The Sorceress of Rome

  *CHAPTER VI*

  *BEYOND THE GRAVE*

  Eckhardt turned to go, but he had barely moved, when, as if risen fromthe earth, there stood before him the tall, veiled form of a woman, whowhispered, flooding his face with her burning breath:

  "I love you! Come! No one will see us!"

  Eckhardt trembled in every limb. He would have known that voice, evenif it had spoken to him from the depths of the grave. The heavy veilwhich shrouded the woman's face prevented him from scrutinizing herfeatures.

  "Who are you?" he stammered, just to say something. Swift as thought shethrew her arms round him, but to recede as swiftly.

  "Hurry! See how lonely it is! I love you! Come!"

  "Who are you?"

  "Can you not guess?"

  He stretched out his arms toward her, but she gambolled before him, as abutterfly, flitting from flower to flower.

  "Night of Love--night of madness," she whispered. "To-night, if you butwill it, the secret is yours!"

  Her voice thrilled him through and through. The perfume of thePoppy-flower sank benumbing into his heart. It was her voice,--it washer form,--was it but a mocking phantom,--what was it? Again sheapproached him.

  "Lift the veil!" she spoke in a voice of command.

  With trembling hand he started to obey, when the leaves of the nearestmyrtle-bush began to rustle.

  Eckhardt heard nothing, saw nothing.

  As Benilo stepped into the moonlight, the apparition vanished like adream phantom, but from the distance her laugh was heard, strange insome way, and ominous.

  Eckhardt rushed after the fading vision like a madman.

  Would it mock him for ever, wherever he was, wherever he went?

  How long he had followed it, in headlong, breathless pursuit, as on thatfateful eve, when it had lured him from the altars of Christ, he knewnot. When he at last desisted from the mad and fruitless chase, hefound himself at the base of the Capitoline Hill. Here were scatteredthe ruins of the old Mamertine prisons, once a series of cells rising instages against the rock to a considerable height. Here were the bathsof Mamertius, where Jugurtha, the Numidian, was starved. There SimonBar Gioras, the Jew, was strangled, he, who to the last maintained thestruggle against the victorious son of Vespasian. In the cell to theright Appius Claudius, the Triumvir, was said to have committed suicide.Another cell reechoed from the clangour of the chains of Simon Petrus.It was not a region where men tarried long, and few relished the fare ofthe low taverns, which were strung along the gray wall of ServiusTullius. For weird and dismal wails were at times to be heard in clearmoonlight nights, and the region of the Capitoline Hill, cut by the oldGemonian stairs, was in ill repute, as in the days of Republican Rome.

  He had not gone very far when he found himself before the entrance of acavern, and Eckhardt's attention was caught by a strange red glow asfrom some fire within. As he gazed it died out, and he was left indoubt, whether it was an illusion of his imagination, or some phenomenonpeculiar to the spot. The prisoners of the Roman state were no longerconveyed hither for safe-keeping, but confined in the dismal dungeons ofTorre di Nona and Corte Savella. The glimmer he had seen could nottherefore emanate from the cell of some unfortunate, here awaiting hissentence. Vainly he strained his gaze. All was darkness again within,and although the moon was high in a clear sky, set with innumerablestars, their distant glimmer could not penetrate the murky depths.

  Eckhardt waited some minutes and the glimmer reappeared. What urged himonward to explore the cause of the strange light he could not have told.Still he dared not venture into the gloom without the aid of a torch.Quickly resolved he retraced his steps towards the few scattered houses,near the ancient wall, entered a dimly lighted, evil-smelling shop,purchased torch and flints and returned to the entrance of the cavern.

  After lighting his torch he entered slowly and carefully, marking everystep he took in the dust and sand, which covered the ground of the cave.The farther he advanced the more singular grew the spectacle whichgreeted his gaze.

  The cavern was of great extent, composed of enormous masses of rocks,seemingly tossed together in chaotic confusion, and glittering all overin the blaze of innumerable irradiations, as with serpents of colouredlight, so singularly brilliant and twisted were the stalactites whichclustered within. There was one rock, in which a strong effort of theimagination might have shaped resemblance to a crucifix. Fastened tothis by an iron rivet, a chain and a belt round his waist, lay the formof a man, apparently in a deadly swoon, as if exhausted from thestruggle against the massive links. Some embers still burned near theprisoner and had probably been the means of attracting Eckhardt'sattention.

