CASTEL 
 DEL MONTE Mfe 
 
 BY 
 NATHAN GALLIZIER

 
 3? 
 
 V
 
 (Tastcl fcel flDonte
 
 WORKS OF 
 
 NATHAN GALLIZIER 
 
 Castel del Monte . . . $1.50 
 
 The Sorceress of Rome . . 1.50 
 
 The Court of Lucifer . . . 1.50 
 
 L. C. PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 53 Beacon Street, Boston, Mass.
 
 " ' HAVE YOU SEEN ME BEFORE, OTTORINO VISCONTI ? ' '' 
 
 (See page 2&
 
 > Q 
 
 Caetel fcel flfconte 
 
 a "Romance of tbe ffall of tbe 
 t>obenstaufen 2>snast in 
 
 BY NATHAN GALLIZIER 
 ILLUSTRATED BY H. C. EDWARDS 
 
 BOSTON- L. C. PAGE 
 Gf COMPANY- PUBLISHERS
 
 Copyright, 
 BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 (INCORPORATED) 
 All rights reserved 
 
 Published February, 1905 
 
 Third Impression, April, 1907 
 Fourth Impression, November, 1910 
 
 COLONIAL PRESS 
 
 EUctrotyped and Printed by C.H. Simondt & C*. 
 Boston, U.S.A.
 
 SRLf- 
 URL 
 
 THE WEDNESDAYS 
 OF THE PAST
 
 Introtwctton 
 
 BEHIND the cypress-clad hills of the Eternal City the 
 sun had set, and the last lights of the swiftly going day 
 were gleaming on the waves of the river which had 
 changelessly sent its waters toward the sea through cen- 
 turies of hope and fear, of pride and shame, of glory 
 and disgrace. 
 
 As the last glow vanished before the purple of the 
 oncoming twilight, dense thunder-clouds rose higher and 
 higher above the Tyrrhenian Sea, and began swiftly to 
 overshadow the ancient capital of the Caesars. Pall-like 
 the black shadows fell upon the Piazza. Colonna, hiding 
 the lofty columns of Mars the Avenger, and darkening 
 the gray pavements of the Forum of Augustus. The 
 deep and ominous hush which preceded the storm was 
 intensified by the silver chime of the convent bells from 
 distant Aventine, their soft music singing the message 
 of peace to the disturbed heart of nature and of man. 
 
 But how marked was the contrast between the time 
 when splendid and gorgeous pageants filled the streets 
 and piazzas, when pompous processions of cardinals and 
 prelates, surrounded by the gilded arms and shining mail 
 of the pontifical guards, passed by, while the incense 
 curled its mystic spiral wreath around the victorious 
 panoplies of the Church, and now, when the strangely 
 clad and more strangely armed rabble of Rome crept 
 
 vii
 
 viii fntrofcuction 
 
 through the streets and over the waste fields of Campo 
 Marzio. A vacillating mob, to-day the prey of the Co- 
 lonna, to-morrow the victims of the Orsini, they surged 
 with pale and anxious faces around the consecrated cir- 
 cuit of San Giovanni in Laterano, and thronged about 
 the ponderous well-guarded portals, over which hovered 
 the grim spectre of death. 
 
 Pope Urban, the Fourth, was dying. 
 
 In a darkened chamber the three cardinals of Nar- 
 bonne, Orvieto, and Cosenza watched with anxious, care- 
 worn faces round the couch of the man who, with iron 
 grip and relentless hand, had shaped the destinies of 
 Italy, had inflamed anew the dying embers of strife 
 between Guelph and Ghibelline, had hurled anathema 
 upon anathema against the imperial house of Hohen- 
 staufen, and laid ban and interdict upon the descendants 
 of -Emperor Frederick the Second. The only persons 
 who, at his own behest, had been admitted to the sick- 
 bed of the pontiff, they seemed eagerly to await the 
 result of the diagnosis from the lips of the hooded dis- 
 ciple of ^Esculapius, who was bending over the pale, 
 emaciated form among the cushions. 
 
 From without the rumbling of thunder, distant, yet 
 menacing, the ever-increasing roar of the approaching 
 tempest, the fitful gusts of the gale, the sullen mutterings 
 of the crowds, divided even now in hatred and love, 
 reechoed through the darkened chamber. 
 
 Powerful stimulants had roused the aged pontiff from 
 a protracted swoon almost like the sleep of death. Slowly 
 he turned his head toward the Greek physician, fixing 
 upon him his questioning gaze, as penetrating at this 
 last stage of his illness as it was when the thunder of 
 his voice was wont to rouse the Conclave. 
 
 The Greek placed a phial containing a clear liquid
 
 fntrofcuctton i* 
 
 upon an ebony table, and nodded in response to the mute 
 interrogation. 
 
 " The hand of the King of Shadows hath passed over 
 thy brow," he said. " Thou wilt not behold the orb of 
 the waking day." 
 
 " I thank thee," the pontiff replied, in tones hardly 
 above a whisper, while his white emaciated fingers re- 
 moved a stray lock of gray hair from his clammy fore- 
 head. " Your lying Roman doctors had promised me 
 another day. How short the span of time between life 
 and eternity ! " 
 
 tfe attempted to raise himself upon his elbows, but 
 fell back upon the cushions. The ravages of the fever 
 had consumed the old man's strength. 
 
 A blinding flash of lightning, followed by a terrific 
 peal of thunder, wrapped the entire city from the region 
 of the Lateran to far-off Trastavere, and intermingled 
 with the violent gusts of the wind rose the clamour of the 
 crowds to the chamber of the dying pontiff. At first 
 he heeded it not; his thoughts seemed to linger in the 
 past. Nervously his fingers played on the silken cover, 
 as if they were unconsciously digging the grave which 
 was so soon to receive what was mortal of the High 
 Priest of Christendom. 
 
 " The star of Hohenstaufen has reached the horizon, 
 it is on its downward course," he soliloquized, ab- 
 stractedly. " In the sands of Cosenza, Alaric sleeps, and 
 Theodoric, whom they styled the Great, at Ravenna. 
 The plains of Vesuvius cover Totila and Teja; verily, 
 Italy is the graveyard of Northern ambition ! " 
 
 "Bring the tiara," he spoke to Antonio Pignatello, 
 Cardinal of Cosenza, who was bending over him. " I 
 feel death approaching I will die a Pope as Urban 
 should."
 
 x Introduction 
 
 The majordomo hastened to fulfil the wish of the 
 dying pontiff. With trembling fingers the cardinals as- 
 sisted him in clothing Urban in the great pontifical chas- 
 uble, and placing upon his head the tiara of Constantine. 
 
 Strange sounds were in the air without. The gloom 
 was rent by incessant flashes of lightning. Crashing 
 peals of thunder reverberated through the Seven Hills, 
 and the hurricane howled, as if witches were chanting 
 their weird incantations over the forgotten graves of 
 dead malefactors. But above the shrieking tempest, the 
 howl of the hurricane, the roar of the thunder, rose shrill 
 the tumult of the populace. Rome was in the throes 
 of revolt ; the factions of Colonna and Orsini, of Ghibel- 
 line and Guelphs, were once more arrayed against each 
 other. In every region of the city rebellion tossed her 
 flaming torch against the authority of the pontiff, while 
 with tongues of fire and voice of thunder heaven itself 
 seemed to cry out against the fickleness of the Romans. 
 
 Urban's countenance was truly terrible in this, his 
 last trial, doomed as he was to behold the crumbling 
 of pontifical prestige and the triumph of his enemies. 
 His eyes stared wildly and crimson foam oozed from 
 his lips. But the paroxysm was short. Raising himself 
 aloft on the cushions, without the aid of the astonished 
 Greek, he gasped: 
 
 " To my successor I bequeath the task which I must 
 leave unfinished. In this, my dying hour, I consecrate 
 to the fiends of doom the imperial house of Hohen- 
 staufen! May their light be extinguished! May death 
 and despair be their inheritance ! " 
 
 They were his last words on earth. 
 
 After hurling this final anathema upon his mortal 
 foes, Urban remained for a moment rigid as a statue. 
 Then his fingers relaxed their hold, wildly his arms beat
 
 Introduction 
 
 the air, and, sinking back, the relentless foe of Frederick 
 the Emperor passed the barriers of the beyond. 
 
 Jacob Pantaleon, the patriarch of Jerusalem, the cob- 
 bler's son, who had to his life's end continued the policy 
 of Alexander IV. and Innocent IV., Pope Urban IV. 
 was dead. 
 
 When the thunder-clouds had rolled to eastward over 
 the Roman Campagna, and once again in that eventful 
 night the starlight gleamed peacefully over the ancient 
 capital of the Caesars, the comet which for months had 
 lashed the heavens with its fiery tail had disappeared, 
 and was seen no more.
 
 Contents 
 
 BOOK THE FIRST 
 
 FAGB 
 
 I. PALERMO 3 
 
 II. LORD AND FOLLOWER . . . . 25 
 
 III. THE BLACK PENITENT 41 
 
 IV. THE SHRINE IN THE FOREST . . . -51 
 V. THE TORRE DEL DIAVOLO 67 
 
 VI. FAVARA 86 
 
 VII. COUNT LANDULF OF TRENT 102 
 
 VIII. THE MYSTERIOUS FERRYMAN . . . . 113 
 
 IX. THE RECLUSE OF MONTE PELLEGRINO . .124 
 
 X. LA ZISA 139 
 
 BOOK THE SECOND 
 
 I. FATA MORGANA 155 
 
 II. THE MAD GIRL 164 
 
 III. THE COUNCIL 181 
 
 IV. THE GROTTOES OF PROSERPINA . . . .197 
 V. THE TRYST 209 
 
 VI. LEILA 218 
 
 VII. THE MASS OF THE DOMINICANS .... 233 
 
 VIII. CONFESSIONS 245 
 
 IX. THE TORTURE - CHAMBER 255 
 
 X. THE SPECTRE OF THE TORRE .... 270 
 
 XI. CONSPIRACIES 278 
 
 XII. THE MIDNIGHT CITATION 283 
 
 v
 
 vi Contents 
 
 PACE 
 
 XIII. AMOR VICTOR 306 
 
 XIV. THE ATTACK ON THE TORRE .... 320 
 XV. AN ADVENTURE 334 
 
 XVI. THE EXCOMMUNICATION 344 
 
 BOOK THE THIRD 
 
 I. CASTEL DEL MONTE 361 
 
 II. THE SHRINES OF ANGELO DEI LOMBARDI . . 378 
 
 III. THE SHADES OF MIDNIGHT 390 
 
 IV. CONVIVIUM REGALE 402 
 
 V. THE HOROSCOPE 417 
 
 VI. THE SPECTRAL MASS 424 
 
 VII. THE BATTLE OF BENEVENTO .... 429 
 
 EPILOGUE 444
 
 %fst of IFUustrations 
 
 " HAVE YOU SEEN ME BEFORE, OlTORINO VlSCONTI ? ' " 
 
 (See page 284) ...... Frontispiece 
 
 " SHE HASTENED DOWN THE STEPS TO THE LITTER " . 65 
 
 "GO ON THY WAY, AS I WILL ON MINE'" . . . l6o 
 
 " ' PROMISE ME NOT ONCE TO LOOK UPON THIS STRANGE 
 
 PORTAL WITHOUT REMEMBERING YOUR PLEDGE'" . 178 
 
 "' I DEMAND THIS WOMAN, DUKE OF ALTAMURA ! '" . 33! 
 
 " BY THE ETERNAL GOD, I HAVE KILLED HER 1 ' " . 399
 
 BOOK THE FIRST 
 
 Ed egli a me : Dopo lunga tenzone 
 
 Verranno al sangue, e la parte selvaggia 
 Caccera Faltra con molta offensione. 
 
 Poi afipresso convien che questa caggia 
 Infra tre soli, e che l^altra sormonti, 
 Con laforza di tal, che testi piaggia" 
 
 DANTE, ISInferno, Canto VI.,
 
 Castel bel flfoonte 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 PALERMO 
 
 A SULTRY summer day of the year 1265 was drawing 
 to its close. The sun, which had relentlessly besieged 
 vale and mountain with his fiery rays, was slowly re- 
 treating to the west. The distant mountain-peaks of the 
 Bagaria were half hidden with drapery of gold and pur- 
 ple and crimson, and the soft haze of the summer evening 
 floated over the Conca d'Oro. Conca d'Oro the pearl 
 in the golden shell of the universe so Emperor Fred- 
 erick the Second had christened the vale of Palermo. 
 And now in this valley appeared a cavalcade of horsemen, 
 slowly winding around the highroad leading from Mon- 
 reale to the capital of Sicily. 
 
 The troop consisted of about twenty men, all well 
 mounted and wearing the usual accoutrements of the 
 condottieri of the age. A coarse leathern jerkin, breast 
 and back protected with plates of steel, was worn over 
 the body, with cap and leggins of linked mail. Short 
 swords intended for close combat, heavy oaken lances 
 resting in their stirrup and gripped by iron-covered 
 hands well prepared to wield the weapon, were means of 
 defence not to be despised. 
 
 3
 
 4 Gastel fcel /iDonte 
 
 At the head of the column rode two persons. The 
 younger one would not fail to recognize as leader, even 
 if his costly garments had not in themselves denoted his 
 rank. A graceful knight of some twenty-six years, Ot- 
 torino Visconti seemed at first sight hardly old enough 
 to be the captain of a band of warriors; yet he had 
 practised the military calling under the eyes of one of 
 the greatest leaders of Lombardy, had at his hands re- 
 ceived the military belt and the stroke of knighthood, 
 and had eagerly, ever since he was old enough to wear 
 cuirass, espoused the cause of his great kinsman and 
 champion of the Northern Ghibellines, Matteo Visconti, 
 imperial viceroy of Lombardy. 
 
 On this occasion Ottorino Visconti had abandoned the 
 heavy armour, which lent so warlike an appearance to 
 his cavalcade, and the scorching rays of the Southern 
 sun had proved the wisdom of so welcome a change. An 
 azure mantle, upon which was artfully embroidered the 
 Golden Viper of his house, covered a suit of dark green 
 velvet, which closely fitted his youthful, well-shaped 
 limbs. A hat of the same colour as the mantle sat grace- 
 fully upon the finely shaped head. A white heron's 
 feather, which waved as he rode, formed a striking 
 contrast with the dark hues of his hair. His face was 
 fair, though slightly sunburned, and from his dark 
 brown eyes there gleamed many a merry glance at his 
 grim companion. This individual, in virtue of his rank 
 as subordinate commandant, carried a banderol on the 
 point of his lance and was furnished with a shield in 
 addition to his other arms. So much of his countenance 
 as was visible beneath the steel cap displayed a grim 
 set of features, seamed with many a scar, short black hair, 
 touched with gray, and a thick beard to correspond. 
 
 At times this worthy kept even pace with Ottorino
 
 Palermo 5 
 
 Visconti, at times he allowed himself to drop somewhat 
 behind. Altogether he at first sight revealed a marked 
 resemblance to a huge wine-cask, crammed into mas- 
 culine attire, and set upon an iron-gray Norman. At 
 other times he appeared like a sailboat on angry sea- 
 waves, and it seemed as if he were steering himself 
 with the aid of the tremendous lance, which rested upon 
 his stirrup. 
 
 For some time the travellers proceeded in silence, 
 probably being too fatigued for conversation, or perhaps 
 because the still and sultry calm, into which the evening 
 gradually closed, produced an effect of lethargy upon 
 their spirits. Suddenly at a turn of the road they came 
 within full view of Palermo, rising out of the valley, 
 her countless cupolas, spires, and pinnacles piercing the 
 transparent air. 
 
 Bringing his steed to a standstill, Ottorino scanned 
 with eagerness the scene which unrolled itself before his 
 wondering gaze. Numerous groups of pilgrims enlivened 
 the paths leading to the gates of the imperial city ; many 
 groups of knights, with their vassals and retainers, noble- 
 men and serfs, poured forth from hidden or secluded 
 roadways ; sometimes, too, an abbot with all his monas- 
 tery, or an abbess with her gentle recluses, ambled on 
 sleek mules across the narrow vale, attended by armed 
 retainers in the livery of some feudal baron. Some were 
 travelling as if to a carousal, others as to a funeral, 
 some armed, others almost naked; beggars, princes, 
 priests, nobles, vassals, soldiers, and condottieri trooped 
 on for once in peace and mutual forbearance. Devotion 
 also took many curious forms, but most conspicuous in 
 the throng was a group of Spanish pilgrims, with the 
 cockle-shells of St. James of Compostella in their broad 
 hats, and singing loud hozannas as they went.
 
 6 Gastel fcel /Route 
 
 The impending coronation of Manfred, Prince of 
 Taranto, as King of Sicily, Capua, and Apulia, had 
 brought to the shores of Trinacria the representatives 
 of almost every Ghibelline principality of the peninsula. 
 Only the narrow vale of the Oreto now separated from 
 the city the several cavalcades, which had almost simul- 
 taneously disembarked from their galleys, of which the 
 Visconti's was the most remarkable for its size and splen- 
 did accoutrements ; but the mist of glory, shed over the 
 city by the setting sun, confused the perception of dis- 
 tance to such a degree that the throngs appeared nearer 
 to the gates than they really were. 
 
 " Palermo ! Palermo la bella ! " exclaimed Ottorino, 
 giving way to his enthusiasm. " There she stands, the 
 destined empress of the world, about to place her diadem 
 on the brow of the peerless knight who has dared to 
 snatch her from the clutches of papacy! By the mass! 
 Those circling walls with their towers and spires seem 
 to float in the air like one vast crown of beaten gold ! " 
 
 " Is not yonder the tomb of William the Norman ? " 
 growled the grim champion at his side, pointing to a 
 remote and solitary ruin. 
 
 " It is as you say, Canaletto," replied the Lombard. 
 " But what troop of knights is that approaching the 
 gates, and what is it all, that is stirring around the great 
 tower of Abdurrhaman ? " 
 
 " I see what appears to me like a great procession and 
 a banner with the Broken Loaf ! " 
 
 " The Frangipani, staunch upholders of the dynasty. 
 But here come wayfarers of another kind mark you 
 their zeal ? They travel with speed ! " 
 
 Two personages, one of whom wore the mitre and 
 robes of a bishop, appeared mounted on mules, followed
 
 Palermo 7 
 
 at some distance by a company of knights, whose rich 
 armour continually flashed in the setting sun. 
 
 " By my faith, it is the Cardinal of Trapani, and with 
 him Guido of Suzzara, the Protonotary of Bari," said 
 Canaletto. " They scent a vintage as far as a carrion." 
 
 The Visconti broke into a merry laugh, but before he 
 could reply, the personages thus described were so near 
 that their appearance could be more closely scrutinized. 
 The Protonotary of Bari was a man of about fifty, lean 
 and shrivelled; his face was generally cast down in 
 assumed humility, but when raised it so closely re- 
 sembled that of a red fox, in the sharp, cunning features, 
 in the peculiar glitter of the eye, that few beheld it with- 
 out making the comparison. The other was a fat and 
 bulky man, whose large, dull German visage was, as it 
 were, oiled all over with self-complacency and stolidity, 
 and contrasted curiously with the acute physiognomy of 
 his companion. This was the Cardinal of Trapani, an 
 active partisan of the late emperor, by whose appoint- 
 ment he had held the office ever since. 
 
 " Corpo di Bacco ! " exclaimed the foxen-visaged dig- 
 nitary, " yonder rides the Duke of Ajtamura ! " And, 
 switching his mule, he endeavoured to increase his speed. 
 
 " It cannot be without befitting attendants," re- 
 monstrated the other, " and in advance of a motley 
 crowd of lousy pilgrims ! " 
 
 " Nay, but it is ! " snarled the protonotary. " There 
 is not another man on the island with a bearing like his." 
 
 " It does not become your exalted lordship to trot," 
 expostulated the dignitary from Trapani, somewhat out 
 of breath and noting his companion's vigorous efforts 
 to push on. 
 
 " It becomes every man, every prudent man, at least, 
 to trot, when he knows himself observed," returned the
 
 8 Gastel fcel flDonte 
 
 other, and, continuing in the pace he had fallen into, 
 he drew his unwitting companion after him, and they 
 were soon lost to sight among the dense crowds pressing 
 toward the city. 
 
 " There are banners of the Cenci, the Conti, the Sal- 
 viati, Savelli, Massimi why, this city must be well- 
 nigh choked with this foreign multitude ! " Canaletto re- 
 marked, as they slowly pushed on. 
 
 " Some may find lodgings in the old ruins in the 
 valley," Ottorino replied. " Fear not, noble Canaletto, 
 in this city, where even the fountains flow wine, you will 
 not be cheated out of your heritage ! " 
 
 " I like not wolves of too many colours in one den. 
 Have the Orsini and Savelli locked claws ? " 
 
 " Will the bear sup with the wolf? The Orsini are for- 
 tifying their Roman lairs." 
 
 " With a Colonna as prospective pontiff I reprove not 
 their haste," Canaletto laughed hoarsely. Then the Lom- 
 bard cavalcade pushed slowly on toward the gates of the 
 city. 
 
 It was a gorgeous and imposing spectacle which now 
 greeted the gaze of the leaders. Extended before them 
 lay the shimmering bay of Palermo, crowded with 
 gilded galleys, whose richly decorated prows, variegated 
 standards, and pictured keels were magnificently relieved 
 by the burnished gold of the waves, while the triumphal 
 arch, through which the embassies from Italy had en- 
 tered upon Sicilian soil, rose majestically over the land- 
 ing. The setting sun shed a purple glow over La Zisa, 
 the Arabian palace of William the First. The leaves 
 of the lofty palm-trees, which shaded the structure, hung 
 motionless in the still, translucent evening air. In the 
 distance the Oreto, like a golden- eerpent, slipped sinuously
 
 Palermo 9 
 
 toward the sea. So beautiful and lofty was the scene 
 that Ottorino could not refrain from exclaiming: 
 
 " Truly this is Italy, the land of magic ! It is not 
 only a land to live for it is a land to die for ! " 
 
 "An art we all acquire at the first trial," replied a 
 sonorous voice, not devoid of hidden mockery, close at 
 the Lombard's side. The latter turned quickly, and saw 
 the dark form of a horseman, who had noiselessly ap- 
 proached over the velvety turf, having wheeled his coal- 
 black charger as if to join the Lombard contingent. 
 
 It needed not the silver keys of St. Peter surmounted 
 by a silver hawk with outstretched wings, emblem of 
 Ferrando, Duke of Altamura, to inform the Visconti 
 of the quality of the newcomer. The high constable of 
 the kingdom of Sicily was a man in the prime of life, 
 of good stature, somewhat spare, with sharply defined, 
 but handsome Italian features. His eyebrows had an 
 habitual curve downward, as if accustomed to brooding 
 thoughtfulness, and the mouth in repose had an ex- 
 pression of singular cynicism. But when this repose 
 was broken, eyes and features lighted up with a satirical 
 brilliancy, and dark portent lurked behind the smile of 
 the finely chiseled lips. 
 
 In his lugubrious dress of black velvet, ornamented 
 only with a chain of massive gold beads, with a black 
 feather drooping from the broad Spanish hat which 
 shaded his features, the duke's appearance was more 
 remarked than if he had been apparelled in the gayest 
 finery. 
 
 " Have I really the happiness of meeting a scion of the 
 noble house of Visconti ? " the duke exclaimed, after a 
 lightning glance at the Golden Viper. Then extending 
 his hand in friendly greeting, he continued: "An ad-
 
 xo Castel t>el /iDonte 
 
 mirer, as I casually overheard, of all that is beautiful in 
 our sunny plains ? " 
 
 The young Lombard shrank unconsciously from the 
 ready recognition, which he had neither anticipated nor 
 at this moment desired, but not to be found devoid in 
 politeness, he grasped the proffered hand. 
 
 " If I obtain no other reward for my journey across 
 the Apennines, the recognition of the illustrious Duke 
 of Altamura would prove recompense sufficient," he re- 
 plied, with a courteous bend of the head. 
 
 "What are the latest tidings from the North?" the 
 duke continued, reining in his charger and continuing 
 slowly by the side of the Lombard. " I wager they 
 scent the wind from Viterbo even in the valley of the 
 Po." 
 
 " It were more fit for us, who have spent some tedious 
 weeks on our south-bound journey, to make inquiry 
 of you." 
 
 The duke smiled, and a strange light flashed in his 
 eyes. 
 
 " But how chances it that the Golden Viper creeps 
 toward the Sun-soaring Eagle ? " 
 
 The Lombard bit his lips. 
 
 " Since all Italy is making her peace with Rome, I 
 see not why we of Lombardy should be so unchristian, 
 not to say mad, as to alone withhold ourselves." 
 
 " It is one thing to carry your sins to Rome another 
 to bring them to Palermo," the duke replied, with a 
 smile. " There is room for all the world at Rome and 
 the devil to boot." 
 
 " Not to mention the saints." 
 
 " Not to mention below," said the duke, pointing down- 
 ward with a most expressive gesture. " For if Rome 
 should sink with the weight of her saints, they would
 
 Palermo n 
 
 make room down there. They are very polite people in 
 the pit, as by right they should be, being chiefly court- 
 iers and great personages who have left their names in 
 chronicles, great folk who would be knocking their heads 
 against the stars had they never died. Truly Italy has 
 awakened from her stupor did they all dream the 
 same dream, or did one fool make many ? " 
 
 He paused for a moment, regarding the Lombard 
 with a musing smile, then he continued : " Yet wel- 
 come the effort, even if it hath a Miserere before it. The 
 unity of Italy is a raving maniac's dream. Your North- 
 ern princes know not the Southern temper, and your 
 ultramontane fantastics cannot shape Italian destinies. 
 You are bound for Palermo on secret mission of the 
 imperial viceroy nay, do not start, no true son of 
 Italy ventures forth without a hidden clause under his 
 belt. We welcome the alliance of Lombardy, and to 
 you, Matteo Visconti's kinsman and envoy, do we pledge 
 ourselves to further it as best we may." 
 
 " Then I thank you in my own name and that of my 
 noble kinsman," Ottorino exclaimed, joyously. "The 
 great project, which brings all true Ghibellines to 
 Palermo, cannot know defeat with such a puissant advo- 
 cate of its cause. Can we but carry the election at 
 Viterbo, the Sicilian kingdom will rest as on a rock." 
 
 " The Conclave is divided, and some of the cardinals 
 do not hold that poverty is essential to sanctity yet they 
 are not immortal. They who live will see ! " 
 
 At this moment the sound of a trumpet was heard 
 near at hand, and was immediately answered by one more 
 remote. Suddenly a body of horsemen in bright armour, 
 with spears set in rest and banners streaming, emerged 
 from the groves of the Conca d'Oro. The spare, but 
 tall and sinewy figures, the pennon of the falcon, the buff
 
 i2 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 armour, the prodigously long spears, round shields and 
 crossbows, the vast mustachios and beards, the small 
 fiery steeds, the red ruffs around the necks, the numerous 
 leaden lambs-of-god, with which the breasts of the riders 
 were studded, marked the troop to be Spanish or rather 
 Catalan, for the distinctions at that period were most 
 jealously guarded. 
 
 The leader of the party seemed to be a horseman who, 
 having separated himself from the ranks, came riding at 
 a slow and equal pace toward the cavalcade, giving its 
 leaders ample leisure to form a correct idea of his per- 
 sonnel. He was of middle stature and of spare frame, 
 though so muscularly powerful and war-worn that the 
 flesh seemed as tough as leather. The features were lean 
 and haggard, and mingled with something of the Arab. 
 This was seen in the hard-cut nostrils, thick lips, olive 
 complexion, and coarse hair, thick and wiry as that of 
 a bull. The eye had nothing of the mistrust and melan- 
 choly thought of the Italian, but it was reserved, stern, 
 and, so to speak, stonily determined. He was armed at 
 all points in dull iron plate, with the exception of the 
 head, on which was a steel cap, worn in place of the 
 weighty helmet, which he carried on the pommel of his 
 high saddle. 
 
 Ottorino's startled gaze rested upon the gaunt iron 
 figure before him, and either from some indefinable sus- 
 picion which entered his mind, or from some recollection, 
 he knew that he beheld the man who was believed to be 
 the instrument of the duke's unbridled and relentless 
 ambition, a man at once a bloody soldier of fortune 
 and a crafty assassin. 
 
 Don Miguel Crivello, the leader of the Catalans, had 
 hardly espied the duke, when, abasing his lance with an 
 appearance of deference, he approached the Lombard
 
 Palermo 13 
 
 contingent, surveying it with singularly fixed attention. 
 The Duke of Altamura spurred his horse slightly for- 
 ward and gave a haughty wave of his hand as the 
 Catalan drew rein. 
 
 " By the beard of Santiago, my lord," he exclaimed, 
 " I did not look for you in this company." 
 
 "Ay, indeed, and why not?" replied the duke. 
 " These gentlemen from the blue lakes of Lombardy are 
 our guests tell your cutthroats to clear the path." 
 
 At a signal from their leader the Catalans drew up to 
 one side. The duke, after expressing his regret to the 
 Visconti for having to dispense for the nonce with the 
 society of one so high in his esteem, set his horse in 
 motion, and, falling behind with Crivello, was soon lost 
 to sight. 
 
 " 111 betide me," Canaletto muttered to Ottorino, after 
 Altamura and his henchman had disappeared, " or some 
 mischief is intended by the duke and his varlet. If there 
 is one species of wickedness this Ferrando has not com- 
 mitted, by San Ambrogio, I know not what name he gives 
 it in the confessional." 
 
 "But the Catalan did you see with what strange 
 looks he regarded us ? " 
 
 " He should have been smothered at his birth," Cana- 
 letto growled between his set teeth. " There is some- 
 thing in the air that tells me we must be on our guard." 
 
 "What have we to do with the duke's affairs? We 
 came not to solicit a benefice either from him or his 
 patron saint, if he has one ! " 
 
 " The intercession of the calendar were not too many. 
 He who sups with the devil must needs have a long 
 spoon." 
 
 A merry laugh was Ottorino's reply, and for some 
 time they continued their passage in silence. They made
 
 14 Gastel fcel 
 
 but slow headway against the ever-varying multitude, 
 which blocked the approach to the Porta Nuova. Here 
 were assembled cardinals in their scarlet robes and purple 
 mantles, barons and knights of the empire, in glittering 
 armour and flaunting livery, prelates in sacerdotal pomp, 
 domestics, pages, footmen, or staffieri, in gorgeous attire ; 
 nobles, attended each by his mass of armed retainers ; 
 envoys from foreign courts, displaying their respective 
 emblems, each surrounded by his glittering retinue, vying 
 with each other in prodigality of decoration, velveted, 
 jewelled, embroidered, and plumed embassies from 
 Italy, each headed by its gonfalonier, bearing a rich 
 flag ornamented with some crest or device and min- 
 gling with all these gorgeous trains, flooding the valley, 
 crowning the olive-clad heights, massed upon all ascents, 
 whence the most distant view could be obtained, were 
 grouped gazers innumerable, pilgrims and travellers from 
 every land of the known world, in every garb, and speak- 
 ing as many languages as at the confusion of Babel. 
 Trumpets and drums resounded in every direction, and 
 over the whole animated and dazzlingly beautiful spec- 
 tacle shone the sky of a Southern Italian twilight, like a 
 dome of pallid gold, adorned with all the hues of the 
 rainbow. 
 
 In order to avoid a rush at the Porta Nuova and the 
 turmoil and confusion inevitably arising from the simul- 
 taneous arrival of so many embassies, differing in nation- 
 ality, rank, and number, Antonio Pedretti, the royal mas- 
 ter of ceremonies, had filled the gateway with his portly 
 presence, and was watching with intense anxiety for the 
 precise moment when the cavalcades would disentangle 
 themselves from the mass of humanity which pressed 
 upon their heels and impeded their advance. A shout 
 arose from the multitudes gathered on the heights and
 
 Palermo 15 
 
 walls when the Duke of Altamura emerged from the 
 crowds, a shout which shook once more the shores of 
 the Conca d'Oro, which had so often echoed to the wel- 
 come of conquerors. As the most powerful vassal of 
 the Sicilian kingdom appeared under the arches of the 
 Porta Nuova, the master of ceremonies delivered a brief 
 Latin harangue, expressing his satisfaction at the happy 
 ending of years fraught with strife and bloodshed. The 
 duke listened with bared head, bending in assumed humil- 
 ity over his steed, whose snorts frequently disturbed the 
 harangue. When at last he recovered himself and turned 
 aside, his lips writhed with an ill-suppressed smile of 
 derision, but he was relieved from further observation 
 by Antonio Pedretti, who, raising his wand of office, 
 gave the signal to the envoys crowding the gateway to 
 advance in line of procession. Instantly the whole dip- 
 lomatic corps was in motion, hurrying and struggling for 
 precedence. In vain the master of ceremonies attempted 
 to bring order, by shouting to each one, as well as he 
 could, his proper station in the advance. The envoy of 
 the Palatinate, a burly and gruff noble, representing the 
 seven electors of the empire, with his retinue of young 
 German knights, pushed forward so vigorously that he 
 arrived almost abreast of the ambassador of Alexius 
 Comnenus, the Greek emperor, who, by prescription, had 
 precedence of all, being moreover highly favoured at the 
 court of Palermo. Great confusion followed this un- 
 toward event, the rest of the envoys pushing forward 
 with such eagerness that the Duke of Altamura, who 
 witnessed the entanglement, laughed and exclaimed: 
 
 " Signori, at this rate you will knock off each other's 
 spurs." 
 
 " None shall touch mine till he hath first knocked off
 
 16 Castcl Del jflDonte 
 
 my head, signer," exclaimed the representative of Ara- 
 gon, furiously. 
 
 " Spaniards and Aragonese never boast," remarked 
 the envoy from Hungary, curling his lips in derision. 
 He was a splendid cavalier, and bestrode his steed with 
 knightly grace, eying the stiff Iberian with evident dis- 
 dain, while the Byzantine and Teutonic contingents de- 
 filed through the gate. 
 
 Aragon and Castile were suffered to pass unchallenged 
 by those pushing upon their heels. They were closely 
 followed by the Lombard cavalcade of Ottorino and his 
 warlike companions. Having yielded precedence to the 
 representatives of these three formidable powers, the 
 other envoys of the Ghibelline confederation now pushed 
 fiercely on, obstinately refusing to yield to each other. 
 In vain did the master of ceremonies cite countless 
 authorities in matters of precedence; his voice, though 
 loud and shrill, was stifled by the uproar. Swords 
 flashed in the purple dusk, and the envoys of Bologna 
 and Ferrara were at sharp and angry parley. The mul- 
 titudes from the different provinces, grouped on every 
 place of eminence, caught the spirit of the contest, and 
 their tumultuous cries and gestures seemed to prelude 
 an imminent outbreak of strife. 
 
 " The Signoria is the oldest friend of the dynasty," 
 shouted a pompous Venetian, " and as such " 
 
 " We represent the king's most tried and loyal allies," 
 remonstrated the envoy from Genoa, " and as such " 
 
 "Venice yields precedence to none but the empire." 
 
 "We are first as the emperor's most faithful vassals," 
 shrieked a cavalier under the banner of Pisa, who headed 
 his company of men-at-arms with a broadaxe in his 
 hand, the edge of which he turned over his mighty 
 shoulder.
 
 Palermo 17 
 
 The Duke of Altamura at this juncture commenced a 
 policy of reconciliation, perceiving the inability of the 
 master of ceremonies to quell the disturbance. As he 
 appeared on his coal-black charger under the massive 
 gate, his person became distinctly visible to the immense 
 multitudes, and the sinister gloom of his habiliments 
 produced a singular effect. Some faint attempts at a 
 shout were audible; these died away in indistinct, awe- 
 struck mutters, were renewed, then passed into utter 
 silence. 
 
 " I will ride between you and the envoy from Genoa," 
 said the duke, turning to the Venetian during the first 
 lull in the uproar. " As first peer of the kingdom I may 
 surely be allowed this day to choose my own company." 
 
 " Now by the Lion of San Marco, I will not yield to 
 Genoa nor the whole maritime fraternity combined," re- 
 plied the Venetian, suiting his action to his speech and 
 dashing forward, without heeding the duke. 
 
 " San Ambrogio to the rescue ! " shouted a dark, 
 slightly hunchbacked knight, with grim, forbidding fea- 
 tures, urging his steed with headlong violence through 
 the crowd, while he fiercely beckoned his followers on- 
 ward. 
 
 " Lanciotto Malatesta ! " exclaimed the Venetian, draw- 
 ing rein. " Nay, the odds are too much against us, but, 
 Signer Pedretti, take notice that I herewith withdraw 
 myself from the procession, because I am not allowed 
 my proper place in it." 
 
 " Your proper place, magnificent signer," stammered 
 the master of ceremonies. 
 
 "By San Marco! Is it at the tail of the men who 
 cannot face us on the seas ? " returned the frowning 
 noble. " Here is my gauntlet against the best of you 
 that denies the right to the Winged Lion to march before
 
 is Castel Del /iDonte 
 
 all but the Imperial Eagles. Defiance to Genoa de- 
 fiance to Pisa ! " 
 
 Many a hand was instantly on the lance, many a 
 steed received a golden spur, when the aged Cardinal of 
 Messina urged his mule between the enraged contestants. 
 
 " Know ye not, bold signori," he exclaimed, " that we 
 journey to a peaceful triumph, and that in this holy 
 season of Christian love and fellowship, which we have 
 assembled to celebrate, it behooves none to wield brand 
 or dagger ? " 
 
 There was at once a lull of submission. Lances sank, 
 steeds were checked, and order restored. Slowly through 
 the vaulted gateway the procession moved into the city, 
 and though the hues of twilight fell purple upon the 
 multitudes, the splendour of the effect, as they entered, 
 could hardly be surpassed. Helmets and mitres flashed, 
 plumes soared, banners streamed, lances sparkled, a rain- 
 bow effulgence of colour glowed along the rich groups 
 in their superb liveries. All the discordant peals of mili- 
 tary music, softened amid the general tramp and murmur, 
 were harmonized into one gorgeous triumphal melody. 
 A poet might have imagined that he was gazing on an 
 antique Roman spectacle, when conquerors returned with 
 the spoils of nations. The splendour of the show pro- 
 duced its effect on the vast mob that worshipped the 
 hero, in whose honour and glory the cities of Italy had 
 sent to Palermo their most splendid embassies, and when 
 the procession reached the Kassaro, the principal thor- 
 oughfare, which had still retained its Arabian name, the 
 shouts of welcome seemed to shake the very foundations 
 of the city. The bells of all the churches burst into 
 simultaneous peals, and kept up their stirring melody 
 during the entire advance of the cavalcades from the 
 region of the Porta Nuova to the Piazza, del Duomo.
 
 Palermo 19 
 
 At the same time immense bonfires were kindled on the 
 adjacent hilltops, and vast pyramids of fire ascended 
 above the cypress-trees. The evening twilight, redden- 
 ing with the reflection of the fires, added new and strik- 
 ing hues to the procession as it passed up the Via Porto 
 Castro, beneath the curious old tower of San Nicolo, and 
 by the ancient convent of San Salvatore, which had been 
 founded in A. D. 1072 by Robert Guiscard. Thence the 
 multitudes turned into the Via del Pronotaro, the palaces 
 on each side of which were hung with costly ornaments, 
 tapestries, garlands, and banners, inscribed with glori- 
 fying inscriptions. In this district lay the chief strength 
 of the city, the great squares being environed by the 
 palaces of the chief barons, while the adjoining streets 
 were inhabited only by their clients and retainers. 
 
 The column headed by Ottorino Visconti had reached 
 the dark square extending between the fortresslike palaces 
 of the rival factions, Geracci and Corvaja, when the 
 entire procession came to a precipitate halt. For, stretch- 
 ing across the piazza, before the church of Santa Maria 
 Catena, were drawn up as in order of battle the serried 
 iron ranks of the Suabian knights, headed by Landulf of 
 Trent, representing in his person the interests of the 
 youth Conradino, son of Emperor Conrad IV., and suc- 
 cessor upon his maturity to the imperial crown of the 
 Holy Roman empire. Marvelling at a delay which was 
 likely to increase the confusion of the armed masses, 
 Ottorino glanced around for Signer Pedretti, when his 
 gaze met the sombre form of the Duke of Altamura 
 suddenly emerging in the foreground. There was a 
 glitter of fierceness in his eyes as he inquired into the 
 cause of the delay, which so affrighted the soldier to 
 whom he spoke that he could not reply. But Count Lan- 
 dulf of Trent, slowly approaching, informed the duke,
 
 20 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 with a countenance by no means so full of regret as 
 were his words, that his Germans had refused to lower 
 their standards before that of the Saracens, to whom had 
 been entrusted the defences of the city, and had set up 
 their own flag on the ramparts, claiming the removal 
 of their ensign might be construed as a mark of homage 
 to the infidels, a thing which the German spirit would 
 never permit or endure. On the other hand, Sidi Yus- 
 sufFs Saracens refused to make room for those northern 
 barbarians, as they contemptuously styled the Suabian 
 knights. Their leader informed the duke, with a smile 
 of dull malice, that he awaited his decision, knowing 
 that by this act he had increased the dilemma in which 
 the high constable of the kingdom found himself. And 
 a dilemma it was, which did not escape the duke's pene- 
 tration, for it seemed that he must either suffer an in- 
 sult to be offered to the imperial standards before the 
 gaze of all Christendom, offend the chosen allies of the 
 king, or exhibit his own weakness in a vain attempt 
 at compelling a submission, which the high-strung Ger- 
 mans were not likely to yield. 
 
 A moment's musing, however, showed the duke not 
 only both horns of the alternative, but suggested to him 
 an escape which even allowed him to reap an advantage 
 from the situation. He turned to an archer of the Cala- 
 brian guard. 
 
 " Inform Don Crivello and his Catalans, stationed be- 
 yond the bridge of King Roger, to meet me at once with 
 their standards flying, and to occupy the walls of the 
 city." After the archer had sped upon his errand, the 
 duke turned to the Saracen leader. " You, Sidi Yussuff, 
 withdraw your companies to the Piazza Martorama, but 
 let none pass your ranks. If afterward the Germans 
 assail you, help yourselves as best you can."
 
 Palermo 21 
 
 The fierce flash of the duke's eyes fell upon the dis- 
 comfited features of the Teuton, but so rueful was his 
 countenance, that the duke laughed aloud. In this laugh- 
 ter the whole mass of spectators joined, for, by his ruse, 
 the duke had placed his own men upon the defences of 
 the city, depriving Suabians and Saracens alike of their 
 important trust. 
 
 Count Landulf tarried irresolutely; he glanced at the 
 Sicilians and Apulians, they, too, were laughing ; he 
 glanced at his own men-at-arms, they sat demurely on 
 their large steeds ; then he also laughed. 
 
 But the sound of his laughter suddenly stilled that 
 of the assemblage. 
 
 Something he probably meant to say, perhaps to do, 
 which would have sorely compromised the newly restored 
 peace between Church and State, when the attention of 
 every one was suddenly caught and absorbed in a report 
 not unlike the outbreak of a volcano. The whole area in 
 the background surrounding the gloomy pile of the Torre 
 del Diavolo appeared as if disgorging a sea of flames, 
 which seemed to flow over the walls in streams of crim- 
 son fire. The first thought which entered the mind of the 
 duke was that some dissatisfied soldiery had set fire to 
 the old tower, but his alarm in an instant turned to won- 
 der when the seeming overflow curled up its torrents, 
 rushing almost to the skies, and formed a pyramid of 
 fire, the base of which was as broad as the immense tower 
 from which it rose. The pyramid seemed then to rise in 
 the air until, by some wondrous and as it seemed magical 
 device, its base rounded, hollowed, and changed into a 
 crown of laurels of the purest flame. Beneath the ex- 
 traordinary effulgence of this illumination, the piazza., 
 palace, clock-tower, and the great mosque of Abdurrha- 
 man changed to crimson their purple garb of dusk. But
 
 22 Gastei Del flDonte 
 
 the wonders in store exceeded these. A black cloud sud- 
 denly rushed over the battlements, and sounds as of a 
 wild tempest were heard, with gleams of jagged lightning 
 darting through its dense vapours. The cloud gradually 
 grew thinner and brighter in its centre, until, as if behind 
 a veil, the figure of a woman appeared, of perfect sym- 
 metry of outline, but with averted face. She wore a 
 black robe, girded at the waist, with what appeared in 
 the distance a silver serpent, and seemed engaged in some 
 mysterious ceremony, waving overhead the drooping 
 branch of a willow-tree. 
 
 " In Our Lady's name, what may this be? " exclaimed 
 Landulf of Trent, crossing himself repeatedly and turn- 
 ing to his silent Germans. 
 
 " Surely this is not the work of the sorceress of the 
 tower ? " replied aghast a man-at-arms standing near 
 the German leaders. 
 
 "Sorceress? What sorceress, idiot?" exclaimed the 
 duke, fiercely, turning upon the soldier, whose remark 
 he had overheard. 
 
 " The nun who is imprisoned there, who was abducted 
 from holy convent, your Grace," answered the latter, con- 
 fusedly. 
 
 " A crown and laurels and Francesca ! " muttered the 
 duke, as if he had not heard the man-at-arm's speech in 
 his absorption. 
 
 The populace, not understanding the drift of the flam- 
 ing allegory, applauded it with a terrific shout. The 
 duke, as if fired with a gorgeous vision which filled his 
 imagination, bent to the people with the majesty of an 
 emperor receiving his crown. But almost at the same 
 instant his flushed countenance grew pale, his teeth be- 
 came clenched, and his eyes stared wildly and fixedly 
 forward.
 
 Palermo 23 
 
 The pressure of the crowds struggling to accompany 
 the now advancing procession had almost separated Ot- 
 torino from the company of Altamura. The duke had 
 volunteered to escort the Lombard embassy to the Moor- 
 ish palace of Khalesa, which by orders of the king had 
 been placed at their disposal. When the quaint old relic 
 of the Arab dominion over Sicily at last appeared, in- 
 numerable attendants were spied ready and waiting to 
 administer to the comforts of Ottorino and his company. 
 With a smile, the young Visconti turned to his grim 
 subordinate, who had been unusually silent since they 
 had entered the city, and, justly attributing his sullen 
 demeanour to a longing for the vintage of his native 
 Lombardy, he said: 
 
 " Cheer up, Canaletto ! We now enter the Mahom- 
 etan paradise, into which not even the black camel death 
 may cast its shadow." 
 
 " I love a smart saying, but better a full cup ! " growled 
 that worthy, smacking his tongue. " Lead me to a cloister, 
 well stocked, all day to sing, all night to drink, I care 
 not for your fool's paradise." 
 
 " Patience, blasphemer ! Thou shalt soon be the most 
 immortal drunkard on this island, and the devil bid for 
 thy society against the saints ! " 
 
 " I care not how soon ! The Moorish custom is to begin 
 by washing the stranger's feet. Canaletto's custom is 
 to begin by washing his throat. The individual vanishes 
 before the cause, as my old master observed when he 
 drank the Capuchin under the table! Ay, and if the 
 vintage find favour in mine eyes, I will with these three 
 fingers pluck three hairs from the beard of the Sultan 
 of Damascus, by the mass, I have sworn it." 
 
 "An heroic resolve," returned Ottorino, "but mean- 
 while beware, lest the Sicilian women rob thee of thy
 
 24 Gastel fcel /iDontc 
 
 capillary quills ere thou startest on thy pilgrimage to the 
 great Sultan." 
 
 The cavalcade had now arrived at the gates of the 
 Moorish palace, behind which lay the fragrant gardens, 
 hidden from view by a stone wall of the height of half- 
 grown palms. At slow pace the Lombards passed under 
 the archway adorned with Kufic inscriptions, and were 
 soon lost to sight in the shades of this Mahometan Buen 
 Retiro.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 LORD AND FOLLOWER 
 
 THE moon had risen high in the heavens, and Palermo 
 lay sleeping in the stillness of the southern night. 
 
 High up on one of the hills just outside the town a 
 succession of precipices rose. These were connected at 
 one point by a narrow bridge, half-hidden in the deep 
 shadows of the overhanging shrubbery. Far below the 
 cataract thundered, its white foam scarcely visible, so 
 great was the depth of the chasm. 
 
 Suddenly a man closely muffled emerged from the 
 darkness of the shrubbery, and, pausing on the crest 
 of the steep incline, surveyed with calm attention the 
 scene before him. The waters rushed in one vast body 
 over the highest pile of rocks, and fell headlong on to 
 another, where they were separated into a hundred differ- 
 ent torrents. These torrents lashed themselves into 
 furies of foam, and flung themselves downward, leaping 
 from one precipice to another. Above towered the dark 
 masses of Monte Pellegrino, and below lay the beautiful 
 valley of the Conca d'Oro, with Palermo in its midst. 
 
 After watching the wild beauty of the scene for awhile, 
 the Duke of Altamura walked toward the bridge, imi- 
 tating most accurately as he went the mournful cry of the 
 screech-owl. 
 
 " 'Tis a grim height," the duke said to himself, paus- 
 
 25
 
 26 Gastel Del flDonte 
 
 ing as if to calculate the possibilities of a jump below, 
 "no ill place, forsooth, to be alone with one's enemy. 
 "Tis so easy to slip accidentally." 
 
 " I was just considering, your Grace, that even with all 
 the advantages of suddenness and treachery such sport 
 might be dangerous," replied a dark figure, which stepped 
 from behind a tree. 
 
 " Ah ! 'tis you, Crivello ! " exclaimed the duke, eying 
 the newcomer with distrust. " Why glare you so stealth- 
 ily ? I know you are my friend." 
 
 " I mean to be, signor ! " replied Crivello, calmly. 
 " But shall I tamely lose the recompense of all my toils 
 in pursuance of your timorous policy ? " 
 
 " Timorous ? " returned the duke, fiercely. " You are 
 of that metal which persistently spoils with your ruffianly 
 brawls the triumphs of diplomacy. The Duke of Alta- 
 mura bides his time ! " 
 
 " But if this proposed union of the Ghibellines be 
 accomplished, what is your future kingdom but a name 
 without a span of land ? What is my promised dukedom 
 but a trumpet full of alarums without a substance ? " 
 
 " Your suppositions fall as thick and fast as hail," re- 
 plied the duke. " But remember, though prophecies may 
 mock, fate shall not ! " 
 
 A wild light shone in his brilliant eyes as he con- 
 tinued : 
 
 " Could I but see again that withered old wizard of 
 Padua, that half-madman, half-sage, who was wont to 
 assist me when but a visionary schoolboy I studied the 
 black arts, the while our long-bearded master imagined 
 that I was buried in the dust of St. Augustine and St. 
 Jerome." 
 
 " He did show you a vision, as the rumour goes, in 
 a mirror, formed of one vast amethyst," replied Crivello,
 
 Xoro ano Follower 27 
 
 in a tone slightly dubious, " at least, so it is vulgarly 
 reported in Italy; also, that the skilful graybeard was 
 the devil himself." 
 
 " Did you go to school there yourself, that your 
 memory so readily retains the facts ? And what prattles 
 the mob concerning the vision which the wizard showed 
 me by his felonious art ? " 
 
 " A skeleton with a crown upon his eyeless skull, 
 wrapped in the mantle of royalty, and offering his sceptre 
 to your kneeling form." 
 
 " It is false, by San Gennaro, it is false, and whoever 
 says 'tis true I will have boiled in a caldron of oil ! " 
 exclaimed the duke, with fierce vivacity. " It was a 
 shadow wearing the imperial crown and mantle of Charle- 
 magne, and looking as we behold his effigy in the monkish 
 chronicles. It offered me his sceptre and sword, twisted 
 together with the likeness of a serpent." 
 
 " Your Grace has read the lesson well," replied the 
 Catalan, " and I know that you think your master has 
 taught you, his favourite pupil, all his tricks. Yet be- 
 ware that he has not reserved one which may fail you 
 at the last." 
 
 " I will make good my dream despite your raven's 
 croaking," said the duke, with a smile, in which lurked 
 a dark underthought. 
 
 Crivello made no reply beyond raising his feathered 
 cap half-ironically. As he did so a great mass of light, 
 suddenly flashing from behind the craggy side of the 
 rocks, revealed a singular scene below. 
 
 Along the bed of the stream moved a procession of 
 monks, carrying a bier illumined by numberless torches. 
 Their monotonous chant broke for a brief space of time 
 the intense stillness. Then the echoes died softly away
 
 28 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 and the procession disappeared behind the lower ledges 
 of the rocks. 
 
 The duke and Crivello had watched intently the sin- 
 gular spectacle, the solemnity of which, however, ap- 
 pealed but little to their present mood, for the duke 
 turned suddenly to his follower : 
 
 " Marked you nothing extraordinary, nothing baf- 
 fling human ken about the walls of our tower at sunset ? " 
 
 Crivello nodded assent. 
 
 " It is even so ! My own eyes have witnessed what 
 reason rebels to accept." 
 
 " Francesca affects, indeed, to use the offices of Moors 
 and Turkish slaves, but there are some who report they 
 saw strange, grisly forms of brightness and darkness 
 mingled, which flew about obeying her behest ! " 
 
 "Ay! The vulgar deem everything great which lies 
 beyond the pale of their understanding, measuring it by 
 their own base incapacities," Crivello replied, contemp- 
 tuously. 
 
 "But if she has discovered secrets, what then? Was 
 not Pope Sylvester II. a potent magician? Yea, and 
 Benedict IX., and Gregory VII.? But, Crivello, seeing 
 how well I managed my affairs on the mainland, deem 
 you that I need the sleeve of Hildebrand, from which he 
 shook thunder and lightning, or the flute of Benedict, 
 with which he enchanted women to follow him over hill 
 and dale? And as for our bird in the torre at last 
 then Francesca's lofty spirit bows down before me like 
 flame before the magician's wand." 
 
 " God's life, signor what hope can she haye remain- 
 ing but from your Grace's favour ? " exclaimed the Cat- 
 alan. 
 
 " Yes, and she loves me," said the duke, with a scorn- 
 ful smile, adding, in a darker tone : " And she alone per-
 
 Xoro ano follower 29 
 
 haps of all the women who have ever told me so ! Surely, 
 Crivello, I am a deep Platonic, seeking as I perpetually 
 do the ideal of beauty, and finding only disappointment 
 in all its forms." 
 
 " Signer, in my opinion, for I am not versed in the 
 pedagogue's litany, Donna Francesca approaches the 
 nearest to the perfection of all loveliness," said the Cata- 
 lan, starting to observe that his superior suddenly paused, 
 as if he had seen a snake in his path. 
 
 " Why you repeat but a common tale, Crivello," the 
 duke replied, rapidly pacing up and down. " Is she not 
 as famous throughout Italy as Helen was in Greece? 
 Ay, and more than famous, for men's blame spreads 
 wider than their praise you know, Crivello. Else how 
 chances it that all your deeds of arms are outblazoned 
 by deeds of guile, for you are called a cutthroat much 
 oftener than a soldier. But our absence has encouraged 
 Francesca in her pranks, what is she doing now ? " 
 
 Crivello shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " That you should rather ask the sage, who can look 
 into the future and behind doors, locked and barred, a 
 gift my poor eyes do not possess. But if I may venture 
 a surmise, she is most likely practising some dark in- 
 cantation in a tomb, perchance some love-spells, to lure 
 you back to the old worship." 
 
 " Then I shall begin to deem her possessed of a science 
 beyond the common skill in the black herbs of death. 
 And yet I feel as if my ancient love were rekindling 
 from its ashes in my heart. Methinks I loved her once 
 before I loved ambition. But saw you never a black 
 wizard in her company, a wizard whose skill mocks hers 
 to clouds and vapours, one Dom Alamo, of whom I 
 spoke to you ? " 
 
 Crivello made a negative gesture.
 
 30 Castel >el /iDonte 
 
 " Signer, no I have not seen him." 
 
 The duke nodded musingly; then he suddenly turned 
 with an expression of fierce scrutiny on his captain. 
 
 " I think you often strangely mistake my humour, 
 Crivello, or, wherefore think you that I am animated by 
 so persevering and exterminating a hatred of the suitors 
 for the hand of our fair kinswoman, the lady of 
 Miraval?" 
 
 " Why ? Because the evil fiend may strike me if I 
 know unless it be that your Grace deems all unworthy 
 of your future greatness," replied Crivello, shuddering 
 beneath the serpent eyes, which by their spell held his 
 own. 
 
 " Partly so," replied the duke, in a gratified tone, " but 
 also because this same sorcerer, this same Dom Alamo, 
 who showed to me my imperial fortune, at the same time 
 raised for me a phantom, crowned with a diadem, whose 
 glory even outglared the lustre of Charlemagne. And 
 think you that I will suffer, if I can prevent it, the wreath, 
 which I must acquire with toils and care so mighty, to 
 pass into the hands of one whose power by this marriage 
 will counterbalance my own? For he who possesses her 
 incomparable beauty and her love would snatch heaven 
 from the gods and usurp their throne in his maddening 
 bliss." 
 
 " It were hardly rational to expect your Grace's con- 
 sent thereto," replied the Catalan. " But I do indeed 
 marvel at the persistency of those who remark not one 
 returning claw-print in the sand." 
 
 " Who can give reasons for a woman's doings ? " 
 replied the duke, with dark significance. " Let rumour 
 have her sway, let the mob believe the very worst, there 
 may be still deeper policy in it. These accidents dazzle 
 the aim of suspicion."
 
 Zorfc anfc follower 3 1 
 
 " Ay but the remission ? " 
 
 A scornful laugh broke from the lips of the duke. 
 
 " The chair of St. Peter was at first of very plain wood. 
 Another Arnold of Brescia might be found who would 
 strip the Church as naked as she was born, and turn her 
 out of Constantine's doors as meek and ragged, as holy 
 and beggared, as she entered them. So great a service 
 might win Heaven's pardon for many little malefactions, 
 and, besides, 'tis in my thought some day to redeem the 
 holy sepulchre from the infidels. I tell you, Crivello, I 
 have had ill offices done me by his late Holiness, and 
 who can look into the future ? The cardinals banter and 
 procrastinate and parade their jealousies before the eyes 
 of Christendom. But no more of this. The hour will 
 fetch the man. We have matters closer at hand. These 
 sudden deaths are suspected, and the herbs are getting 
 scarce. We must find our two apothecaries. Their trade 
 is brisk and they ought to be monstrously rich." 
 
 " They are so much so that they would have been 
 murdered long ago if they were not witches." 
 
 "You will seek them out at once. We may have 
 need of their art. But meanwhile I want some stout 
 knaves to strike with the open steel, so that the blame may 
 fall on some grizzly outlaw. Know you some such ? " 
 
 " Signor, the Cardinal of Sienna has issued a decree 
 of banishment to all banditti in the states of the Church." 
 
 " Why, so the consistory that was has issued a decree 
 of deposition 'gainst all the usurpers in the peninsula," 
 returned the duke. " But, noble captain, it is by no means 
 essential that the bravi must be from consecrated terri- 
 tory; besides, where did you find the men who met old 
 Gravina at the convent of the Franciscan friars ? " 
 
 " The bungling villains ! They gave him a dozen 
 wounds and not one mortal, leavinsr it -for a poor gentle-
 
 3* Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 man of your Grace's to strangle him in his bed after 
 all," said the Catalan, grumbling. 
 
 " That reminds me are you certain that yonder fool 
 of the ceremonies did not note you on that occasion? 
 He is the very ass to listen to a message of state com- 
 pliment, and was it not with some such folly you gained 
 admittance to the boaster's bed of sickness? I do often 
 mark some strange significance in his eyes." 
 
 " If I thought so " said Crivello, with a short and 
 most emphatic gesture. " But as I persuaded him I came 
 from his late Holiness to bring him absolution from his 
 sins, he would as lief have misdoubted the archangel Ga- 
 briel coming direct from heaven and beating the air with 
 his white and golden wings." 
 
 " You rave, Crivello, or else you are mad," exclaimed 
 the duke, with a derisive smile. 
 
 " Nay, signor, I was but remembering the scene of the 
 annunciation in the church of the hermits on Monte 
 Aventino," replied the captain, with a low deference. 
 
 " And you remember it to good purpose, for soon you 
 shall wander again amidst its leafy wilderness not to 
 meditate upon the former greatness of the city, nor to 
 weep over the mighty that have fallen, but upon a mission 
 much suited to your tastes. How many wounds did you 
 say? It would have made his mother weep had she not 
 gone before him before the fox stole into her hen- 
 roost. But he, who boasted that he would win our fair 
 kinswoman, even if all the demons of hell stood between 
 him and his happiness he, who boasted that he would 
 love her so that she would perforce learn to love him 
 why stare you so, Crivello? Know you not that there 
 is a love spiritual, a reflection of the flame burning in 
 our soul, a love without that material earthiness but 
 what were we discussing? He possessed a strong fancy
 
 Xort> ant) follower 33 
 
 and a glowing imagination, that boy with the shadow 
 of a crown encircling his fair head; he would rave at 
 her beauty till men were faint with rage to hear him 
 prate. And yet I say he died not ill in the flush of 
 youth, that tramontane lover of our Helena, and he went 
 to his grave in the full belief that she connived at his 
 death." 
 
 " And it should have chilled the fire of my lady's 
 adorers, this sudden and mysterious end of that love- 
 enwrapped seraph," said Crivello, with a disgusting 
 smile. 
 
 " They are stark mad," exclaimed the duke, " else 
 would they think that the Duke of Altamura, rejecting 
 an emperor's offspring, would cast his kinswoman into 
 the arms of the first beggarly minstrel who whines his 
 love-ditty under her bower? But," he continued, after 
 a brief pause, " who is sane ? A few starving labourers, 
 perhaps, toiling after their plough, and not puzzling their 
 brains over the carcasses of their fellow men. But we 
 have strayed from our subject, the banditti. They are 
 not so completely banished from these regions as you 
 would have me think, Crivello. I wager that you do 
 not relinquish your old associates without knowing where 
 you might rejoin them." 
 
 "Your pardon, noble signor, I am in your Grace's 
 service, but I must refuse acknowledging such humil- 
 iating company," said Crivello, with an offended air. 
 
 " It is my turn to ask your pardon, most noble cut- 
 throat and knight of the gallows, for confounding you 
 with your betters," replied the duke, with an ironical 
 bow. " And now you will perhaps condescend to vouch- 
 safe us some information regarding those knights of the 
 mace and the highway, who fight for honour, but never 
 for pay ? "
 
 34 Castel fcel /IDonte 
 
 Crivello bit his lower lip. 
 
 " Perchance it may be that Scrivezzo still lingers in 
 some of his old haunts," he then replied, reluctantly, 
 wincing under the scrutinizing eye of the duke. 
 
 " I'll warrant then he has as many worthy coadjutors 
 at his beck as would set all Rome and Sicily in blaze." 
 
 " More than enough to plunder the whole city at 
 night," replied the Catalan, with a sudden kindling of 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 " Ha ! Would not his Eminence of Sienna rave could 
 he hear you now? But what manner of policy would 
 it be to kill the hen that lays the golden egg? I would 
 but know on whom I can depend, in case the worst should 
 befall. Some there are who have done me marvellously 
 ill offices with the late Holy Father, and whispered strange 
 tales into the old man's ears strange tales, Crivello! 
 It is well that old people will die." 
 
 " Scrivezzo might perhaps be discovered by a good 
 pair of eyes in Palermo, for he cannot read, and the 
 edict is posted in Latin," remarked Crivello, with in- 
 creasing interest. 
 
 " It suffices if we know where to find him in time of 
 need," replied the duke, thoughtfully. " A tumult raised 
 by them were dangerous. Yet, since at some day we 
 intend to take up our residence in the Eternal City, the 
 cardinals, in view of these constant and unceasing 
 brawls, surely cannot fail to see the necessity of our 
 forces occupying the chief points of interest just to 
 become acquainted with their history. And all the points 
 of strength save the tomb of Hadrian are now in pos- 
 session of the German knights of the new senator, good 
 and faithful men, 'tis true, but perhaps not so devoted 
 as it would appear. These matters crave our earnest 
 attention, Crivello, although I have others of even more
 
 Xor& ant) follower 35 
 
 instant urgency. 'Tis a pity you have no scholarship, 
 else you might read the list furnished me by his hunch- 
 backed Grace of Alife. You might then see the names 
 and hiding-places of the captains of all the black bands 
 in Italy, who will for remission of their sins brave the 
 very devil in his lair ! " 
 
 " What would such knowledge benefit me, noble si- 
 gnor ? " said Crivello, somewhat surprised. 
 
 " Nay, it would only benefit me, who shall, as it is, 
 be compelled to read you the names," remarked the duke, 
 carelessly. " For I would have you use your own dis- 
 cretion to understand how these religious freebooters 
 stand affected toward me, whether they would prefer to 
 join the standards of the Church to receive absolution, or 
 mine to receive pay." 
 
 "I know not, signor, that they would believe me if I 
 offered more than they already drain out of the lords 
 who employ them," said the captain, dubiously eying 
 his chief. 
 
 " But if these lords were all gone, and the best of us 
 will die some day, would they not need a new master? 
 And would it not be wise to be first in the field ? " ques- 
 tioned the duke. " Moreover can you not sing them 
 some fine song of ducal bonnets and princes' feathers, 
 of golden spurs and Spanish castles, especially to the 
 Germans, who without some exterior distinction hold 
 themselves cheated out of their birthright ? " 
 
 " Would your Grace then have me tamper even with 
 the retainers of the Church ? " said Crivello, following 
 at a slower and more reluctant step the swift movements 
 of his. superior. 
 
 " Would your captainship ever desire to bear a loftier 
 title ? " returned the duke, pettishly. " But what a 
 thick-skulled fool you are ! Believe you that I mean to
 
 3$ Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 uproot the very soil upon which I build my stronghold? 
 And again, deem you that Manfred, the Ghibelline, would 
 have raised me to the exalted position of High Constable 
 of the Kingdom were he not convinced that my intents 
 are sincere? And that reminds me that I must have a 
 trusty intelligencer at Rome. Poor Ascanio is gone, it 
 seems." 
 
 " The Duke of Lesina was pleased to take it into his 
 head that it was he who informed you of some transac- 
 tions in his territories, and he hung him from the weather- 
 cock of his castle, whence he was taken down but a 
 few days ago," said the Catalan, laughing. 
 
 " We shall persuade him out of that belief, were it 
 nailed in his mind as tight as a bad coin on a Greek's 
 change-table," said the duke, fiercely. " But meanwhile 
 poor Ascanio is certainly gone, and we must find some 
 one to supply his place. That was an excellent artifice 
 of the Greeks, when they maltreated Sinon and so 
 procured him entrance into Troy. What if your Scri- 
 vezzo set upon some fellow of our choosing in the 
 vicinity of Lesina's castle and permitted him to escape 
 into it for refuge ? " 
 
 "A goodly plan, noble signer, at the proper time," 
 replied the captain, "and then under some pretext of 
 gratitude to enter into his service." 
 
