Under the Witches' Moon: A Romantic Tale of Mediaeval Rome

by Nathan Gallizier

  CHAPTER X

  THE CHALICE OF OBLIVION

  A delirium of the senses such as he had never experienced to thishour began to steal over Tristan, as he found himself seated betweenTheodora, the fairest sorceress that ever triumphed over the frailspirit of man--and Roxana, who was whispering strange words into hisbewildered ears.

  Across the board the gloomy form of the Grand Chamberlain in his sombreattire loomed up like a shadow of evil in a garden of strangely tintedorchids.

  How the time passed on, he could not tell. Peals of laughter resoundednow and then through the vaulted dome and voices were raised inclamorous disputations that just sheered off the boundary-line ofactual quarrel.

  Theodora seemed to pay but little heed to Tristan. Roxana had coiledher white arms about him and, whenever he raised his goblet, theirhands touched and a stream of fire coursed through his veins. Only nowand then Theodora's drowsy eyes shot forth a fiery gleam from undertheir heavily fringed lids.

  Roxana smiled into her rival's eyes and, raising a goblet of wine toher lips, kissed the brim and gave it to Tristan with an indescribablygraceful swaying motion of her whole form that reminded one of a tallwhite lily, bowing to the breeze.

  Tristan seized the cup eagerly, drank from it and returned it and, astheir hands touched again, he could hardly restrain himself from givingway to a transport of passion. He was no longer himself. His brainseemed to reel. He felt as if he would plunge into the crater of aseething volcano without heeding the flames.

  Even Hellayne's pale image seemed forgotten for the time.

  The guests waxed more and more noisy, their merriment more and moreboisterous. Many were now very much the worse for their frequentlibations, and young Fabio particularly seemed to display a desire tobreak away from all bonds of prudent reserve.

  He lay full length on his silken divan, singing little snatches ofsong to himself and, pulling the vine-wreath from his tumbled locks,as though he found it too cumbersome, he flung it on the ground amidthe other debris of the feast. Then, folding his arms lazily behindhis head, he stared straight and fixedly at Theodora, surveying everycurve of her body, every slight motion of her head, every faintsmile that played upon her lips. She was listening with an air ofill-disguised annoyance to Basil, whose wine-inflamed countenance andpassion-distorted features left little to the surmise regarding hisstate of mind.

  On the couch adjoining the one of Fabio of the Cavalli reclined anobleman from Gades, who, having partaken less lavishly of the winethan the rest of the guests, was engaged in a dispute with the burlystranger from the North, whose temper seemed to have undergone littlechange for the better for his having filled his paunch.

  In the barbarous jargon of tenth century Latin they commented uponTheodora, upon the banquet, upon the guests and upon Rome in general,and the Spaniard expressed surprise that Marozia's sister had failed torevenge Marozia's death, contenting herself to spend her life in thedesert wastes of Aventine, among hermits, libertines and fools.

  Notwithstanding his besotten mood Fabio had heard and understood everyword the stranger uttered. Before he, to whom his words was addressedcould make reply, he shouted insolently:

  "Ask Theodora why she is content to live in her enchanted grovesinstead in the Emperor's Tomb, haunted by the spectre of strangledMarozia!"

  A terrible silence followed this utterance. The eyes of all presentwandered towards the speaker. The Grand Chamberlain ground his teeth.Every vestige of color had faded from his face.

  "Are you afraid?" shouted Fabio, raising himself upon his elbows andnodding towards Theodora.

  The woman turned her splendid, flashing orbs slowly upon him. A chill,steely glitter leaped from their velvety depths.

  "Pray, Fabio, be heedful of your speech," said she with a quiver in hervoice, curiously like the suppressed snarl of a tigress. "Most men arefools, like yourself, and by their utterance shall they be judged!"

  Fabio broke out into boisterous mirth.

  "And Theodora rules with a rod of iron. Even the Lord Basil is but atoy in her hands! Behold him,--yonder."

  Basil had arisen, his hand on the hilt of his poniard. Theodora laidher white hand upon his arm.

  "Nay--" she said sweetly, "this is a matter for myself to settle."

  "A very anchorite," the mocking voice of Fabio rose above the silence.

  A young noble of the Caetani tried to quiet him, but in vain:

  "The Lord Basil is no monk."

  "Wherefore then his midnight meditations in the devil's own chapelyonder, in which our fair Theodora officiates as Priestess of Love?"

