CHAPTER III
THE LURE
For three whole days Hellayne consumed herself waiting for Tristan, andshe began to feel listless and dispirited. She had long acknowledgedto herself the necessity of his presence, and how much his lovehad influenced her thoughts and actions ever since she had knownhim--a period that now seemed of infinite length. She found herselfperpetually recalling the origin and growth of this love. She dweltwith a strange pleasure on her terrible plight, when, believing she wasdead, he had remained with her body. As evening approached she strolleddown to the Tiber, with a strange persistency and the vague expectationof Tristan's return. She now trusted him utterly, since that last andmost potent proof of his love for her.
On the first day this dreamy, imaginative existence was delightful.The region of the Trastevere at the period of our story was butsparsely populated, and the great convent, with its church of SantaMaria, dominated the lowly fisher huts, scattered over its precincts.Hellayne, during these quiet evening hours, when only the sounds offar-off chimes from churches and convents smote the silence with theirsilver tongues, and during which hours the Abbess of Santa Mariapermitted her to leave the silent walls of her asylum for a short walkto the Tiber's edge, rarely ever saw a human being. Only at dusk, whenthe fishermen and boatmen returned from their daily routine, she sawthem pass in the distance, like phantoms that come and go and vanish inthe evening glow.
On the second day there came a feeling of want; the consciousness thatthere was a void which it would be a great happiness to fill. Thisgrew to a longing for those hours which had glided by so quickly andsweetly. At intervals there came the startling thought: if she shouldnever see him again! Then her heart stopped beating, and her cheekpaled with the thought of the bare possibility.
Thus the third day sped, and when Hellayne still remained withouttidings from Tristan her anxiety slowly changed to a great fear.She could hardly contain herself during the long hours of the day,and though she spent hours and hours in prayer for his return, herheart seemed to sink under the weight of her fear and sorrow. Shewas alone--alone in Rome--exposed to dangers which her great beautyrendered even more grave than those that beset an ordinary person.She feared lest Basil was scouring the city for the woman who hadso mysteriously baffled his desires, and she dreaded the hatred ofTheodora, whose infatuation for her lover had rather increased thandiminished in the face of Tristan's resistance. How long would he beable to withstand, if Theodora had decreed his undoing?
There were moments when a mad jealousy and despair surged up inHellayne's heart, yet she hesitated to confide her fears and anxietyto the Abbess, voicing only her disquietude at Tristan's prolongedabsence. Then only the latter informed Hellayne of a strange rumorwhich had found its way into the Trastevere. Three nights ago aterrible sacrilege had been committed at the Lateran, during the smallhours of the night, and on the following morning, during an inspectionby some high prelates of the Church, the criminal had been discoveredin the person of a captain of the Senator's guard, who had but recentlyarrived in Rome, and had been placed in high command by the Senatorhimself, whom he had so cruelly betrayed.
Three nights ago! It was on the night of the terrible crime from whoseconsequences she had been saved just in the nick of time. With painfulminuteness Hellayne recalled, or tried to recall, every incident,every detail, every utterance of her lover. But there was nothing atwhich she could clutch save--but it was sheer madness. Surely it wassome horrid nightmare. Again she sought the Abbess, later in the day,questioning her regarding the name of him who had been taken in thecommission of so heinous an offence. It was some time ere the Abbesscould recall a name strange in her own land, and Hellayne, with thepersistency of desperation, withheld any aid, so as not to offer a clueto the one she dreaded to hear. But the strain proved too great. Almostwith a shriek she demanded to know if, perchance, the name was Tristan.The Abbess regarded her questioner strangely. "Tristan is the name. Doyou know this man, my child?"
Hellayne was on the point of fainting. Everything grew black before hereyes, and she would have fallen, had not the Abbess supported her.
"A countryman of mine," she said, dreading lest by revealing theirconnection she might herself be held in custody. "He came to Rome ona pilgrimage. Surely there is some horrible mistake! He could not! Hecould not!"
The Abbess placed an arm round the trembling girl.
"If he can prove that he is innocent, the Cardinal-Archbishop willnot suffer a hair of his head to be touched," she tried to consoleHellayne whose head rested on her shoulder. She seemed utterly crushed.Surely--it was too monstrous--too unbelievable. Yet as the moments spedon, an icy, sickening fear gripped her heart. She recalled an incidentof that last evening with Tristan which, but for what had happened orwas rumored to have happened, she would have utterly ignored. She hadnoted her lover's restlessness, and his apparent haste in leaving herat the convent gates. She recalled now that he repeatedly glanced atthe moon and did, at one time, comment upon the lateness of the hour.He had not seemed anxious to prolong their tete-a-tete, and he had notbeen heard from in three days. Surely, no matter where he was, he couldhave sent a message, verbal or otherwise. And the crime had happenedduring the small hours of the night--after he had left her! It was toohorrible to ponder upon!