 "You are nimble-witted for once, though your tone 
 is apprehensive," said the duke, with an outburst of 
 ironical mirth. " It were not amiss, either, that we had 
 one or two more observers about our fair kinswoman, 
 for in these times of peacemaking and general rejoicing, 
 as many lovers will be glistening in her beauty as motes 
 in the sunshine." 
 
 The Catalan shook his head. 
 
 " Nay, my lord, we can trust Fra Cyrillo, who learns
 
 Xor& ant> follower 37 
 
 everything from her confessor, whom he attends. I 
 wonder how so wise and gloomy a man can trust so 
 much to such a shallow-brained, gossiping babbler." 
 
 " Wise gloomy ? " repeated the duke, in a startled 
 tone. " Has she changed her confessor in our absence? " 
 
 " A Dominican, Fra Domenico, as stern and un- 
 bending as the decree of judgment." 
 
 The duke stood for a moment like one transfixed, his 
 penetrating gaze riveted upon the Catalan. Then, as if 
 remembering himself, he slightly waved his hand. 
 
 " Even so even so ! It is a great refreshment for 
 men of dark and melancholy turn of mind to sometimes 
 divert their fancies with those empty, shallow-brained 
 wits, whose wisdom floats lightly as cork upon the 
 water." 
 
 " Yet is this Fra Domenico a monk of strange de- 
 meanour, that might have been a bishop and prefers to 
 be but a simple friar. Does that not demonstrate in him, 
 my lord, a poor and grovelling spirit ? " questioned the 
 Catalan, with the implicit curiosity of one expecting an 
 oracle, which the extraordinary penetration of the duke 
 sometimes gave forth. " Though it is for that very 
 reason of his humility and holy unconcern of this world's 
 affairs that I, too, have chosen him for my confessor, and 
 go to him ever when my breast hath need of a bitter 
 purgative to feel at rest." 
 
 " Dare you go to him with any secret of mine in your 
 breast, as you call your fleshly corselet below the steel ? " 
 said the duke, with sudden fierceness. 
 
 " Nay, my lord, for no Christian is bound to confess 
 the sins of another, and all that I do in your Grace's 
 service I leave to your Grace's reckoning," Crivello re- 
 plied, in a rather frightened tone. 
 
 "Do as you will for that," said the duke, pacified by
 
 3& Castcl feel /ifconte 
 
 the avowal of this singular principle of morality. " But 
 this Dominican either has no ambition, or he has so 
 much that all the gratifications yet offered to him are 
 beneath his aim. And hark you, captain, I would have 
 you, when you are again fearful of forgetting your sins 
 in their multitude, carry them to some other confessional, 
 for at times your peccadilloes are so closely interwoven 
 with mine that you may make a slight mischance in re- 
 counting and show the woof by the thread." 
 
 " But, my lord, I cannot sleep at times," Crivello in- 
 sisted, imploringly. 
 
 "Then lie awake and plot more mischief, like your 
 betters," replied the duke, sternly; then he added, with 
 a meaning smile, " Or, if you must needs prattle, go 
 to some silly, round-bellied friar, who lives and lets live, 
 and sets men on no such foolish penances as I have seen 
 you perform, standing in frozen steel in a winter's night, 
 muttering your Pater Nosters to the crows on the ram- 
 parts." 
 
 " But it seems to do my soul good, signer, and I feel 
 no comfort when I am set at easy penance, for whoever 
 easily pardons sins like mine knows not his trade," said 
 the pious follower of the duke. 
 
 " Your soul ! Do you believe in these monkish dreams 
 and dare to be what you are? Alas," the duke added, 
 with a sardonic smile, " you have not been with me in 
 the schools of Padua, where they weigh and sift and 
 analyze the thing which you call soul, dissolve it into 
 dust and water, and pronounce : Non est." 
 
 " What avails that, your Grace, when none of your 
 sapient, long-bearded doctors can compound the ele- 
 ments they have dissolved though they be but dust and 
 water?" replied the Catalan. 
 
 " Why, now you talk not altogether like a thick-
 
 XorO ant> ^follower 39 
 
 skulled Catalonian," said the duke, somewhat startled 
 by the reply. " But my beautiful Francesca's spell be- 
 gins to work. My heart yearns to clasp her once more 
 into these arms, though she may chide and rave like a 
 woman who has her own objects before her, like fiends 
 evoked by a mighty magician." 
 
 " You bid me advise her of your Lordship's intent ? " 
 
 " I never send heralds to prepare others for my com- 
 ing or to invite them to deceive me, especially as women 
 rarely need the invitation," returned the duke. " Hold 
 everything in readiness at the torre, set the watch your- 
 self, but breathe to no mortal the meaning of your action." 
 
 Crivello bowed. 
 
 " I would go to paradise on my own merits, small 
 though they be." 
 
 " It is a wise resolve. How old Lesina will chafe and 
 growl and clench his fists and hold his peace, ha, ha! 
 while we hie ourselves to our fair Francesca, burning to 
 appear at court, burning to again show her face among 
 women, among her own kind." 
 
 " Then you will not lead forth the lady and proclaim 
 her your wife, my lord ? " 
 
 " You rave, Crivello, verily, you rave ! Proclaim the 
 minion for my wife ? The Duke of Altamura fetter him- 
 self with the toy of his leisure hours, that would change 
 to a weight of lead when conscious of its power, and 
 drag him who confesses himself its slave down down 
 down ha ! Never ! She gave herself to me for my 
 love, let her be content with that love while she has it. 
 And now begone and report to us at sunrise. Meanwhile 
 send the African to me, but let no one note either his 
 coming or your going, and let him bring the hounds with 
 him." 
 
 " They are here, signer," said Crivello, pointing to the
 
 40 Castel Del /iDonte 
 
 dogs, who in silence, with dejected step and brooding 
 heads, had followed their master. 
 
 " Poor beasts, they are accustomed to be thus cheated 
 out of their reward," said the duke, compassionately pat- 
 ting the heads of the two savage brutes of the blood- 
 hound breed. " But there is no time to be lost, Crivello ! 
 I will sit and watch the bear in the skies until I have 
 given Zem his orders, and then rejoin you in the castle." 
 
 Crivello bowed and withdrew. 
 
 Retracing his steps up the steep path among the rocks, 
 the Catalan could not refrain from pausing once on a 
 projecting precipice, whence he could easily distinguish 
 the pine-tree at the trunk of which the duke was lean- 
 ing, then he strode away and was soon lost to sight.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE BLACK PENITENT 
 
 CRIVELLO had not advanced very far in the ravine, 
 when the personage of whom he was in search luckily 
 presented himself ; an African Moor, one of the miserable 
 victims of Oriental cruelty and jealousy, who had for- 
 merly been a mute in a Turkish seraglio, where his 
 tongue had been slit in a manner which rendered any 
 attempt at speech an inarticulate babble. But discretion 
 was a quality which the duke esteemed in his instru- 
 ments, and this enforced silence made the Moor doubly 
 acceptable to his European master, in whose household 
 he was ranked as first runner to his Grace. Of his 
 capabilities in his former office, although never osten- 
 sibly employed, extraordinary stories were afloat; of his 
 qualifications as runner, still more singular legends were 
 believed. He always travelled on foot and in a straight 
 line, swimming rivers and crossing mountains and val- 
 leys with equal facility. 
 
 The Moor's appearance would have gratified the most 
 daring expectations which might have been based upon 
 his rather questionable renown. If a panther had stood 
 upright upon its hind legs, with its paws abjectly dropped 
 in front, it would have been the exact counterpart of the 
 Moor. Its huge, round, bestial visage, hairy, black, and 
 brindled, with the same wild-beast expression of the 
 
 41
 
 42 Castel fcel Monte 
 
 eye, would have daguerreotyped the countenance of 
 Altamura's runner. In fact, he had little more than a 
 rough resemblance to the general attributes of humanity, 
 and but one or two shades of the feelings common to 
 humankind, among which the most abject respect and 
 obedience to his terrible master might have been reck- 
 oned. 
 
 The few simple words which the Moor, scarcely at all 
 acquainted with the language of Italy, understood, en- 
 abled him to comprehend the Catalan's order, who, after 
 having delivered himself of his commission, convulsively 
 clutched the hilt of his dagger and strode away toward 
 the city. The African in turn hastened down the ravine 
 with such rapidity that it almost appeared as if he had 
 doubled himself up and was rolling down like a dry bush 
 of furze. By whatever means he gained a footing in the 
 ravine, the Moor speedily made his way toward the ap- 
 pointed spot, indicated by a lofty pine of singular ap- 
 pearance, in that it was entirely bare with the exception 
 of a strangely tufted summit. He found his lord with 
 folded arms, walking restlessly up and down on a strip 
 of green turf beneath it. 
 
 " Zem, thou art weary, my good dog ; I almost wish 
 I had not diverted myself with seeing thee chase the stag 
 in the hills," the duke said, in a mild and somewhat 
 cajoling manner. " But I know thy great love for me. 
 Did I not beg thy life when the great Sultan of Damas- 
 cus slashed thee once in the neck, and had raised his 
 scimitar for a second blow ? " 
 
 The Moor acquiesced with a slight snort, like that of 
 a horse when it perceives danger. 
 
 " Yet thou must start for Bari to-night, wert thou 
 thrice as spent," continued the duke, changing his tone 
 to one of command. " At the inn with the dragon's
 
 JSlacfc penitent 43 
 
 head thou wilt find Ghino di Tacco, the great Calabrian 
 bandit. Take this ring as thy credential, and deliver into 
 his hands the scroll wrapped in this silken kerchief." 
 
 Zem knelt, took the ring and the scroll, and placed 
 them on his head in token of obedience. 
 
 "Follow the course of the Oreto to where the barge 
 awaits thee thou knowest the rest," continued the 
 duke, and the runner made a spring, as if to dart forward 
 on his journey, but his lord with a rapid clutch detained 
 him. 
 
 " Delay not on thy journey as long as would a hunted 
 stag to lap in a stream," he said, and pointing to the 
 moon, which shone serenely above, he continued : 
 
 " In an hour yonder light will sink behind the hills. 
 When its last rim has disappeared I shall loosen my 
 hounds in thy traces, so if thou pause to sleep, thou 
 knowest by what thou wilt be overtaken." 
 
 The Moor again bowed reverentially, as if the super- 
 vision indicated were a very proper and usual one, shot 
 away like an arrow from the bow, and was almost in- 
 stantly out of sight. 
 
 As it seemed with the intention of faithfully keeping 
 his promise, the duke remained on the spot which he had 
 selected for the interview, pausing some time in deep 
 reflection, and then resuming his restless perambulation, 
 without noticing that the two hounds never failed to 
 follow him, however short the trip or sudden the turn. 
 
 And yet it was a scene and a night which might have 
 given calm even to that perturbed and restless mind. 
 The mountains of the Bagaria towered in a remote semi- 
 circle, in a kind of transparent darkness, so bright were 
 the heavens above, and so soft the shadows which the 
 moonlight cast among their rugged sides and aerial pin- 
 nacles. The distant roar of the cataract rather harmon-
 
 44 Castel ftel /iDontc 
 
 ized with than disturbed the deep silence of night and 
 of the slumbering forest and plain. 
 
 But the duke's steps rather increased in fretful rapidity, 
 and his eyes shot impatient sparks, as he occasionally 
 glanced up at the moon. At last he became weary of this 
 exercise, and, leaning his back against the pine, his face 
 upturned to the fair planet, he seemed to watch it as if 
 his gaze could hasten or retard its imperceptible move- 
 ment over the skies. The two dogs seated themselves at 
 the side of their master, and appeared as if engaged 
 in the same occupation, for their red, glistening eyes were 
 fixed on the ball of light above. While the hounds and 
 their lord were apparently absorbed in this survey, the 
 former suddenly uttered a low whine, stretched their 
 noses to the wind, and began to tremble in a very strange 
 and unusual manner. The duke, after a sidelong glance 
 at the dogs, looked in the direction whence it was evident 
 they apprehended some approach, expecting to behold 
 some wild beast which had strayed hither, yet for some 
 moments even his vulture gaze could discern no object. 
 But suddenly a black form, about the height and breadth 
 of a man, but without the distinct outlines of one, ap- 
 peared on the edge of the precipice. The duke's visage 
 for a moment grew pale as death and his gaze became 
 fixed as he clutched at the pine to support his tottering 
 limbs ; but the next instant either his self-possession re- 
 turned, or his terror took the form of defiance. He 
 sprang forward, and although he paused irresolutely, 
 he shouted in an unwavering tone : 
 
 " Speak who goes there ? Friend or foe to the Duke 
 of Altamura ? " 
 
 " Hi, hi, hi ! Hi, hi, hi ! Hillo echoes ! Hillo phan- 
 toms ! Play me none of your cheats to-night ! " a voice 
 was heard gibbering in reply, the mere sound of which
 
 ttbe Blacfc penitent 45 
 
 restored the duke to himself. He continued to watch, 
 but no longer with any alarm, the gradual approach of 
 the dark traveller, who came along with singular slow- 
 ness, as if he were of very great age, and talking to 
 himself all the way. But the fears of the hounds did not 
 diminish. They crouched on the grass and continued 
 their low, tremulous whine. The stranger approached, 
 without seemingly noticing any of the group. In any 
 other age or country he might indeed have been pro- 
 nounced a terrific object. 
 
 His form was greatly bent by age and his gait was 
 feeble. With difficulty he supported himself on a staff; 
 but his face and form were completely covered with a 
 dark mantle made of one piece, but tied around the waist, 
 and perforated with holes over the face, through which 
 the eyes peered. This was the garb of a black penitent, 
 and was enjoined to be worn on a pilgrimage by crimi- 
 nals of the greatest atrocity. 
 
 " Good even, father ! Whither are you bound so late 
 at night and so lonely ? " queried the duke, in a cheerful 
 tone, as if relieved from some secret apprehension. 
 
 " Lonely ? When the owl hoots arid the wolf howls 
 at every turn ? " replied the penitent, with a wild laugh. 
 
 " Have I not heard that voice before ? " spoke the 
 duke, musingly. "Why art thou come as if a wish 
 had summoned thee? Art thou not mine ancient master 
 in the black art, Dom Alamo of Padua, who put strange 
 thoughts into my head by showing me my fortune in a 
 mirror of bronze, and who one night disappeared like the 
 will-o'-the-wisp which gleams on pools where murdered 
 men lie rotting?" 
 
 " Or like yonder tongues of fire on the hillsides," re- 
 turned the penitent, extending an arm of singular length, 
 terminated by a hand so lean and withered that it re-
 
 4* Gastel &el flDonte 
 
 sembled the branch of a fir-tree in winter, and pointing 
 to the brow of Pellegrino, which presented a brilliant 
 phenomenon not unusual in volcanic regions. The craggy 
 sides of the mountain seemed as if set at intervals with 
 blazing torches, thrust from the earth by spirit hands, 
 for they appeared and disappeared in fantastic evolu- 
 tion. 
 
 "But thou art he?" said the duke, after gazing with 
 an instant's careless attention at the spectacle on the hill- 
 sides. 
 
 " I have been myself for a long time," replied the peni- 
 tent, with a dark, chuckling laugh. 
 
 " Yes, thou art old very old, and thou needest some 
 comfort in thine old age," remarked the duke, cajolingly, 
 " I am not so poor or so powerless to do my friends a 
 good turn as I was when we studied the Cabbala together 
 at Padua, and I still love to encourage the science. 
 Therefore, my good wizard, if thou wilt consent to so- 
 journ with me, thou shalt have a tower of thine own and 
 practise thy black art night and day, and thou and I 
 will make brazen heads that chatter, and devise antidotes, 
 and study the plants that carry such subtle poison that 
 it shall be a veritable pleasure to die from their effect. 
 And play with such like toys as thou wert wont to love 
 in the olden time when I was thine attentive and faith- 
 ful pupil." 
 
 " I thank thee for thy noble offer," replied the peni" 
 tent, inclining himself forward, as if to do homage to 
 the accession of dignity in his pupil, yet with a degree 
 of mockery in his voice. " But it behoves men who have 
 lived over twelve hundred years to think of dying and 
 to abjure the vanities of this world." 
 
 " Twelve hundred years ! Thou ravest ! Thou art 
 stark mad, Dom Alamo ! " exclaimed the duke, aghast.
 
 Blacfc penitent 47 
 
 " Ah ! Little thou knowest how long Heaven can hate," 
 returned the penitent, with wild vehemence. " 'Tis many 
 a hundred years since the great bonfire was kindled, and 
 he who spat in the face of the Son of God, when he bore 
 his cross to Calvary, still wanders alone through all 
 time." 
 
 " Yet what objection canst thou have to remain with 
 me? Thou possessest many a noble secret which might 
 be useful even v to the Church," said the duke, soothingly. 
 " Have I not seen thee raise the dead in the person of 
 that imperial phantom that held out the sceptre to me ? " 
 
 " What would it help or profit to call him up again, 
 besides shaking the towers of Aix-la-Chapelle, which are 
 already so old and tottering ? " replied the penitent. 
 
 " Thou speakest truly ! But if thou canst raise the 
 dead, canst thou not also allay them? Canst thou not 
 bid them back into their lone grave? Why should they 
 blot sunshine with their dark presence ? " exclaimed the 
 duke, with an impatient and fierce glitter of the eye, and 
 convulsively knitting his hands. 
 
 " To exorcise is the office of the Church, not mine ! " 
 returned the black penitent. 
 
 " I know, I know what priests can do," replied the 
 duke ; " I have been one myself." 
 
 " And stand the dead, too, in thy light ? " returned 
 the penitent, his strange eyes flaring through their holes 
 like flames if flames could glow with meaning, with 
 sarcastic, diabolical, insane thought. 
 
 "Thou art deft at guessing riddles," said the duke, 
 calmly. " It is not that I fear him, but it wearies me, 
 when so often in the midst of a banquet or splendid 
 feast I raise mine eyes and behold him standing before 
 me. Think not that I fear him ! I despised him living 
 I despise him dead! I tell thee, Dom Alamo, when
 
 Gastel fcel /IDonte 
 
 first I beheld it, when as legate of the Holy See I was at 
 the court of Frederick's bastard, I did not even start." 
 
 " Thou givest vent to some feverish fancy, my son, the 
 strongest of thy recollections haunts thee one which 
 only a stronger can efface," replied the penitent, with a 
 short, discordant laugh. " But thou forgettest to slip the 
 hounds, and the moon is nearly set beyond the mountain 
 peaks." 
 
 " Didst thou hear my threat to Zem ? " the duke re- 
 plied, with a slight shudder. " But I never threaten in 
 vain, else I should be no better served than mine enemies, 
 so whoop, hounds ! After him after him ! " 
 
 He stirred the hounds, which still lay crouching and 
 panting in the grass, as if the presence of the stranger 
 infused terror even into their savage natures. They 
 whined, but would not move. 
 
 " There is surely a spell about me, but I am going," 
 observed the penitent, with his dark, inward laugh. 
 
 " It is late be my guest for the night ! " said the duke, 
 eagerly, but the penitent shook his head. 
 
 " I may rest under no roof until the mission I am bound 
 on is accomplished," he said, in derisive, yet profoundly 
 gloomy tones. 
 
 " Then I will spend the night with thee in conversation 
 under the vault of heaven." 
 
 " Nay for I may not pause, I may not tarry," re- 
 turned the penitent, taking his staff as if to resume his 
 journey. 
 
 " But promise me at least that thou wilt visit me at 
 Palermo," said the duke, very eagerly. " Thou hast but 
 to present thyself at my palace, and I will see thee lodged 
 and attended more zealously than ever Merlin in King 
 Arthur's court. And thou shalt carry on thy black art
 
 TTbe JSlacfc penitent 49 
 
 so near the priests and monks that thou canst spit in their 
 faces and they shall not harm thee." 
 
 " Give me a token, then, that admission may not be 
 denied me," replied the sage, after a moment's hesitation. 
 
 " Then I must needs give thee this emerald, which red- 
 dens when poison is in my drink," said the duke, slowly 
 and somewhat reluctantly, taking a small leaden box 
 about the shape and size of a dice from the pocket of his 
 coat. 
 
 " Thou didst speak of a remedy to efface the terror 
 that haunts me," he then said, with faltering lips, while 
 he handed the token to the cowled figure. " Name thou 
 the spell, for I would fain be relieved of the phantom 
 which darkens my path and chases the slumber from 
 mine eyes." 
 
 The black penitent chuckled almost inaudibly. 
 
 " To appease one shadow, find another, though it be 
 never more than the phantom's pale reflex." 
 
 The duke stroked his forehead, which was bathed in 
 cold sweat. 
 
 " The remedy is as mysterious as the ailment ! " he 
 said, but perceiving the cowled figure moving away, he 
 continued : 
 
 " Thou canst no longer fear that I will betray thee, 
 either for lack of faith or wit, Dom Alamo! So let me 
 at last see thy face, which thou keepest ever so strangely 
 masked and muffled, that I may know thee when we meet 
 again ! " 
 
 " Trust none fear none ! " replied the penitent, 
 gloomily. " But hark ! Some one is calling thee, or else 
 what voices are those that make the rocks ring with their 
 echoes ? " 
 
 " Farewell, then till we meet again ! " said the duke, 
 stepping forward to offer his hand in parting. But the
 
 so Castet fcel flDonte 
 
 stranger contented himself with a fantastic salute, by 
 waving his withered hands in the air at an extraordinary 
 height, and, hastening forward, he almost instantly dis- 
 appeared behind some projecting rocks. 
 
 Indistinct voices were indeed heard in the distance, 
 but they resembled rather those of the jackal and the wolf 
 than those of a human being. The hounds sprang up 
 with their wonted alacrity the moment the adept in the 
 black art had disappeared, and, remarking it, the duke 
 endeavoured, but in vain, to induce the dogs to follow 
 even the shortest distance in his trace. They howled 
 fearfully, but would not stir until he took them back 
 to the pine-tree where the Moor had left him. They 
 eagerly followed his scent, and disappeared with emulous 
 swiftness. After listening until the light patter of their 
 feet had died away in the distance and had become in- 
 audible even to the fine ears of the duke, the latter turned 
 his eyes pensively toward the moon which was setting 
 behind the western hills, and retraced his steps toward 
 the city.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE SHRINE IN THE FOREST 
 
 CANALETTO was the first to announce the break of day, 
 for, suddenly starting from his slumbers, he blew a blast 
 upon a horn, which chanced to be near him, so loud and 
 so shrill that it would have awakened King Arthur and all 
 his knights from their petrified sleep in the Welsh 
 cavern. The effect was instantaneous, and Ottorino, hav- 
 ing been roused by the sound, which all but threw the 
 Moorish attendants into a panic, drew aside the curtains 
 of rich azure silk partially draping the two large fold- 
 ing doors opening out upon the terrace and garden below. 
 Looking out upon it from between the glistening marble 
 cclumns surrounding the palace, it seemed as if the very 
 sky above rested edgewise on towering pyramids of red 
 and white bloom. Awnings of pale blue stretched from 
 the windows across the entire width of the spacious outer 
 colonnade. Two superb peacocks strutted majestically to 
 and fro with boastfully spreading tails and glittering 
 crests, as brilliant as the gleam of the sun on the silver 
 fringe of the azure canopies. 
 
 Half-blinded with the brilliancy of the scene, the daz- 
 zling glow of colour, the sheen of deep and delicate hues 
 cunningly intermixed and contrasted, the gorgeous lavish- 
 ness of waving blossoms, that seemed to surge up like a 
 sea to the very balconies, Ottorino for a time stared 
 
 5'
 
 52 Caste I fccl /iDonte 
 
 vaguely at the floor, paved with variegated mosaics and 
 strewn with rich Indian carpets. There was something 
 miragelike and fantastic in the splendour that surrounded 
 him, something almost overwhelming in the wealth of 
 this Arabian fairy-palace which he had entered under the 
 veil of night, something well-nigh unreal, which caused 
 him to doubt if he were waking or gazing upon the vision 
 of a dream. The palace itself was a dome-shaped build- 
 ing of the purest white marble, surrounded on all sides 
 by long, fluted colonnades and fronted by a spacious 
 court, where flower-bordered fountains dashed up to the 
 azure skies incessant showers of refreshing spray. 
 
 Ottorino's reveries were to be rudely broken into by the 
 grim champion of the cask, who, stepping under the bal- 
 cony, appeared to give some directions to a man-at-arms, 
 whereupon his oscillating form was seen to sway toward 
 the gates of the court. 
 
 The Visconti called to the leader of the condottieri, in- 
 quiring into the goal of his early expedition, thus causing 
 that worthy to turn, with an endeavour to straighten him- 
 self into perpendicularity and to stand steadily on his 
 legs. 
 
 Composing himself into as dignified an attitude as he 
 could command, the capitano pointed to what appeared 
 to be a cloister. The building was at no great distance 
 from the palace, half-hidden in the green, and with win- 
 dows, small and round as portholes, which gave it a 
 fortress-like appearance. The echoes of a pronouncedly 
 secular chant were faintly audible, floating on the fitful 
 morning breezes, which wafted the perfumes of innu- 
 merable roses, oleanders, and magnolias through the 
 gardens of La Khalesa. 
 
 " I wager," he replied, " yonder are none of your lean 
 and ghostly friars, whose sanctified bones rattle in the
 
 ttbe Sbrine in tbe forest 53 
 
 sirocco, but holy men with three roses in their com- 
 plexion, one in full bloom on each cheek and one on the 
 tip of their nose. I'll recommend myself to their hospi- 
 tality." 
 
 Ottorino's gaze followed the direction indicated; sev- 
 eral round-faced brothers in the brown cassocks of Bene- 
 dictines were to be discerned through the vines of a 
 pergola. 
 
 " But the hour, Canaletto," the Lombard laughingly 
 remonstrated. " Bethink thyself ! Canst thou ever hope 
 to attain the exalted state of the angels in bliss ? " 
 
 " Angels in bliss ? " roared the capitano, inflating his 
 cheeks and starting on his legs. " To sit on a damp 
 cloud and chant hallelujah for ever I fear me Canaletto 
 was spoiled for such an airy sport ! " 
 
 " So have with thee but forget not thy devoir to 
 the Golden Viper ! " Ottorino admonished the prospective 
 crusader. Waving a fantastic salutation with his right 
 arm, the grim champion strode away and was soon lost 
 among the leafy arcades leading to the goal of his unholy 
 desires. 
 
 A message from the master of ceremonies informed the 
 Lombard of the postponement of the formal presentation 
 at court, owing to the delayed arrival from the mainland 
 of the brothers Lancia and Capece, chief councillors of 
 the realm. Far from feeling any regret in the matter, 
 Ottorino gladly welcomed the tidings, intending to avail 
 himself of the opportunity of surveying the surrounding 
 country. Being rather in a mood for solitary musing, 
 he determined to start out at once. 
 
 It was a morning such as is only seen in southern 
 climes, the air so pure and bright that it seemed to reveal 
 all objects as if through a shining medium of glass. A 
 faint rosiness tinged the transparent blue of the sky, and
 
 54 Gastel Del /Ifcontc 
 
 all the mountain peaks were touched with a deeper hue 
 of the same beautiful colour. The Conca d'Oro, though 
 partially veiled in mists, began to disclose its richness 
 and variety. Little villages appeared nestling at the 
 craggy bases of the Bagaria; feudal castles towered on 
 remote pinnacles ; forests of pine waved freshly in the 
 wind; pastures of the brightest emerald green bordered 
 the Oreto ; every fissure, nook, and cranny of the Pelle- 
 grino displayed wild flowers of brilliant hues, every fan 
 of the soft morning breeze brought some sweet scent. So 
 fresh and lovely shone the scene, as he journeyed along 
 the wild path which bordered the river, passing through 
 its tangled underbrush of myrtles, stunted vines, and high 
 weeds, which sometimes nearly concealed both horse and 
 rider, while the loftier forest-trees continually showered 
 their golden dew on him, that Ottorino could not help 
 repeating to himself the eulogy which his lips had un- 
 consciously uttered when first the Conca d'Oro broke upon 
 his gaze. 
 
 Leaving Monreale on the right, Ottorino entered upon 
 a narrow path leading along a ravine, honeycombed with 
 almost prehistoric cave-dwellings. These were still in- 
 habited by the impoverished descendants of the ancient 
 Pelasgians, who had formed here a number of colonies. 
 Anemones, tall and strong, cast their shadows over wild 
 mignonettes, while graceful asphodels surrounded the base 
 of the olive and caroub trees. In the white, glaring sun- 
 light their stems looked weird and unearthly as they bent 
 slowly to the sea-breeze. Their strange, pungent smell 
 was wafted up to the skies; they seemed fit flowers for 
 the spirits and for the shades of the dead to dwell among. 
 On all sides extended lonely stretches of country; the 
 fantastic shapes of palm and plane trees seemed to cover 
 with their shadows innumerable old tombs, crypts, and
 
 Ube Sbrine in tbe jforest ss 
 
 caverns ; remains of ancient temples were scattered about 
 on every side, while huge boulders, overgrown with rose- 
 mary, myrtle, and lentisk, made it seem as if here had 
 taken place the celebrated conflict between the Titans and 
 Giants of old. 
 
 Traversing with abstracted gaze this leafy wilderness, 
 a sudden opening in the forest-trees revealed to Ottorino 
 a watery waste, dotted with islands of rank verdure, which 
 stretched far to westward. A herd of buffaloes, grazing 
 at some distance from each other or wallowing in the 
 foul marsh, were the only animated objects visible. 
 Whether these animals were wild, and as such the prey 
 of all who dared to attempt their destruction, whether 
 they were the property of some feudal baron who re- 
 quired their carcasses, Ottorino did not know. But 
 suddenly he came upon a body of spearmen, who, sur- 
 rounding the skirt of the marsh, endeavoured with shouts 
 and by goading with weapons to drive the herd toward 
 the adjacent forest, where a squadron of mounted archers 
 awaited their approach, ready to overwhelm them with 
 javelins and arrows. The ferocity and prodigious strength 
 of the animals made the first part of this enterprise full 
 of danger. The Lombard, taking but little interest in the 
 chase, continued upon his way, when suddenly he came 
 upon a scene which so strangely attracted his notice that 
 he halted to gaze upon it. 
 
 He had reached a point where the forest descended into 
 one of those deep ravines from which arise the rocks 
 whereon the mediaeval watch-towers rear their massive 
 walls. A city, picturesquely built upon the brow of the 
 opposite hill, surrounded by walls and crowned with a 
 strong castle, appeared at some distance. The country 
 around was richly cultivated, the mountain being com- 
 pletely covered with vines and olives, and the plain wav-
 
 5* Castel del fl&oute 
 
 ing with verdant pastures, on which fed white steers and 
 numerous flocks of sheep. Ceres indeed seemed to have 
 emptied her horn over this garden-spot of Sicily, and 
 Ottorino concluded in his musing survey that the land 
 belonged to some monastery, the sanctity of which pro- 
 tected its possessions from spoliation. His belief seemed 
 to receive confirmation by a scene of a very ecclesiastical 
 character, which he observed in the ravine below. 
 
 From its groves of cypress and pines rose the fantastic 
 shafts of a Byzantine shrine. From the top rose a cross, 
 at the base of which the figure of the Virgin knelt, em- 
 bracing it, while some saint in the garb of a monk stood 
 by and offered consolation. At the top of some circular 
 steps stood a Dominican, preaching apparently with great 
 fervour to a crowd below. Numerous groups of listening 
 peasants in wild but gaily tinted garbs stood or knelt 
 around the shrine, their deeply bronzed countenances 
 glowing with agitation and religious zeal. Many pilgrims, 
 known by the bearing of the rosemary branch, were 
 among them, and two or three men-at-arms in the livery 
 of the Duke of Altamura were to be seen among the trees. 
 
 But the principal group surrounded a lady, who ap- 
 peared to be of very high rank. She sat in a gilded 
 chair opposite the preacher, while several ecclesiastics, 
 whose gorgeous robes proclaimed them to be the chapter 
 of a cathedral, stood around. A number of richly at- 
 tired ladies, forming, no doubt, the escort, were also stand- 
 ing, and a litter of purple silk, borne on gilded poles by 
 four Nubian slaves, could be observed at some distance. 
 Even at the height where he was placed Ottorino could 
 not but remark the queenly grace and bearing of the 
 lady who was the central figure, and his curiosity was 
 kindled when he remarked her raiment of material not 
 to be despised by a queen, and which revealed rather than
 
 Ube Sbrine in tbe forest 57 
 
 obscured the great beauty of her form. A hand of snowy 
 whiteness, on which she leaned in listening attitude, par- 
 tially concealed her face, and her dark hair, wound in a 
 Grecian knot, heightened by its contrast the fairness of 
 her complexion. 
 
 This apparition was the more extraordinary, as the 
 shrine appeared to be decked out for a festival, every 
 part and pinnacle of the elaborate masonry being hung 
 with garlands of flowers. So deeply was the Lombard 
 impressed with the spectacle that, observing an uneven 
 path before him which descended into the ravine, he fol- 
 lowed it some little way. Suddenly a crashing noise, min- 
 gled with shouts, induced him to turn his head. He 
 beheld an enormous black buffalo bull, stung to madness 
 by dense swarms of gadflies, with his tufted tail high 
 in the air, rushing down the steep, pursued by a horse- 
 man at full gallop, laughing and shouting in the hilarity 
 of the chase. But he was certainly ignorant of the fact 
 that the whole herd was at his rear, following the flight 
 of their leader and urged on by the spearmen, who rode 
 after them in the hope of turning their course. Ottorino 
 perceived at a glance the destruction which must ensue 
 among the defenceless multitude below, if the herd ar- 
 rived while they were thus absorbed. He therefore set 
 spurs to his horse, and dashed down the declivity with a 
 warning cry. A direful uproar instantly arose below, 
 more especially so as, unable to check his horse upon his 
 reaching the ravine, the armed phantom, precipitated thus 
 suddenly among the unwary worshippers, dashed around 
 the shrine and left in full view the approach of the terrific 
 and maddened bull. The peasants, with an outcry of 
 terror, rushed away in every direction, falling over one 
 another in their flight; pilgrims, slaves, and monks all 
 fled in terrified confusion, with the exception of the
 
 $8 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 Dominican who had been preaching. When Ottorino 
 brought his steed around, he perceived that the monk, 
 unarmed as he was, had rushed before the chair, from 
 which the fair occupant had risen but not fled, for she 
 stood there as if transfixed with horror, calling alternately 
 on the Virgin and on her fugitive vassals for protection, 
 pale, but disdaining to partake in their cowardly flight. 
 To perceive that the buffalo was rushing full tilt at the 
 lady, that only the gaunt figure of the friar stood between 
 her and destruction, and to dash forward with his mighty 
 war-steed between them and the furious brute, were al- 
 most simultaneous actions with Ottorino. 
 
 The buffalo was of prodigious size and strength, an 
 African bull of the largest species, covered with black, 
 shaggy hair ; its vast forehead was so broad that its curled 
 horns, which might separately have measured ten feet, 
 could not compass it; its neck was of amazing bulk, its 
 small, red eyes were whirling in eddies of fire, its nose 
 was close to the ground, its whole enormous strength was 
 concentrated like a battering-ram, and increased by its 
 wild velocity. Such was the assailant to which the young 
 Lombard opposed himself. Not, indeed, with the insane 
 purpose of receiving its shock, for, swerving his terrified 
 horse with a dexterity which would have done credit to a 
 bull-fighter of later days, Ottorino seized the lightning 
 instant when the buffalo rushed past, and struck one ter- 
 rific blow with his sword at the point where the spine 
 enters the brain. The bull's career came to an instanta- 
 neous stop ; simultaneously his vast flank was pierced by 
 the pursuing horseman's spear. The weapon shivered 
 to pieces, and the rider was tossed far over the buffalo's 
 neck, so great was his impetuosity. But the spear had 
 pierced the beast's entrails, and with a roar of anguish 
 which seemed to shake the glen, and tossing torrents of
 
 ttbe Sbrtne in tbe forest 59 
 
 its black blood around, the wretched animal fell with all 
 its monstrous carcass, and rolled over on its back in the 
 agonies of death. The herd which followed, dismayed at 
 the sound, suddenly paused, and then, seized with a panic, 
 turned on their pursuers. The horseman, a gaudy noble- 
 man of the duke's suite, sprang to his feet, but little hurt 
 by his fall, and flew to assist the archers. Ottorino, who 
 had dismounted, hastened with a basin full of water from 
 a near-by fountain to assist the lady, whom the Dominican 
 had borne in his arms, chair and all, up the steps of the 
 shrine, where she now lay insensible. 
 
 The monk knelt, supporting her in his arms and vainly 
 chafing her brows. As the approaching Lombard gazed 
 upon the motionless form, stretched as if lifeless upon the 
 stairs of the shrine, his hand seemed to forget the purpose 
 of its master, for he still held the ewer filled with the 
 water from the spring. Never in his remotest dreams had 
 he beheld a face more lovely, never in all the years spent 
 at the Northern courts had his eyes feasted on a beauty 
 so matchless, a form so perfect. Like one dazed, he at 
 last staggered toward the prostrate form, and, bending 
 over her, was absorbed as intensely in his efforts to revive 
 her as if, like the sculptor demigod, he were kindling 
 marble into life with stolen fire. The monk zealously 
 aided, while he despatched a peasant, who had ventured 
 to return, in quest of the canon of a near-by monastery, 
 who possessed some skill in the medical art. 
 
 And like the vivification of the love-hewn Grecian 
 statue under the magic touch of Prometheus, was the 
 return to life of the beautiful ward of the Dominican. 
 A pale pink, like flame on marble, gradually crept over 
 her snowy pallor, deepened to rose on the cheeks, to 
 coral on the lips ; the large, humid, velvety eyes, with 
 their long, silken lashes, opened, and the return of sensa- 

 
 60 Gastel fcel /iDonte 
 
 tion to the soul was marked by the flush, which deepened 
 all those lovely tints when she perceived Ottorino bend- 
 ing over her, and met a gaze whose natural hauteur was 
 softened into almost feminine tenderness. She drew her 
 robes about her neck with the gesture of a nymph of 
 Diana discovered when bathing, and, murmuring some 
 incoherent words of thanks which sounded to him like 
 strains of sweetest music, she raised herself feebly in the 
 arms of the Dominican. Gazing for an instant at the 
 monstrous beast which lay wallowing in a pool of its 
 own gore, she shuddered convulsively, then, turning to 
 the Lombard with such a look of admiration and grati- 
 tude that it kindled to devouring flame the spark in his 
 soul, she said, in a tone which showed that her anxiety 
 was altogether transferred from herself to him: 
 
 " Signor are you hurt ? " 
 
 " In no wise, noble lady, save the apprehension lest the 
 world should lose its masterpiece of beauty," replied the 
 Lombard, with a warmth which deepened the flush on 
 her cheeks. 
 
 " And my poor vassals and the good monks ? " she 
 continued, with a faint smile, turning to the Dominican. 
 
 " They left you to your fate, daughter, and you may 
 well leave them to theirs. Yet all are safe," replied the 
 monk, sternly. " But your litter is nigh, and the multitude 
 are gazing." 
 
 Blushing still more deeply, the lady seated herself in 
 her chair, while the Dominican hurried down among the 
 people, who now began to return from their panic armed 
 with staves and stones, ordering them to raise the litter, 
 which its bearers had dropped to the ground. But he 
 returned with surprising rapidity, bringing a rich mantle 
 which seemed to belong to the lady, and which he had 
 scarcely time to throw over her ere a multitude of men-
 
 Ube Sbrine in tbe fforest 61 
 
 at-arms dashed down the ravine at a gallop, led by the 
 Duke of Altamura in person. 
 
 It seemed as if this military avalanche infused some 
 new and excessive terror into the lady's mind. She 
 started up with a glance full of fear and suspicion even 
 at her rescuer, but her strength was exhausted, and she 
 would have fallen had not Ottorino put his strong arm 
 about her waist and supported her. Thus assisted, and 
 gazing up with a look of supplication to the stalwart 
 warrior, who, with a mingled expression of delight and 
 protection, returned her ardent gaze, her fears seemed 
 momentarily to subside. The Lombard's heart heaved 
 so wildly that he was fully convinced that she whom he 
 held in his arms must hear its beating even through the 
 coat of linked mail. But ere he could frame his thoughts 
 into adequate language, the duke had leaped from his 
 steed, rushed up the steps of the shrine, and exclaimed, 
 his face wild with alarm: 
 
 " Helena ! Our Helena ! Are you hurt? " 
 As the duke pronounced the fatal name, as his bright, 
 steely eyes blazed first upon the lady, turning from her 
 with undisguised surprise to Ottorino, the knight turned 
 deadly pale and almost dropped his supporting arm. All 
 the rumours afloat of the Lady of Miraval, this second 
 Helen of Troy, whose countless suitors, lured on to the 
 verge of delirium, had come to such mysterious ends, 
 rushed through the Lombard's brain and increased his 
 confusion. An undercurrent of feelings, as potent as they 
 were new, seemed to compel him toward her, even as he 
 precipitately retreated from the shrine. The lady of 
 Miraval glanced at him with profound astonishment, and 
 grew very pale ; then the blood returned in crimson, not 
 only to her brow, but to her whole frame, for even her 
 beautiful white shoulders became suffused. The expres-
 
 6a Castel t>el /iDonte 
 
 sion of fear, of intense doubt, which,, however momentar- 
 ily, had painted itself on the noble and haughty face of her 
 deliverer, was not to be misconstrued. After a moment 
 of startled wonder, a whirl of thoughts seemed to rush 
 upon Helena di Miraval; then the pallor returned, and 
 she sank down in her chair as if relapsing into the swoon. 
 
 All pressed around eagerly with assistance save Otto- 
 rino, who, torn by conflicting emotions, stood immovable 
 by the shrine. The duke sternly commanded that none 
 should mount the stairs save the monk who had just 
 arrived from the monastery and who was rubbing a rose- 
 mary branch, discarded by some fugitive pilgrims, in his 
 hands, and applying the strong scent to revive the lady. 
 Its effect was soon evident, for, stretching her hand to the 
 monk, she murmured, in a low voice : 
 
 " Father, call the Dominican and let us begone ! I am 
 not well here ! " 
 
 When the latter raised his head in response to the 
 summons from the shrine, the duke's gaze for the first 
 time rested upon his blanched features. He started, but 
 the friar's countenance remained cold and imperturbed. 
 
 "Do you not know me, Helena your kinsman, Fer- 
 rando ? " The duke turned from the monk to the lady, 
 while a tone of crouching humility, unusual in his voice, 
 rang through his speech. 
 
 " Ferrando, our kinsman yes, truly," she replied, 
 starting up without assistance and with a degree of wild- 
 ness. " Welcome, signor ! I am very well, in no wise 
 injured but what brings you here, you and your 
 soldiers? Why do you disturb our worship and break 
 into the sanctity of our retreat? Why are our peaceful 
 festivals broken into by armed men ? " 
 
 " Fear nothing, daughter, all is well," interposed the 
 Dominican. " The duke is here by chance."
 
 Ube Sbvine in tbe jforest 63 
 
 "Your pardon fear hath for a time darkened re- 
 membrance," replied the lady, breaking down in tears, 
 and adding with a hysteric smile : " Oh, no, no, no ! 
 We have to fear no usurpation of our grants from our 
 kinsman. Welcome, then, signer home from your vic- 
 tories." 
 
 " In faith, you sent such scant tidings of your doings 
 during our absence that I pray you, my fair kinswoman, 
 how was I to know that I was trespassing on your char- 
 ter ? " said the duke, with his usual affectation of careless 
 good humour. " But here is one with me who I know 
 will find a warmer welcome my friend, Lucio San 
 Severino ! " 
 
 He turned, and with a slight and almost contemptuous 
 gesture indicated the presence of the nobleman, who, pale 
 and quivering with emotion, ascended some of the steps 
 and knelt before the lady, while Ottorino's countenance 
 betrayed a deadly pallor, as with lips tightly set he viewed 
 the newcomer, in whom he recognized the horseman 
 whose lance had finished the work of his sword. 
 
 The Count of San Severino was of spare but muscular 
 form ; his dark Spanish features bore traces of debauch- 
 ery, while his age might have been reckoned at forty. 
 The coxcombry of his bearing filled the Lombard from 
 the start with an antipathy which, unknown to him, 
 was shared by no small number of those present. 
 
 " Signor Ferrando this is not kind ! " exclaimed 
 Helena, with an angry glance, and coldly extending her 
 hand, which the Apulian passionately kissed. " I am not 
 in a mood to receive such homage, and, with your per- 
 mission, I will at once proceed upon my way, whither I 
 cannot ask you to join me, as it would but delay you." 
 
 " But first, noble lady, pardon the unwitting cause of 
 this disaster, who would a thousand times rather have
 
 64 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 perilled his own life than that of so peerless a lady ! " 
 San Severino croaked, still retaining his kneeling posi- 
 tion. 
 
 With a flashing glance of contempt Helena di Miraval 
 turned from the whining cavalier. 
 
 " Our gratitude toward one who perilled his safety 
 for ours has long caused us to forget the whimsical cause 
 of what might have proven our destruction, though, like 
 a truly generous giver, he seems to have already forgotten 
 what he has bestowed." 
 
 " Thank chance, lady, not its blind instrument," Otto- 
 rino replied, coldly. " Even this holy man hazarded him- 
 self without arms in your defence ! " 
 
 Again Helena glanced at the Lombard with an ex- 
 pression half of pride, half of supplication, but marvel- 
 lously beautiful; an emotion which pouted the lips with 
 haughtiness, at the same time moistening the fire of the 
 eyes as if with tears. 
 
 San Severino had risen and was on the point of speak- 
 ing, when the deep, melancholy voice of the Dominican 
 was heard. 
 
 " It was no part of thy pilgrimage to expose thyself 
 to the gaze of the world, daughter. The litter is pre- 
 pared and thy guards are in readiness." 
 
 Many eyes were turned toward the monk as he spoke, 
 for, although his words were sufficiently commonplace, 
 there was a strange ring of warning and even menace 
 in his tones which excited a vague echo in every heart. 
 And his composed and majestic countenance offered much 
 incitement to curiosity. It was one which a painter might 
 have taken for St. Paul but for its pain and gloom, St. 
 Paul, converted after a life of warlike broils and violent 
 passions. 
 
 " We shall meet again in Palermo, where our kinsman,
 
 "SHE HASTENED DOWN THE STEPS TO THE LITTER
 
 TTbe Sbrfne in tbe forest 65 
 
 the duke, will thank you, knight, for a life which he values 
 beyond its worth," said Helena, with a beseeching look 
 and wavering smile which Ottorino found almost impos- 
 sible to resist. He approached and, bending over her 
 outstretched hands, pressed his lips upon them. The 
 blush which again dyed her fair face was rendered more 
 glowingly beautiful by the expression of joy spreading 
 over it in a rush of rosy light. As she hastened down 
 the steps to the litter, the duke advanced to offer his 
 assistance; but, seeming not to notice his gesture, she 
 offered her hand to the Lombard. After taking her seat, 
 it appeared as if she were about to go without any cere- 
 mony of farewell, but, suddenly remembering herself, she 
 turned and bent to the chief personages of the group 
 with the grace and majesty of the fair goddess whose 
 several attributes were so lavishly bestowed upon her. 
 
 But amidst all these plumed and helmeted heads bend- 
 ing in homage, her eye sought only the stately form of 
 the Visconti, resting on him but for a flash of thought. 
 She then beckoned to her attendants to proceed, and 
 rallying her scattered retinue around her, she departed. 
 In a few moments the principal evidences of the inter- 
 rupted festival which remained were the bleeding buffalo 
 and the garlanded shrine. 
 
 " Whew ! This is cold courtesy, brother Lucio," said 
 the duke, with a sneer, slapping San Severino on the 
 back. " By the silver keys yon Northern knight might 
 prove an unwelcome rival." 
 
 San Severino frowned, and his eyes fell with a some- 
 what fierce expression on the Lombard. No further 
 words passed until the cavaliers had remounted. Leav- 
 ing the buffalo herd to roam unmolested, they retraced 
 their way through the forest toward Palermo. At the 
 urgent request of the duke, Ottorino had joined the com-
 
 66 Castel feel /JDonte 
 
 pany, and it was remarked that the Lombard, usually 
 reticent and reserved, began to speak much and hurriedly, 
 as if to silence some importunate inner thought. San 
 Severino rode sullen and silent on the other side of the 
 duke, who seemed to take pleasure in the hectic gaiety 
 of the Lombard's remarks, while he compared their last 
 adventure, with much praise to Ottorino, to the achieve- 
 ments of the ancient paladins, to whom the destruction 
 of the most prodigious monsters was a daily pastime. 
 
 After having jointly partaken of refreshments in an 
 adjacent monastery, the duke and his company continued 
 toward Palermo, whose towers and pinnacles came in 
 sight as the sun was declining in the west. Just as 
 they approached the gates the spectacle of the previous 
 evening was repeated, and a sea of fire, like the lava- 
 eruption of a volcano, enveloped the area of the Torre 
 del Diavolo. 
 
 For a moment the duke reined in his charger, staring 
 aghast, then, parting from his company, he left them to 
 their own surmises regarding the nature of the phenom- 
 enon they had witnessed.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE TORRE DEL DIAVOLO 
 
 THE Torre del Diavolo had relapsed into the limpid 
 darkness of the Southern night. The masses thronging 
 the Piazza, del Duomo and the Kassaro were gradually 
 dispersing ; the nobles and vassals to fortified palaces, the 
 men-at-arms to their assigned quarters, the populace to 
 their houses and hovels. As if watching the gradual sink- 
 ing of the city into calm, 'two persons slowly left the large 
 square and bent their steps toward the desolate region 
 where the ramparts of the Torre overlooked the plain and 
 the Oreto, one keeping slightly behind the other with the 
 respect of an inferior, though engaged in apparently con- 
 fidential dialogue. 
 
 " You have now with your own eyes seen what seemed 
 incredible in the account I gave your Lordship yesterday," 
 said Crivello, as they approached the gloomy structure. 
 " Shall I apprise the lady of your Highness's approach ? " 
 
 " We shall be our own herald," returned the duke, 
 while he leisurely ascended a flight of narrow steps lead- 
 ing to a bastion in the tower and entered a still narrower 
 doorway, followed by Crivello. 
 
 Passing through a series of apartments furnished in 
 a style of massive but antique grandeur, the duke and his 
 captain descended by a succession of winding stairs and 
 corridors. All the principal points of access or egress to 
 
 67
 
 68 dastel &el /iDonte 
 
 these subterranean chambers were guarded by sentinels 
 from the company of Catalans. The remote lamps of 
 these guards, with the gleam of the bright night sky 
 through deep shafts perforated in the thick walls, afforded 
 the only light. 
 
 " Who are your chief prisoners ? Have you yet had 
 time to inquire ? " said the duke, as they descended 
 through the dark labyrinth. 
 
 " I am not, I trow, to consider Donna Francesca as 
 one, although she be guilty of the heinous accusation of 
 being a nun who forsook her orders ? " replied Crivello, 
 with a grin, the sneering malice of which was concealed 
 by the gloom. 
 
 " That is as I shall find her humour disposed, for I 
 will have no whimpering maidens wailing after me," re- 
 turned the duke. " But go on who lodges above ? " 
 
 "Jacopo di Sermoneta, the former notary, who so 
 carelessly misdirected one of your Highness's letters. 
 They say he has lost his reason and spends the whole 
 day sticking his hooked nose through the bars of his 
 cage looking up to heaven, as if he expected some visitor 
 from up there ! " 
 
 " Let him look on ! There is enough of the blue sky 
 for all of us to stare at," replied the duke. " But where 
 does Lorenzo Ani, the friar, who mistook our confession 
 for his breviary and recited it, keep his state ? " 
 
 " He retracts his former confession and denies the 
 accusation as obstinately as ever ! " 
 
 " So much the worse for him ! But what music is 
 this we hear? It seems to float from the grottoes at our 
 left." 
 
 " 'Tis the musician Pelagrua, who for the love of his 
 lady, whom your Highness was besieging at Avigliano, 
 attempted your life with poisoned letters ! " replied Cri-
 
 Ube Uorre fcel 2>iavolo 69 
 
 vello. " They have left him the flute, and as the grottoes 
 are dark as night all day, he has no other amusement but 
 to play on it ! " 
 
 " What say you Pelagrua alive ? " 
 " The king was pleased to spare his life ! " 
 " He breathes into his reed so utter a hopelessness that 
 to gibbet him were to do him a kindness," said the duke. 
 " But this place is very dark, Crivello, and by the cold, 
 damp air I should say we were near the entrance of some 
 cavern or vault." 
 
 " We shall soon have light enough, my lord, although 
 certainly it were not ill if I returned above for a lamp," 
 returned Crivello, with a slight shudder. " This is the 
 entrance to the secret gallery leading to the sepulchral 
 vaults of the Norman kings. Donna Francesca busies 
 herself very much therein, for it is there she pursues her 
 study of the black art, and, as they say, can raise the 
 evil one at her will all holy saints keep us from harm 
 and absolve our wretched souls. There are not wanting 
 some who aver that she has made the great stone head 
 in the corridor speak, and brought the ghost of Emperor 
 Henry the Sixth out of his marble sarcophagus." 
 
 " Lead on lead on and cease your nursery babble," 
 said the duke, in a contemptuous tone, a tone which, 
 despite the vigour of his mind and his great skepticism, 
 was assumed, for the general belief in magic and necro- 
 mancy was, as we have seen, abundantly shared by this 
 strangely compounded intellect. 
 
 But at the same moment one of the sudden suspicions, 
 natural to so dark a mind, struck him that Crivello medi- 
 tated some treachery, and was leading him within the 
 reach of ambushed assassination. He started back, drew 
 his poniard, and but that he beheld at this instant a 
 distant glow in a gallery beneath, the valiant captain
 
 70 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 himself might have been in no better plight than the im- 
 perial spectre whose enforced reappearance he had alluded 
 to. 
 
 "Return and bring me a lamp! Yonder light will 
 guide me the rest of my way," said the duke, concealing 
 the weapon under his cloak as he brushed past the Cat- 
 alan, who disappeared with a profound bend hardly 
 discernible in the murky twilight. The duke proceeded 
 with cautious steps and keen glances toward the place 
 from whence came the radiance which glowed on the 
 lofty wall, revealing in spots the ancient granite founda- 
 tions of the pile. The mutilated remains of many an 
 old form of Moorish superstition gave a terrible and 
 supernatural aspect to the interior of the gallery. A 
 circular hole now appeared in the earth, resembling a 
 well of light. In its centre a massive pillar of granite 
 arose, into which the arches of a vaulted chamber con- 
 verged. So intricate were these arches that it was some 
 moments ere the duke, though acquainted with the place, 
 discerned the steps which wound through the hollow 
 pillar into the vault. 
 
 Meanwhile he was occupied with considering the ex- 
 traordinary scene that presented itself to his gaze through 
 the ruined dome which it was probable had at one time 
 completely hidden the secret passage. 
 
 At a considerable depth below appeared an extensive 
 chamber apparently excavated in the rock, on which the 
 foundations of the sombre pile were laid, and behind this 
 chamber extended grottoes and vast stretches of corri- 
 dors. 
 
 A great fire, evidently of innocuous flame, blazed with 
 extraordinary splendour in a gigantic sarcophagus, with- 
 out emitting smoke or consuming the waxen figure which 
 reposed in the midst of it. The fire burned on the top
 
 Uorre t>el Diavolo 7* 
 
 of an altar, supported by couching sphinxes, and shed 
 its lurid glow over the chamber. The duke smiled, though 
 not without some secret disquietude, imagining that he 
 recognized in the fire-enwrapped figure a striking re- 
 semblance to his own form and features. On its breast 
 lay a skull, in which there appeared a substance resem- 
 bling a human heart, or that of some animal of similar 
 organization, recently torn from the breast where it had 
 been wont to beat. Two ancient hags were busied in 
 continually ladling this skull full of the beautiful flames 
 in the sarcophagus, or in feeding them with strange in- 
 gredients, which were heaped around. Phials of Eastern 
 configuration were there, filled with curious oils, naphtha, 
 and fluids unknown to the modern pharmacy, inventions 
 chiefly of Arab or Greek chemists in the pursuit of 
 sciences abhorred then and despised now. These potions 
 were supposed to possess magic or cabalistical virtues, 
 known only to the initiated. There were bundles of 
 herbs, chiefly of the dreary plants alien to human life, 
 which sprout in churchyards or in ruins, hemlock, night- 
 shade, ivy, vervain, and mingled with these were the most 
 precious drugs of remote lands, from India and Iceland. 
 Mosses covered with the froth of an insect, which was 
 then supposed to be produced by the direct influence of 
 the moon, glittering dust of gold and pounded diamonds, 
 a multitude of strange animals, such as bats, lizards, 
 toads, and select portions of other reptiles, were there. 
 A pile of what seemed to be the head and eyes of a 
 mummy, which one of the haggard attendants occasionally 
 rasped into a fine powder over the supplies of fuel, and an 
 infinite variety of the most beautiful flowers, composed 
 the extraordinary supplies. 
 
 The malicious and enigmatical features of the sphinx 
 and the caryatides, which brightened and darkened with
 
 72 Castel &el flDonte 
 
 the wavering of the flames, as if at times about to utter 
 their secrets, relapsing as suddenly into profound and 
 impenetrable gloom, seemed rather a repetition of than 
 a contrast to the living countenances of the two weird 
 women who superintended the mysterious rites. 
 
 The duke immediately recognized in them two female 
 apothecaries with whom he had had some dealings in 
 the past. Both were tall and large boned ; both aged, 
 and yet of remarkable bodily strength and agility. They 
 were so hideously ugly that they would have made the 
 devil's flesh creep, and they combined every evil trait and 
 characteristic of their Moorish extraction. Their real 
 names were unknown or had been forgotten in the pro- 
 fuse universality of their nicknames, to which they them- 
 selves answered without hesitation or apparent dislike. 
 Their father was said to have been a Moorish wizard of 
 transcendent skill, which he was supposed to owe to a 
 compact with the demons of Mount Eblis. There were 
 some, however, who hesitated not to malign the devil by 
 asserting that he had been the parent of these two sisters, 
 and that, after instructing them in many hellish arts, he 
 had set them up with an ample stock of poisonous drugs 
 and left them on earth to make the best of it. While to 
 all appearances extremely destitute, the sisters were cred- 
 ited with possessing great wealth, gained from their un- 
 earthly traffic. It was also hinted that they possessed a 
 powerful, though secret, protector, to whose vengeance 
 their accursed art had time and again been serviceable. 
 
 The duke's eyes scarcely glanced over these fearful 
 and disagreeable objects ere they rested on a form which, 
 although not without a mixture of the terrible in its 
 beauty, displayed in its disorder of apparel and look much 
 to attract the gaze even of a nature less sensually in- 
 clined than that of Ferrando, Duke of Altamura. It was
 
 Ube ttorre Del 2>iax>olo 73 
 
 that of a woman of classic stature, the features carved 
 with the statuesque regularity which the Roman beauty 
 still retains, and distinguished by a haughty and fiery 
 expression, well suited to a descendant of the ancient 
 masters of the world. 
 
 She was attired in a long black robe, girdled with a 
 silver serpent and loosened as if to allow room for the 
 tempestuous heavings of her bosom. She half-sat, half- 
 reclined on the steps of the sarcophagus in an attitude 
 at once expressive of enforced resignation and impa- 
 tience. Often she gazed wildly around, often she started 
 at the crackle or flash of the flames. Sometimes she up- 
 braided the hags with the slow progress of the incanta- 
 tion, at others she snatched an open volume before her, 
 emblazoned with strange figures and characters, and read 
 in a distracted and hurried tone the directions which it 
 apparently contained for the due performance of the 
 spell. She had dashed away her silver diadem, and the 
 dark waves of her hair, falling over her naked shoulders, 
 revealed and heightened their perfect contour and white- 
 ness. The expression of her countenance was at once 
 celestial and fiendish. Contending passions, hope and 
 despair, love and hatred, at times rendered diabolical the 
 face with all its rare, exquisite beauty, at others sunk it 
 into what was perhaps its habitual cast, that of the pride 
 and supernatural melancholy of the fallen angel. 
 
 " He comes not he comes not he will never 
 come ! " she exclaimed, as the duke gazed. " And you 
 do but mock me with your mad mutterings and powerless 
 herbs. He is even now clasping to his heart another, 
 assuring her of his love, upbraiding his long absence from 
 her arms, and gives not a thought, not a sigh, not one 
 recollection to all-abandoned Francesca ! And why should 
 he! What charms have I to lure him back, what spell
 
 74 Castel t>el /Route 
 
 is there in my beauty to bind him to me for ever a 
 beauty which sorrow and disgrace and infamy have rav- 
 aged, and time time time! For I am aged with 
 misery and grief ! " 
 
 " Nay, daughter, when thou art as old as we, there will 
 be time enough to reckon years," returned one of the 
 dark-skinned sibyls, dipping the stiff body of a viper into 
 a blue oil, which cast out a noisome odour as she stirred it. 
 
 " No more no more, my friends," continued the lady, 
 in a tone of profound and utter despair. " It is a useless 
 task leave me to die, for what have I to live for ? " 
 
 " It is worth staying in this world were it only to keep 
 out of the next," said the other of the skeleton carcass, in 
 a strange whistling voice, while with a grin she showed 
 her white but deformed and unnaturally long teeth. " And 
 as for beauty when thou art as lank and lean as we 
 then mayest thou lament thy vanished loveliness." 
 
 " And were you ever beautiful ? " said Francesca, gaz- 
 ing at the speaker with a wild yet absent look. 
 
 " Beautiful as the houris, Donna Francesca," replied 
 the hag, with a malignant and envious leer at the beautiful 
 girl, who scarcely noticed that she was speaking, " and 
 what can repay me for being so old and withered before 
 my time ? " 
 
 " Thou lying book and still more lying prophets," 
 Francesca exclaimed, dashing the mysterious volume from 
 her, " if the spell of love is over, what is there in magic 
 that can replace its power? But does the traitor think 
 to trample thus on me ? Oh, Ferrando, thou hast made a 
 demon of me look to it that it prove not one who will 
 tear her maker to pieces ! " 
 
 The sisters looked at each other, exchanged smiles, 
 such as serpents might give, and resumed their toils. 
 
 A silence of some moments followed, during which
 
 Ube Uorre fcel JDiavolo 75 
 
 Francesca leaned her burning cheeks on her hand and 
 gazed with eager and devouring eyes upon the burning 
 sarcophagus. 
 
 "Ain emperor's dust may be calcining there what 
 more can the pride of the son of the morning require ? " 
 she said, at length, in a melancholy, musing tone. 
 
 " I told thee, daughter, that the heart should be taken 
 from a living man and not from a dead reptile," said 
 one of the hags, shaking her long, skinny finger em- 
 phatically at the contents of the skull. 
 
 " Thou talkest now indeed as remorselessly as death 
 itself," said Francesca, with a convulsive shudder. " We 
 have followed to his very letter the commands of Dom 
 Alamo and the book he gave us." 
 
 " Dom Alamo ! For my part I would so great a master 
 as he reports himself would take the trouble and shame 
 of his own failure," answered the hag, peevishly, while 
 she looked for approbation to her sister, whose superiority 
 and keener intellect she seemed to recognize. 
 
 " Yea, sister, we are not to blame if the duke comes 
 not nearer this tower in which no follower of the 
 house of Lesina may venture to-night than a hawk to 
 the nest of an eagle," returned the malignant crone. 
 
 " A Lesina a Lesina ! Oh, that there were a saint 
 in heaven to whom I could shriek for mercy," exclaimed 
 the young woman, throwing herself with frantic violence 
 on the sphinx's steps in a tearless agony of despair. 
 
 " Yield not thus hastily, daughter," said the hag in 
 authority, perhaps somewhat touched or alarmed by the 
 excess of this silent anguish. " Although we fail with 
 this spell of thine unknown Magus, we may do better 
 with one of our own, which is in our father's books, 
 the wisest and greatest since Zoroaster compelled the sun
 
 76 Gastel >el flDonte 
 
 to stand still in heaven during a year of days and nights 1 
 But be patient patient patient ! " 
 
 "We must have a warm human heart, not that of a 
 cold snake," remarked her sister, contemptuously. 
 
 " Take out your brass sickle then and tear out mine, 
 for 'tis on fire in my breast," said Francesca, ravingly 
 pointing to an instrument, which in obedience to the 
 traditions of the craft the sisters used in gathering their 
 herbs. 
 
 Again they exchanged their mysterious, but dreadful, 
 smile, and continued their labours in silence, interrupted 
 by the disconsolate sighs and meanings of Francesca. 
 
 At last, either wearied with, these expressions of an- 
 guish, or because the grand moment of projection had 
 arrived, Moira, the older of the sisters, made a sign to 
 Gorgo, the younger. 
 
 " We must now burn the heart in naphtha and frankin- 
 cense," she said. " Thou, daughter, put on the wreath 
 of purple nightshade, and with bare feet and scattering 
 flowers walk continually around the sarcophagus, singing 
 love-songs in a sweet, persuasive voice until we bid 
 thee desist, when he will appear, or Dom Alamo, adept 
 of the Arabian school though he be, is a fool and a liar ! " 
 
 The pale girl arose listlessly and despairingly, and while 
 the hags mumbled and assisted one another in preparing 
 their drugs and fluids over the fiery sarcophagus, she 
 slowly and hopelessly collected a heap of flowers in her 
 arms, and bound her brows with the gloomy garlands 
 indicated by the weird women. 
 
 Not a movement in this drama was lost upon the un- 
 seen spectator, and, although it is possible that the passion 
 which the despairing gjirl displayed for him excited 
 rather his contempt than his compassion, the duke was 
 not altogether insensible to its warmth. Still he re-
 
 Ube Uorre Del IDiavolo 77 
 
 solved to mortify the sorceresses, and prove the futility 
 of their spell by not appearing until they had exhausted 
 it and despaired of its success. 
 
 The hags had now completed their preparations, and 
 the heart appeared surrounded by a pure flame of 
 naphtha. They continued heaping it with frankincense, 
 and Frances ca commenced her perambulation, scattering 
 flowers and singing with a voice which, however wild 
 and troubled, was passionate and melting; while with 
 a frenzied fervour that gave her the aspect and inspired 
 effulgence of beauty which would have befitted a Delphic 
 sibyl, she chanted the lines of her incantation. 
 