  "Midnight meditations?" interposed the Spaniard, not knowing that hewas treading on dangerous ground.

  "Ask Theodora," shouted Fabio, "how many lovers are worshipping at hermidnight shrine!"

  The silence of utter consternation prevailed. Glances of absolutedismay went round the table, and the stillness was as ominous as thehush before a thunderclap. Fabio, apparently struck by the suddensilence, gazed lazily from out the tumbled cushions, a vacant, besottensmile upon his lips.

  "What fools you are!" he shouted thickly. "Did you not hear me? Ibade you ask Theodora," and suddenly he sat bolt upright, his facecrimsoning as with an access of passion, "why the Lord Basil creeps inand out her palace at midnight like a skulking slave? Ask him why hecreeps in disguise through the underground passage. Ay--stranger," heshouted to Tristan, "you are near enough to our lady of Witcheries. Askher how many lovers have tasted of the chalice of oblivion?"

  Another death-like silence ensued.

  Even the attendants seemed to move with awed tread among the guests.

  Theodora and Roxana had risen almost at the same time, facing eachother in a white silence.

  Roxana extended her snow-white arms towards Theodora.

  "Why do you not reply to your discarded lover?" she taunted her rival."Shall I reply for him? You have challenged me, and I return yourchallenge! I am your match in all things, Lady Theodora. In my veinsflows the blood of kings--in yours the blood of courtesans. There isnot room on earth for both of us. Does not your coward soul quailbefore the issue?"

  Theodora turned to Roxana a face, white as marble, her eyespreternaturally brilliant. "You shall have your wish--even to thedeath. But--before the dark-winged messenger enfolds you with his sablewings you shall know Theodora as you have never known her--nor evershall again."

  From the woman Theodora turned to the man.

  "Fabio," she said in her sweet mock-caressing tone, "I fear you havegrown altogether too wise for this world. It were a pity you shouldlinger in so narrow and circumscribed a sphere."

  She paused and beckoned to a giant Nubian who stood behind her chair.

  "Refill the goblets!"

  Her behest executed she clinked goblets with Roxana. An undying hateshone in the eyes of the two women as they raised the crystal gobletsto their lips.

  Theodora hardly tasted of the purple beverage. Roxana eagerly drainedher cup, then she kissed the brim and offered the fragrant goblet toTristan, as her eyes challenged Theodora anew.

  Ere he could raise it to his lips, Theodora dashed the goblet fromTristan's hands and the purple wine dyed the orange colored carpet likedark stains of blood.

  White as lightning, her eyes ablaze with hidden fires, her white handsclenched, Roxana straightened herself to her full height, ready tobound at Theodora's throat, to avenge the insult and to settle now andhere, woman to woman, the question of supremacy between them, when shereeled as if struck by a thunderbolt. Her hands went to her heart andwithout a moan she fell, a lifeless heap, upon the floor.

  Ere Tristan and the other guests could recover from theirconsternation, or fathom the import of the terrible scene, a savagescream from the couch upon which Fabio reclined, turned the attentionof every one in that direction.

  Fabio, suddenly sobered, had risen from his couch and drained hisgoblet. It rolled upon the carpet from his nerveless grasp. For amoment his arms wildly beat the air, then he r
eeled and fell prone uponthe floor. His staring eyes and his face, livid with purple spots,proclaimed him dead, even ere the Moorish physician could come to hisaid.

  Theodora clapped her hands, and at the signal four giant Nubiansappeared and, taking up the lifeless bodies, disappeared with them inthe moonlit garden outside.

  The Grand Chamberlain, rising from his seat, informed the guests thata sudden ailment had befallen the woman and the man. They were beingremoved to receive care and attention.

  Though a lingering doubt hovered in the minds of those who hadwitnessed the scene, some kept silent through fear, others whose brainswere befuddled by the fumes of the wine gave utterance to inarticulatesounds, from which the view they took of the matter, was not entirelyclear.

  The shock had restored to Tristan the lost faculty of speech. For amoment he stared horrified at Theodora. Her impassive calm roused inhim a feeling of madness. With an imprecation upon his lips he rushedupon her, his gleaming dagger raised aloft.

  But ere he could carry out his intent, Theodora's clear, cold voicesmote the silence.

  "Disarm him!"

  One of the Africans had glided stealthily to his side, and the steelwas wrenched from Tristan's grip.

