by Guy Thorne
CHAPTER XI
IN THE BOX
"Devant l'Inquisition, quand on vient a jube, Si l'on ne soit roti, l'on soit au moins flambe."
It was not light that pressed upon the retina of the eye. There was novibration to the sensitive lenses. It was a sudden vision not of theeye, but in the memory-cells of the brain which now and then filled thedreadful blackness with a fierce radiance, filled it for aninfinitesimal fraction of a second.
And then all was dark again.
It was not dark with the darkness that ordinary men know. At no time, inall probability, has any man or woman escaped a long sleepless night ina darkened room. The candle is out; the silence begins to nibble at thenerves; there is no sound but the uneasy tossing upon the bed. It seems,one would rather say, that there is no sound save only that made by thesufferer. At such hours comes a dread weariness of life, a restlessnesswhich is but the physical embroidery upon despair. The body itself is atthe lowest pitch of its vitality. Through the haunted chambers of themind fantastic thoughts chase each other, and evil things--evil_personalities_ it almost seems--uncoil themselves and erect theirheads.
But it is not really darkness, not really despair, as people know whenthe night has gone and dawn begins. Nor is it really _silence_. The earbecomes attuned to its environment; a little wind moans round the house.There is the soft patter of falling rain--the distant moaning of thesea.
Furniture creaks as the temperature changes; there are rustlings,whispers, unexplained noises--the night is indeed full of sound.
Nor is it really _darkness_, as the mind discovers towards the end ofthe sick and restless vigil. The eye also is attuned to that whichlimits and surrounds its potentialities. The blinds are drawn, but stillsome faint mysterious greyness creeps between them and the window. Theroom, then, is a real room still! Over there is the long mirror whichwill presently begin to stir and reflect the birth-pangs of light. Thatsquat, black monster, which crouches in the corner of the dark, willgrow larger, and become only the wardrobe after all. And soon the air ofthe chamber will take on a subtle and indefinable change. It will have anew savour, it will tell that far down in the under world the sun ismoaning and muttering in the last throes of sleep. The blackness willgo. Dim, inchoate nothingness will change to wan dove-coloured light,and with the first chirpings of half-awakened birds the casement willshow "a slowly glimmering square," and the tortured brain will sink torest.
Day has come! There is no longer any need for fear. The nervous pain,more terrible than all, has gone. The heart is calmed, the brain issoothed, utter prostration and despair appears, mercifully, a thing oflong ago.
Some such experience as this all modern men have endured. To JohnCommendone, in the prison of the Inquisition where he had been put, nosuch alleviation came.
For him there was no blessed morning; for him the darkness was thatawful negation of light--of physical light--and of hope, which iswithout remedy.
He did not know how long it had been since he was caught up suddenly outof the rich room where he was dining with his love--dining among thescent of flowers, with the echo of music in his ears, his whole heartsuffused with thankfulness and peace.
He did not know how long it had been; he only remembered the hurriedprogress in a closed carriage from the hotel to the fortress of theTriana in the suburbs, which was the prison and assize of the HolyOffice.
In all Europe in this era prisons were dark, damp holes. They were realgraves, full of mould, animal filth, the pest-breeding smells. It wasthe boast of the Inquisition, and even Llorente speaks of it, that theprisons were "well-arched, light and dry rooms where the prisoners couldmake some movement."
This was generally true, and Commendone had heard of it from Don Perez.
It was not true in his case. He had been taken hurriedly into the prisonas night fell, marched silently through interminable courtyards andpassage-ways--corridors which slanted downwards, ever downwards--untilin a dark stone passage, illuminated only by the torches which werecarried by those who conducted him, he had come to a low door, heavilystudded with iron.
This had been opened with a key. The wards of the lock had shot backwith a well-oiled and gentle click. He had bent his head a little asthey pushed him into the living tomb--a box of stone five feet squareexactly. He was nearly six feet in height; he could not stand erect; hecould not stretch himself at full length. The thing was a refinement ofthe dreadful "little-ease" of the Tower of London and many other secularprisons where wretches were tortured for a week before their execution.He had heard of places like them, but he realised that it was not thedesign of those who had him fast to kill him yet. He knew that he mustundergo an infinity of mental and bodily torture ere ever the scarredand trembling soul would be allowed to wing its way from the still,broken body.
He was in absolute, complete darkness, buried in a box of stone.
The rayless gloom was without any relief whatever; it was the enclosingsable of death itself; a pitchy oblivion that lay upon him like a solidweight, a thing obscene and hopeless. And the silence was a realsilence, an utter stillness such as no modern man ever knows--save onlythe few demoniac prisoners in the _cachot noir_ of the French convictprisons of Noumea.
Once every two days--if there indeed were such things as days and hoursin this still hell--the door of the cell was noiselessly opened. Therewas a dim red glow in the stone corridor without, a pitcher of water,some black bread, and every now and then a few ripe figs, were pushedinto the box.
Then a clang, the oily swish of the bolts, and another eternity ofsilence.