 As she sang, the voluptuous and affecting recollections 
 kindled by her words, the melody of her voice, her beauty, 
 her despair, the intoxicating vapours of the drugs, roused 
 the duke's passions into flames. In the delirium and 
 enthusiasm of returning love, if love we may dare to 
 call it, Ferrando forgot his determination and desire to 
 disappoint the hags. He entered the winding hollow 
 of the pillar, and, turning round and round with giddy 
 rapidity, descended and arrived at the exit at the very 
 instant when the flames of the naphtha had expired, and 
 the incantation had ceased. As he leaped into the cham- 
 ber, Francesca had halted like a figure suddenly trans- 
 formed into stone. With a wild shriek, which the vault 
 reechoed, she rushed into his arms, while the hags, after 
 a momentary pause of surprise, clapped their withered 
 hands in congratulation. Showers of tears amidst wild 
 laughter, sobs, sighs, and kisses, delirious with passion 
 and joy, a thousand broken exclamations of delight and 
 despair, love and reproach, and the embraces which in 
 their frantic ardour overstepped or ignored the limits of 
 womanly reserve, betrayed the convulsive reaction in the
 
 78 Castel Del fl&onte 
 
 soul of the despairing victim of the duke's licentious 
 nature. 
 
 "And did you deem any other spell necessary to lure 
 me back to you than the memory of your beauty and 
 our past happiness ? " said Ferrando, kissing away the 
 tears, which continued to flow over the now crimsoning 
 cheeks. 
 
 " Nay, Ferrando, nay ! I but desire to hear you say 
 that you have not utterly abandoned me, to know that 
 I am not altogether alone in the universe in the presence 
 of that God whom I betrayed," exclaimed the lady of 
 the Torre del Diavolo. " Tell me that you do not despise 
 and loathe me, as I do myself! Remember that, though 
 I have lost all, I have lost all for you! Remember that 
 I was the bride of Christ, the daughter of one of the first 
 Apulian houses, innocent, happy, loved ! Remember what 
 I was once and what I am now, a wretch under the 
 malediction of heaven and earth, an outcast of the 
 illustrious house whose fair name I have darkened, re- 
 member all the oaths which you have broken, remember 
 that oh, what have I not suffered and lost for you ! 
 And can I, can I ever forgive you, Ferrando? Can I 
 ever do aught but hate and curse you and wear out my 
 soul in imprecations on your head ? " 
 
 " Curse me curse me, then, my lovely flower. I for 
 my part will content myself with kissing your sweet 
 pouting lips," said the duke, renewing his caresses. " But 
 do you, too, reproach me with my miseries on this ill- 
 starred and unwilling journey of mine? For your frenzy 
 must be running on that particular point." 
 
 " Yes, traitor yes, fathomless betrayer ! " exclaimed 
 Francesca, with sudden fury, while she tore herself from 
 his embrace. " And dare you with unblushing face speak 
 t? me of that consummation of all perfidy, that perjury
 
 Ube Uorre fcel 2>iat>olo 79 
 
 unmatched, which alone shall damn you below the black- 
 est fiends of hell, the betrayers of a thousand genera- 
 tions of men? Villain villain villain! Is this your 
 pledge, sworn by oaths that made the stars turn pale, 
 that you would make me your queen, your wife ? " 
 
 One of the sisters smiled and began mumbling in her 
 teeth, but the other breathlessly signed to her not to in- 
 terrupt the conversation, so much to her malign and mis- 
 anthropic taste. 
 
 " I remember the occasion well," said the duke, in a 
 cajoling and yet ironical tone. " You remind me well, 
 my bright Francesca. We were in the vineyards of the 
 gloomy Carmelites, where they had imprisoned you I 
 was then aspiring to the honours of the Church just 
 like yourself. I was leading you to my ladder of ropes on 
 the wall where good old Friar Martino trained his choicest 
 figs, and you were as reluctant to follow me as if it had 
 been to leave paradise, weeping and turning your proud, 
 snowy neck toward the convent walls what could I 
 do but promise? But was it for an intellect like yours, 
 which unites the greatest qualities of men's even with 
 the most passionate and wayward of women's, to believe 
 me or to think that Heaven would ratify an oath which 
 would make us perjurers to itself?" 
 
 " But hell at least has confirmed it, Ferrando ! You 
 have thrown off the priestly shackles of which a bribed 
 pontiff has too willingly absolved you. You are on your 
 way, if your soul quail not before the awful deed, to that 
 empire which I was to have shared, and which another 
 is to mount with you but you err, Ferrando, you err, 
 else you know me not! I swear to you that she shall 
 never be yours, that she shall never share with you that 
 throne which you are planning to mount by the most
 
 8o Castel Del flDonte 
 
 matchless treachery. Oh, how I hate you how I hate 
 you!" 
 
 The duke glanced in the direction of the witches, whom 
 he suspected or knew to be listening, and softened his 
 voice to a degree which made it impossible for them to 
 understand the words with which he soothed the excited 
 girl. 
 
 " Yea, my Francesca, soul of my soul ! I have mounted, 
 and ever by your means, until nothing but the highest 
 remains to be attained ! " He paused and fixed his eyes 
 upon her with passionate and mournful expression. " And 
 would you dash me back into darkness, dispel the visions 
 of my dream just as they are about to change into 
 brilliant reality? Would you and why? You have 
 allowed yourself to be overcome by an unreasoning 
 jealousy, fit only to be entertained by the lowest of 
 your sex, above whom your glorious and heroic spirit 
 has ever set you, when you ought to glory in the knowl- 
 edge that this soul is yours, yours for time and eternity, 
 and has never wavered in its faith." 
 
 " Traitor ! Matchless traitor ! " exclaimed Francesca, 
 wildly. " But I will not pass away without my ven- 
 geance, and then I only wish that I might sink back 
 into that state of oblivion from which I have been evoked 
 only to suffer." 
 
 " What can you do, Francesca ? " said the duke, with 
 a smile. " If I had feared your vengeance on this your 
 imaginary rival, if I had not known that even seeing 
 her beauty you must know that my soul, which had been 
 twined in fire with yours, could never mingle with an- 
 other if I really loved her, deem you that I would have 
 trusted her alone in this city during mine absence with- 
 out command to keep you in reality a prisoner, since you 
 are one only in name ? "
 
 TTbe Uorre fcel Diavolo 81 
 
 " And are you assured that your command would have 
 been obeyed ? " exclaimed Francesca, pressing both hands 
 against her bosom, as if to repress its violent heavings. 
 " Have I not brought you hither by a spell, you cruel, 
 unmerciful betrayer ? And could not one of equal power 
 have rescued me from your castle and your Spaniards' 
 clutches ? " 
 
 " Now, by St. Peter, I swear I believe that you have 
 a spell and one irresistible," returned the duke, seizing 
 the indignant girl and clutching her in his fierce embrace, 
 despite her struggles and wrath. " But you do love me," 
 he continued, in soothing tones ; " have you not lost 
 heaven itself for me? Are you not the talisman of my 
 power? For without your love to reward, your zeal to 
 second, your courage to prompt, would I not be still 
 a whimpering priest, a whining monk, cursing the altars 
 at which he kneels? Moreover, my love, you are so 
 wholly mine that you cannot in any way harm me with- 
 out harming yourself a thousandfold." 
 
 "And what could your power all mankind do 
 against me ? " said the girl, with a smile of supernatural 
 despair. " What if I had yielded to the impulse that 
 urged me on, as with an angel's fiery sword, to rush from 
 my prison and to proclaim your crimes in the presence 
 of all the Italian world now assembled within these 
 gates ? They would have believed me ! " 
 
 "And what would they have believed? It is indeed 
 not altogether incredible that a priest might err, or that 
 a youthful nun might discover that the blood in her veins 
 flowed somewhat warmer than melting ice," replied the 
 duke, tranquilly. " But should you revive an ancient 
 charge against me, you know, who would gainsay you ? " 
 
 " To shelter you from the just retribution for your 
 crimes, to baffle the vengeance of my noble kinsman,"
 
 82 (Eastel fcel n&onte 
 
 replied Francesca, vehemently. " Ah, what heavier ven- 
 geance could you imprecate upon my guilty head ! Ah, 
 aged Lesina, thy curse is now exhausted. Hopeless days 
 and sleepless nights, terror and remorse despair and 
 desolation for ever around me ! Oh ! Needed it but this, 
 your last, irrevocable treason, betrayer, to fill to over- 
 flowing the cup of my bitterness ? " 
 
 " Wherefore, then, did you not tarry in the convent, 
 whence I took you, for another, to whom you could have 
 given yourself with less remorse ? " replied the duke, 
 darkening into livid pallor. " I trow, if all the truth were 
 known, the fruit was ripe for the gathering, and it was 
 but a question into whose lap it was to fall." 
 
 " You say not this to me, Ferrando, as meaning it 
 you do not, you dare not ! " exclaimed Francesca, shrink- 
 ing back, while the pallor of death overspread her 
 features, and her eyes sparkled with an almost super- 
 natural glow. " But it is impossible O God, let this 
 at least be impossible! Ferrando, I but desired your 
 presence here to tell you how I hated, loathed, despised 
 you ! To bid you farewell for ever ! " 
 
 " Shall we remove the image, daughter, or close it up 
 in the marble, as the wizard bade us, to preserve thy 
 lover ever loving and bring him continually back to thine 
 arms, like a bird to its nest ? " said Moira, with a hideous 
 grin of scorn and malice, her serpent eyes overflowing 
 with fiendish delight and cunning. 
 
 The duke turned toward the interrogator, with a deep 
 and grotesque bow. 
 
 " Your pardon, fascinating graces, for not previously 
 baring my head to your worshipful presence ! But what 
 say you, love, my own Francesca what shall the grisly 
 mothers do? " The duke turned from the witches to his
 
 Ube Uorre fcel SMavolo 83 
 
 beautiful victim, gazing upon her with eyes fraught with 
 fire. 
 
 Shame and passion, pride and disdain, struggled for 
 some instants in his captive's haughty bosom, and alter- 
 nately whitened and crimsoned her beautiful face, like the 
 rose and snowy lights of an Alpine sunset. But it was 
 not hard to predict which emotion would Ultimately 
 triumph in her tempestuous spirit, and as she sank in an 
 agony of shame and love into her betrayer's arms, the 
 weird sisters seemed in need of no further instruction. 
 
 While Ferrando of Altamura poured forth a torrent of 
 passionate assurances and loving upbraidings of her 
 doubts, the two sisters, muttering diverse recondite spells, 
 proceeded to cover the sarcophagus with a lid which 
 seemed to belong to it. When this was completed, the 
 older of the hags melted some lead in an earthen pot 
 filled with naphtha, after which they proceeded to solder 
 up the sarcophagus with many additional rites and cere- 
 monies. 
 
 " You triumph, Ferrando, you triumph, but you know 
 me not ! I desire to be henceforth only your friend, 
 your adviser, if you will, but your love nevermore ! " 
 started the girl, with a new outbreak of womanly wrath 
 and shame. Then she continued : " Leave me now ! 
 My heart is sufficiently comforted; I have seen you, I 
 know you do not hate me 'tis enough. Return to your 
 palazzo and leave me to my lonely anguish. I will watch 
 you to the gates from my tower, and as the last torch 
 vanishes within I shall know that, although another awaits 
 your coming, you are remembering that here, in the halls 
 of my father's palace, you first did behold me, an inno- 
 cent child at my grandsire's feet, wreathing in careless 
 joy a garland of flowers to deck the gray hairs which I 
 was to bring to the grave with sorrow and disgrace."
 
 84 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 Even the duke was touched by this melancholy recol- 
 lection. 
 
 " Nay, my love, my own Francesca ! Even by the 
 memory that still haunts me of that enchanting past, I 
 shall not leave you until you have sworn to love me as 
 wholly and faithfully as you did then," he said, vehe- 
 mently. " And hear me, when in return I pledge myself 
 by all my hopes of empire and greatness the hour is 
 nigh when you shall indeed be nearer to me than ever, 
 in very truth my queen and Empress of Italy ! " 
 
 Weeping, but listening not unsoothed to the flattering 
 sounds, Francesca murmured some scarcely articulate 
 words to the busy hags, to which they nodded assent. 
 With an irresolute glance at the duke, she yet suffered 
 him to follow her in the ascent of the pillar, but so rapidly 
 did she precede him that, not being accustomed to its 
 giddy rotations, he was left considerably in the rear. 
 
 On reaching the summit the duke encountered Crivello 
 with a torch, but Francesca had vanished. 
 
 " Where is the lady ? Has she not passed you, Cri- 
 vello ? " he exclaimed. 
 
 " No, signer, no ! " returned the Catalan, much startled. 
 " Yet I have been awaiting your Excellency for a long 
 and tedious hour." 
 
 " This is most singular," said the duke, with a momen- 
 tary feeling of superstitious awe. " It would almost 
 seem that she has discovered the secret of walking in- 
 visible, and yet, in truth, there must needs be some magic 
 in her spell, for hardly in the maddest days of my love 
 for her did her coyish pranks prove as irksome to me 
 as now. I will not leave the torre till I have found 
 her." 
 
 ' Tis looking in vain, signer, if she is bent on the 
 contrary," said Crivello. "But I must needs remind
 
 Ube Uorre fcel Biavolo 85 
 
 your Excellency of the great company which awaits 
 you " 
 
 " State affairs have detained me ! Lend me your torch ! 
 This capricious girl shall not thus sport with the flames 
 she has aroused," returned the duke, impatiently, and, 
 snatching the torch, he began his exploration with an 
 eagerness and perseverance which yielded only after long 
 and fruitless efforts to Crivello's convictions of its use- 
 lessness. 
 
 It was easily ascertained that Francesca could not 
 have retired to her own apartments, for none of the sen- 
 tinels, whom she must have passed, had seen the least 
 sign of such an apparition. 
 
 " She has indeed discovered a spell which, by our 
 Lady, had she known it earlier, might have kept me en- 
 slaved long ere it did befall," said the duke, with an air 
 of vexation. " But look to it, captain, that I find her 
 in sight at my next visit, or I shall deem that you are in 
 the trick too. And bid her summon her wizard, that he 
 may match his skill with mine, for he must needs be 
 great in a science of which I am curious. Why stare 
 you so at me with your stony eyes ? Learn to obey with- 
 out thinking, else Satan may pinch you with ten thousand 
 red-hot pincers ! Let us begone ! Crivello I appoint 
 you castellan of the torre ! " 
 
 And while the abashed Catalan was bowing his silent 
 acknowledgments, the duke unwillingly prepared to quit 
 the gloomy passages of the Torre del Diavolo.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 FAVARA 
 
 FEVERED with agitation and ruminating on the events 
 of the day, with mind and feelings so hopelessly per- 
 plexed that he did not even note the conspicuous absence 
 of Canaletto, Ottorino returned to the palace of Khalesa. 
 The sea shone with the glory of the setting sun, the air 
 was calm, and the white surf, tinged with the crimson 
 of sunset, broke lightly on the sands. But the Lombard 
 heeded not the dazzling splendour of his surroundings, 
 not the massy barriers of mountains beyond, with forests 
 rising from their base, and precipices frowning over the 
 forests, nor the fleecy clouds resting on their summits, 
 reddened with the reflection of the west. A thousand 
 and one thoughts, desires, and fears, as new to him as 
 their force seemed overwhelming, rushed through his 
 brain. At last then he had met face to face the lady of 
 Miraval, and the spell of her beauty was upon him. 
 
 Without a spice of the vanity of 'the coxcomb in his 
 lofty and austere character, the Lombard could yet not 
 have failed to observe that Helena di Miraval's eyes had 
 discoursed to him something warmer than the gratitude 
 due to a deliverer even from so great a peril. Again and 
 again he recalled to memory every trait of that exquisite 
 face, the lovely mouth, the dark, fathomless eyes, and he 
 felt himself irresistibly drawn toward the enchantress. 
 
 6
 
 jfavara 87 
 
 But then the fatal rumours current about the kinswoman 
 of the Duke of Altamura pressed their sharp thorn deeply 
 into his heart. The sudden and mysterious demise of 
 the lady of Miraval's apparently most favoured suitors 
 was not the outgrowth of a lying chronicler's fancy, who 
 for the turn of an epigram, or to give his sonnet an 
 acuter sting, would have blackmailed the devil himself. 
 The tale of Azzo of Gioja, who, persisting in his suit, was 
 found strangled on the steps of the cathedral, after hav- 
 ing ignored the warning conveyed to him in a golden 
 ewer, revealing a skull when he uncovered the dish, 
 this was more than the idle tale of varlets and drunken 
 condottieri to shorten the watch at a camp-fire. 
 
 In the sway of these conflicting emotions, in this strug- 
 gle between love and fear, Ottorino conceived a project 
 which was fully in keeping with the ideas of his land 
 and his own frame of mind, but which was probably not 
 uninfluenced by the superstitious feeling to which the 
 associations of his whole life had subjected even his 
 powerful intellect. The thought occurred to him to seek 
 the presence of the Dominican, stating to him the doubts 
 which filled his mind in regard to the duke, under pre- 
 tence of learning the latter's position in the new Ghibel- 
 line state. A look or even a gesture of the monk might 
 throw more light into the darkness than any words he 
 was likely to speak. And he felt that he dared not trust 
 himself in the presence of either the duke or the lady till 
 he had set his mind at rest, for fear lest he should betray 
 the secret of his heart. 
 
 Without confiding his intent to any one, and so care- 
 fully guarding his secret that he even disdained to in- 
 quire the direction of the Dominican's habitation, Otto- 
 rino set out on foot to find the latter's abode. 
 
 The night was sultry but clear. The moon had risen
 
 88 Castel t>el flDonte 
 
 high in the heavens as the Visconti traversed the romantic 
 wilderness surrounding the palace of Khalesa. Here were 
 no trained trees and hedges, all was free and unrestrained 
 nature, lavish and thriving without the aid of man. Not 
 even the paths betrayed the least care in their preser- 
 vation. Huge plane-trees lifted their heads above holm- 
 oaks and gnarled quinces, and the broad-leafed fig glis- 
 tened by the side of the gray-green olive. A wild con- 
 fusion of brushwood and creepers bordered the narrow 
 path; ivy, periwinkle, and acanthus entangled the giants 
 of the wood with almost inextricable network. Maiden- 
 hair hung in luxurious tufts above myrtles and bays, and 
 sombre evergreen contrasted, as light and shadow, with 
 the brilliant centifolia. The whole plant world of a trop- 
 ical clime held here its intoxicating orgy, while deep in 
 the recesses of the enchanting wilderness, like the palace 
 of a magician, built of liquid silver, rose with its marble 
 shafts and glittering cupolas the Moorish palace of 
 Favara. 
 
 Like a miniature paradise, such as the fantastic Mos- 
 lem mind conceived it, the magnificent gardens of 
 Almenani and Favara encircled their fairy kiosks with 
 murmuring fountains, lawns intersected by walls of 
 blossoming shrubs, groves of camellias and azaleas, and 
 airy groups of bamboos, the lanceolated foliage of which 
 shivered in the soft night wind like supple ribbons of 
 brilliant metallic green. The dream-palace itself was 
 surrounded by rose gardens, exhibiting specimens of 
 every known variety against a background of almond- 
 trees in full bloom, while an incongruous profusion of 
 flowers cast their intoxicating perfumes amid the inter- 
 lacing branches, forming a natural trellised roof over- 
 head. Pink and white myrtles, golden-hued jonquils, 
 rainbow-tinted chrysanthemums, purple rhododendrons,
 
 jfaxmra 89 
 
 irises, lilacs, and magnolias mixed their odours in an 
 almost intoxicating perfume, while rare orchids raised 
 their glowing petals with tropical gorgeousness in the 
 moonlight. 
 
 The sky was radiant, and the magic lustre of a great 
 white moon, hanging like an alabaster lamp in the deep 
 blue overhead, invaded the sombre bosquets of Favara, 
 and lit the trellised rose-walks to the marble palace, cast- 
 ing into bold relief against the deep shadows of palm 
 and ilex the many feathery jets of water which rose and 
 fell with whispers of coolness in the flower-filled basins 
 of alabaster. 
 
 Ottorino gazed in silent admiration upon this now 
 deserted wonder-world, then slowly continuing upon his 
 way, he entered the deep solitude of a grove formed of 
 blooming oleander and magnolias, amidst which, at fre- 
 quent intervals, glittered the spray of Arabian fountains 
 in the moonlight. 
 
 " Can paradise be more loVely ? " he murmured, as, 
 oblivious of his goal, he paused to survey the scene. " Is 
 there a spot on earth more beautiful than this enchanted 
 wood? It calls forth in the soul the wish for some one 
 to love, some one to confide in " 
 
 He paused, and with face pale and anxious gazed long 
 and intently at the stars, while the rays of the moon 
 broke on the playful waters of the cascade and tinged 
 with silver the breathless foliage of the cypress-trees. 
 And his heart whispered a name to his lips, a name so 
 sweet, so passionately loved, that he longed to cry it out 
 to the stars above, to the pale, silent moon, that shed 
 her mysterious radiance over the fantastic plumage of 
 trees waving in the dreamy night air, then through the 
 enchanted stillness floated trembling, as if in dread of 
 its own sound, as if in dread of the slumbering echoes
 
 9 Castel Oei /iDonte 
 
 that might whisper it to dreaming flower and tree, the 
 name: 
 
 "Helena! Helena!" 
 
 " What fairy answers to this invocation ? " a voice, 
 which strangely thrilled his whole being, said, closely by 
 his side, and before him, both hands extended, her match- 
 lessly beautiful face uplifted, and with the inscrutable, 
 velvety eyes fixed upon his own, stood Helena di Miraval. 
 
 For a moment the Lombard gazed speechlessly into the 
 eyes that held his own with their magic spell. Then, not 
 daring to touch the proffered hands, he faltered: 
 
 " Nay, if fairy it be, she hath indeed acknowledged 
 the spell, and her presence removes the sting of remorse 
 for my unwitting intrusion into her realms." 
 
 " I lord not this domain, which I but invaded in quest 
 of a knowledge I would fain acquire, if it be within 
 human ken to satisfy the thirst that consumes my soul," 
 said Helena di Miraval. " Stranger that you are in 
 Palermo, it may be unknown to you that in this abode 
 dwells Ben Hussein, the astrologer, the familiar of the 
 old emperor and of Manfred, the king." 
 
 " Then you came to consult the stars ? " Ottorino fal- 
 tered, almost revealing his kindred intent. " But may 
 not the fairy of Favara divine events to come without aid 
 of astrologer or wizard ? " 
 
 The lady of Miraval shook her beautiful head, while a 
 smile, intoxicating yet strangely imbued with a tinge of 
 sadness, hovered around her lips. 
 
 " Alas even the present is to her a mystery, which 
 it lies but in the power of him to solve who is lord of 
 its key. But since by fate or chance we meet again, here 
 and at this hour, let me again thank you for the life 
 you have saved, a gift made doubly precious bestowed 
 by your hands ! "
 
 jfavara 91 
 
 Ottorino bent over the beautiful white hands extended 
 to him, and pressed his lips upon them in fervent ecstasy. 
 Then raising his eyes, he gazed upon her with a sense 
 of mingled dread and worship, as one might look upon 
 an idol, too high removed for love, and yet demanding 
 divine adoration. Then, seized by an hysterical passion 
 beyond his control, forgetful of all consequences, for- 
 getful of his own resolves, he spoke in a voice filled with 
 emotion : 
 
 " Helena Helena ! The man to whom love has been 
 but as a sealed book has met his fate ! What shall I say 
 to you but that I worship you with all the strength of 
 my life, that I love you so deeply that I am afraid to 
 think of it, that I love you with a passion I dare not 
 dwell upon, too well, too madly for my own peace. For- 
 give the madness that has broken all barriers of restraint, 
 the frenzy which mocks alike at studied hour and phrase 
 I love you, I love you ! " 
 
 Benumbed by his own daring, he paused, trembling, 
 breathless. 
 
 Not a sound echoed through the long cypress avenues 
 of Favara, only amidst groves of myrtle and aloe the 
 nightingale sang her song of love. 
 
 Helena's eyes were alight with a strange lustre, which 
 seemed not love as much as fear, and her very lips paled 
 at Ottorino's passionate outburst. 
 
 " Did it then come so suddenly ? " she whispered, al- 
 most inaudibly. " Did it then come so suddenly ? " 
 
 " As sudden as fate and as resistless," the Lombard 
 replied. " I had not loved till the hour we met, when 
 the god in my heart leaped forth to greet the god in your 
 eyes, and as certain as you are the first woman to whom 
 Ottorino Visconti has spoken words of love, as certain
 
 92 Gastel fcel flDonte 
 
 will you be the only one that he will love to his life's 
 end." 
 
 He paused, drawing a deep breath, while with the 
 silent yet irresistible magnetism of her eyes she held his 
 gaze. The same bewildering, intoxicating siren smile 
 played around Helena di Miraval's beautiful mouth, while 
 she regarded him with strangely musing glances. 
 
 " You say you love me," she said, slowly, and with 
 singular trepidation, "and yet you do not know me! 
 You tell me you love me in the face of my beauty's fatal 
 spell, whose fame had reached your ears long ere your 
 eyes gazed into mine. What certainty is yours that I 
 am not toying with you, how know you that I came not 
 hither to elicit from your lips the confession I read at 
 our first meeting in your eyes, as I read therein the 
 horror when by the duke's gentle address my identity 
 was revealed to you ? How know you that I am not here 
 to lure you on to that abyss of darkness wherein lie 
 rotting Helena di Miraval's countless lovers nay, look 
 not so frightened ! You did not trust me then why 
 trust me now ? I saw you start so did the duke ! " 
 
 She paused, noting the deadly pallor that had over- 
 spread the Lombard's features ; then, freeing her hands, 
 she faced him in the whole splendour of her unrivalled 
 beauty. As he made no response, she continued, softly: 
 
 " For the life you have bestowed on Helena di Miraval, 
 let her give you another in return. Fly, Visconti fly 
 from Palermo as if the plague were on your heels. Too 
 long have you tarried even now. Abandon your suit and 
 forget her who is unworthy of a love so exalted, but who 
 will always remember her noble preserver." 
 
 Ottorino had gradually recovered his self-possession, 
 of which the lady of Miraval's speech had almost de-
 
 jfavara 93 
 
 prived him, but a strained look came into his eyes as he 
 replied : 
 
 "I care not to lift the veil that enshrines your heart, 
 Helena! I ask not what brought you hither; whether 
 it was the fervent prayer of my soul, or chance, or fate. 
 I love you, love you so, that if your decree turns light 
 into darkness I shall not appeal to the future hour. If 
 you cannot love me as I do you, say so now ! I cannot 
 share your love with another! I want you all my own, 
 every beat of your heart, every fibre of your being, every 
 atom of your soul ! Palermo I will not leave unless it 
 be with you ! I have laid at your feet all I call my own, 
 and in your hands, Helena, you hold the threads of my 
 destiny ! " 
 
 There was an austere loftiness in his speech that went 
 straight to the woman's heart. Softly and entreatingly 
 the words came from her lips, and as she spoke Ottorino 
 again clasped the firm white hands within his own, listen- 
 ing to her speech in a delirium of ecstasy. 
 
 " You will not heed my warning listen to my words, 
 Ottorino," she said, dwelling on his name, as if it reluc- 
 tantly parted from her lips. " The duke, my kinsman, has 
 plans of his own, plans regarding myself which I tremble 
 even to surmise. Have you the courage to love me in 
 the face of what awaits us if the duke should discover 
 our attachment before we could place ourselves beyond 
 the reach of his dire temper, and in the face of what 
 the world has said and will continue to say of Helena 
 di Miraval?" 
 
 " Say but that you love me, and I will believe you 
 against the whole world ! " the Lombard stammered, 
 passionately, as with gentle force he drew her down to 
 a seat beside him. 
 
 " I love you," she whispered, with her arms about him,
 
 94 Castel Del flDonte 
 
 " I loved you from the moment when your gaze of lofty 
 pride fell upon me, when opening mine eyes from 
 the trance I gazed into those of my preserver ! And you 
 no longer dread this fatal spell of mine, which has 
 wrought such havoc among the fluttering hearts of men, 
 you fear not to lose me just at the moment when our 
 happiness seems most complete ? " 
 
 " I do fear," he replied, " and who, that truly loves, 
 does not ? But I fear not you, my Helena, only for you ! " 
 
 A dreamy radiance lingered in her beautiful eyes as she 
 responded to his caresses. Not a sound broke the quiet 
 of the hour save the monotonous plaint of an owl among 
 the leafy boughs. The old oaks wove a carpet of shadows 
 around them, changing the patterns of its tissue con- 
 stantly upon the velvety moss-ground ; the magnolias dis- 
 tilled their perfume through the still shade; the soft 
 breeze of night had gone down, and the smooth surface 
 of the lake lay like a shield of molten gold, reflecting the 
 light of the planet that rules our dreams. 
 
 At last Helena broke the silence. 
 
 " How beautiful is the hour ! " she said, dreamily. " It 
 seems as if a disembodied spirit walked through our 
 hearts, a spirit that has seen all worlds and shared in all 
 sufferings." 
 
 " Helena," Ottorino replied, passionately, " the gift 
 of a woman's love, such as yours, has been the dream, 
 the ambition, of my life! Forgive me, impetuous as I 
 am, for having forced my confession upon you in this 
 hour ! Life is too short to curtail one moment of happi- 
 ness from the years full of care which are most men's 
 lot. Since I have set eyes upon you, I can imagine no 
 life, only death, separated from you. It seems to me 
 that you must always have been with me from the be-
 
 95 
 
 ginning we were destined to find each other, even with 
 worlds between us ! " 
 
 They sat for some moments without speaking. Otto- 
 rino could have remained so for ever, gazing with rapture 
 on her half-averted face, beaming with such divine 
 beauty, and all aglow with the happy consciousness of 
 his ardent admiration. She seemed as beautiful as a 
 goddess, and in his heart, if not on his knees, he bent 
 in worship almost idolatrous. And Ottorino Visconti, 
 who in the almost incessant broils of the past decade had 
 faced death in every form, trembled at the side of this 
 most beautiful woman as he had never trembled before. 
 He held the hands that lay unresistingly in his in a 
 tender clasp. He pressed them to his lips, he sought to 
 divine by their magnetic touch his impending fate. 
 Helena's face was still averted, suffused with an unseen 
 blush, yet she felt a wild joy which no art of dissimula- 
 tion could conceal flashing and leaping in her bosom, as 
 he whispered his fervent appeals into her ears. At last 
 she raised her dark, impassioned eyes to his, and their 
 souls met and embraced in one long and wistful look of 
 silent recognition. 
 
 " I love you I love you," she stammered, while he 
 kissed her eyes and mouth in a wild ecstasy of joy. 
 
 The words had hardly left her lips when a sudden 
 crash of thunder rolled over their heads and went peal- 
 ing down the lake and the distant valley, while a black 
 cloud suddenly eclipsed the moon, obscuring her silvery 
 rays and shedding darkness over the landscape. 
 
 Helena uttered a cry of dismay, while, startled and 
 frightened, she clung to Ottorino for protection, as the 
 angry reverberations rolled away in the distant forests. 
 
 " Ottorino," she faltered, "it is as if a dreadful voke 
 had spoken an omen of evil."
 
 96 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 " It is but a sudden thunder-storm, and we had better 
 seek a sheltering roof. We love each other, Helena, and 
 hell itself may not frown on us." 
 
 " I would love you just the same if all the powers of 
 doom were arrayed against us," she replied. " And who 
 knows but what they may be ? " 
 
 But they had not much time for talking, for in ever 
 denser masses black clouds came rolling over the horizon, 
 coming lower and lower, touching the very earth. Every 
 now and then the clouds were rent and split with vivid 
 flashes of lightning, while the rising wind overpowered 
 with its roaring the thunder that pealed momentarily 
 nearer and nearer. 
 
 " Let us seek shelter in the kiosk," said Ottorino, " the 
 storm will not be long," and, starting down the path, they 
 reached the quaint Moorish structure just as a blinding 
 flash of lightning was followed by an almost deafening 
 peal of thunder. Helena clung to Ottorino amidst the 
 tempest of wind and the moving darkness ; they caught 
 occasional glimpses of each other when the lightning 
 rent the gloom which had crept over the slumbering world 
 around. They had barely reached the kiosk when the 
 rain came down in broad, heavy splashes, while the up- 
 roar of the elements seemed to efface every outline of 
 creation. 
 
 Be it that she guessed her lover's thoughts which his 
 tremulous gestures and the fire in his eyes betrayed, be 
 it that she feared to be alone with him in this solitary 
 retreat, Helena's manner suddenly grew colder and more 
 reserved. She endeavoured to change that rhapsody of 
 burning eloquence, sweet though it was to her heart, in 
 which Ottorino atoned for the intermittent silence. But 
 the apprehensions which dictated this change of de- 
 meanour were in themselves dangerously suggestive.
 
 faxmra 97 
 
 The Lombard's words became strangely vague and ran- 
 dom. He continued to gaze with a kind of fierceness 
 upon Helena, while half in fear, half in hope of restrain- 
 ing his impetuous ardour, she tried to win from him the 
 assurance that he would conceal his love for her from 
 the duke. 
 
 " You will require all your love for me, all your faith 
 and circumspection, to evade his snares," she said, falter- 
 ingly. " Think not of it lightly ! I cannot always be 
 with you, and once you allow your faith to waver we 
 are both lost, you and I ! And since you love me with 
 a love strong, passionate, and unchangeable as my own, 
 oh, do not mistrust me, Ottorino! Do not doubt me 
 even in the face of my having obeyed but my woman's 
 heart in surrendering to you that which was your own ! " 
 
 " I love you and I trust you ! " he replied, pressing a 
 long, passionate kiss upon her lips, a kiss which seemed 
 to mingle their beings into one. 
 
 For a moment she abandoned herself to his caresses, 
 resistlessly and with eyes closed in ecstasy, then, releasing 
 herself, she rose abruptly. 
 
 " Swear, then, to leave me on the instant, Ottorino," 
 she said, standing apart from him. " I am all yours, but 
 do not debase your love to be the thing her calumniators 
 have called her. The storm is subsiding and I must re- 
 turn before my absence is discovered. Do not attempt 
 to follow me I came not hither entirely alone," she 
 concluded, with a bewitching smile. " But my attend- 
 ants are discreet, and no mortal ear has dishallowed the 
 sanctity of this hour ! " 
 
 Again Ottorino grasped her hands. 
 
 " Nay you shall not thus leave me," he stammered, 
 " mocking with your absence the longing of my heart 
 you shall not leave me till my soul has assurance of its
 
 98 Castel Del /iDonte 
 
 idol's response to its impassioned call ! Why am I to 
 avoid you ? Why must I conceal a worship whose goal is 
 but the honour and happiness of its object? Is Helena di 
 Miraval not free to love according to the dictates of her 
 own proud heart ? What have we to fear from the duke ? 
 Let rather him beware how he crosses our path ! " 
 
 Helena di Miraval regarded the Lombard with the 
 same inscrutable gaze of her fathomless eyes, while a 
 smile lingered on her lips. 
 
 " The seed of doubt is sprouting even now in your 
 heart," she said, softly. " How will it be when I am 
 not with you? Little you know of the duke, of his 
 dark intents, and of the strange power he wields over 
 me; a spell which only love and faith unwavering can 
 break. Ask no more not now not here! I dread 
 the very air ! I love you, but it were perilous for you to 
 seek me out; trust yourself not alone in this city after 
 this hour, and stray not as near the duke's palace, as a 
 dove to the nest of an eagle. You are brave but all 
 bravery were useless against the brave's steel." She 
 paused for a moment as if lost in thought, then, noting 
 the strained and puzzled look which had passed into his 
 eyes, she extended her hands to him. " I must leave 
 you now," she said, softly. " Too long have I tarried ; 
 but if you would have tidings from me be to-mor- 
 row at vespers at the Convent of Santa Lucia. Do you 
 trust me, Ottorino ? " 
 
 " Forgive me " he faltered. " It is all so strange to 
 me, - do not play with me, Helena ! " 
 
 " I love you," she replied, while her eyes seemed to 
 hold his own with their subtle spell, and her fingers 
 gently returned the pressure of the hands that held 
 hers. " Time will set all clear between us, and all that
 
 ffavara 99 
 
 I fear even to whisper under this sky shall be known to 
 you!" 
 
 The storm had by this time subsided almost as sud- 
 denly as it had broken, and a few stars began to twinkle 
 here and there in the transparent sky. Ottorino guided 
 Helena's steps through the purple dusk which pervaded 
 the kiosk, into the gardens, filled again with glittering 
 rays of moonlight. The rain-drops, trembling on leaves 
 and boughs, sparkled like thousands of diamonds, and 
 the fresh odours from the rain-washed flowers perfumed 
 the air. 
 
 At the entrance of a cypress avenue, where fork-like 
 the path branched off in three directions, they paused. 
 Helena laid her hands on Ottorino's shoulders, while she 
 gazed intently and passionately into his eyes. 
 
 " And now, my friend, farewell ! " she said, slowly, and 
 with trembling accents. "To-morrow at dusk, at the 
 convent of Santa Lucia, and," she added, with a 
 smile, "mark well the sun-dial on the turret of Ab- 
 durrhaman ! " 
 
 Once more the Lombard clasped her passionately to 
 his heart; once more their lips met in one long ecstatic 
 kiss, then Helena gently released herself from his encir- 
 cling arms, and a moment later she had disappeared in 
 the hazy distance of the cypress avenue. 
 
 For some time Ottorino stood where Helen had 
 left him, gazing, as one in a trance, in the direction 
 whence she had disappeared. So absorbed was his mood 
 that he perceived not the slowly approaching form of a 
 man in Saracenic attire, who, muttering strangely to 
 himself, had emerged from the copse. 
 
 Ben Hussein, the astrologer of the court of Palermo, 
 was a man much below the common size of his race. He 
 was small, spare, and slightly hunchbacked, yet in his
 
 ioo Gastel &el 
 
 presence and mien there was something before which the 
 proudest noble bowed in submission, something that 
 seemed to tower above even the majesty of royalty. He 
 walked with light and noiseless step, as if his foot 
 spurned to tread the earth. In the carriage of his head 
 there was something of so indefinable and imposing a 
 dignity that he inspired that feeling of awe so insep- 
 arably connected with the profession in which he had 
 become an adept. 
 
 When Ottorino, startled from his reverie by a dark 
 shadow flitting across his path, beheld the bent form of 
 the Moor, he at once divined his profession by the magic 
 signs and characters emblazoned upon the latter's snow- 
 white turban and upon his girdle, and his former intent 
 reverted to him. 
 
 " I greet thee," he said, in response to the Saracen's 
 mute salutation, "and my heart rejoices at finding in 
 these solitudes one possessed of the power to unveil the 
 mysteries which baffle our mind, when the soul, finding 
 its earthly prison too narrow, would fain take its flight 
 into spheres which are but a sealed book for us, were it 
 not for the wisdom of thy kind ! " 
 
 " It was even for revealing this science that Harut 
 and Marut were confined by Allah blessed be his 
 name in the walls of Babel," replied the astrologer, 
 glancing wistfully at the Lombard. " Thou wouldst in- 
 quire into the decrees of those bright, heavenly bodies, 
 thou wouldst know if they promise fulfilment of thy 
 hopes? The stars acknowledge no pity ; passionless they 
 look down upon our joys and our sorrows, but whatever 
 there is written therein, that will be fulfilled." 
 
 "Nay," Ottorino interposed, beeseechingly, "since thou 
 hast not reproved my presence in these thy solitudes, 
 grant the prayer of my soul. I shall accept the decrees
 
 ffatmra 101 
 
 of the stars without fear, and, if it needs must be, with- 
 out hope ! " 
 
 " The end is in the throes of its beginning : at Castel 
 del Monte we meet again ! " 
 
 Ere Ottorino had divined the intent of the astrologer, 
 the latter had disappeared in the copse. Pondering over 
 his strange words, the Lombard slowly began to retrace 
 his steps toward Khalesa. 
 
 The night-wind rustled among the fragrant leaves of 
 the citron and pomegranate. The silver tinkling of a 
 cascade, hidden in groves of luxuriant and tropical foliage, 
 chimed melodiously through the verdant wilderness, and 
 Ottorino Visconti disappeared in the night, carrying his 
 dreaming heart along the mystic road of destiny.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 COUNT LANDULF OF TRENT 
 
 A GORGEOUS train of barons, nobles, prelates, and 
 knights poured through the portals of the imperial 
 Hohenstaufen palace into the Sala Regia. Between 
 marshals and heralds and halberdiers, between Nubian 
 slaves and Saracenic guards, between Moors in fantastic 
 garbs and eunuchs, whose stealthy, noiseless steps were 
 lost amidst the spur-clashing tread of the imperial guards, 
 the whole pomp and procession passed on in due mar- 
 shalry, entering the magnificent council-hall at almost 
 the same time that Manfred descended from the grand 
 marble stairway at its extremity. He was accompanied 
 by the dignitaries of the realm, and followed by yet larger 
 groups of gilded officials, officers of illustrious rank, lay 
 and clerical, prelates from remote lands, princes, abbots, 
 grand masters of the chief orders of knighthood, monks, 
 pages, guardsmen, and eunuchs. 
 
 Ottorino's anxiety to behold face to face the man who 
 had dictated his terms to three pontiffs, under whose 
 banners the Ghibellines had vanquished the party of the 
 Guelphs, was so great that he took care to retain his 
 station in the very front ranks of the assembly. 
 
 It needed not the gorgeous robes of royalty, stiff with 
 costly gems, nor the ponderous mantle of cloth of gold ; 
 it needed not the blazing circlet of Tancred, the last of 
 
 102
 
 Count Xantwlt ot Urent 103 
 
 the Norman kings, nor the flambeau of the Hohen- 
 staufen, to discern the person of Manfred, the glorious 
 son of Emperor Frederick the Second. With the majesty 
 of Charlemagne, with the grace of an Apollo, he faced 
 the assembly. A tremendous shout of triumphal greet- 
 ing went up from thousands and thousands of voices 
 within the Sala and without, when their eyes beheld their 
 beloved leader, the son of a prince who had been their 
 idol. 
 
 Ottorino's heart went out at once to the Prince of 
 Taranto, as had the hearts of Manfred's Apulian and 
 Sicilian subjects. This, then, was the hero who had torn 
 from the clutches of papacy the legacy left to him by 
 an undaunted sire; this the champion who had restored 
 peace and prosperity among the Italian states; this the 
 one who had extinguished the flaming torch of war, 
 which mortal hatred and relentless passions had tossed 
 over the divided and unhappy provinces, once the constit- 
 uent parts of the great Roman empire. And the scion 
 of the Visconti of Milan could not but admit to himself 
 that no fitter ruler of the Southlands, no fitter leader of 
 the great Ghibelline confederacy, could have been chosen 
 than Manfred, Prince of Taranto. 
 
 The great procession of the envoys came to an in- 
 stantaneous halt upon discovering the approach of the 
 king. The Duke of Altamura, emerging from the plumed 
 throng, advanced up the passage cleared for him to the 
 place where a dark and sinister- visaged noble seemed to 
 gaze absently on the glittering pomp. The duke took 
 the Count of Caserta familiarly by the arm, and with him 
 proceeded toward the royal dais. The duke looked pale, 
 but his eyes glittered and his manner was so hurriedly 
 vivacious that it formed a striking contrast to the austere 
 demeanour of Caserta. A smile, open and frank, hovered
 
 104 Gastel fcel /iDonte 
 
 on Manfred's lips as he extended his hands in welcome 
 and greeting. The Duke of Altamura, kneeling on the 
 golden cushion placed by the master of ceremonies before 
 the throne, paid his homage to his sovereign. The duke 
 performed the ceremonial hastily, while heralds enjoined 
 silence throughout the hall, which was filled with constant 
 buzzing and trampling. A hundred ushers in glittering 
 liveries echoed the cry, and the noise ceased. 
 
 After having offered like homage to Helena of Epirus, 
 Manfred's beautiful queen, who, surrounded by her ladies 
 of honour, had taken her station upon an estrada almost 
 beside her husband, the duke offered thanks for the 
 gracious welcome. 
 
 " The Ghibellines of Italy assembled within the hos- 
 pitable gates of the royal city join me in the sincere 
 wishes that the peace, the conclusion of which they jour- 
 neyed hither to celebrate, may endure, and an era of 
 prosperity dawn upon the kingdom of Sicily, unbroken 
 for generations to come." 
 
 Amidst the profound silence Manfred replied, not with- 
 out a tinge of emotion in his tones : 
 
 " Even until now, Signor Duca, have we been well 
 content with your services, and we receive with much 
 satisfaction this expression of your good-will toward us, 
 of your continued loyalty to our house. The throne of 
 Sicily needs not additional dominions to exalt its majesty, 
 but truly for princes to acknowledge its greatness and to 
 sustain it in the respect of others, we ask none better than 
 yourself." 
 
 The Count of Caserta, husband to the king's sister, 
 Violanthe, was next in line of advance. As he was in 
 the act of bending his knees in homage, Manfred instantly 
 raised and kissed him on both cheeks, to the great scandal 
 of Signor Pedretti, the master of ceremonies.
 
 Count Xanoulf of Urent 105 
 
 "Welcome, thrice welcome, count, from the jaws of 
 Scylla and Charybdis," the king said, with a warmth 
 under which even the stolid countenance of Caserta 
 seemed to melt. Emotions of pride and sorrow seemed 
 to struggle for the mastery, and he retreated precipitately. 
 Ottorino's gaze now fell upon a personage whose 
 features and bearing at once attracted his attention. The 
 Duke of Alife, high chancellor of the realm, who was 
 now addressing the king, was a hunchback about fifty 
 years of age. From beneath a black, square cap there 
 fell upon his sunken temples two locks of auburn hair, 
 tinged slightly with gray. A thin and pale face ended 
 in a sharp, pointed chin, on which, whenever the chan- 
 cellor spoke, there wagged a stiff beard, cut short after 
 the Spanish fashion and of the same colour as his hair. 
 Two small green eyes glared from beneath scant eye- 
 brows, with an expression which was hard to analyze. 
 Their gaze seemed always to avoid the person addressed, 
 only to be stealthily fixed upon him unawares. Cruelty 
 and craftiness seemed to constitute the main character- 
 istics of that pale face with its pursed-up mouth. Like an 
 evil gnome the chancellor moved between the towering 
 statures of the Apulian barons, and Ottorino uttered an 
 involuntary sigh of relief after he had vanished before 
 the approach of the chief Apulian nobility. One by one 
 they now passed the royal dais, Giordano and Galvano 
 Lancia, Conrad and Marino Capece, Lords of Atropaldo ; 
 Frederick, Prince of Antioch, stepbrother of Manfred; 
 Drogo, the high admiral ; Count Anselm of Cerra, Grand 
 Chamberlain; Giordano d'Anglone, John of Procida, 
 Conrad Benincasa, the Counts of Falconara, Aquino, 
 Suessa, San Germano, San Severino, Cantazarro, Fasa- 
 nella, Mora, and the protonotaries of the kingdom, An- 
 selm of Suzzara and Robert of Bari.
 
 106 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 In vain Ottorino's searching gaze swept the hall in 
 quest of the gaunt figure of Landulf of Trent ; the Ger- 
 man leader was remarked by his absence, but the Lom- 
 bard was roused from his abstracted reverie by the 
 speech of Manfred, addressed to the Duke of Altamura, 
 who had taken his station to the right of the royal dais : 
 
 " And who is yonder knight who contents himself 
 with the sun emanating from our crown, and courts not 
 closer approach ? " 
 
 Responding to a silent nod from the duke, Ottorino 
 approached. 
 
 " Ottorino of the ducal house of Visconti, Lords of 
 Milan and Imperial Viceroys of Lombardy," he said, 
 while going through the prescribed ceremony. 
 
 " Milan and the Golden Viper ! How fares our kins- 
 man Matteo the old duke ? " 
 
 " He sorely regrets that his old enemy, the gout, holds 
 him fast within the circuit of his castle, thus preventing 
 him from paying his personal devoir to the prince he 
 holds most high of the imperial house of Suabia." 
 
 " None more welcome in Palermo than a Visconti ! " 
 Manfred replied, extending his hand. 
 
 " I thank the king's Majesty. The sword and lance of 
 the house of Visconti will ever be at the command of 
 the glorious son of our beloved and lamented emperor." 
 Then, bowing low, the Lombard fell back, while the pro- 
 cession slowly passed the royal dais, Manfred favouring 
 each envoy with a gracious smile, which failed not to 
 produce its effect even upon the grim and war-worn 
 countenance of the representatives of Pisa, Genoa, and 
 Venice. 
 
 "An imposing spectacle," remarked the Duke of 
 Modica, who was watching it with keen interest, to the 
 Count of Caserta. " Are the ashes of the old Roman
 
 Count Xanoulf of Urent 107 
 
 empire to be rekindled once more, and is the vision of 
 Ben Hussein after all more than a dream ? " 
 
 The Count of Caserta smiled disdainfully. 
 
 " To be a Roman," he said, with a slight tinge of con- 
 tempt, " it was an honour once when the Coliseum stood, 
 ere the Gothic fathers of Spain beheld it. But where is 
 Count Landulf of Trent?" 
 
 " His thousand lanzknechts were chiefly the cause of 
 the broil which caused the duke to place his own men 
 upon the walls," interposed the Count of Chiaramonte. 
 
 " Say you so ? " exclaimed Modica, with strong and 
 evidently unpleasant surprise. 
 
 " The Germans are proud, and their nostrils resent 
 Saracenic odours ! " 
 
 Modica shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " 'Tis perchance as well ! I trust the knave not over- 
 much, though the king swears by him. Do you remember 
 the strange words he uttered in the camp before Andria ? " 
 
 " He was in his passion, and it was a helmet full of the 
 thick wine of that country that spoke out of the thick- 
 headed scullion," remarked the Duke of Gravina. 
 
 " And the Lords Frangipani are indeed good testimony, 
 for they were all around him when he was expounding 
 the rights to the succession in Apulia of the youth Con- 
 radino." 
 
 " It were a step most ill-advised," Caserta interposed, 
 with a sinister smile. 
 
 " The Abbot of Constanz, his tutor, will initiate the 
 youth in the history of his house ! It will make him sad 
 and pensive ! " 
 
 " And keep his iron hosts beyond the Adige ? " 
 
 " Who knows what strange temptations may befall ! " 
 
 " Temptations for the living peace for the dead," a 
 strange, croaking voice, evil-boding as that of a raven,
 
 io8 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 replied, and the Apulians faced the sneering counte- 
 nance of John of Alife. 
 
 " Dead ? Who is dead ? " several exclaimed at once, 
 staring aghast at the hunchback, who never more in his 
 life than at this moment resembled a spirit of evil evoked 
 from the nether world for the perpetration of some 
 deed of darkness. 
 
 " Conradino has passed from the realms of the living," 
 the chancellor replied, with a mock bow to his audience. 
 " A special envoy brought the fateful tidings. Think you 
 the king can be consoled ? " 
 
 John of Alife's sneer changed to an expression of sur- 
 prise as his gaze fell on the piazza below. 
 
 " What means this concourse ? Have the tidings spread 
 to the city?" 
 
 " They seem to be Suabian knights, to judge by their 
 crests and long spears." 
 
 A contingent of cavalry, fully armed and equipped, 
 was indeed drawn up in a solid square, under the com- 
 mand of their subaltern officers, but the leader of this 
 select and much desired body of men was not to be 
 seen. Their visors were raised; their countenances, 
 stolid and immobile, might have evinced mourning or 
 discontentment. 
 
 "Verily whoever glories in the possession of these 
 lances will rule Italy ! " remarked the Count of Modica, 
 with a gesture of unfeigned admiration at the heavy, iron- 
 serried ranks of the Northmen. . 
 
 " No one will compel their obedience and no one will 
 rule the descendants of the people who led captive kings 
 and nations chained to their triumphal chariots," replied 
 the Count of Chiaramonte. 
 
 " If bombastic speech could have overthrown the 
 hordes who blew out the light of the Western empire,"
 
 Count Xan&ult ot Urent 109 
 
 Modica, himself of Spanish extraction, replied disdain- 
 fully, " you Italians would be lords of the universe to 
 this very hour ! The memory of your great deeds is not 
 so extinct as to require reviving for posterity." 
 
 A passionate outburst from Chiaramonte was only 
 averted by the timely interposition of Gravina, who, 
 ignoring the slur of the Spaniard, or storing it up for 
 future reckoning, said: 
 
 " If we wish to keep these allies, we must tax to their 
 utmost the vineyards of old Trinacria, for every man in 
 this squadron drinks for six." 
 
 Loud words, resounding in the direction of the royal 
 dais, caused the group of speakers to divert their atten- 
 tion in that quarter, and their surprise was too manifest 
 for concealment when they beheld the towering form of 
 Landulf of Trent addressing Manfred in tones concise 
 and determined. 
 
 " Our duty belongs to Elizabeth, widow of Emperor 
 Conrad. Therefore we depart. The King of Sicily is 
 the friend of the Moslems. They will protect his realms 
 without the aid of his German knights." 
 
 The sudden tidings of Conradino's death had almost 
 deprived the king of his self-possession. A solution more 
 favourable of the question of succession not even the 
 most sanguine would have dared to hope for; yet the 
 sorrow for the untimely demise of Emperor Conrad's 
 child mixed a bitter drop in the cup of joy, a bitterness 
 now enhanced by the open defection of the Suabian 
 leader. To retain him and his knights Manfred en- 
 deavoured to temporize. 
 
 " Can no persuasion of ours retain you in our service, 
 Count Landulf ? " he replied, after a brief pause. " We 
 require knights brave and true. Has the future emperor
 
 no Castel t>el flDonte 
 
 more to offer than the son of Frederick, the dead em- 
 peror whom you loved so well ? " 
 
 The Teuton wavered. The memory of the man who, 
 though he had adopted Italy as the land of his choice, 
 had never lost the hearts of his German subjects, exer- 
 cised even now a potent spell over him. Manfred stood 
 before him, the reincarnation of Frederick as Count 
 Landulf had known him when he followed him through 
 Apulia on his way to the Holy Land. The appeal of 
 the emperor's glorious son seemed slowly to find the way 
 to his heart, then he caught a sudden glimpse of the 
 Saracen Emir Sidi Yussuff in the suite of the king. 
 
 A dark frown clouded the furrowed brow of the 
 Suabian leader as, inclining his stupendous form toward 
 the Mahometan, his voice rang through the hall with a 
 bluntness he endeavoured not to subdue: 
 
 " We like not your infidel hordes as brothers-in-arms, 
 King Manfred ! We like not to fight side by side with 
 those against whom your imperial ancestor lost crown 
 and life. Let the king surround himself with Christian 
 knights that offend not Holy Church, and the contingents 
 of Landulf of Trent will remain ! " 
 
 Ominous silence followed the speech of the Teuton, 
 while the eyes of the whole assembly rested uneasily on 
 the countenance of the king, who stared at the speaker 
 in a manner so bewildered that it seemed as if he refused 
 to accept the testimony of his senses. Then the old spirit 
 of his house came over him, the spirit of Barbarossa when 
 he humbled Pope Alexander I., the spirit of his father 
 Frederick when he hurled defiance into the teeth of Inno- 
 cent IV. His whole frame seemed to expand ; his bosom 
 heaved, and his eyes darted lightning-bolts of wrath on 
 the overbold, who had dared to dictate to the majesty of 
 Hohenstaufen.
 
 Count Xanoulf of {Trent m 
 
 " This is too insolent, Count Landulf ! " he exclaimed, 
 " and since you but came to mock us with an homage 
 foreign to your heart, begone from our presence for ever 3 
 The throne of Sicily totters not without your spears ! 
 Begone ere we forget that clemency should mark the 
 hour, and chastise the insolent vassal according to his 
 deserts ! We crave your presence in the Capella Pala- 
 tina, my lords of the kingdom, to invoke the blessing and 
 guidance of the supreme power in the portentous hour 
 that is to cement the union of Italy ! " 
 
 With these words the king turned his back upon the 
 assembly, and, retreating toward the great marble stair- 
 way, was soon lost to sight amid the pompous train of 
 courtiers and attendants who thronged the vast corridors. 
 The gorgeous court dissolved as rapidly as the coloured 
 clouds of sunset after the sun has disappeared. 
 
 Landulf of Trent, hardly anticipating such a reception 
 of his speech, had slunk back among the Apulians, 
 shunned by every one and never noting the significant 
 glance and the tart smile al; his discomfiture which the 
 Duke of Altamura exchanged with Sidi Yussuff, the 
 emir. With crossed legs and immobile as a pagoda, the 
 Saracen leader was poised on the heavy Persian carpet, 
 showing but by the light of his eyes that he was a thing 
 living. 
 
 The High Constable was one of the last to quit the hall 
 of audience, being but shortly preceded by the Count of 
 Trent, whose countenance reflected but too clearly his 
 consternation. At the end of the corridor the duke es- 
 sayed to overtake the burly Teuton, touching him famil- 
 iarly on the shoulder. 
 
 Landulf turned upon him a visage so fretful and 
 gloomy that the duke laughed despite of himself. 
 
 " By St. Andrew ! Thou hast the most vinegarlike
 
 "2 Gastel fcel flDonte 
 
 aspect that ever captain or courtier wore! Cheer up, 
 man! All is not lost! Thou hast crossed the king in 
 his very pleasaunce, 'tis true, but every vintage hath its 
 sour grapes." 
 
 The German scanned the face of the duke, uncertain 
 whether to resent his familiarity or to feel flattered. 
 
 " Methinks it had been to my advantage if neither fear 
 nor hope had ever brought me to these volcanic regions," 
 he then replied, with a grunt. 
 
 " Our volcanoes have strange humours, choosing the 
 most tranquil night for their manifestations. But how 
 dismally thou starest, as if the fear of intended punish- 
 ment made thy limbs quake! And yet thou couldst in 
 very truth be a great man in the kingdom and command 
 an army, if thou couldst but swallow some of thy scruples ! 
 Must thou foam like an epileptic, when thy chaste glance 
 falls upon a Moslem? Tut, man, Emperor Frederick 
 was a Christian, too, yet he had a seraglio in every hamlet 
 in Apulia." 
 
 " I meant the king no offence," Landulf of Trent re- 
 plied, " though he seems to be one of those pragmatic 
 lords who must have the whole tree, or he will not a 
 cherry of it. I desire nothing now but to leave the island, 
 and will scarcely bide till the day's clamour is over ! " 
 
 " Festina lente haste slowly, as the old Romans 
 said ! The king is justly provoked ; besides, these sudden 
 tidings have spread infinite distrust. Ponder well, count ! 
 Thou canst not bring back to life the youth Conradino, 
 and the wild birds starve not more in this country than 
 in thy sombre forests. The king can be reconciled he is 
 not implacable. Remain thou here! At best thou canst 
 overtake thy lances ere they reach the northern passes ! " 
 
 And, with a meaning nod, the duke parted from the 
 German, leaving him to ponder over his strange speech.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS FERRYMAN 
 
 OTTORINO had been a close witness to the scene between 
 Manfred and the Count of Trent, for the king had re- 
 tained him by his side, engaging him in occasional con- 
 versation. But after the masses left the Sala Regia, 
 instead of joining the royal procession on its way to 
 the Capella Palatina, Ottorino hastened out and lost him- 
 self in the throngs crowding the piazza. He wandered 
 restlessly about the great city, with no thought but for 
 the impending interview which was to pave the way for 
 future appointments, and revolving in his mind the 
 strange mysteries, at which Helena di Miraval had darkly 
 hinted. In vain he strove to take an interest in what 
 he beheld. He was rather distracted than amused by the 
 babel-like confusion of nations, languages, and costumes 
 which surrounded him on every side. 
 
 The sun was sinking into the Tyrrhenian Sea when 
 the Lombard found himself before the convent gates of 
 Santa Lucia. It was the hour of vespers; the chapel 
 was filled with a silent crowd, absorbed in their devo- 
 tions. The only light came from the evening sun, dusk- 
 ily illuminating the emblazoned windows, or from the 
 faint glimmer of distant shrines. Ottorino took his sta- 
 tion in the background of the chapel, thus having op- 
 portunity for observing any one entering or leaving the 
 
 "3
 
 U4 Caste I fcel /IDonte 
 
 sanctuary. The chant of " Regina Cceli," rising like 
 angels' voices on clouds of incense, shed its calm for a 
 moment even into Ottorino's perturbed and wildly beat- 
 ing heart. But ever and ever his thoughts reverted to 
 the purpose of his presence, and when, after the last 
 Gloria, the worshippers, one by one, slowly left the chapel, 
 he scrutinized so closely their departing forms, that 
 some devoutly crossed themselves, believing the dark 
 knight bent on purposes little in keeping with the sanc- 
 tity of the spot. While anxiously awaiting the moment 
 when the deserted chapel would offer to the lady of Mira- 
 val the opportunity to approach him, the gates of the con- 
 fessional suddenly swung open, and a woman glided out. 
 She was closely veiled, and in his absorption of mind 
 Ottorino might have scarcely noticed her had not the 
 lady paused with a gesture of surprise when she beheld 
 the Lombard's dark, towering form. Then she quickened 
 her steps and hastened out. 
 
 Ottorino stared after her departing form, as one turned 
 to stone. 
 
 It seemed to him as if the cold chill of death had 
 touched his limbs, and his face, in its livid pallor and its 
 stony gaze, resembled rather that of a spectre than a 
 creature in the flesh. Even his heart-beats seemed to stop 
 as he gazed at the vanishing apparition, the form of 
 Helena di Miraval, which he would have recognized 
 among thousands. How long he stood so he knew not, nor 
 did he heed the curious gaze of a few belated worship- 
 pers, who had been lingering in the chapel. At last, 
 however, shaking with an almost supernatural effort the 
 stupor from his benumbed limbs, the Lombard flew after 
 the vanishing apparition. He went with such a speed as 
 to almost knock down those who encountered him in his 
 headlong pursuit of the fair confessionist in her precipi-
 
 Ube fl&ssterious jferrsman "$ 
 
 tate exit. It was now a matter of life and death with him, 
 to satisfy the dreadful doubts which had suddenly arisen 
 within him. But having attracted to himself much un- 
 welcome attention by his rash and unpremeditated act, 
 Ottorino fell into a slower pace. Suddenly the retreat- 
 ing form vanished as if the earth had swallowed her, 
 and the Lombard found himself alone in the vaulted arch- 
 ways of the cloisters. 
 
 He paused, stroking his clammy forehead as if to con- 
 vince himself that he was not dreaming. Why had she 
 shrunk from his approach? Why this precipitate flight 
 this startled look? Was it true, despite her dis- 
 avowal, despite the protestations of her innocence, what 
 people did not even trouble themselves to whisper ? Were 
 they true, those strange, monstrous tales? A groan, as 
 from an animal wounded to death, broke from his lips, 
 while he pressed his ice-cold hands to his burning temples. 
 All the riches of Lombardy, his station and wealth, Otto- 
 rino would at this moment have gladly sacrificed for the 
 certainty that it was not Helena di Miraval whom he 
 had beheld. In a mood so abstracted, with pale face 
 and lips tightly set, with the anguish of his soul re- 
 flected in his eyes, he approached the gates of the clois- 
 ters. So wild was his appearance that those who passed 
 him whispered to each other, with a shy glance at his 
 tall and gloomy form, that his sins must indeed weigh 
 heavily upon him. 
 
 For a moment the Lombard stood irresolute. Then, 
 having accosted some wandering friar and ascertained 
 from him the direction of the Dominican's habitation, 
 Ottorino reverted to his former intent of obtaining light 
 and truth at any cost. The frate indicated a narrow 
 lane, which descended to the Oreto in a precipitous slope.
 
 "6 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 Ottorino followed this, and soon arrived at the landing- 
 place, where he gave the usual whistle. 
 
 After waiting for considerable time, only one little boat 
 appeared. The owner seemed to be asleep in despair of 
 custom, for it was not until Ottorino had repeated the 
 whistle more shrilly that the boatman set his oars in 
 motion and came slowly over the water. 
 
 It was a barge of the model that might have been in 
 vogue when the first Greek settlers came from the Pelo- 
 ponnesus. A spar of some supple wood, nearly double 
 the length of the boat, lay across a little mast, with its 
 canvas ready to be spread for shelter, or to catch any 
 favouring breeze. The prow was high and curved, and 
 ornamented with rude carvings ; the rudder broad, the 
 oars of classical squatness. The old man himself who 
 rowed it seemed dried and hardened by exposure and 
 toil into some kind of wood, though the expression of 
 gloom and discontent on his visage belonged too much 
 to the flesh. 
 
 Ottorino stepped into the barge without exchanging as 
 much as a word with his equally laconic Charon, until, 
 having taken his place at the rudder, he designated the 
 point where he wanted the boatman to land him. The 
 latter immediately splashed in his oars, and they were 
 fairly out on the bay ere the Lombard observed that 
 there was a third person in the boat, garbed in the cos- 
 tume of a peasant of the marshes. 
 
 "What doest thou here, fellow? This boat is mine 
 for this trip," said Ottorino, not without a start of un- 
 pleasant surprise. 
 
 The peasant replied in a rude and broken dialect that 
 he craved his Lordship's pardon, but that his own errand 
 brooked no delay, and implored to be allowed to accom- 
 pany him.
 
 flDgsterfous jferrsman r 
 
 Ottorino hesitated for an instant, but, considering the 
 determined manner of the ruffian, which gave the humility 
 in his phrase a tinge of mockery, the doubtful nature of 
 his own suspicions, and the boatman's appearance, he re- 
 frained from his first intention, which was to throw the 
 third incumbent overboard. 
 
 " If thou art indeed in such marvellous haste that 
 thou forgettest even to pay for thy passage," he said, 
 at last, hitting upon an ingenious plan to obviate any 
 sudden danger from the lurking right hand of the 
 peasant, " take a pair of oars and help the old man on, 
 or I tell thee plainly one of us two must leave the wood 
 for the water." 
 
 A slight shuffling of the hand in the cloak seemed to 
 indicate that the Lombard's suspicions were not entirely 
 unfounded. At any rate, the sheathing of a weapon would 
 have produced a similar sound. But the man obeyed 
 without seeming hesitation, and thus reinforced the boat 
 shot rapidly down the stream. 
 
 The Visconti's observation never in reality wandered 
 from the persons of his rowers, but he affected to survey 
 the shores on both sides with the natural curiosity of a 
 stranger. 
 
 On one side reposed the ancient city said to have been 
 founded by the Phoenicians, on the other extended fra- 
 grant and exotic Moorish gardens, with their solitary, 
 dreaming palaces. The moon, shining in a sky of silvery 
 blue, revealed the distant magnificence of La Zisa, and 
 gleamed brightly on the gilded cupolas of La Cufa. 
 Through the mellow, starlit air came the melodious 
 chords of the evening chimes from the belfry of San 
 Giovanni degli Eremiti. 
 
