The Sorceress of Rome

  *CHAPTER IV*

  *THE WANTON COURT OF THEODORA*

  A strange restlessness had seized the Chamberlain, after his meetingwith the German commander. The moon illumined the desolate region withher white beams, dividing the silent avenues into double edged lines ofsilvery white, and bluish shadows. The nocturnal day with its subduedtints disguised and mantled the desolation. The mutilated columns, theroofs, crumbled beneath the torrents and thunders of centuries, wereless conspicuous than when seen in the clear, merciless light of thesun. The lost parts were completed by the half tints of shadows; onlyhere and there a brusque beam of light marked the spot, where a wholeedifice had crumbled away. The silent genii of Night seemed to haverepaired the ancient city to some representation of fantastic life.

  As he hurried along the slopes of the hill, Benilo fancied at times thathe beheld vague forms, lurking in the shadows; but they seemed to vanishthe moment he approached. Low whisperings, an undefined hum, floatedthrough the silence. First he attributed the noises to a fluttering inhis ears, to the sighing of the night-wind or to the flight of somesnake or lizard through the nettles. In nature all things live, evendeath; all things make themselves heard, even silence. Never before hadBenilo felt such an involuntary terror. Once or twice he precipitatelychanged his course, hurrying down some narrow lane, between desolatelooking rows of houses, low and ill-favoured, whose inmates recruitedthemselves from the lowest types of the mongrel population of Rome.

  At the Agrippina below the bridge of Nero he paused and gave a sigh ofrelief. The phantoms seemed to have vanished. No breath of life brokethe stillness. As on a second Olympus the marble palaces of the Caesarstowered on the summit of the Capitoline hill, glistening white in theghostly moonlight. Below, the Tiber sent his sluggish waves down towardOstia, rocking the fleet of numberless boats and barges which swunglazily at their moorings.

  Benilo found himself in a quarter of Rome which had been abandoned forcenturies. Ruins of temples and porticoes were strewn in the wastewhich he traversed. Here at least he could breathe more freely. No onewas likely to surprise his presence in these solitudes. Thesuperstition of the age prevented the Romans from frequenting the valebetween Mounts Aventine and Testaccio after dark, for it was believed tobe the abode of evil spirits.

  As the Chamberlain made his way through the wilderness of fallencolumns, shattered porticoes, and tangles of myrrh and acanthus, thefaint clash of cymbals, like the echo of some distant bacchanalia, fellupon his ear. A strange fitful melody, rising and falling with weirdthrilling cadence, was borne upon the perfumed breezes.

  He had not advanced very far, when through an avenue of tall spectralcypress trees he emerged upon a smooth and level lawn, shut in by blackgroups of cedar, through the entwined branches of which peeped thesilver moon.

  Traversing a broad marble terrace, garlanded with a golden wealth oforange trees and odorous oleanders, Benilo approached a lofty building,surrounded at some distance by a wall of the height of half-grown palms.A great gate stood ajar, which appeared to be closely guarded. Leaningagainst one of the massive pillars which supported it, stood an Africanof giant stature, in scarlet tunic and white turban, who, turning hisgleaming eyeballs on Benilo, nodded by way of salutation. Entering theforbidden grounds, the Chamberlain found himself in a spacious gardenwhich he traversed with quick, elastic step, as one familiar with thelocality.

  As Benilo advanced under the leafy branches, swaying in melancholyrelief against the blue-green sky, the sight of thousands of colouredlamps hanging in long festoons from tree to tree first caused him tostart and to look about. A few moments later he was walking betweenquaintly clipped laurel and yew-bushes, which bordered the great avenuestarred with semi-circular lights, where bronze and marble statues heldtorches and braziers of flame.

  Sounds of joy and merry-making fell upon his ear, causing a frown, likea black shadow, to flit over his face, deepening by stages intoill-repressed rage. In whichever manner the dark prophecies concerningthe Millennium may have affected the Romans and the world at large, itwas quite evident they disturbed not the merry circle assembled in thegreat hall beyond.

