling smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Then are we great indeed!—we shall join hands across the fairest +dominion men ever ruled, Suabia is ours, Bohemia and Lombardy, France +courts our alliance, Cyprus, the isle of Candy and Malta town, in +Rhodes they worship us, and Genoa town owns us master!” +</p> + +<p> +He paused in his speech and stepped down from the throne. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you remember that day in Antwerp, Theirry, when we looked in the +mirror?” he said, and his voice was tender and beautiful; “we hardly +dared then to think of this.” +</p> + +<p> +“We saw a gallows in that mirror,” answered Theirry, “a gallows tree +beside the triple crown.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was for our enemies!” cried Michael; “our enemies whom we have +triumphed over; Theirry, think of it, we were very young then, and +poor—now I have kings at my footstool, and you will sleep to-night in +the Golden Palace of the Aventine!” He laughed joyously. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry’s face grew gentle at the old memories. +</p> + +<p> +“The house still stands, I wot,” he mused, “though the dust be thick +over the deserted rooms and the vine chokes the windows—when I was in +the East, I have thought with great joy of Antwerp.” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope laid his delicate fragrant hand on the glittering vambrace. +</p> + +<p> +“Theirry—do you not value me a little now?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry smiled into the ardent eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“You have done more for me than man or God, and above both I do you +worship,” he answered wildly. “I am not fearful any more, and +to-morrow ye shall see me a king indeed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Until to-morrow then, farewell. I must attend a Conclave of the +Cardinals and show myself unto the multitude in St. Peter’s church. +You to the palace, on the Aventine, there to sleep soft and dream of +gold.” +</p> + +<p> +They clasped hands, a hot colour was in the Pope’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“The Syrian guards wait below and the Lombard archers who stood beside +you at Tivoli—they will attend you to the Imperial Palace.” +</p> + +<p> +“What shall I do there?” asked Theirry. “It is early yet, and I do not +love to sit alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, come to the service in the Basilica—come with a bold bearing +and a rich dress to overawe these mongrel crowds of Rome.” +</p> + +<p> +To that Theirry made no answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Farewell,” he said, and lifted the scarlet curtain that concealed the +door, “until to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope came quickly to his side. +</p> + +<p> +“Do not go to Jacobea to-night,” he said earnestly. “Remember, if you +fail me now——” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall not fail you or myself, again—farewell.” +</p> + +<p> +His hand was on the latch when Michael spoke once more— +</p> + +<p> +“I grieve to let you go,” he murmured in an agitated tone. “I have not +before been fearful, but to-night——” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“You have no cause to dread anything, you with your foot on the neck +of the world.” +</p> + +<p> +He opened the door on to the soft purple light of the stairs and +stepped from the room. +</p> + +<p> +In a half-stifled voice the Pope called him. +</p> + +<p> +“Theirry!—be true to me, for on your faith have I staked everything.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry looked over his shoulder and laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you never let me begone?” +</p> + +<p> +The other pressed his hand to his forehead. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, begone—why should I seek to keep you?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry descended the stairs and now and then looked up. +</p> + +<p> +Always to see fixed on him the yearning, fierce gaze of the one who +stood by the gilded rails and stared down at his glittering figure. +</p> + +<p> +Only when he had completely disappeared in the turn of the stairs did +Michael II slowly return to the golden chamber and close the gorgeous +doors. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry, splendidly attended, flashed through the riotous streets of +Rome to the palace on the Aventine Hill. +</p> + +<p> +There he dismissed the knights. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall not go to the Basilica to-night,” he said, “go thou there +without me.” +</p> + +<p> +He laid aside the golden armour, the purple cloak, and attired himself +in a dark habit and a steel corselet; he meant to be Emperor +to-morrow, he meant to be faithful to the Pope, but it was in his +heart to see Jacobea once more before he accepted the Devil’s last +gift and sign. +</p> + +<p> +Leaving the palace secretly, when they all thought him in his chamber, +he took his way towards the Appian Gate. +</p> + +<p> +Once more, for the last time… he would suggest to her that she +returned to Martzburg. The plague was rampant in the city; more than +once he passed the death-cart attended by friars clanging harsh bells; +several houses were sealed and silent; but in the piazzas the people +danced and sang, and in the Via Sacra they held a carnival in honour +of the victory at Tivoli. +</p> + +<p> +It was nearly dark, starless, and the air heavy with the sense of +storm; as he neared the less-frequented part of the city Theirry +looked continually behind him to see if the dancer in orange dogged +his footsteps—he saw no one. +</p> + +<p> +Very lonely, very silent it was in the Appian Way, the only domestic +light he came to the little lamp above the convent gate. +</p> + +<p> +The stillness and gloom of the place chilled his heart, she could not, +must not stay here.… +</p> + +<p> +He gently pushed the gate and entered. +</p> + +<p> +The hot dusk just revealed to him the dim shapes of the white roses +and the dark figure of a lady standing beside them. +</p> + +<p> +“Jacobea,” he whispered. +</p> + +<p> +She moved very slowly towards him. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jacobea—you must not remain in this place!—where are the nuns?” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“They are dead of the plague days past, and I have buried them in the +garden.” +</p> + +<p> +He gave a start of horror. +</p> + +<p> +“You shall go back to Martzburg—you are <i>alone</i> here?” +</p> + +<p> +Her answer came calmly out of the twilight. +</p> + +<p> +“I think there is no one living anywhere near. The plague has been +very fierce—you should not come here if you do not wish to die.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what of you?” His voice was full of horror. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, what can it matter about me?” +</p> + +<p> +He thought she smiled; he followed her into the house, the chamber +where they had sat before. +</p> + +<p> +A tall pale candle burnt on the bare table, and by the light of it he +saw her face. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye are ill already,” he shuddered. +</p> + +<p> +Again she shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you come here?” she asked gently. “You are to be Emperor +to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +She crept with a slow sick movement to a bench that stood against the +wall and sank down on it; her features showed pinched and wan, her +eyes unnaturally blue in the pallor of her face. +</p> + +<p> +“You must return to Martzburg,” repeated Theirry distractedly; and +thought of her as he had first seen her, bright and gay, in a pale +crimson dress.… +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, I shall return to Martzburg no more,” she answered. “He died +to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“He?—who died, Jacobea?” +</p> + +<p> +Very faintly she smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Sebastian—in Palestine. God let me see him then, because I had never +looked on him since that morning on which you saw us, sir… he has been +a holy man fighting the infidel; they wounded him, I think, and he was +sick with fever—he crept into the shade (for it is very hot there, +sir), and died.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry stood dumb, and the mad hatred of the devil who had brought +about this misery anew possessed him. +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea spoke again. +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe they have met in Paradise—and as for me I hope God may think +me fit to die—of late it seemed to me that the fiends were again +troubling me”—she clasped her hands tightly on her knees and +shivered; “something evil is abroad… who is the dancer? … last night I +saw her crouching by my gate as I was making the grave of Sister +Angela, and it seemed, it seemed, that she bewitched me—as the young +scholar did, long ago.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry leant heavily against the table. +</p> + +<p> +“She is the Pope’s spy and tool,” he cried hoarsely, “Ursula of +Rooselaare!” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea’s dim eyes were bewildered. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Balthasar’s wife,” she faltered, “but the Pope’s tool—how should +he meddle with an evil thing?” +</p> + +<p> +Then he told her, in an outburst of wild, unnameable feeling. +</p> + +<p> +“The Pope is Dirk Renswoude—the Pope is Antichrist—do you not +understand? And I am to help him rule the kingdom of the Devil!” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea gave a shuddering cry, half rose in her seat and sank back +against the wall. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry crossed the room and fell on his knees beside her. +</p> + +<p> +“It is true, true,” he sobbed. “And I am damned for ever!” +</p> + +<p> +The lightning darted in from the darkness and thunder crashed above +the convent; Theirry laid his head on her lap and her cold fingers +touched his hair. +</p> + +<p> +“Since, knowing this, you are his ally,” she whispered fearfully. +</p> + +<p> +He answered through clenched teeth. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, I will be Emperor—and it is too late to turn back.” +</p> + +<p> +Jacobea stared across the candle-lit room. +</p> + +<p> +“Dirk Renswoude,” she muttered, “and Ursula of Rooselaare—why—was it +not to save Hugh of Rooselaare that he rode—that night?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry lifted his head and looked at her, her utterance was feeble +and confused, her eyes glazing in a livid face; he clasped his hands +tightly over hers. +</p> + +<p> +“What was Lord Hugh to him?” she asked, “Ursula’s father.…” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not understand,” cried Theirry. +</p> + +<p> +“But it is very clear to me—I am dying—she loved you, loves you +still—that such things should be.…” +</p> + +<p> +“Whom do you speak of—Jacobea?” he cried, distracted. +</p> + +<p> +She drooped towards him and he caught her in his arms. +</p> + +<p> +“The city is accursed,” she gasped; “give me Christian burial, if ever +once you cared for me, and fly, fly!” +</p> + +<p> +She strained and writhed in his frantic embrace. +</p> + +<p> +“And you never knew it was a woman,” she whispered, “Pope and +dancer.…” +</p> + +<p> +“God!” shrieked Theirry; and staggered to his feet drawing her with +him. +</p> + +<p> +She choked her life out against his shoulder, clinging with the +desperation of the dying, to him, while he tried to force her into +speech. +</p> + +<p> +“Answer me, Jacobea! What authority have you for this hideous thing, +in the name of God, Jacobea!” +</p> + +<p> +She slipped from him to the bench. +</p> + +<p> +“Water, a crucifix.… Oh, I have forgot my prayers.” She stretched out +her hands towards a wooden crucifix that hung on the wall, caught hold +of it, pressed her lips to the feet.… +</p> + +<p> +“Sybilla,” she said, and died with that name struggling in her throat. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry stepped back from her with a strangled shriek that seemed to +tear the breath from his body, and staggered against the table. +</p> + +<p> +The lightning leapt in through the dark window, and appeared to plunge +like a sword into the breast of the dead woman. +</p> + +<p> +Dead!—even as she uttered that horror—dead so suddenly. The plague +had slain her—he did not wish to die, so he must leave this +place—was he not to be Emperor to-morrow? +</p> + +<p> +He fell to laughing. +</p> + +<p> +The candle had burnt almost to the socket; the yellow flame struggling +against extinction cast a fantastic leaping light over Jacobea, lying +huddled along the bench with her yellow hair across the breast of her +rough garment; over Theirry, leaning with slack limbs against the +table; it showed his ghastly face, his staring eyes, his dropped +jaw—as his laughter died into silence. +</p> + +<p> +Fly! Fly! +</p> + +<p> +He must fly from this Thing that reigned in Rome—he could not face +to-morrow, he could not look again into the face of Antichrist.… +</p> + +<p> +He crawled across the room and stared at Jacobea. +</p> + +<p> +She was not beautiful; he noticed that her hands were torn and stained +with earth from making the graves of the nuns… she had asked for +Christian burial… he could not stay to give it her.… +</p> + +<p> +He fiercely hated her for what she had told him, yet he took up the +ends of her yellow hair and kissed them. +</p> + +<p> +Again the thunder and lightning and wild howlings reached him from +without, as ghosts and night-hags wandered past to hold court within +the accursed city. +</p> + +<p> +The candle shot up a long tongue of flame—and went out. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry staggered across the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +A flash of lightning showed him the door. As the thunder crashed above +the city he fled from the convent and from Rome. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p2ch11"> +CHAPTER XI.