 From the near-by convent of Santa Onofria rose the 
 chant of the nuns, "Ave Maria Stella." It seemed to
 
 8 Castel t>el flDonte 
 
 be borne aloft on the wings of the balmy night-wind to 
 the spheres, where all the stormy longings of this earth 
 have been stilled. 
 
 By degrees the shores widened into the elbow-like bend 
 of the Oreto below the slopes of Monte Pellegrino, and 
 the ancient monastery of the Dominicans came into sight. 
 Beyond it the river took another deep curve, bathing the 
 base of the mountain. Even from this point of observa- 
 tion colossal relics of ancient grandeur, shattered walls, 
 naked porticoes, wildernesses of broken arches and soli- 
 tary columns, could be discerned amid woods and wild 
 vegetation. 
 
 The peasant, busy at the oars, did little to excite fur- 
 ther suspicion, and both he and the old boatman plied 
 their task manfully, until suddenly, opposite the mouth 
 of the Oreto, they dropped their oars as by a preconcerted 
 signal, and began to mutter a Pater Noster. 
 
 In spite of this pious exordium, the knight's suspicions 
 would have vented themselves in some positive form but 
 for his observation that the boatman and the seeming 
 peasant both stopped short and looked at each other with 
 surprise. 
 
 " Hast thou a vow to Santa Lucia too, brother? " said 
 the old boatman, speaking almost for the first time since 
 he had taken his passengers on board. 
 
 " Nay, friend, but about here, they say, is the great 
 mouth of the city's sinks, down which so many dead 
 Christians hourly float, and it might be well to pray for 
 the souls of any that might now be coming," replied the 
 disguised bravo. 
 
 " And here began my ill luck, for ever since that night, 
 when I saw the body of a young cavalier thrown into the 
 river yonder, I have been shunned like the very pesti- 
 lence by all but strangers whom Santa Lucia occasionally
 
 Ube /IDpstertous jferr^man "9 
 
 sends to keep me from dying of starvation," said the old 
 boatman, dismally. 
 
 " Art thou quite sure thou sawest that, old man ? I 
 know some one who would repay such intelligence as 
 might guide his vengeance with gold untold," returned 
 the peasant, while he drew himself with a sudden slide 
 toward the old man, gazing at him fixedly and putting 
 his hand under his cloak. But ere the deed could follow 
 the gesture, Ottorino sprang forward, and with a sudden 
 exertion of his great strength hurled the bravo over- 
 board. 
 
 " Signer, would you murder the man ? " exclaimed the 
 boatman, staring aghast. 
 
 " If he be what he pretends, he will keep himself above 
 water if not, there are better than he below. But is 
 this stiletto thine, old man ? " 
 
 The boatman crossed himself, moving away from the 
 object in question as if it had been a serpent. 
 
 " Oh, Santa Lucia, no," he exclaimed, " but I think 
 I have seen just such a one dangling from the belt of 
 one Passerine, who is a follower of great Ghino di Tacco 
 across the sea." 
 
 "Would, then, I had a bow, for yonder his head is 
 emerging from the water. He is making for the reeds 
 in the island. But thou art feeble. I will myself tug at 
 the oar." 
 
 The old ferryman shook his head. 
 
 " Everything has gone wrong with me since that night. 
 I was not always so gloomy and wretched." 
 
 " But tell me thy story. How chanced it? " 
 
 " Ah ! It was some such night as this, but it was 
 on a Friday and near midnight. I had unloaded some 
 fruits on the shore yonder, near the Moorish quarters, 
 and was resting in my boat, when I saw coming out of
 
 iao Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 that lane to the left of the convent two masked men, who 
 by their skulking, uncertain manner of going forward 
 and backward showed that they were only there to as- 
 certain if there was anybody else about." 
 
 " Hast thou no recollection of their appearance ? " in- 
 terrupted the knight, eagerly. 
 
 " By our Lady, one was very much like yonder rogue 
 whom I hope your Lordship has sunk ; the other, by 
 his stiff gait, might have been a Spaniard." 
 
 " A Spaniard ! " Ottorino repeated, almost involun- 
 tarily, but the boatman continued : 
 
 " Having explored in every direction and seeing not 
 a living soul, for I lay motionless and invisible beneath 
 the sail, not daring to move, and would to all the saints 
 I had been asleep ! they returned up the same lane. 
 Shortly after two others came out, repeated the same 
 manoeuvre, and then out of the lane came a masked 
 cavalier on a coal-black charger, dressed in black, to the 
 black feather drooping from his Spanish hat, and he car- 
 ried our Lady have mercy upon us across his saddle, 
 head and arms on one side, feet on the other, the body 
 of a dead man. These three slowly approached the 
 water's edge, the two companions of the horseman 
 seized the dead carcass, one by the arms, the other by 
 the legs, and, after swinging it to and fro, they tossed 
 it headlong into the water. The dark horseman turned 
 his head away during this act, as if shunning the horror 
 of the sight, but after he heard the splash in the water he 
 whirled his horse around and turned his face to the 
 river." 
 
 " And his face dost thou remember it ? " 
 
 " I have already told your Lordship he wore a mask, 
 besides, I dared not look on him, for fear his eyes, that 
 gleamed like coals, should meet mine. There is some-
 
 jflDsstertous jferrsman ii 
 
 thing strange about eyes. Men always feel when they 
 are looked at. But the corpse floated on the water and 
 would not sink. Then the two on foot threw heavy 
 stones upon it, and one striking it made it go to the 
 bottom. And barely had the last bubble disappeared 
 when a girl came shrieking down the narrow lane, and 
 two old women with dishevelled hair after her. But what 
 they had to do with the matter I know not, only this, that 
 the masked rider galloped up to her and seized her by 
 her long black hair. She swooned, and the women carried 
 her off, while the men turned up another lane and disap- 
 peared. But why I should be shunned like the plague 
 for that, our Lady alone may know." 
 
 " But the girl what was she like ? " exclaimed Otto- 
 rino, with such sudden anxiety that the boatman eyed him 
 suspiciously. 
 
 " How do I know ? " the old man replied, gruffly. " I 
 suppose she was a girl like any other girl." 
 
 " Didst thou not even see the colour of her hair ? " 
 said the Lombard, with forced calmness. " I am not 
 asking this question to amuse myself, but there is a deep 
 reason for it." 
 
 " Her hair was black, I thought I told you so, black 
 as night, and on it I noticed a string of coins, such as 
 the Moorish women wear for adornment they glittered 
 in the moonlight," the boatman replied, wearily. 
 
 " But why didst thou not impart thy knowledge to the 
 governor of the city, to gain some clue to the assassins ? " 
 
 " The saints reward your Lordship," returned the boat- 
 man, with a grim smile. " Since I have earned my living 
 on the Oreto I have seen dead bodies pass into the water 
 in like manner at least a hundred times, and no one asked 
 any questions, either. So, thinking this would pass like 
 the rest, I minded my own business until I heard that
 
 122 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 he who was lost in that night was Enrico, the younger 
 brother of the king. And a high-born lady's name was 
 darkly connected with the deed. So I thought I should 
 make a good day's work by carrying the news to the 
 king." 
 
 The boatman paused and sighed. 
 
 " And for five apostonari I ruined myself, for that was 
 what the duke gave me, adding it was too much for 
 a drunkard's dream." 
 
 "The duke?" reechoed Ottorino. "Didst thou not 
 say that thou tookest thine information to the king ? " 
 
 " Ay ; but I advanced no further than the duke's 
 chamber, he who is now high constable. Could I have 
 given him a clue to the assassin, I might indeed have 
 made my fortune, for the lady Helena, his kinswoman, 
 was almost mad with grief, and he, too, seemed much 
 affected. 'Tis hard, indeed, that one's conscience should 
 cheat one out of the daily bread. And yet perhaps it was 
 best it chanced thus. For if the real assassins, whoever 
 they were, would have thought that I could betray them, 
 they would have cut my throat ere I could get the words 
 well out of it, and who knows who was in the secret? 
 But yonder are the wilds of the Pellegrino, and I trust 
 your Lordship will remember I have but so many pas- 
 sengers as the blessed saints send me in defiance of my 
 evil fortune." 
 
 " And in addition to good pay, old father, I will give 
 thee a good counsel," said the Lombard, with a heavy 
 sigh. " Do not tell thy tale to too many passengers, even 
 strangers like myself, for thou mayest not always find 
 such honest listeners. Nay, perchance thou mayest meet 
 with some one who, like yon honest peasant whom we left 
 in the water, may have reasons of their own to stop thy 
 tongue close to thy throat ! "
 
 Ube fl&ssterfous ferryman 123 
 
 After having remunerated the boatman much beyond 
 the latter's expectation, Ottorino left the barge, ponder- 
 ing over the strange tale which his mysterious Charon 
 had poured into his ear. 
 
 Then, with a fierce determination to learn the truth at 
 all hazards, he began the rather steep ascent on the oppo- 
 site side.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE RECLUSE OF MONTE PELLEGRINO 
 
 TAKING the road indicated by the friar, Ottorino pur- 
 sued his solitary path. What his own purpose was he 
 could at this stage scarcely have said. His feelings and 
 motives were by this time so hopelessly perplexed that 
 he could not determine which prompting to follow, and 
 so lost was he in thought that without even noticing the 
 ruined arches scattered along his way, and pervaded by 
 a silence, a desolation so deep and complete, that the hush 
 was intensified rather than broken by the distant hum 
 of the city, he lost himself in the wilds which stretched 
 along the base of Monte Pellegrino. Once these wilds 
 had been covered with gorgeous and majestic palaces, 
 now there were only a few shepherds' huts and the ruins 
 of the Carthaginian period. 
 
 Gradually all traces of a road vanished, and on both 
 sides rose woody acclivities, covered with ruins and 
 melancholy cypresses. The only guide whom Ottorino 
 could now follow was the Oreto, whose waters, as the 
 friar had informed him, flowed very near the ruins of 
 which he was in search. 
 
 And this guide indeed proved more faithful than the 
 majority of that gentry in the Lombard's days, for, after 
 murmuring through a deep wood, the underbrush of 
 which consisted chiefly of wild roses in full bloom, it 
 
 124
 
 Ube IRecluse of flDonte pellegdno 125 
 
 conducted him into a verdant desert, over the midst of 
 which the baths of Roger the Second were scattered. 
 For a few moments the Visconti stood gazing at the im- 
 mense desolation, the wilderness of shattered arches, 
 lonely columns, ivy-covered porticoes, fallen walls, and 
 jagged round towers. The hopelessness of finding among 
 these unknown masses the Dominican's hermitage im- 
 pressed itself upon him. Pausing irresolutely, he would 
 probably have returned but that he chanced to perceive 
 a figure advancing out of the ruins, apparently bound for 
 the city. Hoping that it might either prove some fol- 
 lower of the monk, or some peasant acquainted with the 
 locality, he hastily advanced toward the unknown, who 
 came on muttering and crossing himself, as if pronounc- 
 ing a spell against evil spirits. So absorbed was he in 
 his occupation that he perceived not the knight until the 
 latter stood directly in front of him. 
 
 This sudden apparition excited such a terror in the 
 beholder that the monk, for such he was, uttered a terrific 
 yell, and would have fled had not Ottorino, anticipating 
 his intention, held him fast by his cassock. 
 
 " In the name of the five wounds who art thou ? " 
 gasped the friar, after staring stonily at the knight for a 
 moment or two. 
 
 " It matters little to thy purpose or mine either, father," 
 replied the Lombard. " Lead me to the presence of Fra 
 Domenico my business is with him." 
 
 The friar stood quaking and gazing at the stranger 
 with tmdiminished awe and suspicion, not daring either 
 to take flight or to remain, and it was some moments 
 before he could be induced by the protestations, mingled 
 with threats, of Ottorino to guide him to the Domin- 
 ican's cell. 
 
 " Santa Maria, Or a pro nobis! " muttered the friar,
 
 while he led the way with many a shuddering side glance, 
 being in great doubt as to whether or not his nocturnal 
 companion did not intend to stab him from behind. The 
 way led through the central masses of the ruins, and 
 beneath innumerable shattered arches. Viewing the in- 
 terminable alleys of pillars and colonnades and dark 
 chambers extending on either side, it seemed to the Lom- 
 bard as if time alone could not have wrought that prodi- 
 gious destruction, but that an earthquake or some other 
 elementary power must have assisted. 
 
 Once or twice they startled a sleeping goat in the aisles 
 of the ruins, and at the sight of its horns the friar mut- 
 tered unnumbered Aves, as if he momentarily expected 
 to behold the evil one rise from the underbrush. At 
 times an owl shot with a wild hoot over the monk's torch ; 
 with these exceptions they encountered no living object 
 to break the hush of the sepulchral desolation. 
 
 At length the frate turned to the right beneath the re- 
 mains of a triumphal portico, on each side of which stood 
 the headless marble trunks of Demeter and Proserpina. 
 Thence he entered into a wilderness of grottoes, the 
 broad corridors of which were at times almost choked 
 with odoriferous shrubs and wild flowers, pouring out 
 their sweetness on the desert air without stint or measure. 
 At last he paused before what might have been at one 
 time an entrance to the Moorish baths, judging from the 
 remains of the magnificent columns bearing Kufic in- 
 scriptions; then he ascended a flight of grass-grown 
 steps and entered a series of desolate chambers, which, 
 although roofless and choked with rank vegetation, still 
 bore traces of their ancient splendour. These chambers 
 led to a clumsy door, which, being hastily pushed open 
 by the friar, admitted his companion to this most singular 
 hermitage for philosopher or monk.
 
 TTbe IRecIuse of flDonte pellegtino 127 
 
 High, oval-shaped apertures admitted light and air 
 together, and with the aid of the friar's torch and the 
 glowing embers of a dying fire revealed a large chamber 
 strewn with curious and cabalistical instruments. Paus- 
 ing almost breathless at the entrance of the cell, the 
 Lombard noted not the sudden disappearance of Fra 
 Cyrillo. His gaze was riveted upon the Dominican, 
 who, evidently anticipating no visitors, was seated at a 
 massive stone table, which was covered with open vol- 
 umes of ponderous manuscript, nearly all written in the 
 languages of the East. In addition thereto he was perus- 
 ing a huge parchment, which was quaintly illuminated 
 and headed in large characters, " De Praedestinatione." 
 
 For some moments the monk, as if overcome by ex- 
 haustion, reclined in his chair wrapped in deep medita- 
 tion. 
 
 " This, then, was the thesis," he mused, half-aloud, 
 after the manner of solitary thinkers. " Pradestinatio est 
 necessitas. Fate is inevitable, and yet God is just. 
 These are the terms: St. Augustine hath said it, and is 
 it a demon or angel in thy soul that would have thee 
 believe it? And do they hang on my lips for the echoes 
 of heavenly oracles echoes only of the dreams of men, 
 when in every human heart that beats no, no! Let 
 us not look into the heart! It is not there but where 
 is it? In these musty parchments? In the sweet, silent 
 air of night, up there, whence the cold stars sparkle 
 down upon us, cold to our sufferings our misery? 
 Apage Satanas ! What have I to do with love with bliss 
 with beauty? Satan, I spit at thee! But if it was 
 eternally thus, if we are eternally damned, or eternally 
 saved, why make this short pause of existence a part of 
 that hell which is to come, while it might at least have 
 been one short glimpse of paradise, of heaven? Is then
 
 "8 Castel Del /Route 
 
 love a crime? Wert thou not first a man ere thou be- 
 camest a monk? And must thou sit on a frozen emi- 
 nence and behold mankind rejoicing in the warm valleys 
 beneath? Must thou see the portals of paradise open 
 to countless myriads, but to read, glaring from the tab- 
 lets of judgment, the decree of fate : ' Not for thee 
 not for thee ! ' Thou alone shalt hunger for a word of 
 love thou alone shalt starve for a caress thou alone 
 shalt despair of happiness! Could I but once, once call 
 it mine, but for one single moment, swift as thought, 
 could I but once drain the glittering, deceptive goblet 
 to its very dregs wretch ! What is the fiend whisper- 
 ing to thee ? And yet, what is man mere man ? " 
 
 He paused, and the perfect stillness of the wastes of 
 the Pellegrino permitted some breathing of remote music 
 to reach the Dominican's ear. After listening for a mo- 
 ment he arose and traversed his cell at a rapid pace. 
 
 " They are around her now they gaze upon her 
 with their gloating eyes what is it to thee, Fra Domen- 
 ico? What is it to thee? Who knows the pangs of 
 misery that clutch thy heart under the cowl ? Who knows 
 the anguish of thy soul under the mask of thy livid face ? 
 When the gaze seems stony and passionless, who knows 
 of the snow-capped volcano with a burning hell within? 
 Measureless sacrifice, imposed by Heaven itself! Ah, 
 let us not think ! Immortality were not too great a prize 
 if ha! Thou lean, emaciated friar, what is it thou 
 ravest? Even the conclusion of the thesis: Non per- 
 severantes usque ad finem non sunt pradestinati 
 that is all, and the end of the world's wisdom is 
 Death!" 
 
 Without understanding the drift of the Dominican's 
 soliloquy, and without further preliminaries, Ottorino 
 entered the cell and, stepping up to the friar, who had
 
 Ube IRecluse of flDonte pellegrino 129 
 
 reseated himself, he addressed him with a low bend of 
 the head. 
 
 " Your pardon and blessing, holy father, for one whose 
 weighty business alone emboldens this intrusion." 
 
 The Dominican started at the suddenness of the Lom- 
 bard's appearance; his livid cheeks grew paler still, and 
 his right hand convulsively grasped the rope of his girdle, 
 as if he expected to find some weapon there. 
 
 " Art thou sent by heaven or by hell ? " he then said, 
 darting a wild, unsteady glance at his late visitor. 
 
 " Doubtlessly by heaven, since I stand in the presence 
 of so renowned a light of the Church," returned Ottorino. 
 . " Speak thy purpose, then ! " replied the monk, while 
 he drew the cowl deeper over his forehead. 
 
 " I came hither on a singular purpose, father, and yet 
 I hardly know how to shape my question, so strange it 
 is, but at least I may confide in thy secrecy ? " Otto- 
 rino replied, while, racked with doubts, he was at a loss 
 how to commence. 
 
 The Dominican pointed to the crucifix above the altar, 
 while he said : 
 
 " Speak on ; I listen, and no one else on earth ! " 
 
 " Men say thou art profoundly skilled and learned in 
 all manner of doctrine, so that thy words can set the soul 
 at rest on every point," Ottorino began, hesitatingly, 
 almost wishing he had not come. 
 
 The monk appeared but little flattered by this courtesy. 
 
 " Men say many things but to thy purpose, for only 
 time stands between us and eternity ! " 
 
 The Lombard glanced swiftly around the chamber, as 
 if to convince himself that there was no listener besides 
 the friar. 
 
 Could he have withdrawn even now, he would have 
 retraced his steps to the city, for his former feelings of
 
 130 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 doubt and anguish had melted into softer emotions, and 
 once again faith in the woman of his love reigned su- 
 preme as he conjured up before his inner gaze the face, 
 the eyes, so dearly beloved. 
 
 He felt the Dominican's gaze burn into his very soul, 
 and, after vainly struggling for a milder form in which 
 to clothe his question, he faltered : 
 
 " I love a lady beautiful and pure as the angels of 
 light, but of whom strange, monstrous rumours are afloat. 
 My heart is torn and racked, and my soul is stifling in 
 its anguish. To seek the truth, father, I came hither to 
 thee. Thou wilt not refuse the fount to him who 
 thirsteth ? " 
 
 The Dominican listened with profound attention, then 
 he glanced with astonishment at his visitor. 
 
 " Thou comest to me ? Why dost thou come to me ? 
 Who am I, that I could set thy doubting heart at rest? 
 Faith is the rock on which true love is founded. Thou 
 seekest truth but what is this truth ? " 
 
 The Dominican paused for a moment. 
 
 " Thou sayest thou lovest her," he then continued, 
 while his eyes flashed fire and the pallor of his face 
 seemed enhanced by the glow of his fixed orbs. " Thou 
 sayest thou lovest her, and thou comest to me on this 
 black errand? Begone thy love is a deception and a 
 snare ! " 
 
 " Not so, father, not so! Thou misjudgest me, by the 
 crucified One up there, thou dost! I love her, love her 
 so madly that I would forego all the world has in store 
 for me for her! But if doubts, strange, maddening 
 doubts, have arisen in my soul, it was because circum- 
 stances even stranger warranted this quaking fear. I 
 love her, love her with a love one so calm and pas- 
 sionless as thyself cannot understand."
 
 Ube IRecluse ot flDonte pellegrino 131 
 
 "Thou deemest, then, that there are no passions save 
 those which take the outward form of speech? None 
 that, like the Spartan's fox, gnaw the silent heart to 
 shreds beneath the mantle ? " replied the Dominican, 
 gloomily. " But she who has enwrapped thy heart in 
 flame, is she so beautiful and does she love thee in re- 
 turn?" 
 
 " Oh, she is fairer than a vision from paradise, and 
 she has confessed her love to me." 
 
 " Indeed indeed ! " the Dominican muttered, while 
 he glanced at Ottorino as if wondering what sort of 
 assistance he could give. " But, my son, how is it in my 
 power to allay those .fears, whose hidden cause I know 
 not?" 
 
 Ottorino started. 
 
 " Thou, father, art the confessor of an illustrious lady, 
 give me but the certainty, and I will repay thee as 
 thou never hast been paid." 
 
 It was the Dominican's turn to evince surprise, and 
 with such blank dismay did he stare at the Visconti that 
 the latter believed his very worst fears realized. A 
 strange gleam lightened the face of the monk, as with 
 forced composure he replied : 
 
 " Strange indeed strange indeed ! Yet thou knowest 
 but too well the obligations of the confessional to which 
 thou appealest. Canst thou hope that less than a mandate 
 from heaven would cause me to betray its secrets ? " 
 
 " Give me but the truth, father give me but the 
 truth ! " 
 
 The Dominican remained silent, and avoided the Vis- 
 conti's eager gaze. 
 
 " I am answered sufficiently in that refusal yet to 
 admit a negative were to transgress none of heaven's
 
 132 Gastel feel /iDontc 
 
 mandates/' the Lombard said, despairingly, while he 
 covered his face with his hands. 
 
 " A negative may affirm, I have said nothing," said 
 the Dominican, much agitated. " What are the accu- 
 sations thou preferrest against this very beautiful lady 
 whom thou lovest so ardently ? " 
 
 The tinge of bitter irony in the monk's speech was not 
 lost upon the Lombard, although he ignored it. 
 
 " They are not mine, father, they are not mine," he 
 replied, raising both hands as if deprecating the insin- 
 uation. " They are the whisperings of " 
 
 " The whisperings yea, the whisperings," the Do- 
 minican interposed. " Yet thou lovest her ! Proceed 
 with the impeachment ! " 
 
 " They say they say," Ottorino replied, vacantly, 
 " that she changes her lovers like her gowns." 
 
 He paused, breathless, confused, almost regretting his 
 speech. 
 
 The Dominican had well-nigh overturned his stool, so 
 quickly had he arisen. 
 
 " What ? What ? " he exclaimed. " Repeat thy speech ! 
 Let Satan tickle our ears with music for the damned. 
 Change her lovers like her gowns ? " 
 
 To Ottorino's utter amazement the friar paused again ; 
 then he broke into such a shrill, discordant laugh, that 
 but for his monkish gown the Visconti would have been 
 tempted to regard him a demon from the nether spheres. 
 
 " She loves not she never has loved ! " the Domin- 
 ican suddenly broke out with vehemence. " And as for 
 her professed love, it is false! This at least I can 
 tell thee ! " 
 
 " Thou speakest of what thou knowest, father ? " Otto- 
 rino gasped, despairingly.
 
 Ube IRecIuse of flDonte pellegrino 133 
 
 " I speak of what I know, for the dark heavings of a 
 troubled conscience often cast its secrets up to my ken." 
 
 " Ah ! Thou dost not, thou wilt not understand me, 
 father," exclaimed the Lombard. " And why should thou 
 how should thou? Thou refusest the very essence of 
 that which I ask, telling me just enough to make my soul 
 thirst for more." 
 
 " Why should I ? How should I ? " the Dominican re- 
 peated, like one in a trance. " What if my calumniator 
 spoke the truth, not of me, but of one in my place? 
 Dost thou know what hell there might be even in the 
 confession and trust which the object of some unhallowed 
 passion reposed, demonstrations of a hopelessness more 
 certain than any language could bestow? Is it nothing, 
 deemest thou, to make the lips ice-cold in a kiss of tran- 
 quil benediction when the heart is on fire? To see a 
 woman kneel at one's feet, whose maddening, intox- 
 icating beauty but men rave for the most part, and by 
 thine eyes I see that thou dost. What more can I impart 
 to thee, without committing the dreadful sin, and calling 
 down upon my head the vengeance from above ? " 
 
 "Fear not, father! If the heavens above us should 
 fall, they would cover many an iniquity. Thou hast 
 hinted at some dark, baleful influence," the Lombard con- 
 tinued, misinterpreting the friar's soliloquy. " Can aught 
 breathe the stench of the marshes and live ? " 
 
 " And what if I admit so much ? " said the monk, sud- 
 denly. 
 
 " Then there are two suppositions " 
 
 "Speak!" 
 
 " Either the duke seeks an alliance for his kinswoman 
 more exalted than offers the nobility of the land " 
 
 He paused ; then, urged by the Dominican's silent nod, 
 he continued :
 
 134 Castel &el flDonte 
 
 " Or the high-born lady tiring, after womankind, to- 
 day, of her lover of yesterday " 
 
 " Stop ! " thundered the monk, raising his hands as if 
 conjuring an apparition. " Stop! Verily, thy master the 
 devil has chosen his envoy well! I cannot answer thee 
 on these points; men are to judge men's actions; God 
 alone sees into the heart. Tempt me no more. I had 
 prepared my soul to endure whatever may be, rather than 
 again Leave me ! Tempt me no more ! " concluded 
 the monk, with sudden wildness. 
 
 " I tempt thee to no sin, father, but rather to a deed 
 pleasing to Him who is the fountainhead of truth, re- 
 deeming, perhaps, a fated soul from the snares of Satan," 
 pleaded the knight. 
 
 " Nay, then if the devil comes to us in angelic form, 
 who can resist him ? " said the Dominican, with a voice 
 resonant of the echoes of despair. " But thou, who hast 
 approached my hermitage in the hppe of enlightenment, 
 thou who deemest my words like the speech of an oracle, 
 how dost thou know that thou art not sorely misguided? 
 How knowest thou that I, instead of spreading the tid- 
 ings of salvation, am not scattering to the winds the seeds 
 of everlasting damnation? How knowest thou whether 
 I am a reformer or a destroyer, whether my wages will 
 be glory and life, or death and despair, whether the 
 deeds now slumbering toward their awaking are prompted 
 by heaven or by hell ? " 
 
 Involuntarily the Lombard shrank back, while the 
 Dominican continued to speak in rapt tones : 
 
 " But who says that I lack signs to support my task ? 
 What if revenge was the first prompter? Did not the 
 dream visit me in my youth, when my soul was pure? 
 Ah, for those days, for those days, when the flowers and 
 the earth and the skies were my love, my delight,
 
 Ube IRecluse of flDonte pellegrtno 135 
 
 when I longed alone for the infinite, those days of 
 peace and rapture gone gone gone ! " 
 
 He broke off with a heartrending sigh, as if awaking 
 from a dream, and stared at the knight, who had no 
 more comprehended his meaning than if he had lectured 
 in Hebrew. 
 
 " Then, father confessor, thou avowest that thou canst 
 give me no assistance, that thou canst not set my soul at 
 rest by brightening the reputation of that very beautiful 
 lady ? " said Ottorino, with ill-suppressed anguish. 
 
 " Again of what dost thou accuse her thou, and 
 not that vile serpent-tongued monster, rumour ? " thun- 
 dered the Dominican. " Is it that thou expectest me to 
 assert that in an age so depraved, at a court so frivolous, 
 beneath skies like those of Italy, a woman more beautiful 
 than all her sex is also more honest ? " 
 
 " Nay it might even content me couldst thou but 
 say that she is not more vile," Ottorino returned, with a 
 sigh. 
 
 " I am but little versed in the sex, and know not how 
 to reply. A bookworm of a monk, what counsel can he 
 give in such matters ? " replied the Dominican, with a 
 sardonic smile. "When thou canst describe to me the 
 limits of female wickedness, then I will tell thee if she 
 whom thou lovest has passed them. But thou thou 
 who hast gazed into the heaven of her eyes, thou who 
 hast listened to the sweet music of her voice, canst 
 thou believe the vile and unblushing calumnies of de- 
 bauched varlets ? " concluded the monk, gazing at his 
 visitor with strange incredulity. 
 
 " I have endeavoured to believe, and tried to stifle 
 those fears, father, but they return ever and ever," re- 
 plied Ottorino, while his burning orbs were riveted upon 
 the monk, mutely pleading for one ray of light.
 
 136 Castel Del /iDonte 
 
 The Dominican rose. 
 
 " Why, then," he said, slowly, pausing during one long 
 moment, in which the struggle of powerful passions 
 rendered his usually calm face almost terrible, " fear still 
 and be content." 
 
 After having pronounced these words, the shock of 
 which vibrated through every nerve of his interrogator's 
 body, the Dominican turned away, as if to say : " I have 
 now satisfied thy desire, thy folly be on thine own head." 
 
 Ottorino endeavoured to summon sufficient energy to 
 utter his thanks to the friar with some degree of com- 
 posure, when the Dominican, facing him, asked if he 
 would not accept of such poor accommodations for the 
 night as his hermitage afforded. 
 
 " It were perilous even for one acquainted with the 
 locality to pass through the wastes of Monte Pellegrino 
 in the dark, for there are more rogues than you wot of, 
 signer," the monk said, with a melancholy smile. " But 
 I remember thou art a soldier and must not know fear, 
 therefore I ask thee to stay with me as my guard, if thou 
 wilt not otherwise; the obligation will then be mine. I 
 cannot, indeed, play the host, for I must to my interrupted 
 toil, but Brother Cyrillo is a better and more cheerful 
 companion than he who stands before thee. Ho, Fra 
 Cyrillo!" 
 
 The attendant of the monk appeared, crawling in at 
 the doorway on his hands and feet, having been occupied 
 in an investigation of a more jocund nature than his 
 superior. At the Dominican's request he anxiously be- 
 stirred himself to promote the comfort of his guest, who 
 availed himself of the invitation to remain, principally for 
 the reason that he cared not to meet any one in his present 
 state of mind. But though he was far from the mood of
 
 Ube tRecluse of /iDonte pellegrino 137 
 
 enjoying it, he was not to escape so readily Fra Cyrillo's 
 loquacious exuberance. 
 
 Never was there a greater contrast than between the 
 stern Dominican and this fat, bubbling, and jolly friar. 
 He talked incessantly, even while blowing the coals into 
 a blaze, and expanded most prolifically on the excellence 
 of the viands he spread before the knight. He also re- 
 garded with woful glances Ottorino's brimming tankard 
 of wine, which the latter had not even set to his lips. 
 
 " Drink while you may, drink while you may," he at 
 last broke out, with a rueful glance at his own goblet, 
 " no man drinks for ever ! This is a vigil of the Church, 
 and it behoves us brethren to set the laity an example. 
 It is wine from Chios, fit for the saints." 
 
 And the round-bellied frate smacked his lips, while 
 he caused the contents of one tankard after another to 
 disappear. 
 
 For some time Ottorino, instead of listening to Cyrillo's 
 discourse, was lost in deep, abstracted reverie. The 
 amazing contradiction in the Dominican's words had so 
 utterly staggered him that his thoughts were in a hope- 
 less whirl. For a moment the hope gleamed flashlike in 
 his heart that the friar's revelations might have been 
 prompted by motives of jealousy, but, small as this last 
 straw was, he let it go; it was a surmise too wild, too 
 improbable. 
 
 All the while Fra Cyrillo spoke on, nothing daunted 
 by the sullenness of his companion, who never heard one 
 word of his long discourse. It was with a start that he 
 heard the remote bells of cloisters and convents toll the 
 midnight hour. The fat friar then apologized to Ottorino 
 for keeping him awake so long, and, laughing jollily at 
 his own remarks, busied himself with preparing and ar- 
 ranging the rushes which were to constitute the Lorn-
 
 138 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 bard's impromptu resting-place. After having performed 
 this task to his satisfaction, the friar was about to betake 
 himself to his own heap, when his superior, in the ad- 
 joining chamber, desired him to bring him another lamp 
 ere he retired to rest. The jolly friar immediately rinsed 
 his mouth of the fumes of the wine, took a jar of oil, 
 and disappeared with a somewhat wavering step. Then 
 the Lombard stretched himself on his rough bed, but it 
 was long before sleep closed his lids. The reaction, when 
 he recalled the strange incident at the convent, coupled 
 with the dark insinuations of the ferryman, was so great 
 that he fell from one uneasy slumber into another, broken 
 by fitful visions of the face which with so mad a love 
 he had dreamed into his heart.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 LA ZISA 
 
 THE Moorish palace of La Zisa lay bathed in the 
 splendour of the full moon. A soft breeze dreamily 
 stirred the leaves of the majestic palm-trees which gave 
 to the Oriental structure a weird and dreamlike appear- 
 ance. Built and inhabited by the Norman, William the 
 First, the palace had been deserted ever since Henry the 
 Sixth had entered Palermo on his tour of conquest. Per- 
 haps its walls reechoed the dying wails of the last of 
 the Norman kings. The surroundings of La Zisa were 
 deserted, as if the palace had changed to an habitation 
 of evil spirits, and not one belated nightly wanderer ap- 
 proached the confines of the Moorish gardens. 
 
 The slanting rays of the moonlight, which fell upon 
 the grilled windows on the western side of the inner 
 court, for the palace possessed no windows on the 
 outside, showed two personages engaged in lively con- 
 versation. One was the disguised peasant who had so 
 recently come into contact with the watery elements, and 
 who looked ghastly enough in his dripping garments. 
 The other was Crivello the Catalan, whose usually gloomy 
 features were now lit up with a vexation that gave him 
 a most demoniacal aspect. 
 
 " Yea we almost missed our cue, but this cursed 
 Lombard shall have a handful of our bad luck, let but
 
 Castel >el flDonte 
 
 his Highness hear your story," said Crivello, who had 
 been listening to the bravo's long detail. " And hark ! I 
 hear him, for I would know his gait came he on wolf's 
 paws." 
 
 Almost as these words were uttered, two dark figures 
 in long Spanish cloaks, both wearing slouched hats drawn 
 deeply over their faces, entered the inner court. Neither 
 spoke, and so rapt was the Duke of Altamura in pro- 
 found rumination that he heeded not Caserta's outcry 
 when his gaze first lighted on the sinister form of the 
 bravo. But when the duke's eye did suddenly en- 
 counter the scowling visage of that worthy, he gave a 
 start backward and drew a stiletto from his breast. 
 
 " My lord, it is a messenger from Ghino," exclaimed 
 Crivello, remarking the gesture of the duke. 
 
 The bravo bent almost to his boots, or, rather, sandals, 
 for they closely resembled the old Italian greaves. 
 
 " I beg your mercy, honest signer," said the duke, 
 returning the bow with mock solemnity. " Who could 
 have expected to meet with anything but honest folk at 
 this place and in such company? But you spoke in 
 good time, Crivello," the duke added, with a meaning 
 glance at his drawn weapon ; then addressing in turn the 
 bandit, he continued in the same tone of veiled sarcasm : 
 
 " As for you, honest signor, whatever illustrious name 
 you may bear, you look for all the world as if you had 
 walked the waves of the sea as did the Saviour of old, 
 only with less flattering results. Tell us how it befell, 
 and give me the message you are bearer of." 
 
 The tone of the duke had assumed a threatening shade, 
 but the bravo needed no impelling force to detail his 
 wrongs, of which he evidently cherished the most bitter 
 recollection. 
 
 " Well, you came well-nigh failing ; the best of us may
 
 fail, even with the devil's own hand in it, though he has 
 helped the cause greatly," said the duke, thoughtfully, 
 and not at all so incensed against the rash Lombard as 
 the two worthies had anticipated. 
 
 "And now, honest signor, are you not very anxious 
 and resolved to be avenged on him for this long deferred 
 baptismal of yours ? " 
 
 "I will pay him, capital and interest, ere many suns 
 go down in Palermo," said the bravo, with a vicious 
 glare. 
 
 " Then hearken to me, my honest friend," said the 
 duke, in a tone most affable, as if he offered the bandit 
 preferment and recompense for his services. " If you 
 but pluck one hair of him who recognized you for what 
 you are, I will have you torn to pieces by the most ex- 
 quisite and marrow-piercing torture you have ever heard 
 of. Remember what I have said ; keep your tongue 
 behind your teeth and return to the mainland, for if 
 to-morrow at sundown the faintest shadow of your pres- 
 ence darken the walks of this city, I will have you hanged 
 so high that you shall be the highest in the whole king- 
 dom, and thus fitly rewarded for your valour. Take 
 him away, Crivello ! Pay him double what I have prom- 
 ised him, then let him go." 
 
 After staring at each other in vacant bewilderment, 
 the two worthies left the court of La Zisa, the bandit 
 bowing profusely in anticipation of his reward. Their 
 steps died away in the stillness of the Southern night, a 
 stillness which was only broken by the fitful tune of a 
 barcarole floating softly on perfumed breezes from across 
 the bay, or by the uneasy fluttering of a bat seeking the 
 dusk. The duke hastily broke the seal of the parch- 
 ment which the bandit had delivered to him, and which,
 
 i42 Gastcl fcel flDonte 
 
 while outwardly showing signs of ill usage, had re- 
 tained its contents well preserved. 
 
 The Count of Caserta's gaze was riveted upon the 
 duke's countenance as the latter perused the message 
 from Ghino di Tacco, Calabria's celebrated bandit chief. 
 
 " Has the Conclave spoken ? " he at last broke out, 
 with ill-concealed impatience. 
 
 "Whether the present Conclave will make a Pope or 
 not it will surely cause diverse halos to encircle heads 
 now deep in sin ! " 
 
 " In that event I deem, if all the saints in heaven were 
 as contentious after an errand as the porters at the gates 
 of St. John Lateran, there is neither a prince nor lord in 
 Italy at this present naming who is not too affectionately 
 and zealously served by the devil to need their aid ! " 
 
 " Then perchance my lord Andrea Colonna's good 
 devil hath stood his friend on this occasion," replied the 
 duke, gravely. " Maybe he prayed so earnestly in his 
 tribulation that it was thought expedient to leave him 
 to be plucked at a time of less grace than the present, 
 when heaven showers indulgences as liberally as girls 
 throw the yellow asphodels at one another in the Cam- 
 pagna in April." 
 
 " Your Lordship is pleased to jest. A Colonna in the 
 chair of St. Peter?" 
 
 " The sidewalks in Rome are slippery and the melons 
 are ripening," returned the duke, with a meaning glance. 
 " Then let the saints come to the rescue ! Have we not 
 most generously swelled their number? Have we not 
 increased the efficacy of their intercession? I would be 
 Gonfalonier of Rome and shoe my horse with silver, 
 but not by the grace of the Church or the charity of the 
 Roman mob ! Yet there is one who thwarts and destroys
 
 Xa Zisa 143 
 
 all my plans ! " the duke concluded, with a passionate 
 outburst. 
 
 " Do I live to hear the Duke of Altamura say this of 
 a man above ground ? " Caserta replied, with a sneer. 
 
 " Nay, Reinald Aquino, you do not, by San Gennaro, 
 you do not ! " returned the duke, hurriedly, and his com- 
 panion remarked that he turned suddenly pale. 
 
 " The last incumbent of the office died rather sud- 
 denly." 
 
 " I remember, when I rode behind him on my silly 
 mule, perched in my violet cardinal robes, his horse be- 
 spattered me with mud as he reined up suddenly to 
 salute a certain high-born lady. I was in such a passion 
 that I almost choked. You should have heard how the 
 rabble laughed ! " 
 
 " Ay they laughed so loud that we heard it at 
 Naples ! But what matters it ? Your Lordship is the 
 man for the place and twenty-five thousand florins 
 a beggar's dream ! " 
 
 " And Christ was sold for thirty silver pieces ! Though, 
 as for our fitness, we have been lawyer, soldier, priest, 
 Is that not a receipt to make the devil? For he hath 
 been all three by turns ! " 
 
 "And was adjudged great in all. But your Lordship's 
 acceptance must head off the choice of the Conclave ! " 
 
 " Ha ! Is then the hour so nigh ? Am I indeed to rise 
 a second Crescentius to plant the banners of a new 
 Roman world over the Capitol? And who would not 
 obey him, an Italian, uniting in his person worldly power 
 with papal sanction! Rise, then, my star! Thy vision 
 approaches its fulfilment, Dom Alamo ! " 
 
 After this eloquent outburst of enthusiasm the duke 
 turned suddenly to Caserta.
 
 144 Gastel Del flDonte 
 
 " But for you, Reinald Aquino where sets the sun 
 of your dream ? " 
 
 There was something in Altamura's demeanour which 
 caused Caserta to blanch. Disregarding the duke's ques- 
 tion, and turning away to avoid the penetrating gaze 
 which he felt burning into the very depths of his soul, 
 he stammered : " Has the Moor arrived ? " 
 
 " Yon luminary has not passed the zenith ! " 
 
 " May his tidings be better than his aspect ! " Caserta 
 remarked, with a forced smile, retreating so precipitately 
 that he had vanished almost before the duke remarked 
 his absence. 
 
 " Weakling weakling cursed weakling ! " Alta- 
 mura exclaimed, unable to control himself longer. " Not 
 from probity you resent the bribe, but from pale, quaking 
 fear, detesting treason not for treason's sake, but from 
 abject, skulking cowardice ! Ha ! If you resist that final 
 repast in store for you, you are not worth the having for 
 emperor or Pope ! " 
 
 The duke paused with a renewed glance at the moon. 
 
 " He will not be here for an hour at least," he mut- 
 tered, after a brief observation of that luminary. " Zem 
 is as unfailing as death. Meanwhile I long for the 
 caresses of my Francesca, it seems an eternity since 
 yesterday." 
 
 And with a sudden resolution the duke, traversing with 
 hurried, stealthy footsteps the long, arcaded corridors of 
 La Zisa, turned in the direction of the Torre del Diavolo, 
 which he reached in comparatively short time. The senti- 
 nel, belonging to the Catalan guard of Crivello, admitted 
 the belated visitor at once, and ascending a narrow, wind- 
 ing stairway to a door, the duke noiselessly entered a 
 chamber lighted only by the pale, ghostly rays of the 
 moon. The soft night wind streaming through the quaint,
 
 Xa Zisa 145 
 
 oval windows seemed to be the only thing alive or awake 
 in the chamber, so still and tranquil was it within. 
 
 But the chamber contained another inmate beside him- 
 self. 
 
 Reclining on an Oriental ottoman of fantastic design, 
 the interwoven golden flowers of which sparkled 
 strangely in the dusk that pervaded the room, and lean- 
 ing on her arm lost in deep reverie, the shadowy out- 
 lines of Francesca di Lesina's matchless form were dimly 
 visible. The duke approached on tiptoe without causing 
 her to stir, and, kneeling beside her, took her hands and 
 pressed them to his lips. 
 
 Francesca turned, and the profound sadness in her 
 countenance sparkled into joy and brightness as she per- 
 ceived her lover in this attitude of tenderness and de- 
 votion. 
 
 " You see, my love, how you are always uppermost in 
 my mind," said Ferrando. " But have you thought of 
 my plans, and are you willing to execute your own part 
 therein ? " 
 
 " Am I not yours ? Am I not what you make of me, 
 Ferrando? I have no refuge but to you in any part of 
 my soul ! You have not betrayed me, I have fallen 
 
 knowingly, even beneath my own pity and contempt ! " 
 returned Francesca, while her head dropped despairingly 
 upon her breast. " But speak on your words of love ! 
 There is music in them that lulls the anguish of my soul 
 to rest, as if one of the damned should hear one note 
 from paradise." 
 
 " Then tell me that you love me," replied the duke, 
 tenderly. " It is a word that ever lingered on your lips 
 
 once. But now now I fear you are changed ! " 
 
 " Oh, if I did not love you, Ferrando, woman and lost
 
 i46 Castel fcel /Rente 
 
 that I am, we would not have met again ! " replied the 
 girl, sinking into the outstretched arms of her lover. 
 
 " Then how could you hesitate to lend me your aid 
 in the matter of which I spoke to you ? " returned the 
 duke, in tones of mingled tenderness and reproach. 
 
 Francesca looked up into the eyes that rested on her 
 face, as if to read their most hidden thoughts. 
 
 " But it is strange that you should wish me to counter- 
 feit your kinswoman play the wanton in her name," 
 she then replied, vehemently. "And yet you have not 
 told me the cause which prompts this strange request." 
 
 "The causes are two, one of state policy; the other 
 a carnival joke. Listen, my Francesca! Of all the 
 knights who journeyed hither on their fool's errand, the 
 envoy of Matteo Visconti honours us with closer atten- 
 tion than all the rest ; besides, he loves Helena di Miraval, 
 our kinswoman ; sneaks around her bower like a lost 
 soul around the portals of heaven, and she, I fear, is 
 not altogether indifferent to his admiration ! " 
 
 The duke paused with a sardonic smile and a sug- 
 gestive shrug of his shoulders. 
 
 " You fear Ferrando ? " the lady exclaimed, with 
 flashing eyes and hands convulsively clenched. 
 
 " Misunderstand not my meaning, fairest flower of 
 Italy! The Visconti possesses that instinct of distrust, 
 an intuition which is the greatest trait of a statesman. 
 But his suit is not to our liking, and we propose to con- 
 vince the daring youth that it is not to his own, and that 
 he had best abandon the field. The part I ask of you I 
 cannot ask of one I trust less you understand, and," 
 continued the duke, slowly and with strange emphasis, 
 " it is her nature you will play, and no assumption. You 
 wrong her not, for methinks all Italy has heard by this 
 time what manner of siren she is."
 
 Xa Xisa 147 
 
 " If we believed all we heard, Ferrando, if we could 
 even deem it possible," said Francesca, with a burning 
 wildness in her gaze which startled even the duke. 
 
 " I speak not now of the lies that are told of us, but 
 of the truths that are told of her," he replied, hastily, and, 
 rising as if to escape the penetrating glance of the woman, 
 he walked up and down the apartment while he con- 
 tinued : 
 
 " But since you so dislike the part, only to some few 
 whom I mistrust shall you play it; to the barons of 
 Apulia, whom I expect in all secrecy, you shall be an- 
 other. You are beautiful matchlessly beautiful, Fran- 
 cesca, and they are men with an eye for charms like 
 yours. For them you shall be the wife of our castellan, 
 but let not Crivello know the jest till it is well played, 
 for he is a hidalgo and an old Christian! Under this 
 guise we shall invite the barons to a little private colla- 
 tion here in the tower while Crivello is abroad on an 
 errand of mine, and why stare you so dismally, as if I 
 bade you in all truth to betray me ? " 
 
 A shrill laugh broke the momentary silence which had 
 succeeded the duke's question, a laugh so ghastly that 
 the very walls seemed to ring and to vibrate. 
 
 " Forgive me, Ferrando I did not know how low I 
 had fallen," Francesca then said, with a fixed look up- 
 wards, biting her lips till the blood flowed. " Forgive 
 me, I am not yet accustomed to be the thing I am, but I 
 will try to remember it. I will abandon myself to it 
 anon, but memory and consciousness can only death 
 destroy them? Can death? Why, if so, lies he not 
 couched at the base of these battlements ? " 
 
 "What marvel that I look around in vain for some 
 hope, since they who love me best will not even speak a 
 few words, a. few carnival jests, to save the cause for
 
 148 Gastel bel /iDonte 
 
 which I labour and myself ! " exclaimed the duke, 
 mournfully. " Can you dream, sweetheart, that I would 
 permit the vulgar breath of another to profane your 
 beauty ? Be it so I alone will meet them in this castle ! 
 Ah, what a meeting it will be! Amazed at beholding 
 one another here, even if they listen not to my gilded 
 promises, a universal doubt shall arise amongst them 
 which will paralyze their strength and serve my purposes 
 as well. Senseless that I was ! I had even prepared a 
 masked array such as my jealousy of your beauty ap- 
 proved. The garb of the dazzling Fata Morgana, glitter- 
 ing all over with gems as of woven gold-dust, was to 
 adorn my beautiful Francesca, while I thought to witness 
 the adoration your loveliness must provoke humbly fol- 
 lowing in your train in the guise of a black Nubian 
 slave." 
 
 The duke had concluded his speech with an injured 
 and sorrowful air, avoiding Francesca's gaze and fixing 
 his eyes on the floor. 
 
 " You you ! Why, then, if you love me, and it is 
 no black trick of yours, I will plague you with your own 
 device till you assume your own form again ! And if you 
 have any regard for your own escutcheon, methinks, I 
 will overplay the part you have laid out for me, and 
 she whom I am to represent shall be all you wish her 
 to be." 
 
 " I doubt whether all your charms, potent and alluring 
 though they are, will avail aught against him for whose 
 delectation I have arranged this amusement, should he 
 suspect you to be another than the one you are to 
 embody." 
 
 " Is this knight, then, so firmly fixed in his affections 
 that no lady may dare to assail his constancy?" 
 
 " Has Crivello never told you of him ? He stalks
 
 %a Zisa 149 
 
 amongst us as if he were some commissioner sent from 
 above, to turn up the lids of the darkness at whose edge 
 we stand ! But for the argus eye of the Catalan I should 
 not have suspected him even to possess the heel of 
 Achilles. But can you wonder? As beautiful a lady as 
 she is, and offering herself with that marvellous un- 
 guardedness and warmth for which she is justly re- 
 nowned? And have you never heard in ballads, Fran- 
 cesca, that slighted love makes a colder nun than all the 
 vows of the eleven thousand virgins of Cologne ? " 
 
 " I may live to know it," returned the girl, leaning her 
 head thoughtfully on her white arm and gazing into the 
 court beneath, white in the pale moonlight. 
 
 " Never never, unless your love wanders from 
 mine ! " said the duke, ardently. " You have been moody 
 and wilful this night, my Francesca, yet I know you un- 
 derstand me and your soul follows the flight of mine, 
 which shows the way. The time is not far when you may 
 share a throne ! The king is dreaming of the poet's golden 
 age, holding discourse with the stars. Let him dream 
 on till the stars begin to fall ! But to return to our 
 plan! You may, disguised and masked, and skilled as 
 you are in imitating the tones and gestures of others, 
 easily assay the Lombard's metal, which perchance is 
 false after all, though it rings so silvery clear. More- 
 over, we are favoured in our projects by the lady of 
 Miraval's own caprice, for, with the hidden purpose of 
 meeting her lover, she has made known her intention of 
 visiting the great carnival in some unknown disguise. 
 If she can but be made aware of her knight's dancing 
 attendance on our beautiful Fata Morgana, there will 
 be capital fun. As a last resort, we are resolved to try 
 what rivalry will do. For this purpose we hold in readi- 
 ness our valiant San Severino, blustering ass of the
 
 is Castei Del dDonte 
 
 marshes, who still regards the pigmy rabble of his 
 robbers' den lords of the universe! It shall be a mem- 
 orable time, this carnival preceding the coronation, and 
 long remembered among men." 
 
 Francesca leaned her head against the duke as the 
 latter started to rise. 
 
 " I will do your bidding," she said, softly. " I am 
 yours, a thing without a will of its own do with me 
 as you like, as in bygone times ! " 
 
 The duke put his arms around the trembling form and 
 tenderly kissed the white brow of the girl. 
 
 " I knew my sweetheart would not fail me, and I 
 shall be with you and close at your side, my Francesca. 
 But now I must hasten to despatch some matters of state. 
 I noted not in our love-talk how late the night had 
 waxed. Come! Since your memory carries you back 
 to bygone days so often, I, too, remember that I never 
 used to leave you without a caress that was given and 
 not taken." 
 
 The recollection thus touched went to the depths of 
 the girl's heart, and the Duke of Altamura did not leave 
 the Torre del Diavolo without a pledge of tenderness 
 from his fair and loving captive. 
 
 The moon was approaching her zenith when the duke 
 retraced his steps toward La Zisa. Dark, fortress-like 
 palaces in the Arabo- Norman style rose towering from 
 luxuriant gardens, and the five-domed cloister of San 
 Giovanni degli Eremiti, with its fantastic brown and 
 terra cotta fagade, its scarlet arches and pink cupolas, 
 appeared like the retreat of a magician among tall and 
 waving palms. An avenue of tall cypresses, with an 
 undergrowth of Judas-trees, was a blaze of ruddy ame- 
 thyst in the pale, ghostly moonlight. The path was car- 
 peted with gray-blue periwinkles, the flowers of death,
 
 T e T 
 15 T 
 
 and led up toward the grotesque palace. The night-birds 
 were uttering queer shrieks and cries from their shady 
 boughs. The duke glanced again at the moon, and again 
 down the road to the bay, and then reentered the Sara- 
 cenic palace. But the most careful scrutiny without, the 
 most thorough investigation within, failed to reveal the 
 person of the African. The expression of disappoint- 
 ment which clouded the duke's brow was soon inten- 
 sified to one of mingled chagrin and uneasiness. Zem 
 had never failed him before, no matter how difficult the 
 task nor how distant the goal. The duke's gait grew 
 more restless every moment, his vexation not permitting 
 his remaining on one spot. After awaiting in vain his 
 gloomy messenger's arrival, he at last retraced his steps 
 toward the city, conferring upon Zem every epithet in 
 his voluble stores of highly flavoured appellatives.
 
 BOOK THE SECOND 
 
 41 Pot sorridendo disse : io son Manfredi 
 Nipote di Gostanza Imperadrice : 
 Ond" 1 io ti prego che, quando tu riedt, 
 Vadi a mia bella figlia, genitrice 
 Dell" 1 onor di Cicilia, e d' Aragona, 
 dichi a lei il ver, s j altro si dice. 
 
 DANTE, Purgatorio, Canto III., 112-118.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 FATA MORGANA 
 
 IT was on the eve of the following day. The great 
 Ghibelline confederacy was now an accomplished fact, 
 and Manfred was not only in name, but in reality, the 
 leader of the party, both in the North and South. The 
 council had ratified the treaties between the chief Italian 
 principalities and the new Hohenstaufen kingdom with- 
 out one dissenting vote. Even those opposed at the start 
 had eventually sanctioned the plan proposed by the chan- 
 cellor, John of Alife. This was to dismiss the Germans 
 of Landulf of Trent, the new state requiring neither for- 
 eign sanction nor auxiliaries, a motion seconded with 
 unusual warmth by the Duke of Altamura. Galvano 
 Lancia's suggestion, to await the confirmation of Con- 
 radino's death, or the result of the election at Viterbo, 
 was overruled ; the same fate befell Marino Capece's re- 
 quest to introduce the messenger of the Abbot of Con- 
 stanz. The party of the Guelphs seemed completely 
 crushed, and even the unaccountable silence and pro- 
 longed absence of Count Cenci, Manfred's plenipotentiary 
 at the Conclave, was referred to in a light, bantering 
 tone. The council dissolved so intoxicated with its own 
 triumphs that no countermove from the hostile camp 
 could checkmate its success. 
 
 The masking for the great carnival which was to form 
 
 '55
 
 is 6 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 the programme of the day had commenced at an early 
 hour, and Ottorino, after leaving the council-hall, wan- 
 dered through the city, viewing absently the riot and 
 splendour and universal gaiety of these Christian Satur- 
 nalia. 
 
 At a period of such general dissolution of manners, 
 when in addition to the licentious population of Italy the 
 capital of Sicily was crowded with innumerable foreign- 
 ers, the confusion was beyond conception, while the mag- 
 nificent display of luxury surpassed imagination. The 
 visitors, surrounded by all the temptations which lux- 
 urious Palermo could offer, abandoned themselves to 
 their unrestrained desires, endeavouring to surpass them- 
 selves. 
 
 The endless variety of costumes displayed by a multi- 
 tude assembled from every corner of Italy, Spain, Greece, 
 Africa, and the countries of the North, was now exag- 
 gerated by the wild fancifulness and grotesque gaiety 
 of the carnival devices. And though this revelry at its 
 season was common to all nations of the Christian world, 
 it was practised in many different forms, according to 
 influence of climate and national character. The sober, 
 pedantic Northmen beheld with amazement the excesses 
 into which the ardent temperament of the South, re- 
 leased from every shackle, rushed like a foaming torrent, 
 all sparkles, uproar, and glistening tumult. And the 
 Italians, revelling in their own exuberant gaiety, failed 
 not to satirize their visitors with the most laughable 
 buffooneries, ingeniously veiled from the notice of the 
 strangers themselves, as their violence and insolent igno- 
 rance were justly to be dreaded. 
 
 Passing through streets blazing with banners and pic- 
 tured tapestries and festooned with flowers and rich orna- 
 ments, amid shouts of laughter and ribaldry and roaring
 
 jfata flDorgana 157 
 
 music, Ottorino pursued his way he knew not whither. 
 He had spent the morning in feverish expectancy of a 
 message from Helena di Miraval, had shut himself up 
 within his apartments that the messenger of love might 
 find him; but he had tarried in vain. No message 
 came, and, almost beside himself at her unaccountable 
 conduct, he had despatched a eunuch to the palace, where, 
 as he had been informed, she resided. The Saracen had 
 delivered the Lombard's appeal into the hands of Helena's 
 tirewoman, who, stating that her mistress was indis- 
 posed, promised to place the scroll in her hands and in- 
 quired where the reply might reach his master. Thus 
 with his mission but half-fulfilled, the eunuch had re- 
 turned to Khalesa, and Ottorino had rushed from his 
 gilded chamber as if chased by demons of darkness. 
 
 He was not, however, to follow his observations at his 
 own leisure, for he was at once accosted by unwelcome 
 intruders who broke in upon his solitude. The revellers 
 beset him in the most varied shapes. A legion of horned 
 devils with hideous visages and flaming torches sur- 
 rounded him, imploring his leave to return to hell in 
 order to get out of the noise and clatter of a Christian 
 festival. Deities of all the ancient and modern mythol- 
 ogy, known or vaguely guessed at, met and engaged in 
 mock disputes and ribaldry, in which every form of 
 religion was turned into ridicule by men who at other 
 seasons were wrapped in superstitious horrors. 
 
 Hardly heeding the strange apparitions which sprang 
 up and disappeared at intervals, Ottorino became involved, 
 he scarcely knew how, in the strange and tumultuous 
 throng which swayed up and down the Cassaro. Wan- 
 dering amidst the glittering confusion, the Lombard's 
 attention was suddenly caught, with that of many others,
 
 158 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 by the approach of a most singular and very magnificent 
 procession. 
 
 Down the long and palatial street came a troop of per- 
 sons in the richest and most glaring Oriental costumes, 
 leaping, dancing, and making the air resound with tam- 
 bourines, bells, cymbals, and gongs. They kept up an 
 incessant jingle and roar of melody. These heralded a 
 lady, garbed to represent the royal, licentious, and de- 
 ceptive Fata Morgana, who was thus suitably attended 
 because in Italy all fairies were held to be pagan. She 
 sat in a castle on the back of an elephant, caparisoned 
 with scarlet and gold. The castle was built of little 
 squares and lozenges of burnished looking-glass set in 
 silver frames, and its sparkle and glitter corresponded 
 with the idea entertained of the illusive pomp of the fay. 
 The beautifully moulded figure of the enchantress was 
 amply displayed in her rich garb of gold lace, spangled 
 with rare gems. Her hair was concealed by an immense 
 turban, and her face by the mask of a beautiful woman. 
 
 " Viva Morgana " resounded on every side as the 
 strange procession approached, while the fay, distributing 
 innumerable little tokens with which her fairy castle 
 seemed stocked, conversed in a pretended Eastern tongue 
 with the black slave who guided her elephant. The slave 
 was arrayed in great splendour to represent the Caliph of 
 Bagdad, and his face was also concealed by a mask. 
 Wielding a broad and gleaming sabre, he affected 
 the airs of a jealous Oriental, and flourished it among 
 those admirers who pushed too near the lady. But ever 
 and anon he turned back and whispered to some of the 
 maskers whom he seemed to select at random. 
 
 From these very signs Ottorino conjectured little good 
 of the fairy, but his interest increased with the recol- 
 lection that the only elephant in Palermo belonged to
 
 jfata flborgana 159 
 
 Manfred, a present from the Sultan of Damascus. In his 
 anxiety to ascertain who the lady might be, he pushed 
 eagerly forward. As he approached, the Nubian's eye 
 gleamed upon him from the depths of his mask, and with 
 a screech of joy he muttered some words to the fairy in 
 a tone which was drowned by the uproar of the multi- 
 tudes. 
 
 The fairy immediately signalled her whole retinue to 
 halt, and beckoned so pointedly to Ottorino that he could 
 not doubt that it was he who was distinguished by her 
 summons. 
 
 He approached in a fever of curiosity and dread, fear- 
 ful lest he should find his worst suspicions realized. 
 
 " What would you with me, illustrious lady ? " said the 
 Lombard, in a voice whose tranquil sternness strangely 
 contrasted, not only with his own overwrought feelings, 
 but also with the frenzied clamour surrounding him. 
 
 " Nay what would you with me, signor ? " replied 
 the fairy, in tones whose low, liquid, and perfidious sweet- 
 ness resembled those of a siren luring the mariner to 
 death. " I am the fairy Fata Morgana, all things to all 
 men even what their own desires would have ! To the 
 soldier, glory; to the priest, dominion; to the poet, im- 
 mortality ; to the lover, his mistress ; to every madness 
 its fitting frenzy. Name thou thine, signor, that it may 
 forthwith be gratified." 
 
 " Nay, fairy, since thou art as fallacious as the waves 
 on which thou raisest thy translucent palaces, so bright 
 without, so dismal within, I care not to trust myself to 
 thy treacherous bowers," said the Lombard. " Yet if 
 thou canst aid me in my research, I will confess that I 
 seek for one whom I would not find." 
 
 "Then thou art truly my lord and master, for I have 
 come here to choose a seraglio among all the modest
 
 160 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 beauties of thy sex, and justly, methinks, thou art therein 
 entitled to the foremost place; therefore mount and ac- 
 company me on my elephant, which already kneels of its 
 own grace and understanding." 
 
 The prodigious creature did, indeed, at a signal from 
 the Nubian's wand, bend its massive knees to the pave- 
 ment, and with a huge yawn seemed to await the result 
 of the conference. 
 
 " Queen and sorceress," replied Ottorino, " the order 
 of all nature is too strangely reversed in thy kingdom 
 for me to venture in it while I still walk erect ; even Circe 
 changed men into swine ere she put them in her sties. 
 Moreover, the disappearances from thy seraglio are so 
 numerous and so tragic that it is conjectured by some 
 that there is a hidden snake therein." 
 
 After having spoken these words, ringing with the 
 anguish of his soul, Ottorino stared at the fairy as if to 
 ascertain their effect. 
 
 "And yet I have never loved till now," sighed the 
 Fata Morgana, " else I would long ago have made a 
 charm to stiffen that green reptile jealousy!" 
 
 The words, spoken in low, plaintive tones in the voice 
 he loved so well, almost drove the Visconti to frenzy. 
 
 "If thou hast never loved, then thou hast not even a 
 base apology for being the vile thing thou art," he re- 
 turned, severely. " Go on thy way, as I will on mine 
 and may our paths cross never again ! " 
 
 " I must seek those, then, who are not so wise, or so 
 foolish, as to refuse the quaff of pleasure because other 
 lips have been to the goblet," returned the enchantress, 
 gaily; then with a haughty gesture she commanded the 
 Nubian to advance, and the procession moved on. 
 
 Ottorino felt as if his heart were crumbling to dust, 
 and so absorbing was the mute anguish that he fairly
 
 GO ON THY WAY, AS I WILL ON MINE ' "
 
 ffata 
 
 started when he felt his mantle plucked, and, turning, be- 
 held the Nubian. 
 
 " Signer believing your obduracy might relent, the 
 most puissant Fata Morgana desires you to accept her 
 portrait in this case," said the African, producing an 
 exquisitely chased gold medallion, which he handed to 
 the Visconti, attentively watching him as he examined 
 it. Pressing a spring, the case flew open, and Ottorino 
 staggered as if he had been dealt a deadly blow. 
 
 " My God ! it is true, then it is true ! " he cried, 
 despairingly, then, with a glance so menacing that the 
 Nubian involuntarily receded a step or two, he hurled the 
 medallion with such force to the ground that it broke into 
 countless fragments. 
 
 " Return to her who has sent thee, and tell her what 
 thou hast seen," and without vouchsafing him another 
 word he turned his back upon the Nubian, while the 
 groups which surrounded them laughed and jeered, be- 
 lieving the whole to be a preconcerted scene. 
 
 Summoning all his resolutions not to let the fearful 
 revelation overcome him, Ottorino continued aimlessly 
 upon his way. It would have been scarcely possible to 
 analyze the confusion of emotions which filled the Vis- 
 conti's heart, fury, anger, disdain, jealousy, hate, and 
 love. Fevered with agitation and despair, he endeavoured 
 to avoid the surging crowds. Only one resolution stood 
 out bold and unshaken in the wild chaos of anguish and 
 wrath which upheaved his soul, the resolve to return to 
 his Northern lakes and to forget the brief and illusive 
 dream of happiness. Forget forget! When the soul 
 forgets that there has been a yesterday, that there will 
 be a to-morrow then and not until then is forgetf ulness 
 complete. 
 
 How he had loved her ! Loved as he could never, never
 
 i6z Castel >el /iDonte 
 
 love again! He had believed Helena's confession to be 
 as sincere as his own, and now her licentious coquetry 
 in the character of the royal sorceress confirmed the worst 
 rumours and gave grounds for even darker accusations. 
 
 Suddenly, as the vesper-bells of remote cloisters chimed 
 fitfully above the roar of a tempest, as their peaceful 
 clangour, though dissipated, hovered with faint echoes on 
 the storm-rent air, so her warning in that never-to-be- 
 forgotten night at Favara rang through his heart : " If 
 once you doubt, we are both lost you and I." 
 
 With an impatient gesture he relegated the speech to 
 the dead, for at that precise moment the scene in the 
 wilds of Monte Pellegrino rose before him. The mental 
 agonies of the Dominican might they not be the viper's 
 stings of secret remorse? There were moments in his 
 meditation when he blamed himself for not having ac- 
 cepted the fay's invitation, that he might have ascer- 
 tained her full depravity and humbled her with a scorn 
 and refusal, which, if aught could, would strike shame 
 and dismay into her haughty soul. It did not occur to 
 Ottorino that the experiment might have had its perils. 
 