  Startled by the strange sight which encountered his gaze, Eckhardteagerly surveyed the person of the prisoner. He appeared a man who hadpassed his prime, and his frame betokened a scholar rather than anathlete. His head being averted, Eckhardt was not able to scan hisfeatures.

  At first Eckhardt was inclined to attribute the prisoner's plight to anattack by outlaws who had stripped him, and then, to secure secrecy andimmunity, had left him to his fate. But a second considerationstaggered this presumption, for as he raised his torch above the man'shead, he discovered the tonsure which proclaimed him a monk, and whatbandit, ever so desperate, would perpetrate a deed, which would consignhis soul to purgatory for ever more? Besides, what wealth had a friarto tempt the avidity of a bravo?

  Vainly puzzling his brain, as to the probable authorship of a deed, asdark as the identity of the hapless creature, thus securely fettered tothe stone, he looked round. There was no vestige of drink or food;perhaps the man was starved and slowly expiring in the last throes ofexhaustion. His breath came in rasping gasps and the short-croppedraven-blue hair slightly tinged with gray heightened the cadaveroustints of the body, which was of the colour of dried parchment.

  The sudden flow of light, which flooded his eyes, perhaps longunaccustomed thereto, caused the prostrate man to writhe and to startfrom his swoon. His eyes, deeply sunk in their sockets, and flashing astrange delirious light, stared with awe and fear into the flame of thetorch.

  But no sooner had he encountered Eckhardt's gaze than he uttered a cryof dismay and would have relapsed into his swoon, had not the Margravegrasped him by the shoulder in an effort to support the weak, totteringbody. But the cry had startled him, and so great was Eckhardt's dismay,that his fingers relaxed their hold and the man fell back, striking hishead against the rock.

  "I am dying--fetch me some water," he begged piteously and Eckhardtstepped outside of the cavern and filled his helmet from a well, whosecrystal stream seemed to pour from the fissures of the Tarpeian rock.This he carried to the hapless wretch, raising his head and holding itto his lips. The prisoner drank greedily and stammered his thanks in amanner as if his tongue had swollen too big for his mouth.

  There was a breathless silence, then Eckhardt said:

  "I have sought you long--everywhere. How came you in this plight?"

  The monk looked up. In his eyes there was a great fear.

  "Pity--pity!" he muttered, vainly endeavouring to raise himself.

  Eckhardt's stern gaze was his sole reply.

  The ensuing silence seemed to both an eternity.

  The monk could not bear the Margrave's gaze, and had closed his eyes.

  "What of Ginevra?"

  Slowly the words fell from Eckhardt's lips.

  The monk groaned. His limbs writhed and strained against the chainsthat fettered him to the rock. But he made no reply.

  "What of Ginevra?" Eckhardt repeated inexorably.

  Still there came no answer.

  Eckhardt stooped over the prostrate form like a spirit of vengeancedescended from on high and so fiercely burned his gaze upon the monkthat the latter vainly endeavoured to turn away his face. He could feelthose eyes, even though his own were closed.

  "You stand in the shadow of death," Eckhardt spoke, "Yo
u will neverleave this cavern alive! Answer briefly and truthfully,--and I willhave your body consigned to consecrated earth and masses said for yoursoul. Remain obdurate and rot where you lie, till the trumpet blast ofresurrection day chases the worms from their loathsome feast!"

  The dying man answered with a groan.

  "What of Ginevra?" Eckhardt questioned for the third time.

  The monk breathed hard. A tremor shook his limbs as he gasped:

  "Ginevra--lives."

  Eckhardt's hands went to his head. He closed his eyes in mortal agonyand for a moment nothing but his heavy breathing was to be heard in thecavern. When he again looked down upon the prostrate man, he saw hislips turn purple, saw the film of death begin to cover his eyes. Howmuch there was to be asked. How brief the time!

  "You chanted the Requiem over the body of Ginevra, knowing her to beamong the living?"

  The monk nodded feebly.