The man's brain did not go. It was too soon for that. He lay afortnight--ten thousand years it seemed to him--in this box of horror.
He was not to die yet. He was not even to lose his mind; of that he wasperfectly aware. He was no ordinary prisoner. No usual fate was in storefor him; that also he knew. A charge of heresy in his case was absurd.No witnesses could be brought who, speaking truth, could condemn him forheresy. But what Don Perez had told him was now easily understood. Hewas in a place where there was no appeal, a situation with no egress.
There was not the slightest doubt in his mind that a dreadful vengeancewas to be taken upon him for his treatment of the King of Spain. TheHoly Office was a royal court provided with ecclesiastical weapons. Itsfamiliars had got him in their grip; he was to die the death.
As he lay motionless day after day, night after night, in thesilence--the hideous silence without light--the walls so close, pressingon him, forbidding him free movement, at every moment seeming as if theywould rush together and crush him in this night of Erebus, he began tohave visitors.
Sometimes a sulphurous radiance would fill the place. He would see thebowing, mocking figure of King Philip, the long yellow face looking downupon him with a malign smile. He would hear a great hoarse voice, and alittle woman with a shrivelled face and covered with jewels, wouldsqueak and gibber at him. Then, with a clank of armour, and a suddenfresh smell of the fields, Sir Henry Commendone would stand there, witha "How like you this life of the pit, Johnnie?" ... "How like you thisblackness, my son?"
Then he would put up his hands and press these grisly phantoms out ofthe dark. He would press them away with one great effort of the will.
They would go, and he remained trembling in the chill, damp negation oflight, which was so far more than darkness. He would grope for thepieces of his miserable food, and search the earthen pitcher for water.
And all this, these tortures beyond belief, beyond understanding of theordinary man, were but as soft couches to one who is weary, food to onehungered, water to lips parched in a desert--compared with the deepest,unutterable descent of all.
The cold and stinking blackness which held him tight as a fossil in abed of clay was not the worst. His eyes that saw nothing, his limbs thatwere shot with cramping pain, his nostrils and stomach that could notendure this uncleaned cage, were a torture beyond thinking.
Many a time he thought of the mercy of Bishop Bonner
and Queen Mary--themercy that let a gentleman ride under the pleasant skies of England to atwenty minutes' death--God! these were pleasant tortures! His ownpresent hopelessness, all that he endured in body--why, dear God! thesewere but pleasant tortures too, things to bite upon and endure, comparedwith the Satanic horror, the icy dread, the bitter, hopeless tears, whenhe thought of Elizabeth.
He had long since ceased praying for himself. It mattered little ornothing what happened to him. That he should be taken out to torturewould be a relief, a happiness. He would lie in the rack laughing. Theycould fill his belly with water, or strain the greasy hempen ropes intohis flesh, and still he would laugh and forgive them--Dr. Taylor hadforgiven less than they would do to him, he would forgive more than allfor the sake of Christ and His Maid-Mother. How easy that would be! Tobe given something to endure, to prove himself a man and a Christian!
But to forgive them for what they might be doing, they might have done,to his dear lady--how could he forgive _that_ to these blood-stainedmen?
Through all the icy hours he thought of one thing, until his own painsvanished to nothingness.
Perchance, and the dreadful uncertainty in his utter impotence andsilence swung like a bell in his brain, and cut through his soul likethe swinging pendola which they said the familiars of the Holy Officeused, Elizabeth had already suffered unspeakable things.
He saw again a pair of hands--cruel hands--hands with thick thumbs. Hadhands like these grasped and twisted the white limbs of the girl heloved? Divorced from him, helpless, away from any comfort, any kindvoice, was it not true--_was_ it true?--that already his sweetheart hadbeen tortured to her death?
He had tried over and over again to pray for Elizabeth, to call to theseat where God was, that He might save the dear child from thesetorments unspeakable.
But there was always the silence, the dead physical blackness andsilence. He beat his hands upon the stone wall; he bruised his head uponthe roof of darkness which would not let him stand upright, and heknew--as it is appointed to some chosen men to know--that unutterable,unthinkable despair of travail which made Our Lord Himself call out inthe last hour of His passion, [Greek: Eli, Eli lama sabachthani]
There was no response to his prayers. Into his heart came no answeringmessage of hope.
And then the mind of this man, which had borne so much, and suffered sogreatly, began to become powerless to feel. A bottle can only hold acertain amount of water, the strings of an instrument be plucked to acertain measure of sound, the brain of a man can endure up to a certainstrain, and then it snaps entirely, or is drowsed with misery.
Physically, the young man was in perfect health when they had taken himto his prison. He had lived always a cleanly and athletic life. Nosensual ease had ever dimmed his faculties. And therefore, though heknew it not, the frightful mental agony he had undergone had but drawnupon the reserve of his physical forces, and had hardly injured his bodyat all. The food they gave him, at any rate for the time of hisdisappearance from the world of sentient beings, was enough to supportlife. And while he lay in dreadful hopelessness, while his limbs wereracked with pain, and it seemed to him that he stood upon the verythreshold of death, he was in reality physically competent, and a fewhours of relief would bring his body back to its pristine strength.