  At last Benilo found himself at the entrance of a vast circular hall.The picture which unfolded itself to his gaze was like a fairy fantasy.Gilded doors led in every direction into vast corridors, ending in aperi-style supported by pillars. These magnificent oval halls admittedneither the light of day nor the season of the year. The large centralhall, at the threshold of which Benilo stood, reviewing the spectaclebefore him, had no windows. Silver candelabra, perpetually burningbehind transparent curtains of sea-green gauze diffused a jewel-likeradiance.

  And here, in the drowsy warmth, lounging on divans of velvet, their feetsunk in costly Indian and Persian carpets, drinking, gossiping, andoccasionally bursting into fitful snatches of song, revelled a companyof distinguished men, richly clad, representatives of the most exclusiveRoman society of the time. They seemed bent upon no other purpose saveto enjoy the pleasure of the immediate hour. Africans in fantasticattire carried aloft flagons and goblets, whose crystalline sheenreflected the crimson glow of the spicy Cyprian.

  Benilo's arrival had not been noticed. In the shadow of the entrance heviewed the brilliant picture with its changing tints, its flash ofcolour, its glint of gold, the enchanting women, who laughinglygossipped and chatted with their guests, freed from the least restraintin dress or manner, thus adding the last spark to the fire of the purpleChianti. But as he gazed round the circle, the shade of displeasuredeepened in Benilo's countenance.'

  Bembo, the most renowned wit in the seven-hilled city, had just recitedone of his newest and most poignant epigrams, sparing neither emperornor pope, and had been rewarded by the loud applause of his not toocritical audience and a smile from the Siren, who, in the absence of thehostess, seemed to preside over that merry circle. With her neck andshoulders half veiled in transparent gauze, revealing rather thanconcealing the soft, undulating lines of her supple body and arms, hermagnificent black hair knotted up at the back of her head and wreathedwith ivy, Roxane smiled radiantly from the seat of honour, which she hadusurped, the object of mad desire of many a one present, of eageradmiration to all. A number of attendants moved quickly and noiselesslyabout the spacious hall, decorated with palms and other tropical plants,while among the revellers the conversation grew more lively everymoment.

  In the shadow of the great door Benilo paused and listened.

  "Where is the Queen of the Groves?" Roffredo, a dissolute youth,questioned his neighbour, who divided his attention between the fairnymph by his side and the goblet which trembled in his hands.

  "Silence!" replied the personage to whom the young noble had addressedhimself, with a meaning glance.

  Roffredo and the girl by his side glanced in the direction indicated bythe speaker.

  "Benilo," replied the Patrician. "Is he responsible for Theodora'sabsence?"

  Oliverotto uttered a coarse laugh.

  Then he added with a meaning glance:

  "I will enlighten you at some other time. But is it true that you haverescued some errant damsel from Vitelozzo's clutches? Why do you notgladden our eyes with so chaste a morsel?"

  Roffredo shrugged his shoulders.

  "Who knows, whether it was the vulture's first visit to the dove'snest?" he replied with a disgusting smile. "'Tis not a matter of muchconsequence."

  Benilo heard the lie and the empty boast. He hated the prating youthfor reasons of his own, but cared not to interfere at this stage,unconscious that his presence had been remarked.

  "Is she fair?" questioned the girl by Roffredo's side.

  "Some might call her so," replied the latter.

  The girl pouted and raised the goblet to her lips.

  "Reveal her name to us!" croaked Bembo, who, though at some distance,had heard every word of the discourse. "And I will forthwith dedicate toher five and twenty stanzas on her virtue!"


  "Who spoke the fatal word?" laughed Roxane, who presided over thecircle. "What is amusing you so much, you ancient wine-cask?" She thenturned to the poet, whose rather prosaic circumference well justifiedthe epithet.

