CHAPTER X

THE BROKEN SPELL

Again there was feasting and high revels in the palace of Theodora

on Mount Aventine. Colored lanterns were suspended between the

interstices of orange and oleander trees; and incense rose in spiral

coils from bronze and copper vessels, concealed among leafy bowers.

The great banquet hall was thronged with a motley crowd of Romans,

Greeks, men from the coasts of Africa and Iceland, Spaniards, Persians,

Burgundians, Lombards, men from the steppes of Sarmatia, and the amber

coast of the Baltic. Here and there groups were discussing the wines or

the viands or the gossip of the day.

The guests marvelled at the splendor, wealth and the variegated

mosaics, the gilded walls, the profusion of beautiful marble columns

and the wonderfully groined ceiling. It was a veritable banquet of

the senses. The fairylike radiance of the hall with its truly eastern

splendor captivated the eye. From remote grottoes came the sounds of

flutes, citherns and harps, quivering through the dreaming summer night.

On ebony couches upon silver frames, covered with rare tapestries

and soft cushions, the guests reclined. Between two immense,

crescent-shaped tables, made of citron wood and inlaid with ivory, rose

a miniature bronze fountain, representing Neptune. From it spurted

jets of scented water, which cooled and perfumed the air.

Not in centuries had there been such a feast in Rome. Mountain, plain

and the sea had been relentlessly laid under tribute, to surrender

their choicest towards supplying the sumptuous board.

Nubian slaves in spotless white kept at the elbows of the guests and

filled the golden flagons as quickly as they were emptied. A powerful

Cyprian wine, highly spiced, was served. Under its stimulating

influence the revellers soon gave themselves up to the reckless

enjoyment of the hour.

As the feast proceeded the guests cried more loudly for flagons of the

fiery ecobalda. They quaffed large quantities of this wine and their

faces became flushed, their eyes sparkled and their tongues grew more

and more free. The temporary restraint they had imposed upon themselves

gradually vanished. In proportion as they partook of the fiery vintage

their conviviality increased.

The roll-call was complete. None was found missing. Here was the Lord

of Norba and Boso, Lord of Caprara. Here was the Lord Atenulf of

Benevento, the Lord Amgar, from the coasts of the Baltic; here was

Bembo the poet, Eugenius the philosopher and Alboin, Lord of Farfa.

Here was the Prefect of Rome and Roger de Laval. He, too, had joined

the throng of idolators at the shrine of Theodora. The Lord Guaimar of

Salerno was there, and Guido, Duke of Spoleto.

The curtain at the far end of the banquet hall slowly parted.

On the threshold stood Theodora.

Silent, rigid, she gazed into the hall.

Like a sudden snow on a summer meadow, a white silence fell from her

imagination across that glittering, gleaming tinselled atmosphere.

Everywhere the dead seemed to sit around her, watching, as in a trance,

strange antics of the grimacing dead.

A vision of beauty she appeared, radiantly attired, a jewelled diadem

upon her brow. By her side appeared Basil, the Grand Chamberlain.

When her gaze fell upon the motley crowd, a disgust, such as she had

never known, seized her.

She seated herself on the dais, reserved for her, and with queenly

dignity bade her guests welcome.

Basil occupied the seat of honor at her right, Roger de Laval at her

left.

Had any one watched the countenances of Theodora and of Basil he

would have surprised thereon an expression of ravening anxiety. To

themselves they appeared like two players, neither knowing the next

move of his opponent, yet filled with the dire assurance that upon this

move depended the fate of the house of cards each has built upon a

foundation of sand.

At last the Count de Laval arose and whirled his glass about his head.

"Twine a wreath about your cups," he shouted, "and drink to the glory

of the most beautiful woman in the world--the Lady Theodora."

They rose to their feet and shouted their endorsement till the very

arches seemed to ring with the echoes. His initiative was received

with such favor by the others that, fired with the desire to emulate

his example, they fell to singing and shouting the praise of the woman

whose beauty had not its equal in Rome.

Theodora viewed the scene of dissipation with serenity and composure,

and, by her attitude she seemed, in a strange way, even tacitly to

encourage them to drink still deeper. Faster, ever faster, the wine

coursed among the guests. Some of them became more and more boisterous,

others were rendered somnolent and fell forward in a stupor upon the

silken carpets.

Theodora, whose restlessness seemed to increase with every moment, and

who seemed to hold herself in leash by a strenuous effort of the will,

suddenly turned to Basil and whispered a question into his ear.

