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

by Nathan Gallizier

  CHAPTER XII

  THE DEATH WATCH

  A strange and mysterious thing is the working of terror on the humanmind. Some it renders incapable of thought or action, paralyzing theirlimbs and stagnating the blood in their veins; such creatures die inanticipating death. Others, under the stress of that grim emotion havetheir wits preternaturally sharpened. The instinct of self-preservationassumes command and urges them to swift and feverish action.

  After a moment of terrible suspense Tristan's hands fell limply besidehim. At the next he was himself again. His cheeks were livid, his lipsbloodless. But his hands were steady and his wits under control.

  Concealment--concealment for Hellayne and himself--was the thing thatnow imported, and no sooner was the thought conceived than the meanswere devised. Slender means they were, yet since they were the bestthe place afforded, he must trust to them without demurring, and prayto God that the intruders might lack the wit to search. And with thatfresh hope it came to him that he must find a way as to make thembelieve that to search would be a waste of effort.

  The odds against him lay in the little time at his disposal. Yet alittle time there was. The door was stout, and those outside might notresort to violent means to break it open lest the noise arouse thestreet.

  With what tools the sbirri were at work he could not guess, but surelythey must be such as to leave him but a few moments. Already they hadbegun. He could distinguish a crunching sound as of steel biting intowood.

  Swiftly and silently Tristan set to work. Like a ghost he glided roundthe coffin's side, where the lid was lying. He raised it and, after hehad deposited Hellayne on the ground, mounted the bench and replacedit. Next he gathered up the cumbrous pall and, mounting the bench oncemore, spread it over the coffin. This way and that he pulled it, untilit appeared undisturbed as when he had entered.

  What time he toiled, the half of his mind intent upon his task, theother half was as intent upon the progress of the workers at the door.

  At last it was done. Tristan replaced the bench at the foot of thecatafalque and, gathering up the woman in his arms, as though herweight had been that of a feather, he bore her swiftly out of theradius of the four tapers into the black, impenetrable gloom beyond. Onhe sped towards the high altar, flying now as men fly in evil dreams,with the sensation of an enemy upon them, and their progress a merestand still.

  Thus he gained the chancel, stumbling against the railing as he passed,and pausing for an instant, wondering whether those outside had heard.But the grinding sound continued and he breathed more freely. Hemounted the altar stairs, the distant light behind him feebly guidinghim on, then he ran round to the right and heaved a great sigh ofrelief upon finding his hopes realized. The altar stood a pace or sofrom the wall, and behind it there was just such a concealment as hehad hoped to find.

  Tristan paused at the mouth of that black well, and even as he pausedsomething that gave out a metallic sound, dropped at the far end ofthe church. Intuition informed him that it was the lock which themiscreants had cut from the door. He waited no longer, but like a deerscudding to cover, plunged into the dark abyss.

  Hellayne, wrapped in his cloak, as she was, he placed on the ground,then crept forward on hands and knees and thrust out his head, trustingto the darkness to conceal him.

  He waited thus for a time, his heart beating almost audibly in theintermittent silence, his head and face on fire with the fever ofsudden reaction.

  From his point of vantage it was impossible for Tristan to see the doorthat was hidden in the black gloom. Away in the centre of the church,an island of light in that vast well of blackness, stood the catafalquewith its four waxen tapers. Something creaked, and almost immediatelyhe saw the flames of those tapers bend toward him, beaten over by thegust that smote them from the door. Thus he surmised that Tebaldo andhis men had entered. Their soft foot-fall, for they were treadinglightly now, succeeded, and at last they took shape, shadowy at first,then clearly defined, as they emerged within the circle of the light.

  For a moment they stood in half whispered conversation, their voicesa mere boom of sound in which no words were to be distinguished. ThenTristan saw Tebaldo step forward, and by his side another he knew byhis great height--Gamba, the deposed captain. Tebaldo dragged away,even as Tristan had done, the pall that hid the coffin. Next he seizedthe bench and gave a brisk order to his men.

  "Spread a cloth!"

  In obedience to his command, the four who were with him spread a cloakamong them, each holding one of its corners. Apparently they intendedto carry away the dead body in this manner.