 It was now drawing toward sunset, and the deepening 
 purple of the sky mellowed the glaring tints into an 
 almost bewildering richness. The moon gleamed pale 
 as an alabaster lamp in the still sun-ruled heavens, and 
 the light trembled luminously on the waters of the foun- 
 tains. Stung to his soul and rankling with the darts of 
 those poisoned wasps of passion, the Lombard was in a 
 most unsociable mood. But on entering an avenue of 
 cypress-trees he found himself face to face with the 
 Dominican. The pale and haggard countenance of the 
 monk bore traces of severest mental agony. In his 
 present frame of mind this kindled the Visconti's con- 
 tempt instead of pity, and the salutation was sufficiently
 
 jfata /iDoraana 163 
 
 cold on both sides. After a few preliminary remarks, the 
 Dominican stated that he felt bound in return for a kind- 
 ness, the nature of which he left to Ottorino's surmise, 
 to inform the latter that his life ran an hourly risk in 
 Palermo, as he had provoked the vengeance of one whom 
 nothing but blood could appease. 
 
 " I fear, and not without reason," concluded the friar, 
 " that an insult so glaring as the public scorn to which 
 you have subjected the proudest lady in Palermo has 
 exasperated her to that pass at which her smiling lips 
 have ever been found most deadly." 
 
 " Proud deadly !" exclaimed Ottorino. "But I 
 deem the lady is at present too much absorbed in peopling 
 her seraglio to give immediate attention to the horrors 
 which are said to be her customary pastime." 
 
 " Be it so, since thou wilt not listen to the voice of the 
 charmer, charm he ever so wisely," replied the friar, after 
 a pause. " But if thou meetest with some misfortune, the 
 blame is not with me, nor canst thou altogether doubt the 
 hand from whence it comes." 
 
 Ottorino made no reply, but after the Dominican had 
 continued on his way, he dwelt with continually deepen- 
 ing wrath and pain on the probability that Helena ab- 
 horred him, and that her momentary liking had changed 
 into a desire for revenge. Yet in spite of the threats 
 held out to him, in spite of his own fatigue and disgust, 
 the Visconti found himself again borne along on the 
 turbulent waves of the carnival, surrounded by tumul- 
 tuous revellers, who, laughing, gibbering, brawling in all 
 the effervescence of boundless delight, swarmed on their 
 way toward the groves by the sea.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE MAD GIRL 
 
 THE sunlight had flooded with its parting rays the 
 Conca d'Oro when Ottorino reached the myrtle and 
 cypress groves, near the entrance to the Norman palaces 
 of Roger and William. The Lombard followed a narrow, 
 winding path, at times hardly discernible owing to the 
 overgrowth of mosses and grass, until he found himself 
 before a dilapidated building, which, from its size and 
 shape, was evidently a monastery, hidden in the green of 
 the vale. But if it ever had been such, it was now de- 
 serted. The building, with its architraves and high arched 
 windows, was a quaint mixture of the Arabo-Norman 
 style, so common to the Sicilian architecture of that 
 period. An old, quaintly carved door stood ajar, but not 
 a sound of life broke the stillness. 
 
 At the end of a narrow lane, bordered by vineyards 
 and overshadowed by huge plane-trees, around whose 
 gigantic trunks grapevines and evergreens twined their 
 tiny arms, Ottorino beheld a girlish figure. The girl 
 stared motionless down the lane, then, uttering a wild, 
 piercing cry, she disappeared so suddenly that for some 
 moments he wondered if he had waked from a dream 
 and the apparition was part thereof, or if he had really 
 seen it. 
 
 Something in the terrified outcry of the creature before 
 
 164
 
 tTbe flDafc Girl 165 
 
 him confirmed the Visconti's belief that he had seen a 
 being of flesh and blood. But going into the dense copse 
 in which the girl had disappeared, he looked in vain for 
 her retreating form. 
 
 Fully convinced that the maiden, whoever she may 
 have been, must have sought refuge in this by no means 
 inviting retreat, and apprehensive lest some dark mystery 
 encompass so unusual an occurrence, the Visconti ap- 
 proached the low balcony which surrounded the house. 
 This balcony led into a chamber almost on a level with 
 it, a large but ruinously dilapidated apartment, into which 
 the doors of a suite of smaller rooms opened, all appar- 
 ently in similar condition. The few articles of furniture 
 were in a state of mouldering decay, showing that they 
 had long been out of use. The silence in these chambers 
 was so deep that after a moment's intent listening Otto- 
 rino concluded that the fugitive had not taken refuge 
 in any of them. As he investigated more closely, he saw 
 the dark, massive posts of a staircase, which probably 
 descended into an inhabited part of the house. On ap- 
 proaching, he perceived that the descent was abrupt and 
 steep as a ladder, with scarcely room for the action of 
 the limbs. It was necessary to descend backwards, and, 
 while brave and fearless, Ottorino yet hesitated before the 
 alternative of returning or adopting such a means of 
 descent, uncertain as he was of what might await him 
 below, not knowing into what sort of abode he was 
 penetrating. But hearing no sound from below, and 
 getting no reply from his halloos, anxiety and curiosity 
 alike urged him on. He looked around for some material 
 with which to throw light into the abysmal darkness, and 
 at last discovered the fragments of a torch, the appear- 
 ance of which convinced him that it was not so long ago 
 since it had been lighted. Striking a light with two flint-
 
 166 Castel &el flDonte 
 
 stones he found near by, he boldly began the descent in 
 quest of the strange apparition which had so mysteriously 
 fled before his approach. 
 
 Descending, he soon found the wall behind breaking 
 off, and, unwilling to run the chances with his back turned 
 and arms powerless, he dropped the remainder of the 
 steps. He had brushed his torch so rudely in the scram- 
 ble of the fall that it was some moments before he could 
 fan it into a light sufficiently strong to second his in- 
 vestigation. What he then saw confirmed the suspicions 
 and conjectures which he had formed from the scent of 
 drugs and herbs, and it was evident that he was in the 
 abode of an alchemist, to whom this habitation, formerly 
 dedicated to different purposes, now belonged. Dusty 
 jars, phials emblazoned with mystic characters, stuffed 
 lizards, a mummy, serpents, and various strange animals 
 preserved in liquids, many of them dried and shrivelled, 
 a rusty copper basin, cauterizing-irons, and other imple- 
 ments of surgery, filled the room. A leaden table, mas- 
 sive and shapeless as a butcher's block and covered with 
 cabalistical designs and figures, from which to calculate 
 the favourable instant of swallowing medicines or per- 
 forming operations, was in the centre of the room. The 
 dusty and neglected aspect of the whole pharmacy indi- 
 cated that the owner either had not many calls on his skill, 
 or followed a profession more lucrative. No living soul 
 appeared, and there seemed to be no exit save by a 
 strongly barred door and a casement closed with iron 
 panels. After a glance over the medicinal wares, the 
 Visconti concluded that the object of his search, if she 
 was in this dismal abode, must have remained above. In 
 this belief he was about to remount the stairs, when he 
 distinctly heard what seemed to him a sob or sigh from 
 beneath the spot where he stood. Glancing around, he
 
 TEbe /lDat> (Birl 167 
 
 perceived a pale glimmer in a large chimneyplace behind, 
 though there was assuredly no fire in it. Stumbling in 
 his haste over some old crucibles, he was astonished to 
 find that the light fell from what appeared to be an open 
 trap-door in the back wall of the -chimney. The light 
 revealed a flight of narrow stairs. 
 
 More than ever piqued by curiosity, and insensible to 
 the fears which would have restrained most men from 
 gratifying the former under such conditions, Ottorino 
 started to climb the steps, taking only the precaution of 
 leaving his torch alight, and sticking it in one of the 
 numerous cracks between the stones of the chimney. 
 
 Stooping nearly double in order to enter the trap-door, 
 he perceived a broader flight of stairs down the in- 
 side of a wall. At the right a dark chamber extended, 
 dimly lighted by some embers glowing on the opposite 
 hearth. This feeble radiance flickered up occasionally, 
 and showed that the vault for it was little better 
 was filled with strange heaps of lumber, like the contents 
 of a cave in which wreckers had stowed the pillage of a 
 drowned armada. But the Visconti's attention was im- 
 mediately absorbed by the apparition of a young maiden 
 whose Oriental features betokened her to be of Moorish 
 or Saracenic descent. She was crouching near the hearth 
 and listening with head erect, like a deer in covert. Her 
 expression was a strange mixture of reason and insanity, 
 and there was such a degree of wildness and vacuity in 
 her eyes that Ottorino involuntarily paused to reflect 
 whether he should continue upon his course or retreat. 
 
 Uncertain as to the effect which his appearance might 
 produce, the Visconti lingered on the summit of the 
 stairs. But during that pause a momentary gleam lighted 
 up his black garb, and the girl perceived him. Instantly 
 she sprang up and uttered a cry of absolute despair.
 
 168 Castel &el fl&onte 
 
 There was now but a choice of evils, and Ottorino pre- 
 ferred that of descending slowly into the vault, at the 
 same time exhorting the frightened girl not to be alarmed, 
 announcing that his intentions were merely to ascertain 
 that she was threatened with no danger from without. 
 
 The first tones of Ottorino's voice seemed to reassure 
 her, and, looking up, she suddenly changed her cries into 
 a wild peal of laughter, clasped her hands as if in ecstasy, 
 and rushed to meet him. As suddenly, however, she 
 paused, staring at him in amazement, as if struck by his 
 lofty stature or his dark armour. 
 
 Ottorino's eyes in turn scanned the form of the girl 
 before him. Her face and form might have been taken 
 for a perfect model of Oriental beauty but for the pallid 
 hues which overspread the dark tints of her complexion, 
 and the drooping and meagre lines of the figure, other- 
 wise so finely moulded. The girl was attired in a dusty 
 and disordered garb, originally of fine silk, but so curi- 
 ously ornamented with ribbons, shreds of different colours, 
 and what appeared to be gems of purest water, that the 
 Visconti at first fancied that he beheld one of those un- 
 happy outcasts put forth to attract licentious observation 
 and to lure travellers into their haunts for the purpose of 
 enriching themselves. Her countenance, young, wasted, 
 and pallid, strengthened this impression, but a further con- 
 sideration at least staggered it. The vacant depths of her 
 eyes, the unmeaning smile with which she watched the 
 advancing steps of the stranger, the fantastic richness of 
 her garniture, exceeding in glare and contrast every 
 vagary even of Moorish fancy, suggested to the Visconti 
 characteristics of insanity. But perhaps it was one of 
 those ornaments, a chain of coins twisted in the black, 
 disordered hair, which chiefly attracted his attention, and 
 yet he knew not at the time why he noticed it at all.
 
 Ube /Baft Girl 169 
 
 " But is it really you ? " the girl exclaimed, after a 
 moment's profound silence. " It is long, indeed, since 
 we have met ; but you are so tall, or are you what are 
 you?" 
 
 " I am the knight you met in the arbour," replied 
 Ottorino, in his gentlest tones, in order not to arouse her 
 fright. " I came hither to see that no harm had befallen 
 you, as your sudden flight led me to fear." 
 
 " No, no, no ! It is not he ! He will never come again," 
 softly murmured the girl to herself. " And yet he had 
 a voice very much like yours, so full of that silvery ring 
 that spoke to my heart. Do not mock me, Enrico ! Why 
 needed you to come in this disguise? For indeed, be- 
 loved, I will not reproach you, never tell you what I have 
 thought of your long absence and how I have wept my 
 brain so dry that I can never, never weep again ! Speak, 
 dearest, speak! You need not think the wizard will sus- 
 pect he flew away at early dawn ! I heard his wings 
 rustle over the cypress-trees. And the witches they 
 are gone, too; the black he-goat pulled them away, he 
 with the long horns and eyes like glowing coals. And 
 they tell me you are gone, too, and dead, nay, if you 
 will not answer me I will fetch a light and look into 
 your face; I shall know it, if it be ever so pale, but 
 no, no, no ! He is dead dead dead ! " 
 
 " Enrico ! " the Visconti repeated to himself with a 
 start. It was the name of the emperor's murdered son. 
 Was there another, or stood he at the brink of the dark 
 mystery which had so long baffled the empire ? 
 
 Deep and intense was the pause while the Moorish girl, 
 clinging with the tenacity of the mind diseased to its 
 favourite visions, hurried to the hearth, and, after groping 
 for some moments, lighted a lamp shaped like a twisted
 
 170 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 dragon, and returned with great eagerness to the Vis- 
 conti. 
 
 Quietly awaiting the result of her scrutiny, Ottorino 
 stood in silence and suffered her to survey him from head 
 to foot. But after gazing long and wistfully into his 
 face, the girl shook her head, and with a deep sigh set 
 the lamp down. 
 
 " You see I am not he but for whom did you mis- 
 take me and what is your name ? " said Ottorino, gently, 
 but perhaps too earnestly, for the girl looked at him with 
 sudden suspicion and alarm. 
 
 " What do you want with him ? To betray him to the 
 scarlet man with the burning eyes and the ashen face ? " 
 she said, bitterly, adding with a wild, triumphant laugh : 
 
 " But you cannot ! I have hidden him too well for 
 any of you to find him, nor shall you touch him until 
 you have torn out my heart, for I will shriek and shriek 
 until your God has heard as well as Allah. And he is 
 good and just and merciful, or you Christians you 
 Christians ah ! he is dead dead dead ! " 
 
 She rested her chin in her hand and seemed endeavour- 
 ing to recall the words of some one, while Ottorino's 
 mind was occupied with the expression she had uttered 
 relating to the scarlet man. 
 
 " What is peace ? " murmured the girl, probably re- 
 ferring to some disconnected train of thought which 
 fluttered through her disordered brain. " Is it death ? 
 For when he was dead, with all those cruel stabs, how 
 calm he lay ! " 
 
 There was a brief pause, during which the Moorish 
 girl looked vacantly at the knight. 
 
 " Were you decked out as gaily as now when the 
 scarlet man was here ? " he said at last, with hesitation. 
 
 " It was not here, you know, but in the chamber above ;
 
 ttbe flDafc <3irl 17* 
 
 they brought him here too, but it was in my dream," 
 replied the girl. " Indeed, it was a dreadful dream. 
 But I was much finer than I am now, for they all loved 
 me then and thought pearls and gems too mean for me 
 to wear, and I had no delight but to dress myself in 
 the prettiest things and to braid my hair when I knew 
 he was coming." 
 
 " And was your dream so sad ? I pray you tell it to me, 
 whatever your name may be, for you see I am of a melan- 
 choly turn of mind, and I love to hear sad tales," said 
 the Lombard. 
 
 " Call me Leila, Leila, that is what he used to call 
 me. But I may not tell it to you, nor to any one else; 
 the witches will murder me," replied the girl. " But it 
 was very horrible! To hear the blood go drop, drop, 
 drop, to see them all run in upon him with their long, 
 keen poniards and press them into his poor quivering 
 flesh, while thousands and thousands of voices oh, 
 how I shrieked, how I shrieked murder murder 
 murder! Until the roof rang like the clatter of hoofs 
 at the tournament, where I saw him first. But my voice 
 died in my throat, my voice would not sound. Knight, 
 you are wearing a beggar's harness, compared to him that 
 day. I stole out when they were busy and the embers 
 flaming, but to see them lift him up so drenched in 
 blood that it ran down his bright, golden hair, for when 
 he was dead he could not keep his head up, I re- 
 member." 
 
 " But who was your Enrico, who wore such noble 
 armour? And did you dream that he was murdered 
 here and by your people ? " said the Visconti, in care- 
 less tones, which he thought would disarm the poor 
 mad girl's suspicions. 
 
 " No, it was all a dream, and I will some day be
 
 172 Castel Del flDonte 
 
 punished for remembering it," said the girl, with pro- 
 found sadness, and tears trickled fast but unheeded down 
 her pale, wan face, as she seemed to sink into a puzzled 
 reverie. 
 
 The Visoonti awaited the result in silence, hoping that 
 some clearer revelation might rise in her chaotic mem- 
 ory. But suddenly she raised her eyes, wiped the tears 
 away, and looked at him with an expression of mingled 
 suspicion and dread. 
 
 "But you are not like the serpent," she faltered, at 
 length, " that came and questioned me with his oily 
 tongue, and whispered lies of him and said he loved 
 another better far, and challenged me to win him from 
 his appointment with her that very night ; but it was only 
 one of the wizard's demons, you must know, for when 
 he came they murdered him." 
 
 " Loved another and who was she ? What did men 
 call her?" 
 
 " Oh, she was so beautiful that indeed it was a scor- 
 pion in my breast to hear it said. Have you not, come 
 from what land you will, heard of her unrivalled beauty ? " 
 
 " But her name, Leila her name, whom your Enrico 
 preferred to you ! " 
 
 " No, no, no ! 'Tis false ! He came, he came ! " 
 shrieked the girl, her eyes flashing through her tears. 
 " You are a devil, too, to belie him thus, for when I told 
 him what the serpent visage said " 
 
 " Ay, what did he answer then ? " 
 
 " Hush, did you not hear a step ? " interrupted the 
 girl, staring wildly and tossing back her black hair to 
 listen. 
 
 " Embers sinking upon the hearth. But tell me, Leila, 
 what said he when you did upbraid him with his in- 
 constancy ? "
 
 Ube /iDafc Girl 173 
 
 "That was the very way they came! I heard them 
 creeping up the stairs and whispering, and thought it 
 was but the wind," replied the girl, raising her slender 
 finger with a wildly startled look. " But you are not 
 asleep, as he was. And he looked so beautiful in his 
 sleep that it ever grieved me to waken him when the 
 pale dawn looked in through the windows; though I 
 know the witches would have killed him had they found 
 him there." 
 
 " But what said he to your gentle jealousies, fair Leila? 
 Did he smile ? " reiterated Ottorino, with singular perti- 
 nacity. 
 
 " Nay, I knew not till then that he could look so 
 terrible, and he swore that he would slay the fiend who 
 told me so, if I could show him who he was. But even 
 as he spoke hark! There are muffled feet coming up 
 the stairs." 
 
 "We are below stairs here, remember, poor Leila," 
 said the Visconti, with deep pity in his tones. " But who 
 was this Enrico of yours, that he boasted of such power 
 over life and death? Some great lord, doubtless was 
 he one of the Geracci, or the Corvaja, or a knight of the 
 empire ? " 
 
 " Not the proudest knight in the king's court was 
 worthy to hold my Enrico's stirrups," returned the 
 Moorish girl, with enthusiasm. " He was so good, so 
 beautiful, so brave, and when he looked into my eyes 
 my soul dissolved in happiness. But I dreamed of him 
 long, long before I saw him, and there was no joy for 
 me when I saw him not. Yet it was all a dream, else, 
 being so great a lord, why did he never tell me more of 
 his name than Enrico? But what needed I to know 
 more ? " she continued, after a pause. " He was himself 
 even if he had no name at all ! "
 
 i74 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 " But if you did love him so, Leila, would you not 
 revenge his cruel murder ? " said Ottorino. " Does it 
 not darken the sunshine to you when you see those who 
 were his assassins smiling at one another with the sweet 
 recollection of their bloody vengeance ? " 
 
 " Nay, they were demons in masks raised by the 
 wizard," said the girl, musingly. " He has flown away 
 to meet the dark spirits on Mount Eblis. They were 
 demons, I tell you, all but one, and Enrico tore the 
 mask from his face to show me how it had turned to 
 palest ashes, paler than the hues of a pine- wood fire when 
 the morning shines upon it." 
 
 " But that one that one ! " exclaimed the Visconti, 
 impatiently. " Were you to behold his face again 
 surely you have not forgotten that one ? " 
 
 " I tell you again they were all devils, raised from the 
 night of death to tear him to pieces, for they laughed 
 and held me while it was all done," returned the girl, 
 pettishly, watching her interrogator with a vacant sort 
 of curiosity, and carelessly weaving into ringlets her 
 long black hair. 
 
 " But after they killed him, what did they with the 
 gashed body ? " Ottorino returned, after a moment's 
 musing. 
 
 " Oh, I will show you very soon, I found out the 
 trick when it was too late," Leila replied, with sudden 
 vivacity, darting toward the massive wardrobe elab- 
 orately welded with brass, which occupied a corner of 
 the dismal chamber. The girl then pulled a chain which 
 raised an iron bolt, and by the light of the lamp which 
 she hastened to bring Ottorino saw with amazement that 
 a stream of water flowed past beneath the house. 
 
 "And whither flows this dark stream?" he asked,
 
 flDafc atrl 175 
 
 looking up both ways and seeing that the covered way 
 extended without apparent exit on either side. 
 
 " Only the rats know that, and the Moors," replied 
 the girl, with a smile of simple cunning, as if she had 
 discovered and were baffling some intended trick. 
 
 " Hear me, Leila," said the Visconti, a thought occur- 
 ring to him. " You see, my arm is strong. You are but 
 fooled into the belief that demons slew your beautiful 
 lover, some rival among the Christians has slain him, 
 perchance even for the love of that fair lady of whom 
 you were told. Now, if you will hold yourself ready to 
 go with me yonder to the city, and if amidst all the 
 crowds you can or will point out to me that one who slew 
 your lover, I swear to you by your God and mine that 
 I will avenge him so that even you shall cry out 
 ' Enough ! ' " 
 
 The girl shook her head. 
 
 " I cannot see them ; I go to no feasts, and it is a long 
 time since I have seen the city, they will not let me 
 go. I can see the cupolas and the spires and the belfries 
 but the witches, you know ! " she replied, with evi- 
 dently startled attention. " And if I stir out of the house 
 they will kill me as they killed him," the girl continued, 
 with a deep sigh. " They say I am crazed, and must 
 not even stir as far as yon tall pine-tree; I may not 
 even show my eyes to the world, which were brighter 
 far before I wept them away." 
 
 " But if you are crazed, my girl, if they say you are, 
 it is the wont of madness to love wandering, and that 
 may plead your apology if even those who guard you 
 discover that you have flown," expostulated the Lombard. 
 
 " Hi, hi, hi, hi ! But how folk would laugh to see the 
 Christian knight and the Moorish girl together, and hoot 
 at me and stone us both for so Enrico said," replied
 
 176 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 the girl, with a faint, hysteric giggle, stopped by a 
 veritable shower of tears, which ran through her fingers 
 while she covered her face with both hands. So piteous 
 were her grief and her sobs that the knight, softly caress- 
 ing the poor, dark-haired girl, eventually succeeded in 
 calming her perturbed spirit. 
 
 " But no one will note us in the confusion of the city, 
 my gentle Leila," he said. " And if they should, it is the 
 office and duty of every true knight to shield and succour 
 all women, be their nation or their creed what it has 
 pleased the Almighty God to make it." 
 
 "And will you indeed with your strong arm avenge 
 Enrico ? " Leila replied, hurriedly. " For it is he I was 
 looking for in the arbour." 
 
 " Enrico," repeated the knight, as if struck at this 
 reversion of an obstinate idea. 
 
 " Yes ; for I said in my heart, he will come and see 
 me and remember what we have spoken to each other, 
 and then he must needs take pity on me ; at least he will 
 tell me why he despises the poor girl that loves him so 
 much that he never even said, ' Leila, I am weary of 
 thee/ " said the Moorish girl, mournfully. " Why should 
 he not even tell me why he scorned me why he never 
 wished to see me again? Perchance they have told him 
 lies of me, as they will ever of poor souls who love so 
 much that they know not how to hide it; but then, it 
 needs only a word to set all right again when truth is 
 listened to." 
 
 "Wherefore, then, will you not go with me and seek 
 him out ? " said Ottorino, clinging to this new idea. 
 " How can you hope to see him and tell him your truths 
 penned up in this dark prison where he never comes ? " 
 
 Leila looked at her adviser with a sort of wondering
 
 flDa& Girl 177 
 
 doubt, but suddenly, her eyes and features kindling with 
 rage, she cried out: 
 
 " Devil ! I know you now ! You are he who came 
 before as the leaden-visaged Spanish liar, for all you are 
 so changed ! They have sent you to find out where 
 Enrico is, and then my dream will all come true." 
 
 Confounded with this new turn, Ottorino stood for 
 some moments in irresolute silence, scarcely noticing a 
 slight murmur, which immediately attracted the attention 
 of the girl. 
 
 " They come they come ! " she whispered, in a 
 breathless undertone, startled with some degree of sane 
 recollection. " Fly fly or we shall both be mur- 
 dered ! " 
 
 Whisperings of several voices and sounds as of un- 
 locking the door of the shop were distinctly audible, and 
 brave as the Lombard was, he was by no means insensible 
 to the dangers of being surrounded by numbers under 
 circumstances which would rouse the passions of the 
 people, who, if they thought him an enemy, would use 
 every effort at his destruction. 
 
 " Whither does this strange passage lead ? " Ottorino 
 asked of Leila, after a brief pause. 
 
 " To the marshes ! " replied the girl, wringing her 
 hands. " They come they come ! They will not be- 
 lieve us they will murder you and call me vile names 
 follow the stream the stream fly fly ! " 
 
 " I will only depart on condition that you give me the 
 promise to see me again and come with me to the city," 
 returned the Visconti. 
 
 " Yes yes I will wait for you here and go with 
 you, even if they kill me, indeed indeed I swear it," 
 said the girl, endeavouring with her feeble force to draw 
 him to the exit.
 
 178 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 " Swear to me by all your hopes of again seeing your 
 lover your Enrico in heaven or on earth," insisted 
 Ottorino, hastening his own movements toward the door. 
 
 " I swear I swear ! " 
 
 " But you will forget ! Promise me not once to look 
 upon this strange portal without remembering your 
 pledge." 
 
 " I will I will ! It is not deep," Leila exclaimed, as 
 Ottorino took the lamp and threw its radiance on the 
 rapid waters of the channel. " On on ! " 
 
 The Lombard indeed hesitated in descending the two 
 or three steps which led to the channel, for a momentary 
 suspicion of treachery flashed through his mind when he 
 glanced down the watery way. But the anxious solicitude 
 of the mad girl reassured him, and with a farewell pres- 
 sure of Leila's hand he descended the steps. 
 
 " I will take your lamp," he said, with a smile, " for 
 they will scold you for losing it, and then you will re- 
 member your pledge." 
 
 The girl made no reply but by a strange laugh, in which 
 fear seemed to mingle with joy at the knight's retreat, 
 and she closed the opening with such rapidity that he was 
 barred out before he had finished speaking. 
 
 He found himself perched on a loose step partially 
 laved by the waters as they passed. The channel at this 
 point was not deep, unless its exceeding purity deceived 
 the eye. Voices of men speaking confusedly in raised 
 and indignant tones in a tongue unknown to him were 
 now audible, and apprehending more for the safety of 
 the girl than his own, if the gleam of the light should be 
 observed through the chinks, Ottorino shaded it and 
 stepped into the water. 
 
 It was deeper than he had at first conjectured, flowing 
 over his knees, but reconnoitring as he advanced, he
 
 " ' PROMISE ME NOT ONCE TO LOOK UPON THIS STRANGE 
 PORTAL WITHOUT REMEMBERING YOUR PLEDGE ' "
 
 TTbe flDa& (5irl 179 
 
 began to muse on the probability that the stream would 
 terminate in some deep cistern or reservoir. The dark 
 thought came to him that perhaps he was barred in a 
 place from which there was no exit, and where he might 
 miserably perish. He knew that the importance of the 
 secret he had discovered would drive the inmates of the 
 place, in case of his discovery, to desperation, and that 
 a return to the place from which he had come would be 
 impossible. 
 
 Still it was not likely that a project so malignant and 
 treacherous would enter the mind of the mad girl. Otto- 
 rino advanced, uncertain as to what was in store for him. 
 As he went his imagination conjured up so vivid a vision 
 of the dismal tragedy, that the flashes of the lamp in the 
 water seemed as if they were streaks of blood speeding 
 past. Perhaps it was still but a part of the imagination of 
 his excited organs, but it seemed to him as if he heard 
 remote shouts and cries, above all of which rang Leila's 
 voice, repeating her " Fly fly ! " in accents of frantic 
 warning. Whether she was indeed urging on his flight, 
 or merely giving way to the vagaries of delirium, he 
 could not know. Nevertheless he hastened onward until 
 he had reached an arch at the extremity of the dead wall. 
 This he passed without difficulty, startling the water- 
 fowl which had built their nests on the lonely shores. 
 Avoiding the numerous pools of stagnant water, Otto- 
 rino soon found himself in the densely peopled Cassaro. 
 
 His brain was whirling with the knowledge which he 
 had so mysteriously gained. Had fate itself brought him 
 face to face with the dire mystery enshrouding the death 
 of the emperor's wayward son? And if this murdered 
 lover of the Moorish girl was indeed the golden-haired 
 Hohenstaufen, who was that fairest of women who had 
 shared his love with the poor demented girl? An icy
 
 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 chill ran through his veins but no no! Yet was 
 it not possible that the jealousy of an enraged woman, 
 the fury of a rival, the ambition of a false friend, might 
 have wrought the dismal tragedy? The only possible 
 solution of this direful riddle, the only possible light to 
 be obtained, seemed to glimmer in the evanescent flashes 
 of Leila's half-extinguished intellect. 
 
 Racked with contending emotions, Ottorino hastened 
 onward. So absorbed was he in his dark ruminations 
 that he almost stumbled over a female figure in the garb 
 of Alecto, seated on a broken column near the ruins of 
 an ancient temple. In the momentary glimpse which he 
 caught, ere she could replace her mask, the Visconti beheld 
 a countenance which corresponded in its statuesque beauty 
 and gloom with that of the fury whom its owner im- 
 personated. 
 
 " Divinity of Tartarus, may I pass without the offence 
 you know so well how to avenge ? " Ottorino faltered, 
 for he had been suddenly struck with the resemblance 
 of the woman before him to the Fata Morgana. 
 
 "If that be Greek for hell, in Italian it is memory," 
 returned Alecto, with intense and seemingly irrepressible 
 bitterness. " Pardon me, signor, let me not detain you. 
 You are doubtlessly as eager a worshipper of beauty as 
 all the rest of mankind ah ! I dreamed not she was so 
 beautiful ! " 
 
 " There is something in your tone, signora, nay, look 
 not away, there is something in your tone that revives 
 a memory that we have met before," Ottorino replied, 
 in a voice which he in vain endeavoured to steady. 
 
 "Trust neither memory nor mask," the mysterious 
 woman replied, and ere the Lombard could inquire into 
 the meaning of her strange words she had disappeared, 
 leaving him alone to ponder over her enigmatic speech.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE COUNCIL 
 
 THE council-chamber of the Hohenstaufen palace was 
 flooded by the dazzling rays of the noonday sun. Around 
 a table, on which papers of state, parchments, and scrolls 
 lay in confusion, were seated five men engaged in deep 
 and serious converse. 
 
 They were Giordano and Galvano Lancia, Conrad and 
 Marino Capece, and John of Procida, one of the foremost 
 Palermitans at court. 
 
 It was before the hour appointed for the meeting of 
 the council, and the loyal adherents of the Suabian dy- 
 nasty had by silent accord assembled, before the presence 
 of discordant elements should make discussion hazardous 
 or impossible. 
 
 " You cannot rule Italians with Platonic principles, 
 nor with tenets of Pythagorean philosophy," said Gal- 
 vano Lancia. " Manfred dreams, and it is time a warning 
 note were sounded." 
 
 " It is the temperament of the Hohenstaufen, trust- 
 ful and true, so was the dead emperor before him, until 
 treachery in his own household changed his sunny nature 
 to a less trustful one. Let the king but look around 
 where are the pillars, the support of the realm? The 
 Italians love him so loved the Romans Gracchus. He 
 
 181
 
 182 Castel &el /IDonte 
 
 trusts to the barons. They are great because their an- 
 cestors were traitors to William the Norman, and their 
 sons will be great because their sires were traitors to 
 Manfred." 
 
 " A dark fate rules the imperial house, and Manfred 
 may not avert it," said John of Procida. " His court is 
 the high seat of minstrelsy and love, and he ignores the 
 maxim of the shrewd Roman, ' Si vis pacem, para bellum.' 
 The Germans have departed, though Landulf of Trent 
 still tarries. The trusty legions of the North should have 
 been retained at any cost." 
 
 " Thus it was ever," interposed Marino Capece. " What 
 brought Otto, the imperial youth, to his untimely grave, 
 but his fantastic dreams, revived in some dread midnight 
 hour in the imperial vaults of Aix-la-Chapelle ? " 
 
 " I like not the sultry stillness, the ominous hush 
 foretells the hurricane," said John of Procida. " Where is 
 the news from Rome, what intelligence from Viterbo ? 
 Has the Conclave spoken ? Is it still hatching the egg of 
 contention? Where is Count Cenci? Where is the nun- 
 cio, with the confirmation of the grants ? " 
 
 " In Northern lands, where the skulls are thicker and 
 the brains less exposed to the rays of the sun," Giordano 
 Lancio replied, pensively, " ebb and tide of kingdoms 
 may be foretold, but not so on this volcanic soil. Those 
 who cheer for you to-day may jeer at you to-morrow. 
 The strife between Guelph and Ghibelline is as old as the 
 Alps, whose glittering mountain crests an all-wise Provi- 
 dence has set up, a barrier between Northern ambition 
 and Southern vindictiveness. How many peoples has the 
 avalanche of centuries hurled into the blooming garden 
 of Italy? The Cimbri, and Teutoni, Alans and Avars, 
 the Vandals, the Goths, the Franks where are they 
 to-day? As long as they served the end of Rome, Rome
 
 Ube Council 183 
 
 permitted them to vegetate. There is not room for an 
 emperor and Pope on Italian soil." 
 
 At this moment the folding-doors of the council-hall 
 opened, revealing the king in his usual state, surrounded 
 by the high officers of the court, while an unusual num- 
 ber of Apulian nobles was gathered in the centre of the 
 hall of audience. The Duke of Altamura's arrival seemed 
 to be waited for, and many significant glances were ex- 
 changed between the barons when he entered and saluted 
 the king with profound and almost cringing respect. Yet 
 the countenance of the duke reflected a vexation, which, 
 despite his self-control, did not escape the penetrating 
 gaze of his neighbour, the hunchback chancellor, and it 
 was difficult to determine whether the green serpent eyes 
 of John of Alife reflected concern over the shadows on the 
 duke's clouded brow, or beamed with malignant joy at 
 the high constable's apparent discomfiture. 
 
 The deliberations of the council were well under head- 
 way, and a spirit of singular unison met every proposi- 
 tion emanating from the throne, when without warning 
 the draperies opposite the royal dais were torn asunder, 
 and a shapeless mass, resembling at first sight a black 
 ball, was hurled almost directly at the king's feet. The 
 thing fell with a dull thud, uttering a cry which, so far 
 from possessing a human ring, resembled rather the howl 
 of a wounded hyena or a jackal of the desert. 
 
 With a cry of horror every one sprang from their 
 seats, while those nearest recoiled with unfeigned terror 
 from this monstrous surprise. As it lay motionless on 
 the mosaic, it was seen to be the body of an African 
 with its most repulsive attributes. Securely tied with 
 a lasso, which secured arms and limbs, the shapeless 
 form had been bent almost double. The eyes protruded
 
 184 Castel fcel fl&onte 
 
 from their inflamed sockets, and the heavy lips twitched 
 and quivered as if in pain. 
 
 Directly upon the heels of this monstrous surprise 
 there appeared between the draperies a very giant in 
 height and breadth, clad in dark, steel-coloured armour. 
 From his bared head over his shoulders flowed locks of 
 silvery white and bleached with age. 
 
 A suppressed whisper went from mouth to mouth: 
 " The Duke of Lesina the Duke of Lesina." Manfred, 
 who had risen from his seat with the rest, had not re- 
 gained composure sufficient to inquire into the meaning 
 of this extraordinary scene. 
 
 Unattended by aught but his own pride and stateli- 
 ness, the banished chieftain stalked into the presence of 
 his great enemy. Only in his knit brows and compressed 
 lips showed the strife of passions within his soul; but 
 when his gaze met that of the Duke of Altamura, whose 
 countenance was so ghastly pale and horror-stricken that 
 he could do but little more than stare speechlessly at the 
 intruder, the Duke of Lesina's pent-up passions swept 
 away all barriers of restraint. 
 
 " Dost thou own him, thou cursed viper ? " he roared, 
 pointing to the apparently lifeless carcass, while his eyes 
 blazed furious wrath on the high constable. " Dost thou 
 acknowledge the tool of thine infamy, traitor and ab^ 
 ductor ? Ha ! For once the web of thy schemes was not 
 fine enough to blind and deceive these old eyes, which 
 have traced this ghoul to his very lair." 
 
 It was Manfred who, barely recovered from the sur- 
 prise which held all present spellbound, broke into the 
 intruder's speech. 
 
 " By the splendour of God, Duke of Lesina have 
 your gray hairs deprived you of your senses ? Else what
 
 Ube Council 185 
 
 means this unprecedented insult to your king and the 
 council of the realm ? " 
 
 The Duke of Lesina fearlessly faced the king; his 
 stupendous stature seemed even to expand under the 
 strain of suppressed excitement, as, bowing low, he calmly 
 replied : 
 
 " If the Duke of Lesina, now under the ban of the 
 realm, has forfeited his life, he is ready to pay the penalty, 
 but not until he has brought down the vengeance of 
 heaven on yonder miscreant. Behold him, son of Fred- 
 erick, behold the blanched traitor and this jackal of the 
 desert, his ghoulish coadjutor, the instrument of his deeds 
 of darkness, and may his master be as ready to account 
 for his acts as I, the Duke of Lesina, for mine." 
 
 The words of the white-haired baron, who faced the 
 assembly more like a judge than a petitioner, carried 
 such conviction with them that Manfred turned to the 
 Duke of Altamura, pointing with a gesture of undis- 
 guised disdain to the shapeless mass on the floor. 
 
 " You have heard the impeachment, duke we await 
 your reply ! " 
 
 " It is my runner, King Manfred," replied the duke, 
 whose consternation had gradually given way to un- 
 bounded fury. " The king's Majesty is aware of the dis- 
 orders in Calabria. We cannot clean a pigsty with a 
 silver fork, nor can we trap bandits with pages in silken 
 doublets. Like to like; Ghino's own followers will be 
 instrumental in bringing about his downfall, and for these 
 ends I employ this trusty African. But with your royal 
 leave," he continued, striding toward the prostrate form, 
 " this bundle of human flesh is as offensive to our sight 
 as it is comfortless in its enforced coils." 
 
 And without awaiting permission from the king, he 
 drew his poniard, and, bending low on one knee, cut with
 
 Gastel >el flDonte 
 
 its sharp blade the cords which held the runner captive, 
 then, rising, applied to him such a vicious kick that the 
 Moor fairly shot through the draperies out of the council- 
 hall, to the great relief of every one present with the ex- 
 ception of the Duke of Lesina. 
 
 " Let not the glib tongue of this fiend and arch-traitor 
 lead the king into his toils," gasped the old duke, almost 
 beside himself with rage at beholding the composure of 
 Altamura and the favourable impression produced on the 
 king and council by his admittedly sane logic. " I re- 
 peat my accusation, I accuse the duke of fostering 
 friendship with the black bands for his own personal ends, 
 I accuse him of playing under cover with the sworn ene- 
 mies of your house. I am an outcast, nameless, homeless, 
 but I stand here not only to denounce the perpetrator and 
 promoter of all acts inimical to the house whose name I 
 bear, but to urge two matters in the name of justice," he 
 continued, darkening with suppressed passion. " I de- 
 mand that the laws of God and man be put into exe- 
 cution against the woman called, to the eternal blush of 
 our name, Francesca di Lesina, once a nun, whom the 
 papal tribunals have condemned as the paramour of an 
 accursed villain ; I demand the restoration of the wrong- 
 fully seized and tyrannically withheld estates, honours, 
 and wealth of our house." 
 
 " Merciless knight ! Art thou not satisfied with the 
 blood which thou and thy followers have so long drained 
 from every pore of this land ? Must more blood, flowing 
 in the veins of a most miserable woman, be shed to 
 appease thy thirst ? " exclaimed the king. Then, turning 
 to Altamura, he continued : " We have listened to your 
 defence, duke, and so well are we disposed toward you, 
 recognizing the great services which you have rendered 
 our house, that we pray you to forgive the gray hairs
 
 Ube Council 187 
 
 of your accuser, to bury the old quarrels and strife ! We 
 would apply a general bandage to the wounds of the state, 
 and Apulia bleeds fast from those of such valiant knights. 
 Will you be the first to extend the hand of reconciliation, 
 Duke of Altamura ? " 
 
 " It were ill if we requited the royal confidence by 
 declining so noble a request," the duke responded, with 
 feigned humility and without raising his eyes, but his 
 rhetoric suffered a sudden check. 
 
 " Little do I marvel at your willingness, most courteous 
 assassin, poisoner, traitor, and abductor, to make the 
 peace of your black soul with the house of Lesina ! " the 
 old duke roared, shaking like an aspen. " And if you will 
 but seal it in person at our castle, so far from denying 
 you refreshments, we shall serve you the headless trunk 
 of your paramour, that you may kiss it after I have wiped 
 the stain from the name of Lesina in her degenerate 
 blood." 
 
 " I thank you, most courteous knight," the high con- 
 stable replied, turning ghastly pale, " and by the little 
 moan I make for the wanton, I shall prove how false 
 are your lies and accusations ! But by the faith of my 
 body," the duke continued, his hand on his sword, " I 
 will send you and your misbegotten bastard brood to hell 
 ere you shall have her! Not for the love of her, for 
 when I tire of her she may end her days in the company 
 of her like, but to show you how I despise you and your 
 prating." 
 
 " Then guard her well ! For if justice be denied, I 
 will storm your lair and hang her on the highest tree 
 to be found." 
 
 The old duke turned to the king. 
 
 "I ask no favours, King Manfred: I demand justice 
 and the woman who has reviled the time-honoured name
 
 IBS Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 of our house by coupling it with that of his like," he 
 paused while he cast a glance of unutterable loathing and 
 hatred on his foe, such as a man might turn on some 
 reptile whose venom rankled in his flesh, " of him who 
 once before deserted the king's cause at the direst pinch 
 of our affairs." 
 
 " To the king, my sovereign, alone am I bound to 
 account for my demeanour," growled the duke, " but 
 I intend to depart at the earliest for Castel Gandolfo, to 
 offer my personal excuses to my accuser." 
 
 A general murmur arose, while Manfred's eyes flashed 
 fire. 
 
 " By the wrath of God ! Has the many-headed hydra, 
 which we thought crushed, again raised the serpent heads 
 of sedition? Leave our presence, Duke of Lesina! Too 
 long have we listened to your treason and rebellious 
 speech." 
 
 " This as reply to my demand for our confiscated es- 
 tates. Will the king deliver the woman to us ? " 
 
 " Alas ! What would then be our choice but to become 
 a sainted monk, and mumble Misereres," said Altamura, 
 with such mock solemnity that those who heard the speech 
 laughed outright. 
 
 " As for the woman," Manfred replied, " it lies not 
 within our domain to enter into the private quarrels of 
 our vassals. Have you any just complaints, our courts 
 are open to the highest and the lowest." 
 
 A laughter of unutterable scorn broke from the lips 
 of Lesina. 
 
 " It lies not within the jurisdiction of your courts to 
 determine the honour of our house. We have been faith- 
 ful vassals of the crown in war and in peace, but since 
 the king's Majesty holds in utter contempt and defiance 
 all reason and justice, since he has banished all fit council
 
 Council 189 
 
 from the realm, we of the house of Lesina deny his 
 suzerainty and no longer acknowledge him as our sov- 
 ereign. I go to lodge this protestation with the protono- 
 tary of the realm ! " 
 
 " And this is the recompense for our conciliatory policy, 
 the several grants in our kingdom," said Manfred, turn- 
 ing to Galvano Lancia. " But we have studied the Roman 
 law, and remember to have read that the ingratitude of 
 the receiver gives the granter the right to reclaim his 
 gift" 
 
 " If your Majesty had studied the canon law with equal 
 profit, you would have found that worse crimes are 
 threatened with worse penalties, but we will be silent 
 till the heavens themselves begin to clatter the tidings." 
 
 Almost suffocated with the violence of his rage, Man- 
 fred gasped for breath, then, springing from his seat, 
 he shouted " Guards ! Guards ! " with so loud a voice 
 that the Saracens, stationed in the corridor, burst in with 
 spears lowered, expecting no less than an attack on the 
 king. But before Manfred could shape his furious intent 
 into words, the brothers Lancia and Capece had with 
 combined efforts succeeded in calming his wrath. 
 
 "You speak truth, my lord; it becomes not our 
 Majesty to altercate with traitors and rebels, wherefore 
 we will leave these to choke in their venom, giving the 
 bastards till sunset to leave our dominions, when, if we 
 find them out of their holes, rather than miss their des- 
 truction we will set the very stubble on fire." 
 
 " By San Gennaro, King Manfred," spoke the intrepid 
 Lesina, " there is an abundance of bastards already in the 
 kingdom without lugging in more ! I go and may the 
 king never have cause to rue this hour." 
 
 " Remove him ! Remove him ! " Manfred gasped, whit-
 
 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 ening with rage at the insult aimed at himself, " ere we 
 do that which we may repent." 
 
 Without the customary homage Lesina strode erect 
 through the ranks of the silent barons, but when he 
 reached the portals he turned to give a parting look of 
 defiance to the Duke of Altamura, who returned it to the 
 full. 
 
 " A grim old lion," John of Alife remarked with a 
 sneer to the latter, after Lesina had disappeared. " He 
 never loved you, as he should, bearing in mind that you 
 are a connection." 
 
 The high constable bit his lip, with an irate side 
 glance at the chancellor. 
 
 " He raves, as most men do at his stage of life. But 
 I would rather spend an hour in the torture-chamber 
 than undergo another ordeal like this." 
 
 After the council had, without further interruptions or 
 reference to the events which had transpired at its sit- 
 ting, closed its deliberations for the day, and after Man- 
 fred and the Apulians had departed, leaving the hall 
 singly or in groups, the Duke of Altamura found him- 
 self face to face with San Severino. 
 
 " Are you a wizard ? " said the latter to the duke, after 
 they were alone. " We are straining every nerve to no 
 purpose, and you seem to hold every thread in your 
 hand." 
 
 " Not a wizard, but an Italian, tired of foreign bondage 
 and resolved to break asunder the shackles that have 
 fettered our freedom for centuries." 
 
 " The moment seems ill-chosen ! " 
 
 An impatient gesture interrupted the speaker. 
 
 " Was there ever treaty that could not be broken ? It 
 is all the purpose in their making. Ah, San Severino,
 
 Ube Council 
 
 you may yet reside like a lord on your confiscated 
 estates ! " 
 
 " Our estates ! The very memory rankles in the blood ! 
 But who will wear the lion's skin after the game ? " 
 
 " The lion's skin can but cover a lion ! But I must 
 look to my runner. By the flames of purgatory, that 
 old dotard had well-nigh deprived me of my pleasant 
 coadjutor! It is the first time he has thus been tracked; 
 his wits must have dried up in the Maremma. How do 
 you like him? I had his tongue torn out he can be 
 trusted ! Ay ! if the state knows not how to honour virtue, 
 I do. Verily, San Severino, you will live to see great 
 things accomplished by humble means." 
 
 The Apulian kept back the reply which came to his 
 lips, and moved uneasily toward the door. 
 
 " I do marvel," he then said, " that your Lordship 
 will have anything to do with such a vicious, pestilential, 
 misshapen monstrosity, the very odour of which " 
 
 " Egad, count," interrupted the duke, " the monstrosity 
 is fit for its work and his work for the man, and, as the 
 saints say, ' does not the end sanctify the means ? ' Ah, 
 you shudder, San Severino, even in this warm air, as if 
 the paws of my gentle strangler encircled your neck. And 
 in all truth, would he not prove a most grateful surprise to 
 one's foe ? What say you, count ? Imagine yourself start- 
 ing up suddenly from uneasy, fitful slumbers, distant 
 convent bells toll the midnight hour, you feel the unseen 
 presence of something, seemingly not of this earth, you 
 rise on your pillows, - your eyes stare through the dark- 
 ness, now an errant moon-ray glides slanting into your 
 chamber, and you see in the murky twilight, crouching 
 near your bed, like the panther of the desert, even yon 
 misshapen monstrosity, you stare into the red glare 
 of his eyes, you behold his dilated nostrils, the gleam
 
 192 Castel t>el riDontc 
 
 of his wolfish teeth, suddenly a spring, a yell, a 
 moan, and all is over. How pale you are, San Sever- 
 ino, and yet it is a most pleasant death ; only you cannot 
 recite all your sins between acts. Pleasant dreams, count, 
 and may our plans succeed ere the birds have flown for 
 whom the spring is set." 
 
 So little did San Severino relish the duke's histrionic 
 talent that he shot through the door of the council-hall 
 as if the African were in very truth upon his heels, never 
 heeding the duke's parting salutation. The latter gazed 
 upon his swiftly retreating form with a contemptuous 
 smile. 
 
 " Thou deemest thyself a most cunning hound, San 
 Severino, and yet thou quakest before the mere shadow 
 of a midnight vision. Look to it that it remain one 
 look to it well ! " 
 
 It had grown dark in the council-hall. The tapers in 
 the candelabras shed a mournful glow over the high 
 vaulted chambers, casting sombre shadows in the nooks 
 and corners. 
 
 The duke turned to a window facing the terraces which 
 sloped toward the bay, and, imitating a certain night- 
 bird, uttered a shrill whistle, which at short intervals he 
 repeated three times. Hardly had he finished the last call 
 when a black mass, that seemed to fly through the air in 
 its breathless speed, almost fell at his feet. There it lay 
 crouching like a cowed wild beast before the whip of its 
 master. 
 
 A fiendish gleam lit up the duke's features as he re- 
 ceived from the hands of the African a scroll, securely 
 tied and sealed. After having closely scrutinized the seal 
 and found the same intact, he placed the scroll in his 
 silken doublet ; then retracing his steps, he paused within
 
 Ube Council 193 
 
 a few paces of the Moor, as if to gain a better view of 
 the creature before him. 
 
 " Thou hast let that old bear track thee down, Zem," 
 he said, in a voice whose mock caressing tones formed a 
 strange contrast to the tenor of his speech, which, though 
 rather guessed than understood, sent a shiver through the 
 body of the kneeling African. " Thou, who canst out- 
 strip the fleetest deer, hast fallen into the snares laid for 
 thy master. 'Tis a pity thou hast not the gift of speech, 
 for we might learn something above the mere surmise. 
 Look up, Zem ! " the duke continued, more fiercely. " We 
 will give thee one more test. Thou wilt depart this very 
 hour with the message we entrust to thee to Lucera, the 
 Saracen city thou hearest, to Lucera! Thou wilt 
 hasten with all the speed of thy deformed carcass to 
 reach her gates within one week. There thou wilt show 
 this ring, which will admit thee into the city, and this 
 letter, which will cause thee to be conducted into the 
 presence of the one in command, John the Moor. To 
 him thou wilt deliver this scroll, and to me thou wilt 
 bring his response. And hark thee, my gentle Zem ! If 
 thou as much as falter in one step, if thou delayest as 
 long as one moment on the journey after thou reachest 
 Taranto, if thou passest not through the Apulian land 
 swift as the shades of the damned fleeing from judg- 
 ment, I will have thy naked body torn with hot irons and 
 roast thee alive over a slow fire, and crows and vultures 
 shall shriek exultant over thy writhing carcass ! " 
 
 With these words, the understanding of which was 
 attested by the crouching figure with something like a 
 low moan, the duke stepped to the table. From there he 
 took a sealed letter and a ring, both of which he de- 
 livered to the African, who received them lying almost
 
 194 Gastel fcel /IDonte 
 
 flat upon the ground while he kissed the sandals of the 
 duke. 
 
 At a sign from the latter he arose. 
 
 " Remember thee well, Zem " 
 
 With these words he pointed to the aperture through 
 which the African had entered, and so quickly did the 
 runner disappear that it seemed as if a shadow had passed 
 through the room. 
 
 With a smile of grim satisfaction the duke's gaze fol- 
 lowed the fleeting form of the African. 
 
 " It will require a swifter hunter than Lesina to track 
 the game this time," he said, watching intently till the 
 last trace of the runner had vanished in the blue moonlit 
 night without. Then he broke with eager fingers the seal 
 of the message. The parchment which he unrolled was 
 written in the quaint, monastic style of the time ; from it 
 the duke began to read. 
 
 " We, Charles of France, by the grace of God, Count 
 of Anjou, Forcalquier, Languedoc, and Provence, by the 
 free will of the people of Rome Senator-elect, King of 
 Sicily, Apulia, and Capua, King of Jerusalem, Knight of 
 St. Louis, Knight of St. Denis, defender of the faith, to 
 Ferrando, Duke of Altamura, greeting." 
 
 The duke paused, while his gaze wandered from the 
 parchment. 
 
 " King of Sicily, Apulia, and Capua," he soliloquized. 
 " By San Ambrogio, Anjou holds our Italian honour 
 cheap ! Thinks he to gain these realms over our heads 
 without one stroke of the sword ? If he does, by the 
 mass, he shall have to beg harder, for his head than he 
 did in Egypt upon his return from the unconquered holy 
 sepulchre! Are we indeed but to exchange one tyrant 
 for another? Are the wizard's words to come true so 
 soon ? King of Sicily, Apulia, and Capua ! Style thyself
 
 Council 195 
 
 thus for an hour and a day, defender of the faith, till 
 the lava from the flaming volcano has consumed the 
 Hohenstaufen empire, then beware of our Apulian 
 quicksands ! " 
 
 The duke continued to read, commenting on the mes- 
 sage as he proceeded. 
 
 " Promises vaguely disguised, ' We shall respect the 
 rights of our loyal barons ' a noble bait ! Had we but 
 forces of our own ! The Apulians love the king, the 
 Moslems cannot be bought, the Germans are so stub- 
 born that nothing but the colic will move them. Could 
 we but dislodge them from the bulwarks of their loyalty ! 
 They are postponing their departure upon advice, whose 
 advice? And Landulf of Trent, that gaunt, brawling 
 swine, who has greater regard for a brimming tankard 
 than for the father of Christendom and the Conclave 
 combined " The duke paused with a shudder; the 
 words died on his lips. 
 
 Whence that icy blast which permeated the atmosphere 
 like a breath from an open grave? 
 
 Altamura started to rise. The light of the tapers, 
 flickering dimly, turned a spectral bluish hue, as accord- 
 ing to popular belief they do when a departed spirit passes 
 through the room. Just at that moment the convent bells 
 from Santa Lucia and the remoter cloisters of San 
 Giovanni degli Eremiti pealed the midnight hour, and 
 their mingled chimes, vibrating through the breathless 
 calm of night, seemed to intensify the stillness rather than 
 to break it. Suddenly a faint bluish light appeared beside 
 the duke, and in it rose an apparition, indefinable in out- 
 line, a dark spectral something that chilled the blood to 
 the very heart and froze every limb. A pitiable groan 
 came from Altamura's lips as, almost mad with terror, 
 he stared at the phantom, then he staggered as if a deadly
 
 i9 6 Gastel ocl /Route 
 
 blow had been dealt him from an invisible arm; wildly 
 his hands beat the air, and with a choked, inarticulate 
 outcry he fell senseless, striking his head against the hard 
 oaken sill.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE GROTTOES OF PROSERPINA 
 
 THE sun had risen in the valley of Palermo, and the 
 soft haze of the summer morning had floated away into 
 nothingness, leaving every object fresh with dew and 
 magnified in the limpid purity of the air. Golden shafts 
 of light pierced the heavy foliage, which spread, a ver- 
 dant canopy, over the terraces of La Khalesa, the cool- 
 ing breezes of morning were laden with the aromatic 
 vapours of orange and almond-trees, oleander and mag- 
 nolias, laurel and anemones. In the limpid sky, as 
 against a golden dome, were traced the spires and towers 
 of Palermo ; the minarets of the mosque of Abdurrhaman 
 were clearly defined against palm and cypress groves. 
 Behind the broad promontory of Monte Pellegrino, arch- 
 ing out toward the sea, rose the distant slopes of the 
 Bagaria, while full of life and colour the beautiful bay 
 stretched toward the Liparian Islands, covered with hun- 
 dreds of boats, whose many-coloured sails added a dream- 
 like enchantment to the scene. 
 
 Such was the vision which met Ottorino's gaze as he 
 stepped out to the balcony after the uneasy, fitful slum- 
 bers of the preceding night. He almost cursed the beauty 
 of nature. The brilliant light seemed but a herald of 
 long, sunny hours which to him would be filled with 
 doubt and anguish. Into the days which had passed 
 
 197
 
 198 Castel fcel /Route 
 
 since his arrival on Sicilian soil there had been com- 
 pressed the essence of a lifetime, both in happiness and 
 misery. His plans and resolutions were now so hope- 
 lessly confused that he almost despaired. How could he 
 hope to meet Helena if she were averse to the tryst? 
 His appeals, urgent and aflame with the passion that con- 
 sumed him, had not even elicited a response. 
 
 As the day advanced, Ottorino resolved to acquaint 
 Manfred with his adventure, and give him the meagre 
 details of a mysterious crime which he had gleaned from 
 the Moorish girl's demented fancy. The bonds of friend- 
 ship, strengthened by mutual regard, confidence, and 
 kindred temperaments between the envoy of Matteo Vis- 
 conti and the Hohenstaufen, were riveted still closer 
 during their brief but important interview. 
 
 Returning to Khalesa, Ottorino found himself accosted 
 by a page in the gaudy livery of some Sicilian noble. 
 The page, after furtively scanning the Lombard, as if to 
 establish his identity beyond doubt, handed to him a scroll 
 tied with blue silken cords, then, without vouchsafing 
 a word or awaiting a reply, sped away. 
 
 For a moment the Visconti stood motionless, his heart 
 throbbing so wildly that he thought he could hear its 
 tempestuous beats through his steel corselet, then, cutting 
 the cords, he stared at the contents of the scroll as if it 
 were a message from another world. 
 
 At last, then, his fervent appeals had found her ear, 
 at last, then, a word from Helena ! Was this the 
 language of deceit? Was this the speech of a woman 
 to whom love had ever been a stranger? Was it not 
 rather the outcry of one who had been driven to the 
 last extremes by the tyrannical surveillance of another? 
 He pondered awhile, then he started. What certainty 
 was his that this message, couched in terms of terror
 
 <3rottoes of Proserpina 199 
 
 and endearment, emanated from Helena di Miraval? 
 What certainty that it was even intended for himself, 
 the most ill-favoured suitor for her hand ? Ottorino was 
 neither in a mood to temporize nor to stop to analyze 
 his thoughts, and when, after a second glance at the 
 scroll, he remembered the spot assigned for the tryst at 
 dusk, the ardour in his breast was kindled to such a 
 pitch that no consideration of danger could have re- 
 strained him. 
 
 An hour before the appointed time Ottorino's shadow 
 walked darkly beside him toward Monte Pellegrino. His 
 feelings by this time were wrought up to such a point 
 that reason had completely resigned her sway. He framed 
 and rejected plan after plan, speech after speech, until 
 he appeared to himself like the floating fragment of a 
 vessel, cast hither and thither by turbulent waves. 
 
 The sight of the ruins in which the Dominican dwelt 
 rekindled some of Ottorino's wildest fancies. He paused 
 with a degree of irresolution, but a sweet breath of roses, 
 blown to his lips by a chance breeze, so forcibly recalled 
 one of the most insidious charms of the Fata Morgana 
 that he hastened onward, wondering at his own waver- 
 ing. The path was almost deserted until he reached the 
 palm groves near the church of St. Pelagio. These 
 groves were crowded with devotees, and Ottorino felt 
 a vague sense of apprehension creep into his heart as 
 he heard the lugubrious chant of a death-mass stealing 
 from within on the silent air of night. 
 
 Passing the gates, a narrow vale stretched before him, 
 a sea of long, flowing grass, broken but by a few solitary 
 Moorish tombs, and bounded by wavelike hillsides, still 
 bathed in the last rays of the departing light of day. 
 The only living objects visible were a few sheep or goats; 
 the only sounds audible were distant warblings of shep-
 
 200 Castel &el flDonte 
 
 herds' pipes, whose owners diverted themselves by night 
 after the traditional manner of their Arcadian prede- 
 cessors. 
 
 The sky was still tinged with glowing tints, and the 
 solemn heads of one or two solitary pines had not quite 
 abandoned the reflection. Attracted by the contrast be- 
 tween the purity and serenity of nature and his own 
 turbulent passions, Ottorino stopped to watch the sunset. 
 As he turned he found himself face to face with an old 
 woman, who, after timidly glancing to the right and left, 
 accosted him. 
 
 " Ah ! It is thou, the Lombard knight ! Well, God be 
 praised, for the child was almost beside herself from fear 
 and apprehensions ! But thou art early, though they say 
 lovers' feet are swift, and disappointment comes soon 
 enough, and I bring it," said the old dame, much agi- 
 tated and seemingly out of breath. 
 
 Ottorino's resolutions vented themselves but in an echo, 
 full of the meaning of the word. 
 
 " Disappointment ! " he said, paling. " What mean 
 you, mother ? It is impossible ! She promised by every- 
 thing holy to come, a few moments will suffice, but 
 I must see her." 
 
 "I tell thee it is impossible impossible," replied the 
 old crone, shaking her head in confirmation of her speech. 
 " Thou wilt believe me when I tell thee that the duke, 
 her kinsman, has got wind of her intentions and has 
 dogged her every step this whole blessed day, so that 
 discovery would be as sure to overtake you both as night 
 follows day ! " 
 
 Ottorino was instantly struck with the incongruity of 
 this statement, but a second thought thrilled his blood 
 like the sting of a scorpion. The old woman probably 
 mistook the nature of his agitation, imputing it to the
 
 Ube Grottoes of iproserpina 201 
 
 terror which the presence of so formidable a rival as the 
 one darkly hinted was likely to produce. 
 
 " Here is gold," the Visconti said, after a pause. 
 " And now to thy business." 
 
 " Fie upon thee, son gold ! For what dost thou 
 take me? Nay, if I must take it, it will be to buy two 
 candles for the good of my soul," said the old dame, with 
 indignation, but pocketing the coins. " Ah ! Had she 
 but dared to come, she would have been as glad to see 
 thee as thy mother after thy return from battle, ten 
 times gladder! But thou knowest, knight, the duke is 
 no fool's bladder, that hits and gives no headache." 
 
 "Enough of thine idle prattling! If this be all thou 
 art instructed to say, begone and let me go my way." 
 
 And without further parley Ottorino started in the 
 direction of the grottoes, which formed one of the prin- 
 cipal retreats of the flowery wilderness, known as the 
 vale of Proserpina. It was here that the daughter of 
 Demeter was said to have spent her last days on the 
 blooming earth, ere as Pluto's consort she bade it fare- 
 well in exchange for the abode she was to rule ever after. 
 
 The old woman watched the Lombard closely, as if 
 to note the direction which he took, then she suddenly 
 called to him to halt. 
 
 " What a temper ! What a bad, bad temper in one 
 so young," she muttered, shaking her head. " Listen ! 
 The duke is like to visit this spot ere night is over; he 
 loves to puzzle mankind; thou hadst better not be seen 
 here," the old hag whispered, while she glanced at the 
 Visconti with a look such as only an Italian hag can give, 
 her black eyes flaming like coals. Then she burst into an 
 immoderate fit of laughter, which subsided only in as 
 immoderate a fit of coughing.
 
 202 Castel t>el /IDonte 
 
 " Avoid the windings of the gardens which lead to 
 the grottoes," she concluded, shaking her skinny finger. 
 
 " I thank thee for thy warning," returned Ottorino, 
 " and, knowing the peril that I run, I shall not delay to 
 fall into it." Then he left her so abruptly that she stared 
 a moment aghast ere she comprehended that he had dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 The words of the old dame struck the conviction into 
 Ottorino's soul that there was more behind them than 
 she led him to believe. A bitterness such as he had never 
 before known took possession of him, and his thoughts 
 were as dark as the realms into which the mysterious 
 grottoes were supposed to lead. The way was absolutely 
 unknown to him, but he followed the winding path regard- 
 less of where it would carry him to. Below lay a wooded 
 valley, into which he slowly began to descend, after pass- 
 ing through a gate in a hedge of aloes matted together 
 with every species of odoriferous climbing plants. 
 
 An enervating perfume saluted Him on every side, for 
 the underbrush of the bank which he descended by an 
 ingenious labyrinth of windings was formed of fragrant 
 shrubs and the most richly coloured and scented produc- 
 tions of the profuse flora of Italy. The myrtle, laden 
 with thoughts of love, glittered tearfully in the moon- 
 light; lavender mingled its fine essence with the intox- 
 icating perfume of the bay; roses innumerable filled the 
 air with their heavenly breath. The wood itself con- 
 sisted chiefly of orange, cedar, and wild fig-trees, all in 
 full bloom, intermingled with a few stately oaks. 
 From the depths of the valley came the musical murmur 
 of the stream, mingled with the songs of innumerable 
 nightingales, which seemed to have colonized so con- 
 genial a retreat. And if his ear did not mock him, the 
 Visconti distinguished faint flute notes and other sylvan
 
 Grottoes ot Proserpina 203 
 
 music in the distance, which came and died on the evanes- 
 cent breezes. Withal there was an air of wildness, as if 
 nature had abandoned herself unmolested to this pro- 
 fusion of romantic loveliness. No trace of art was evi- 
 dent to break the spell which enchanted the senses. Even 
 the statues of rural divinities, which gleamed here and 
 there from the foliage, relics of a classic age, startled 
 rather by a vague impression of existence and reality 
 than as wonders of artificial creation. 
 
 Descending through this bower of Eden, Ottorino 
 came to the banks of the Oreto. Here the verdure 
 seemed fairly enamelled with flowers, and the moon by 
 this time shone so brightly that their superb tints were 
 softened but not lost in the shade; even the dark violets 
 displayed their purple edges with golden lights. 
 
 A little higher a rivulet, pouring its silver flood into 
 the Oreto, formed a cascade, over which the ancient 
 statues of Flora and Pomona bent toward one another, 
 entwining flowers and fruit into an oval arch. Beyond 
 the cascade the meadow opened into a circular form, and 
 immediately in front arose a lofty bank, in which there 
 appeared the mossy entrance of a grotto, to which a 
 winding path, just sufficiently wide for one man, as- 
 cended. Art seemed only to have imitated the affluent 
 caprice of nature in the adornment of this charmed re- 
 treat. The tall rocks overhead preserved their native 
 moss ; the wild vine clambered with the wild rose and 
 still wilder fig-tree ; drops trickled through the interstices 
 and streamed down the plants which hung from their 
 fissures. Even the profusion of sweet-scented flowers 
 seemed only to prove that nature herself had taken an 
 exceeding delight in the place, and had decked it with 
 most lavish magnificence for her own Buen Retire from 
 the glorious suns of her beloved Italy.
 