There came a time when he lay upon his stone floor perfectly motionless.The merciful anodyne that comes to all tortured people when either thebrain or body can bear no more, had come to him now.
It seemed but a short moment--in reality it was several hours--since hisjailors, those masked still-moving figures, had brought him a renewal ofhis food. He could not eat the bread, but two figs upon the platterwere grateful and cooling to his throat, though he was unconscious ofany physical gratification. He knew, sometime after, that sustenance hadbeen brought to him, and that he had a great thirst. He stretched outhis hand mechanically for the pitcher, rising from the floor andpressing the brim to his lips.
He drank deeply, and as he drank became suddenly aware that this was notthe lukewarm water of the past darkness, but something that ran throughhis veins, that swiftly ran through them, and as the blood mounted tohis brain gave him courage, awoke him, fed the starved nerves. It waswine he was drinking! wine that perhaps would be red in the light; winethat once more filled him with endeavour, and a desperate desire whichwas not hope but the last protest against his fate.
He lay back once more, by no means the same man he had been some littletime agone, and as he reclined in a happy physical stupor--the while hisbrain was alive again and began to work--he said many times to himselfthe name of Jesus.
"Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!"--it was all he could say; it was all he couldthink of, it was his last prayer. Just the name alone.
And very speedily the prayer was answered. Out of the depths hecried--"_De profundis clamavit_"--and the door opened, as it opened tothe Apostle Paul, and the place where he was was filled with red light.
For a moment he was unable to realise it. He passed one wasted anddirty hand before his eyes. "Jesus!" he said again, in a dreamy,wondering voice.
He felt himself lifted up from where he lay. Two strong hands were underhis arms; he was taken out of the stinking _oubliette_ into the corridorbeyond.
He stood upright. He stretched out his arms. He breathed another air. Itwas a damp, foetid, underground air, but it seemed to him that it camefrom the gardens of the Hesperides.
Then he became conscious of a voice speaking quietly, quickly, and withgreat insistence.
The voice in his ear!
... "Senor, we have had to wait. You have had to lie in this dungeon,and I could do nothing for you--for you that saved my life. It hathtaken many days to think out a plan to save you and the Senorita. But'tis done now, 'tis cut and dried, and neither you nor she shall go tothe death designed for you both. It hath been designed by the Assessorand the Procurator Fiscal, acting under orders of the Grand Inquisitor,that you shall be tortured to death, or near to it, and that to theSenorita shall be done the same. Then you are to be taken to theQuemadero--that great altar of stone supported by figures of the HolyApostles--and there burnt to death at the forthcoming _auto da fe_."
"Then what,"--Johnnie's voice came from him in a hollow whisper.
"Hush, hush," the other voice answered him; "'tis all arranged. 'Tis allsettled, but still it dependeth upon you, Senor. Will you save your ladylove, and go free with her from here, and with your servant also, orwill you die and let her die too?"
"Then she hath not been tortured?"
"Not yet; it is for to-night. You come afterwards. But you do not knowme, Senor; you do not realise who I am."
At this Johnnie looked into the face of the man who supported him.
"Ah," he said, in a dreamy voice, "Alonso!--I took you from the sea, didnot I?"
Everything was circling round him, he wanted to fall, to lie down andsleep in this new air....
The torturer saw it--he had a dreadful knowledge of those who were aboutto faint. He caught hold of Johnnie somewhere at the back of the neck.There was a sudden scientific pressure of the flat thumb upon a nerve,and the sinking senses of the captive came back to him in a flood ofpainful consciousness.
"Ah!" he cried, "but I feel better now! Go on, go on, tell me, what isall this?..."
One big thumb was pressed gently at the back of Johnnie's head. "It isthis," said the voice, "and now, Senor, listen to me as if you had neverlistened to any other voice in this whole world. In the first place, youhave much money; you have much money to be employed for you, in thehands of your servant, and from him I hear that you are noble andwealthy in England. I myself am a young man, but lately introduced to dothe work I do. I am in debt, Senor, and neither my father nor my brotherwill help me. There is a family feud between us. Now my father is thehead sworn-torturer of the Holy Office; my brother is his assistant, andI am the assistant to my brother. The three of us do rack and put topain those who come before us. But I myself am tired of this business,and would away t
o a country where I can earn a more honest and kindlyliving. Therefore if thou wilt help me to do this, all will be well.There is a carrack sailing for the port of Rome this very night, and wecan all be aboard of it, and save ourselves, if thou wilt do what wehave made a plan of."
"And what is that?" Johnnie asked.
"'Tis a dangerous and deadly thing. We may win a way to safety and joy,or it may be that we perish. I'll put it upon the throw of the die, andso must you, Senor."
Johnnie clutched Alonso by the arm. "Man! man!" he said, "there is somedoubt in your voice. What is it? what is it? I would do anything butlose my immortal soul to save the Senorita from what is to be done toher to-night."