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE ANGELS</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">In</span> a ruined villa, shattered by the barbarians and crumbled by time, +sat Ysabeau the Empress looking over the sunless Maremma. +</p> + +<p> +A few olive trees were all that shaded the bare expanse of marshy +land, where great pools veiled with unhealthy vapours gleamed faintly +under the heavy clouds. +</p> + +<p> +Here and there rose the straight roof of a forsaken convent, or the +stately pillars of a deserted palace. +</p> + +<p> +There was no human being in sight. +</p> + +<p> +A few birds flew low over the marshes; sometimes one screamed in +through the open roof or darted across the gaping broken doorway. +</p> + +<p> +Then Ysabeau would rise from her sombre silence to spurn them from her +with fierce words and stones. +</p> + +<p> +The stained marble was grown with reeds and wild flowers; a straggling +vine half twisted round two of the slender columns; and there the +Empress sat, huddled in her cloak and gazing over the forlorn marshes. +</p> + +<p> +She had dwelt here for three days; at every sunrise a peasant girl, +daring the excommunication, had brought her food, then fled with a +frightened face. +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau saw nothing before her save death, but she did not mean to die +by the ignoble way of starvation. +</p> + +<p> +She had not heard of the defeat of Balthasar at Tivoli, nor of the +election of Theirry to the crown; day and night she thought on her +husband, and pondered how she might still possibly serve him. +</p> + +<p> +She did not hope to see him again; it never occurred to her to return +to him; when she had fled his camp she had left a confession behind +her—no Greek would have heeded it, but these Saxons, still, to her, +foreigners, were different. +</p> + +<p> +And Balthasar had loved Melchoir of Brabant. +</p> + +<p> +It was very hot, with a sullen, close heat; the dreary prospect became +hateful to her, and she rose and moved to the inner portion of the +villa, where the marigold roots thrust up through the inlaid stone +floor, and a remaining portion of the roof cast a shade. +</p> + +<p> +Here she seated herself on the capital of a broken column, and a +languid weariness subdued her proud spirit; her head sank back against +the stained wall, and she slept. +</p> + +<p> +When she woke the whole landscape was glowing with the soft red of +sunset. +</p> + +<p> +She stretched herself, shivered, and looked about her. +</p> + +<p> +Then she suddenly drew herself together and listened. +</p> + +<p> +There were faint voices coming from the outer room, and the sound of a +man’s tread. +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau held her breath. +</p> + +<p> +But so close a silence followed that she thought she must have been +deceived. +</p> + +<p> +For a while she waited, then crept cautiously towards the shattered +doorway that led into the other chamber. +</p> + +<p> +She gained it and gazed through. +</p> + +<p> +Sitting where she had just now sat, under the vine-twisted columns, +was a huge knight in defaced armour; his back was towards her; by his +side his helmet stood, and the great glittering dragon that formed the +crest shone in the setting sun. +</p> + +<p> +He was bending over a child that lay asleep on a crimson cloak. +</p> + +<p> +“Balthasar,” said Ysabeau. +</p> + +<p> +He gave a little cry, and looked over his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me, my lord,” she asked in a trembling voice, “as you would tell +a stranger, if evil fortune brings you here.” +</p> + +<p> +He rose softly, his face flushed. +</p> + +<p> +“I am a ruined man. They have elected another Emperor. Now, I think, +it does not matter.” +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes travelled in a dazed way to the child. +</p> + +<p> +“Is he sick?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, only weary; we have been wandering since Tivoli——” +</p> + +<p> +While he spoke he looked at her, as if the world held nothing else +worth gazing on. +</p> + +<p> +“I must go,” said Ysabeau. +</p> + +<p> +“Must go?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am cast out—I may not share your misfortunes.” +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“I have been searching for you madly, Ysabeau.” +</p> + +<p> +“Searching?” +</p> + +<p> +And now he looked away from her. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought my heart would have burst when I discovered ye had gone to +Rome——” +</p> + +<p> +“But you found the writing?” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea——” +</p> + +<p> +“You know—I slew him?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know you went to give your life for me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am accursed!” +</p> + +<p> +“You have been faithful to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Balthasar!—does it make no difference?” +</p> + +<p> +“It cannot,” he said, half sadly. “You are my wife—part of me; I have +given you my heart to keep, and nothing can alter it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You do not mock me?” she questioned, shuddering. “It must be that you +mock me—I will go away——” +</p> + +<p> +He stepped before her. +</p> + +<p> +“You shall never leave me again, Ysabeau.” +</p> + +<p> +“I had not dared—you have forgiven——” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not your judge——” +</p> + +<p> +“It cannot be that God is so tender!” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not speak for Him,” said Balthasar hoarsely—“but for +myself——” +</p> + +<p> +She could not answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Ysabeau,” he cried jealously, “you—could you have lived apart from +me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” she whispered; “I meant to die.” +</p> + +<p> +“That I might be forgiven!” +</p> + +<p> +“What else could I do! Would they had slain me and taken the curse +from you!” +</p> + +<p> +He put his arm round her bowed shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“There is no curse while we are together, Ysabeau.” +</p> + +<p> +Her marvellous hair lay across his dinted mail. +</p> + +<p> +“This is sweeter than our marriage day, Balthasar, for now you know +the worst of me——” +</p> + +<p> +“My wife!—my lady and my wife!” +</p> + +<p> +He set her gently on the broken shaft by the door and kissed her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Wencelaus sleeps,” she smiled through tears. “I could not have put +him to rest more surely——” +</p> + +<p> +“He slept not much last night,” said Balthasar, “for the owls and +flitter mice—and it was very dark with the moon hidden.” +</p> + +<p> +Her hand still lay in his great palm. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me of yourself,” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +And he told her how they had been defeated at Tivoli, how the remnant +of his force had forsaken him, and how Theirry of Dendermonde had been +elected Emperor by the wishes of the Pope. +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes grew fierce at that. +</p> + +<p> +“I have ruined you,” she said; “made you a beggar.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you knew”—he smiled half shyly—“how little I care, for +myself—certes, for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do not shame me,” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Could I have held a throne without you, Ysabeau?” +</p> + +<p> +Her fingers trembled in his. +</p> + +<p> +“Would I had been a better woman, for your sake, Balthasar.” +</p> + +<p> +His swift bright flush dyed his fair face. +</p> + +<p> +“All I grieve for, Ysabeau, is—God.” +</p> + +<p> +“God?” she asked, wondering. +</p> + +<p> +“If He should not forgive?”—his blue eyes were troubled—“and we are +cursed and cast out—what think you?” +</p> + +<p> +She drew closer to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Through me!