  The sbirro now mounted the bench and started to remove the coffin lid,when a blasphemous cry of rage broke from his lips that defied utterlythe sanctity of the place.

  "By the body of Christ! The coffin is empty!"--

  It was the roar of an enraged beast and was succeeded by a heavy crash,as he let fall the coffin lid. A second later a second crash waked themidnight echoes of that silent place.

  In a burst of maniacal fury he had hurled the coffin from its trestles.

  Then he leaped down from the bench and flung all caution to the windsin the rage that possessed him.

  "It is a trick of the devil," he shouted. "They have laid a trap forus, and you have never even informed yourselves."

  There was foam about the corners of his mouth, the veins had swollenon his forehead, and from the mad bulging of his eyes spoke fury andabject terror. Bully as Tebaldo was, he could, on occasion, become acoward.

  "Away!" he shouted to his men. "Look to your weapons! Away!"

  Gamba muttered something under his breath, words the listener's earcould not catch. If it were a suggestion that the church should besearched, ere they abandoned it! But Tebaldo's answer speedily relievedhis fears.

  "I'll take no chances," he barked. "Let us go separately. Myself firstand do you follow and get clear of this quarter as best you may."

  Scarcely had the echoes of his footsteps died away, ere the othersfollowed in a rush, fearful of being caught in some trap that was herelaid for them, and restrained from flying on the instant but by theirstill greater fear of their master.

  Thanking Heaven for this miraculous deliverance, and for his ownforesight in so arranging matters as to utterly mislead the ravishers,Tristan now devoted his whole attention to Hellayne. Her breathing hadbecome deeper and more regular, so that in all respects she resembledone sunk into healthful slumber. He hoped she would waken before theelapse of many moments, for to try to bear her away in his arms wouldhave been sheer madness. And now it occurred to him that he shouldhave restoratives ready for the time of her regaining consciousness.Inspiration suggested to him the wine that should be stored in thesacristy for altar purposes. It was unconsecrated, and there could beno sacrilege in using it.

  He crept round to the front of the altar. At the angle a candle branchprotruded at the height of his head. It held some three or four tapersand was so placed as to enable the priest to read his missal at earlyMass on dark winter mornings. Tristan plucked one of the candles fromits socket and, hastening down the church, lighted it from one of theburning tapers of the bier. Screening it with his hand he retraced hissteps and regained the chancel. Then, turning to the left, he made fora door which gave access to the sacristy. It yielded and he passed downa short, stone flagged passage and entered a spacious chamber beyond.

  An oak settle was placed against one wall, and above it hung anenormous, rudely carved crucifix. On a bench in a corner stood a basinand ewer of metal, while a few vestments, suspended beside these,completed the appointments of the austere and white-washed chamber.Placing his candle on a cupboard, he opened one of the drawers. It wasfull of garments of different kinds, among which he noticed severalmonks' habits. Tristan rummaged to the bottom, only to find thereinsome odd pairs of sandals.

  Disappointed, Tristan closed the drawer and tried another, with nobetter fortune. Here were undervests of fine linen, newly washed andfragrant with rosemary. He abandoned the ch
est and gave his attentionto the cupboard. It was locked, but the key was there. Tristan's candlereflected a blaze of gold and silver vessels, consecrated chalices, andseveral richly carved ciboria of solid gold, set with precious stones.But in a corner he discovered a dark brown, gourd-shaped object. It wasa skin of wine and, with a half-suppressed cry of joy, he seized uponit.

  At that moment a piercing scream rang through the stillness of thechurch and startled him so that for some moments he stood frozen withterror, a hundred wild conjectures leaping into his brain.

  Had the ruffians remained hidden in the church? Had they returned? Didthe screams imply that Hellayne had been awakened by their hands?

  A second time it came, and now it seemed to break the hideous spellthat its first utterance had cast over him. Dropping the leathernbottle he sped back, down the stone passage to the door that abutted onthe church.

  There, by the high altar, Tristan saw a form that seemed at first but aphantom, in which he presently recognized Hellayne, the dim rays of thedistant tapers searching out the white robe with which her limbs weredraped. She was alone, and he knew at once that it was but the naturalfear consequent upon awakening in such a place, that had evoked the cryhe had heard.