"'Tis well," the other answered briefly. "Then now I will tell you whatyou must do. 'Tis now the hour of sunset. In two hours more the Senoritawill be brought to the rooms of the Question. Thy servant is of theheight and build of my father. Thou art the same as regards my brother.If you consent to what I shall tell you, you and your servant will takethe place of my brother and father. No one will know you from them,because we wear black linen garments and a hood which covereth ourfaces. I will go away, and I will put something in their wine which willsend my father and my brother to sleep for long hours--sometimes we putit in the water we give to drink to those who come to us for torture,and who are able, or their relatives indeed, to pay well for suchservice. My people will know nothing, and you, with Juan thy servant,will take their places. Nor will the Inquisitor know. It hath been wellthought out, Senor. I shall give you your directions, and understandingSpanish you will follow them out as if you were indeed my blood-brother.As for the man Juan, it will be your part to whisper to him what he hasto do, for I cannot otherwise make him understand."
Suddenly a dreadful thought flashed into Johnnie's mind. This manunderstood no word of English. How, then, had he plotted this scheme ofrescue and escape with John Hull? Was this not one of those dreadfultraps--themselves part of a devilish scheme of torture--of which he hadheard in England, and of which Don Perez had more than hinted?
"And how dost _thou_ understand my man John," he said, "seeing that thouknowest no word of his language?"
The other made an impatient movement of his hands. "Senor," he said, "Imarked that you did not seem to trust me. I am here to adventure mylife, in recompense for that you did so for me. I am here also to getaway from Spain with the aid of thy money--to get away to Rome, wherethe Holy Office will reach none of us. In doing this, I am risking mylife, as I have said. And for me I am risking far more than life. I,that have done so many grievous things to others, am a great coward, andgo in horrid fear of pain. I could not stand the least of the tortures,and if I am caught in this enterprise, I shall endure the worst of all.In any case, thou hast nothing to lose, for if I am indeed endeavouringto entrap you, you will gain nothing. The worst is reserved for you--aswe have previous orders--for it is whispered that yours is not so much amatter of heresy, but that you did things against King Philip's Majestyin England."
Johnnie nodded. "'Tis true," he said; "but still, tell me for a furthersign and token of thy fidelity how thou camest to be in communicationwith John Hull."
"Did I not tell thee?" the man answered, in amazement. "Why, 'twasthrough the second captain of the _St. Iago_, I cannot say his name, whohath been with Juan these many days, and speakest Spanish near as wellas you."
Johnnie realised the truth at once, surprised that it had not come tohim before. It was Mr. Mew, whom he had tackled for his friendship withAlonso! "Then what am I to do?" he said.
Alonso began to speak slowly and with some hesitation.
"The work to do to-night," he said, "is to put a Carthusian monk, LuisMercader, to the torture of the _trampezo_. After that, the Senoritawill be brought in, interrogated, and is to be scourged as the first ofher tortures."
The man started away--Johnnie had growled in his throat like a dog....
"It will not be, it will not be, Senor," Alonso said. "When Luis isfinished with, he will be taken away by the surgeon and afterwards bythe jailors. Then they will bring the Senorita and retire. There will benone in the room of the Question but thou, Juan, and myself, wearing ourlinen hoods, and Father Deza, that is the Grand Inquisitor newly comefrom England, his notary, and the physician. The doors leading to theprisons will be locked, for none must see the torture save only theofficials concerned therein--as hath long been the law. It will be easyfor us three to overpower the Inquisitor, the surgeon, and the notary.Then we can escape through the private rooms of us torturers, which leadto the back entrance of the fortress. The _caballeros_ will not bediscovered, if bound--or killed, indeed--for some hours, for none areallowed to approach the room of Question from the prisons until they aresummoned by a bell. I shall have everything ready, and mules waiting,so that we may go straight to the _muelle_--the wharf to which thecarrack is tied. The captain thereof is the Italian mariner Pozzi, whohath no love towards Spain, and we shall be upon the high seas beforeeven our absence is discovered."
"Good," Johnnie answered, his voice unconsciously assuming the note ofcommand it was wont to use, the wine having reanimated him, his wholebody and brain tense with excitement, ready for the daring deed thatawaited him.
"My friend," he said, "I will not only take you away from all thiswickedness and horror, but you shall have money enough to live like agentleman in Italy. I have--now I understand it--plenty of money in thehands of my servant to bring us well to Rome. Once in Rome, I can sendletters to my friends in England, and be rich in a few short months. Ishall not forget you; I shall see to your guerdon."
The man spat upon his hands and rubbed them together--those largeprehensile hands. "I knew it," he said, half to himself, "I pay a debtfor my life, as is but right and just, and I win a fortune too! I knewit!"
"Tell me exactly what is to happen," Johnnie said.
In the flickering light of the torch, once more Alonso looked curiouslyat Commendone. He hesitated for a moment, and then he spoke.
"There is just the business of the heretic Luis," he said. "He must betortured before ever the Senorita is brought in. And you and Juan musthelp in the torture to sustain your parts."
