CHAPTER IV

FACE TO FACE

Roger de Laval had chosen for his abode in Rome a sombre and frowning

building not far from the grim ways of the Campo Marzo, half palace

half fortalice, constructed about a huge square tower with massive

doors. Like all palace fortresses of the time which might at any

moment have to stand a siege, either at the hands of a city mob or at

those of some rapacious noble, it contained in its vaulted halls and

tower chambers all the requisites for protracted resistance as well

as aggression. On the walls between flaunting banners hung the many

quartered shields and the dark coats of chain, the tabards of the

heralds and the leathern jerkins of the bowmen. On the shelves between

the arches stood long rows of hauberks and shining steel caps. Dark

tapestries covered the walls and the bright light of the Roman day fell

muted through the narrow slits in the sombre masonry which served as

windows.

It was not to seek his wife that Roger had come to Rome, and his

meeting with Tristan in the gardens of Theodora had been purely

accidental. While his vanity and selfishness had received a severe

shock in Hellayne's departure, without even a farewell, he had not

allowed an incident in itself so trifling to disturb the even tenor of

his ways. He had loved to display her at his feasts as one displays

some exceeding handsome plaything that gives pleasure to the senses;

otherwise he and the countess had no common bond of interest. Hellayne

was the only child of one of the most powerful barons of Provence, and

had been given in marriage to the older man before she even realized

what the bonds implied. Only after meeting Tristan had the awakening

come, and youth sought youth.

That which brought every one to Rome in an age when Rome was still by

common consent the centre of the universe, such as the Saxon Chronicles

of the Millennium pronounce it, had also caused Roger de Laval to seek

the Holy Shrines, not in quest of spiritual benefit, but of temporal

aggrandizement, in the character of an investiture from the Vicar of

Christ himself. His disappointment at finding the head of Christendom a

prisoner in his own palace was perhaps only mitigated by the disclosure

that he should have to rely upon his own fertility of mind for the

realization of a long-fostered ambition.

On one of his visits to the Lateran, hoping to obtain an interview

with the Pontiff, he had met Basil as representative of the Roman

government, in the absence of Alberic, and a sinister attraction had

sprung up between them in the consciousness that each had something

to give the other lacked. This bond was even strengthened by Basil's

promise to aid the stranger in the attainment of his desires, and at

last Roger had confided in Basil the story of the shadow that had

spread its gloomy pinions over the castle of Avalon. Basil had listened

and suggested that the Lord Laval drown his sorrows at the board of

Theodora. Therein the latter had acquiesced, with the result that he

met Tristan on that night.

Hellayne was sitting alone by the window in a long silent gallery. She

could not take her eyes off the restless outline of the clouds where

head on head and face on face continued taking shape. In vain her

teased brain tried to see but clouds. Two nights ago had not a horrid

face grinned at her from out of these same clouds? The face of a wolf

it had seemed. And it had taken human shape and changed to the face of

the man who had brought her to this abode from the sanctuary where she

had fallen by the shrine.

And yet, as she looked at the sun, whose beams were fast dwindling on

the bar of the horizon, how she yearned to keep the light a little

longer, if only a few short minutes. She could have cried out to the

sun not to leave her so soon, again to wage her lonely war with the

Twilight and with Fear. For during the hours of day her lord was away.

Business of state he termed what took him from her side. With a leer he

left and with a leer he was wont to return. And with him the memory of

his meeting with Tristan!

She had found him again, the man she loved! Found him--but how? And

Hellayne covered her burning eyes with her white hands.

This other woman who had stepped in between her and Tristan, who had

laid a detaining hand upon his arm and had silently challenged her for

his possession--what was she to him?

For three days and three nights the thought had tormented her even to

the verge of madness. Had she sacrificed everything but to find him

she loved in the arms of another? Silently she had borne the taunts of

her lord, his insults, his vile insinuations. He did not understand.

He never understood. What of it? In the great balance what mattered it

after all?