  "Be silent,--for your life!" some one whispered into his ear.

  Suddenly he grew weak. Theodora's languid eyes met his own, utterlyparalyzing his efforts. A smile parted her lips as, without a trace ofanger, she kissed the ivory bud of a magnolia and threw it to him.

  As one in a trance he caught the flower. Its fragrance seemed to creepinto his brain, rob his manhood of its strength. Sinking submissivelyinto his seat he gazed up at her in wondering wistfulness. Was thereever woman so bewilderingly beautiful? A strange enervating ecstasytook him captive, as he permitted his eyes to dwell on the fairnessof her face, the ivory pallor of her skin, the supple curves of herform. As one imprisoned in a jungle exhaling poison miasmas loses allcontrol over his faculties, feeling a drowsy lassitude stealing overhim, so Tristan gave himself up to the spell that encompassed him,heedless of the memories of the past.

  Now Theodora touched a small bell and suddenly the marble floor yawnedasunder and the banquet table with all its accessories vanishedunderground with incredible swiftness. Then the floor closed again. Thebroad centre space of the hall was now clear of obstruction and theguests roused themselves from their drowsy postures of half-inebriatedlanguor.

  Tristan drank in the scene with eager, dazzled eyes and heavily beatingheart. Love and hate strangely mingled stole over him more stronglythan ever, in the sultry air of this strange summer night, this nightof sweet delirium in which all that was most dangerous and erring inhis nature waked into his life and mastered his better will.

  Outside the water lilies nodded themselves to sleep among theirshrouding leaves. Like a sheet of molten gold spread the lake over thespot where Roxana and Fabio had found a common grave.

  Surrounding this lake spread a garden, golden with the sleepy radianceof the late moon, and peacefully fair in the dreaminess of droopingfoliage, moss-covered turf and star-sprinkled violet sky. In fullview, and lighted by the reflected radiance flung out from within, aminiature waterfall tumbled headlong into a rocky recess, covered andovergrown with lotus-lilies and plumy ferns. Here and there goldentents glimmered through the shadows cast by the great magnolia trees,whose half-shut buds wafted balmy odors through the drowsy summernight. The sounds of flutes, of citherns and cymbals floated fromdistant bosquets, as though elfin shepherds were guarding their fairyflocks in some hidden nook. By degrees the light grew warmer and moremellow in tint till it resembled the deep hues of an autumn sunset,flecked through the emerald haze, in the sunken gardens of Theodora.

  Another clash of cymbals, stormily persistent, then the chimes ofbells, such as bring tears to the eyes of many a wayfarer, who hearsthe silvery echoes when far away from home and straightway thinks ofhis childhood days, those years of purest happiness.

  A curious, stifling sensation began to oppress Tristan as he listenedto those bells. They reminded him of strange things, things to which hecould not give a name, odd suggestions of fair women who were wont topray for those they loved, and who believed that their prayers would beheard in heaven and would be granted!

  With straining eyes he gazed out into the languorous beauty of thegarden that spread its emerald glamour around him, and a sob broke fromhis lips as the peals of the chiming bells, softened by degrees intosubdued and tremulous semitones, the clarion clearness of the cymbalsagain smote the silent air.

  Ere Tristan, in his state of bewilderment, could realize what washappening, the great fire globe in the dome was suddenly extinguishedand a firm hand imperiously closed on his own, drawing him along, heknew not whither.

  He glanced about him. In the semi-darkness he was able to discernthe sheen of the lake with its white burden of water lilies, and thedim, branch-shadowed outlines of the moonlit garden. Theodora walkedbeside him, Theodora, whose lovely face was so perilously near hisown, Theodora, upon whose lips hovered a smile of unutterable meaning.His heart beat faster; he strove in vain to imagine what fate was instore for him. He drank in the beauty of the night that spread herstar-embroidered splendors about him, he was conscious of the vitalyouth and passion that throbbed in his veins, endowing him with a keenheadstrong rapture which is said to come but once in a lifetime, andwhich in the excess of its folly will bring endless remorse in itswake.

  Suddenly he found himself in an exquisitely adorned pavilion of paintedsilk, lighted by a lamp of tenderest rose lustre and carpeted withsoftest amber colored pile. It stood apart from the rest, concealedas it were in a grove of its own, and surrounded by a thicket oforange-trees in full bloom. The fragrance of the white waxen flowershung heavily upon the air, breathing forth delicate suggestions oflanguor and sleep. The measured cadence of the waterfall alone brokethe deep stillness, and now and then the subdued and plaintive thrillof a nightingale, soothing itself to sleep with its own song in somedeep-shadowed copse.