Johnnie started. Until this very moment he had not realised that hideousnecessity. He understood Alonso's hesitation now.
There was a dead silence for a moment or two. Alonso broke it.
"I shall do the principal part, Senor," he said hurriedly. "It isnothing to me. I have done so much of it! But there are certain thingsthat thou must do and thy servant also, or at least must seem to do.There is no other way."
Johnnie put his poor soiled hands to his face. "I cannot do it," hesaid, in a low voice, from which hope, which had rung in it before, hadnow departed. "I cannot do it. I will not stain my honour thus."
"So said Juan to me at first," the other answered. "They have beenhunting high and low for Juan, but he hath escaped the Familiars, inthat I have hid him. For himself, Juan said he would do nothing of thesort, but for you he finally said he would do it. 'For, look you,' Juansaid to me, 'I love the gentleman that is my master, and I love mylittle mistress better, so that I will even help to torture thisSpaniard, and let no word escape me in the doing of it that may betrayour design.' That was what thy servant said, Senor. And now, what sayestthou?"
"She would not wish it," Commendone half said, half sobbed. "If sheknew, she would die a thousand deaths rather than that I should do it."
"That may be very sure, Senor, but she will never know it if we win tosafety. And as for this Luis Mercader, he must die, anyhow. There is nohope for him. He _must_ be tortured, if not by you, Juan, and I, then bymyself, my father, and my brother. It is remediless."
"I cannot do evil that good may come," Johnnie replied, in a whisper.
Alonso stamped upon the ground in his impatience. He could notunderstand the prisoner's attitude, though he had realised somepossibility of it from his conferences with John Hull. He had halfknown, when he came to Commendone, that there would be someth
ing of thissort. If the rough man of his own rank turned in horror and dislike fromthe only opportunity presented for saving the Senorita, how much morewould the master do so?
For himself, he could not understand it. He did his hideous work withthe regularity of a machine, and with as little pity. Outside in hisprivate life, he was much as other men. He could be tender to a woman heloved, kindly and generous to his friends. But business was business,and he was hardly human at his work.
Habit makes slaves of us all, and this mental attitude of the sworntorturer--horrible as it may seem at first glance--is very easilyunderstood by the psychologist, though hardly by the sentimentalist,who is always a thoroughly illogical person. Alonso tortured humanbeings. In doing this he had the sanction and the order of his socialsuperiors and his ecclesiastical directors. In 1910 one has not heard,for example, that a pretty and gentle girl refuses to marry a butcherbecause he plunges his knife into the neck of the sheep tied down uponthe stool, twists his little cord around the snout of some shrieking pigand cuts its throat with his keen blade....
Alonso could not understand the man whom he hoped to save, but herecognised and was prepared for his point of view.
"Senor," he said, in a thick, hurried voice, "I will do it all myself.You will have to help in the binding, and to stand by. That is all.Think of the little Senorita whom you love. That French lady drove atable-knife into her heart, rather than endure the torments. Think ofthe Senorita! You will not let her die thus? For you, it is different; Iwell know that you would endure all that is in store, if it were but aquestion of saving your own life. But you must think of her, and youmust remember always that the man Luis is most certainly doomed, andthat no action of yours can stay that doom. You will have to look on,that is all--to _seem_ as if you approved and were helping."
He had said enough. His cause was won. Johnnie had seen Dr. RowlandTaylor die in pious agony, and had neither lifted voice nor drawn swordto prevent it.
"I thank you, I thank you, Alonso," he said. "I must endure it for thesake of the Senorita. And more than all I thank you that you will notrequire me to agonise this unhappy wretch myself."
"Good; that is understood," Alonso answered. "We have already beentalking too long. Get you back, Senor, into your prison, for an hour ormore. Then I will come to you. Indeed, more depends upon this than uponany other detail of what we purpose. We who are sworn to torture aredistinct and separate from the prison jailors. We are paid a largersalary, but we have no jurisdiction or power within the prisonsthemselves, save only what we make by interest. But the man who bringethyou your food is a friend of my family, and hath cast an eye upon mysister, though she as yet has responded little to his overtures. I havemade private cause with Isabella, and she hath given him a meeting thisvery night outside the church of Santa Ana. He could not meet with herthis night, were it not for my intervention. He came to me in greatperplexity, longing before anything to meet Isabella. I told him, thoughI was difficult to be approached on the point, that I would myself lookafter the prisoners in this ward, and that he must give me his keys.This he hath done, and I am free of this part of the prison. So that,Senor, in an hour or two I shall come to you again with your dress of atormentor. I shall take you through devious ways out of the prisonproper, and into our room on the other side of the Chamber, so all willbe well."
Johnnie took the huge splay hand in his, and stumbled back into thestone box. There was a clang as the door closed upon him, and he sankdown upon the floor.
He sank down upon the floor no longer in absolute despair. The darknesswas as thick and horrible as ever, but Hope was there.
