CHAPTER VIII
THE SHRINE OF HEKATE
Athwart the gleaming balconies of the east the morning sun shonegolden and the shadows of the white marble cornices and capitals andjutting friezes were blue with the reflection of the cloudless sky.Far below Mount Aventine the soft mists of dawn still hovered over theseven-hilled city, whence the distant cries of the water carriers andfruit venders came echoing up from the waking streets.
A fugitive sunbeam stole through a carelessly closed lattice of achamber in the palace of Theodora, and danced now on the walls, brightwith many a painted scene, now on the marble inlaid mosaic of thefloor. Now and then a bright blade or the jewelled rim of a wine cup ofeastern design would flash back the wayward ray, until its shaft restedon a curtained recess wherein lay a faintly outlined form. Tenderlythe sunbeams stole over the white limbs that veiled their chiselledroundness under the blue shot webs of their wrappings, which, at thecapricious tossing of the sleeper, bared two arms, white as ivory andwonderful in their statuesque moulding.
The face of the sleeper showed creamy white under a cloud of dark,silken hair, held back in a net of gold from the broad smooth forehead.Dark, exquisitely pencilled eyebrows arched over the closed,transparent lids, fringed with lashes that now and then seemed toflicker on the marble pallor of the cheeks, and the proudly poised headlay back, half buried in the cushions, supported by the gleaming whitearms that were clasped beneath it.
Then, as if fearful of intruding on the charms that his ray hadrevealed, the sunbeam turned and, kissing the bosom that swelled andsank with the sleeper's gentle breathing, descended till it rested onan overhanging foot, from which a carelessly fastened sandal hung byone vermilion strap.
Of a sudden a light footfall was audible without and in an instant thesleeper had heard and awakened, her dark eyes heavy with drowsiness,the red lips parted, revealing two rows of small, pearly teeth, withthe first deep breath of returning consciousness.
At the sound one white hand drew the silken wrappings over the limbs,that a troubled slumber and the warmth of the Roman summer night hadbared, while the other was endeavoring to adjust the disordered foldsof the saffron gossamer web that clung like a veil to her matchlessform.
"Ah! It is but you! Persephone," she said with a little sigh, as acurtain was drawn aside, revealing the form of a girl about twenty-twoyears old, whose office as first attendant to Theodora had been firmlyestablished by her deep cunning, a thorough understanding of hermistress' most hidden moods and desires, her utter fearlessness and anative fierceness, that recoiled from no consideration of danger.
Persephone was tall, straight as an arrow, lithe and sinuous as asnake. Her face was beautiful, but there was something in the gleamof those slightly slanting eyes that gave pause to him who chanced tocross her path.
She claimed descent from some mythical eastern potentate and was anative of Circassia, the land of beautiful women. No one knew how shehad found her way to Rome. The fame of Marozia's evil beauty and hersinister repute had in time attracted Persephone, and she had beenimmediately received in Marozia's service, where she remained till therevolt of Alberic swept her mistress into the dungeons of Castel SanAngelo. Thereupon she had attached herself to Theodora who loved thewild and beautiful creature and confided in her utterly.
"Evil and troubled have been my dreams," Theodora continued, as themorning light fell in through the parted curtains. "At the sound ofyour footfall I started up--fearing--I knew not what--"
"For a long time have I held out against his pleadings and commands,"Persephone replied in a subdued voice, "knowing that my lady slept. Buthe will not be denied,--and his insistence had begun to frighten me. Soat last I dared brave my lady's anger and disturb her--"
"Frighten you, Persephone?" Theodora's musical laughter resoundedthrough the chamber. "You--who braved death at these white hands ofmine without flinching?"
She extended her hands as if to impress Persephone with their beautyand strength.
Whatever the circumstance referred to, Persephone made no reply. Onlyher face turned a shade more pale.
The draped figure had meanwhile arisen to her full height, as shestretched the sleep from her limbs, then, her question remainingunanswered, she continued:
"But--of whom do you speak? A new defiance from Roxana? A new insultfrom the Senator of Rome? I would have it understood," this with aslight lift of the voice, "that even were the end of the world at hand,of which they prate so much of late, and heaven and earth to crumbleinto chaos, I would not be disturbed to listen to shallow plaints andmock heroics."
"It is neither the one nor the other," replied Persephone with anapprehensive glance of her slanting eyes over her shoulder, "but myLord Basil, the Grand Chamberlain. He waits without where the eunuchsguard your slumber, and his eyes are aflame with something more thanimpatience--"
At the mention of the name a subtle change passed over the listener'sface, and a sombre look crept into her eyes as she muttered:
"What can he be bringing now?"