  Here, on a couch, such as might have been prepared for Titania,Theodora seated herself, while Tristan stood gazing at her in a sortof mad, fascinated wonderment, and gradually increasing intensity ofpassion.

  The alluring smile and the quick brightening of the eyes, so rare athing with him who, since he had left Avalon, was used to wear so calmand subdued a mask, changed his aspect in an extraordinary manner. Inan instant he seemed more alive, more intensely living, pulsing withthe joy of the hour. He felt as if he must let the natural youth in hisveins run riot, as Theodora's beauty and the magic of the night beganto sting his blood.

  Theodora's eyes danced to his. She had marked the symptoms and knew.Her eyes had lost their mocking glitter and swam in a soft languor,that was strangely bewitching. Her lips parted in a faint sigh and aglance like are shot from beneath her black silken lashes.

  "Tristan!" she murmured tremulously and waited. Then again: "Tristan!"

  He knelt before her, passion sweeping over him like a hurricane, andtook her unresisting hands in his.

  "Theodora!" he said, bending over her, and his voice, even to his ownears had a strange sound, as if some one else were speaking. "Theodora!What would you have of me? Speak! For my heart aches with a burden ofdark memories conjured up by the wizard spell of your eyes!"

  She gently drew him down beside her on the couch.

  "Foolish dreamer!" she murmured, half mockingly, half tenderly. "Arelove and passion so strange a thing that you wonder--as you sit herebeside me?"

  "Love!" he said. "Is it love indeed?"

  He uttered the words as if he spoke to himself, in a hushed, awe-strucktone. But she had heard, and a flash of triumph brightened herbeautiful face.

  "Ah!" and she dropped her head lower and lower, till the dark perfumedtresses touched his brow. "Then you do love me?"

  He started. A dull pang struck his heart, a chill of vague uncertaintyand dread. He longed to take her in his arms, forget the past, thepresent, the future, life and all it
held. But suddenly a vaguethought oppressed him. There was the sense that he was dishonoringthat other love. However unholy it had been, it was yet for him a realand passionate reality of his past life, and he shrank in shame fromsuppressing it. Would it not have been far nobler to have fought itdown as the pilgrim he had meant to be than to drown its memory in adelirium of the senses?

  And--was this love indeed for the woman by his side? Was it not merepassion and base desire?

  As he remained silent the silken voice of the fairest woman he had everseen once more sent its thrill through his bewildered brain in thefateful question:

  "Do you love me, Tristan?"

  Softly, insidiously, she entwined him with her wonderful white arms.Her perfumed breath fanned his cheeks; her dark tresses touched hisbrow. Her lips were thirstily ajar.

  He put his arms about her. Hungrily, passionately, his gaze wanderedover her matchless form, from the small feet, encased in goldensandals, to the crowning masses of her dusky hair. His heart beat withloud, impatient thuds, like some wild thing struggling in its cage, butthough his lips moved, no utterance came.

  Her arms tightened about him.

  "You are of the North," she said, "though you have hotter blood inyour veins. Now under our yellow sun, and in our hot nights, when themoon hangs like an alabaster lamp in the sky, a beaten shield of goldtrembling over our dreams--forget the ice in your blood. Gather theroses while you may! A time will come when their soft petals will havelost their fragrance! I love you--be mine!"

  And, bending towards him, she kissed him with moist, hungry lips.

  He fevered in her embrace. He kissed her eyes--her hair--her lips--anda strange dizziness stole over him, a delirium in which he was nolonger master of himself.

  "Can you not be happy, Tristan?" she whispered gently. "Happy as othermen when loved as I love you!"

  With a cold sinking of the heart he looked into the woman's perfectface. His upturned gaze rested on the glittering serpent heads thatcrowned the dusky hair, and the words of Fabio of the Cavalli knockedon the gates of his memory.

  "Happy as other men when they love--and are deceived," he said, unableto free himself of her entwining arms.

  "You shall not be deceived," she returned quickly. "You shallattain that which your heart desires. Your dearest hope shall befulfilled,--all shall be yours--all--if you will be mine--to-night."

  Tristan met her burning gaze, and as he did so the strange dreadincreased.