 204 Gastel fcel flDonte 
 
 Ottorino paused at the entrance of the grotto, though 
 the archways of honeysuckle, stirred by a soft breeze, 
 shook the sugared dew from their seashell coloured bells 
 into his face, as if to refresh and invite him in. Still 
 he wavered. It was not fear; but he was struck with 
 amazement at the silence and dreamlike solitude which 
 seemed to reign in this supremely beautiful spot. 
 
 The entrance to the grotto before him was an irregular 
 dome, composed of slender twigs, matted with vines, 
 honeysuckles, and other twining plants, supported as on 
 pillars of verdure by the trunks of the trees, and walled 
 with moss and espaliers of flowers. While the grotto 
 in reality possessed three distinct and individual ap- 
 proaches, each completely secluded and apart from the 
 other, and known but to those familiar with the laby- 
 rinths of the vale of Proserpina, it seemingly had but 
 the one which Ottorino had by chance discovered. A 
 few moments he tarried at its entrance, undecided and 
 unwilling to penetrate the Stygian darkness. He was 
 about to retrace his steps, when at that very moment there 
 appeared in the deepest recess of the cavity a soft glim- 
 mer, coming from what appeared to be an alabaster lamp, 
 shaped like a suspended moon. Forgetting his resolve 
 to leave the enchanted spot, Ottorino stared in the direc- 
 tion of the strange light, anxiously waiting to see what 
 would follow. 
 
 A few moments elapsed, during which he heard not a 
 sound, save the throbbing of his own heart. Breathlessly 
 he waited, and, seeing and hearing nothing, was about 
 to indulge himself with a full inhalation, when he fancied 
 that he heard a soft and rapid footfall resounding faintly 
 in the remote recesses. The steps seemed to hesitate for 
 a brief space of time, then they came on, as if reassured 
 by the silence, and a woman glided in. The grace and
 
 Orottoes of Proserpina 205 
 
 lightness of her movements and the rounded beauty 
 of her figure at once convinced Ottorino that he beheld 
 the one whom he most feared and most wished to meet 
 Helena di Miraval. His heart gave one great and mighty 
 bound, she was here she had not deceived him. But 
 what was her purpose in the cavern? Was this the 
 cause of the hag's seeming uneasiness of her warning 
 to him to avoid the park ? Ottorino heard himself laugh- 
 ing aloud, and the youthful nymph who had just en- 
 tered the cave started at the strange sound. Despite the 
 anguish which consumed his heart, the Visconti could 
 not avert his gaze from the lovely apparition. She had 
 changed the costume in which he had first met her to 
 one purely Grecian. The loose folds of some shimmering 
 and exquisitely fine silken tissue reflected the delicate 
 tints of the sky colours in a seashell, and floated around 
 her exquisite form, confined by a coral clasp over her 
 beautiful shoulders. Her arms and feet were bare, save 
 that the latter were sandalled with silver. Ottorino re- 
 marked her beautiful chestnut hair, tied in a Grecian 
 knot and wreathed through with crimson water-flowers, 
 but to his further surprise and chagrin he noted that she 
 wore a mask. 
 
 Undecided whether to enter the cave or to first ascer- 
 tain her purpose, the Lombard remained where he was. 
 The masked lady, after satisfying herself apparently by 
 a glance around the grotto that no one but her fair self 
 was in it, sat down on a ledge of rock and, timidly listen- 
 ing, bent her head from one side to the other. Ottorino's 
 heart beat so wildly that he almost felt impelled to rush 
 into the cave, though it was well for him that he 
 checked his impetuous ardour. Glancing around, he per- 
 ceived that the rocks of the cavern were broken by little 
 caves and narrow terraces, blooming with flowers or
 
 206 Caste I fcel /iDonte 
 
 shadowed with drooping foliage. These were reached 
 by playful zigzags, irregularly cut, as if to mock the 
 efforts of the climber. And the diversion of mounting 
 them seemed seldom used, for the mosses appeared un- 
 trodden, and in many places briar roses and jasmine had 
 so twisted over that even a nymph would have had some 
 difficulty in gaining a foothold. Without giving himself 
 time for deliberation, Ottorino climbed one of the higher 
 ledges, but his progress was quickly barred by a cave of 
 glittering spar, which was thrown into shadow by a pro- 
 fusion of laurels in their full purple bloom. Directly be- 
 neath him yawned a stagnant pool, rendering futile every 
 further effort at approach. 
 
 He was just sufficiently far removed from the fair 
 visitor of the grotto to be able to discern her movements, 
 while the distance made it impossible for him to hear any- 
 thing she might say to the one she doubtlessly expected, 
 even if the conversation should be carried on in tones 
 above those in which discourses of this character are 
 usually held. There was nothing left for Ottorino but 
 to crouch down in a bed of iris and basil, whose sweet- 
 ness vainly wooed his notice and into which he thrust 
 his limbs. He peered forth from this hiding-place like 
 some wild animal from its haunt, and with feelings little 
 less ferocious; for that he was not the expected one the 
 place and the gestures of the nymph had convinced him. 
 Even at this distance Ottorino had established the iden- 
 tity between the masked occupant of the grotto and the 
 fairy Morgana, and it was only with the exertion of 
 all the calmness at his command that he constrained him- 
 self to the position of a silent witness. 
 
 The nymph's attitude now, while she sat listening, was 
 one of grace and beauty. She stirred uneasily, then lis- 
 tened again, and Ottorino thought in his excited fancy
 
 Ube (Brottoes of Proserpina 207 
 
 that he could even distinguish the beatings of her heart 
 through her aerial robes. A bird chirruped and she 
 started up ; silence followed, and with an expression of 
 scorn and hauteur she sank back into her waiting attitude. 
 
 Another pause, and, as if overcome by impatience, the 
 nymph moved rapidly toward the background of the 
 grotto, but to the Visconti's deep satisfaction she re- 
 turned disappointed. Languidly she sank upon the ver- 
 dant couch, as if quite vanquished by the weariness of her 
 wait. She rested for a little, crossing her beautiful arms 
 over her head, but the disquietude returned; she kissed 
 the misnamed heartsease and mignonette of her fragrant 
 pillow with vague rapture, started up, plucked some 
 flowers, covered them with kisses, and pressed them with 
 devouring tenderness to her lips and bosom, then threw 
 them disdainfully away. Suddenly she sprang from the 
 couch; footsteps were remotely audible, and in an in- 
 stant she had taken her seat on the mossy bank, appar- 
 ently as calm and passionless as a statue of the ancient 
 goddess of the waves. 
 
 There was something of maddened frenzy in the con- 
 flict of emotions with which Ottorino watched these seem- 
 ingly irrefragable signs of kindled passion, these prepa- 
 rations for the reception of a monstrous rival. And he 
 who approached came as stealthily as a leopard; yet 
 his footfall was sufficiently audible to the lady; she did 
 not, however, look in the direction whence it proceeded, 
 but began to murmur a little melody. 
 
 The form of a cavalier, splendidly garbed and wearing 
 a mask, now appeared in the far-off background, and 
 paused for an instant as if to survey the interior. It was 
 a moment of almost mortal agony for Ottorino, who drew 
 himself up, clutching his poniard, resolved to rush forth 
 despite pool and rocks and obstacles, and interrupt the
 
 2o8 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 tete-a-tete. But his purpose suffered a sudden check 
 because of an exclamation of joy from the woman. The 
 Lombard's heart stood still as he beheld the intruder 
 holding both her hands in his own, while kneeling at her 
 feet he murmured unintelligible words in most loverlike 
 and dulcet accents. 
 
 But who was the favoured one now speaking in such 
 rapt tones, and who received such flattering attention 
 from the nymph of the grotto? Slowly his arm stole 
 around her; she bent low to him, abandoning herself 
 to his embrace ; now he touched her mask, still she 
 offered no resistance. Breathlessly Ottorino bent for- 
 ward to gain a glimpse of her unmasked face, when 
 without warning, as if by a magic device, every ray of 
 light vanished and the grotto and its mysterious inmates 
 were wrapped in Stygian darkness. 
 
 The Lombard adopted the only course now open to 
 him, speeding dexterously from his concealment and seek- 
 ing with all possible haste the open air. A tremor had 
 seized him, and he quaked with abject fear, as if he had 
 encountered a denizen of the spectre world. His spirit 
 was broken ; the sight which had met his gaze had proven 
 too much. He found himself face to face with a problem 
 which it was not for him to solve; a faithlessness and 
 coquetry unparalleled in the annals of mankind. Artfully 
 she had avoided him since that fateful night at Favara, 
 and now she had filled up the measure by bidding him 
 hither to witness the triumph of a rival. The dream of 
 love was over, and the end what would it be ?
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE TRYST 
 
 ALMOST at the hour when Ottorino had entered the 
 vale of Proserpina from its western approach, a woman, 
 muffled and masked, followed by a man who, wrapped in a 
 dark mantle, silently tracked her footsteps on the soft, 
 velvety greensward, was swiftly approaching the grotto 
 from the opposite direction. 
 
 After arriving at the vine-covered entrance, the woman, 
 glancing fearfully first in one direction, then another, sank 
 exhausted upon a projecting ledge of rock. She had not 
 been there long enough even to indicate the purpose of 
 her presence before her masked follower, appearing sud- 
 denly and stealthily from behind the rose thicket, knelt at 
 her feet and poured forth a torrent of passionate con- 
 fessions. She shrank back with a cry of terror and 
 would have fled if his presence had not obstructed the 
 only path leading from the vale. 
 
 " 'Tis false 'tis false, cavalier. I await no one, or 
 but my mistress, the lady of Miraval, who will be here 
 in an instant," exclaimed the woman, in a terrified tone. 
 " Begone begone ! We are not so lonely as you think, 
 and I would not that any one find you here with me for 
 all I own or hope in earth or heaven." 
 
 " Hush, hush, my fairest unknown ! What know you 
 of me, that you thus deprecate my society? Am I not 
 
 209
 
 210 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 as acceptable as the one whom I chanced to overhear 
 as he scorned the gentle invitation you did send him, 
 scorned it with loathing and abhorrence? I bethought 
 myself to come in his stead, for the bold in love are 
 favoured by Venus for the sake of her valiant lover, the 
 god of war," returned the masked cavalier, in light and 
 mocking tones. 
 
 " Scorn loathing abhorrence ! " exclaimed the 
 woman, in half-stifled accents. " It is impossible, and 
 yet, why, then, why, then, I am glad, no, I meant 
 not that, not that, I desired but to learn the cause 
 of the knight's strange actions why why he has even re- 
 fused a reply to my mistress's most urgent appeal, that 
 she may take revenge and " 
 
 The cavalier laughed. 
 
 " Your mistress will do like great kings detected in 
 base policies, she will deny her envoy,'' he then replied, 
 in a strange tone. " And I tell you if you but dare again 
 to soil her dignity even with an imputed share in your 
 offence, I will trumpet your shame to all Christendom, 
 and tell to all the world that you have not blushed to 
 lure an unwilling stranger to your arms ! Would not 
 such a tale renown you farther than many another dark 
 supposal now floating on the wings of night ? Ah ! Do 
 not shudder nor contemplate aught frantical, fairest of 
 all Eve's daughters! I mean not to pry behind your 
 mask. But you shall not waste your beauty and this 
 loving hour because spurned by one, as long as the fire 
 of passion flows in the veins of another." 
 
 " You shall not need to pry behind my mask behold, 
 here is my face," the woman interrupted the speaker, 
 while with a laugh of unutterable scorn and fury she 
 tore the cover from her face, revealing Helena di Miraval, 
 pale as death, her eyes flaming, her features alight with
 
 Ube 
 
 211 
 
 passions, the more terrible from the contrast of their 
 fierceness with her beauty. 
 
 " Ferrando you know me now ! Depart, if you 
 would not have me summon my guards, as at the least 
 utterance I can," she exclaimed, as the Duke of Alta- 
 mura, feigning great surprise, started up at her speech. 
 " Go ! I defy you ! Go with your tale to whomsoever 
 you will, for to disprove it one word of these lips would 
 suffice." 
 
 A laugh of irony broke from the duke's lips. 
 
 " So our fair kinswoman, who holds her head so 
 proud and high, is really and veritably here on a rendez- 
 vous with the Lombard, who in language plainer than 
 words has shown his aversion, his disdain, his scorn, 
 whose self-appointed task it is to track our steps, to 
 haunt our sleep " 
 
 " And what if it be so ? What right have you to dis- 
 pute my pleasure ? " interrupted Helena, passionately. 
 " Who are you that you presume to dog my steps, to 
 compel my choice? Are you father husband 
 brother or even ah! Monster that you are! Oh, 
 that these eyes may behold the day when your neck 
 will feel the edge of the axe, which it has deserved so 
 long!" 
 
 " I was mad once ! Delirious with the fever of my 
 toils to raise the name of Altamura to the proudest title 
 in Italy, I raved and it is Helena who reproaches me 
 with my sufferings," said the duke, in a tone compounded 
 of anger, fear, and feigned contrition. 
 
 The lady of Miraval glanced at him one brief moment 
 as if her feelings wavered, but there was something in 
 his face which roused her temper to its extremest limits. 
 
 " Begone for the last time begone ! " she said, 
 while her dilated nostrils and flaming eyes told him that
 
 212 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 he had reached that extreme beyond which not even the 
 Duke of Altamura dared to go, " or, by the everlasting 
 judgment, I shall cry out to the guards." 
 
 " To the guards ? To the guards ? " replied the duke, 
 with a livid smile, of which only himself and the evil 
 fiend seemed capable. "Are you not more afraid that 
 some other may hear it? Remember Enrico's doom 
 and do not you bid me tremble, but tremble yourself for 
 your minion ! " 
 
 " Ah ! Miscreant and fiend ! What if I told the king? 
 But of what shall I accuse you? The devils themselves 
 know no name for your crimes." 
 
 " Accuse me to him, fairest of women, accuse, if you 
 think that your charms can wield the thunder of majesty 
 according to your liking," the duke replied, with a heinous 
 smile. " Let him cast another into the gory grave of 
 him who died so suddenly in the who knows where? 
 Do you, Helena cara? Or of him who was cured of his 
 suspicions under his own paternal roof not ours." 
 
 " I will not call you any monster, I know of none 
 I could compare you with," said Helena, with forced 
 calmness, " but hearken to me at least in this matter ! " 
 
 She paused a moment as if summoning a supreme 
 resolution, then she continued: 
 
 " Do you hear me, Ferrando ? I dared not tell it to 
 my own heart, no, nor the heavens themselves, I dared 
 not believe it, yet I thought that of these horrors you 
 were not so ignorant as the merciless steel which wrought 
 them. But hearken to me! If but one hair on the 
 Visconti's head be harmed, rest you assured that I will 
 live but to avenge it, and that I shall be at no loss to 
 tell what hand has struck the blow, though it be in the 
 murkiest midnight that ever covered your hideous en- 
 terprises."
 
 Ube Ursst 213 
 
 " I know your vengeance, fair Helena, I know it 
 well! But I shall not perish so dovelike as my prede- 
 cessor. I am not a dumb fish to die without a shriek," 
 replied the duke, fiercely, but with a mixture of sar- 
 castic levity. " Ere I make my graceful retreat from 
 the scene, I will confess not only mine own offences, but 
 all that rumour imputes to your Grace. Of a surety, 
 posterity will deem me a most likely witness, and hu- 
 manity in general cannot doubt when they hear that death 
 stood by, the scrivener of my harangue! You know not 
 what I am, but this I will do if your woman's temper 
 drive me to it." 
 
 "They will call you in death what you have been in 
 life a monster," replied Helena, in a wavering tone, 
 as if her own mind were reeling under the too heavy 
 blow and burden of anguish ; then she continued : 
 
 " Nay ! Perhaps with the springs of your direful 
 existence would be exhausted that of mine ignominy; 
 and he who first gave forth the sound might perish with 
 its last echo on his lips. They cannot believe it they 
 cannot believe it ! " 
 
 " Cannot ? Cannot ? Pray, and how did your noble 
 cavalier look when -he became first aware of our con- 
 nection ? " said the merciless duke. 
 
 " He looked as I would have him look, believing your 
 measureless lies. For yes yes, they are yours ! Never 
 till that hour when you did reveal yourself to be the fiend 
 had calumny herself breathed evil word of me," said 
 Helena, distractedly. But, struck with a dark change in 
 the duke's countenance, she continued, almost implor- 
 ingly : " But no, no ! Perchance I am harsh now, and 
 it is my evil fate alone. An\! Let me not drag more 
 victims into its wheels. What shall I do then ? The only 
 pure light, beaming peace on the troubled tempest of
 
 214 Gastel fcel /iDonte 
 
 my soul would come from a convent, seclusion from 
 the world, and yet would even that save me from 
 calumny ? " 
 
 " There is but one salvation for you, Helena cara, 
 but one, and you know also that it lies not within the 
 dark walls of a convent," the duke said, meaningly. 
 
 A deadly pallor overspread her face, while her eyes 
 shot fire. 
 
 " You have my irrevocable reply for once and for aye, 
 and now, Ferrando, I tell you for the last time, leave me ! " 
 
 There was something in her tone which told the duke 
 he had reached the limit, but he did not intend to retreat 
 without leaving a memento of his presence. 
 
 " I have your answer, you say, for good and aye ? 
 And deem you, knowing Ferrando of Altamura, that he 
 will cast away for a woman's whim the chances of great- 
 ness, and become the humble servitor of my lord of the 
 Viper ? Not by all the furies of hell ! You will do my 
 bidding, if I have to summon every bravo in Apulia to 
 drag you to your bridal-chamber, and if you still further 
 persist in thwarting my plans, the head of Medusa shall 
 appear as that of a Vestal compared to the halo I shall 
 weave around your brow ! This is our last word, Helena 
 di Miraval, our last ! " 
 
 The lady of Miraval had risen to her feet, and her 
 fingers convulsively clutched the hilt of a small dagger 
 which she carried concealed under her gown. The duke 
 watched her closely, retreating a step or two. 
 
 " I will leave you to yourself now, fairest Helena, to 
 yourself truly, for he, whom you so eagerly await, has 
 even now some other sheep in mind: thus do I cheat 
 you out of the last comfort, that he has ever loved 
 you!" 
 
 " That he has ever loved me ? " she laughed, shrilly.
 
 Ube Ursst 215 
 
 " What knows a ghoul like Ferrando of Altamura of the 
 meaning of love ? " 
 
 The duke's face turned livid. 
 
 " Little at best, but enough to know when other peo- 
 ple's loves conflict with my plans. I had your tall and 
 melancholy Lombard too well watched not to know 
 that a certain fairy at the feast, in the garb of Fata 
 Morgana, whom doubtlessly you did also behold, and of 
 whose acquaintance I too can boast, has invited him to 
 sup with her to-night in this very grotto, at the entrance 
 of which we are now holding discourse ! " 
 
 " And if this be true, why what is it to me ? But 
 no, no! It is one of your monstrous lies, born in the 
 deepest pool of your black crimes. It cannot be it 
 cannot be ! " 
 
 " Cannot ? " repeated the duke, with a derisive sneer. 
 " Cannot ? Why then has your sentimental Lombard 
 disdained even to vouchsafe a courteous reply to your 
 entreaties ? For I know this was not your first." 
 
 " Perhaps because he disdains to mingle the unstained 
 honours of his ancestry with the bastard blood of Al- 
 tamura," she exclaimed, rejoicing to give her retort the 
 desired sting, though she herself shared the venom. 
 
 " For which ere many moons I will cut his throat 
 and make him prey of all the carrion flies that ever 
 thronged on dunghill," said the duke, with exceeding 
 fierceness. " But you prate and your knight has sent 
 you on a fool's errand. He will not come, even though 
 you warble as sweetly as a nightingale luring its mate." 
 
 Altamura suddenly paused, listening to a sound as of 
 remote footsteps, which for a time seemed to approach 
 from the cavern, then receded in an opposite direction. 
 
 " You are still doubtful ? " the duke continued, mock- 
 ingly. " Let me for once and all dispel your vagaries
 
 Castel feel /iDonte 
 
 and visions. Come ! " He spoke almost fiercely, while he 
 beckoned to her, to follow him. 
 
 The duke's determined manner, and the apparent plausi- 
 bility of disappointment for the time even subdued Hele- 
 na's haughty spirit; she moved not, but her doubting, 
 questioning gaze told him that his words had not lost 
 their meaning upon her. 
 
 " Follow me, and if I do not furnish you all the proof 
 and more of your lover's infidelity, then may you call 
 the Duke of Altamura a churl ! But one condition I im- 
 pose, that when, with your own eyes, you have con- 
 vinced yourself of your folly, then will you look favour- 
 ably upon my request ? " 
 
 " Where will you lead me to ? " faltered Helena di 
 Miraval, while her hands clasped her throat as if she were 
 choking. 
 
 " You shall not have far to go," the duke responded, 
 pointing to the grotto. " The cupids are even now 
 spreading their wings over the couch, from which your 
 gallant lover and the fairy Morgana have chased the 
 vestal nymphs ! " 
 
 With these words the duke, hastening in advance of 
 the lady, whom he knew to be following, approached the 
 dark entrance to the grotto, the centre of which, illumi- 
 nated as it was, presented to their sight the same strange 
 spectacle Ottorino was even now beholding from his 
 hiding-place in the other channel of the cavern. Altamura 
 spoke not, but, drawing Helena to his side, pointed with 
 a triumphant smile to the couple, his countenance al- 
 ternately depicting ire and derision. Helena's hand had 
 gone to her heart; she thought she could hear its wild 
 throbbing in the dead stillness of the spot ; her face was 
 pale as death and her teeth set. Slowly she bent for- 
 ward, shadowing her eyes with her hand; slowly she
 
 217 
 
 penetrated into the darkness of the cavern, and so im- 
 perceptibly she moved that the duke hardly noticed that 
 she was gliding away from him, so busily did he feast 
 his gaze upon her matchless form. Slowly, almost un- 
 consciously, he followed, until a ledge of rock, rising per- 
 pendicularly from a pool in the murky deep, barred fur- 
 ther advance. The duke saw not the storm of passions 
 which swept over his kinswoman's face, as, creeping 
 closer and closer, she saw the last semblance to Ottorino 
 vanish in the kneeling form of the man; but with the 
 disappearance of its faintest trace a fear, horrible beyond 
 conception, struck her soul. She heard the stealthy tread 
 of the duke behind her, and, appearing so completely 
 absorbed in the strange spectacle as to be utterly oblivious 
 to all else, Helena strained every nerve in the frantic 
 effort of discovering a means of escape. What mattered 
 the personality of the woman ! The cavalier was not the 
 Visconti, and in the midst of her quaking fears she 
 begged Ottorino's forgiveness in her heart. 
 
 Suddenly the mask fell from the face of the nymph, 
 and, choosing this moment, Helena uttered an outcry 
 which reechoed through the caverns of the grotto, like 
 the shrill laughter of a thousand demons, then, turning 
 upon the duke with equal suddenness, she pushed him 
 aside with such headlong violence that, taken unawares, 
 he stumbled and fell. Helena rushed from the grotto, and 
 at almost the same moment its radiance was changed to 
 Stygian darkness. With a wild oath the duke struggled 
 to his feet and groped his way through the gloom of the 
 cavern. Moving step by step, he finally succeeded in 
 reaching its half-concealed entrance, where he stood pant- 
 ing, cursing heaven and earth and all generations of 
 men, the sea, the stars, and the saints, the whole fair 
 sex collectively, and his fair kinswoman in particular.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 LEILA 
 
 THE moon shone brightly in the dark, clear azure of 
 the heavens, rendering distinct even the remotest objects, 
 but Ottorino was filled with thoughts as dark as the ruins 
 which bordered his path. As he came from the vale of 
 Proserpine he was startled to see a solitary horseman 
 wrapped in a long Spanish mantle. The cloak reached 
 to his stirrups, and a broad-brimmed hat covered his 
 head, shading eyes and face almost beyond recognition. 
 The horseman seemed absorbed in some object across 
 the bay, and so immobile was the attitude of rider and 
 beast that one might have mistaken them for an eques- 
 trian statue. Without paying further heed to the strange 
 apparition, the Lombard, guided by the beacon light on 
 the Campanile, slowly made his way toward the city. 
 His feelings were strung to a tension which deprived his 
 mind of its last remnants of peace and tranquillity, and 
 his resolve to break the fatal spell with one determined 
 stroke wavered almost in its inception. 
 
 The streets of Palermo were still enlivened by a merry 
 throng, determined to prolong the pageant of the waning 
 night till the gray dawn of the rising day. The moon- 
 light cast its pale rays over the flat roofs of the white 
 Oriental dwellings, and shone on the cupolas and minarets 
 
 218
 
 Xcila 219 
 
 whose slender spires seemed to touch the very stars in 
 the illusion of the summer night. 
 
 It was more especially the rabble of the city, who had 
 chosen the late hours for their sports and pastimes. Ot- 
 torino passed unmolested through the dense crowds, and 
 continued upon his way until he found himself opposite 
 the Moorish palace of La Kufa. A large crowd had 
 gathered here, surrounding a woman seated astride an 
 ass. Her face was turned toward the tail and her feet 
 were tied together. Two sbirri led the strangely bur- 
 dened beast. Some hallucination doubtlessly possessed 
 the woman, for although the rabble kept up a continual 
 sullen roar of derision, her features were elate with joy 
 and triumph, as if she were the chief personage of this 
 fine procession. 
 
 Ottorino made his way through all the throng to the 
 sbirri, and, upon beholding and recognizing the unfor- 
 tunate creature, inquired what she had done to be thus 
 ill-treated 
 
 " It is a Moorish harlot, signer, who lures good Chris- 
 tian people into her nets," replied one of the axemen. 
 
 " We are leading her to the prefecture for punishment," 
 said the second. 
 
 " Cut her to pieces, the infidel witch, who brings the 
 plague among us," yelled a woman. 
 
 Two stout ruffians, seemingly retainers of some great 
 house, drew their daggers, shouting, " Death ! Death ! " 
 and such a gibbering tumult arose that for some moments 
 it was barely possible to distinguish a word that was 
 said. 
 
 " Peace ! Peace ! " thundered Ottorino, stepping in 
 front of the sbirri, and at this unexpected sight the 
 uproar ceased. 
 
 "Valiant sbirri, mark you not that the poor girl is
 
 220 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 mad, bereft of reason ? " -said the Visconti, addressing 
 her captors. " Leave her to my care and I will see her 
 restored to her home without offence to any good Chris- 
 tian." 
 
 A universal shout of laughter rose in the air, indicating 
 what the populace deemed of this proposal. The Moorish 
 girl turned at the sound of Ottorino's voice and seemed 
 to recognize her would-be deliverer, for she clapped her 
 hands in delight. 
 
 " 'Tis he, 'tis he ! " she exclaimed, rejoicingly. " I 
 have kept my word, you see ! Lead me to him ! Where 
 is Enrico? For were I ten times a queen I would but 
 be his servant and loving slave ! " 
 
 Whether the ass, like Balaam's, was gifted with 
 human understanding, and upon hearing these words felt 
 justly elate, or whether it was simply the impulse of the 
 beast, its voice rose in the air and spoke to the multitudes, 
 and it was some time ere the sbirri with their clubs could 
 silence its oratorical efforts. 
 
 " Shame, shame ! so knightly a man to take the part 
 of such a one," remarked the woman who had spoken. 
 " But her philtres and love-draughts have bewitched 
 him." 
 
 " Death to the witch ! " again resounded on all sides. 
 
 " Patience, good people, patience," urged the knight, 
 unsheathing his sword. " Whoever approaches within the 
 length of this weapon shall taste of its edge ! I tell you 
 again, this young girl is mad, bereft of that reason which 
 you bear so proudly and which almost distinguishes you 
 from this gray, braying brute! But to content you, I 
 will obtain her dismissal from some competent authority." 
 
 The awe which the power and tyranny of the nobles 
 and military had infused in the minds of the common 
 people befriended Ottorino on this occasion. Murmurs
 
 Xefla 221 
 
 indeed arose, and indistinct expressions of anger and 
 disappointment, but no one offered any serious inter- 
 ference. The Visconti cut the thongs which fastened the 
 poor girl's feet, made her turn to a more decent and 
 feminine attitude, and took the ass by the halter, desir- 
 ing the sbirri to keep on each side. The intention of 
 the Lombard was not, however, to take the prisoner to 
 the prefecture, but before a higher tribunal. Leila, how- 
 ever, seemed likely to baffle his intent. Knowing nothing 
 of her deliverer's plan for discovering the assassin of her 
 lover, she believed that she was being escorted in triumph 
 to her Enrico's palace. Her satisfaction was so com- 
 plete that it seemed a cruelty to attempt to break the 
 illusion on which it was founded. Every object in turn 
 attracted her delighted notion; she petted the ass and 
 kissed her hands incessantly at the mob, in acknowledg- 
 ment of their civility in accompanying her, but which 
 they took to be a mockery of their baffled fury. 
 
 The whispers in which Ottorino endeavoured to recall 
 her wandering mind heightened the suspicions and in- 
 dignation of the populace to the highest degree. But 
 his efforts to dispel the hallucinations which possessed 
 her were in vain; every stately building which they ap- 
 proached she concluded to be the palace of her unknown 
 lover, and she stared with amazement when they passed 
 without beholding him. The glittering confusion sur- 
 rounding her was a festive pomp prepared for her re- 
 ception, and the splendid groups appearing and disap- 
 pearing at intervals convinced her that they were at 
 length approaching her lover's presence. 
 
 " How may that be, Leila ? " urged the Visconti, labour- 
 ing to combat her visions. " Have you not told me your 
 lover is dead, slain by assassins?" 
 
 " It was a dream it was a dream ! I often have
 
 222 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 fearful dreams, for I knew the witches would slay him 
 if they ever saw his shadow," she replied, impatiently. 
 " But we shall easily know him, there was none other 
 like him, none other." 
 
 Reduced to despair as he realized that no appeal to 
 the realities of the scene could restore his demented 
 charge to sanity, the Visconti was scarcely sorry to ob- 
 serve that they were fast approaching the terrace, to 
 which the court was wont to retire after sunset. It was 
 evident that they were descried from it, for an officer 
 received some orders and rode toward them, shouting in 
 harsh and imperative tones : 
 
 "Halt! Halt!" 
 
 The Lombard immediately obeyed, but the populace 
 raised a tempest of cries, explanations, and demands for 
 vengeance which drowned every distinct sound. 
 
 " What in the name of the foul fiend is this, scum," 
 growled the horseman, still advancing, " that you break 
 into the king's siesta with your rude clamour? What 
 have we here, speak ! " 
 
 The commander's visor was raised, and Ottorino per- 
 ceived that his sallow complexion grew nearly bloodless 
 as he looked at the young Moorish girl. But before the 
 Lombard could make any reply, Leila uttered a joyful 
 cry of recognition, and exclaimed : 
 
 " Take me to him ! Take me to him ! He is near now, 
 for here is the stranger that brought me tidings from 
 Enrico." 
 
 " What is this ? " stammered the rider, staring around 
 in mingled terror and amazement. 
 
 A hundred voices began to reply, but the Visconti's 
 quickly overpowered even this numerous rivalry. 
 
 " This girl is mad, sefior," he said, laying stress on the 
 Spanish appellative, " yet not so mad but that it is to
 
 Xeila 223 
 
 be discerned that she has suffered a grievous wrong, 
 either from her own people or some monstrous villain, 
 and I have promised to lead her before the king him- 
 self, to demand justice." 
 
 " I am not mad ! Did you not come, good Chris- 
 tian, to lead me to my lord ? " said Leila, angrily, and 
 looking with the eagerness of hope at the grim visage 
 of Don Crivello, the Catalan. 
 
 " How came this woman here ? " the latter exclaimed, 
 after a brief pause. 
 
 " She stole forth to view the pageant, unless it was to 
 meet her paramour, this valiant knight," cried a voice in 
 the crowd. 
 
 Crivello's brow contracted as he turned to one of the 
 sbirri and demanded an account of the matter. 
 
 " Truly, my lord, so it seems, and she appears to 
 know this knight, for he rushed against all odds to her 
 rescue." 
 
 Ottorino noted the deadly glare which flashed upon 
 him from the Spaniard's eyes, but he remained calm and 
 determined. 
 
 " It is death for any woman of this wench's trade to 
 leave her lair after dark," the Catalan growled between 
 his set teeth. " Go your way in peace, cavalier, and leave 
 the harlot to the punishment that befits her offence! 
 Stand off, ho ! and whip her back from whence she came, 
 but grant her fair way, that she may make the best of 
 her noble courser's speed." 
 
 Universal applause greeted this proposition. Leila 
 stared at the Catalan in vacant surprise and bewilder- 
 ment. Ottorino, however, was determined to baffle the 
 ruffian's intent, even if he had to stand alone against the 
 whole rabble. 
 
 " This shall not be, senor," he interposed, a firm reso-
 
 224 Gastel fcel flDonte 
 
 lution ringing in his voice, "at least, not until the king 
 has heard her complaint. Some foul play has been 
 wrought against her, her lover slain in her arms, 
 she shall have justice." 
 
 " It is false ! " replied Crivello, with difficulty bridling 
 his wrath. " It chances that I know something of the 
 ways of her kind ! She thrusts her poisonous presence 
 on honest Christians, but since she is your paramour, 
 signor, the only way to show your kindness now is to 
 drive her back to whence she came, for until she reaches 
 her dive I give lawful leave to every man to wreak his 
 scorn upon her." 
 
 " Stand back, cur ! " thundered Ottorino, raising his 
 sword, " and bar not the way, for I will make it through 
 an army rather than suffer your bloodthirsty malice to 
 prevail." 
 
 " What malice have I against the wench ? " returned 
 the Catalan, his complexion resuming its leaden tints be- 
 neath the Lombard's penetrating gaze. " Woman hast 
 thou ever seen me before, or I thee, that I should bear 
 thee malice ? " 
 
 The Castellan of the Torre del Diavolo had certainly 
 not noticed the strange expression on the Moorish girl's 
 countenance, but when he turned and looked at her with 
 his fierce, protruding eyes, she uttered a shriek which 
 rang over the heads of the thousands, and with a hiss, 
 as if to frighten away some direful apparition, she shouted 
 " Murderer ! " till the very skies seemed to echo with the 
 crimson word. 
 
 " Upon her ! Hack her to pieces ! It is the law, and 
 I will see it justified. Harm not the knight, but death 
 to the harlot ! " roared Crivello, spurring his horse toward 
 her, but, coming between the Catalan and his intended
 
 Xeila 225 
 
 victim, Ottorino waved his long sword and soon cleared a 
 circle to some distance. 
 
 " Approach at your peril ! " he cried to Crivello, who 
 involuntarily receded before the wrath he had engen- 
 dered. The mob, recovering from their momentary 
 stupor, and encouraging each other with loud shouts 
 of fury, drew their daggers and were certainly medi- 
 tating an onset. But just then a Saracen officer with half 
 a dozen men appeared upon the scene, with the order to 
 command peace and to conduct the offenders before the 
 king. 
 
 " Tis where we were bound, when yonder insolent 
 impeded our advance," replied the Visconti, pointing to 
 Crivello, who drew back at the impeachment, fearful of 
 offering further opposition. 
 
 Lifting Leila from the ass and half-carrying her, 
 Ottorino made his way to the terrace through the now 
 unresisting crowds. 
 
 " Remember all your story now, your Enrico's murder, 
 and demand justice at the feet of the kindest of rulers, 
 before whom I will bring you," he exhorted the trembling 
 girl, as they mounted the marble stairs ; and Leila, whose 
 recollections were now rekindled, cried " Murder ! Mur- 
 der ! " and " Justice ! Justice ! " with frenzied eagerness 
 at every step of their advance. The attention of the court 
 was staggered by the strange spectacle of a knight of the 
 empire half-leading, half-carrying a Moorish girl into 
 the presence of the king. Manfred was seated in the 
 centre of a glittering half-moon; the court had been 
 diverted by the glowing and fantastic tales of an Arab 
 story-teller, after the conclusion of a " Mask of the 
 Gods," in which each participant had represented a deity 
 of antiquity. At the smiling suggestion of the queen the 
 masks were resumed at the approach of this singular
 
 226 Castel fcel jflDonte 
 
 pageant. This circumstance was favourable to Ottorino's 
 intent, as he feared that too sudden a recognition of the 
 murderer might prevent the hearing of the tale, and Leila 
 would seem only to rave. On the other hand, however, 
 it raised an obstacle to his purpose, as he would not be 
 able to determine the presence of the suspected, but a 
 sudden idea occurred to him as he approached the royal 
 dais. No one noticed the lightning exchange of glances 
 between Manfred and Ottorino, fraught with a meaning 
 known but to themselves, when Leila prostrated herself 
 with Oriental homage. 
 
 " What part of the pageant is this, and who is the 
 author of this surprise ? " the king asked of the Lombard. 
 
 "The king's Majesty is to know that I have rescued 
 this poor mad creature from the hands of certain ruffians, 
 and I have brought her here to demand j ustice for a much 
 more horrible deed," said Ottorino, bowing low, though 
 even his stout heart quaked, as, glancing from the king 
 to the masked cavalier by his side, he noted the glance 
 which the latter turned on his suppliant, a glance which 
 at once convinced the knight of the presence desired. 
 
 "What deed? Of what speak you? This is neither 
 time nor place; the king's justices are men of approved 
 integrity ! " the masked cavalier spoke up, and at the 
 sound of his voice Leila's whole frame trembled, while, 
 clasping her hands to her forehead, she glared fixedly 
 at the speaker. 
 
 "Formal justice is too slow and uncertain. Three 
 years have passed since the deed for which we demand 
 redress was perpetrated," replied the Visconti. 
 
 " Three years ! " Manfred exclaimed. " We will hear 
 and adjudge the matter on the spot. It shall not be said 
 that the ears of the son of Frederick were ever closed
 
 Xeila 227 
 
 to the cries of his subjects. Speak on, girl we hear 
 thee ! " 
 
 " This much, then, I have gathered, King Manfred," 
 Ottorino replied in her stead. " This hapless girl had 
 a Christian lover whose quality and name are unknown 
 to her, but who called himself Enrico, and from her 
 confused report he must have been of very high birth." 
 
 " Enrico, we have heard the rumour, but go on 
 go on ! " Manfred exclaimed, hurriedly. 
 
 "The story, then, has reached the ears of the king's 
 Majesty?" Ottorino replied, with meaning. 
 
 "Among many others, at which, since our most dear 
 and hapless brother met his mysterious doom, we have 
 clutched in the vain hope of obtaining some clue to the 
 guilty." 
 
 " But this whole story has no other foundation than 
 the ravings of a mad girl, whose relatives declare that 
 she has never left her musky chambers during all her 
 life," the masked cavalier interposed in his apparent 
 effort to stop the narrative. 
 
 " Is the masked signor so well informed ? " Ottorino 
 turned to the speaker. " Or are we to infer that this 
 is not the first time he has met these accusing eyes ? " 
 
 Then, noting the effect of his speech, he continued, 
 addressing the king : 
 
 " This mad girl is now at your feet, King Manfred, 
 and I implore you to listen. Her speech will be some- 
 what disordered, as that of one whose mind is shattered 
 by a blow, yet not so wholly unpieced but that skilled 
 eyes may join the threads of the web." 
 
 " We will hear her," Manfred replied, in troubled yet 
 eager tones. "Arise, poor girl, and speak openly and 
 without fear! When and how perished your lover, 
 your Enrico ? By whose hand did he fall ? "
 
 228 Caste! fcel /iDonte 
 
 Leila had continued kneeling during the entire dia- 
 logue, which she scarcely heard, so intently wrapped was 
 she in scrutinizing the masked cavalier, in examining his 
 person and habiliments. And so absorbed was she in this 
 scrutiny that she started when her protector gently 
 touched her to recall her attention. 
 
 " Now, Leila, speak ! Who was it who slew your 
 Enrico ? Speak ! Do you remember ? " 
 
 " Where is he ? Oh ! He is gone ! " she said, glanc- 
 ing timidly around the whole brilliant circle of the court 
 and at the crowds, which had surged to the foot of the 
 terrace, among which Crivello had disappeared. 
 
 " I never liked his black bead eyes, and so I told 
 Enrico, but he loved me so, and he would stay ! And 
 so the moon was shining, and he was fast asleep, 
 and first they tapped at the door, and I would not 
 believe it, I thought it was the wind. But they came, 
 they came, I saw the moonshine on his face, 
 and I kissed his lips," and, heaving a deep sigh, the mad 
 girl relapsed into silence. 
 
 " Now, Leila Leila remember ! Repeat the tale 
 you have told me ! Remember how they tore him from 
 your arms, remember your cries, their cruel stabs, his 
 writhing form, his long hair all drenched in blood, and 
 how they dragged his body away ! " urged Ottorino. 
 
 With a shriek so wild and despairing that it resounded 
 through the remotest recesses of the gardens, Leila em- 
 braced Manfred's knees and poured forth the dreadful 
 revelation with such passionate vehemence that, wild and 
 broken as it was, the scene became almost visual in the 
 painting of her frenzied imagination. 
 
 " And the murderers were masked ? " the king ques- 
 tioned the girl. 
 
 "The king's Majesty is listening to a mad woman,"
 
 Xefla 229 
 
 the masked cavalier interposed, in a perfectly composed 
 voice. " We are infinitely beholden to the noble Lombard 
 for the unselfish interest he has shown in the poor wench, 
 but " here he turned to the girl " art thou sure thy 
 lover did not leave thee when he had grown satiated with 
 thy charms ? " 
 
 " Where is he ? Where is he ? Let me but see him," 
 exclaimed the girl, frantically. " He cannot be so cruel, 
 let me but see him ! " 
 
 " The king's Majesty hears ! Why should we spoil our 
 diversions by further listening to this mad revelry? 
 Who knows, there may be deeper instruction in this ! " 
 
 And the speaker glanced malignantly at the Visconti. 
 
 " Leila, were all the murderers of thine Enrico 
 masked? Did not the mask fall from the visage of the 
 chief one in the struggle? For so she told me, King 
 Manfred," said Ottorino, looking full at the masked 
 cavalier, who seemed strangely moved. 
 
 " Is this true, Leila ? Didst thou behold the worse 
 than devilish visage of one of the murderers?" ex- 
 claimed Manfred, with a sudden wildness that contrasted 
 strangely with his usual calm demeanour. 
 
 " One, yes, the scarlet one ! " said Leila, with 
 truly insane rapidity, as if she divined that they were on 
 the verge of a dire discovery. 
 
 " Let the king's Majesty command all present to un- 
 mask, and we shall see if she recognizes any one in this 
 assembly," the Visconti urged, in stern but respectful 
 tones. 
 
 "The farce grows somewhat dangerous," interposed 
 the masked cavalier, hurriedly. " The wench's madness 
 is as like to hit one as it is another, and thus darken 
 some innocent person for ever in the king's grace; nay,
 
 230 Castel fcel /IDonte 
 
 she is like enough to mark even me, for look how she 
 gazes at me and speaks of scarlet because I wear it." 
 
 " It were indeed too hazardous," a woman's voice r ang 
 out from among the queen's retinue. 
 
 Ottorino started as if a viper had stung him, but at 
 that moment a noise and skirmish close by his side dis- 
 tracted his attention. Two haggard old women appeared 
 on the terrace, struggling, screaming, and pushing their 
 way through the mob, which buffeted them, plucking 
 their long gray hairs and yelling, "The Moorish witches !" 
 while they in turn made the air ring with cries of " Leila 
 Leila mercy on our child, she is mad mad 
 mad!" 
 
 " Some of her kindred come to rescue their wandering 
 offspring," said the king's masked counsellor, laughing 
 outright. " Here is your lost lamb, shepherdesses of the 
 devil ! Guards, rescue them from the mob and bring 
 them hither ! " 
 
 The order was given just in time to save the two 
 hags from some violent mark of popular hatred. As it 
 was, when they were dragged on the terrace they pre- 
 sented an appearance so wild and ghastly that Leila, the 
 instant she saw them, cowered down like a hare when the 
 hounds are upon it. 
 
 " What forms are these of purgatory or of hell ? " 
 sneered one of the cavaliers in attendance, as the two 
 Moorish apothecaries prostrated themselves before the 
 royal dais. 
 
 " Of neither, as yet so please you," replied he in the 
 scarlet suit, with an emphasis more than incidental. 
 " Speak without fear, good grandames, and tell us what 
 ails this wench, that she shrieks tales of murder and 
 bloodshed as if it were the trade of your family ? " 
 
 "We are but two poor, deserted women," said the
 
 Xeila 231 
 
 older, raising herself with her hands in a ghastly attitude 
 of supplication. " And this offspring of the faithful has 
 gone mad for the love of a Christian, who deserted her 
 when the fruits of her guilt became manifest. She waked 
 one night from a fearful dream, and would have it that 
 he who taught her sin and left her remorse had been 
 foully slain, whence she fell into madness." 
 
 " Ancient women ! Name to me the seducer of this 
 hapless creature, and, by the Almighty God, were he the 
 proudest vassal in our kingdom, he shall pay the penalty 
 of the deed," said Manfred, in a voice trembling with 
 pent-up wrath. 
 
 " Master and sovereign, he concealed all but the 
 name Enrico from his wretched paramour, dreading 
 the justice of your laws," replied the older of the hags, 
 with a ghastly smile, which gleamed upon her visage like 
 phosphorus upon a skull. 
 
 " The punishment of death, the king's Majesty holds 
 that the crime deserved it ? " said the scarlet cavalier, 
 with slow emphasis. 
 
 " Dismiss the crones I am not well," exclaimed 
 Manfred, gasping for breath. 
 
 " Remove your unhappy child, good ancestresses," said 
 the scarlet cavalier. " Methinks, mad as she is, she is 
 too fairly moulded to be trusted away from your dusky 
 abode. But to you, signer, we are much beholden for 
 the uncommon zeal you have shown in gratifying the 
 great wish of all our hearts." 
 
 The hags approached the shrinking girl, who for the 
 first time evinced abject fear. The Visconti, although 
 he was conscious that every eye in the assembly rested 
 upon him, and guessed at some of the vile motives as- 
 cribed to his actions, stepped toward the kneeling girl 
 and, raising her, informed the two hags that he would
 
 232 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 himself escort them back to their habitation. Accord- 
 ingly, amidst general murmurs of wonder and disap- 
 probation, the entire group retired from the royal pres- 
 ence. The Lombard, who had now carefully closed his 
 visor, supported the staggering steps of the mad girl, and 
 was followed by the hags. 
 
 Still it might have been difficult for the old hags and 
 their charge to pass through the enraged and muttering 
 crowds, had not a monk in the habit of the Dominicans 
 appeared, who commanded the throngs with his usual 
 austerity and sway to make way for the Visconti. With 
 his assistance they gradually cleared the piazza, but Leila's 
 mind seemed once more vacant of all its memories and 
 images, and she abandoned Ottorino's support, gamboling 
 and singing before him to the great scandal of those 
 who continued to gaze after them. The crones spoke 
 not a word, although they continued to glower vindic- 
 tively at their escort. When they reached the gates of 
 the Moorish quarter, they muttered a profusion of thanks 
 and blessings, and intimated that they were in need of 
 the knight's services no longer. Fearing that much more 
 interference would only exasperate her kindred against 
 the poor girl, the Visconti admonished them to forgive the 
 strange vagaries of her disease, and, wrapping his cloak 
 closely around him, he turned to accompany the Domin- 
 ican back to the city. To his chagrin, he found that the 
 monk had disappeared, and that he was alone.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE MASS OF THE DOMINICANS 
 
 As Ottorino pondered over the extraordinary events 
 which he had witnessed, fragments of the ferryman's tale 
 leaped flashlike through his memory. He resolved to 
 seek the Dominican in order to learn, if possible, the 
 extent of Helena di Miraval's guilt in a deed but too 
 well suited to her temperament. No consideration but 
 revenge was to guide his future course, and he gradually 
 worked himself up into a frenzy, in which no argument, 
 however sane, could have prevailed against the turbulent 
 passions which racked and swayed his soul. 
 
 Soon the Visconti found himself in the wilds of Monte 
 Pellegrino, and, recalling all the observations which he 
 had made on a previous visit, he followed the labyrinth 
 of intricate corridors until he reached the Dominican's 
 cell. It was lighted but by a dimly flickering taper, and 
 his eager gaze could not discern the desired presence of 
 the monk, who had most likely been delayed on the way 
 to his habitation. 
 
 Determined at all hazards to await the friar's arrival, 
 Ottorino stretched his weary limbs on the primitive couch 
 of straw and rushes on which he had reposed on his 
 former visit. But as the time passed and neither the 
 Dominican nor Fra Cyrillo entered the dismal abode, a 
 strange weariness began to creep over the Lombard. The 
 
 233
 
 234 Castcl fccl /IDonte 
 
 events of the past hours flitted shadow-like across his 
 mind; he endeavoured to conjure before his soul the 
 beloved image of his dreams, whose words of love had 
 proven like the idle wind that leaves no trace, then 
 nature asserted her rights. The tension of his mind by 
 degrees relaxed, his eyes closed, and Ottorino was soon 
 in the land of oblivion. He woke from time to time, 
 but each waking was of shorter duration than the pre- 
 ceding. Finally the feeling of anxiety which still lingered 
 in his mind became blunted, and his ideas, inextricably 
 confused, in the end vanished altogether. 
 
 While in this state he dreamed he was in a richly fur- 
 nished apartment of the royal palace in company with 
 Manfred, but the king before him had a vacant face and 
 staring, glassy eyes. He spoke to him, but received no 
 answer ; he held out to him Matteo Visconti's letter, but 
 no hand was stretched out to take it. The dreamer then 
 fancied that he attempted to grasp the royal hand, but, 
 though he did not see it withdrawn, the hand was not 
 where he had imagined it to be, and it eluded his grasp. 
 
 What did it all mean ? What strange change was hap- 
 pening now ? The hangings, gildings, and "ornaments of 
 the room suddenly vanished; the walls, their sides ap- 
 pearing quite bare, seemed to become dark, rough, and 
 contracted like those of a prison. The gilded ceiling 
 turned into a black vaulted roof, and the pavement un- 
 derneath parted, permitting a glimpse into a dungeon, 
 strewn with decaying carcasses. But on the winding 
 stairs, leading below, was stretched at full length Man- 
 fred, the fair-haired Hohenstaufen, a ghastly wound in 
 his head, from which the helmet had fallen and rolled 
 among the dead below. 
 
 At this juncture a confused medley of whispering 
 voices struck the sleeper's ear and a light flashed across
 
 Ube flDass of tbe Dominicans 235 
 
 his eyes, which were still closed. He fancied that he 
 heard a voice continually calling out to him, " See, they 
 are coming to murder you, fly fly for your life ! " 
 He then made an attempt to rise, to speak, to reach for 
 his poniard, but, do what he would, he could not put 
 one foot before the other; his voice seemed choked and 
 his arms dropped paralyzed by his side. 
 
 He remained a few moments in this condition, then 
 he found his throat tightly clutched and a heavy weight 
 on his body; he shook himself, and on opening his eyes 
 discovered it was not a dream. 
 
 Two ruffians were kneeling upon his chest, one was 
 throttling him, the other, with a devilish grin of scorn 
 and rage, was trying to stab him, while a third, stand- 
 ing in the shadow of the wall, seemingly to direct their 
 movements, hissed, " Strike hard, Passerine run him 
 through the heart ! " 
 
 There was something in the tone of the speaker which 
 well-nigh paralyzed Ottorino's energies, for in the dim 
 light of the room he fancied that he recognized in the 
 ruffian with the stiletto the bravo he had so uncere- 
 moniously thrown overboard. After some fruitless efforts 
 to escape from that powerful pressure, he at last suc- 
 ceeded in rolling over, so that he and his assailants were 
 struggling together on the floor. 
 
 Freeing his right arm, which was pinned under him 
 by one of the bravi, he succeeded by a dexterous move- 
 ment in wrenching the weapon from Passerino's hand; 
 not, however, before he had felt its sharp point pierce his 
 breast. Gathering all his strength, he buried it in his 
 assailant's side, with such force that he felt the hilt strike 
 against the body. 
 
 With a groan the bravo rolled over, while his com- 
 panion, amazed at the unexpected turn, relaxed his hold
 
 236 Castel feel flDonte 
 
 on Ottorino long enough to allow the latter to stagger 
 to his feet. When Ottorino turned on his other assailant, 
 he found that he had vanished, and likewise the one who 
 had so manifestly directed the assault. 
 
 Abandoning the idea of pursuit as fruitless and hazard- 
 ous, he examined the wound from which he felt the warm 
 blood oozing. A languor and inertness began to creep 
 over his whole frame. Convulsive tremors shook his 
 joints, and a giddiness seized upon him, which seemed to 
 turn everything to darkness. He no longer felt the ground 
 under his feet, and, staggering, he fell with a heavy 
 thud upon the stone floor of the chamber, striking his 
 head against some marble relic of antiquity. Stretched 
 on his back, his head bleeding from behind so as to 
 crimson his dark hair, and with the blood soaking 
 through his silken doublet, he lay senseless and appar- 
 ently dead. 
 
 While these events were transpiring in the Dominican's 
 hermitage, the piazza, fronting the stupendous Cathedral 
 of Santa Rosalia presented a scene of singular solemnity. 
 It was midnight. The distant peal of convent bells rever- 
 berated through the hushed and silent air, and the chant 
 of pilgrims traversing the city at some distance was 
 remotely audible. In the starlight, dim and paling before 
 the rays of the moon, strange, muffled forms were to be 
 seen gliding about; from side streets and alleys, from 
 cellars and attics, from houses and taverns, they streamed 
 noiselessly into the piazza. The bells seemed incessantly 
 to call for more and more, as the loiterers delayed. 
 
 Through the open portals of the cathedral the dimly 
 lighted altars in the background were visible. Ghostly 
 fantastic shapes glided noiselessly in and out. The screen 
 at the apse sparkled in the candle-light. Like a revela-
 
 Ube flDass ot tbe Dominicans 237 
 
 tion, the cross above it gleamed out of the gloom, but half 
 of the immense interior was wrapped in sombre shadows. 
 From the penetralia came the sound of priestly chant- 
 ing. Before the altar, in a semicircle, knelt in silent 
 prayer the Dominican brotherhood. 
 
 At the left of the door a monk stood with impassive 
 face, before a solitary lighted candle, which shed its pale 
 radiance from a niche in the wall. Before him, on a table, 
 were piles of wax tapers, and every pilgrim or monk who 
 entered bought a taper, lighted it, and, kneeling, placed 
 it on one of the tripods before the screen. This slowly 
 increasing illumination revealed monks and pilgrims and 
 friars of all ages and all grades, beggars on crutches, and 
 bravi with short cloaks and midnight visors. 
 
 Gradually the chant seemed to pervade the whole in- 
 terior of the cathedral, flowing from shrine to shrine. 
 A Dominican came out of the background with tinkling 
 censer and incensed carefully every nook and corner 
 till the church was filled with smoke and perfume. First, 
 from the left, then from the right, rose the sombre chant 
 of the brotherhood, echoing in sepulchral knells through- 
 out the vast interior, while after each pause in the chant 
 one light went out and dismal shadows began to creep 
 upon the frescoed walls and painted columns. 
 
 Low and monotonous, but gaining force with every 
 moment, the death-mass began. 
 
 " Dies irae, dies ilia " Liber scriptus proferetur, 
 Solvet saeclum in favilla, In quo totum continetur 
 
 Teste David cum Sibylla. Unde mundus judicetur. 
 
 " Tuba mirum spargens sonum " Quantus tremor est futurus, 
 Per sepulchra regionum Quando judex est venturus, 
 
 Coget omnes ante thronum. Cuncta stricte discussurus.
 
 238 Castel Del dDonte 
 
 u Mors stupebit et natura, " Judex ergo cum sedebit, 
 
 Cum resurget creatura, Quidquid latet apparebit, 
 
 Judicanti responsura. Nil inultum remanebit" 
 
 Slowly the chant had increased in volume, up to the 
 ending climax, "Nil inultum remanebit" when it softly 
 died in undulating echoes, vibrating long after under the 
 high, vaulted arches. 
 
 One taper after another had gone out, until but a group 
 surrounded the high cross, and cast their diminished 
 brilliancy over the silent crowd of worshippers. 
 
 Two muffled figures approached each other in a side 
 aisle. 
 
 " The door of the emperor's tomb is open," whispered 
 the one, awestruck, to his companion. 
 
 " Are the graves gaping and the dead taking the air ? " 
 questioned the other. 
 
 " Did the tomb open of its own accord ? " interrogated 
 a third. 
 
 " They say the emperor has arisen and was seen stalk- 
 ing through the vaults." 
 
 The speaker paused, gazing in awe upon the stooping 
 form of what appeared to be almost a centenarian, who, 
 barely supporting himself upon a hooked cane, such as 
 pilgrims were in the habit of using, was bent almost 
 double with age. His snow-white hair flowed in silvery 
 waves down his back and shoulders, and his eyes seemed 
 to disappear under the bushy lashes. Slowly he shuffled 
 along, pausing at times as if to listen ; suddenly he found 
 himself face to face with the tall, commanding form of a 
 Dominican, emerging from the shadows of remote shrines. 
 
 Once more the chant rose in antiphonic sequence, as 
 if the spirits of the dead made response to the invocation 
 of the living. It penetrated the dusk of hidden shrines
 
 Ube /iDass of tbe Dominicans 239 
 
 as if it pealed from the sombre gloom of the vaults where 
 the vanquished slept in peace beside their victors : 
 
 ' Lacrymosa dies ilia, 
 Qua resurget ex favilla 
 Judicandus homo reus 
 Dona eis requiem ! " 
 
 " What means the chant ? Has the hour pealed at last, 
 that is to lift the heavy burden from my soul ? " the cen- 
 tenarian whispered to the immobile Dominican, whose 
 presence he rather divined than saw. 
 
 " It is the death-mass of the Sicilian kingdom," the 
 monk responded, gloomily. 
 
 " The knell of the Suabian dynasty ? " the old man re- 
 peated, hoarsely. " And who art thou, to look upon the 
 dread hour as calmly as the judge who pronounces the 
 doom?" 
 
 " An instrument of Providence, summoned hither, 
 like thyself, to bear witness to the word that the sins of 
 the fathers shall be visited upon their children unto the 
 third generation and the fourth ! " 
 
 The old man raised his hands as if to ward off a blow, 
 while his well-nigh extinct eyes peered through red, in- 
 flamed lids. 
 
 " I am old and near my grave," he gasped. " Is the 
 hour so nigh ? " 
 
 " Thou who hast seen four generations from cradle to 
 grave, knowest thou the law of retribution ? Or have 
 these sightless orbs, these locks blanched with the snows 
 of winter frosts, some stronger claim upon this earth ? " 
 
 The centenarian passed his skeleton-like fingers through 
 his long white hair. 
 
 " Will the hour never come when her screams will cease
 
 240 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 to torment mine ears, her wild, piteous moans to drive 
 my heart to madness ? What is the terror of death com- 
 pared with the agony of life ! " 
 
 " Thou art Roger d'Hauteville ? " 
 
 The centenarian nodded. 
 
 " I was a child with golden locks when face to face I 
 saw the emperor Henry the Sixth as upon his fiery 
 charger he rode into the gates of Palermo. His eyes 
 were flaming wrath, his voice the thunder of the moun- 
 tain cataract, his countenance a destructive storm-cloud. 
 Before him all life withered, and a mighty wail went up 
 to heaven. I was torn from my mother's arms, and she, 
 having had both eyes and tongue torn out by the re- 
 morseless hand of the hangman, perished with hundreds 
 of our noblest Normans, likewise mutilated, in the snake- 
 haunted dungeons of Palermo. Oh, that cry, that cry, 
 
 will the thunder of judgment ever drown the echoes 
 of her death-wail ? " 
 
 " Peace, old man peace ! There is a God in heaven, 
 
 and he is just! " 
 
 All the lights in the cathedral had gone out but one. 
 Sombre gloom pervaded the vast nave, now almost de- 
 serted, save by the Dominican, whose kneeling form 
 appeared in strange contrast to the dark shadows in the 
 uneasily flickering flame of the last taper. The friar's 
 white-haired companion had disappeared with the rest 
 of the midnight worshippers. Phantom-like the monks 
 had flitted from the shrines, when a muffled cavalier, en- 
 tering quickly and throwing off his mantle, stepped di- 
 rectly in front of Fra Domenico. 
 
 " What seeks the Duke of Altamura at this place and 
 this hour of the night?" calmly questioned the friar 
 from under his cowl, rising from his kneeling posture. 
 
 "The hour is at hand," the duke returned, in hoarse
 
 Ube flDass of tbe Dominicans 241 
 
 whispers. " The bonfires in Calabria announce the choice 
 of the Conclave." 
 
 The Dominican nodded as one in a trance. 
 
 " What wouldst thou have me do ? " he replied, in a 
 voice strained and low. 
 
 " Thy duty, and the behest of thy superiors ! " the 
 duke returned, fiercely. 
 
 " They speak not to me through thee ! Deemest thou 
 it so light a task to pronounce the damning judgment? 
 Haste it not, lest it precipitate thine own doom ! " 
 
 "Charles of Anjou has landed at Ostia!" 
 
 The Dominican nodded in silence. 
 
 " The pontiff himself has blessed the banners of Pro- 
 vence ! " 
 
 Again the silent nod. 
 
 "Boso Doaria has opened the gates of Birnio del 
 Lombardi to the Provencals ! " the duke growled, hardly 
 able to control himself at the sight of the friar's tran- 
 quillity. 
 
 A third silent nod, and Altamura's pent-up ire broke 
 through its last restraint. 
 
 "Then why in the name of the foul fiend dost thou 
 tarry? Why dost thou temporize? There are graver 
 interests at stake than the paltry misgivings of a name- 
 less friar ! Is it for this that we have planned and toiled, 
 but to be trapped at the last moment merely because the 
 instrument obeys not its master ? " 
 
 The Dominican raised his right hand. 
 
 " When the goblet is full to the brim, then only will it 
 overflow ! The legacy of Urban will be fulfilled even 
 to the letter! It is not for thee to judge the fitness of 
 the hour; thou art not yet the successor of the Caesars, 
 and thy kingdom, duke, is yet a dream."
 
 242 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 There was a momentary pause, during which the duke 
 changed his tone of command to one of abject humility. 
 
 " Friar," he spoke at last, " I will give thee riches 
 untold, thou shalt be second in the land but to the pon- 
 tiff, and if the colic becomes epidemic, friar, thou shalt 
 be his successor, under any Latin, Christian, or heathen 
 name that may please thy palate, if thou wilt but do my 
 bidding." 
 
 " I despise thy threats and I care not for thy gold," 
 the Dominican replied, coldly. " Leave me to myself ! 
 Thou canst neither hasten nor retard the tread of destiny." 
 
 " But we cannot must not dare not delay," the 
 duke replied, fiercely. " It concerns nothing less than 
 the future and the fortunes of the house of Altamura ! " 
 
 The monk gazed abstractedly into space. 
 
 " What are the fortunes of thy house to me ? " he then 
 replied, impatiently. " I have neither honours to con- 
 fer nor crowns to give away, I have not even a friend, 
 a rival, who stands in my light " 
 
 The duke turned ghastly pale at the Dominican's 
 speech, his eyes started from their sockets, and his fingers 
 convulsively grasped the hilt of his poniard, but the 
 monk, raising himself to his full height, disarmed him 
 with the icy stare of his dark eyes. Relaxing his hold 
 of the weapon and adroitly changing the subject, the 
 duke spoke with forced calmness : 
 
 "Thou art the confessor of the lady of Miraval?" 
 
 " And, if so, what is it of thy concern, Duke of Alta- 
 mura? I aspire not to become thine." 
 
 " No, it is not that," the duke faltered, as if hesi- 
 tating to express his thoughts. Then, after a brief pause, 
 he continued: "As her confessor thou canst sway her 
 soul to whatever course thou wilt, it is upon this 
 subject I would touch."
 
 Ube flDass of tbe 2>omfnicans 243 
 
 " Thou forgettest, duke ! We are not the advisers of 
 those who seek us, seek us without our asking. We 
 receive the confession, we grant absolution, the silence 
 of the grave covers the past." 
 
 The duke gazed for a moment irresolutely at the monk, 
 abashed by his determined manner. Presently a thought 
 seemed to flash through his mind. Approaching the 
 Dominican, whose eyes relaxed their vigilance not for 
 a moment, he spoke in an undertone, as if in dread of 
 the sound of his own voice : 
 
 " To be brief, monk, we have a high-born match in 
 view for her, which, if consummated, will make her the 
 proudest lady in Italy." 
 
 He broke off, for the Dominican's eyes glared like 
 those of an infuriated tiger. Stamping his foot upon 
 the floor, he hissed into the duke's face: 
 
 " What are thy plans thy matches to me ? Tell them 
 to the ravens and vultures that fatten off the carcasses 
 of thy kinswoman's rejected suitors, that they may 
 sharpen their beaks to tear out the heart of another! 
 Get thee hence, duke, ere I curse the hour that led thy 
 footsteps hither ! " 
 
 The duke controlled his anger with a supreme effort, 
 and continued : 
 
 " Nay, have patience, good monk, and if thou canst 
 not otherwise allay thy strange midnight scruples, 
 imagine this to be thy confessional, though I spurn thine 
 absolution. Now, our kinswoman, headstrong and self- 
 willed as she is, refuses to listen alike to entreaties and 
 threats, nor does she as much as vouchsafe a reason for 
 rejecting the most devoted of suitors, and our suspicions 
 point to the presence of one who exercises such a potent 
 spell over her heart that she in all truth imagines that 
 she loves him."
 
 244 Gastel bel /iDonte 
 
 " Which right thou deniest her," the monk interrupted 
 the speaker. 
 