  Eckhardt's breath came hard. His breast heaved, as if it must burst andhis hand shook so violently that some of the hot pitch from the taperstruck the prisoner on the shoulder. He writhed with a groan.

  "What prompted the hellish deceit?" Eckhardt continued. "Did she nothave my love?"

  The monk shook his head.

  "It was not enough. It was not enough!"

  "What more had I to give?"

  "Marozia's inheritance--the emperor's tomb!"

  "Marozia's inheritance?" Eckhardt repeated, like one in a dream. "Theemperor's tomb? What madness is this? She never hinted at a wishunfulfilled."

  "She asked you never to lift the veil from her past!"

  The monk's words fell like a thunderbolt on Eckhardt's head.

  "How came you by this knowledge?" he questioned aghast.

  "Give me some water--I am choking," gasped the monk.

  Again Eckhardt held the helmet to his lips, while he prayed that thespark of life might remain long enough in that enfeebled body, to clearthe mystery, at whose brink he stood.

  The monk drank greedily, and when his thirst seemed appeased the waterran out of the corners of his mouth. He again relapsed into a swoon; heheard Eckhardt's questions, but lacked strength to answer.

  Stooping over him, Eckhardt grasped him by the shoulder and shook himmercilessly. He must not die, until he knew all.

  A terrible certainty flashed through his mind.

  This monk knew what was to him a seven times sealed book.

  He had repeated to him Ginevra's wish,--now, nor heaven nor hell shouldturn him from his path.

  "I thought,--Marozia's descendants were all dead," he said, fear andhesitation in his tones.

  The monk feebly shook his head.

  "One lives,--the deadliest of the flock."

  A chill as of death seemed to benumb Eckhardt's limbs.

  "One lives," he gasped. "Her name?"

  Delirium seemed to have seized the prostrate wretch. He mumbled strangewords while his fingers were digging into the sand, as if he werepreparing his own grave.

  "Her name!" thundered Eckhardt into the monk's ear.

  The latter raised himself straight up and stared at the Margrave withdead, expressionless eyes.

  "In the world, Ginevra,--beyond the grave--Theodora!"

  "Theodora!" A groan broke from Eckhardt's lips.

  "And is this her work?"

  He pointed to the monk's chains, and the iron rivets driven into therocks.

  The monk shook his head. The spark of life flickered up once more.

  "Five days without food,--without water,--left here to perish--by avillain--whom the lightnings of heaven may blast--the betrayer of Godand of man,--I am dying,--remember,--burial--masses--"

  The monk fell back with a gasp. The death-rattle was in his throat.

  Eckhardt knelt by his side, raised his head and tried to stem thefleeting tide of life.

  "His name! His name!" he shrieked, mad with fear, anguish and despair."His name! Oh God, let him live but long enough for that,--his name?"

  It was too late.

  The spark of life had gone out. The murderer of Gregory stood before ahigher bar of judgment.

  There was a long silence in the rock caves under the Gemonian Stairs.Nothing was to be heard, save the hard breathing of the despairing man.He saw it all now,--all, but the instigator, the abettor of the terriblecrime against him. If Ginevra was indeed the last link in that longchain of infamy, which had held its high revels in Castel San Angeloduring the past decades, she could never hope to come into her ownwithout some potent ally. The thought lay very near, that she might beintriguing in this very hour to regain the lost power of Marozia. But asecond consideration at least staggered this theory. It rather seemedas if the man on whom she had relied for the realization of her terribleambition had deceived her, after he had made her his own,--or had insome way failed to keep his pledge,--until, in the endeavour to find thesupport she required, she had sunk from the arms of one into those ofanother.

  A wild shriek resounded through the cavern.

  Eckhardt trembled at the sound of his own despair.

  Like a caged, wild beast he paced up and down in the darkness.

  The torch had fallen from his grasp and continued to glimmer on thesand.

  Had it lain within his power he would have shaken down the mighty rockover his head and buried himself with the hapless victim chained to thestone.

  In vain he tried to order his chaotic thoughts.

  Monstrous deception she had practised upon him!

  All her endearments, all her caresses, her kisses, her whisperings oflove,--were they but the threads of the one vast fabric of a lie?

  It seemed too monstrous to be true; it seemed too monstrous to grasp!

  And all for what?