Then he knelt, placed his hands together, recited a Paternoster, andbegan to pray. He prayed first of all for the soul of the man--theunknown man--whose semi-final torture he was to witness, and perchancehelp in. Then he prayed to Our Lord that there might be a happy issueout of these present afflictions, that if it pleased Jesus he,Elizabeth, the stout John Hull might yet sail away over the tossing seastowards safety.
Then he made a prayer for the soul of Madame La Motte--she who hadtraded upon virtue, she who had taken her own life, but in whom was yetsome germ of good, a well and fountain of kindliness and sympathywithal.
After that he pulled himself together, felt his muscle, stretchedhimself to see that his great and supple strength had not deserted him,and remained with a placid mind, waiting for the opening of his prisondoor again.
The anguish of his thoughts about Elizabeth was absolutely gone. A coolcertainty came to him that he would save her.
He was waiting now, alert and aware. Every nerve was ready for theenterprise. With a scrutiny of his own consciousness--for he perfectlyrealised that death might still be very near--he asked himself if he hadperformed all his religious duties. If he were to die in the next houror so, he would have no sacramental absolution. That he knew. Therefore,he was endeavouring to make his _private_ peace with God, and as helooked upon his thoughts with the higher super-brain, it did not seem tohim that there was anything lacking in his pious resignation to whatshould come.
He was going to make a bold and desperate bid for Lizzie's freedom, hisown, and their mutual happiness.
As well as he was able, he had put his house in order, and was waiting.
But for Don Diego Deza he did not pray at all. He was but human. That helacked power to do, and in so far fell away from the Example.
But as he thought of It, and the words so sacrosanct, he remembered thatthe torturers of Christ knew not what they did. They were even as thisman Alonso.
But Don Diego, cultured, highly sensitive, a brilliant man, knew what hedid very well.
Even the young man's wholly contrite and more than half-broken heartcould send no message to the Throne for the Grand Inquisitor ofSeville.
CHAPTER XII
"TENDIMUS IN LATIUM"
It was very hot.
Commendone stood in the ante-chamber of the torturers.
He wore the garment of black linen, the hood of the same, with the twocircular orifices for his eyes.
John Hull kept touching him with an almost caressing movement--JohnHull, a grotesque and terrible figure also in his torturer's dress.
Alonso moved about the place hurriedly, putting this and that to rights,looking after his instruments, but with a flitting, bird-like movement,showing how deeply he was excited.
The room was a long, low place. The ceiling but just above their heads.A glowing fire was at one end, and shelves all round the room. At oneside of the fire was a portable brazier of iron, glowing with coals, andon the top of it a shape of white-hot metal was lying.
Alonso came up to Commendone, a dreadful black figure, a silently movingfigure, with nothing humanly alive about him save only the two slitsthrough which his eyes might be seen.
"Courage, Senor," he whispered, "it will not be long now."
Johnnie, unaware that he himself was an equally hideous and sinisterfigure, nodded, and swallowed something in his throat.
John Hull, short, broad, and dreadful in this black disguise, sidled upto him.
"Master," he whispered, "it will soon be over, and we shall win away. Wehave been in a very evil case before, and that went well. Now that weare dressed in these grave-clothes and must do bitter business, we mustmake up our minds to do it. 'Tis for the sake of Mistress Elizabeth,whom we love--Jesus! what is that hell-hound doing?"
The broad figure shuddered, and into the kindly English voice came anote of horror.
Johnnie turned also, and saw that the torturer was tumbling severallong-handled pincers into a wooden tray. Then the torturer took one ofthem up, and turned the glowing _something_ in the brazier, quietly,professionally, though the red glow that fell upon his horrible blackcostume gave him indeed the aspect of a devil from the pit--the bloodypantomime which was designed!
The two Englishmen stood shoulder to shoulder and shuddered, as they sawthis figure moving about the glowing coals.
Johnnie took a half-step forward, whe
n Hull pressed him back.
"God's death, master," Hull said. "_We_ look like that; we are even ashe is in aspect; we have to do our work--now!"
A door to the right suddenly swung open. Two steps led up to it, and aface peeped round. It was the face of a bearded man, with heavy eyebrowsand very white cheeks. Upon the head was a biretta of black velvet.
The head nodded. "We are ready," came the voice from it. The door fellto again.
Then Alonso came up to Johnnie. "The work begins," he said, in a gruffvoice, from which all respect had gone with design. "You and Juan willcarry in that brazier of coals."
He went to the door, mounted the two stone steps, and held it open.Johnnie and Hull bore in the brazier up the steps, and into a large roomlit, but not very brightly, with candles set in sconces upon the walls.
Following the directions of Alonso, they placed the brazier in a farcorner, and stood by it, waiting in silence.
They were in a big, arched dungeon, far under ground, as it seemed. Atone end of it there was an alcove, brilliantly lit. In the alcove was adais, or platform. On the platform was a long table draped with black,and set with silver candlesticks. On the wall behind was a greatcrucifix of white and black--the figure of the Christ made of plaster,or white painted wood, the cross of ebony. In the centre of the longtable sat Don Diego Deza. On one side of him was a man in a robe ofvelvet and a flat cap. On the other, the person who had peeped throughthe door into the room of the torturers.