  "The old theme--women!" croaked Bembo good-humouredly.

  "Forget it!" shouted Roffredo, draining his goblet. "Rather than listento your tirades, they would grasp the red hot hand of the devil."

  "Ah! We live in a sorry age and it behooves us to think of the end,"Roxane sighed with a mock air of contrition, which called forth ageneral outburst of mirth.

  "You are the very one to ponder over the most convenient mode of exitinto the beyond," sneered the Lord of Gravina.

  "What have we here?" rasped Bembo. "Who dares to speak of death in thisassembly?"

  "Nay, we would rather postpone the option till it finds us face to facewith that villainous concoction you served us, to make us forget yourmore villainous poetry," shouted Oliverotto, hobbling across the halland slapping the poet on the back. "I knew not that Roman soil producedso vile vintage!"

  "'Twas Lacrymae Christi," remonstrated Bembo. "Would you have Ambrosiawith every epigram on your vileness?"

  "Nay, it was Satan's own brew," shrieked the baron, his voice stridentas that of a cat, which has swallowed a fish bone.

  And Oliverotto clinked his goblet and cast amorous glances right andleft out of small watery eyes.

  Bembo regarded him contemptuously.

  "By the Cross! You are touched up and painted like a wench! Everythingabout you is false, even to your wit! Beware, fair Roxane,--he is oglingyou as a bullfrog does the stars!"

  At this stage an intermezzo interrupted the light, bantering tone ofconversation. A curtain in the background parted. A bevy of blackhaired girls entered the hall, dressed in airy gowns, which revealedevery line, every motion of their bodies. They encircled the guests in amad whirl, inclining themselves first to one, then to the other. Theywere led by one, garbed as Diana, with the crescent moon upon herforehead, her black hair streaming about the whiteness of her statuesquebody like dark sea-waves caressing marble cliffs. Taking advantage ofthis stage of the entertainment Benilo crossed the vast hall unnoticedand sat apart from the revellers in gloomy silence, listening withill-concealed annoyance to the shouts of laughter and the clatter ofirritating tongues. The characteristic wantonness of his features hadat this moment given place to a look of weariness and suffering, aseemingly unaccustomed expression; it was a look of longing, the cravingof a passion unsatisfied, a hope beyond his hope. Many envied him forhis fame and profligacy, others read in his face the stamp of sullencruelty, which vented itself wherever resistance seemed useless; butthere was none to sound his present mood.

  Benilo had not been at his chosen spot very long, when some one touchedhim on the shoulder. Looking up, he found himself face to face with anindividual, wrapt in a long mantle, the colour of which was a curiousmixture of purple and brown. His face was shaded by a conical hat, aquaint combination of Byzantine helmet and Norse head-gear, beingprovided with a straight, sloping brim, which made it impossible toscrutinize his features. This personage was Hezilo, a wanderingminstrel seemingly hailing from nowhere. At least no one had penetratedthe mystery which enshrouded him.

  "Are you alone insensible to the charms of these?" And Benilo'sinterlocutor pointed to the whirling groups.

  "I was thinking of one who is absent," Benilo replied, relapsing intohis former listless attitude.

  "Why not pluck the flowers that grow in your path, waiting but your willand pleasure?"

  Benilo clenched his hands till the nails were buried in the flesh.

  "Have you ever heard of an Eastern drug, which mirrors Paradise beforeyour senses?"

  Hezilo shook his head. "What of it?"

  "He who becomes its victim is doomed irretrievably. While under itsbaleful spell, he is happy. Deprive him of it and the horrors of hellare upon him. No rest! No peace! And like the fiend addicted to thedrug is the thrice accursed wretch who loves Theodora."

  Hezilo regarded the Chamberlain strangely.

  "Benilo deploring the inconstancy of woman," he said with noiselesslaugh. Then, beckoning to one of the attendants, he took from thesalver thus offered to him a goblet, which he filled with the darkcrimson wine.