A silent nod came in response and the next moment a clash of cymbals,

stormily persistent, roused the revellers from their stupor. Then, like

a rainbow garmented Peri, floating easefully out of some far-off sphere

of sky-wonders, an aerial maiden shape glided into the full lustre of

the varying light, a dancer nude, save for the glistening veil that

carelessly enshrouded her limbs, her arms and hands being adorned with

circlets of tiny golden bells which kept up a melodious jingle as she

moved. And now began the strangest music, music that seemed to hover

capriciously between luscious melody and harsh discord, a wild and

curious medley of fantastic minor suggestions in which the imaginative

soul might discover hints of tears and folly, love and madness. To

this uncertain yet voluptuous measure the glittering girl dancer

leaped forward with a startling abruptness and, halting as it were on

the boundary line between the dome and the garden beyond, raised her

rounded arms in a snowy arch above her head.

Her pause was a mere breathing spell in duration. Dropping her arms

with a swift decision, she hurled herself into the giddy mazes of a

dance. Round and round she floated, like an opal-winged butterfly

in a net of sunbeams, now seemingly shaken by delicate tremors,

as aspen leaves are shaken by the faintest wind, now assuming the

most voluptuous eccentricities of posture, sometimes bending down

wistfully as though she were listening to the chanting of demon voices

underground, and again, with her waving white hands, appearing to

summon spirits to earth from their wanderings in the upper air. Her

figure was in perfect harmony with the seductive grace of her gestures;

not only her feet, but her whole body danced, her very features bespoke

abandonment to the frenzy of her rapid movement. Her large black eyes

flashed with something of fierceness as well as languor; and her raven

hair streamed behind her like a darkly spread wing.

Wild outbursts of applause resounded uproariously through the hall.

Count Roger had drawn nearer to Theodora. His arms encircled her body.

Theodora bent over him.

"Not to-night! Not to-night! There are many things to consider.

To-morrow I shall give you my answer."

He looked up into her eyes.

"Do you not love me?"

His hot breath fanned her cheeks.

Theodora gave a shrug and turned away, sick with disgust.

"Love--I hardly know what it means. I do not think I have ever loved."

Laval sucked in his breath between his teeth.

"Then you shall love me! You shall! Ever since I have come to Rome have

I desired you! And the woman lives not who may gainsay my appeal."

She smiled tauntingly.

He had seized her hand. The fierceness of his grip made her gasp with

pain.

"And whatever brought you to Rome?" she turned to him.

"I came in quest of one who had betrayed my honor."

"And you found her?"

"Both!" came the laconic reply.

"How interesting," purred Theodora, suffering his odious embrace,

although she shuddered at his touch.

"And, man-like, you were revenged?"

"She has met the fate I had decreed upon her who wantonly betrayed the

honor of her lord."

"Then she confessed?"

"She denied her guilt. What matter? I never loved her. It is you I

love! You, divine Theodora."

And, carried away by a gust of passion, he drew her to him, covering

her brow, her hair, her cheeks with kisses. But she turned away her

mouth.

She tried to release herself from his embrace.

Roger uttered an oath.

"I have tamed women before--ay--and I shall tame you," he sputtered,

utterly disregarding her protests.

She drew back as far as his encircling arms permitted.

"Release me, my lord!" she said, her dark eyes flashing fire. "You are

mad!"

"No heroics--fair Theodora-- Has the Wanton Queen of Rome turned into a

haloed saint?"

He laughed. His mouth was close to her lips.

Revulsion and fury seized her. Disengaging her hands she struck him

across the face.

There was foam on his lips. He caught her by the throat. Now he was

forcing her beneath his weight with the strength of one insane with

uncontrollable passion.

"Help!" she screamed with a choking sensation.

A shadow passed before her eyes. Everything seemed to swim around

her in eddying circles of red. Then a gurgling sound. The grip on

her throat relaxed. Laval rolled over upon the floor in a horrible

convulsion, gasped and expired.

Basil's dagger had struck him through, piercing his heart.

Slowly Theodora arose. She was pale as death. Her guests, too much

engaged with their beautiful partners, had been attracted to her plight

but by her sudden outcry.

They stared sullenly at the dead man and turned to their former

pursuits.

Theodora clapped her hands.

Two giant Nubians appeared. She pointed to the corpse at her feet. They

raised it up between them, carried it out and sank it in the Lotus

lake. Others wiped away the stains of blood.

Basil bent over Theodora's hands, and covered them with kisses,

muttering words of endearment which but increased the discord in her

heart.

She released herself, resuming her seat on the dais.

"It is the old fever," she turned to the man beside her. "You purchase

and I sell! Nay"--she added as his lips touched her own--"there is no

need for a lover's attitude when hucksters meet."

Though the guests had returned to their seats, a strange silence had

fallen upon the assembly. The rhythmical splashing of the water in the

fountain and the labored breathing of the distressed wine-Bibbie's

seemed the only sounds that were audible for a time.

"But I love you, Theodora," Basil spoke with strangely dilated eyes.

"I love you for what you are, for all the evil you have wrought! You,

alone! For you have I done this thing! For you Alberic lies dead in

some unknown glen. For you have I summoned about us those who shall

seat you in the high place that is yours by right of birth."