Then, with a sudden flash, she added, tossing back her beautiful head:
"Let the Lord Basil wait! And now, Persephone, remove from me thetraces of sleep and set the couches in better order."
Silently and quickly the Circassian sprang forward and rolled back thecurtains from the lattices, letting a stronger but still subdued lightenter the chamber, revealing, as it did, many a chased casket, andmirrors of polished steel and bronze, and lighting up exquisite rainbowhued fabrics, thrown carelessly over lion-armed chairs, with here andthere an onyx table wonderfully carved.
The chamber itself looked out upon a terrace and garden, a gardenfilled with such a marvellous profusion of foliage and flowers, that,looking at it from between the glistening marble columns surroundingthe palace, it seemed as though the very sky above rested edgewise ontowering pyramids of red and white bloom. Awnings of softest pale bluestretched across the entire width of the spacious outer colonnade,where a superb peacock strutted majestically to and fro, withboastfully spreading tail and glittering crest, as brilliant as thegleam of the hot sun on the silver fringe of the azure canopies, amidstthe gorgeousness of waving blossoms that seemed to surge up like a seato the very windows of the chamber.
Filling an embossed bowl with perfumed water, Persephone bathed thehands of her mistress, who had sunk down upon a low, tapestriedcouch. Then, combing out her luxuriant hair, she bound it in ajewelled netting that looked like a constellation of stars against thedusky masses it confined. Taking a long, sleeveless robe of amber,Persephone flung it about her subtle form and bound it over breast andshoulders with a jewelled band. But Theodora's glance informed her thatsomething was still wanting and, following the direction of her gaze,Persephone's eye rested on a life-size statue of Hekate that stood withdeadly calm on its inexorable face and slightly raised hands, from oneof which hung something that glittered strangely in the subdued lightof the recess.
Obeying Theodora's silent gesture, Persephone advanced to the image andtook from its raised arm a circlet fashioned of two golden snakes withbrightly enamelled scales, bearing in their mouths a single diamond,brilliant as summer lightning. This she gently placed on her mistress'head, so that the jewel flamed in the centre of the coronet, then,kneeling down, she drew together the unlatched sandals.
Persephone's touch roused her mistress from a day dream that had sether features as rigid as ivory, as she surveyed herself for a momentintently in a great bronze disk whose burnished surface gave back herflawless beauty line for line.
In Persephone's gaze she read her unstinted admiration, for, beautifulas the Circassian was, she loved beauty in her own sex, wherever shefound it.
Theodora seemed to have utterly forgotten the presence of the GrandChamberlain in the anteroom, yet, in an impersonal way, her thoughtsoccupied themselves with the impending tete-a-tete.
Her life had been one constant round of pleasure and amusement, yet shewas not happy, nor even contented.
Day by d
ay she felt the want of some fresh interest, some freshexcitement, and it was this craving probably, more than innatedepravity, which plunged her into those disgraceful and licentiousexcesses that were nightly enacted in the sunken gardens behind herpalace. Lovers she had had by the scores. Yet each new face possessedfor her but the attraction of novelty. The favorite of the hour hadsmall cause to plume himself on his position. No sooner did he believehimself to be secure in the possession of Theodora's love, than hefound himself hurled into the night of oblivion.
A strange pagan wave held Rome enthralled. Italy was in the throes ofa dark revulsion. A woman, beautiful as she was evil, had exercisedwithin the past decade her baleful influence from Castel San Angelo.Theodora had taken up Marozia's tainted inheritance. Members of afamily of courtesans, they looked upon their trade as a hereditaryprivilege and, like the ancient Aspasias, these Roman women of thetenth century triumphed primarily by means of their feminine beautyand charms over masculine barbarism and grossness. It was an ageof feudalism, when brutal force and murderous fury were the onlydivinities whom the barbarian conqueror was compelled to respect.Lombards and Huns, Franks and Ostrogoths, Greeks and Africans, thesavage giants issuing from the deep Teutonic forests, invading theclassic soil of Rome, became so many Herculeses sitting at the feet ofOmphale, and the atmosphere of the city by the Tiber--the atmospherethat had nourished the Messalinas of Imperial Rome--poured the flame ofambition into the soul of a woman whose beauty released the strongestpassions in the hearts of those with whom she surrounded herself, inorder to attain her soul's desire. To rule Rome from the fortresstomb of the Flavian emperor was the dream of Theodora's life. It hadhappened once. It would happen again, as long as men were ready tosacrifice at the shrines of Hekate.