There came a beating, a heavy, muffled knock, upon a door to the left ofthe alcove.
Alonso left the others and hurried to the door. With some effort hepulled back a lever which controlled several massive bolts. The doorswung open, there was a red glare of torches, and two dark figures,piloted by the torturer, half-led, half-carried the bound figure of aman into the room.
They placed this figure upon an oak stool with a high back, a yard ortwo away from the dais, and then quietly retired.
As the door leading to the prison closed, Alonso shot the bolts intotheir place, and, returning, stood by the stool on which was the figure.
The notary came down from the platform, followed by the physician. Inhis hand was a parchment and a pen; while a long ink-horn depended fromhis belt. Father Deza was left alone at the table above.
"I have read thy depositions," the Inquisitor said, speaking down to theman, "wherein thou hast not refuted in detail the terrible blasphemiesof Servetus, and therefore, Luis Mercader, I thank the Son of God, Whodeputeth to me the power to sentence thee at the end of this thystruggle between Holy Church and thine own obstinate blasphemies. Inaccordance with justice of my brother inquisitors, I now sign thywarrant for death, which is indeed our right and duty to execute ablasphemous person after a regular examination. Thou art to be burntanon at the forthcoming Act of Faith. Thou art to be delivered to thesecular arm to suffer this last penalty. Thy blood shall not be upon ourheads, for the Holy Office is ever merciful. But before thou goest, inour kindness we have ordained that thou shalt learn something of thesufferings to come. For so only, between this night and the day of thydeath, shalt thou have opportunity to reason with thyself, perchancerecant thy errors, and make thy peace with God."
He had said this in a rapid mutter, a monotone of vengeance. As heconcluded he nodded to the black figure by the prisoner's chair.
Alonso turned round. With shaking footsteps, Hull and Johnnie came up tohim, carrying ropes.
There was a quick whisper.
"Tie him up--_thus_--_yes, the hands behind the back of the stool_; theleft leg bound fast--it is the right foot upon which we put the_trampezo_."
They did it deftly and quietly. Under the long linen garments whichconcealed them, their hearts were beating like drums, their throats wereparched and dry, their eyes burnt as they looked out upon this dreadfulscene.
The notary went back to the dais, and sat beside Father Deza. Thesurgeon took Alonso aside. Johnnie heard what he said....
"It will be all right; he can bear it; he will not die; in any case the_auto da fe_ will be in three days; he _must_ endure it; have the waterready to bring him back if he fainteth."
The chirurgeon went back to the alcove and sat on the other side of theInquisitor.
"Bring up the brazier," Alonso said to Commendone.
Together Johnnie and Hull carried it to the chair.
"Now send Juan for the pincers...."
There came a long, low wail of despair from the broken, motionlessfigure on the stool. The long pincers, like those with which ablacksmith pulls out a shoe from the charcoal, were produced....
The torturer took the glowing _thing_ on the top of the brazier, andpulled it off, scattering the coals as he did so.
Close to the foot of the bound figure he placed the glowing shoe. Thenhe motioned to Hull to take up the other side of it with his pincers,and put it in place so that the foot of the victim should be clamped toit and burnt away.
John Hull took up the long pincers, and caught hold of one side of theshoe.
Johnnie turned his head away; he looked straight through his black hoodat the three people on the dais.
The notary was quietly writing. The surgeon was looking on with coolprofessional eye; but Don Deza was watching the imminent horror belowhim with a white face which dripped with sweat, with eyes dilated to tworims, gazing, gazing, _drinking the sight in_. Every now and again theInquisitor licked his pallid lips with his tongue. And in that moment ofwatching, Johnnie knew that Cruelty, for the sake of Cruelty, the madpleasure of watching suffering in its most hideous forms, was the hiddenvice, the true nature, of this priest of Courts.
At the moment, and doubtless at many other moments in the past, FatherDeza was compensating, and had compensated, for a life of abstinencefrom sensual indulgence. He was giving scope to the deadlier vices ofthe heart, pride, bigotry, intolerance, and horrid cruelty--those vicesfar more opposed to the hope of salvation, and far more extensivelymischievous to society, than anything the sensualist can do.
The bitterness of it; the horror of it--this was the wine the brilliantpriest was drinking, had drunk, and would ever drink. Into him had comea devil which had killed his soul, and looked out from his narrowtwitching eyes, rejoicing that it saw these things with the symbol ofGod's pain high above it, with the cloak of God's Church upon hisshoulders.
As Johnnie watched, fascinated with an unnameable horror, he heard aloud shout close to his ear. He saw a black-hooded, thick figure passhim and rush towards the dais.
In the hands of this figure was a long pair of blacksmith's pincers, andat the end of the pincers was a shoe of white-hot metal.
There was another loud shout, a broad band of white light, as the massof glowing metal shot through the air in a hissing arc, and then theface of the Inquisitor disappeared and was no more.