  "Drink and forget," he cried. "You will find it even better than yourEastern drug."

  Benilo shook his head and pushed away the proffered wine.

  "Your advice comes too late!"

  For a moment neither spoke. Benilo, busied with his own thoughts, satlistening to the boisterous clamour of the revellers, while the harper'sgaze rested unseen upon him.

  After a pause he broke the silence.

  "How chanced it," he said, placing his hand affectionately on theother's shoulder, "that Benilo, who has broken all ten commandments and,withal, hearts untold, Benilo, who could have at his feet every woman inRome, became woman's prey, her abject slave? That he is grovelling inthe dust, where he might be lord and master? That he whines andwhimpers, where he should command?"

  Benilo turned fiercely upon his interlocutor.

  "Who dares say that I whine and whimper and grovel at her feet? Foolsall! On a mountain pass the trip is easier down than up! Know you whatit means to love a woman with mad consuming passion, but to be castaside for some blatant ass, to catch a few crumbs of favour tossed inone's face? Men like that rhyming zebra Bembo, who sings of love, whichhe has never felt."

  "Still you have not answered my question," said the harper with quietpersistence. "Why are you the slave where you should be the master?Theodora is whimsical, heartless, cruel; still she is a woman."

  "She is a devil, a heartless beautiful devil who grinds the hearts ofmen beneath her feet and laughs. Sometimes she taunts me till I couldstrangle her--ah! But I placed myself in the demon's power and havingmyself broken the compact which bound me to her, body and soul--from thelord I was, I have sunk to the slave I am,--you see, I speak free fromthe heart, what little she has left of it."

  The harper nodded.

  "Why not leave Rome for a time?" he said. "Your absence might softenTheodora's heart. Your sins, whatever they were, will appear lessglaring in the haze of the distance."

  Benilo looked up like an infuriated tiger.

  "Has she appointed you my guardian?" he laughed harshly.

  "I have had no words with her," replied the harper. "But one with eyesto see, cannot help but sound your ailment."

  The Chamberlain relaxed.

  "The drug is in the blood," he replied wearily.

  "Then win her back, if you can," said the harper.

  Benilo clenched his hands while he glared up at the other. "It is a gamebetween the devil and despair, and the devil has the deal."

  "A losing game for you, should either win."

  Benilo nodded.

  "I know it! Yet one single word would make me master where I am theslave."

  "And you waver?"

  "Silence!" growled Benilo. "Tempt me no more!"

  Their discourse at this point was rudely interrupted by the clamour ofthe guests, bent upon silencing Bembo's exuberance, whose tongue, like aribbon in the wind, fluttered incessantly. He bore himself with the airsof some orator of antiquity, rolling his eyes until they showed thewhites beneath, and beating the air with his short, chubby arms.

  "If Bembo is to be believed there is not in all Rome one faithful wifenor one innocent girl," roared the lord of Bracciano, a burly noble whowas balancing a dainty dancer on his knee, while she held his faun-likehead encircled with her arms.

  "Pah!" cried Guido da Fermo, a baron whose chief merit consisted ininfesting the roads in the Patrimony of St. Peter. "There are some, butthey are scarce, remarkably scarce!"

  "Make your wants known at the street corners," exclaimed Roffredo,taking the cue. "And I wager our fair Queen would be the first to claimthe prize."

  And the young Patrician whose face revealed traces of gr
ossestdebauchery gazed defiantly round the hall, as if challenging some one totake up the gauntlet, if he dared.

  "Be careful!" whispered the girl Nelida, his companion. "Benilo islooking at you!"

  Roffredo laughed boisterously.

  "Theodora's discarded lover? Why should I muffle my speech to pleasehis ear?"

  The girl laughed nervously.

  "Because the tongue of a fool, when long enough, is a rope to hang himby,--and he loves her still!"