—you grieve, and this is—through me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, our destiny is one—always. Only, I think—of afterwards—yet, +if you are—damned, as the priest says, why, I will be so too——” +</p> + +<p> +“Do not fear, Balthasar; if God will not receive me, the little images +at Constantinople will forgive me if I pray to them again as I did +when I was a child——” +</p> + +<p> +They fell on silence again, while the red colour of the setting sun +deepened and cast a glow over their weary faces and the sleeping +figure of Wencelaus; the vine leaves fluttered from the ancient marble +and the wild-fowl screamed across the marshes. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is this Pope that he should hate us so?” mused Ysabeau. “And who +Theirry of Dendermonde that he should be Emperor of the West?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is to be crowned in the Basilica to-day,” said Balthasar. +</p> + +<p> +“While we sit here!” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not understand it. Nor do I now, Ysabeau,”—Balthasar looked at +her—“greatly care——” +</p> + +<p> +“But you shall care!” she cried. “If I be all to you, I will be +that—I must see you again upon the throne; we will to Basil’s Court. +That this Theirry of Dendermonde should sleep to-night in the golden +palace!” +</p> + +<p> +“We have found each other,” said the Emperor simply. +</p> + +<p> +She raised his hand, kissed it, and no more was said, while the mists +gathered and thickened over the Maremma and the rich hues faded from +the sky. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is that?” cried Ysabeau, and pointed across the marsh-land. +</p> + +<p> +A figure, dark against the mists, was running aimlessly, wildly to and +fro, winding his way in and out the pools, now and then flinging his +arms up in a frantic gesture towards the evening sky. +</p> + +<p> +“A madman,” said Balthasar; “see, he runs with no object, round and +round, yet always as if pursued——” +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau drew close to her husband, as they both watched, with a +curious fascination, the man being driven hither and thither as by an +invisible enemy. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it a ghost?” whispered Ysabeau; “strangely chilled and +horror-stricken do I feel——” +</p> + +<p> +The Emperor made the sign of the Cross. +</p> + +<p> +“Part of the curse, maybe,” he muttered. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, as if exhausted, the man stopped and stood still with +hanging head and arms; the sun burning to the horizon made a vivid +background to his tall dark figure till the heavy noisome vapours rose +to the level of the sunset, and the solitary, motionless stranger was +blotted from the view of the two watching in the ruined villa. +</p> + +<p> +“Why should we wonder?” said Balthasar. “There must be many men +abroad, both Saxon and Roman——” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet, he ran strangely,” she murmured; “and I have been here three +days and seen no one.” +</p> + +<p> +“We must get away,” said Balthasar resolutely. “This is a vile spot.” +</p> + +<p> +“At dawn a girl comes here with food, enough at least for Wencelaus.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have food with me, Ysabeau, given by one who did not know that we +were excommunicate.” +</p> + +<p> +The Empress looked about her fearfully. +</p> + +<p> +“I heard a step.” +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar peered through the mist. +</p> + +<p> +“The man,” whispered Ysabeau. +</p> + +<p> +Out of the dreary vapours, the forlorn and foul mists of the marshes, +he appeared, stumbling over the stones in his way… +</p> + +<p> +He caught hold of the slender pillar by the entrance and stared at the +three with distraught eyes. His clothes were dark, wet and soiled, his +hair hung lank round a face hollow and pale but of obvious beauty. +</p> + +<p> +“Theirry of Dendermonde!” exclaimed Balthasar. +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau gave a cry that woke the child and sent him frightened into +her arms. +</p> + +<p> +“The Emperor,” said the new-comer in a feeble voice. +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar answered fiercely— +</p> + +<p> +“Am I still Emperor to you?—you who to-day were to receive my crown +in St. Peter’s church?” +</p> + +<p> +Ysabeau clasped Wencelaus tightly to her breast, and her eyes shone +with a wrathful triumph. +</p> + +<p> +“They have cast him out; Rome rose against such a king!” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry shivered and crouched like one very cold. +</p> + +<p> +“Of my own will I fled from Rome, that city of the Devil!” +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar stared at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this the man who broke our ranks at Tivoli?” +</p> + +<p> +“Is this he who would be Emperor of the West?” cried Ysabeau. +</p> + +<p> +“You are the Emperor,” said Theirry faintly, “and I pretend no longer +to these wrongful honours, nor serve I any longer Antichrist——” +</p> + +<p> +“He is mad!” cried Balthasar. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” Ysabeau spoke eagerly—“listen to him.” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry moaned. +</p> + +<p> +“I have nothing to say—give me a place to rest in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Through you we have no place ourselves to rest in,” answered +Balthasar grimly. “No shelter save these broken walls you see; but +since you have returned to your allegiance, we command that you tell +us of this Antichrist——” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry straightened himself. +</p> + +<p> +“He who reigns in Rome is Antichrist, Michael, who was Dirk +Renswoude——” +</p> + +<p> +“He perished,” said the Emperor, very pale; “and the Pope was Blaise +of Dendermonde.” +</p> + +<p> +“That was the Devil’s work, black magic!” cried Theirry wildly; “the +youth Blaise died ten years ago, and Dirk Renswoude took his +place——” +</p> + +<p> +“It is true!” cried the Empress; “by what he said to me I know it +true—now do I see it very clearly——” +</p> + +<p> +But Balthasar stared at Theirry in a confused manner. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not understand.” +</p> + +<p> +The lightning darted through the broken wall, and a solitary winged +thing flapped over the roofless villa. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry began to speak. +</p> + +<p> +He told them, in a thick, expressionless voice, all he knew of Dirk +Renswoude. +</p> + +<p> +He did not mention Ursula of Rooselaare. +</p> + +<p> +As his tale went on, the storm gathered till all light had vanished +from the sky, the lightning rent a starless gloom, and the continual +roar of the thunder quivered in the stifling air. +</p> + +<p> +In the pauses between the lightning they could not see each other; +Wencelaus sobbed on his mother’s breast, and the owls hooted in the +crevices of the marble. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry’s voice suddenly strengthened. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, turn against Rome, for all men will join you—a force of +Lombards marches up from Trastevere, and the Saxons gather without the +walls of the accursed city.” +</p> + +<p> +A blue flash showed them his face… they heard him fall.… +</p> + +<p> +After a while Balthasar made his way to him through the dark. +</p> + +<p> +“He has fainted,” he said fearfully; “is he, belike, mad?” +</p> + +<p> +“He speaks the hideous truth,” whispered Ysabeau. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, at its very height the storm ceased, the air became cool and +fragrant, and a bright moon floated from the clouds. +</p> + +<p> +The silver radiance of it, extraordinarily bright and vivid, +illuminated the Maremma, the pools, the tall reeds, the deserted +buildings, the ruins that sheltered them; the clouds rolled swiftly +from the sky, leaving it clear and blazing with stars. +</p> + +<p> +The first moon and the first stars that had shone since Michael II’s +reign in the Vatican. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry’s dark dress and hair, and deathlike face pressed against the +marble pavement showed now plainly. +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar looked at his wife; neither dared to speak, but Wencelaus +gave a panting sigh of relief at the lifting of the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +“My lord,” he said, striving out of his mother’s arms, “a goodly +company comes across the marsh——” +</p> + +<p> +A great awe and fear held them silent, and the wonderful silver shine +of the moon lay over them like a spell. +</p> + +<p> +They saw, slowly approaching them, two knights and two ladies, who +seemed to advance without motion across the marsh-land. +</p> + +<p> +The knights wore armour that shone like glass, and long mantles of +white samite; the dames were clad in silver tissue, and around their +brows were close-pressed wreaths of roses mingled red and white. +</p> + +<p> +Very bright and fair they seemed; the knights came to the fore, +carrying silver trumpets; the ladies held each other’s hands lovingly, +and their gleaming tresses of red and gold wove together as they +walked. +</p> + +<p> +They reached the portals of the villa, and the air blew cold and pure. +</p> + +<p> +The lady with the yellow hair who held white violets in her hand, +spoke to the other, and her voice was like the echo of the sea in a +wide-lipped shell. +</p> + +<p> +They paused; Balthasar drew back before the great light they brought +with them, and Ysabeau hid her face, for some of them she knew. +</p> + +<p> +On earth their names had been Melchoir, Sebastian, Jacobea and +Sybilla. +</p> + +<p> +“Balthasar,” said the foremost Knight, “we are come from the courts of +Paradise to bid you march against Rome. In that city reigns Evil, +permitted to punish a sinful people, but now her time is come. Go you +to Viterbo, there you will find the Cardinal of Narbonne, whom God has +ordained Pope, and with him an army; at the head of it storm Rome, and +all the people shall join you in destroying Antichrist.” +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar fell on his knees. +</p> + +<p> +“And the curse!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +“ ’Tis not the curse of God upon you, therefore be comforted, Balthasar +of Courtrai, and at the dawn haste to Viterbo.” +</p> + +<p> +With that they moved away, and were absorbed into the silver light +that transfigured the Maremma. +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar sprang to his feet, shouting— +</p> + +<p> +“I am not excommunicate! I shall be Emperor again. The curse is +lifted!” +</p> + +<p> +The moonlight faded, again the clouds rolled up.… +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar caught Theirry by the shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you see the vision?—the angels?” +</p> + +<p> +Theirry came shuddering from his swoon. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw nothing—Ursula… Ursula.…” +</p> + + +<h3 id="p2ch12"> +CHAPTER XII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">IN THE VATICAN</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">In</span> the ebony cabinet in the Vatican sat Michael II; an expression of +utter anguish marked his face. +</p> + +<p> +On the gold table were spread books and parchments; the sullen light +of a stormy midday filtered through the painted curtains and showed +the rich splendours of the chamber, the glittering, closed wings of +the shrine, the carved gold arms of the Pope’s chair, the threads of +silver tissue in his crimson robe. +</p> + +<p> +He sat very still, his elbow resting on the table, his cheek propped +on his palm, now and then he looked at the little sand clock. +</p> + +<p> +Presently Paolo Orsini entered; the Pope glanced at him without +moving. +</p> + +<p> +“No news?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“None of the Lord Theirry, your Holiness.” +</p> + +<p> +Michael II moistened his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“They have searched—everywhere?” +</p> + +<p> +“Throughout Rome, your Holiness, but——” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only this, my lord, a man might easily disappear—there is no law in +the city.” +</p> + +<p> +“He was armed, they said, when he left the palace; have you sent to +the convent I told you of—St. Angela, beyond the Appian Gate?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, your Holiness,” answered Orsini, “and they found nought but a +dead woman.” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope averted his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“What did they with her?” +</p> + +<p> +Orsini lifted his brows. +</p> + +<p> +“Cast her into the plague pit, Holiness,—that quarter is a +charnel-house.” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope drew a deep breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he is gone—I do not think him dead,”—he flung back his +head—“but the game is over, is it not, Orsini? We fling down our +pieces and say—good-night!” +</p> + +<p> +His nostrils dilated, his eyes flashed, he brought his open hand +softly on to the table. +</p> + +<p> +“What does your Holiness mean?” asked Orsini. +</p> + +<p> +“We mean that this puppet Emperor of ours has forsaken us, and that +our position becomes perilous,” answered the Pope. “Cardinal Narbonne, +hurling defiance at us from Viterbo, grows stronger, and the mob—do +not seek to deceive me, Orsini, the mob clamours against us?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is true, my lord.” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope gave a terrible smile, and his beautiful eyes widened. +</p> + +<p> +“And the soldiers mutiny, the Saxons at Trastevere have joined +Balthasar and the Veronese have left me—we have not enough men to +hold Rome an hour; well, Orsini, you shall take a summons to the +Cardinals and we will hold a conclave, there to decide how we may meet +our fortune.” +</p> + +<p> +He rose and turned towards the window. +</p> + +<p> +“Hark, do you hear how the factions howl below?—begone, Orsini.” +</p> + +<p> +The secretary departed in silence. +</p> + +<p> +Mutterings, murmurings, howlings rose from the accursed city to the +Pontiff’s chamber; lightning darted from the black heavens, and +thunder rolled round the hills of Rome. +</p> + +<p> +Michael II walked to and fro in his gorgeous cabinet. +</p> + +<p> +In the three days since Theirry had fled the city, his power had +crumbled like a handful of sand; Rome had turned against him, and +every hour men fell away from his cause. +</p> + +<p> +The devils, too, had forsaken him; he could not raise the spirits, the +magic fires would not burn… all was blank darkness and silence. +</p> + +<p> +Up and down he paced, listening to the mob surging in the Piazza of +St. Peter. +</p> + +<p> +The day wore on and the storm grew in violence. +</p> + +<p> +Paolo Orsini came again to him, his face pale. +</p> + +<p> +“Half the Cardinals are fled to Viterbo and those remaining refuse to +acknowledge your Holiness.” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“I had expected it.” +</p> + +<p> +“News comes from a Greek runner that Theirry of Dendermonde is with +Balthasar’s host——” +</p> + +<p> +“Also I expected that,” said Michael II wildly. +</p> + +<p> +“And they proclaim you,” continued Orsini in an agitated manner, “an +impostor, one given to evil practices, and by these means incite the +people against you; Cardinal Orvieto has led a thousand men across the +marshes to the Emperor’s army——” +</p> + +<p> +“And Theirry of Dendermonde has denounced me!” said the Pope. +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke one beat for admission on the gilt door. +</p> + +<p> +The secretary opened and there entered an Eastern chamberlain. +</p> + +<p> +“Holiness,” he cried fearfully, “the people have set fire to your +palace on the Palatine Hill, and Cardinal Colonna, with his brother +Octavian, have seized Castel San Angelo for the Emperor, and hold it +in defiance of your Grace.” +</p> + +<p> +As he finished the lightning darted into the now darkening chamber, +and the thunder mingled with the howling of the mob that surged +beneath the Vatican walls. +</p> + +<p> +“The captain of my guard and those faithful to me,” answered the Pope, +“will know how to do what may be done—apprise me of the approach of +Balthasar’s host, and now go.” +</p> + +<p> +They left him; he stood for a while listening to those ominous sounds +that filled the murky air, then he pressed a spring in one of the +mother-of-pearl panels and stepped into the secret chamber that was +revealed. +</p> + +<p> +Cautiously he closed the panel by which he had entered, and looked +furtively about him. +</p> + +<p> +The small windowless space was lit only by one blood-red lamp, locked +cupboards lined the walls, and a huge globe of faint gold, painted +with curious and mystic signs, hung from the ceiling. +</p> + +<p> +The Pope’s stiff garments made a soft rustling sound as he moved; his +quick desperate breathing disturbed the heavy confined air. +</p> + +<p> +In his pallid face his eyes rolled and gleamed. +</p> + +<p> +“Sathanas, Sathanas,” he muttered, “is this the end?” +</p> + +<p> +A throbbing shook the red-lit gloom, his last words were echoed +mournfully— +</p> + +<p> +“The end.” +</p> + +<p> +He clutched his hands into the jewelled embroidery on his breast. +</p> + +<p> +“Now you mock me—by my old allegiance, is this the end?” +</p> + +<p> +Again the echo from the dark walls— +</p> + +<p> +“The end.” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope glared in front of him. +</p> + +<p> +“Must I die, Sathanas—must I swiftly die?” +</p> + +<p> +A little confused laughter came before the echo “swiftly die.” +</p> + +<p> +He paced up and down the narrow space. +</p> + +<p> +“I staked my fortunes on that man’s faith and he has forsaken me, and +I have lost, lost!” +</p> + +<p> +“Lost! lost!” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope laughed frantically. +</p> + +<p> +“At least she died, Sathanas, her yellow hair rots in the plague pit +now; I had some skill left… but what was all my skill if I could not +keep him faithful to me——” +</p> + +<p> +He clasped his jewelled hand over his eyes; utter silence followed his +words now; the globe of pallid gold trembled in the darkness of the +domed ceiling, and the mystic characters on it began to writhe and +move. +</p> + +<p> +“Long had I lived with the earth beneath my feet had I not met that +fair sweet fool, and I go to ruin for his sake who has denounced +me——” +</p> + +<p> +The red lamp became dull as a dying coal. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye warned me,” breathed the Pope, “that this man would be my +bane—you promised on his truth to you and me to halve the world +between us; he was false, and you have utterly forsaken me?” +</p> + +<p> +The echo answered— +</p> + +<p> +“Utterly forsaken.…” +</p> + +<p> +The lamp went out. +</p> + +<p> +The pale luminous globe expanded to a monstrous size, the circle of +dark little fiends round it danced and whirled madly.… +</p> + +<p> +Then it burst and fell in a thousand fragments at the Pope’s feet. +</p> + +<p> +Out of the darkness came a wail as of some thing hurt or dying, then +long sighing shook the close air.… +</p> + +<p> +The Pope felt along the wall, touched the spring and stepped into the +ebony cabinet. +</p> + +<p> +He looked quite old and small and bowed. +</p> + +<p> +Night had fallen; the chamber was lit by perfumed candles in curious +carved sticks of soapstone; faint veils of incense floated in the air. +</p> + +<p> +Without the thunder rolled and threatened, and the factions of Rome +fought in the streets. +</p> + +<p> +The Pope sank into a chair and folded his hands in his lap; his head +fell forward on his breast; his lips quivered and two tears rolled +down his cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +The Angelus bells rang out over the city, there were not many to ring +now; as they quivered away a clock struck, quite near. +</p> + +<p> +The Pope did not move. +</p> + +<p> +Once again Paolo Orsini entered, and Michael II averted his face. +</p> + +<p> +“Holiness, Balthasar marches on Rome,” said the secretary, “the mob +rush forth to join him, and if the gates were brass, and five times +brass, the Vatican could not withstand them.” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope spoke without looking round. +</p> + +<p> +“Will they storm the Vatican?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, that they will, Holiness,” answered Orsini. +</p> + +<p> +Now the Pontiff turned his white face. +</p> + +<p> +“What may I do?” +</p> + +<p> +“The captain of the guard suggests that ye come to terms with the +Emperor, and by submission save your life.” +</p> + +<p> +“That I will not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it were well if your Holiness would flee; there is a secret way +out of the Vatican——” +</p> + +<p> +“And that I will not.” +</p> + +<p> +Orsini, too, was very pale. +</p> + +<p> +“Then are you doomed to fall into the hands of Balthasar, and he and +his faction say—horrible things.” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope rose. +</p> + +<p> +“You think they would lay hands on me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do fear it!” +</p> + +<p> +“It would be a shameful death, Orsini?” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely not that! I cannot think the Emperor would do more than +imprison your Holiness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you are very faithful, Orsini.” +</p> + +<p> +The young Roman shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“Cardinal Narbonne is a Colonna, Holiness, and I have always found you +a generous master.” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope went to the window. +</p> + +<p> +“How they howl!” he said through his teeth, “and Balthasar comes +nearer, nearer——” +</p> + +<p> +He checked himself abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +“I will dine here to-night, Orsini, see that everything is done as +usual.” +</p> + +<p> +The secretary bowed himself out of the gilt door. +</p> + +<p> +Michael II went to the table on the daïs and took from it a scroll of +parchment. +</p> + +<p> +Standing in the centre of the room he unrolled it; some verses were +written in a scarlet ink on the smooth surface; in a low voice he read +aloud the two last. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“If Love were all!</span><br> +<span class="i1">I had lived glad and meek,</span><br> +<span class="i0">Nor heard Ambition call</span><br> +<span class="i1">And Valour speak,</span><br> +<span class="i3">If Love were all!”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +He smiled bitterly. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“But Love is weak,</span><br> +<span class="i1">And often leaves his throne,</span><br> +<span class="i0">Among his scattered roses pale</span><br> +<span class="i1">To weep and moan,</span><br> +<span class="i0">And I, apostate to his whispered creed,</span><br> +<span class="i1">Shall miss his wings above my pall,</span><br> +<span class="i0">Nor find his face in this my bitter need,</span><br> +<span class="i3">When Love is all!”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +“The metre halts,” said Michael II, “the metre… halts.” +</p> + +<p> +He tore the parchment into fragments and scattered them on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +Again the gilt doors were opened, this time a chamberlain entered. +</p> + +<p> +A herald had brought a fierce and grim message from Balthasar. +</p> + +<p> +It spoke of the Pope as Antichrist, and called on him to submit if he +would keep his life. +</p> + +<p> +The Pope read it with haughty eyes; when he had finished he rent it +across and cast the pieces down among the others. +</p> + +<p> +“And ye shall hang the herald,” he said. “We have so much authority.” +</p> + +<p> +The chamberlain handed him a second packet, sealed. +</p> + +<p> +“This also the herald brought, Holiness.” +</p> + +<p> +“From whom?” +</p> + +<p> +“From Theirry of Dendermonde.” +</p> + +<p> +“Theirry of—of Dendermonde?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, Holiness.” +</p> + +<p> +The Pope took the packet. +</p> + +<p> +“Let the herald live,” he said, “but cast him into the dungeons.” +</p> + +<p> +The chamberlain withdrew. +</p> + +<p> +For a while Michael II stood staring at the packet, while the thunder +crashed over Rome. +</p> + +<p> +Then he slowly broke the seal. +</p> + +<p> +“What curses have you for me?” he cried wildly. “What curses? You!” +</p> + +<p> +He unfolded the long strip of vellum, and went nearer the candles to +read it. +</p> + +<p> +Thus it ran— +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“The Emperor’s camp, marching on Rome, Theirry of Dendermonde to +Michael, Pope of Rome, thus— +</p> + +<p> +“I am approaching madness, I cannot sleep or rest—after days of +torment I write to you whom I have twice betrayed. She died on my +breast, but I do not care; Balthasar says he saw her walking on the +Maremma, but I saw nothing… before she died she said something. I +think of you and of nothing else, though I have betrayed you, I have +never uttered what she said. No one guesses. +</p> + +<p> +“The uncertainty, the horror, gnaw away my heart. So I write this to +you. +</p> + +<p> +“This is my message— +</p> + +<p> +“If you are a devil, be satisfied, for your devil’s work is done. +</p> + +<p> +“If you are a man, you have befriended, wronged me, and I have avenged +myself. +</p> + +<p> +“If you are that other thing you may be, then I know you love me, and +that I kissed you once. +</p> + +<p> +“If this last be true, as I do think it true, have some pity on my +long ignorance and believe I have it in me to love even as you have +loved. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Ursula, I know a city in India where we might live, and you +forget you ever ruled in Rome; yonder are other gods who are so old +they have forgot to punish, and they would smile on you and me there, +Ursula. Balthasar marches on the city, and you must be ruined and +discovered—brought to an end so horrible. You have showed me a secret +way out of the Vatican, use it now, this night. I am in advance of the +host—I shall be without the Appian Gate to-night, and I have means +whereby we may fly to the coast and there take ship to India; until we +meet, farewell! and in the name of all the passions you have roused in +me—come!” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +As the Pope read, all the colour slowly left his face; when he had +finished he mechanically rolled up the parchment, then unrolled it +again. +</p> + +<p> +Thunder shook the Vatican and the mob howled without. +</p> + +<p> +Again he read the letter. +</p> + +<p> +Then he thrust it into one of the candles and watched it blacken, +curl, burst into flame. +</p> + +<p> +He flung it on the marble floor and set his gold heel on it, grinding +it into ashes. +</p> + +<p> +At the usual hour they served his sumptuous supper; when it was +finished and removed, Paolo Orsini came again. +</p> + +<p> +“Will not your Holiness fly, before it is too late?” +</p> + +<p> +All traces of anguish and woe had vanished from his master’s features; +he looked proud and beautiful. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall stay here; but let them who will, seek safety.” +</p> + +<p> +He dismissed Orsini and the attendants. +</p> + +<p> +It was now late in the evening—and the thunder unceasing. +</p> + +<p> +The Pope locked the door of the cabinet, then went to the gilt table, +and wrote a letter rapidly—this he folded, sealed with purple wax and +stamped with his great thumb ring. +</p> + +<p> +He sat silent a little while after this and stared with great luminous +eyes before him, then roused himself and unlocked a drawer in the +table. +</p> + +<p> +From this he took some documents, tied together with orange silk, and +a ring with a red stone in it. +</p> + +<p> +One by one he burnt the parchments in the candle, and when they were +reduced to a little pile of ashes he cast the ring into the midst of +it and turned away. +</p> + +<p> +He crossed to the window, drew the curtains and looked out over Rome. +</p> + +<p> +In the black heavens, above the black hills, hung a huge meteor, a +blazing globe of fire with a trail of flame.… +</p> + +<p> +The Pope let the silk fall together again. +</p> + +<p> +He took up one of the candles and went to the gold door that led to +his bed-chamber. +</p> + +<p> +Before he opened it he paused a moment; the candle-flame lit his vivid +eyes, his haughty face, his glittering vestments.… +</p> + +<p> +He turned the handle and entered the dark, spacious room. +</p> + +<p> +Through the high, undraped window could clearly be seen the star that +seemed to burn away the very sky. +</p> + +<p> +The Pope set the candle on a shelf where it showed dim glimpses of +white and gold tapestries, walls of alabaster, a bed of purple and +gilt, mysterious, gorgeous luxury.… +</p> + +<p> +He returned to the cabinet and took from the bosom of his gown a +little bottle of yellow jade; for the stopper a ruby served. +</p> + +<p> +The thunder crashed deafeningly; the lightning seemed to split the +room in twain; the Pope stood still, listening. +</p> + +<p> +Then he blew out the candles and returned to his bed-chamber. +</p> + +<p> +Softly he passed into the scented, splendid chamber and closed the +door behind him. +</p> + +<p> +In the little pause between two thunder-peals was the sound of a great +key turning in a lock. +</p> + + +<h3 id="p2ch13"> +CHAPTER XIII.