That there was some dreadful mystery which surrounded this deed ofdarkness and Tristan's share therein, Hellayne did not question. Buthow was she, a woman, a stranger, alone in Rome, to aid in clearing itup and reveal her lover's innocence? There was no doubt in her mind,but that he was the victim of some devilish conspiracy--perchance athread of that same web which had entangled her to her undoing. But howto convince the Cardinal-Archbishop of Tristan's innocence, when thefacts surrounding the terrible discovery were unknown to her?
"This man is, no doubt, very dear to you," said the Abbess at last.
Hellayne shrank before the questioner and averted her face. But theAbbess was resolved to know more, once her suspicions were aroused.
"Could it perchance be he who brought you here three nights ago--yourbrother?" she queried with a kind, though penetrating glance at thewoman who was trembling like an aspen, her face colorless, her eyesdimmed with tears.
A silent nod convinced the Abbess of the truth of her surmise. Shestroked Hellayne's silken hair.
"It is a dreadful crime of which he stands accused, one for which thereis no remission--no pardon here or hereafter," she said sorrowfully.
"He is innocent," sobbed Hellayne. "He is as pure as the light, as theflowers. There is some dreadful mistake. He must be saved before it istoo late! Oh--dear mother--could you not intercede for him with HisEminence?"
The Abbess regarded her as if she thought her protege had suddenlylost her reason. To intercede with the Cardinal-Archbishop for one whostood committed of so heinous an offence, taken in the very act,--onewho, perchance, was implicated in all those other terrible outragescommitted in the various sanctuaries of Rome! Nevertheless she madeallowance for Hellayne's hysterical plea.
"Has he never mentioned these matters to you?" She queried kindly,hoping to draw the girl out.
"What matters?" Hellayne queried, with wide eyes, and the questionconvinced the Abbess that the woman knew nothing.
"These dark practices," replied the Abbess. "For this is not the firstoffence. Even within this very moon cycle the Holy Host has been takenfrom the Church of Our Blessed Lady yonder. And all efforts to discoverthe guilty one have failed."
"I had not heard of it," said Hellayne. "I have not been long in Rome.Nor has he. About a month, I should say."
"A month?"
"And he knew nothing of this. Nor knew he even one person in this wholecity."
"Wherefore then came he?"
Hellayne explained and the Abbess listened. Hellayne's account, whichwas impersonal, impressed her protectress in so far as she knew shespoke truth. For, if here was an impostor, it was the cleverest she hadever faced and, while a stranger to the world and to worldly affairs,t
he stamp of truth was too indelibly written upon Hellayne's brow toeven permit of the shadow of a doubt. Perhaps it was for this reasonthe Abbess refrained from questioning her farther, for she had beensomehow curious of the relation between the woman and the man who hadbrought her here.
Here was matter for thought indeed. For, if the man was guilty and,notwithstanding Hellayne's protestations, the Abbess was in her ownmind convinced that the Cardinal-Archbishop of Ravenna could not bedeceived in matters of this kind, what was to become of the woman hehad placed in her charge? There were also other matters equally gravewhich oppressed the Abbess' mind. Hellayne's connection with onewho had committed the unspeakable crime might militate against herremaining at the convent. Yet she hesitated to send her out into theworld, unprotected and alone.
For a time there was silence. Hellayne, utterly exhausted from therecital of a past, which had reopened every wound in her heart, causingit to bleed anew, anxious, afraid, doubting and wondering how far herprotectress might go, stood before the woman who seemed to hold in herhand both her own fate and that of her lover.
"I will retire to my cell and pray to the Blessed Virgin for light toguide my steps," the Abbess said at last, laying her hand on Hellayne'shead. "Do not venture away too far," she enjoined, "and come to meafter the Ave Maria. Perchance I may then know what to counsel."
Hellayne bowed her head and kissed the hem of the Abbess' robe.
After she had left, Hellayne remained standing where she was,transfixed with anxiety and grief.
What forces of gloom and evil encompassed her on all sides? The man towhom she had given her youth and beauty, who had plucked the flowerwhich others had vainly desired, instead of cherishing the gift shehad bestowed upon him, had trampled the delicate blossom in the dust.He, to whom her heart belonged ever since she had power to think,was doomed for a deed too terrible to name. She had been ruthlesslysacrificed by the one, and now the other had failed her, and a thirdtried to encompass her ruin. And she was alone--utterly alone!
What was she to do? To request an audience of the Cardinal-Archbishopwas little short of madness. In her own heart Hellayne doubtedseriously that the Abbess would concern herself any further about heror her distress. Nevertheless she felt that something must be done.This inertia which was creeping over her would drive her mad. But firstof all she must know the nature of the charge placed against the manshe loved before she would determine what to do. In vain she taxed hertired brain for a ray of hope in the encompassing gloom.
The long lights of the afternoon crossed and recrossed the sanctuaryof Santa Maria in Trastevere when Hellayne, after an hour of ferventprayer, emerged from its portals and took the direction of the Tiber,where she sat on her accustomed seat and brooded over her misery.
At last the sunset came. The ashen color of the olive trees flashed outinto silver. The mountain peaks of distant Alba became faintly flushedand phantom fair as, in a tempest of fire, the sun sank to rest. Theforests of ilex and arbutus on the Janiculum Hill seemed to tremblewith delight as the long red heralds touched their topmost boughs. Thewhole landscape seemed to smile farewell to departing day.