  "He loves her still," drawled the half-intoxicated Patrician, turninghis head toward the spot where Benilo sat listening with flaming eyes."The impudence!"

  And he staggered to his feet, holding aloft the goblet with one hand,while the other encircled the body of the dancing girl, who tried invain to silence him.

  "Fill your goblets," he shouted,--"fill your goblets full--to the brim."

  He glanced round the hall with insolent bravado, while Benilo, who hadnot lost a word the other had spoken, leaned forward, his thin lipsstraightening in a hard white line, while his narrowing eyelids and histrembling hands attested his pent up ire louder than words.

  "A toast to the absent," shrieked Roffredo. "A toast to the mostbeautiful and the most virtuous woman in Rome, a toast to--"

  He paused for an instant, for a white-cheeked face close to his,whispered:

  "Stop! On your life be silent!"

  But Roffredo paid no heed.

  He whirled the crystal goblet round his head, spilling some of thecontents over the girl, who shrank from it, as from an evil omen. Thepurple Chianti looked like blood on her white skin.

  "To Theodora!" shouted the drunken youth, as all except Benilo raisedtheir goblets to join in the toast. "To Theodora, the Wanton Queen,whose eyes are aglow with hell's hot fire, whose scarlet lips would kissthe fiend, whose splendid arms would embrace the devil, were he passingfair to look upon!"

  He came no further.

  "May lightning strike you in your tracks!" Benilo howled, insane withlong suppressed rage, as he hurled a heavy decanter he had snatched fromthe board, at the head of the offender.

  A shrill outcry, dying away into a moan, then into silence, the crash ofbroken flagons, a lifeless form gliding from his paralyzed arms to thefloor, roused Roffredo to the reality of what had happened. The heavydecanter having missed its aim, had struck the girl Nelida squarely inthe forehead, and the dark stream of blood which flowed over her eyes,her face, her neck, down her arms, her airy gown, mingled with thepurple wine from the Patrician's spilled goblet.

  It was a ghastly sight. In an instant pandemonium reigned in the hall.The painted women shrieked and rushed for safety behind columns anddivans, leaving the men to care for the dying girl, whom Bembo andOliverotto tenderly lifted to a divan, where the former bandaged theterribly gashed head.

  While he did so the poor dancing girl breathed her last.

  The awful sight had effectually sobered Benilo. For a moment thedrunken noble stared as one petrified on the deed he had wrought, thenthe sharp blade of his poniard hissed from its scabbard and with a halfsmothered outcry of fury he flew at Roffredo's throat.

  "This is your deed, you lying cur!" he snarled into the tremblingyouth's face, whom the catastrophe had completely unnerved and changedinto a blanched coward. "Retract your lying boast or I'll send you tohell ere you can utter a Pater-Noster!"

  With the unbounded fury of a maniac who has broken his chains andagainst whose rage no mortal strength may cope, Benilo brought Roffredodown on the floor, where he knelt on his breast, holding his throat in avice-like grip, which choked any words the prostrate youth mightendeavour to speak.

  The terror of the deed, which had cast its pall over the merryrevellers, and the suddenness of the attack on Roffredo had socompletely paralyzed those present, that none came to the rescue of theprostrate man, who vainly struggled to extricate himself from hisopponent's clutches. His eyes ablaze with rage, Benilo had set thepoint of his dagger against the chest of his victim, whom now no poweron earth seemed able to save, as his cowardly associates made no effortto stay the Chamberlain's hand.

  He who had seen Benilo, in the palace on the Aventine, composing an odein the hall of audience, would have been staggered at the completetransformation from a diplomatic courtier to a fiend incarnate, hisusually sedate features distorted with mad passion and rage. Ahalf-choked outcry of brute fear and despair failed to bring any one tothe prostrate boaster's aid, most of those present, including the women,thronging round the dead girl Nelida, and Roffredo's fate seemed sealed.But at that moment, something happened to stay Benilo's uplifted hand.