The Sorceress of Rome

  *CHAPTER XVI*

  *THE FORFEIT*

  Crescentius was dead. Stephania's fate was left to the surmise of thevictors. Since she had parted from Otto in that eventful night, no onehad seen the beautiful wife of the luckless Lord of Castel San Angelo.Eckhardt was gloomier than ever. The storm of the ancient mausoleum hadbeen accomplished with a terrible loss to the victors. The Romans, awedfor a time into submission, showed ever new symptoms of dissatisfaction,and it was evident that in the event of a new outbreak, the small bandconstituting the emperor's bodyguard would not be able to hold outagainst the enmity of the conquered. The monkish processions continuedday and night, and as the Millennium drew nearer and nearer the frenziedfervour of the masses rose to fever height. Fear and apprehensionincreased with the impending hour, the hour that should witness the Endof Time and the final judgment of God. Since the storm of Castel SanAngelo, Otto had locked himself in his chamber in the palace on theAventine. No one save Benilo, Eckhardt and Sylvester, the silver-hairedpontiff, had access to his person. Benilo had so far succeeded inpurging himself from the stain of treason, which clung to him since thesummary execution of Crescentius, that he had been entirely restoredinto Otto's confidence and favour. It was not difficult for one, giftedwith his consummate art of dissimulation, to convince Otto, that in theheat of combat, the passions inflamed to fever-heat, his general hadmistaken the order; and Eckhardt, when questioned thereon, exhibitedsuch unequivocal disgust, even to the point of flatly refusing todiscuss the matter, that Benilo appeared in a manner justified, the moreso, as the order itself could not be produced against him, Eckhardthaving cast it into the flames. His vengeance had not however beensatisfied with the death of Crescentius alone, for on the morning afterthe capture of the fortress, eleven bodies were to be seen swinging fromthe gibbets on Monte Malo, the carcasses of those who in a fatal hourhad pledged themselves to the Senator's support.

  So far the Chamberlain's victory seemed complete.

  Crescentius and the barons inimical to his schemes were destroyed.There now remained but Otto and Eckhardt, and a handful of Saxons; forthe main body of the army had marched Northward with Count Ludeger ofthe Palatinate, who had exhausted every effort to induce Otto to followhim. Had Crescentius beaten off Eckhardt's assault, Benilo would inthat fatal night have consigned his imperial friend to the dungeons ofCastel San Angelo. For this he had assiduously watched in theante-chamber. At a signal a chosen body of men stationed in the gardensbelow were to seize the German King and hurry him through the secretpassage to Hadrian's tomb.

  There now remained but one problem to deal with. With the removal ofthe last impediment, arrived on the last stepping stone to therealization of his ambition, Benilo could offer Theodora what in thedelirium of anticipated possession he had promised, with no intention offulfilling. He had not then reckoned with the woman's terrible temper,he had not reckoned with the blood of Marozia. She had by stages rousedher discarded lover's jealousy to a delirium, which had vented itself inthe mad wager, which he must win--or perish.

  But one day remained until the full of the moon, but one day withinwhich Theodora might make good her boast. Benilo, who had her carefullywatched, knew that Eckhardt had not revisited the groves, he had evenreason to believe that Theodora had abandoned every effort to that end.Was she at last convinced of the futility of her endeavour? Or had shesome other scheme in mind, which she kept carefully concealed? TheChamberlain felt ill at ease.

  As for Eckhardt, he should never leave the groves a living man. Victoror vanquished, he was doomed. Then Otto was at his mercy. He woulddeal with the youth according to the dictates of the hour.

  When Benilo had on that morning parted from Otto in the peristyle of the"Golden House" on the Aventine, he knew that sombre exultation, whichfollows upon triumph in evil. Hesitancies were now at an end. No longercould he be distracted between two desires. In his eye, at the memoryof the woman, for whom he had damned himself, there glowed the fire of afiendish joy. Not without inner detriment had Benilo accustomed himselffor years to wear a double face. Even had his purposes been pure, thehabit of assiduous perfidy, of elaborate falsehood, could not leave hiscountenance untainted. A traitor for his own ends, he found himselfmoving in no unfamiliar element, and all his energies now centredthemselves upon the achievement of his crime, to him a crime no longerfrom the instant that he had irresistibly willed it.

  On fire to his finger-tips, he could yet reason with the coldest clarityof thought. Having betrayed his imperial friend so far, he must needsbetray him to the extremity of traitorhood. He must lead Eckhardt on tothe fatal brink, then deliver the decisive blow which should destroyboth. But a blacker thought than any he had yet nurtured began to stirin his mind, raising its head like a viper. Could he but discoverStephania! Then indeed his triumph would be complete!

  On that point alone Otto had maintained a silence as of the grave eventowards the Chamberlain, to whom he was wont to lay bare the innermostrecesses of his soul. Never in his presence had he even breathedStephania's name. Yet Benilo had seen the wife of the Senator in theKing's chamber in the eventful night of the storm of Castel San Angelo,and his serpent-wisdom was not to be decoyed with pretexts, regardingthe true cause of Otto's illness and devouring grief.