As she sat there, Hellayne's attention was attracted to a woman who hadpaused near the river's edge. There was nothing remarkable either inher carriage or apparel. It was a wrinkled hag, swart, snake-locked,cowled, her dress jingling with sequins, her right hand clawed upon acrooked staff. She appeared, in fact, just an old Levantine hoodie-crowof the breed which was familiar enough in Rome in those cataclysmicdays, when all sorts of queer, tragic fowl were being driven northwardfrom over seas before the tidal wave of invading Islam. Her speech aswell as her manners and dress betrayed Oriental origin.
As she hobbled up to where Hellayne was seated she stopped and askedsome trifling question about her way, which Hellayne pointed with somehesitation, explaining that she was herself a stranger in Rome, andknew not the direction of the city.
The old crone seemed interested.
"In yonder cloister--yet not of it?" she queried, pointing with thecrooked staff to the convent walls that towered darkly behind them inthe evening dusk.
Her penetration startled Hellayne.
"How did you guess, old mother?" she queried with a look of awe, whichwas not unremarked by the other.
"Ay--there is lore enough under these faded locks of mine to turn thefoulest cesspool in Rome as clear as crystal, or to change this staffwhereon I lean into a thing that creeps and hisses," she said with alow laugh.
Hellayne shrank back from her with a gesture of dismay. Believingimplicitly in their power, she felt a deadly fear of those whoprofessed the black arts.
The old woman read her thoughts.
"My daughter," she said, "be not afraid of the old woman's secretgifts. Mine is a harmless knowledge, gained by study of the scrolls ofwise men, in my own native land. Fear not, I say, for I, who have poredover those mystic characters till me eyes grew dim, can read your sweetpale face as plainly as the brazen tablets in the Forum, and I can seein it sorrow and care and anxiety for one you love."
Hellayne gave a start.
It was true! But how had the old crone found it out! She glancedwistfully at her companion, and the latter, satisfied she was on theright track, proceeded to answer that questioning glance.--
"You think he is in danger, or in grief," she continued mysteriously,"and you wonder why he does not come. What would you not give, my poorchild, to see him this very moment--to look into his face--his eyes.And I can show him to you, if you will. I am not ungrateful, even for aslight service."
The blood mounted to Hellayne's brow, and a strange light kindled inher eyes, while a soft radiance swept over her face such as comesinto every countenance when the heart vibrates with an illusion toits happiness, as though the silver cord thrilled to the touch of anangel's wing. It was no clumsy guess of the wise woman to infer thatthe woman before her loved.
"What mean you?" asked Hellayne eagerly. "How can you show him to me?What do you know of him? Where is he? Is he safe?"
The wise woman smiled. Here was a bird flying blindly into the net.Take her by her affections, there would be little difficulty in thecapture.
"He is in danger--in grave danger," she replied. "But you could savehim, if you only knew how. He might be happy, too, if he would.But--with another!"
To do Hellayne justice, she heard only the first sentence.
"In grave danger," she repeated. "I knew it! And I could save him! Oh,tell me where he is, and what I can do for him?"
The wise woman pulled a small mirror from her bosom.
"I cannot tell you," she replied. "But I can show him to you. Only nothere, where the shadow of any chance passer-by might destroy the charm.Let us turn aside into yonder ruins. There is no one near, and youshall gaze without interruption into the face of him you love--"
It was but a short way off, though the ruins which surrounded itmade the place lonely and secluded. Had it been twice the distancehowever, Hellayne would have accompanied her new acquaintance forTristan's sake, in the eagerness to obtain tidings of his fate. As sheapproached the ruins she could not repress a faint sigh, which was notlost on her companion.
"It was here you parted," she said. "It is here you shall see himagain."
This was scarcely a random shaft, for it required little penetrationto discover that Hellayne had some tender association connected with aspot, the solitude of which appealed to her in so great a degree.
Nevertheless the utterance convinced Hellayne of her companion'ssupernatural power and, though it roused alarm, it excited curiosity toa still greater degree.
"Take the mirror in your hand," whispered the wise woman, when theyreached the portico, casting a searching glance around. "Shut your eyeswhile I speak the charm that calls him three times over, and then looksteadily on its surface till I have counted ten."
Hellayne obeyed these instructions implicitly. Standing in the centreof the ruin with the mirror in her hand, she shut her eyes and listenedint
ently to the low solemn tones of the woman's chanting, while fromthe deep shadows of the ruin there stole out a muffled form and at thesame time a half dozen sbirri rose from their different hiding placesamong the ruins.
Ere the incantation had been twice repeated, the leader threw a scarfover Hellayne's head, muffling her so completely that an outcry wasimpossible.
Resistlessly she felt herself taken up and carried to a chariot, whichwas waiting a short space away. A moment later the driver whipped thehorses into a gallop and the vehicle with its occupants and burdendisappeared in the gathering dusk.
Under the Witches' Moon: A Romantic Tale of Mediaeval Rome Page 41