 " Shall we cast her into the arms of the first beggar- 
 knight who attracts her roaming fancy, when she could 
 be Empress of Italy ? " 
 
 " Again, what is thy behest ? Speak or leave me ! Thou 
 poisonest the very air! Salve me, Jesu! How darest 
 thou, with the vile passions of thine unexpurgated soul 
 still palpitating within thee, how darest thou approach 
 Fra Domenico ? " 
 
 "Patience, good friar, patience! We come anon to 
 the question. The welfare of the Lombard envoy is 
 very dear to us; we would be disconsolate came he to 
 harm in the exercise of his peaceful mission. We know 
 he has sought thine advice before, renew thy warning, 
 good monk ! Meanwhile I will steel my soul to patience 
 and await thy summons, but tarry not too long, good 
 friar, lest we be tempted to usurp thine office and cheat 
 heaven out of the soul of a saint ! " 
 
 " Begone and leave me to myself," the Dominican re- 
 plied, fiercely, and the duke, after wrapping himself in 
 his long Spanish mantle and drawing the wide brim of 
 his hat over his eyes so as to completely shade his fea- 
 tures, disappeared with a mute greeting. At the same 
 moment the light of the last taper was extinguished, and 
 the cathedral was left in almost complete darkness, but 
 for the rays of the moon which stole here and there into 
 its dense, incense-saturated gloom.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CONFESSIONS 
 
 DURING the following day Ottorino enjoyed but a de- 
 gree of twilight consciousness. He afterward remem- 
 bered that he had been borne along gently but rapidly, 
 then all was lost until, opening his eyes on a terrace of 
 soft grass, numerous faces swam around him, and he had 
 a distinct recollection of a hooded nun washing his 
 wounded breast with some balmy fluid, while diverse 
 sages in black mantles and furred caps spoke in low and 
 mysterious mutterings. He remembered little more until, 
 waking with a start from deep slumbers, he found him- 
 self extended on a magnificent couch, covered with scarlet 
 velvet brocade, and propped on cushions of white satin. 
 The walls were hung with arras, wrought with repre- 
 sentations of the loves of the gods, and the furnishings 
 of the apartment were in keeping with the splendour of 
 the decorations. Among all the persons around him, 
 Ottorino recognized but one, Canaletto, though the cap- 
 tain's sober demeanour well-nigh staggered the Lombard's 
 consciousness. He began to make inquiries, which that 
 worthy for some time avoided answering, until he found 
 that his young lord was more irritated at his silence than 
 he could possibly have been at his speech. Ottorino thus 
 learned that Canaletto and Fra Cyrillo, having been en- 
 gaged in a drinking-bout, had, after many strenuous 
 
 245
 
 246 Gastel fcel /Route 
 
 efforts to put each other hors de combat, betaken them- 
 selves to the Dominican's hermitage, where they had 
 been most effectually sobered by the discovery of Otto- 
 rino's apparently lifeless form stretched upon the blood- 
 stained floor. 
 
 " I shall soon recover from the loss of blood," Otto- 
 rino replied, after a few moments of silent musing, " and, 
 unless I may right myself on those who have so foully 
 conspired, we have little further to seek in Palermo, and 
 will depart, content that our bruises are no worse." 
 
 Canaletto grunted assent. 
 
 " I shall be blamed by the mediciners for stirring you 
 up, and hark, a millet-seed against a watermelon, 
 here comes one now," he exclaimed, hearing a footstep. 
 He would have lost his wager, for the opening door 
 admitted the Dominican. 
 
 The visage of the friar was even more pale than usual, 
 and his demeanour appeared perturbed. He stood for a 
 moment irresolutely on the threshold, then, advancing 
 toward Ottorino's couch, he beckoned to Canaletto to 
 retire. 
 
 The captain refused. 
 
 " Nay, reverend father, I cannot leave my master for 
 an instant, for so I promised the gentle nun," he said. 
 
 " The nun what nun ? " The Dominican started. 
 " Have you a nun among your attendants ? " 
 
 " And I am pledged to let no one too closely approach 
 my master, or to apply any medicaments save those under 
 her own sanction," Canaletto continued, resolutely, and 
 with a suspicion in his manner, which instantly struck 
 Ottorino. 
 
 " Where are we ? " the Lombard faltered, for the first 
 time scanning his surroundings. 
 
 The Dominican cast a glance of silent wonder at the
 
 Confessions 247 
 
 questioner, then, without heeding the query, he spoke in 
 a voice resonant of trouble and anguish : 
 
 " Then even in the presence of thy stout man-at-arms 
 must I bid thee beware. I know that some frenzy has 
 deceived thee into mistrust of mine intents. Thou art 
 deaf to my predictions and warnings, deaf here in this 
 very chamber, which beheld a lover, on the eve delirious 
 with happiness, at midnight a bleeding corpse. Ah ! 
 Thou knowest the story of Corrado da Polenta, I tell 
 thee, suffer no woman, unskilful or too skilled, to ap- 
 proach thy wounds, if thou desirest to leave this ominous 
 chamber a living man." 
 
 Ottorino started up convulsively from his cushions. 
 
 " Since last we met, frate, I have had much cause to 
 remember thy warnings, faithful as the ravens. But 
 where are we ? What of these chambers ? " 
 
 " Thou art under Altamura's roof, and again I counsel 
 thee, depart from Palermo, depart in all haste! Thou 
 hast been here altogether too long; thou hast been alto- 
 gether too busy, stirring up the foul corpses in the slime, 
 and the duke sees more in thy mission than thou wouldst 
 avow. But," he added, with a shrug, " if these chambers 
 are dumb to thee, the eloquence of an angel were in 
 vain." 
 
 " Does the ointment pain you ? " Canaletto turned to 
 his master. 
 
 " On the contrary," Ottorino replied, " it soothes the 
 wound, as if the hand of love had applied it." 
 
 "Then I know not what you speak of poison and 
 drugs, for I believe the nun who visits you is none but 
 the lady of Miraval herself, as I noticed when she did 
 not believe herself watched." 
 
 " Can this be possible, after all," exclaimed Ottorino, 
 staring at the friar in blank amazement.
 
 248 Castel bel /iDonte 
 
 The latter rose to depart. 
 
 " Let this oracle remain with thee, my son ; even if the 
 fancy, or the passion, or the passing love of a woman 
 save thee now, thou art doomed only to more certain 
 destruction, which all the hooded disciples of Galenus, 
 which no human agency can prevent." 
 
 He bowed and withdrew from the apartment, while 
 Ottorino, sinking back into his cushions, relapsed into 
 his former reveries, and gradually drifted softly to sleep. 
 
 When the Dominican reached the corridor, he met two 
 disciples of that learned art whose imposing costumes 
 did much to impose upon human credulity. They were 
 accompanied by two females, one a closely veiled nun, 
 the other some grave, stately dame in black satin robe 
 and hood. The Dominican paused, eying the nun with 
 a piercing glance, to which she only replied by a rever- 
 ential bend of the head, then the four disappeared within 
 the chamber occupied by the Visconti. 
 
 The Dominican remained some time irresolute, then his 
 ear caught the sound of approaching footsteps, and, pre- 
 cipitately retreating behind a column, he peered through 
 the dusk. Crivello, the Catalan, strode by him so closely 
 that he almost touched him, disappearing in a remote 
 chamber at the end of the corridor. 
 
 The Dominican did not stir, but seemed to be revolv- 
 ing some plan in his mind. 
 
 " This Spaniard is wrapped in the very odour of death," 
 he muttered to himself. " And the credulous victim 
 trusts to a woman's love ! A woman's love ! It is a prob- 
 lem worth expounding, but was it ever solved ? " 
 
 He raised his head, as if listening. The soft jar of 
 an opening door, whispering voices, and the sound of 
 many footsteps broke into his reverie, and forthwith the 
 two sages, the nun, and her attendant went by him. He
 
 Confessions 249 
 
 waited until they had passed, then, with a deep sigh, the 
 Dominican pursued his way through an intricate laby- 
 rinth of corridors, until he found himself before a massive 
 oaken door before which he passed. 
 
 Something like a sob was faintly audible from within, 
 and without another moment's hesitation he softly opened 
 the door and entered. At the threshold, however, he 
 paused once more and stared aghast at the scene which 
 presented itself to his gaze. 
 
 It was a high, vaulted chamber, dimly lighted by tall, 
 perfumed tapers. The tapestries, hangings, and also the 
 carpets were of a rich crimson, while the ceiling was or- 
 namented with the sculpture of a period which seemed 
 to antedate the construction of the palace itself. In the 
 chamber, which seemed to serve the purpose of an oratory, 
 Helena di Miraval knelt before an iron cross, which rose 
 from the elevated flooring. Her bare arms were entwined 
 about those of the cross, while her head hung over her 
 bosom, and she was weeping with such anguish that its 
 heartrending expression moved even the monk. She did 
 not now wear the habit of the cloister, but a loose gown 
 of soft, dark texture, and so wrapt was she in her grief 
 that she neither heard the Dominican enter, nor became 
 aware of his presence till he stood almost before her, 
 uttering the greeting of the brotherhood. 
 
 Helena started up, and at first she was so amazed at 
 having had an unexpected witness of her sorrow that 
 she changed colour repeatedly, while she dashed away 
 the tears which were streaming down her face. 
 
 " Thy pardon, father," she then faltered. " I thought 
 I was alone with my grief, and had no witness but heaven. 
 I did not hear thee enter, but perhaps it is as well. Be 
 seated, father, and forget what thou hast seen, for my 
 grief is great."
 
 25 Castel >el fl&onte 
 
 " There is no grief, no sorrow, which Holy Church can- 
 not mitigate, daughter. If it be the fault of another, 
 she may mediate ; if the cause lies within thyself, she may 
 counsel and strengthen. Thou weepest for one conva- 
 lescent under this very roof ? " 
 
 The monk had by degrees assumed his usual austere 
 demeanour, and this discomposed Helena almost as much 
 as his perspicuity. 
 
 " Thou knowest, father," she faltered ; then, as if 
 ashamed of her weakness, she covered her face with her 
 hands and was silent. 
 
 The Dominican watched her for a few moments, and 
 so intense was the stillness in the room that the beatings 
 of their hearts could have been heard. 
 
 " Even so," the monk at last spoke slowly and relent- 
 lessly. " Even so ! What is there between thee and 
 him?" 
 
 " I have been maligned to him, father. He loathes and 
 despises me, yes, he even hinted that I had come to 
 poison him," and, as if the memory was too much, Helena 
 broke down and wept in silence. 
 
 Whatever the friar's feelings were, his pale visage did 
 not betray them, as he replied: 
 
 "Who is the author of this fateful dirge? Poison 
 him ? In whose interest could be such a deed ? But how 
 earnest thou to know the knight's thoughts ? " 
 
 " It was into my face he hurled the accusation, father, 
 and, as for its author, I guess him but too well." 
 
 " To thy face, daughter ? " the monk exclaimed, with 
 feigned surprise. " The Lombard is confined to his cham- 
 ber, how could that be ? " 
 
 " I entered his apartment," Helena stammered, blush- 
 ing and embarrassed. " It was but to see that he was
 
 Confessions 25* 
 
 wanting for nothing. Surely, that was no crime, but, 
 if it was, I found the chastisement even in the offence ! " 
 
 " Distinguendum est inter et inter, thy sex often 
 mistakes regret for repentance. But thou art strangely 
 pale, daughter, or is there more behind all this than thy 
 speech acknowledges ? " 
 
 " Father, thou hadst warned me ! Oh, had I but taken 
 heed ! It stings my proud soul to the quick to think 
 that his love should have changed into hate and scorn ! " 
 
 " Love hate scorn ? Of what speak we ? Of 
 whom speak we ? " said the monk, turning very pale and 
 gazing at the woman before him with a degree of fierce- 
 ness which almost deprived her of the last degree of 
 composure. 
 
 " The Visconti saved my life ! I loved him when first 
 his haughty gaze fell upon me; I was the first, the only 
 woman to conquer his proud heart. Some dark agency 
 has sown distrust between us, for to mine entreaties he 
 vouchsafed no response; I have lost him lost him 
 and yet I know not how, nor why ! " 
 
 She spoke hurriedly, in almost inarticulate gasps, and 
 her words died away in a wail of anguish. 
 
 "And for this, then, thou hadst him brought hither," 
 the Dominican replied, slowly, " to make him reap the 
 deserts of his faithlessness ? " 
 
 Helena stared a moment at the speaker ere the whole 
 enormity of his words struck her. 
 
 " Holy Virgin ! I would rather perish in despair and 
 misery than that aught of ill should befall him." 
 
 " He rests in a likely chamber, a chamber with a 
 history/' the Dominican replied, darkly. "And if the 
 ground should open under him at midnight, strange 
 spectres crowd his couch and make his breath un- 
 easy, he would fain think it nothing strange, after the
 
 252 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 shameless sight he beheld at the Carnival, when the lady 
 of Miraval appeared in so evil a role. Marry, I do not 
 wonder that the feelings of thy Lombard have changed 
 from love to hate ! " 
 
 " Carnival evil part ? Thou art deceived, father, 
 thou, too, with the Visconti and many others. No 
 matter what offence I have committed, of this, at least, 
 I am not guilty. It is another of my sex who imper- 
 sonated the fairy, exposing a beauty equal to mine 
 to the lascivious gaze of the rabble. But what of this 
 chamber? Knowest thou of any peril threatening him 
 within these walls ? " 
 
 The Dominican laughed sarcastically, but was silent. 
 
 " Jest not in a matter like this ! Thou knowest, 
 new horrors, more blood, will the direful gulf never 
 close ? Speak, father, or his blood be on thy head ! " 
 
 The friar staggered, raising his hands as if to ward 
 off a blow. 
 
 " On my head ? On my head ? My burden is now 
 almost greater than I can bear. I know of naught, 
 but if thou hast the least fear, the remotest foreboding, 
 trust him not to remain one night alone ! After thou 
 hast done this, renounce him renounce him for aye 
 and ever! He can never belong to thee. A Visconti 
 can never mingle his blood with the accursed race of 
 Altamura. The past cries out against thee, and the 
 heavens frown upon your union. Drive this unholy pas- 
 sion from thy heart, daughter, a convent, the seclusion 
 of the cloister, is the only safety for Helena di Miraval ! 
 Madden me not with thy refusal, else revel out thy 
 dream in the everlasting flames ! Ay, something 
 prompts me that it were holy work to stop thine onward 
 rush even with death ! " shouted the monk, convul- 
 sively.
 
 Contesstons 253 
 
 " What meanest thou ? What sayest them ? " ex- 
 claimed Helena, starting at the strange words of the 
 Dominican. " Is it a crime to love ? Is it a crime to 
 choose the one to whom that immortal spark of our 
 existence, borrowed from the sacred fires of heaven, 
 draws us, rather than suffer with loathing the unwel- 
 come embrace of another? But what knowest thou of 
 love, thou, a monk, to whom it is a sealed book for ever? 
 My heart knows no sin in this, my love, and I will love 
 him if all the powers of darkness stand between him and 
 me now and for ever." 
 
 A deadly pallor had overspread Helena di Miraval's 
 countenance as defiantly she faced the Dominican with 
 the majesty of a queen, her eyes flashing unalterable 
 resolve. 
 
 The monk staggered as if he had been dealt a deadly 
 blow, and drew his cowl deeper over his face, as if to 
 hide its unearthly pallor. Frightened at her own words, 
 Helena approached him with a supplicating gesture, 
 timidly touching the hem of his robe. 
 
 " Forgive me, father," she faltered, " forgive me ! I 
 knew not what I said. But the anguish within me is so 
 keen, and the terror of my soul nearly stifles me! Oh, 
 speak, answer me, father! Thou frightenest me! If I 
 have committed an offence, what penance holy virgin ! 
 he is struck with death ! " 
 
 The monk raised his head. 
 
 " Peace peace ! Nothing ails me, fasting and too 
 long thoughts of this anguish. Salve me, Jesu, I am 
 going ! " 
 
 For a moment he paused, drawing a deep breath. 
 
 "Love fate renunciation," he then muttered, 
 starting as if waking from a dream. " It was not to be, 
 it was not to be ! Fare thee well, Helena di Miraval.
 
 254 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 Thou shalt not have further need of a confessor. When 
 we meet again it will be before a higher tribunal. Fare 
 thee well!" 
 
 And raising his hands as if pronouncing a benediction, 
 the Dominican left Helena di Miraval to muse over his 
 strange words and stranger actions.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE TORTURE - CHAMBER 
 
 IT was brightening into dawn, and the first faint 
 glimmer which entered the torture-chamber in the Torre 
 del Diavolo lighted the livid, passion marred face of Alta- 
 mura. The duke was engaged in earnest discourse with 
 his fair captive, who, seated on an instrument of torture 
 resembling a cross with joints and steel screws, was 
 calmly reasoning against a suspicion which, it seemed, 
 had caused this early visit, namely, that the superstitious 
 castellan had suffered some one in the garb of a monk 
 to enter within the forbidden gates. 
 
 " Nay, with mine own eyes have I beheld him," the 
 duke exclaimed, impatiently interrupting her. " I 
 watched him from the Campanile to the secret entrance, 
 and I will know who he is and who gives him the means 
 of entrance. Crivello denies all part therein, but I will 
 know, or the rack on which you lean shall fail for the 
 first time." 
 
 Francesca smiled with disdain at the cruel instrument, 
 and replied, carelessly: 
 
 " Are men to be thus subdued, by fleshly torments 
 only?" 
 
 "And feign you that your woman's form would not 
 shrink from the ordeal ? " returned the duke, with a 
 strange glare. 
 
 *5S
 
 256 Gastel fcel /Route 
 
 " I have a torture within that mocks at all things of 
 fear and anguish," replied Francesca. The door opened 
 as she spoke, and admitted Crivello and the Dominican. 
 
 " Your pardon, father, for disturbing your rest ere 
 cock's crow, the student's hour," the duke said, with grave 
 irony. " For I doubt not it was disturbed, how, Cri- 
 vello?" 
 
 " I found the father at his devotions," the Catalan re- 
 plied, reverently. 
 
 " I will not long interrupt them, if my questions are 
 answered as I shall put them," said the duke. " Tell me, 
 good friar, is my memory at fault, or are you not the 
 same one who released from his vows the black monk, 
 and suffered him to aid me in a work which I have much 
 at heart?" 
 
 " It was I who suffered him to aid thee in a work 
 which I have much at heart, and whereof thou art the 
 destined but blind instrument," the Dominican replied, 
 with significance. " I did not think the time so near 
 at hand then, and yet when the summons came I was 
 praying for the earliest moment when I could be released 
 from every bond in the flesh and commence the predes- 
 tined toil. Ay, and it is I who will conjure up before 
 thee the sepulchral shapes of thy mangled victims, it is 
 I who will guide the pale shade of that fair-haired bay 
 into thy sleepless midnight, it is I who will make thee 
 so utterly desperate that thou shalt seek the tombs of 
 the dead as a resting-place from thy never-ending 
 terrors ! " 
 
 " Monk what ravest thou ? " exclaimed Francesca, 
 with a gesture full of warning and terror. 
 
 "Truths which the rack would not extort from me, 
 lady, and therefore I fear not ! Yes, Duke of Altamura, 
 the devils themselves were wroth listening to the audience
 
 Ube Uortttte*Cbamber 257 
 
 of thy crimes. Henceforth thou art at my mercy, since 
 them darest not destroy the vessel which contains the 
 lightnings of heaven, since the fiends that haunt thee will 
 not permit thee to compel thy kinswoman's choice ! Thou 
 hast but one refuge, to destroy the power 'gainst whom 
 we are leagued and to kneel at the feet of the Holy 
 Father, to receive what it shall please him to give 
 thee ! " 
 
 " Monk demon ! It cannot be that I dream ! " ex- 
 claimed the duke, gasping for breath and tossing back 
 from his brow his damp hair. " I to lose my clutch on 
 destiny? Thou hast early intelligence, or whence thy 
 wisdom ? " 
 
 His agitation bathed the duke's brows in continued 
 rushes of cold perspiration and shook his form with the 
 convulsive starts and shiverings of an ague. After a 
 pause he continued: 
 
 " If this be true, thou hast accomplices even here 
 among ourselves, or art thou a magician, too, familiar 
 of hell? I know it, thou art, for I beheld thine ac- 
 cursed visage in a swoon in the ruins where thou dwell- 
 est!" 
 
 "Then thou mightest have spared thyself the pains 
 to ask," replied the unmoved monk. 
 
 " Whence thy daring, friar ? " the duke exclaimed, 
 furiously. " But I shall know it ere we part ! Confess 
 who has stirred thee on to play this strange and perse- 
 vering part, confess, or I will find a way to make 
 thee!" 
 
 " Bring thy tortures, bring thy racks and thy burning 
 irons, the wild beast's fang, boiling oil and molten lead, 
 thou canst not harm me! Behind me stands the power 
 of Rome, that will crush thee like vermin if thou rebel.
 
 258 castel Del flDonte 
 
 But I am calm now ! The barriers of doubt are passed, 
 and death has no terrors for Fra Domenico." 
 
 " Friar, thou art made of the stuff which I need in 
 my designs," ejaculated the duke, his desperate thoughts 
 gleaming madly in his eyes. " Were the moment but 
 ripe! Thou shalt be pontiff, thou shalt sit in the chair 
 of St. Peter, another emperor shall bend his knees 
 before thee at Canossa, standing three days with bare 
 feet in Alpine snows, thou shalt hurl the anathema 'gainst 
 the princes of the earth, if thou wilt but avow the means 
 by which secrets are known to thee which even hell 
 would not dare to dream of." 
 
 " Hast thou the pontificate to give away, duke, or the 
 thrones of the earth ? " the Dominican replied, derisively. 
 
 " Then shall the tortures wrest thine accomplice from 
 thee, for with mine own eyes have I seen thee enter this 
 tower at midnight, and, by the fiends, I'll know the 
 purpose ! " 
 
 " Use thy tortures ! I am all marble now, and refuse 
 to answer thy questions ! " 
 
 " Ferrando, whether from the angels or the fiends, 
 thou thyself knowest the power of the friar," said Fran- 
 cesca, amazed at the Dominican's dangerous revelations. 
 
 " Why, then it was an angel I beheld opening the 
 entrance to the tombs below, yea, it wore thy form," 
 returned the duke, gazing fiercely upon her, clutching 
 her hand and dashing it away. " Thou thou, too, hast 
 betrayed me ! I see it all now ! That Lombard puppet 
 is but the spy of thy kinsman, who dared not beard me 
 openly, but I have provided against even this stroke of 
 treason and ingratitude." 
 
 " Spy, treason, ingratitude ? Monster, thou who 
 shed a gloom around the name of an innocent woman to 
 further thy fiendish ends! Monster! And my life,
 
 Ube Uorture * Cbamber 259 
 
 my destroyed name and fame, I could slay thee with 
 my own hands ! " cried Francesca, starting and standing 
 before the duke in an attitude of wild and utter defiance. 
 
 " We shall learn of this anon," cried the duke, his eyes 
 flaming with diabolical and frenzied brilliancy, but the 
 woman's despair had passed all thoughts of fear. 
 
 " Barest thou speak aught 'gainst the gray hairs of him 
 whose heart I have broken, seducer and destroyer that 
 thou art? If all thy crimes obtain their just revenge, 
 the fiend himself must abdicate his tortures to thee ! But 
 do thy worst ! I smile to think that thy kinswoman is at 
 last warned against thy destructive craft, and thine in- 
 tended victim, the Lombard, has escaped thee ! " 
 
 There was a long and dreadful silence, during which 
 the duke gazed steadfastly at his companions. 
 
 " Lead them both away," he said, at last, to the Cata- 
 lan, starting as if from a dream. " My brain is on fire, 
 and since their madness laughs at the paltry tortures 
 around us, we will devise others. Take them away, 
 Crivello, out of my sight! Magic they shall indeed 
 have need of, if either of them leave these walls again 
 alive!" 
 
 " Farewell, then," said Francesca, calming suddenly 
 from her fury. " But not below, it should be here ! It 
 would be an expiation to perish by thy hand! Kill me 
 here, Ferrando, I can die as calmly by thy hand as 
 the lamb that has followed the butcher to the slaughter- 
 house!" 
 
 " And therefore thou shalt not ! " replied the duke. 
 " Away with them both to the dungeons beneath the 
 vaults ! " 
 
 " Dare to lay thy blood-stained hands on Fra Domen- 
 ico," the friar spoke, raising himself to his full height, 
 while his eyes flashed fire and his pale features appeared
 
 260 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 more haggard than before, " and I will hurl thee to thy 
 doom ere another moon has been born in the skies ! " 
 
 "Away with them, ere I forget myself," raged the 
 duke, and Crivello, not daring to intercede for the Do- 
 minican, humbly obeyed. Returning in an excess of 
 perturbation, which kept his whole frame in an aspen 
 tremble, he found the duke so lost in thought that it 
 was several minutes ere he noticed his entrance. 
 
 " My lord, and is all lost ? " he said, at last, in a 
 hollow whisper. 
 
 "Lost? What is lost? She only knows what she ever 
 suspected, but she dares not betray the secret ! " the duke 
 exclaimed, noticing the words, but scarcely the speaker. 
 " Away ! Nothing is lost while I remain myself. She 
 will weave it as a spell of terror round my head ; yet, 
 deem you we were not enjoying our siesta in the dun- 
 geons of Palermo if the king believed or knew this tale? 
 With his own hands would he avenge that fair-haired 
 boy, e'en though his life would have overshadowed his 
 throne. But I tell you all goes well. I have already 
 foiled them all," continued the duke, in a sort of delirious 
 vivacity. " The king trusts us because he hears the 
 rumbling under the cover of our loyalty; played we in 
 truth the hypocrite, we would long have been smothered 
 by the weight of suspicion. As for our secret alliance 
 with Anjou, I need but the proof of his plotting to 
 force from him the lever that shall lift the Latin world. 
 Think you I rave, Crivello ? Think so for a day ! " 
 
 " Might we not learn all we have to fear from the 
 prisoners below?" replied Crivello, with a significant 
 glance at the instruments of torture. 
 
 " You are mistaken, Catalan, these terrors cannot move 
 them in their present frenzy," the duke said, hurriedly. 
 " I know not why, but even her fierce spirit against
 
 Uorture Cbamber 261 
 
 me kindled me with a sort of pity. I would not have 
 her fine limbs marred and shattered with these wrenching 
 pangs." 
 
 " Hunger and thirst might do something, and yet not 
 harm her beyond repair," remarked the worthy Castellan 
 of the Torre. " I have known thirst very grievous to 
 bear, and hers would be the more clinging since the 
 Oreto flows beneath her dungeon bars." 
 
 " Deny her nothing ! It is the mind, not the body, we 
 must assail," returned the duke, sternly. " But some one 
 is knocking for admission! Our expected guest, per- 
 chance, admit him, Crivello, and conduct him hither. 
 These racks are strangely truth inspiring, even as the 
 presence of one's confessor ! " 
 
 The Catalan disappeared, and after a brief interval, 
 during which the duke paced the gloomy chamber with 
 rapid strides, he returned with the Count of San Severino. 
 The Apulian recoiled in horror at the sight of the equip- 
 ments, among which the duke moved as carelessly as 
 if they constituted his daily pastime. Upon recognizing 
 his early visitor, the duke, with a grim smile, bade him 
 be seated. 
 
 " What a gruesome abode ! " San Severino remarked, 
 with a shudder, vainly endeavouring to appear uncon- 
 cerned, and wincing under Altamura's serpent gaze. 
 
 " A theatre fit to stage its drama," the duke replied, 
 with a supercilious smile. " But thou comest as if the 
 wish had summoned thee. The old raven was croaking 
 sorely. Suspects he nothing ? " 
 
 " Nothing ! " was the laconic reply, while San Severino 
 uneasily scanned his surroundings. 
 
 " And he left convinced ? " 
 
 A hideous smile lit up the Apulian's features. 
 
 " He came to the grotto prepared to see ! "
 
 262 Gastel fcel flDonte 
 
 Altamura nodded approval. 
 
 " Caserta will work out his own revenge and ours." 
 
 " The avalanche has started that shall hurl the Hohen- 
 staufen to their doom," San Severino, slightly reassured 
 by the duke's seemingly preoccupied air, replied with 
 grim satisfaction. " But I came on a matter to me of 
 graver import, the fulfilment of our compact ! " 
 
 " The fulfilment of our compact ! " the duke repeated, 
 with deliberate slowness. " Is the hour so near at hand ? " 
 
 " Love annihilates time ! " the Apulian exclaimed, with 
 a show of bravado, rising suddenly, then reseating him- 
 self. 
 
 The duke regarded his visitor with a strange look. 
 
 " Thou admirest our kinswoman's shape ! I fear she 
 is less fond of thine. She has never evinced passion for 
 bones either in fish or flesh." 
 
 San Severino coloured to his very temples. 
 
 " By San Gennaro, duke, the jest goes too far! " 
 
 The duke laughed. 
 
 "What wouldst thou have, San Severino? I fear we 
 do not quite comprehend each other. Speak out, man, 
 speak boldly, for none hears thee save the devil, thy 
 sponsor, and Altamura, thy friend ! " 
 
 " Truly, thou art in a most jocund mood," the Apulian 
 growled, with ill-concealed vexation. " Caserta has seen 
 Manfred and Violanthe; I crave the hand of the lady 
 of Miraval, which thou hast promised me in no uncertain 
 terms ! " 
 
 " Thou sayest I promised thee the hand of the lady 
 of Miraval ! " the duke spoke, after a brief pause. " I 
 told thee, go and woo her, if she will have thee for her 
 husband I bless the union. Hast thou done according?" 
 
 "Have I done according?" exclaimed the Apulian, 
 with flashing eyes. " Ask thy Spanish man-at-arms what
 
 Uorture * Gbamber 263 
 
 befell the most devoted of suitors on the threshold of 
 his lady's chamber. I will kill the varlet, I have sworn 
 it!" 
 
 " Thou art quite right ! " the duke replied, with a 
 sneering smile. " Why shouldst thou pine for unrequited 
 love, since God created woman in his ire? But hopest 
 thou in very truth that the Duke of Altamura will force 
 his kinswoman to wed against her will ? " 
 
 " Your Grace is pleased to make me a fool and a 
 mock ! I care not how I win the lady, whether it be 
 with her consent or without, nor is it too late to whis- 
 per a word in Caserta's ear." 
 
 " With her consent or without," repeated the duke, 
 absently, as if struck with some dark thought. Then, 
 seating himself opposite his visitor on an instrument of 
 torture, he gazed abstractedly at the dark curtain behind 
 San Severino. Just then the head of Crivello peered 
 through, his eyes fixed upon his master as if for some 
 signal. The duke nodded, and Crivello disappeared. 
 
 " Perchance the lady may repent of her harshness and 
 consent to receive the bird she has rejected into her bower. 
 But I tell thee, count, rather than wed this lady, were 
 she Dame Venus herself, I would wed the fiend's eldest 
 daughter, with damnation for her dowry ! " 
 
 " Were she even that, and death the high priest to 
 solemnize our nuptials, I would go to my grave with 
 rapture if only her beauty shared it with me," replied 
 the unmoved Apulian. 
 
 The duke shrugged his shoulders, while a sardonic 
 smile played around his lips. 
 
 " Ye cannot blame some eggs for hatching crocodiles, 
 though perchance it is the devil's masterpiece." 
 
 San Severino's dismal aspect acknowledged the effect
 
 264 Castei fcel /iDonte 
 
 of the duke's observation, and the latter, receiving no 
 reply to his eulogy, continued: 
 
 " It cannot be her maiden modesty that gives thy love 
 such frosty sunshine, thus preventing thee from becom- 
 ing fortune's idiot. It is in vain to deny what the whole 
 world whispers, ask me not whence I derive my 
 knowledge. Once more, San Severino, let thy request 
 wait the hour. The lady may repent." 
 
 " The party of San Severino did not conclude as advan- 
 tageous a peace with Frederick's bastard as the Duke of 
 Altamura! I demand the immediate fulfilment of the 
 promised nuptials." 
 
 "What wouldst thou have, San Severino? The iron 
 crown of Lombardy, the Holy Grail, or the eye-teeth of 
 the caliph? Deemest thou the lady of Miraval so obe- 
 dient?" 
 
 " Once thou wert not wont to ask her pleasure ! " 
 
 " That was ere that cursed Lombard, on whom she 
 squanders her doting fancies, came to Palermo. But for 
 the sincerity of my intents, this confidence may vouch, 
 and, moreover, I frankly avow that, if I saw not my 
 own interests in thine, I should have sought my allies 
 in some other quarter. Heed not my humours, strange 
 as they may seem, for women are ever a thorn in my 
 side. But, is it possible, thou wearest steel beneath 
 satin ? " the duke concluded, with a sneer, as San Sever- 
 ino's silken doublet, parting at the throat owing to the 
 defective fastening of the clasp, revealed a coat of linked 
 mail beneath. 
 
 " I do," the Apulian replied, stung to the quick by this 
 hidden taunt, "and take antidotes before all meals, and 
 sleep in chambers so well barred and locked that even 
 the invisible slayers of the youth Enrico can hardly 
 come at my throat"
 
 Ube Uorture * Cbamber 265 
 
 "And thou dost well," the duke slowly replied, while 
 he rose, and a sinister light gleamed in his eyes, " for 
 he who aspires to the love of our kinswoman is apt to 
 clasp the burning hand of the devil in the leaves instead 
 of the golden fruit. Ho, Crivello " 
 
 Before the import of Altamura's speech dawned on the 
 outwitted tool of the duke's intrigues, he heard the rush 
 of armed feet, and ere another word was spoken he felt 
 his arms clutched on both sides and found himself sur- 
 rounded by a group of Crivello's Catalans. 
 
 " Nay, look not so black, San Severino, 'tis but 
 thine executioners who stand behind thee," Altamura 
 sneered, as with arms folded across his chest he eyed his 
 victim. " Ha ! Thou didst well to trust thyself in the 
 lion's den. It is not too late to whisper a word in 
 Caserta's ear? I will send thee to hell, San Severino, 
 for the devil to make sport of thy soul, but ere thou 
 goest my strangler shall make sport of thy carcass ! " 
 
 Every trace of colour deserted the cheeks of the trapped 
 dupe of Altamura at these terrible words. 
 
 " May then my curse overtake thee on the loftiest pin- 
 nacle of thy misbegotten power and damn thee below 
 Cain, thy prototype," yelled the infuriated nobleman, 
 making a desperate effort to spring at his betrayer, but 
 the men-at-arms locked him too firmly in their grasp. 
 
 " I have slept calmly under a mountain of woman's 
 curses, and I do not think men's weigh much heavier," 
 replied the duke, with a shrug. " Away with him ! " 
 
 After the doomed Apulian had been led away by his 
 captors, the duke remained for a few moments alone, 
 awaiting Crivello's return. The Catalan soon reentered 
 the chamber with a significant nod. 
 
 "The Lombard still living? " The duke turned to his 
 follower. " Thou hast wondrous ill luck, Don Crivello,
 
 266 Castel Set A&onte 
 
 wondrous ill luck! Remain in the Torre and keep sure 
 watch, and have thou the thousand eyes of Argus on 
 what passes here ; let all who wish to enter come in, 
 but let no one depart ! " The duke then wrapped himself 
 in his mantle and abruptly left the chamber. The cas- 
 tellan, after a last parting glance at his retreating form, 
 disappeared in the dark recesses of the Torre del Dia- 
 volo. 
 
 Entering upon a narrow, winding path, which was 
 completely obscured from view by overhanging branches 
 and thickly entwined shrubbery, the duke was soon lost 
 amidst the trees and underbrush of the vale of the Oreto. 
 The dark outlines of the monastery of the Capuchins, 
 with its huge subterranean galleries of mummified monks, 
 widening here and there into spacious halls, unroofed and 
 open to the air of heaven, were reflected against the clear 
 blue sky. Toward this romantic labyrinth the duke 
 wended his steps. Gradually the path began to slope 
 between horizontally rising walls of rock, whence orange- 
 trees sent their luxuriant shoots upward to greet the 
 light. Here and there the wild fig burst from the living 
 rock, mixed with lentisk and pendent caper-plants. Old 
 olive-trees split the mosses of perpendicular cliffs with 
 their corded, tough, and snakelike roots, while the pome- 
 granates gleamed flamelike amidst the foliage of lustrous 
 green. The ivy hung in long festoons, waving like tap- 
 estry in the breath of stealthy breezes. The curly leaves 
 of a tangle of acanthus gave scant admission to the rays 
 of the noonday sun, which flooded with golden haze the 
 surrounding groves and loggias. In the far perspective 
 the cloisters of Monreale, with their adjacent cypress- 
 groves, stood out in clear silhouette against the horizon. 
 
 The duke entered the loggia, the deserted appearance 
 of which justified the theory that it served as an abode
 
 Ubc torture *<Ibamber 267 
 
 of crime, or worse. Soon after, strange, muffled forms 
 were to be seen approaching the lonely villa and disap- 
 pearing in its dark recesses. One by one they came, and 
 after some twenty had made the descent the influx ceased 
 and no sound of human tread broke the noonday stillness. 
 
 The moon was shining brightly in cloudless heavens 
 when the duke, the last to emerge, stepped from the 
 loggia. Nodding approval at the deserted state of the 
 Locanda, he was about to retrace his steps toward the 
 Torre, when he recoiled as if he had been bitten by a 
 snake, for before him, as if they had risen from the 
 bowels of the earth, stood the two Moorish hags. Upon 
 recognizing him they instantly bowed with many gro- 
 tesque Oriental bends, but the lurking scorn on the blue 
 lips of the one, the viperous glitter in the black eyes of 
 the other, would have caused alarm in a heart less stout 
 than that of the duke. 
 
 " Good even, sisters of hell, what seek ye on hallowed 
 ground at this hour ? " he burst forth, as soon as he had 
 recognized the noble pair. 
 
 The older gave a dark and lowering scowl, pursing up 
 her thin lips, while the younger smiled more terribly. 
 
 " We seek an herb which grows but on the graves of 
 suicides and murderers," she said. " Our star guided us 
 hither, though our search has just begun." 
 
 Glancing with mingled loathing and terror at their 
 fiendish countenances, the duke abruptly commanded 
 them to declare for whom they were gathering the noc- 
 turnal herb. 
 
 " It is for the noble duke," the younger of the sisters 
 declared. " Our star has told us that the noble duke 
 will shortly require a potion, and it must be brewed under 
 influences which require some delay. We have brewed it
 
 268 Gastel fcel fl&onte 
 
 for many generations of men in one century of time, we, 
 who have seen three generations from cradle to tomb." 
 
 A suspicion flashed across the duke's mind, and he 
 asked, quickly : 
 
 " Mean ye a love potion, nocturnal sisters, something 
 to overcome coldness, indifference, aversion ? " 
 
 The two hags looked at each other with a sinister smile, 
 which strengthened the duke's suspicions. 
 
 " Hags ! Fiends ! " he burst out, in sudden fury. " Is 
 it for the lady in the Torre ye are using -your nightly 
 skill? Confess it, or, by your false prophet, I will 
 have ye smoked out of your devil's garden ere the moon 
 be two hours older ! " 
 
 " Pillar of wisdom," said the elder, with a grotesque 
 bow, " we brew not for the lady, we brew for thee, noble 
 duke. Thou wilt require our art to silence the shades 
 who rise from their graves at the dread midnight hour, 
 and they demand a victim." 
 
 The duke shuddered. 
 
 " I know something of your art ; I know ye have dire- 
 ful secrets. Ancient women, do ye but jest or make vaunt 
 of a knowledge ye do not possess? Who is it ye are 
 weaving this spell for?" 
 
 The sorceresses looked at each other as if taking silent 
 counsel, then the one who had been the spokeswoman 
 replied with a bow : 
 
 " That we may not reveal. But if your Grace will 
 deign to accept the proof of our skill, and we have 
 secrets to make the very fiend beautiful, the castellan 
 wishes us well " 
 
 " I care naught to have the fiend beautified," replied 
 the duke, "but," he added, as if struck with a certain 
 thought, " if ye could procure some elixir of a tran- 
 scendent power, I would reward your toil as richly as
 
 Ube TTorture * Cbamber 269 
 
 a dying king the physician who restores him to life and 
 health." 
 
 " You tax our skill too lightly, glorious duke ; the es- 
 sence you require is one of the least of the secrets we 
 possess." 
 
 The duke mused profoundly for several minutes, the 
 two sisters watching him with intense eagerness, but 
 when he raised his eyes and encountered the gray, malig- 
 nant twinkle in the snakelike orbs of the older, he gave 
 a start, and the same undefined suspicion seemed to re- 
 enter his mind. 
 
 " Spare thine eloquence," he said ; " what I see of 
 thy skill, that will I believe, but be well assured that the 
 ingredients of your charm work their unpronounced in- 
 tent, else worse will happen to yourselves than even the 
 torture-chambers ye have seen wot of." Again the hags 
 looked at each other in silence, but, bending low, the elder 
 said, with Oriental apathy: 
 
 " The noble duke was born to command, and we to 
 obey."
 
 CHAPTER X: 
 
 THE SPECTRE OF THE TORRE 
 
 IT was a day or two after these events, and an hour 
 or two after sunset. 
 
 Crivello the castellan was fretfully perambulating in a 
 gallery of the Torre del Diavolo, examining doors and 
 windows, and at times pausing to listen, when suddenly 
 he felt a hand upon his shoulder. Starting around, he 
 beheld a muffled figure, the brim of the broad Spanish 
 hat drawn deeply over his eyes. His hand flew to his 
 poniard, but the stranger raised the broad lapels of his 
 hat, disclosing the features of Altamura. 
 
 " Hope has a light step, for I have walked in your 
 tracks these minutes and yet you caught no echo," said 
 the duke. " Be not amazed at my sudden appearance. 
 How fares San Severino ? " 
 
 " He has been seized with a sudden and most dangerous 
 colic," replied the castellan, gravely. 
 
 " He must recover, Crivello, hear you, he must re- 
 cover! We have promised his carcass to Zem to make 
 sport with ; we would not cheat the African out of his pas- 
 time. But strange words the king has spoken in hearing 
 of a friend of mine," the duke continued, gloomily. " I 
 tell you, Crivello, we have no time to lose! Vengeance 
 speeds fast! We will take the monk from his tortures 
 
 270
 
 Ube Spectre of tbe Uorre 271 
 
 and give him breath for awhile; perhaps he may prove 
 more pliant and willing- to execute our behests ! " 
 
 Crivello stared at the duke, but spoke not. 
 
 " What ails you, captain ? Have you seen a spectre 
 in these dungeons ? " 
 
 " Ay a spectre I have seen, your Grace and the 
 monk has disappeared." 
 
 " The monk has disappeared ? " echoed the duke, turn- 
 ing pale with rage. " Then you too have dared to disobey 
 me?" 
 
 " Nay, my lord, I have not relaxed my watchfulness 
 one moment since your Grace left the castle." 
 
 " And you have no inkling of the monk's opportuni- 
 ties?" 
 
 " I examined every crack and crevice in the wall ; not 
 a bat could escape! It is a miracle." 
 
 " It will be a miracle if you keep your head on your 
 shoulders ! What of the Moorish wanton ? " 
 
 " She is dying fast ; the air of the dungeons is very 
 withering when one is young, and her thoughts eat into 
 her. It would be an act of mercy to put her out of her 
 misery," concluded the tender-hearted castellan. 
 
 " It cannot be the dungeon air, for Franceses lives," 
 the duke replied, pensively, disregarding Crivello's sug- 
 gestion. 
 
 "Ay, my lord, the lady Francesca hath some great 
 hope to comfort her, though it is hardly something 
 heavenly, since she laughs aloud when I bid her think of 
 repentance." 
 
 " Lead me to the monk's dungeon, we will convince 
 ourselves in person," the duke said, abruptly, and the 
 castellan, though he crossed himself repeatedly, instantly 
 obeyed and led the way to a subterranean cell at so great
 
 272 Castel fcei flDonte 
 
 a depth that all the light was lost, and the air smelled 
 foul and rank, as in a sepulchre. 
 
 The duke entered the friar's dungeon alone, taking 
 the lamp from the castellan and requesting him to wait 
 outside. Even with the aid of the light, which shed a 
 pale and sickly glimmer through the noisome air, it was 
 some moments ere he could discern the objects in the 
 interior of the cell. A block, a heavy chain, a rude 
 bench were seen, but no human being, and the silence 
 of death was broken only by the regular trickling of a 
 drop of water which oozed through a crevice in the wall, 
 and fell unceasingly with the same eternal monotony of 
 splash. Listening for a few moments, and finding him- 
 self alone, the duke carefully traversed the chamber, 
 and examined every stone, touching them with the hilt 
 of his poniard, then he shook his head half incredulously, 
 half in wonder, and slowly backed out, letting the door 
 fall into the lock with such force that the metallic clang 
 resounded ominously through the dark corridors. The 
 castellan was waiting outside in the darkness, trembling 
 with fear, for, while caring no more for a human life than 
 that of a fly, Crivello had a marvellous dread of the 
 powers of the nether world. The duke cast a fearful 
 glance at his follower as he handed him the light, and they 
 traversed in silence the dark corridor leading to the wind- 
 ing stairs. 
 
 "Crivello, this is some jeer of the fiend, or you 
 are a traitor ! " Altamura said, at last, riveting his gaze 
 upon the castellan's pale visage, then suddenly clutch- 
 ing him by the throat. 
 
 " My lord, as I live, I know not by what miracle he 
 has escaped," gasped Crivello, endeavouring to free him- 
 self from the iron vice, when suddenly he threw up 
 both hands and uttered a loud shriek.
 
 Ube Spectre ot tbe TTorre 273 
 
 The duke glared around with burning eyes, his fingers 
 relaxing their hold around the Castellan's throat; he 
 stared pale and speechless at the uncanny apparition 
 which, apparently unconscious of not being alone, slowly 
 advanced toward them, muttering and mumbling with 
 strange gestures. A second look made even the duke 
 commend his soul to the keeping of the saints, for in the 
 bent and muffled figure he recognized none other than 
 the black penitent ; he wore a hooded cover over his head, 
 and walked almost bent double, while his white beard, 
 protruding from under the seemingly eyeless mask, 
 seemed to sweep the ground. 
 
 Listening intently, the duke distinguished some words 
 of his most dismal soliloquy, as he slowly approached, 
 dragging his sandalled feet after him, his steps grating 
 on the sandstone. 
 
 " Fiend, thou liest for I believe ! I believe and I 
 pray but for a sign, that I may believe without doubting. 
 Fate destiny, we cannot escape it, if it came but a 
 little faster ; I am not impatient, if it came but a 
 little faster ! And then the end, the end ; darkness, 
 judgment, eternity ! " 
 
 " The sign has come, awake, awake ! " cried the duke, 
 throwing the light of his lamp upon the magician, who 
 seemingly without heeding the presence and interrup- 
 tion proceeded upon his way. 
 
 " I see the light of thy presence, but not thy form," 
 he gibbered. " Art thou an angel, or but the mocking 
 fiend who heaps upon man's brains thoughts too heavy 
 to be borne ? '* 
 
 " I am not an angel," replied the duke, calmly, " al- 
 though women have called me sol But methinks thy 
 memory will tell thee who I am." 
 
 " Apage Satanas!" mumbled the penitent, in louder
 
 274 Castel Del /iDonte 
 
 tones. " I spat in thy face, I dashed thee from me, 
 I cursed thy loveliness, begone, begone ! " 
 
 " A devil I may be, but my loveliness is not seduc- 
 tive, and even the devils are constrained to work the 
 good purposes of heaven," said the duke, sedately. 
 " Thou hast once prophesied great things of my future, 
 the time is at hand and thou art the one I have most 
 fervently wished for." 
 
 The black penitent glared vacantly at the duke as he 
 uttered these words, but hardly seemed to comprehend 
 their meaning. He repeated them with a strange, won- 
 dering expression, as if vainly endeavouring to grasp 
 the thought they conveyed. The duke patiently waited 
 the result, while Crivello's frame shook in abject fear. 
 
 " I shall soon have use for thee," he continued, slowly, 
 " for there will be work for both of us when Italy has 
 a new king, the West a new emperor ! We shall make 
 a new division, the legacy of Theodosius has grown 
 mouldy. And I swear to thee I will protect thee in thy 
 labours, this castle shall be thy retreat, and thou shalt 
 work such miracles that the very pontiff thou shalt send 
 to heaven shall cause thy name to be glorified for ever 
 and ever Amen ! " the duke finished his speech, imi- 
 tating the nasal chant of the clergy. 
 
 " Thou art the duke, then, thou art Altamura," said 
 the penitent, vacantly, " and is it thee I am to aid in 
 this work ? " 
 
 " Even so, wizard, or sorcerer, or both, dost hear ? " 
 exclaimed the duke, impatiently. 
 
 " I hear," the penitent replied, but the question was not 
 uncalled for, so statue-like was his countenance. 
 
 " Guelph and Ghibelline, tiger and wolf couch not 
 together! I tell thee there will shortly be an emperor 
 in Rome," the duke continued. " Hast thou not thyself
 
 ttbe Spectre of tbe Uorre 275 
 
 conjured up the phantom before me, hast thou not 
 thyself denounced the archfiend and Antichrist?" 
 
 The effect of these words was so instantaneous that 
 the revival of the wizard's slumbering intellect seemed 
 almost miraculous. 
 
 " Who denies but damns himself," he replied. 
 
 " Not I," cried the duke, " for I have ventured upon 
 a most perilous course to hasten the end, and verily the 
 hour is nigh." 
 
 The penitent's head sank again upon his breast, and he 
 mumbled some unintelligible words. 
 
 " There is much at stake," said the duke, with solemn 
 emphasis. " Anjou will claim these fair lands, and the 
 volcano must be prepared that will hurl him to his des- 
 tiny ere he plant his foot in our Apulian strongholds. 
 I must be lord and master, or betake myself for shelter 
 whither? Hardly the grave can yield it. Therefore 
 I would have thee spread tidings of the events at hand 
 among the superstitious populace, thou understandest ? 
 And when the mighty avalanche has hurled the Hohen- 
 staufens to their tomb, when I am master, thou shalt 
 have thine own sway to do as thy barefoot fancies lead 
 thee. Nay, I have such a miracle in store for thee 
 as shall persuade the most incredulous that thine errand 
 comes from above." 
 
 "What? A miracle? More miracles? There are 
 some things more miraculous than those the vulgar call 
 so," said the penitent, after a moment's hesitation. 
 
 " I will tell thee," the duke spoke, in an undertone. 
 " When the crisis is at hand the king will give a parting 
 feast. Thou shalt appear at it quite as extempo, as the 
 prophet of Israel at the Assyrian banquet, thou shalt 
 accuse the king of having foully slain sire and brother; 
 in proof of his crimes and thy mission thou shalt invoke
 
 276 Castel fcel fl&onte 
 
 the sudden vengeance of Heaven on the head of him and 
 his adherents. And thereupon I tell thee, not one whom 
 ever Altamura frowned upon will leave the feast alive." 
 
 " Misfortune makes men doubt ! How is this miracle 
 to come to pass ? " said the black penitent, after a brief 
 pause. 
 
 " Thou wilt deceive none ! Hast thou not interest 
 enough in heaven to turn thy curses into lightnings ? " 
 
 " I doubt it," replied the penitent, " since thou standest 
 before me unblasted. Thou seest I dissemble not." 
 
 " Neither will I. Listen, then ! Two Moorish dames 
 of such rare beauty as to make the very fiend covetous of 
 their society have assisted me in bottling some rare 
 wines," said the duke, tranquilly folding his arms. 
 
 " But fearest thou not that chance may for once be 
 guided by an angel and pour the draught into thine own 
 chalice ? " replied the magician, with a dark glance up- 
 ward. 
 
 " The butlers are my true servants, and the precious 
 wines reserved for my friends are all distinguished by 
 an infallible token," replied the duke, laughing, yet with 
 some irritation at the bare supposition of so gross a 
 blunder. 
 
 " But to call down a miracle, and none to follow, 
 what manner of saint were I then ? " said the penitent, 
 after another pause of profound rumination. 
 
 "Dost thou doubt?" the duke exclaimed, impatiently. 
 
 " Duke I understand thee ! But thou art certain 
 that the poison is deadly, tasteless, and indiscernible ? " 
 
 A terrible smile lingered on Altamura's lips. 
 
 " I am tired of these Plutonian sisters, whose direful 
 practices, against which the very watchfulness of a Cer- 
 berus were in vain, may some day return upon the user.
 
 Spectre of tbe Uorre 277 
 
 And truly, if they who mingled the draught partake of it 
 unwittingly were that proof enough ? " 
 
 " Proof enough and justice ! Thou wilt release them 
 from their earthly prison-house ? " 
 
 " Even so, and from their time-withered carcasses." 
 
 " I recognize the sign ! Ha ! Ye shapes and phan- 
 toms mock me not! Glare not at me with your leer- 
 ing scowl, I recognize the sign ! " exclaimed the magi- 
 cian, with such enthusiasm that it at once aroused the 
 suspicions of the ever wakeful duke. 
 
 "Yet mark me well," he said. "Thou hast the 
 hospitality of this princely abode, but thou wilt be closely 
 watched by one who knows how to use what he has in 
 his hand." 
 
 " Thou hast said I am a magician, but it seems thou 
 hast no faith in thine own belief," replied the penitent, 
 hoarsely. 
 
 " Be it even so, beware ! " 
 
 With these words the duke raised his hand as if in 
 warning, and, departing with Crivello in the gloom of 
 the vaulted archways, left the black penitent to himself. 
 With strange mutterings and with shuffling steps the 
 adept of the black arts continued upon his way and 
 vanished in the dread shadows of the corridors.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 CONSPIRACIES 
 
 IT was about daybreak, and the Duke of Altamura was 
 escorting two muffled strangers in Spanish garb over a 
 back stairway of his dark and dismal palace. The pas- 
 sage seemed only used by himself, for he locked all the 
 doors as he returned from his office of civility, and con- 
 cealed the last key behind an old suit of armour hanging 
 on the wall. Then he rang a little bell, apparently a 
 signal, for Crivello immediately appeared. He bore a 
 most gloomy and fretful visage. 
 
 " Ha, now ! What says my lady-love ? By the three 
 fates, you have the most vinegarlike aspect that ever love's 
 messenger wore. But I know it is a new entreaty for 
 my presence," said the duke, with a gaiety which the 
 castellan of the Torre del Diavolo thought strangely out 
 of season. 
 
 " I see it by that writhing in your face which in your 
 vocabulary is called a smile," the duke continued. " But 
 no, Crivello, I shall refuse ! She will be better pleased 
 if I appear jealous, therefore, mark you, I am 
 jealous ! I will not see her, I will not come till fear 
 for her life vanquishes every other consideration." 
 
 " Signer, methinks it were to your advantage if neither 
 love nor hate brought you near her again, even if she 
 were still in the dungeon wherein we placed her, for she 
 has escaped, so has the black penitent." 
 
 278
 
 Conspiracies 279 
 
 " By the foul fiend, what say you ? Escaped es- 
 caped ? When ? How ? By what conveyance ? And the 
 black penitent, the wizard, likewise ? Speak, man, 
 speak, or must I choke the words from your damned 
 Spanish throat ? " 
 
 " I have always told you it brings a curse upon all our 
 enterprises your Grace having a nun for a paramour," 
 replied the castellan, doggedly. 
 
 " Escaped escaped ? " the duke reiterated, as if all 
 his thoughts dwelt on this one point. " But no, 'tis 
 impossible! You have seen spectres, the evil imagin- 
 ings of your overtaxed sensibilities ! " 
 
 " I have seen neither spectre nor living things, the 
 doors of the cell were open and the cell was empty." 
 
 The duke's doubt as to the sanity of the castellan 
 seemed gradually to vanish before his determined state- 
 ment. 
 
 " You are somewhat bolder than your wont," he said, 
 with slow emphasis, " a good straw to show whence the 
 wind blows. And the magician gone, too, and just when 
 I would give a thousand crowns to see him again. The 
 council meets to-day, and there will be ample business ere 
 nightfall, my strangler may arrive at any hour, shall 
 I let them see me stand agape and no ! She will return ! 
 Mark my words, Crivello, she will return. Betake your- 
 self at once to the Torre, and let Argus with his hundred 
 eyes be as a blind mole compared to your vigilance. We 
 shall know more anon." 
 
 " No diligence shall be lost, my lord," Crivello replied, 
 " for already men prattle boldly enough of our affairs." 
 
 " Look here, my worthy castellan, if any one has a 
 witty attack in your presence, you will have his tongue 
 slit in token of recognition, and now begone ! " 
 
 The castellan had no sooner departed than the duke
 
 280 Caste! Del /iDonte 
 
 turned to his companion, who had hitherto remained in 
 the background. 
 
 " Thou starest as pale and haggard as if thou hadst 
 caroused with the fiend ! " The duke turned with a dia- 
 bolical smile to Reinald Aquino, Count of Caserta. 
 
 " He were fit society for such an one as I," Caserta re- 
 plied, seating himself opposite the duke. " How guileless 
 her bearing, surely guilt forged never such a mask ! 
 No shadow of deceit hovered around her pure white brow, 
 and her deep concern at my altered state, falsehood has 
 no such accents. Could I but have speech with that 
 meddling villain, my vision was obscured, my brain on 
 fire, I was easily persuaded, I saw what I was told to 
 see ! " He paused, covering his face with his hands. 
 
 The duke shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "If thou hast no cause against the king, if thou pre- 
 ferrest thy present state of gilded bondage, we want 
 no forced allies. If thou mistrustest the testimony of 
 thine own eyes, Caserta, who dare presume to counsel? 
 The wiles of women are great. Thou knowest Pietro 
 della Vigne's fate, and he was the emperor's bosom 
 friend. Incest runs in the blood, yet, I have said 
 nothing." 
 
 Caserta started up as if stung by a serpent. 
 
 " I am an Apulian, but I am Manfred's kinsman, 
 Violanthe's husband bide thou thy time ! " 
 
 " I will not urge thee on, Caserta, Thou wilt be one 
 of us sooner or later. Thou art an Apulian, even though 
 the dupe of royalty. I have despatched messengers 
 through Calabria and Terra di Lavoro, every moment 
 is fraught with destiny. The beggar monks, the filthy 
 apostles of Anjou, are even now sowing the wind that 
 shall breed the hurricane. Every baron in this land is 
 pledged to our cause, and when the thunder-clouds, whose
 
 Conspiracies 281 
 
 distant rumbling them hearest beneath the horizon, rise 
 above its surface, the fury of the elements will sweep the 
 Hohenstaufen empire into night and oblivion." 
 
 " The people love Manfred," Caserta replied, ab- 
 sently. 
 
 " The people ! A plague upon the rabble ! They gloat 
 over whatsoever tickles their noisome palates; they 
 shriek for whosoever satisfies their low desires, and their 
 idol of to-day is their scorn of to-morrow. Slaves to 
 their passions they shall obey, their love I scorn ! " 
 
 " Can we rely on John the Moor ? " Caserta inter- 
 posed. 
 
 " Weighing his treachery 'gainst a talent of gold, we 
 may trust him for the difference ! He will deliver Lucera 
 into our hands." 
 
 A significant gesture conveyed the duke's meaning to 
 Caserta's entire satisfaction, for he nodded approval. 
 
 " But now, ere we part, one word, Thomas Aquino. 
 Events are hastening and heaven itself has decreed Man- 
 fred's destruction; heaven itself has struck him with 
 blindness. Within an hour the council convenes, wilt 
 thou be one of us, Caserta ? " 
 
 " No more ! " the Apulian returned, fiercely. " I like 
 not ranting knaves, whose empty boasts would not stir 
 a snowflake from its icy Alpine pinnacle. Let thy re- 
 quest wait the hour ! " 
 
 Ere the duke could make reply, Reinald Aquino, Count 
 of Caserta, had without a word of farewell left the 
 chamber, and for a moment Altamura's gaze burnt fiercely 
 upon his retreating form. 
 
 " Thou shalt be convinced to thy heart's content," he 
 muttered, after the Apulian's steps had died away. " But 
 woe betide thee in thy new converted state, Thomas 
 Aquino ! "
 
 282 Castel &el /iDonte 
 
 And purposely delaying until he knew the council had 
 assembled, the Duke of Altamura made his appearance 
 in the Sala Regia among the last of the personages of 
 any consequence.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE MIDNIGHT CITATION 
 
 IT was drawing toward sunset. 
 
 Ottorino had spent the greater part of the day in his 
 apartments at the Moorish palace of Khalesa, whither he 
 had been conveyed during his slumbers, after his wounds 
 had been pronounced in a fair way toward healing. 
 Brooding and ruminating over Helena's probable share in 
 the dastardly attempt upon his life, and over the revela- 
 tions which the days spent under Altamura's roof had 
 brought to light, as well as over the Dominican's strange 
 persistence and the absence of the duke from the sick- 
 chamber, he was in a most unsociable mood. Just then 
 Canaletto entered his apartment apparently sober, and with 
 a meaning smile informed his master that a woman, to all 
 appearances young, but closely veiled, requested an inter- 
 view. Ottorino, being in no mood for such surprises, 
 sternly rebuked Canaletto's leer, ordering him to retire 
 and to admit the visitor. 
 
 A female form, enveloped in a dark Venetian mantle, 
 glided into the chamber, and the Lombard's surprise 
 knew no bounds when, as she lifted the veil, he beheld a 
 visage whose fixed pallor, anguish, and determination 
 recalled that of the Goddess of Destiny on the piazza., 
 while her matchless form bore such likeness to that 
 of Helena di Miraval that, had he not seen her face, he 
 
 283
 
 284 Gastel Del flDonte 
 
 would have wagered life and all on the certainty of 
 beholding the kinswoman of the duke. 
 
 " Pardon me, noble Lombard," she said, " and if my 
 blood in your eyes seems to have lost all its woman's tints 
 for this intrusion, my purpose will at least clear the 
 dismal queen of a sepulchre from the one and only stain 
 she is not guilty of. Have you seen me before, Ottorino 
 Visconti ? " 
 
 "If my eyes do not belie me, I see before me the im- 
 personation of the Goddess of Destiny, who spoke strange 
 words to me in passing," the Lombard faltered, while 
 motioning his visitor to an ottoman, at the very edge of 
 which she sat down, resting her head on her arms. 
 
 " Was that the only time ? " she questioned further. 
 
 Ottorino doubtingly shook his head. " I remember no 
 other, yet it may have been possible." 
 
 " You remember the fairy, that lascivious apparition ? " 
 
 " The fairy ? The Fata Morgana ? " the Lombard ex- 
 claimed, springing to his feet. " You ! and it was not 
 but no, no I am dreaming it cannot be ! " 
 
 " It is ! I took the shameless part at the behest of 
 another, to darken the fame of the woman you loved, 
 knowing that no Visconti will mingle his regal blood with 
 that of a wanton. Ha! You stagger, you stare? 
 Knight, there is vengeance, vengeance for all, no, not 
 for all," she continued, with a sudden, terrific expression. 
 " No, not for all. He has wronged me beyond all 
 vengeance, but for you, are you still in a mood to 
 acquire the knowledge which has been denied you ? " 
 
 " I am," Ottorino replied, with fixed determination, " at 
 any cost and every risk." 
 
 "Are you equally resolved to ascertain the guilt or 
 innocence of her to whom your heart, though writhing 
 in agony, returns ever and ever as to its inexorable fate ? "
 
 Ube ADtfcniabt Citation 285 
 
 "Woman, whoever you are, what know you of her 
 
 of me ? " Ottorino exclaimed, convulsed with strange 
 feelings. 
 
 " Much much, which a strange, a marvellous man 
 has revealed to me." 
 
 " A Dominican ? " 
 
 "A saint!" 
 
 " Or a demon, permitted to wear that form in order 
 to tempt the whole race of mankind to a fall more fearful 
 than the first." 
 
 "We wander from our subject. For some foul 
 scheme which he refused to execute, the duke imprisoned 
 the monk in the foulest dungeon of his castle, but a 
 miracle has happened : the monk is free." 
 
 " Marvellous indeed ! Perchance to seek out his fair 
 penitent, to shake her soul with the terror of his denun- 
 ciation ? " 
 
 " Patience, good knight, bridle your haste ! You 
 are in search of the truth, and truth you shall have 
 until you shall yourself cry, ' Enough ! ' ' 
 
 "Tell me this, then: Does Helena di Miraval love?" 
 
 " Helena di Miraval loves ! She loves with such mad- 
 ness that her passions will hurl her headlong to destruc- 
 tion, and with her the object of her worship." 
 
 " Tell me but this, to teach my soul patience and for- 
 bearance who is the favoured one ? " 
 
 A shrill laugh broke from the lips of the Lombard's 
 mysterious visitor, who regarded him as if she doubted 
 his sanity. 
 
 " The favoured one ! " she exclaimed. " Your rival is 
 
 the duke!" 
 
 Ottorino staggered as if he had been dealt a mighty 
 blow. His hand went to his forehead, and his face grew
 
 286 Castel t>el fl&onte 
 
 pale as death. For a moment his fair visitor feasted her 
 eyes on his speechless dismay, then she continued : 
 
 " Patience, knight, patience ! I know a dread magi- 
 cian who has promised some direful revelations. We 
 all know your double purpose here, and if you have 
 but the courage you shall behold Enrico's slayer ! " 
 
 "What know you of me?" faltered the Lombard. 
 
 She waved her hand impatiently. 
 
 " I came not hither to pry into your secrets, knight ! 
 None but the dead can reveal the mysteries of the dead. 
 You shall learn all if you have the courage, a courage 
 which I, a woman, possess." 
 
 "Again what is your behest? The presence of 
 death, certainty, I long but for one conviction," 
 Ottorino replied, with a shudder. 
 
 " To learn her share in that dismal tragedy? Have you 
 ever heard of that unearthly magician, Dom Alamo, one 
 who has trod this earth since the Saviour has walked it ? " 
 
 " I have heard that there is a great reward proclaimed 
 for him," replied Ottorino. 
 
 "At the duke's behest, to conjure up some unbidden 
 guest, to compel to utterance the dread silence of the 
 grave. Now to-night, if you have the courage, you shall 
 behold the murderer in the presence of his victim and 
 hear him reveal the depths of his black soul in the horrors 
 of his fear and deprecation." 
 
 " Can the grave be compelled to yield up its fearful 
 inhabitants ? " questioned Ottorino. 
 
 " If the spell fails, his conscience will raise the spectres. 
 And other listeners than the demons will hear the truth 
 from those lips that least of all would utter it." 
 
 " And where is this mystery to be enacted ? " 
 
 " There is a cave under Monte Pellegrino, held even 
 in antiquity as an entrance to Tartarus. The fiends
 
 ttbe flMCmiQbt Citation 287 
 
 stalk visibly through its labyrinths, howling their suffer- 
 ings to the enduring rocks. Resolve, Lombard, and 
 quickly! For I must return to my place of anguish like 
 the doomed phantom when dawn steals over churchyard 
 graves. If you want to set your soul at rest for ever, 
 speak, and I will meet you at the marble gate disguised 
 as a nun." 
 
 Urged by the desire that consumed his soul, Ottorino 
 pledged himself to meet his mysterious visitor at the 
 appointed spot. A glare rather than a smile lit up Fran- 
 cesca's features, and with a mute greeting she departed, 
 gliding noiselessly from the apartment. 
 