  But lust-bitten to madness, the thoughts uppermost in Benilo's mindreverted ever to the wager,--to the woman. Theodora must be his, at any,at every cost. But one day now remained till the hour;--he winced atthe thought. Vainly he reminded himself that even therein lay thegreater chance. How much might happen in the brief eternity of one day;how much, if the opportunities were but turned to proper account. Butwas it wise to wait the fatal hour? He had not had speech with Theodorasince she had laid the whip-lash on his cheek. The blow still smartedand the memory of the deadly insult stung him to immediate action. Oncemore he would bend his steps to her presence; once more he would trywhat persuasion might do; then, should fortune smile upon him, shouldthe woman relent, he would have removed from his path the greater peril,and be prepared to deal with every emergency.

  How he lived through the day he knew not. Hour after hour crawled by,an eternity of harrowing suspense. And even while wishing for the day'send, he dreaded the coming of the night.

  While Benilo was thus weighing the chances of success, Theodora sat inher gilded chamber brooding with wildly beating heart over what thefuture held in its tightly closed hand. The hour was approaching, whenshe must win the fatal wager, else--she dared not think out the thought.Would the memory of Eckhardt sleep in the cradle of a darker memory,which she herself must leave behind? As in response to her unspokenquery a shout of laughter rose from the groves and Theodora listenedwhitening to the lips. She knew the hated sound of Roxane's voice; witha gesture of profound irritation and disgust, she rose and fled to thesafety of her remotest chamber, where she dropped upon an ottoman inutter weariness. Oh! not to have to listen to these sounds on thisevening of all,--on this evening on which hung the fate of her life!Her mind was made up. She could stand the terrible strain no longer.One by one she had seen those vanish, whom in a moment of senselessfolly she had called her friends. Only one would not vanish; one whoseemed to emerge hale from every trap, which the hunter had laid,--herbetrayer,--her tormentor, he who on this very eve would feast his eyeson her vanquished pride, he, who hoped to fold her this very night inhis odious embrace. The very thought was worse than death. To what alife had his villainy, his treachery consigned her! Days of anguish andfear, nights of dread and remorse! Her life had been a curse. She hadbrought misfortune and disaster upon the heads of all, who had lovedher; the accursed wanton blood of Marozia, which coursed through herveins, had tainted her even before her birth. There was but oneatonement--Death! She had abandoned the wager. But she had despatchedher strange counsellor, Hezilo, to seek out Eckhardt and to conduct himthis very night to her presence. How he accomplished it, she cared not,little guessing
the bait he possessed in a knowledge she did notsuspect. She would confess everything to him,--her life would pay theforfeit;--she would be at rest, where she might nevermore behold thedevilish face of her tormentor.

  With a fixed, almost vacant stare, her eyes were riveted on the door, asif every moment she expected to see the one man enter, whom she mostfeared in this hour and for whom she most longed.

  "This then is the end! This the end!" she sobbed convulsively, settingher teeth deep into the cushions in which she hid her face, while atorrent of scalding tears, the first she had shed in years, rushed fromher half-closed eyelids.

  From the path she had chosen, there led no way back into the world.

  She had played the great game of life and she had lost.

  She might have worn its choicest crown in the love of the man whom shehad deceived, discarded, betrayed, and now it was too late.

  But if Eckhardt should not come?

  If the harper should not succeed?

  Again she relapsed into her reverie. She almost wished his missionwould fail. She almost wished that Eckhardt would refuse to againaccompany him to the groves. Again she relived the scene of that night,when he had laid bare her arm in the search for the fatal birth-mark.The terrible expression which had passed into his eyes had haunted hernight and day. A deadly fear of him seized her.

  She dared not remain. She dared not face him again. The very groundshe trod seemed to scorch her feet. She must away.

  The morrow should find her far from Rome.

  The thought seemed to imbue her with new energy and strength. How shewished this night were ended! Again the shouts and laughter from thegardens beneath her window broke on her ear. She closed the blinds toexclude the sounds. But they would not be excluded. Ever and ever theycontinued to mock her. The air was hot and sultry even to suffocation:still she must prepare the most necessary things for her journey, allthe precious gems and stones which would be considered a welcomeoffering at any cloister. These she concealed in a mantle in which shewould escape unheeded and unnoticed from these halls, over which she hadlorded with her dire, evil beauty.

  She had scarcely completed her preparations when the sound of footstepsbehind the curtain caused her to start with a low outcry of fear.Everything was an object of terror to her now and she had barelyregained her self-possession when the parting draperies revealed thehated presence of Benilo.

  For a moment they faced each other in silence.

  With a withering smile on his thin, compressed lips, the Chamberlainbowed.

  "I was informed you were awaiting some one," he said with ill-concealedmockery in his tones. "I am here to witness your conquest, to pay myforfeit,--or to claim it."