At that moment both Commendone and the sworn torturer realised what hadhappened. They leapt nimbly on to the dais. From under his robe Alonsotook a stiletto and plunged it into the throat of the notary; whileJohnnie, in a mad fury, caught the physician by the neck, placed hisopen hand upon the man's chin, and bent his head back, slowly, steadily,and with terrible pressure, until there was a faint click, and theblack-robed figure sank down.
The _trampezo_ was burning into the wooden floor of the dais. Alonso ranback into the room, caught up a pail of water, and poured it upon thegathering flames. There was a hiss, and a column of steam rose up intothe alcove.
He turned his head and looked at the motionless form of the Inquisitor.The face was all black and red, and rising into white blisters.
He turned to Commendone. "He's dead, or dying," he said, "and now, thouhast indeed cast the die, and all is over. Thy man hath spoilt it all,and nothing remains for us but death."
"Silence!" Johnnie answered, captain of himself now, and of all of themthere. "How is the next prisoner to be summoned?"
The torturer understood him. "Why," he said, "we may yet saveourselves!--that bell there"--he pointed to a han
ging cord. "Thatsummons the jailors. They are waiting to bring the Senorita forjudgment. Don Luis, there, who was to undergo the _trampezo_, would nothave been taken back into the prison at once, but into our room, wherethe surgeon would have attended him. Therefore, we will ring for theSenorita. She will be pushed into this place very gently. The door willnot be opened wide. Doors are never widely opened in the Holy Office.The jailors will see us taking charge of her, and all will be well. Ifnot, get your poignard ready, Senor, and you, too, Juan, for 'twill bebetter to die a fighting death in this cellar than to wait for whatwould come hereafter."
He stretched out his hand and pulled down the bell-cord.
They stood waiting in absolute silence, Alonso and John Hull, in theirdreadful disguise, standing close to the door.
There was not a sound in the brilliantly lit room. The victim that wasto be had fainted away, and lay as dead as the three corpses upon thedais. There was a smell of hot coal, of burning wood, and still therecame a little sizzling noise from the half-quenched glowing iron uponthe platform.
Thud!
A quiet answering knock from Alonso. Another thud--the heave of thelever, the slither of the bolts, the door opening a little, murmuredvoices, and a low, shuddering cry of horror, as a tall girl, in a longwoollen garment, a coarse garment of wool dyed yellow, was pushed intothe embrace of the black-hooded figures who stood waiting for her.
Clang--the bolts were shot back.
Then a tearing, ripping noise, as Hull pulled the black hood from hisface and shoulders.
"My dear, my dear," he cried, "Miss Lizzie. 'Tis over now. Fear nothing!I and thy true love have brought thee to safety."
The girl gave a great cry. "Johnnie! Johnnie!"
He rushed up to her, and held her in his arms. He was still clothed inthe dreadful disguise of a torturer. It had not come into his mind totake it off. But she was not frightened. She knew his arms, she heardhis voice, she sank fainting upon his shoulder.
* * * * *
Once more it was John Hull speaking in English who brought the lovers torealisation. His strong and anxious voice was seconded by the Spanish ofAlonso.
"Quick! quick!" both the men said. "All hath gone well. We have a startof many hours, but we must be gone from here at once."
Johnnie released Elizabeth from his arms, and then he also doffed theterror-inspiring costume which he wore.
"Sweetheart," he said, "go you with John Hull and this Alonso into theroom beyond, where they will give you robes to wear. I will join you inless than a minute."
They passed away with quick, frightened footsteps.
But as for Commendone, he went to the centre of the alcove, and kneltdown just below the long black table.
The three bodies of the men they had slain he could not see. He couldonly see the black form of the tablecloth, and above it the great whiteCrucifix.
He prayed that nothing he had done upon this night should stain hissoul, that Jesus--as indeed he believed--had been looking on him and allthat he did, with help and favour.
And once more he renewed his vow to live for Jesus and for the girl heloved.
Crossing himself, he rose, and clapped his hands to his right side. Oncemore he found he was without a sword. He bowed again to the cross. "Itwill come back to me," he said, in a quiet voice.
He turned to go, he had no concern with those who lay dead above him;but as he went towards the door leading to the place of the torturers,his eye fell upon the oak stool in the middle of the room--the oak chairby which the brazier still glowed, and in which a silent, doll-likefigure was bound.
He stepped up to the chair, and immediately he saw that Don Luis wasdead.
The shock had killed him. He lay back there with patches of grey markedin his hair, as if fingers had been placed upon it--a young face, nowprematurely old, and writhed into horror, but with a little quiet smileof satisfaction upon it after all....
* * * * *
And so they sailed away to the Court of Rome, to take a high part inwhat went forward in the palace of the Vatican. They were to be fusedinto that wonderful revival of Learning and the Arts known as theRenaissance.
God willing, and still seeing fit to give strength to the hand and mindof the present chronicler, what they did in Rome, all that befell themthere, and of Johnnie's friendship and adventures with Messer BenvenutoCellini will be duly set out in another volume during the year of Graceto come.
_Et veniam pro laude peto: laudatus abunde Non fastiditus si tibi, lector, ero._