Theodora was herself again. With upraised hand, that shone marble white

in the ever-changing light, she enjoined silence.

"What of that other?" she said, while her eyes held those of the man

with their magic spell.

"What other?" he stammered, turning pale.

"That one!" she flashed.

At that moment the curtain parted again and into the changing light,

emitted by the great revolving globe, swayed a woman. At first

it seemed a statue of marble that had become animated and, ere

consciousness had resumed its sway, was slowly gaining life and motion,

still bound up in the dream existence into which some unknown power had

plunged her.

As one petrified, Basil stared at the swaying form of Hellayne. A white

transparent byssus veil enveloped the beautiful limbs. Her wonderful

bare arms were raised above her head, which was slightly inclined, as

in a listening attitude. She seemed to move unconsciously as under a

spell or as one who walks in her sleep. Her eyes were closed. The pale

face showed suffering, yet had not lost one whit of its marvellous

beauty.

The revellers stared spellbound at what, to their superstitious minds,

seemed the wraith of slain Roxana returned to earth to haunt her rival.

Suddenly, without warning, the dark-robed form of a man dashed from

behind a pillar. No one seemed to have noted his presence. Overthrowing

every impediment, he bounded straight for Hellayne, when he saw the

lithe form snatched up before his very eyes and her abductor disappear

with his burden, as if the ground had swallowed them.

It seemed to Tristan that he was rushing through an endless succession

of corridors and passages, crossing each other at every conceivable

angle, in his mad endeavor to snatch his precious prey from her

abductor when, in a rotunda in which these labyrinthine passages

converged, he found himself face to face with an apparition that seemed

to have risen from the floor.

Before him stood Theodora.

Her dark shadow was wavering across the moonlit network of light. The

red and blue robes of the painted figures on the wall glowed about her

like blood and azure, while the moonlight laid lemon colored splashes

upon the varied mosaics of the floor.

His pulses beating furiously, a sense of suffocation in his throat,

Tristan paused as the woman barred his way.

"Let me pass!" he said imperiously, trying to suit the action to the

word.

But he had not reckoned with the woman's mood.

"You shall not," Theodora said, a strange fire gleaming in her eyes.

"Where is Hellayne? What have you done with her?"

Theodora regarded him calmly from under drooping lashes.

"That I will tell you," she said with a mocking voice. "It was my good

fortune to rescue her from the claws of one who has again got her into

his power. Her mind is gone, my Lord Tristan! Be reconciled to your

fate!"

"Surely you cannot mean this?" Tristan gasped, his face under the

monk's cowl pale as death, while his eyes stared unbelievingly into

those of the woman.

"Is not what you have seen, proof that I speak truth?" Theodora

interposed, slightly veiled mockery in her tone.

"Then this is your deed," Tristan flashed.

Theodora gave a shrug.

"What if it were?"

"She is in Basil's power?"

"An experienced suitor."

"Woman, why have you done this thing to me?"

His hands went to his head and he reeled like a drunken man.

Theodora laid her hands on Tristan's shoulders.

"Because I want you--because I love you, Tristan," she said slowly, and

her wonderful face seemed to become illumined as it were, from within.

"Nay--do not shrink from me! I know what you would say! Theodora--the

courtesan queen of Rome! You deem I have no heart--no soul. You deem

that these lips, defiled by the kisses of beasts, cannot speak truth.

Yet, if I tell you, Tristan, that this is the first and only time in my

life that I have loved, that I love you with a love such as only those

know who have thirsted for it all their lives, yet have never known but

its base counterfeit; if I tell you--that upon your answer depends my

fate--my life--Tristan--will you believe--will you save the woman whom

nothing else on earth can save?"

"I do not believe you," Tristan replied.

Theodora's face had grown white to the lips.

"You shall stay--and you shall listen to me!" she said, without raising

her voice, as if she were discoursing upon some trifling matter, and

Tristan obeyed, compelled by the look in her eyes.

Theodora felt Tristan's melancholy gaze resting upon her, as it had

rested upon her at their first meeting. Was not he, too, like herself,

a lone wanderer in this strange country called the world! But his

manhood had remained unsullied. How she envied and how she hated that

other woman to whom his love belonged. Softly she spoke, as one speaks

in a dream.

She had gone forth in quest of happiness--happiness at any price. And

she had paid the forfeit with a poisoned life. The desire to conquer

had eclipsed every other. The lure of the senses was too mighty to be

withstood. Yet how short are youth and life! One should snatch its

pleasures while one may.