  Theodora with difficulty retained her composure; yet she endeavoured toappear unconcerned and to conceal her purpose. Her eyelids narrowed asshe regarded the man who had destroyed her life. Then she replied:

  "There is no wager."

  Benilo started.

  "What do you mean?"

  "There was once a man who betrayed his master for thirty pieces ofsilver. But when his master was taken, he cast the money on the floorof the temple, went forth and hanged himself."

  "I do not understand you."

  A look of unutterable loathing passed into her eyes.

  "Enough that I might have reconquered the man,--the love I oncedespised, had I wished to enter again into his life, the vile thing Iam--"

  Benilo leered upon her with an evil smile.

  "How like Ginevra of old," he sneered. "Scruples of conscience, thatmake the devils laugh."

  She did not heed him. One thought alone held uppermost sway in hermind.

  "To-morrow," she said, "I leave Rome for ever."

  With a stifled curse the Chamberlain started up.

  "With him? Never!"

  "I did not say with him."

  "No!" he retorted venomously. "But for once the truth had trapped thefalsehood on your tongue."

  She ignored his brutal speech. He watched her narrowly. As she made noreply he continued:

  "Deem you that I would let you go back to him, even if he did not spurnyou, the thing you are? You think to deceive me by telling me that thehot blood of Marozia has been chilled to that of a nun? A lie! Athousand lies! Your virtue! This for the virtue of such as you," and hesnapped his fingers into her white face. "The virtue of a serpent,--ofa wanton--"

  There was a dangerous glitter in her eyes.

  Her voice sounded hardly above a whisper as she turned upon him.

  "Monster, you--who have wrecked my life, destroyed its holiest ties andglory in the deed! Monster, who made my days a torture and my nights acurse! I could slay you with my own hands!"

  He laughed; a harsh grating laugh.

  "What a charming Mary of Magdala!"

  Her voice was cold as steel.

  "Benilo,--I warn you--stop!"

  But his rage, at finding himself baffled at the last moment, caused theChamberlain to overstep the last limits of prudence and reserve. Withthe stealthy step of the tiger he drew nearer.

  "You tell me in that lying, fawning voice of yours that to-morrow youwill leave Rome,--to go to him? To give him the love which ismine,--mine--by the redeemed gauge of the sepulchre? And I tell you,you shall not! Mine you are,--and mine you shall remain! Though," heconcluded, breathing hard, "you shall be meek enough, when, learningfrom my own lips what manner of saint you are, he has cast you forth inthe street, among your kind! And I swear by the host, I will go to himand tell him!"

  She advanced a step towards him, her eyes glowing with a feverishlustre. Her white hands were upon her bosom as if to calm itstempestuous heaving.

  He heeded it not, feasting his eyes on her great beauty with theinflamed lust of the libertine.

  "I will save you the trouble," she said calmly, "I will tell himmyself."

  "And what will you tell him? That he has espoused one of the harlotbrood of Marozia, one, who has sold his honour--defiled his bed--"

  "And slain the fiend who betrayed her!"

  A wild shriek, a tussle,--a choked outcry,--she struck--once, twice,thrice:--for a moment his hands wildly beat the air, then he reeledbackward, lurched and fell, his head striking the hard marble floor.

  The bloody weapon fell from Theodora's trembling hands.

  "Avenged!" she gasped, staring with terrible fascination at the spotwhere he lay.

  Benilo had raised himself upon his arm, filing his wild bloodshot eyeson the woman. He attempted to rise,--another moment, and the deathrattle was in his throat. He fell back and expired.

  There was no pity in Theodora's eyes, only a great, nameless fear as shelooked down upon him where he lay. It had grown dark in the chamber.The blue moon-mist poured in through the narrow casement, and with itcame the chimes from remote cloisters, floating as it were on thesilence of night, cleaving the darkness, as it is cloven by a fallingstar. Theodora's heart was beating, as if it must break. Lighting acandle she softly opened the door and made her way through a labyrinthof passages and corridors in which her steps re-echoed from the highvaulted ceilings. Farther and farther she wandered away from theinhabited part of the building, when her ear suddenly caught a metallicsound, sharp, like the striking of a gong.

  For a moment she remained rooted to the spot, staring straight beforeher as one dazed. Then she retraced her steps towards the Pavilion,whence came singing voices and sounds of high revels.

  Sometime after she had left her chamber, two Africans entered it, pickedup the lifeless body of the Chamberlain, and, after carrying it to aremote part of the building, flung it into the river.

  The yellow Tiber hissed in white foam over the spot, where Benilo sank.The mad current dragged his body down to the slime of the river-bed,picked it up again in its swirl, tossed it in mocking sport from onefoam-crested wave to another, and finally flung it, to rot, on somelonely bank, where the gulls screamed above it and the gray foxes of theMaremmas gnawed and snapped a
nd snarled over the bleached bones in themoonlight.