Unbridled in her passions as she was strong in her physicalorganization, an unbending pride and an intensity of will came toher aid when she had determined to win the object of her desire. InTheodora's bosom beat a heart that could dare, endure and defy theworst. She was a woman whom none but a very bold or ignorant suitorwould have taken to his heart. Perchance the right man, had he appearedon the stage in time, might have made her gentle and quelled thewild passions that tossed her resistlessly about, like a barque in ahurricane.
Suddenly something seemed to tell her that she had found such a one.Tristan's manly beauty had made a strong appeal upon her senses. Theanomaly of his position had captivated her imagination. There wassomething strangely fascinating in the mystery that surrounded him,there was even a wild thrill of pleasure in the seeming shame of lovingone whose garb stamped him as one claimed by the Church. He had bravedher anger in refusing to accompany Persephone. He had closed his eyesto Theodora's beauty, had sealed his ears to the song of the siren.
"A man at last!" she said half aloud, and Persephone, looking up fromher occupation, gave her an inquisitive glance.
The splash of hidden fountains diffused a pleasant coolness in thechamber. Spiral wreaths of incense curled from a bronze tripod into theflower-scented ether. The throbbing of muted strings from harps andlutes, mingling with the sombre chants of distant processions, vibratedthrough the sun-kissed haze, producing a weird and almost startlingeffect.
After a pause of some duration, apparently oblivious of the factthat the announced caller was waiting without, Theodora turned toPersephone, brushing with one white hand a stray raven lock from thealabaster forehead.
"Can it be the heat or the poison miasma that presages our Roman fever?Never has my spirit been so oppressed as it is to-day, as if the gloomymessengers from Lethe's shore were enfolding me in their shadowypinions. I saw his face in the dream of the night"--she spoke as ifsoliloquizing--"it was as the face of one long dead--"
She paused with a shudder.
"Of whom does my lady speak?" Persephone interposed with a swift glanceat her mistress.
"The pilgrim who crossed my path to his own or my undoing. Has he beenheard from again?"
A negative gesture came in response.
"His garb is responsible for much," replied the Circassian. "The cityfairly swarms with his kind--"
The intentional contemptuous sting met its immediate rebuke.
"Not his kind," Theodora flashed back. "He has nothing in common withthose others save the garb--and there is more beneath it than we wotof--"
"The Lady Theodora's judgment is not to be gainsaid," the Circassianreplied, without meeting her mistress' gaze. "Do they not throng to herbowers by the legion--"
"A pilgrimage of the animals to Circe's sty--each eager to betransformed into his own native state," Theodora interposedcontemptuously.
"Perchance this holy man is in reality a prince from some mythical,fabled land--come to Rome to resist temptation and be forthwithcanonized--"
Persephone's mirth suffered a check by Theodora's reply.
"Stranger things have happened. All the world comes to Rome on onebusiness or another. This one, however, has not his mind set on theBeatitudes--"
"Nevertheless he dared not enter the forbidden gates," the Circassianventured to object.
"It was not fear. On that I vouch. Perchance he has a vow. Whatever itbe--he shall tell me--face to face--and here!"
"But if the holy man refuse to come?"
Theodora's trained ear did not miss the note of irony in theCircassian's question.
"He will come!" she replied laconically.
"A task worthy the Lady Theodora's renown."
"You deem it wonderful?"
"If I have read the pilgrim's eyes aright--"
"Perchance your own sweet eyes, my beautiful Persephone, discoursed tohim something on that night that caused misgivings in his holy heart,and made him doubt your errand?" Theodora purred, extending her whitearms and regarding the Circassian intently.
Persephone flushed and paled in quick succession.
"On that matter I left no doubt in his mind," she said enigmatically.
There was a brief pause, during which an inscrutable gaze passedbetween Theodora and the Circassian.
"Were you not as beautiful as you are evil, my Persephone, I shouldstrangle you," Theodora at last said very quietly.
The Circassian's face turned very pale and there was a strange lightin her eyes. Her memory went back to an hour when, during one of theperiodical feuds between Marozia and her younger sister, the formerhad imprisoned Theodora in one of the chambers of Castel San Angelo,setting over her as companion and gaoler in one Persephone, then inMarozia's service.