  "What of the Grand Chamberlain?" he queried. "What of Basil, yourlover?"

  Her answer came swift and fierce, as the hiss of a snake.

  "He shall die--even as Roxana--even as Fabio, he who boasted of mylove! You shall be lord of Rome--and I--your wife--"

  Her words leaped into his brain with the swift, fiery action of aburning drug. A red mist swam before his eyes.

  "Love!" he cried, as one seized with sudden delirium. "What have I todo with love--what have you, Theodora, who make the lives of men yoursport, and their torments your mockery? I know no name for the feverthat consumes me, when I look upon you--no name for the ravishment thatdraws me to you in mingled bliss and agony. I would perish, Theodora.Kill me, and I shall pray for you! But love--love--it recalls to mysoul a glory I have lost. There can be no love between you and me!"

  He spoke wildly, incoherently, scarcely knowing what he said. Thewoman's arms had fallen from him. He staggered to his feet.

  A low laugh broke from her lips, which curved in an evil smile.

  "Poor fool!" she said in her low, musical tones, "to cast away that forwhich hundreds would give their last life's blood. Madman! First todesire, then to spurn. Go! And beware!"

  She stood before him in all her white glory and loveliness, one whitearm stretched forth, her bosom heaving, her eyes aflame. And Tristan,seized with a sudden fear, fled from the pavilion, down the moonlitpath as if pursued by an army of demons.

  A man stepped from a thicket of roses, directly into his path. Heedlessof everything, of every one, Tristan endeavored to pass him, but theother was equally determined to bar his way.

  "So I have found you at last," said the voice, and Tristan, startingas if the ground had opened before him, stared into the face of thestranger at Theodora's board.

  "You have found me, my Lord Roger," he said, after recovering from hisfirst surprise. "Here I may injure no one--you, my lord, least of all!Leave me in peace!"

  The stranger gave a sardonic laugh.

  "That I may perchance, when you have told me the truth--the wholetruth!"

  "Ask, my lord, and I will answer," Tristan replied.

  "Where is the Lady Hellayne?"--

  The questioning voice growled like far off thunder.

  Tristan recoiled a step, staring into the questioner's face as if hethought he had gone mad.

  "The Lady Hellayne?" he stammered, white to the lips and with a dullsinking of the heart. "How am I to know? I have not seen her since Ileft Avalon--months ago. Is she not with you?"

  The Lord Laval's brow was dark as a thunder cloud.

  "If she were with me--would I be wasting my time asking you concerningher?" he barked.

  "Where is she, then?" Tristan gasped.

  "That you shall tell me--or I have forgotten the use of this knife!"

  And he laid his hand on the hilt of a long dagger that protruded fromhis belt.

  Tristan's eyes met those of the other.

  "My lord, this is unworthy of you! I have never committed a deed Idared not confess--and I despise your threat and your accusation aswould the Lady Hellayne, were she here."

  Steps were heard approaching from the direction of the pavilion.

  "I am a stranger in Rome. Doubtless you are familiar with its ways.Some one is coming. Where shall we meet?"

  Tristan pondered.

  "At the Arch of the Seven Candles. Every child can point the way. Whenshall it be?"

  "To-morrow,--at the second hour of the night. And take care to speakthe truth!"

  Ere Tristan could reply the speaker had vanished among the thickets.

  For a moment he paused, amazed, bewildered. Roger de Laval in Rome! AndHellayne--where was she? She had left Avalon--had left her consort. Hadshe entered a convent? Hellayne--where was Hellayne?

  Before this dreadful uncertainty all the events of the night vanishedas if they had never been.

  For a long time Tristan remained where Roger de Laval had left him.The cool air from the lake blew refreshingly on his heated brow. Athousand odors from orange and jessamine floated caressingly abouthim. The night was very still. There, in the soft sky-gloom, moved themajestic procession of undiscovered worlds. There, low on the horizon,the yellow moon swooned languidly down in a bed of fleecy clouds. Thedrowsy chirp of a dreaming bird came softly now and again from branchshadowed thickets, and the lilies on the surface of the lake noddedmysteriously to each other, as if they were whispering a secret ofanother world.

  At last the moon sank out of sight and from afar, softened by thedistance, the chimes of convent bells from the remote regions of theAventine were wafted through the flower scented summer night.

  END OF BOOK THE SECOND

  BOOK THE THIRD