How fleet had been the golden empty days of joy. She had drained

the brimming goblet to the dregs. If he misjudged her motive, her

self-abasement, if he spurned the love she held out to him, the one

supreme sacrifice of her life had been in vain. She would fight for

it. Soul and body she would throw herself into the conflict. Her last

chance of happiness was at stake. The poison, rankling in her veins,

she knew could not be expelled by idle sophisms. Life, the despot,

claimed his dues. Had she lived utterly in vain? Not altogether! She

would atone, even though the bonds of her own forging, which bound her

to an ulcered past, could be broken but by the hand of that crowned

phantom: Death.

Now she was kneeling before him. She had grasped his hands.

"I love you!" she wailed. "Tristan, I love you and my love is killing

me! Be merciful. Have pity on me. Love me! Be mine--if but for an

hour! It is not much to ask! After, do with me what you will! Torture

me--curse me before Heaven--I care not--I am yours--body and soul.--I

love you!"

Her voice vibrated with mad idolatrous pleading.

He tried to release himself. She dragged herself yet closer to him.

"Tristan! Tristan!" she murmured. "Have you a heart? Can you reject me

when I pray thus to you? When I offer you all I have? All that I am, or

ever hope to be? Am I so repellent to you? Many men would give their

lives if I were to say to them what I say to you. They are nothing to

me--you alone are my world, the breath of my existence. You, alone, can

save me from myself!"

Tristan felt his senses swooning at the sight of her beauty. He tried

to speak, but the words froze on his lips. It was too impossible, too

unbelievable. Theodora, the most beautiful, the most powerful woman

in Rome was kneeling before him, imploring that which any man in Rome

would have deemed himself a thousand fold blessed to receive. And he

remained untouched.

She read his innermost thoughts and knew the supreme moment when she

must win or lose him forever was at hand.

"Tristan--Tristan," she sobbed--and in the distant grove sobbed flutes

and sistrum and citherns--"say what you will of me; it is true. I own

it. Yet I am not worse than other women who have sold their souls for

power or gold. Am I not fair to look upon? And is all this beauty of

my face and form worthless in your eyes, and you no more than man?

Kill me--destroy me--I care naught. But love me--as I love you!" and

in a perfect frenzy of self-abandonment she rose to her feet and stood

before him, a very bacchante of wild loveliness and passion. "Look upon

me! Am I not more beautiful than the Lady Hellayne? You shall not--dare

not--spurn such love as mine!"

Deep silence supervened. The expression of her countenance seemed quite

unearthly; her eyes seemed wells of fire and the tense white arms

seemed to seek a victim round which they might coil themselves to its

undoing.

The name she had uttered in her supreme outburst of passion had broken

the spell she had woven about him.

Hellayne--his white dove! What was her fate at this moment while he was

listening to the pleadings of the enchantress?

Theodora advanced towards him with outstretched arms.

He stayed her with a fierce gesture.

"Stand back!" he said. "Such love as yours--what is it? Shame to

whosoever shall accept it! I desire you not."

"You dare not!" she panted, pale as death.

"Dare not?"

But she was now fairly roused. All the savagery in her nature was

awakened and she stood before him like some beautiful wild animal at

bay, trembling from head to foot with the violence of her passion.

"You scorn me!" she said in fierce, panting accents, that scarcely

rose above an angry whisper. "You make a mockery of my anguish and

despair--holding yourself aloof with your prated virtue! But you shall

suffer for it! I am your match! You shall not spurn me a third time! I

have humbled myself in the dust before you, I, Theodora--and you have

spurned the love I have offered you--you have spurned Theodora--for

that white marble statue whom I should strangle before your very eyes

were she here! You shall not see her again, my Lord Tristan. Her

fate is sealed from this moment. On the altars of Satan is she to be

sacrificed on to-morrow night!"

Tristan listened like paralyzed to her words, unable to move.

She saw her opportunity. She sprang at him. Her arms coiled about him.

Her moist kisses seared his lips.

"Oh Tristan--Tristan," she pleaded, "forgive me, forgive! I know not

what I say! I hunger for the kisses of your lips, the clasp of your

arms! Do you know--do you ever think of your power? The cruel terrible

power of your eyes, the beauty that makes you more like an angel than

man? Have you no pity? I am well nigh mad with jealousy of that other

whom you keep enshrined in your heart! Could she love, like I? She was

not made for you--I am! Tristan--come with me--come--"

Tighter and tighter her arms encircled his neck. The moonbeams showed

him her eyes alight with rapture, her lips quivering with passion, her

bosom heaving. The blood surged up in his brain and a red mist swam

before his eyes.

With a supreme effort Tristan released himself. Flinging her from him,

he rushed out of the rotunda as if pursued by an army of demons. If he

remained another moment he knew he was lost.

A lightning bolt shot down from the dark sky vault close beside him as

he reached the gardens, and a peal of thunder crashed after in quick

succession.

It drowned the delirious outburst of laughter that shrilled from the

rotunda where Theodora, with eyes wide with misery and madness, stared

as transfixed down the path where Tristan had vanished in the night.