  "Hellayne!" he called, advancing swiftly to reassure her. "Hellayne!"

  There was a gasp, a moment's silence.

  "Tristan?" she cried questioningly. "What has happened? Why am I here?"

  He was beside her now and found her trembling like an aspen.

  "Something horrible has happened, my Hellayne," he replied. "But it isover now, and the evil is averted."

  "What is it?" she insisted, pale as death. "Why am I here?"

  "You shall learn presently."

  He stooped, to gather up the cloak, which had slipped from hershoulders.

  "Do you wrap this about you," he urged, assisting her with his ownhands. "Are you faint, Hellayne?"

  "I scarce know," she answered, in a frightened voice. "There is a blackhorror upon me. Tell me," she implored again, "Why am I here? What doesit all mean?"

  He drew her away now, promising to tell her everything once she wereout of these forbidding surroundings. He assisted her to the sacristyand, seating her upon a settle, produced the wine skin. At first shebabbled like a child, of not being thirsty, but he insisted.

  "It is not a matter of quenching your thirst, dearest Hellayne. Thewine will warm and revive you! Come, dearest--drink!"

  She obeyed him now, and having got the first gulp down her throat, shetook a long draught, which soon produced a healthier color, driving theashen pallor from her cheeks.

  "I am cold, Tristan," she shuddered.

  He turned to the drawer in which he had espied the monks' habits andpulling one out, held it for her to put on. She sat there now in thatgarment of coarse black cloth, the cowl flung back upon her shoulder,the fairest postulant that ever entered upon a novitiate.

  "You are good to me, Tristan," she murmured plaintively, "and I haveused you very ill! You do not love that other woman?" She paused,passing her hand across her brow.

  "Only you, dearest--only you!"

  "What is the hour?" she turned to him suddenly.

  It was a matter he left unheeded. He bade her brace herself, and takecourage to listen to what he was about to tell. He assured her that thehorror of it all was passed and that she had naught to fear.

  "But--how came I here?" she cried. "I must have lain in a swoon, for Iremember nothing."

  And then her quick mind, leaping to a reasonable conclusion, andassisted perhaps by the memory of the shattered catafalque which shehad seen, her eyes dilating with a curious affright as they were turnedupon his own, she asked of a sudden:

  "Did you believe that I was dead?"

  "Yes," he replied with an unnatural calm in his voice. "Every onebelieved you were dead, Hellayne."

  And with this he told her the entire story of what had befallen, savingonly his own part therein, nor did he try to explain his own opportunepresence in the church. When he spoke of the coming of Tebaldo and hismen she shuddered and closed her eyes. Only after he had concludedhis tale did she turn them full upon him. Their brightness seemed toincrease, and now he saw that she was weeping.

  "And you were there to save me, Tristan?" she murmured brokenly. "Oh,Tristan, it seems that you are ever at hand when I have need of you!You are, indeed, my one true friend--the one true friend that neverfails me!"

  "Are you feeling stronger, Hellayne?" he asked abruptly.

  "Yes--I am stronger!"

  She rose as if to test her strength.

  "Indeed little ails me save the horror of this thing. The thought of itseems to turn me sick and dizzy."

  "Sit then and rest!" he enjoined. "Presently, when you feel equal toit, we shall start out!"

  "Whither shall we go?" she asked.

  "Why--to the abode of your liege lord."

  "Why--yes--" she answered at length, as though it had been the lastsuggestion she had expected. "And when he returns," she added, aftera pause, "he will owe you no small thanks for your solicitude on mybehalf."

  There was a pause. A hundred thoughts thronged Tristan's mind.

  Presently she spoke again.

  "Tristan," she inquired very gently, "what was it that brought you tothe church?"

  "I came with the others, Hellayne," he replied, and, fearing suchquestions as might follow--questions he had been dreading ever since hebrought her to the sacristy, he said:

  "If you are recovered, we had better set out."

  "I am not yet sufficiently recovered," she replied. "And, before we go,there are a few points in this strange adventure that I would have youmake clear to me! Meanwhile we are very well here! If the good fathersdo come upon us, what shall it signify?"--

  Tristan groaned inwardly and grew more afraid than when Basil's men hadbroken into the church an hour ago.