She must see Tristan. She must hear the truth from his own lips. In

vain she puzzled her brain how to reach him. She remembered his last

outcry of protest. There was a mystery she must solve. Come what might,

she was once more the woman who loved. And she was going to claim the

payment of love!

As regarded that other, to whom she had bound herself, her conscience

had long absolved her of an obligation that had been forced upon her.

Had fate and fact not proved the thing impossible? Had fate not cast

them again and again into each other's arms and made mock of their

conscience? Nature had made them lovers, let it be the will of God or

the devil.

And lovers till death should they be henceforth. He belonged to her.

Away with faith--away with fear of this world, or the next. Away with

all but the dear present, in which the brutality of others had set her

free. For a moment her thoughts turned almost pagan.

Was she to return to the old, loveless life in that far corner of the

earth, while he whom she loved took up a new existence in the centre

of the world, loving another to whose ambition he might owe a great

career? She needed indeed to sit in silence, she who had done daring

things without a misgiving, as if impelled by a power not her own. She

had done them, marvelling at her own courage, at her own faith in him

she loved, and she had not faltered.

The torturing dusk was drowning every living thing in pallid waves of

shadow. One by one, through the wan gallery in which she was locked,

the motley spectres of night would pass in all their horrors, and begin

their crazy, soundless nods and becks.

Suddenly she cowered back, shuddering, with her eyes fixed on the

darkening depths of the gallery and her day dreams died, like pale

ashes crumbling on the hearth.

Roger de Laval had entered and was regarding her with a malignant leer

that almost froze the blood in her veins. She knew not what business

had taken him abroad. Nevertheless was assured that some dark deed was

slumbering in the depths of his soul.

"Are you thinking of your fine lover?" he said as he slowly advanced

towards her. "You are grieved to have your thoughts broken into by your

husband? No doubt you wish me dead--"

"Spare me this torture, my lord," she entreated. "I have answered a

thousand times--"

"Then answer again--"

"I swear before God and the Saints he is guiltless. He knew not I was

in Rome."

"Swear what you will! A woman's oath is but a wind upon one's cheek on

a warm summer day--gone ere you have felt it. The oath of a woman who

has followed her lover--"

"I have not done so!"

"You have done your best to make the world believe it."

"What of yourself?" There was a ring of scorn in her voice.

"You have brought me to shame!"

"What of the women you have shared with me?"

Hellayne's eyes met those of her tormentor.

"It is a man's part!"

"And you are a man!"

"One at least shall have cause to think so."

"Perchance you will have him murdered. Why not kill me, too? That, too,

is a man's part."

He gave a great roar.

"And who says that I shall not?"

An icy fear, not for herself, but for Tristan, gripped her heart. She

tried to hide it under a mantle of indifference.

"What have you ever done to make yourself beloved?"

"By Beelzebub--you--the runaway mistress of a fop--dares to question

me--her rightful lord?"

"Who made the laws that bound me to your keeping? They are man-made,

and God knows as little of them as he knows of you. It was your

measureless conceit, your boundless egotism, that whispered to you that

any woman should feel honored, should deem it the height of glory, to

be your wife."

"And is it not?"

She shuddered.

"You never dreamed there might be something in the depths of my soul

that cried out for more than the mere comforts and exigencies of

existence! Something that craved love, companionship, and, above all,

friendship. What have you done to waken this little slumbering voice

which died in the shadow of your tremendous egotism?"

He stared at her.

"He has taught you this speech, by God!"

"He has awakened my true self! What was I to you but part of your

magnificence, a thing to make your fellows envious--"

He roared. She continued:

"The one decent woman of your life--your world--"

His eyes glared.

"So then, this low-born churl is a better man than I?"

"At least he knew I had a soul of my own."

"Skillfully cultivated to his own sweet ends."

"His ends were innocent, else had he not fled."

"Knowing that you would follow him."

"He knew naught."

"That remains to be seen."