The terrible encounter between Theodora and the Circassian in thelocked chamber, when only the timely appearance of the guard saved eachfrom destruction at the hands of the other, as Theodora tried to takethe keys of her prison from Persephone, had never left the latter'smind. Brave as she was, she had nevertheless, after Marozia's fall,entered Theodora's service, and the latter, admiring the spirit offearlessness in the girl, had welcomed her in her household.
"I am ever at the Lady Theodora's service," Persephone replied, withdrooping lids, but Theodora caught a gleam of tigerish ferocitybeneath those silken lashes that fired her own blood.
"Beware--lest in some evil hour I may be tempted to finish what I leftundone in the Emperor's Tomb!" she flashed with a sudden access ofpassion.
"The Lady Theodora is very brave," Persephone replied, as, stirred bythe memory, her eyes sank into those of her mistress.
For a moment they held each other's gaze, then, with a generositythat was part of her complex nature, Theodora extended her hand toPersephone.
"Forgive the mood--I am strangely wrought up," she said. "Cannot youhelp me in this dilemma, where I can trust in none?"
"There dwells in Rome one who can help my lady," Persephone repliedwith hesitation; "one deeply versed in the lore and mysteries of theEast."
"Who is this man?" Theodora queried eagerly.
"His name is Hormazd. By his spells he can change the natural event ofthings, and make Fate subservient to his decrees."
"Why have you never told me of
him before?"
"Because the Lady Theodora's will seemed to do as much for her ascould, to my belief, the sorcerer's art!"
The implied compliment pleased Theodora.
"Where does he abide?"
"In the Trastevere."
"What does he for those who seek him?"
"He reads the stars--foretells the future--and, with the aid of strangespells of which he is master, can bring about that which otherwisewould be unattainable--"
"You rouse my curiosity! Tell me more of him."
An inscrutable expression passed over Persephone's face.
"He was Marozia's trusted friend."
A frozen silence reigned apace.
"Did he foretell that which was to happen?" Theodora spoke at last.
"To the hour!"
"And yet--forewarned--"
"Marozia, grown desperate in the hatred of her lord, derided hiswarnings."
"It was her Fate. Tell me more!"
"He has visited every land under the sun. From Thule to Cathay hisfame is known. Strange tales are told of him. No one knows his age. Heseems to have lived always. As he appears now he hath ever been. Theysay he has been seen in places thousand leagues apart at the same time.Sometimes he disappears and is not heard of for months. But--whoeverhe may be--whatever he may be engaged in--at the stroke of midnightthat he must suspend. Then his body turns rigid as a corpse, bereft ofanimation, and his spirit is withdrawn into realms we dare not evendream of. At the first hour of the morning life will slowly return. Butno one has yet dared to question him, where he has spent those dreadhours."
Theodora had listened to Persephone's tale with a strange new interest.
"How long has this Hormazd--or whatever his name--resided in Rome?" sheturned to the Circassian.
"I met him first on the night on which the lady Marozia summoned him tothe summit of the Emperor's Tomb. There he abode with her for hours,engaged in some unholy incantation and at last conjured up such atempest over the Seven Hills, as the city of Rome had not experiencedsince it was founded by the man from Troy--"
Persephone's historical deficiency went hand in hand with asuperstition characteristic of the age, and evoked no comment from oneperchance hardly better informed with regard to the past.
"I well remember the night," Theodora interposed.
"We crept down into the crypts, where the dog-headed Egyptian god keepswatch over the dead Emperor," Persephone continued. "The lady Maroziaalone remained on the summit with the wizard--amidst such lightningsand crashing peals of thunder and a hurricane the like of which theoldest inhabitants do not remember--"
"I shall test his skill," Theodora spoke after a pause. "Perchance hemay give me that which I have never known--"
"My lady would consult the wizard?" Persephone interposed eagerly.
"Such is my intent."
"Shall I summon him to your presence?"
"I shall go to him!"
In Persephone's countenance surprise and fear struggled for mastery.
"Then I shall accompany my lady--"
"I shall go alone and unattended--"
"It is an ill-favored region, where the sorcerer dwells--"
An inscrutable look passed into Theodora's eyes.
"Can he but give me that which I desire I shall brave the hazard, be itever so great."
The last words were uttered in an undertone. Then she added imperiously:
"Go and summon the lord Basil and bid two eunuchs attend him hither!And do you wait with them within call behind those curtains."
Then, as Persephone silently piled cushions behind her in thelion-armed chair and withdrew bowing, Theodora murmured to herself:
"Hardly can I trust even him in an hour so fraught with darkness andperil. Yet strive as he will, he may not break the chains his passionhas woven around his senses."