  The fleeting phantom of dominion, which must vanish as itcame--unsatisfied.

  How long he remained thus, he knew not. His torch had well nigh burntdown when at length he roused himself from his deadly stupor. Gropinghis way to the entrance of the cave, he stepped into the open.

  Like one dazed he returned to his palace.

  But he could not sleep.

  Profound were the emotions, which were awakened in his bosom, as he setfoot within his chamber. Scenes of other days arose before him with thevividness of reality. He beheld himself again in the full vigour ofmanhood, ardent, impassioned, blessed with the hand of the woman heloved and anticipating a cloudless future. He beheld her as she waswhen he first called her his own, young, proud, beautiful. Her accentswere those of endearment, her looks tenderness and love. They smote himnow like a poniard's point driven to his very heart. He did not thinkhe could have borne a pang so keen and live.

  Why,--he asked in despair--could not the past be recalled or for evercancelled? Why could not men live their loves over again, to repair,what they might have omitted, neglected and regain their lost happiness?

  Pressing his hands before his eyes, he tried to shut out the beautiful,agonizing vision.

  It could not be excluded.

  Staggering towards a chair, he sank upon it, a prey to unbearableanguish. Avenging furies beset him and lashed him with whips of steel.

  He could not rest. He strode about the room. He even thought ofquitting the house, denouncing himself as a madman for having come hereat all. But where was he to go? He must endure the tortures. Perhapsthey would subside. Little hope of it.

  He walked to the fire-place. The air of autumn was chill without. Theembers, still glowing with a crimson reflection, had sunk in the grate.Aye--there he stood, where he had stood years ago, and oh, how unlikehis former self! How different in feeling! Then he had some youthleft, at least, and hope. Now he was crushed by the weight of a mysterywhich haunted him night and day. Could he but quit Rome! Could he butinduce the king to return beyond the Alps. Little doubt, that under theimmense gray sky, which formed so fitting a cupola for his grief, hissoul might find rest. Here, with the feverish pulses of life beatingmadly round him, here, vegeta
ting without purpose, without aim, he felthe would eventually go mad. He had inhaled the poison of thepoppy-flower:--he was doomed.

  Eckhardt did not attempt to court repose. Sleep was out of the questionin his present wrought-up state of mind. Then wherefore seek his couchuntil he was calmer?

  Calmer!

  Could he ever be calm again, till his brain had ceased to work and hisheart to beat? Should he ever know profound repose until he slept thesleep of death?

  Yet what was to insure him rest even within the tomb? Might he notencounter her in the beyond,--a thing apart from him through alleternity? During the brief period while he had cherished the thought ofdisappearing from the world for ever, he had pondered over manyproblems, which neither monk nor philosophers had been able to solve.

  Could we but know what would be our lot after death!

  There was a time, when he had rebelled against the thought that ourfootsteps are filled up and obliterated, as we pass on, like in aquicksand.

  There was a time, he could not bear to think, that yesterday was indeedbanished and gone for ever,--that a to-morrow must come of black andendless night.

  And now he craved for nothing more than annihilation, completeunrelenting annihilation. He knew not what he believed. He knew notwhat he doubted. He knew not what he denied.

  He was on the verge of madness.

  And the devil was busy in his heart, suggesting a solution he hadhitherto shunned. The thought filled him with dread, tossing him to andfro on a tempestuous sea of doubt and yet pointing to no other refugefrom black despair.

  He strove to resist the dread suggestion, but it grew upon him withfearful force and soon bore down all opposition.

  If all else failed--why not leap over the dark abyss?

  A dreadful calm succeeded his agitation. It was vain to puzzle hisbrain with a solution of the problem which confronted him, a problemwhich mocked to scorn his efforts and his prayers.

  He closed his eyes, vainly groping for an escape from the dreadfullabyrinth of doubt, and sinking deeper and deeper into rumination.Nature at last asserted her rights, and he fell into fitful, uneasyslumbers, in which all the misery of his life seemed to sweep afreshthrough his heart and to uproot the remotest depths of his torturedsoul.

  When Eckhardt woke from his stupor, the gray dawn was breaking. As hestarted up, a face which had appeared against the window quicklyvanished. Was it but part of his dream or had he seen Benilo, theChamberlain?