"It was you who brought us together!" she said with quiet scorn. "You

were so sure in your pride and your power and of my own timidity that

you thought it impossible that something might defy them. And you could

not understand that another might be so much closer to my nature, or

that I had a nature of my own. In those days I well remember, ere my

heart had strayed too far, I tried to waken you to the great danger.

I tried to speak of mine. But you would not be apprised of aught that

would seem a concession to your pride. So we are come to this!"

Her eyes filled with tears.

"Come to what?" he thundered.

"My ruin--and your disgrace!"

His breast heaved.

"Of you I know nothing. As for myself--I suffer no disgrace. I am too

much a man of sense for that. Not a soul but thinks that you are absent

with my consent. A pilgrimage to Rome! Many a woman has, for her soul's

good gone alone. Not a soul, I warrant, has thought of your connection

with that fellow's plight. Not a soul but thinks that this is the sole

cause of your disappearance. And when I, too, went I was careful to

leave the rumor behind."

He stepped closer, his breath fanning her pale cheeks. She looked

almost like a ghost in the grey twilight.

"And now--" he continued, licking his sensuous lips, "you are

found--you are found--my beautiful wife--you are found--and--to the

eyes of the world at least--unstained. One alone whose lips are sealed,

knows."

Hellayne's lips tightened.

"And a woman."

A strange expression came into his face.

"Have you spied upon me, too?"

"You forget the meeting at the Arch."

"No woman will spread the story of a rival's claims!"

There was a pause, then he continued, with deliberate slowness:

"You shall come back with me--my beautiful Hellayne--my wife in name,

if not in deed! And you shall submit to my caresses, knowing, as I

do, how loathsome they are. And you shall smile--smile--and appear

happy--my wife henceforth in name only. And you shall smile no less at

what henceforth your lord's pleasure may be with other women--fair as

yourself--and you shall grow old and grey, and the thing you call your

soul shall die and wither up your beauty--and never a word shall pass

your lips anent this chastisement. And at last you shall die--and be

laid by--and not a soul shall ever be the wiser for your shame."

Hellayne covered her face with her hands.

"And if I should refuse to accept this fate?"

"Then you shall be flung into a nunnery."

"And if I refuse to become a nun?"

"Then your lover shall pay the price--with his blood instead of yours.

Know you the woman he so madly loves?"

"It is a lie!" she shrieked.

There was a moment's silence.

"Her name is Theodora. Saw you ever fairer creature?"

"God!"

"I want your answer!" leered the man.

"I do not refuse!"

An evil smile curved his lips.

"I knew you would be reasonable--my fair Hellayne!"

His lips were parted in a fatuous smile. He pictured to himself the

pain at the parting and indeed his satisfaction was so great that he

decided to prolong it yet a little longer. How amusing it would be to

watch the face of him who had dared to love Hellayne. Knowing as now

he did all the motives for his actions, it gave him pleasure to think

that he could mar the astonishing good fortune of this adventurer who

had found employment in the service of Alberic by the intrusion of this

passion for another woman. It would be real joy to see this creature

of sentiment thus torn and tortured. And it was yet a greater joy to

force Hellayne to witness the struggle, forced to smile at the conquest

of her lover by another woman. And he would watch the pangs of their

suffering till the day of his departure.

With her own blue eyes Hellayne should witness the love of him she had

so madly followed, estranged by the beauty of Theodora, whose lure no

mortal might resist.

After he had entered his own chamber, Hellayne flew like a mad thing

down the gloom-haunted gallery. Could she but escape from this

humiliation--even through death's doors--she would not shrink. She

felt, if she remained, she would go mad.

It was true, then! Tristan loved another. The old love had been

forgotten and cast aside! All her fears and misgivings returned in one

mad whirl.

Frantically she tried to remove the heavy bolt when she was paralyzed

by a demoniacal laugh that issued behind her and swooning she fell at

the feet of the man whose name she bore.