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">THE SECRET</span> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sc">The</span> mob had stormed the Vatican; Octavian Colonna, with a handful of +fighting men, ascended the undefended marble staircase. +</p> + +<p> +The papal guards lay slain in the courtyard and in the entrance hall; +chamberlains, secretary, pages, and priests, fled or surrendered. +</p> + +<p> +With the Lord Colonna was Theirry of Dendermonde, who had entered Rome +that morning by the Appian Gate and headed a faction of the lawless +crowd in their wild attack on the Vatican. +</p> + +<p> +To himself he kept saying— +</p> + +<p> +“I shall know, she did not come; I shall know, she did not come.” +</p> + +<p> +It was early morning; the terrific storm of last night still lingered +over Rome; flashes of blue light divided the murky clouds and the +thunder hung about the Aventine; the Colonna grew afraid; he waited +below in the gorgeous audience-chamber and sent up to the Pope’s +apartments, demanding his submission and promising him safety. +</p> + +<p> +The overawed crowd retired into the courtyard and the Piazza while +Paolo Orsini ascended the silver stairs. +</p> + +<p> +He returned with this message— +</p> + +<p> +“His Holiness’s apartments were locked, nor could they make him hear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Break down the doors,” said the Colonna, but he trembled. +</p> + +<p> +It was a common thought among the knights that Michael II had escaped; +a monk offered to show them the secret passage where his Holiness +might be even now; many went; but Theirry followed the attendants to +the gilt door of the ebony cabinet. +</p> + +<p> +They broke the lock and entered, fearfully. +</p> + +<p> +On the floor torn fragments of parchments, a pile of ashes with a ruby +ring lying in the midst.… +</p> + +<p> +Nothing else. +</p> + +<p> +“His Holiness is in his chamber—we dare not enter.” +</p> + +<p> +They had always been afraid of him; even now his name held terror. +</p> + +<p> +“The Colonna waits our news!” cried Theirry wildly, “I—I dare enter.” +</p> + +<p> +They tiptoed to the other gilt door; it took them some time to remove +the lock. +</p> + +<p> +When at last the door gave and swung open they shrunk away—but +Theirry passed into the chamber. +</p> + +<p> +The sombre light of dawn filled it; heavy shadows obscured the rich +splendours of golden colours, of gleaming white walls; the men crept +after him—it seemed to Theirry as if the world had stopped about +them. +</p> + +<p> +On the magnificent purple bed lay the Pope; on his brow the tiara +glittered, and on his breast the chasuble; the crozier lay by his side +on the samite coverlet, and his feet glittered in their golden shoes; +by the crozier was a letter and a jade bottle. +</p> + +<p> +The attendants shrieked and fled. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry crept to the bedside and took up the parchment; his name was +over the top; he broke the seal. +</p> + +<p> +He read the fair writing. +</p> + +<p> +“If I be a devil I go whence I came, if a man I lived as one and die +as one, if woman I have known Love, conquered it and by it have been +vanquished. Whatsoever I am, I perish on the heights, but I do not +descend from them. I have known things in their fulness and will not +stay to taste the dregs. So, to you greeting, and not for long +farewell.” +</p> + +<p> +The letter fell from Theirry’s hand, fluttered and sank to the floor. +</p> + +<p> +He raised his eyes and saw through the window the meteor, blazing over +Rome. +</p> + +<p> +Dead.… +</p> + +<p> +He looked now at the proud smooth face on the pillow; the gems of the +papal crown gleaming above the red locks, the jewelled chasuble +sparkling in the strengthening dawn until he was nearly fooled into +thinking the bosom heaved beneath. +</p> + +<p> +He was alone. +</p> + +<p> +At least he could know. +</p> + +<p> +The air was like incense sweet and stifling; his blood seemed to beat +in his brain with a little foolish sound of melody; a shaft of grey +light fell over the splendours of the bed, the roses and dragons, +hawks and hounds sewn on the curtains and coverlets; from the Pope’s +garments rose a subtle and beautiful perfume. +</p> + +<p> +“Ursula,” said Theirry; he bent over the bed until the pearls in his +ears touched his cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +Without the thunder muttered. +</p> + +<p> +To know— +</p> + +<p> +He lifted the dead Pope’s arm; there seemed to be neither weight nor +substance under the stiff silk. +</p> + +<p> +He dropped the sleeve; his cold fingers unclasped the heavy chasuble, +underneath lay perfumed samite, white and soft. +</p> + +<p> +An awful sensation crept through his veins; he thought that under +these gorgeous vestments was nothing—nothing—ashes. +</p> + +<p> +He did not dare to uncover the bosom that lay, that must lie, under +the gleaming samite.… +</p> + +<p> +But he must know. +</p> + +<p> +He lifted up the fair crowned head to peer madly into the proud +features.… +</p> + +<p> +It came away in his hands, like crumbling wood that may preserve, till +touched, the semblance of the carving… so the Pope’s head parted from +the trunk. +</p> + +<p> +Theirry smiled with horror and stared at what he held. +</p> + +<p> +Then it disappeared, fell into ashes before his eyes, and the tiara +rolled on to the floor. +</p> + +<p> +Gone—like an image of smoke. +</p> + +<p> +He sank across the headless thing on the bed. +</p> + +<p> +“Must I <i>follow</i> you to know, follow you to hell?” he whispered. +</p> + +<p> +Now he could open the rich garments. +</p> + +<p> +They were empty of all save dust. +</p> + +<p> +The strange strong perfume was stinging and numbing his brain, his +heart; he thought he heard the fiends coming for his soul—at last. +</p> + +<p> +He hid his face in the purple silk robes and felt his blood grow cold. +</p> + +<p> +The room darkened about him, he knew he was being drawn downwards into +eternity, he sighed and slipped from the bed on to the floor. +</p> + +<p> +As his last breath hovered on his lips the meteor vanished, the +thunder-clouds rolled away from a fair blue sky and a glorious sunrise +laughed over the city. +</p> + +<p> +The reign of Antichrist was ended. +</p> + +<p> +Through the Pope’s chamber the notes of silver trumpets quivered. +</p> + +<p> +Balthasar’s trumpets as his hosts marched triumphantly into Rome. +</p> + +<p class="center mt1"> +THE END +</p> + + +<h2> +TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES +</h2> + +<p> +Minor spelling inconsistencies (e.g. dais/daïs, fireplace/fire-place, +vine-leaves/vine leaves, etc.) have been preserved. +</p> + +<p class="noindent mt1"> +<b>Alterations to the text</b>: +</p> + +<p> +Punctuation: fix some quotation mark pairings/nestings. +</p> + +<p> +Change five instances of <i>Thierry</i> to <i>Theirry</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Part I/Chapter IV] +</p> + +<p> +(“How old are you” he asked.) add a question mark. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Part I/Chapter VI] +</p> + +<p> +“likened her to the pale crimson pistil of a lily <i>whch</i> has yellow” +to <i>which</i>. +</p> + +<p class="center mt1"> +[End of text] +</p> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77782 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/77782-h/images/cover.jpg b/77782-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2d0ba47 --- /dev/null +++ b/77782-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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