  "What detained you after all had gone?"

  "I remained to pray," he answered, with a sense of irritation at herpersistence. "What else was there to do in a church?"

  "To pray for me?"

  "Assuredly."

  "Dear, faithful heart," she murmured. "And I have used you so cruelly.But you merited my cruelty--Tristan! Say that you did, else must Iperish of remorse."

  "Perchance I deserved it," he replied. "But perchance not so much asyou bestowed, had you understood my motives," he said unguardedly.

  "If I had understood your motives?" she mused. "Ay--there is much I donot understand! Even in this night's business there are not wantingthings that remain mysterious, despite the elucidations you havesupplied. Tell me, Tristan--what was it that caused you to believe,that I still lived?"

  "I did not believe it," he blundered like a fool, never seeing whitherher question led.

  "You did not?" she cried, with deep surprise, and now, when it was toolate, he understood. "What was it then that induced you, to lift thecoffin lid?"--

  "You ask me more than I can tell you," he answered almost roughly, forfear lest the monks would come at any moment.

  She looked at him with eyes that were singularly luminous.

  "But I must know," she insisted. "Have I not the right? Tell me now!Was it that you wished to see my face once more before they gave meover to the grave?"

  "Perchance it was, Hellayne," he answered. Then he suggested theirgoing, but she never heeded his anxiety.

  "Do you love me then so much, dearest Tristan?"

  He swung round to her now, and he knew that his face was white, whiterthan the woman's had been when he had seen her in the coffin. Hiseyes seemed to burn in their sockets. A madness seized upon him andcompletely mastered him. He had undergone so much that day of grief,and that night the victim of a hundred emotions, that he no longercontrolled himself. As it was, her words robbed him of the lastlingering restraint.

  "Love you?" he replied, in a voice that was unlike his own. "You aredearer to me than all I have, all I am, all I ever hope to be! You arethe guardian an
gel of my existence, the saint to whom I have turnedmornings and evenings in my prayers! I love you more than life!"

  He paused, staggered by his own climax. The thought of what he hadsaid and what the consequences must be, rushed suddenly upon him. Heshivered as a man may shiver in waking from a trance. He dropped uponhis knees before her.

  "Forgive," he entreated. "Forgive--and forget!"

  "Neither forgive nor forget will I," came her voice, charged with anineffable sweetness, such as he had never before heard from her lips,and her hands lay softly on his bowed head as if she would bless andsoothe him. "I am conscious of no offence that craves forgiveness, andwhat you have said to me I would not forget if I could. Whence springsthis fear of yours, dear Tristan? Has not he to whom I once boundmyself in a thoughtless moment, he who never understood, or cared tounderstand my nature, he whose cruelty and neglect have made me what Iam to-day, lost every right, human or divine? Am I more than a womanand are you less than a man that you should tremble for the confessionwhich, in a wild moment, I have dragged from you? For that wild momentI shall be thankful to my life's end, for your words have been thesweetest that my poor ears have ever listened to. I count you thetruest friend and the noblest lover the world has ever known. Need itsurprise you then, that I love you, and that mine would be a happy lifeif I might spend it in growing worthy of this noble love of yours?"

  There was a choking sensation in his throat and tears in his eyes.Transport the blackest soul from among the damned in Hell, wash itwhite of its sins and seat it upon one of the glorious thrones ofHeaven,--such were the emotions that surged through his soul. At lasthe found his tongue.

  "Dearest," he said, "bethink yourself of what you say! You are stillhis wife--and the Church grants no severance of the bonds that haveunited two for better or worse."

  "Then shall we see the Holy Father. He is just and he will be merciful.Will you take me, Tristan, no matter to what odd shifts a cruel Fortunemay drive us? Will you take me?"

  She held his face between her palms and forced his eyes to meet hereyes.

  "Will you take me, Tristan?" she said again.

  "Hellayne--"

  It was all he could say.

  Then a great sadness overwhelmed him, a tide that swept the frail barkof happiness high and dry upon the shores of black despair.

  "To-morrow, Hellayne, you will be what you were yesterday."

  "I have thought of that," she said, a slight flutter in her tone."But--Hellayne is dead.--We must so dispose that they will let her restin peace."--