 The discovery that he had been deceived in the sup- 
 posed identity of Helena and the fairy would have elated 
 Ottorino beyond bounds, had he not been overwhelmed 
 by the terrible intelligence concerning his rival. There 
 was much in the statement to convince him of its truth, 
 which explained what had hitherto seemed unaccountable. 
 But while with frantic eagerness he snatched the one 
 weak straw that might restore the peace which had gone 
 from his soul, a dark suspicion entered almost simul- 
 taneously. Might not, with all her motives of vengeance, 
 Francesca di Lesina be but the instrument of the duke, 
 employed to trap him to his destruction? But Ottorino 
 could not bring himself to believe in such black treachery. 
 When the hour had come, he hastened with all possible 
 speed to the place of appointment, where he encountered 
 a woman enveloped in the habit of a nun. By a signal 
 agreed upon he knew her to be the lady of the Torre del 
 Diavolo. 
 
 They passed in silence through the gates, and, leaving 
 the blooming vale of the Oreto to the left, proceeded 
 quickly over fragrant meadows. The antique basilica
 
 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 of Santa Onofria soon came in sight, and the remote swell 
 of monkish chants was fitfully audible on the changes of 
 the wind. But instead of following the beaten track by 
 the church, they turned off over a wild, irregular heath, 
 diversified by deep hollows and tall clumps of bramble 
 and juniper bushes. Descending one of these little dells, 
 which seemed as if excavated in the sandy soil at some 
 remote period, they arrived in front of the towering 
 mountain which stretched like a giant sarcophagus at the 
 edge of the flowery vale. Before it there appeared a 
 narrow entrance to two or three grottoes hewn in the 
 rock, half-choked with weeds and fallen fragments. 
 
 Into one of these grottoes Francesca glided, but Otto- 
 rino involuntarily hesitated. The tales he had heard of 
 the extent and intricacy of these caverns and their dan- 
 gerous inhabitants recurred to him. But while he paused 
 the click of two flints was audible, and by the accom- 
 panying flashes he discerned Francesca on her knees 
 blowing some dry leaves into flame and kindling a torch. 
 Ashamed of his fears and animated by the recollections 
 which came upon him, Ottorino advanced into the grotto 
 to light the torch. Francesca then rose and said, with a 
 melancholy smile: 
 
 " How now beats your heart? Dare you follow me? " 
 "Ay, and if it were over black snakes," Ottorino 
 replied ; yet he hesitated again, for the torch but dubiously 
 illumined the gloom into which they were penetrating, 
 and which seemed to grow denser and thicker with every 
 step they advanced. The passage was scarcely wide 
 enough to permit the stretching of the arm, and was un- 
 evenly walled with chalk and sand. Proceeding in silence 
 and with rapidity, they soon found themselves near a 
 cavernous excavation, from which radiated three narrow 
 galleries, one of which descended in an inclined plane to a
 
 flMonfabt Citation 289 
 
 great depth below. The woman spoke scarcely a word, 
 but occasionally she raised the torch as she advanced, at 
 times revealing dark openings where one gallery was 
 crossed by another. 
 
 The dense tomblike scent of the air began to exercise 
 a chilling influence over the Lombard, and the frequent 
 crumbling of sand and rock on their way, awakening 
 dismal and seemingly supernatural sounds in the remote 
 echoes, as if the phantoms protested against the intrusion 
 of life, did not fail to exert their spell over him. Ever 
 and anon pieces of sandy rock detached themselves, as 
 if some malicious demon was attempting to crush the 
 intruders ; spectral cries multiplied to an infinite dis- 
 tance until they died in faint and mysterious whispers. 
 
 The Lombard began to be at once surprised and 
 alarmed at the distance which they had traversed, when 
 suddenly his guide paused, turning upon him with the 
 full light of her eyes and torch. 
 
 " Your brow is damp, knight," she said, almost with 
 a tinge of contempt in her tone. " If your heart fail 
 you, return, for we are now entering the place of ordeal, 
 and you must remain alone and without light in these 
 solitudes until the actors in the dismal pageantry arrive." 
 
 " Be the hazard what it may, I am here to run it," 
 replied the Lombard. 
 
 " Let us on, then ! " said Francesca, continuing her 
 advance. The gallery gradually widened until it branched 
 off on each side of an arch hewn in the rock. The arch 
 opened into a cavern, a huge chaotic chamber, with 
 immeasurable galleries opening into a common centre. 
 The white sand on the ground seemed to have been 
 strewn for ghosts to glide noiselessly over. 
 
 " It is a fearful theatre, fit to stage a more fearful 
 drama," said Francesca, exhibiting the interior of the
 
 290 Gastel fcel flDonte 
 
 cavern as far as her torch could illumine its vast recesses ; 
 then she continued, in an undertone : 
 
 " If legends lie not, more murdered and mangled vic- 
 tims have found here their sepulchre than we would dare 
 to surmise. Hither come sorcerers and witches to dese- 
 crate the silence with their black sabbat, and hither will 
 the duke come, a spirit even as dark. But to see all 
 unseen, have you the courage to hide yourself in yon- 
 der niche over the arched entrance, whence your retreat, 
 when the dark hour has passed, will be easy and as- 
 sured?" 
 
 " Is it a sepulchre? " asked the Lombard, with a shud- 
 der. 
 
 " What if it be ? " returned Francesca. " What can 
 we fear in death that we have not suffered in life ? But 
 Time shall not weary you much with his company until 
 I return. Yonder passage leads by a few windings to the 
 chapel, where the duke and his sorcerers are to meet, and 
 they wait but a preconcerted signal from me." 
 
 " Time ? " said Ottorino, still hesitating. " Wherefore 
 should he enter this abode of the dead ? " 
 
 " To bid them be patient." 
 
 " This immense silence perchance answers the ques- 
 tion," said the Lombard, after a pause, for even his 
 courage faltered at the thought of remaining alone in 
 these fearful solitudes. But the violence of his feelings 
 revived his determination, yet again the apprehension of 
 treachery rushed so forcibly into his mind that he paused 
 and turned to Francesca with a look so expressive of his 
 suspicions that she understood him without words. 
 
 " Betray you and wherefore ? " she exclaimed, im- 
 patiently. "You will hold light the oath of one of my 
 kind; yet, may this whole mountain fall over and crush 
 me through all eternity if I wish you aught but good."
 
 dDitmigbt Citation 29* 
 
 This last dreadful imprecation silenced Ottorino's 
 scruples, and he entered the niche from which he was to 
 watch the fearful proceedings. 
 
 It had apparently been excavated at a remote period, 
 but if it had ever served any other purpose, nothing re- 
 mained but the darkness of the sepulchre. The Lom- 
 bard entered backward, for it would have been difficult 
 to turn in so narrow a space. He retreated some dis- 
 tance from the entrance, until Francesca was satisfied 
 that it was not possible to discover him from the floor 
 of the cavern. Then waving her hand in farewell, with 
 an expression of triumph kindling in her eyes, she 
 hastened from the cavern by one of the galleries on the 
 opposite side. Ottorino bent forward and watched the 
 last glimmer of light disappear. It was succeeded by 
 utter darkness and a silence as unbroken as if sound 
 were annihilated. 
 
 Abandoned thus to his meditations, the Lombard's 
 thoughts returned to muse with such anguish on the 
 events transacting above ground, that for some time he 
 even forgot his present situation and peril. Here, in the 
 solitude of darkness and death, he was bound to confess 
 to himself that he loved Helena di Miraval dearer than 
 life. The rumour, if based on truth, that the duke was 
 his rival, explained much that had been dark to him. 
 But it threw no light on her strange impassiveness, be- 
 hind which might lurk the purpose to cast off the toy 
 after it had satisfied her vanity. On the other hand, it 
 accounted for the duke's watchfulness, which made ap- 
 proach to her presence well-nigh impossible ; it accounted 
 for his unanswered messages and her strange demeanour, 
 so full of contradictions. But the poison which the 
 Dominican had instilled into him still rankled in his
 
 29* Castel &el /iDonte 
 
 veins, and, while he hovered between fear and hope, his 
 anxiety grew more terrible every moment. 
 
 Suddenly a light gleamed down a gallery, voices were 
 echoed in whispers down the walls, some time ere the 
 speakers appeared. And when they did enter, their aspect 
 was not calculated to dispel the sinister gloom of the 
 solitudes which they disturbed. 
 
 The foremost was a person enveloped in a long black 
 mantle, wearing a mask with a plumed hat slouched over 
 it. Another followed who was garbed like a Spanish man- 
 at-arms, his visage shaded by the long tattered hair 
 which hung from under his morion. A third came, hold- 
 ing a torch and apparently directing the advance of the 
 first two by the light. He was an aged man, to judge 
 by his stoop and his dragging gait, but he was too com- 
 pletely enveloped in the garb of a black penitent to be 
 more closely scrutinized. He leaned upon a long black 
 wand, curiously inlaid with figures and stars, and carried 
 over his shoulders a scarlet sack, which probably con- 
 tained some of the implements of his art. 
 
 " Methinks this ancient air is wondrous musty, Dom 
 Alamo, yet it should be dry and warm, since we must 
 have descended almost as deep as hell," said the fore- 
 most, whose tone of mock gaiety revealed him to be the 
 Duke of Altamura. " How much deeper must we plunge 
 ere the fiends are near enough to hear our evocations ? " 
 
 " Signor, this place will serve the purpose if we can 
 make the circle wide enough," replied the necromancer. 
 " But I must have assistance, and I will summon two 
 wise sisters of the art; we are ever willing to do each 
 other turns of aid and kindness." 
 
 Slightly withdrawing from his companions, Dom 
 Alamo drew a sharp, blue gleaming knife from his 
 bundle, pricked himself in the arm, and advanced toward
 
 tTbe flMoniabt Citation 293 
 
 a. remote gallery in front, sprinkling little drops of his 
 blood as he went, and uttering some strange words with 
 great rapidity in a raised tone, as if calling to some one at 
 a distance. Numerous discordant and gibbering echoes 
 answered, and suddenly there was heard a violent whirr 
 of wind; after a pause, during which it increased, two 
 haggard old women apparently blew down the gallery 
 and entered, with their robes heaped about them, shriek- 
 ing, " We come we come ! " 
 
 " Leave mumbling to your saints, Crivello, or per- 
 chance you will mar our spell," said the duke, impa- 
 tiently. " Look, man, they are your old friends, the 
 witches." 
 
 The sorceresses, greeting the duke with a fantastic 
 bend, pointed their skinny fingers at the trembling cas- 
 tellan, and mewed and laughed in concord. 
 
 " The devil may not affright you, old hags, being your 
 daily and nightly company," said the Catalan, angrily. 
 " But if I had my way, you would not laugh so loud after 
 the recent prank of your mad offspring." 
 
 " Peace, fool ! The reverend mothers were in the same 
 kettle with us, but the thrice-damned Lombard may live 
 to rue the day when he turned protector of harlots," 
 exclaimed the duke, fiercely. " And now, most potent 
 magician, since thy weird helpmates are here, why dost 
 thou pause and stare at me ? " 
 
 " Signor, I would clearly understand your will, 
 which as yet was but a doubtful hint," replied the wizard. 
 
 " Thou hast the power to raise the dead, for hast thou 
 not shown me Charlemagne in thy magic mirror ? " said 
 the duke, after an unusual pause of hesitation. " But now 
 I would have thee summon a spirit which will not need 
 so powerful a spell, for it is still restlessly wandering in 
 the shadowy realms of eternity. Whatever, or where it
 
 294 Castel fcel Monte 
 
 be, I would learn how it can find rest in the grave, 
 cease darkening my sunshine and thwarting my resolves." 
 
 " What spirit wouldst thou have me summon ? " re- 
 plied the necromancer. " Over the blessed my spells have 
 no power, and some of the damned are below the citation 
 which compels the fiends from hell." 
 
 "The blessed, nay! I have nothing to do with 
 saints ! Make thy circles and utter thy spells, and I will 
 tell thee anon whom I would behold." 
 
 The necromancer took his staff and made some mystic 
 signs at three points of the cavern, muttering to himself 
 in some unknown language; he then threw it forward. 
 It stuck quivering in the sand, and to the affrighted eyes 
 of the gazers for some instants it resembled a fiery 
 serpent, coiling and hissing over the spot. 
 
 The magician advanced, and, taking his staff as the 
 centre, drew a circle around it, partly linked, in which 
 he drew another of greater extent with a pentacle in the 
 midst, and a third of similar size as the first. He then 
 commanded the assistant hags to trench the circles by 
 casting up the sand with little brass shovels which they 
 had brought. They did this, all the time pronouncing 
 in shrill voice some cabalistic words; then they set to 
 work with great zeal and evident expectations of some 
 portentous results, exchanging mysterious nods of satis- 
 faction, while the magician placed numerous bones and 
 fragments of skulls around the second circle. 
 
 " And now, signor, tell me if the spirit we are to sum- 
 mon was violently expelled from its carcass, and, if so, 
 when and where ? " said the magician. 
 
 " What matters it to thee ? " retorted the duke, much 
 agitated. " Why this question ? " 
 
 "To make the circle of a capacity to withstand the
 
 jflDifcnigbt Citation 295 
 
 wrath of the spirit, which else might tear the questioner 
 to pieces, or blast him with fire from hell." 
 
 " Hell's vassals, then, are as rebellious as those of 
 earthly rulers," said the duke, smiling darkly. " A violent 
 death ay! And so indeed it was, but these good 
 dames here can tell thee how the golden-haired youth 
 the emperor's son ended." 
 
 " He had dishonoured the pure blood of Moorish 
 princes, pure since Omar the Caliph," hissed the older 
 of the sisters, fiercely tossing back her matted gray hair 
 as she glared up from her toils, while her companion also 
 paused, and, looking up with a sardonic smile, said : 
 
 " Ah ! But she was so beautiful." 
 
 " But why slain ? " asked the magician. " Thou, my 
 lord, didst not strike to avenge the blood of the prophet ! " 
 
 " He had to die some way," the duke replied. " The 
 brood cannot endure for ever." 
 
 The necromancer's eyes gleamed fearfully through the 
 holes of his black hood, and he resumed his labours, 
 muttering : 
 
 "We must weave the spell thrice, for the injured have 
 a power of which their assailants dream not." 
 
 Not a word of this strange converse had escaped the 
 ears of the Lombard, who remained in his hiding-place 
 motionless as a statue. 
 
 While the hags delved a second trench around the 
 circle, the necromancer placed a low tripod in the first. 
 Upon this he set a brass kettle, then kindled a fire beneath 
 it, and from the herbs which the witches had brought, and 
 many others in his own sack, selected the materials for 
 a fumigation. 
 
 The duke continued for some time apparently engaged 
 in scanning his sepulchral surroundings. 
 
 " Thy ghosts are like women, Dom Alamo," he at last
 
 296 Castel Del /iDonte 
 
 said, with wild levity. " They will not come when asked, 
 and when not wanted they are with you." 
 
 " I have not yet uttered my spell, but the time is at 
 hand. Sisters, sit in the first circle and repeat the name 
 I pronounce but wherefore trembles the soldier ? Only 
 to his murderer the spirit will appear." 
 
 " We all had a share in the work let us all behold 
 it ! I hate the Christian still ! " said one of the Moorish 
 hags. 
 
 " Why, and so do I ! I hate him and I fear him not ; 
 let him come, let him come ! I slew him, by the eternal 
 God, and I do not quiver in a nerve," exclaimed the duke, 
 in a frenzy. 
 
 " Beware, then, that thou hast uttered no prayer, else 
 we are all at the mercy of the fiends," said the magician, 
 gazing at the pallid castellan of the Torre del Diavolo, 
 whose teeth chattered audibly. 
 
 " Enter the circle if thou wouldst be safe, and fear 
 not until thine hour has come ! Duke, thy station is 
 within the pentacle of the second circle ! " . 
 
 Crivello mechanically obeyed the directions of the 
 sorcerer, while the duke boldly advanced and, leaping into 
 the pentacle, stood with folded arms in a resolved or, 
 perhaps, skeptical attitude. The sage then returned to 
 the foremost circle, which he occupied alone. He knelt 
 and took a curious volume of Oriental manuscript, illu- 
 minated with magic figures and signs, from his breast, 
 then, taking the only torch which they had brought, he 
 thrust it into the sand and extinguished it. The little light 
 which remained was furnished by the livid flames which 
 burned under the magician's copper vessel, and from 
 which Ottorino perceived a thick, dark smoke arising, 
 full of strange fumes. Filled with horror and fascina- 
 tion, he anticipated the apparition of an inhabitant of the
 
 ttbe flDitmigbt Citation 297 
 
 vast unknown. But despite the horror which the duke's 
 crimes excited, there was something almost sublime in 
 the fixed and unquailing courage with which he seemed 
 to await the issue of the terrific experiment. 
 
 " Let it take some form, any but that of darkness, 
 and I will not fear it." 
 
 " Silence silence ! " the magician commanded, an- 
 grily. " The sisters give not the proper responses, for 
 they hear not my words," and he continued to read from 
 his book in a language unknown to all save himself and 
 the hags. 
 
 And soon strange rumblings were heard in the cavern- 
 ous depths below, as of thunder rolling through remote 
 galleries and approaching nearer and nearer. Fiery hier- 
 oglyphics ran along the sandy earth and the sepulchral 
 walls of the cavern. The necromancer calmly read on, 
 without raising his eyes, and the witches continued their 
 chant in mingled terror and enthusiasm, until it rose like 
 the shrieks of the damned over the thunder of judgment. 
 Suddenly the brazier began to sparkle and to hiss, and 
 seemed to bubble over with coloured serpents and lurid 
 flames. A deadly mephitic odour filled the cavern, which 
 produced a strange and swooning languor on Ottorino, 
 although he was removed from its immediate action. The 
 feeling was brief, but it left a kind of dreamy intoxica- 
 tion of the senses, so that, when raising his eyes from 
 the group, he saw what seemed to be legions of hideous 
 spectres and demons of the most grotesque and horrible 
 forms crowding into the cavern and flitting up and down 
 the walls. 
 
 " It is in vain, they spurn my offerings," muttered 
 the magician, in a low tone. 
 
 " Surely we lack some potent ingredient," replied one 
 of the witches.
 
 298 Castel >el /iDonte 
 
 "More mandragora! Hark, how it shrieks," said 
 the necromancer, hurriedly. " The sweat of a murderer's 
 right hand in the flames! If these are spirits, we have 
 more powerful spells to evoke them ! Speak, duke ! Re- 
 mind them of all thy direst deeds of midnight, by which 
 thou hast merited their support and favour. Speak, or 
 I have no longer power to detain them or to compel sub- 
 mission." 
 
 " By the evil passions that consume my soul, by the 
 spouse of Christ whom I raped from his altars, by the 
 dying curses of the victims of the blackest midnight, 
 by the blood of Enrico," exclaimed the duke, and, observ- 
 ing that the spectral hosts gradually waned away, he 
 added, more frantically: 
 
 " Hear me, demons, spirits, or whatever you are ! By 
 the damning calumnies I have uttered against ye, let the 
 spirit I demand appear before me ! " 
 
 A moment of profound and awful silence followed, and 
 then a universal shriek arose from all the gazers save 
 alone the duke, who stood fixed and immobile as a figure 
 carved in ebony, for a pale and ghastly blue light gleamed 
 down the gallery on the opposite wall of the cavern, and 
 in it appeared a darkness whose presence froze the very 
 life-blood in the beholder's veins. And yet there was no 
 precise outline of form or features, vague hues of 
 armour, a mantle and rich surcoat stained with gore and 
 the green ooze of corruption, some ghastly indistinctness 
 of a visage and waving plumes, was all that was dis- 
 cernible. 
 
 "Demon or angel, whatever thou art," gasped the 
 duke, at length, when the necromancer glared as if petri- 
 fied at the horror he had himself evoked, and Crivello 
 sank senseless in the sand. " Yea, it is he, it is he, 
 even as we left him ! Enrico, Enrico speak ! " he
 
 Ube flDitmiflbt Citation 299 
 
 cried, in the tones of a madman. " Speak, or must my 
 soul burst in its silence? Speak! If for some dark 
 crime thy soul cannot find rest, is it thy hell to make 
 mine? Speak! What penance, what prayers can win 
 thee rest and peace ? " 
 
 There was a deep, sepulchral hush. 
 
 " Ferrando," replied a low, unearthly voice, which 
 seemed to penetrate from the depths of the grave. 
 
 " I am here ! " shrieked the duke, in a frenzy. 
 
 " Cast off thy robes of pomp, renounce thy dream of 
 empire, resume the priestly habit thou hast abandoned 
 for the vanities of earth, wear out thy days in penance 
 and prayers and forswear thy incestuous love, refute 
 the hideous calumnies thy villainy has spread to obscure 
 a pure and innocent name, and Heaven may yet have 
 mercy ! " 
 
 " Never never never ! Arch-fiend, thou but as- 
 sumest this shape to torture me ! " raved the duke. 
 " When I am lord of Italy, bid me redeem the holy 
 sepulchre from the hands of the infidels, bid me endow 
 sanctuaries for thine unpeacefully parted soul nay, do 
 thy worst ! Destroy me if thou canst ; I defy thee ! Yea, 
 I will torture thee, too ! When the crown of the 
 Western empire sits on my brow, when Helena, she whom 
 I love with a passion ravishing and boundless, when 
 Helena sits enthroned, my empress, beside me in the 
 splendour of her unrivalled beauty, which thou hast cov- 
 eted, when all the earth shouts, I care not whether in 
 love or fear, then come, then ! " 
 
 But even as he concluded the speech with frantic de- 
 fiance and exultation, the apparition disappeared, while 
 a long, despairing wail resounded through the cavernous 
 depths like a farewell cry to hope. 
 
 The dead, red light in the brazier now reappeared,
 
 300 Castel fcel /Route 
 
 which the supernatural glare had darkened, and Ottorino, 
 almost bereft of his senses from the effect of the terror, 
 felt that a long silence ensued. 
 
 " Light ! Light ! " thundered the duke. " Didst thou 
 hear, Dom Alamo, what the devil said? Light, I tell 
 thee light ! " 
 
 " My spell could never raise that spirit," the nec- 
 romancer said, gasping. " Save thy soul from the burn- 
 ing grasp that is upon it, repent ! For thou hast seen 
 a spirit, whether sent by heaven or hell I know not which, 
 
 but a spirit." 
 
 " I am beholden to thee for thy good advice, Dom 
 Alamo," shrieked the duke, with a wild laugh. " Repent, 
 
 recant, turn monk and mumbler of masses, hast 
 thou forgotten the phantom thou hast conjured up in days 
 gone by, the phantom which has haunted my waking 
 hours and dreams ? " 
 
 " I have not," gasped the magician. 
 
 " Then thou art answered ! Yet, once more let me tax 
 the powers of thy mighty art! Command the spirits to 
 show me the likeness of him Helena loves, or shall 
 love, that in obeying their behest the midnight steel 
 may not mistake the bridegroom." 
 
 " It is in vain ; the fiends are weary and will no 
 longer obey my spell ! " said the necromancer, drawing 
 himself up slowly and gazing around with convulsive 
 shudders. 
 
 " I say they will, they shall ! Pronounce thy words 
 
 I will echo thee," returned the duke, with mad velocity. 
 " Ask, if it be the Lombard, but no, no ! It may not 
 be." 
 
 "Urge me not to the task! I tell thee, the fiends are 
 weary! The reluctant spirits will but obey to words 
 that will shake the very mountain above us."
 
 TTbe /iDfonfsbt Citation 
 
 " Shake the whole universe if them wilt, but let my 
 soul be satisfied," ejaculated the duke. 
 
 " Back to thy pentacle, or the fiends will seize the in- 
 stant to tear thy heart out," cried the magician, as the 
 duke strode eagerly forward. " I will do what I may, 
 but they will not listen to me." 
 
 The duke obeyed, wiping with both hands the cold 
 perspiration from his brow, and the necromancer re- 
 sumed his spell, but with seeming feebleness and reluc- 
 tance. The duke's agonizing anxiety was now amply 
 shared by Ottorino. In his eagerness he forgot every 
 restraint of prudence, and stepped altogether out of his 
 concealment. It is true that the cavern was in almost 
 complete darkness, for the brazier threw only a narrow 
 circular light around its tripod, revealing the bending 
 figure of the sorcerer, and touching the edges of the 
 duke's garments and the tips of his plume with fiery red. 
 
 But most unluckily and suddenly a bright light shot 
 up from the brazier, casting a strong reflection on the 
 mailed figure of the knight. The Moorish hags, who had 
 turned their heads in terror from the spectral presence, 
 beheld him and uttered a simultaneous shriek. The duke 
 and the necromancer both turned around and clearly 
 discerned him for an instant ere he precipitately re- 
 treated. Ottorino remembered afterward that the duke 
 nodded to him in sarcastic recognition, while the necro- 
 mancer, uttering a groan of exquisite anguish, sank to 
 earth. 
 
 An instant's intent listening convinced Ottorino that 
 no suspicion of his bodily presence had crossed the fear- 
 struck imagination of the spectators. The duke stepped 
 from his pentacle into the magician's circle, and raised 
 the necromancer with an exclamation which sounded 
 more like contempt than pity. Then he burst into a
 
 302 Castel &el /iDonte 
 
 frantic peal of laughter, which rang far and near through 
 the galleries, kicked over the brazier and, extinguishing 
 the last gleam of light, precipitately strode ahead of the 
 whole evil company which trooped off in his train. 
 
 It was not until the last echo of their footsteps had 
 died away and silence had for some time succeeded that 
 Ottorino recovered from the overwhelming confusion of 
 his thoughts and remembered his own situation. Helena 
 innocent of all the direful crimes imputed to her, for 
 a moment every atom of his soul was absorbed in the 
 thrice-blessed conviction. The memory of their meeting 
 at Favara almost overwhelmed him, and even the fearful 
 certainty of the personality of his powerful rival had no 
 terrors for him at this moment. For a brief space of 
 time he laboured to persuade himself that all he had seen 
 and heard was a dream, a dream the wild, incongruous 
 and horrible events which he had witnessed in so rapid 
 a phantasmagoria. Then without awaiting Francesca's 
 guiding hand he rushed from his concealment, but his 
 progress was slow and perilous, and too late he repented 
 of his daring impulse. In the midnight gloom, which 
 in the absence of any light now filled the cavern, he 
 could only proceed by carefully testing the ground with 
 hand and foot, and after he had tediously groped his 
 way through the darkness, filled with stagnant air and 
 noisome vapours, he perceived in the extreme distance the 
 faint glimmer of a light, and almost simultaneously he 
 heard the barking of a dog. 
 
 Continuing his advance in the direction which promised 
 the nearest outlet, he soon found himself at a jagged 
 opening, not the one through which he had entered. 
 Several groups of men were sleeping around a fire, while 
 the dog, finding his efforts to arouse them useless, stood 
 growling and glaring at the intruder.
 
 rtMtmiabt Citation 33 
 
 Ottorino was about to call for assistance, when one of 
 the sleepers raised his head and exclaimed in the fierce 
 tones of the bandit chief of Calabria : 
 
 " Down, beast down ! The curse of St. Anthony be 
 upon thee." 
 
 The Visconti became at once aware that he had little 
 favour to expect from the hands of this ruffian and his 
 subordinates, some of whom were garbed as soldiers and 
 peasants, and among whom were two or three deformed 
 beggars, whom he remembered to have seen crawling 
 about the streets and the steps of churches. 
 
 Nearly all these fellows were armed to the teeth with 
 crossbows and daggers. Bucklers of steel and of bull's 
 hide, which served as pillows, and fragments of roasted 
 kid, egg-shells and chestnuts, together with several goat- 
 skins of wine, attested the fact that they had not neglected 
 their personal comfort. Ottorino endeavoured to persuade 
 himself to patience, and, knowing how difficult it would 
 be to pass to the entrance beyond the bandits' camp, he 
 laboured to compose the direful agitation of his blood 
 and spirits ; but recollection came upon recollection, and 
 the events of the last few hours, into which seemed 
 crowded the thoughts and sufferings of years, rushed 
 back upon him. 
 
 Deliberating upon the best plan of escaping the dog 
 and the ruffians, his reverie was suddenly interrupted by 
 voices below. The chief of the bandits had risen from 
 his rough bed and was apparently commenting on the 
 strange demeanour of the dog. 
 
 " I shall not take Cerbero with me, for some colony of 
 rats might scent us in our absence." 
 
 This was said to the bravo who occupied the straw next 
 to him, and, far from being asleep, was sharpening a 
 stiletto on his leather sandals. One by one the bravi rose,
 
 34 Castel >el /iDonte 
 
 almost a hundred in number. Adjusting their masks, they 
 left the cavern, one treading in the footsteps of another. 
 At last no one remained but the dog. He had made 
 several ineffectual attempts to follow his brutal master, 
 who had spurned him back, finally kicking him severely, 
 to make him understand his pleasure. The animal at last 
 submitted, and stood gazing long and wistfully after his 
 master, as he went up a steep path with the bandits and 
 disappeared behind a ledge of rock. The creature then 
 began dejectedly to lick its flanks, occasionally pricking 
 its ears, as if it still heard the distant footsteps. 
 
 In order not to attract the bravi by the barking of 
 the dog, Ottorino waited until he reckoned that there was 
 a sufficient distance between himself and the bandits, 
 whose presence in the capital of the kingdom on the eve 
 of the coronation was another mystery which baffled his 
 understanding. Then, drawing his dagger, he fearlessly 
 entered the cavern. His first movement startled the dog, 
 and when it laid eyes on the intruder it gave a wild yell 
 and sprang at Ottorino so fiercely that without weapon 
 he would have been lost. But at the next moment the 
 dog without a single howl or struggle fell to the ground, 
 the weapon buried in its throat. 
 
 Through an entrance so completely choked with briars 
 and bushes that only those familiar with the haunt per- 
 ceived a way into it by crawling beneath the matted 
 foliage, Ottorino gained the valley, just as the moon was 
 going down behind the western hillsides. His heart was 
 drunk with joy, and yet filled with even greater perturba- 
 tion than before. For much remained dark to him that 
 must be cleared up. But, first and foremost, how was 
 he to find audience with Helena? 
 
 After having reached his apartments at Khalesa, as 
 Ottorino was unfastening his doublet, a scroll, carefully
 
 ftbe /IDtfmiQbt Citation 3s 
 
 tied and sealed, fell out. It had been placed under his 
 belt with such care that only when the latter was entirely 
 removed did its presence reveal itself. With trembling 
 fingers he broke the seal, staring in incredulous bewilder- 
 ment at the message it contained : 
 
 " Thy fate awaits thee at Favara, when the lamp of 
 love burns in the skies."
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 AMOR VICTOR 
 
 NEVER were reflections more involved and perplexed 
 than those with which Ottorino reviewed the circum- 
 stances of the extraordinary scene which he had wit- 
 nessed. While the sum of his discoveries pointed to the 
 duke alone, the recollection of Helena's fascination 
 worked so powerfully in the soul of the Visconti that 
 brighter hopes began to spread their light over the dark 
 shadows of the past. At times Ottorino felt like crying 
 out for joy, at the next moment gloom and despair 
 settled over him with the thought of Enrico's mysterious 
 doom and the beautiful rival of the Moorish girl. Then 
 the whirlwind of his thoughts rushed into other channels. 
 The duke in his frenzy had revealed himself the author 
 of the dismal tragedy ; but his forced confession shed 
 no light on his motives for a deed which, however in 
 accord with his dire temper, pointed to the presence of 
 a favoured and formidable rival. Despairingly Ottorino 
 lost himself in the intricate labyrinth of intangible sur- 
 mises, but as evening drew nigh fear diminished and 
 hope rose in proportion. 
 
 It was verging into sunset when the Visconti found 
 himself traversing the narrow vale of the Oreto on his 
 way toward the groves of Favara. It needed even now 
 all his resolution not to succumb to the influences of 
 
 306
 
 Hmor tflictor 307 
 
 conflicting thoughts and emotions. The rising moon 
 and the languid sweetness of the hour joined in 
 conspiracy against the too susceptible Lombard. The 
 musical murmur of distant fountains, mingled with the 
 notes of innumerable nightingales, the dreamy brightness 
 of the moonlight, the soft, mysterious whisperings of the 
 leaves in the gentle air, touched subtle chords of love 
 and longing in his soul. But even with these warring 
 impulses at work, his regret, his love, his anguish, and 
 his wrath seemed to grow with every pace more wildly 
 intense, until in the supervening agony he could without 
 hesitation have yielded himself to any doom, however 
 terrible, which would relieve his soul of the doubts which 
 ate into it with poisoned fangs. Black thoughts were 
 vaguely whirling in his disordered fancy, when he heard 
 a slight rustling in the leaves by his side. Turning, a 
 deadly pallor overspread his features as his eyes met those 
 of Helena di Miraval. He had expected to behold her 
 flushed in the triumph of her beauty, arrayed to dazzle 
 and to subdue, but he had not armed himself against 
 the simplicity of her black gown, totally unornamented, 
 rendering more distinct the marble pallor of her beautiful 
 face, which slowly tinted with faint rose-coloured hues, 
 when she felt his gaze burning upon her. Her voice 
 trembled with some consciousness, when, interrupting 
 with a gesture at once dignified and agitated his con- 
 fused and strangely humble salutation, she commanded 
 the matron in the black habit of the cloister who had ac- 
 companied her to retire. Ottorino's gaze reverted in a 
 tumult of passions from this personage, who revived 
 memories of his former tryst and deception, to Helena; 
 but he found that she was only intent on watching her 
 companion disappear behind the Moorish kiosk. 
 
 " My duenna will await me yonder," the lady of Mira-
 
 308 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 val then said, not without a slight significance in her 
 tone and not without confusion, "to prevent any alarm 
 or surprise, but pray, signor, be seated." 
 
 She pointed to one of the marble benches interspersed 
 at close intervals throughout the rose-thicket, taking her 
 seat rather with the manner of a queen about to hear a 
 suppliant than that of a woman supposed to have granted 
 an interview to her lover. Ottorino, recovering from his 
 first embarrassment, thanked the lady with a slight bend 
 of the head, but preserved his station, though at a lesser 
 distance. 
 
 There were several moments of utter and most em- 
 barrassing silence, and, but that his disbelieving, jealous 
 heart suggested other causes, Ottorino could not but 
 have been moved with the expression of melancholy and 
 subdued agitation which her whole attitude revealed. As 
 it was, he dared not trust his voice to speak, and it was 
 Helena di Miraval whose tremulous siren tones broke the 
 silence. 
 
 " Signor," she said, pausing after the first word with 
 visible embarrassment, and then resuming with firmness 
 and hauteur, " if I have requested this singular audience, 
 it is because I would repay the gift of life bestowed on 
 me by you, by requesting the acceptance on your part 
 of the means of immediate flight which I have prepared." 
 
 Deeply touched as Ottorino was by this seemingly 
 generous concern for his safety, the jealous suggestions 
 which his fancy instantly mingled supported him in the 
 carrying out of the part he had planned to enact. 
 
 " Even the fallen angels were not expelled from paradise 
 so suddenly, lady, and such your presence makes Palermo 
 and these leafy bowers, fraught with memories too dear 
 to be forgotten," he replied, in a low, wooing tone, in- 
 describably sweet to the senses of his listener. " Neither
 
 Hmor IDictor 39 
 
 were they condemned unheard, and by whom am I 
 accused, to merit punishment as severe as this ? " 
 
 " Condemned unheard," Helena replied, slowly ; " truly 
 our sex has been wrongfully chidden with want of con- 
 sistency. But let it pass. You had a friend, you cast 
 her from you, are you not therein answered ? " 
 
 " It may have been my mishap not to understand her, 
 to offend her, but who was at fault ? " replied Otto- 
 rino, fixing his burning gaze upon the woman before him. 
 
 " You admit, then, signor, it was a fault ? " 
 
 "Again I request an accusation." 
 
 " Does not your memory accuse you ? " asked Helena, 
 with a touch of deep indignation. 
 
 " My memory is only my own enemy, not yours," Otto- 
 rino replied, falteringly. 
 
 She shook her head, while with her words she gradually 
 lashed herself into the fire of anger. 
 
 " Your memory ! Your memory ! It is like the rip- 
 pling wave that is swallowed by the next, it is like the 
 idle wind that dies at sunset, if I were the woman you 
 accuse me to be, how dare you trust yourself in my 
 presence ? " 
 
 " Because on my lips still lingers the ravening fire 
 wh ; ch Helena di Miraval left there in that never-to-be- 
 forgotten night of the past. How could I fear that I was 
 mortal, surviving the rapture of that moment ? " Ottorino 
 said, in tones which vibrated through the innermost 
 depths of her soul, though shame and anger sparkled in 
 her expression as she replied : 
 
 " Your flattery sounds like fear ! You grievously mis- 
 doubted your mortality when you accused the nun who 
 attended your wounds of attempting your life with poison ! 
 Oh, Madonna your life ! And yet with all these proofs, 
 but it matters not! To the purpose, then! Fly and
 
 Castel Del /iDonte 
 
 save yourself from the duke's anger, for it is deadly ! " 
 she concluded, shuddering. 
 
 "Why should I dread your kinsman's anger? Why 
 should I fly? Why should I not rather follow the dic- 
 tates of my heart and claim you as my own before the 
 whole world, you, the only woman I have ever loved; 
 you, the one I have never ceased to worship ? " 
 
 " That I will answer you," returned Helena, with 
 vivacity. " The pride of the Visconti is reported great, 
 and you would not expose it to the mortification of a 
 refusal, which by the most blessed Virgin awaits you if 
 after this warning you dare to utter it." 
 
 Ottorino's first surprise was followed by an influx of 
 jealous suspicion. 
 
 " Surely," he said, with rising vehemence, " it is for 
 me to recall memory rather than for you. It must be 
 some greater alliance fostered by policy or ambition that 
 prompts your speech, for my questionings and doubts, 
 daily provoked and yet unallayed, cannot have moved you 
 to this anger. Fool that I was," he added, in a voice 
 full of anguish and bitterness, " that I dreamed for a 
 moment to be loved by Helena di Miraval ! " 
 
 " Then you did believe once ? " 
 
 " I loved you." 
 
 " You loved me," she repeated, as from the depths of 
 a dream. " Love trusts, love believes, love gives 
 love in return. You loved me, perhaps with the in- 
 toxication of the moment, with the feeling of gratified 
 vanity that it was Helena di Miraval who trusted her 
 heart to your keeping, that it was the proudest woman 
 in the realm who had spoken words of love to Ottorino 
 Visconti. Yes, I loved you, too, but with a love dif- 
 ferent from yours; I did not doubt you, even though 
 it pleased you to create a pageant of your own in the
 
 amor IDictor 3" 
 
 company of a Moorish wanton, even though you were 
 stirring up the foul corruption of the marshes in quest of 
 proof of Helena di Miraval's guilt ! I loved you, once, 
 then ! It is all over now." 
 
 A deadly pallor overspread Ottorino's features, and 
 staggering as if he had received a blow from an unseen 
 foe, he grasped his forehead with both hands. 
 
 " Pageant Moorish wanton," he stammered, " which 
 one of us is mad? Hath some fiend whispered this 
 calumny into the ears of all Palermo ? " 
 
 A disdainful gesture was Helena di Miraval's sole reply, 
 as if the subterfuge was too threadbare to require verbal 
 refutation, but this pretended or actual unbelief on her 
 part drove the Visconti to a frenzy in which he no longer 
 measured his speech. 
 
 " And it is you who chide me with a deed whose dark 
 import a future hour will reveal to you ! " he wildly ex- 
 claimed. " You, who bid me come to the convent of 
 Santa Lucia but to feast your eyes on my dismay when, 
 leaving the confessional, you passed me as one who had 
 no claim on Helena di Miraval's heart ! You upbraid my 
 lack of faith, you, who lured me to the grottoes of Pros- 
 erpina but to witness the triumph of a rival ! " 
 
 " Triumph confessional rival ? " stammered the 
 lady of Miraval, scrutinizing Ottorino as if she feared 
 that he had been struck with madness. " Surely this 
 is some cheat of the fiend, else " 
 
 He uttered a wild laugh, having worked himself up 
 into a frenzy that made him utterly oblivious of his 
 own resolves, but his mirth of despair died down with 
 almost equal suddenness when he remarked the look of 
 blank dismay with which Helena di Miraval regarded 
 him. 
 
 " I have lived a prisoner in the duke's palace," she
 
 3" Gastel fcel flDonte 
 
 said, in low and tremulous accents, " surrounded by spies 
 and the dark agents of his intrigues. I never go to the 
 convent, for my confessor comes to me. At the hour 
 appointed my duenna awaited you at the cloister, in 
 vain, and as for the apparition in the grotto, I swear 
 to you by all that can draw destruction on a broken vow 
 that it was another of my sex, the same one who, as the 
 Fata Morgana of the Carnival, mocked your faith to 
 clouds and vapours ! Oh, had you but heeded my warn- 
 ings ! Believe me, Helena di Miraval makes not light of 
 love, and where she gives her heart there it remains for 
 ever. Oh, had you but heeded my words, had you but 
 trusted me! even against the testimony of the whole 
 world! Such a love would have been love indeed, and 
 against such love and such faith the intrigues of all the 
 fiends had been in vain." 
 
 In speechless amazement Ottorino stared at the woman 
 before him. Her words carried such conviction that he 
 could not question her sincerity; at the same time his 
 dark suspicions of the duke's plotting and authorship of 
 his miseries changed into certainties. There remained little 
 doubt in his mind that the veiled apparition at the con- 
 vent of Santa Lucia had with a purpose attracted him 
 to herself, and as for the scene in the grottoes of Pros- 
 erpina, doubt in the reality of his vision had time and 
 again flashed through his mind, when his passion-inflamed 
 brain had permitted saner thought to usurp frenzied 
 suspicion. 
 
 At last he spoke, his gaze fixed upon the ground. 
 
 "Love trusts, it oftener fears! What manner of 
 man was I to think that I could compel the love of 
 Helena di Miraval?" 
 
 He paused for a moment, raising his eyes to her face, 
 as if to read its inmost thoughts. Her gaze was fixed
 
 amor Victor 313 
 
 on the dark, velvety greensward, as if she dared not trust 
 herself, while with hands convulsively clasped she lis- 
 tened to his words. 
 
 " But," Ottorino continued, after a pause, encouraged 
 by her very passiveness, " if her words are true, if Helena 
 di Miraval's heart ever remains where she has given it, 
 if love indeed exchanges love and sells not its wares, 
 then love me with all the passion of your sex, as I love 
 you with the love of mine ! " And, sinking in a delirium 
 of passion at her feet, he stammered, " My Helena, 
 perfection of all divinity in woman, you whom from the 
 first moment I have never ceased to worship, I love 
 you dearer than my life, and when I thought you had 
 attempted it, I loved you more than ever ! " 
 
 And, snatching her hands, he covered them with burn- 
 ing kisses, while in vain she struggled to tear them 
 away from him, her countenance bearing mingled traces 
 of tenderness and indignation, which suddenly melted 
 away in a shower of tears. 
 
 " Leave me, leave me," she faltered, " fly, save 
 yourself ! " 
 
 Vehemently as this outburst smote the conscience and 
 heart of Ottorino, the very beauty of her confusion and 
 tenderness roused his jealousy, his love, his regrets, in 
 a furious whirlwind of passion, which threatened to 
 sweep away the last restraint. 
 
 " Fly fly ? My veins flow fire, and the divine spell 
 of your beauty has fettered my soul," he uttered, with 
 frenzied fervour. " I love you, Helena, I love you as never 
 woman was loved before ! But speak ! speak ! lest I 
 think you are making mirth and mockery of my madness." 
 
 " No, Ottorino, no ! Leave me ! I swear to you by 
 an oath, to break which is perdition, that I loved but
 
 314 Castel &el /iDonte 
 
 once, and you ! " faltered Helena, her fair face droop- 
 ing like a rose too heavily laden with dew. 
 
 " Nay, then, if you loved me once, if you loved me, 
 and parting as you bid me to, for ever, I will return 
 that kiss, whose sweetness lurks like madness in my 
 blood," exclaimed the Visconti, wildly, while Helena 
 started away from him in terror, with difficulty eluding 
 his frantic embrace. 
 
 " I love you in very truth, Ottorino I loved you since 
 your first glance of lofty pride fell upon me," she ex- 
 claimed, finding herself as instantly entangled in his 
 arms. " Forgive me but this once, swear to me that 
 you will leave me, swear to me that you will give me back 
 my madness, and all shall be as if it had never been ! " 
 
 " Leave you now ? " exclaimed Ottorino, flinging 
 her from his embrace, to which she was unconsciously 
 yielding in mingled fear and tenderness. " Leave you, to 
 find a fitter successor to Ottorino Visconti? But no, no, 
 no! By the great God above, who hears us, and if 
 all the fiends of doom were arrayed against me, you 
 are mine! Nay, you shall not force me from you, you 
 shall listen to me, as I take heaven and earth to witness 
 that I believe you against the angels." 
 
 " Against the angels ? " she replied, with a sad smile. 
 " And what miracle has brought about this sudden 
 change ? Ottorino, I loved you as I never loved, but your 
 disdain, your doubts, have eaten into the very core of 
 my heart, and even supernatural assurance would be to 
 you no confirmation of my innocence." 
 
 " Then listen, my love ! By some chance I found my- 
 self the victim of a black deceit, an accident in itself 
 as unaccountable as the revelations were fearful." 
 
 " What accident ? What revelations ? " she said, listen- 
 ing intently.
 
 Hmor IDfctor 3*5 
 
 In faltering accents first, then with increasing elo- 
 quence, Ottorino recounted every occurrence since his 
 arrival at Palermo; he dwelt long on their supposed 
 meeting at Santa Lucia, and the scene in the cavern, the 
 last and only dark point remaining, which had risen a 
 barrier between them to the present hour. 
 
 " Then you are still doubting ? " she exclaimed, noting 
 his tone of hesitancy. 
 
 " My last doubts vanished with the spirits which the 
 wizard conjured up before the duke, whom they forced 
 to disclose the unhallowed mystery of his crimes, and 
 his love for you. Though sorcery compelled it, though 
 the phantom of murdered Enrico rose from his grave, 
 rousing his jealous fears, darkness and the terrific silence 
 of death did the work, and in his delirium the duke con- 
 fessed so much that his words threw a light into the 
 strange secrets which had long haunted me with shadows, 
 like certainties. And it was the duke's paramour who 
 suggested my presence for causes even now unknown to 
 me, though something she spoke of proving the innocence 
 of one over whom a dark cloud had long been hanging." 
 
 Helena listened attentively. But as Ottorino's tale pro- 
 ceeded, as the certainty of the duke's terrible plots 
 flashed over her, she grew quite colourless, and when he 
 revealed to her the duke's dark insinuations that she had 
 lured to his death the emperor's son, she would have 
 fallen had not his arms supported her. 
 
 " And you believed ? " she stammered, pale as death. 
 
 " No, my Helena, no ! Banish for ever from your 
 heart this rankling, poisonous thought! The dark cloud 
 has disappeared. Oh, let it not settle over us again ! " 
 
 Helena's head sank on her bosom, while passively her 
 hands remained in his. 
 
 " I had taught my soul forbearance in the impossibility
 
 316 Castel fcel /JDonte 
 
 of ever being yours, and now, since you know there is 
 a curse denounced on all who love me, on all my love 
 approaches, on mine own head and on yours, if you will 
 not desist, what shall I do? Your life is not worth 
 one apostonaro if you remain in Palermo. You say you 
 have heard such marvellous things under Monte Pelle- 
 grino; there lives one woman who could tell you that 
 which would cause you to turn to stone, and often she 
 wonders at her own mettle that suffers her to endure 
 in silence." 
 
 " Helena," Ottorino spoke, after a brief pause, " do you 
 love me ? " 
 
 " Ah ! Why do you ask ? You know it but too well, 
 Ottorino, even to my heart's core," she replied, aban- 
 doning herself to his encircling arms. 
 
 "Then, my love, I will remain if all the fiends of 
 darkness rise against me" 
 
 "Alas, one were enough! But since you will not 
 heed my warning, since you will not fly alone, let us 
 fly together ! Only on the high seas are we safe from the 
 duke's murderous steel. His terrible accomplice, the 
 Catalan, tracks all my steps, and his demeanour has 
 wondrously changed of late. I fear the worst, for Cri- 
 vello is sullen and skulks, an ever sure symptom that he 
 is steeling himself to some deed of terror. Take me with 
 you, beloved! Wait not the coronation! I love you, 
 I am all yours! I would gladly welcome death for your 
 sake and by your side, but to know your life im- 
 perilled, and the nightly terrors my own dismal prison- 
 house, it is more than I can bear." 
 
 " Your life is mine and mine the right to guard it, to 
 protect you against the world. We will leave this very 
 night. I know an old boatman who has plied many years 
 between these shores. I will leave orders with Canaletto
 
 Hmor HMctor 317 
 
 and a message for the king. But we must hasten, 
 are you ready to follow me, beloved ? " 
 
 With a cry of anguish Helena glided into her lover's 
 arms. Her face was deadly pale. Their eyes met, and 
 their souls held silent commune. Bright and clear the 
 moonlight bathed the cypress-trees bordering the ap- 
 proach to the kiosk, like silent wardens of the past; 
 orange blossoms and magnolias wafted their intoxicating 
 odours into the balmy night air. 
 
 " It is growing late and we require secrecy and speed," 
 Ottorino at last broke the silence. " Your duenna is 
 peering from yonder kiosk, and I fear she is not as sleepy 
 as she affects, though rubbing her eyes and yawning 
 lustily. Still, she will have to become used to this 
 sight sooner or later. I will hasten to Khalesa, to ar- 
 range with Canaletto, then to the boat, to safety, and to 
 freedom." 
 
 " I will meet you at midnight in the garb of a nun 
 at the Dominican's hermitage," replied Helena. " I shall 
 wear a mask, for the duke and his henchman are ever 
 wakeful, besides, I fear the boatman's inquisitive gaze. 
 And now one last farewell glimpse of heaven, till the 
 convent bells of Santa Lucia peal the hour," she added, 
 with a smile, while her eyes with their magic spell held 
 those of Ottorino. 
 
 Embracing her with passionate tenderness, the Vis- 
 conti pressed his lips to those whose sweetness had never 
 ceased to haunt him. And loving so passionately and 
 with a nature fraught with the glowing sun of her land, 
 Helena in the self-oblivious abandonment of ecstatic ten- 
 derness wreathed her beautiful arms around his neck, 
 meeting the pressure with equal fervour. 
 
 Then with one last passionate glance of love they 
 parted, eager for the hour when the frail craft would
 
 Gastel fcel /iDonte 
 
 carry them beyond the reach of the dread spell hovering 
 over their lives. 
 
 The convent bells of Santa Lucia chimed the midnight 
 hour, when Ottorino, arriving at the friar's hermitage, 
 found Helena waiting in the deep shadows of the palms 
 and sycamores. Their wide-spreading branches almost 
 concealed the narrow path leading to the landing where 
 the old boatman lay in waiting. After an interchange 
 of mute greetings, they proceeded on their way till the 
 landing came in sight, and with it a boat, half-hidden in 
 the reeds. Ottorino whispered constant words of en- 
 couragement to his companion, for her terror seemed so 
 great as to completely rob her of the faculty of speech. 
 They were fast approaching the shore, and Ottorino 
 pointed to the sea. 
 
 " Courage, my love, courage ! Bright gleams our 
 star in yonder heavens, and the gates of liberty are nigh ! " 
 
 The firm pressure of the hand he held in his own was 
 her only response, yet his soothing words hardly allayed 
 her fears, for she glanced wistfully around, back into the 
 shadows, as, making their way through the reeds, they 
 approached the boat, in which the old ferryman lay in his 
 wonted semiconscious trance. 
 
 " Ply thine oars, old man, this is no time for sleep- 
 ing," Ottorino called, as he started to enter the small 
 craft, drawing Helena after him. The boatman's slum- 
 ,bers seemed to be heavy, for he stirred not, but when 
 Ottorino attempted to rouse him from his lethargy, his 
 foot slipped on a wet, slimy substance. Even while the 
 Lombard fell, his eyes met a sight which froze the very 
 life-blood in his veins, for from the old man's side pro- 
 truded the hilt of a poniard, whose aim had been but 
 too true. Striking the bottom of the craft, Ottorino felt
 
 Bmor ItMctor 319 
 
 the planks parting under him, while the murdered boat- 
 man fell over his sinking body. Simultaneously a shrill 
 whistle resounded along the beach; from the tall reeds 
 rushed a half-dozen or more bravi, masked and armed 
 to the teeth, a masked horseman in a long Spanish mantle 
 urging them to his purpose from under the boughs of a 
 wide-spreading plane-tree, which but partially concealed 
 him from view. 
 
 When Helena beheld her protector falling, she uttered 
 a low outcry of dismay, but ere she realized what had hap- 
 pened she felt a cover thrown over her head ; stout arms 
 lifted her from the sinking craft and bore her lifeless 
 form for she had swooned from the excess of terror 
 through the softly whispering reeds. The masked horse- 
 man, after a parting glance at the spot where the craft 
 had gone down with the old boatman and Lombard, rode 
 in silence after them.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE ATTACK ON THE TORRE 
 
 ANOTHER day had gone down the never returning tide 
 of time. 
 
 While the Apulian barons were assembled in the 
 gloomy palace of the Duke of Altamura, a wild tumult 
 roared and clattered around the walls of the Torre del 
 Diavolo. The moon had scarcely risen in the eastern 
 horizon when out of swamps and marshes surrounding 
 the lone tower, out of brushwood and ruins, rose a 
 shadowy array of soldiery, who surrounded the duke's 
 stronghold while the guards, taking advantage of their 
 master's absence, indulged in games and pastimes of their 
 own. Unmistakable preparations for storming the mas- 
 sive structure were in progress ; axes, knives, and cata- 
 pults in the shape of huge boulders were placed in readi- 
 ness under the sheltering boughs of the surrounding oaks. 
 The men-at-arms were mailed to do battle to the death, 
 and seemed to wait but the signal of their leader, a gaunt 
 giant, who watched the progress of the siege seated upon 
 his coal-black charger of pure Norman blood. After a 
 brief consultation between the Duke of Lesina and two 
 subordinate leaders, three men-at-arms proceeded to the 
 gates of the Torre, and, knocking against it with all their 
 might, demanded admittance. Some time elapsed ere re- 
 sponse was made, and their crashing knocks became 
 
 320
 
 Httacfc on tbe TTorre 
 
 louder and more importunate, when a voice from within 
 demanded to know the cause of the disturbance. 
 
 The Duke of Lesina had slowly approached the moat, 
 keenly watching every movement on the battlements, but 
 when the din of voices from within was audible, he could 
 restrain himself no longer. 
 
 " Hounds and bastards," he cried, " it is I, the Duke 
 of Lesina, who bid you lower the bridge and open the 
 gates, else I will drive you out like rats with burning 
 pitch and oil." 
 
 There was no response to this demand. The defenders 
 of the Torre, being without a leader, had withdrawn in 
 alarm and consternation. The beleaguerer's summons 
 meeting apparently but with mute defiance, Lesina or- 
 dered his men-at-arms to the assault. With fierce shouts 
 some rushed headlong into the ditches, while others pro- 
 cured ladders to scale the walls. But by this time Cri- 
 vello's Catalans had somewhat recovered from their first 
 panic, and those who were the most eager in the assault 
 were crushed beneath huge stones thrown from the walls 
 with prodigious force, while others fell transfixed with 
 spears and arrows, and the more sober began to misdoubt 
 the success of the enterprise. 
 
 The old Duke of Lesina, brandishing a sword of tre- 
 mendous length, now lashed his charger under the ram- 
 parts. 
 
 " Send us the woman, the recreant nun, ere we tear 
 down this pile over her cursed head ! " thundered the old 
 warrior to the men-at-arms in the defences. " Send us 
 the woman, we will listen to no other terms, send 
 us the woman ! " 
 
 The Catalans, to whom this speech was addressed, 
 seemed to enter into deliberations, aware that unless word 
 could be sent to the duke they would hardly be able to
 
 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 hold the old pile against the hundreds rushing to the 
 assault. But more than they feared the wrath of the old 
 leader they dreaded the fury of the duke, and at length 
 Lesina's summons was answered with a volley of stones 
 and arrows, the defence being directed by a woman 
 garbed in black, who had emerged on the ramparts just 
 as the Catalans were weighing their cause in the balance. 
 An inarticulate outcry of fury broke from the lips of 
 Lesina when he recognized Francesca, and in a few 
 moments the ladders erected to scale the defences hung 
 thick with combatants, while under his immediate super- 
 vision a ponderous machine was dragged against the 
 walls. It was formed of four lofty timbers carried by 
 a score of men, and crossed with bars so as to make four 
 steep ladders to the top. The men-at-arms surged with 
 great eagerness around the conveyance, so as to increase 
 its shock when hurled against the massive oaken doors. 
 So fearful was the impetus and so tremendous the crash 
 with which the beam struck them, that it knocked them 
 out of their hinges, causing them to almost topple over. 
 
 The Duke of Lesina uttered a triumphant cry, while the 
 consternation among the besieged was so great that they 
 stared without stirring at the formidable catapult. In 
 that moment's pause the besiegers broke down the door 
 and rushed with a fierce shout of victory into the cause- 
 way opening before them. 
 
 Keenly the old baron's eyes were fixed upon the only 
 exit through which the woman on whose head he had 
 vowed destruction must come. But instead of Francesca 
 an avalanche of armed men swept down upon his r^r, 
 and a deadly conflict began to rage on all sides amidst 
 deafening shouts, groans, and triumphant blasts. 
 
 It was the Duke of Altamura who had appeared upon 
 the scene.
 
 TTbe Httacft on tbe Uorre 323 
 
 Secretly warned, he had quickly rallied an armed band 
 around him, and in the midst of the hideous din of battle 
 he was heard encouraging his soldiery and bearing the 
 brunt of the fight where strife and conflict raged fiercest. 
 
 No sooner had the old duke laid eyes upon his mortal 
 enemy than he dashed in person to the attack. Armed 
 but with his flambeau and unmindful of the fact in the 
 fever heat of his passions, the old warrior plunged into 
 the thick of the fray. His mantle and surcoat were torn 
 away by Catalan spears, yet he forced his way to the 
 very spot where Altamura waited his onrush. Simul- 
 taneously a phalanx of pikemen, descending from the 
 opposite direction, came with full force upon the assail- 
 ants. Lesina's contingents were swept back, the old 
 leader brandishing his sword in frenzied rage and urg- 
 ing his men to break through the barriers and to capture 
 the outcast of his house. 
 
 The Catalans on the ramparts caught fresh courage 
 when they beheld the forces which Altamura brought up 
 to the rescue, while Lesina's attacking ranks surged in 
 wild confusion around their leader. Suddenly a bright 
 blaze arose, and a torrent of flaming pitch rushed from 
 the battlements upon the heads of the assailants. Bathed 
 in liquid flames, a part of the combatants rushed pell-mell 
 into the ditches, and many were suffocated by the weight 
 of their own armour. But Lesina's main chivalry rallied 
 and met the double shock of Altamura's Catalans with 
 undaunted courage, while a terrific hand-to-hand conflict 
 ensued around the entrance. Suddenly Altamura, turn- 
 ing deadly pale, turned to Crivello, who rode by his side. 
 "Hist, Crivello! Who is it that shields the old robber? 
 Look he averts all strokes of men's swords." 
 
 " I see no one but Lesina," Crivello replied, glancing 
 in the direction indicated.
 
 324 Castel t>el fl&onte 
 
 " Fool ! Think you these eyes play me false ? I note 
 him well enough with his dark crest," returned the duke, 
 fiercely. " The dark one, now he pushes open the 
 gate, nothing of earthly strength might do it." 
 
 " My lord, there are a score or more raising the 
 timber to hurl it over, they know not that it falls on 
 its carriage either way," said the Catalan, but the words 
 died on his lips. For a moment the mighty timbers 
 quivered in the air, equally poised, then they struck the 
 heavy gates with such force that when they fell every- 
 thing before them was crushed into a horrid mass of 
 blood and steel. 
 
 A terrible shout of triumph went up as the last im- 
 pediment fell. Like a mad torrent which has broken over 
 its embankments, Lesina's soldiery swept into the Torre 
 del Diavolo, killing and mangling everything in their 
 path. Another body threw themselves with renewed 
 vigour upon the duke's Catalans, whom the breaking 
 down of the heavy iron-bound doors had for the moment 
 almost unnerved. The rescuing party were unable to 
 hurry to the assistance of the defenders, whom they soon 
 beheld in a fierce hand-to-hand encounter on the ram- 
 parts, which resulted in their succumbing to the con- 
 stantly increasing forces of their assailants. Lesina him- 
 self, surrounded by a choice body of men, was again 
 guarding the only exit from the Torre, and, turning once 
 or twice to direct the assault, he met the glare of Alta- 
 mura's eyes, which were like those of a frenzied animal. 
 
 At this moment a large wicker basket was raised on 
 the ramparts, and when it was heaved over the walls 
 six gory heads were hurled, as if with the force of a 
 catapult, at the feet of Altamura's horse, which shied 
 and reared upon its haunches, but with difficulty con- 
 trolled by the duke's iron grip.
 
 Bttacfc on tbe Uorre 3*5 
 
 " Dost thou miss any of them, most illustrious assassin, 
 traitor, and seducer? Or seekest thou among them for 
 the beardless cheek of thy paramour ? " shouted Lesina, 
 with a fearful laugh. " Bide but a few moments, and 
 I will send it to thee on the point of a spear, thanking 
 thee for this noble chance to wipe the stain from our 
 name in her degenerate blood." 
 
 " Even as thou wilt," returned Altamura, with a shrug. 
 " Do thy worst against the wanton, thy kinswoman 
 I defy thee ! " 
 
 " Dog and ravisher," roared the old baron, " I will 
 tear this doting paramour of thine from her sanctuary 
 and burn this cursed pile over her head as a funeral 
 pyre." 
 
 " Sanctuary ? " Altamura exclaimed, with a wild laugh 
 of derision. " There is a chapel within the Torre, but 
 to prove thy lies and false accusations I withdraw there- 
 from all privileges, and shall devote its shrines to the 
 rudest wrath of my soldiery. Ho, my men, forward! 
 Spare none, slay all ! " 
 
 But while shaking his clenched fists at his enemy, Alta- 
 mura was nevertheless forced to retreat, for a veritable 
 rain of fire and burning pitch was hurled against him 
 from the ramparts, the intruders making use of his own 
 materials of defence. 
 
 "We shall soon clear the air of thy pestilential pres- 
 ence," shouted Lesina, snatching a string of flaming 
 tow covered with pitch, and hurling it at the duke across 
 the heads of his own men. With a fierce shout his 
 soldiery dashed to the attack. And now Lesina swept 
 everything before him ; nothing could withstand the fury 
 of his onslaught. The Catalans were driven into the 
 Torre, and the narrow causeways, the winding stairs, and 
 dark corridors were strewn with heaps of the dead and
 
 326 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 dying. Blood began to flow in streams when the old 
 baron reached a massive oaken door, around which a 
 fierce hand-to-hand conflict began to rage. After an obsti- 
 nate resistance the defenders were overcome, and the door, 
 giving way under the pressure, revealed when it broke 
 down an oval, tomblike recess, in which cowered the form 
 of a woman wrapped in a dark mantle, her hands clasped, 
 her head bent forward, her eyes glaring madly upon the 
 intruder, who was shouting some command to his men- 
 at-arms, which these, heartless and cruel as they were, 
 hesitated to execute. Lesina pointed to the crouching 
 form of the hapless girl. 
 
 " On with you ! " he shouted. " Drag her out of her 
 hole, or I will brain him who refuses on this very spot." 
 
 The pikemen stood irresolute ; there was something 
 in the mad beauty of the woman before them that wielded 
 its influence even over their stony hearts. 
 
 " My lord, remember it is your brother's blood 
 which you would shed," remonstrated one of the younger 
 leaders, pushing forward to the side of Lesina. 
 
 "Tis false 'tis false!" roared the old lion, with 
 frantic fury. " I will burn her for the wanton and false 
 nun that she has been adjudged; the name of Lesina 
 she has defiled!" 
 
 Francesca's eyes rested on the youthful knight who 
 had taken her part. 
 
 " Nay, signer, plead not for me, but least of all because 
 of my father's blood, lest it boil and burst in my veins ! " 
 she said, with the calmness of despair. " I ask no mercy, 
 none of thee, brother of Guide Lesina, a heavier curse 
 rests on thee for violating sanctuary." 
 
 " Sanctuary ! " returned the old baron, with a wild 
 laugh of scorn. " Ha, by our Lady, thou speakest 
 well! For even he, thy seducer, declared to me within
 
 Ube Httacft on tbe Tlorre 327 
 
 hearing of these that he would raise the sanctity of the 
 spot, just to show how much he cared for thee, his 
 paramour." 
 
 At these words the woman started up and turned 
 to the speaker with such a glance of incredulity and 
 horror that even Lesina was struck with it. 
 
 " Hast thou come hither to lie without a blush, like the 
 basest churl ? " she exclaimed. " Does not death, where- 
 with thou menacest me, appease thy vengeance? Hack 
 me to pieces rather than speak these words! But they 
 are false false, and thou art damned even below my 
 station for calumniating humanity more blackly than the 
 fiends on the day of doom ! " 
 
 With a terrible oath Lesina reiterated the statement, 
 but instead of impressing the unhappy woman with its 
 truth, it roused a passion more terrible within her than 
 even the immediate presence of the most direful death 
 had excited. 
 
 " You lie you lie ! " she shrieked. " Give me but an 
 hour in which to warn him, and if he tear not down 
 these very walls to rescue me hell is as true as he were 
 false!" 
 
 " Seize her, ye dastardly dogs, seize her, cowards ! 
 Are you afraid of a woman ? " shouted Lesina. 
 
 " Let not my lord be beguiled into a rash deed by 
 your mortal foe, who perchance is tired of her and would 
 have you remove a scandal from his path," pleaded Leo 
 del Valle, the young leader who had once before es- 
 poused Francesca's cause, " lest regret may come when 
 it is too late." 
 
 Lesina himself looked staggered at this argument, but 
 it aroused such unbridled and furious wrath in her whom 
 the words meant to serve that she sprang up from her
 
 328 Gastel fcel flDonte 
 
 crouching position, standing before the young chieftain 
 like the flaming angel of vengeance. 
 
 " Again and again you lie ! Oh, that I were but a man, 
 to fight with you to the death ! " she cried aloud, in her 
 mastering agony. " No, you are not a man, but a demon, 
 who has dreamed this on some burning pillow of anguish, 
 and whose hell it is to make others share it." 
 
 Even as Francesca concluded this invective, sudden 
 as the bursting of a white squall at sea there arose an 
 uproar outside which rang far and deep through the re- 
 cesses of the Torre. Shrieks, yells, and the rush of 
 unnumbered feet mingled with distant shouts, while blasts 
 of trumpets resounded above the deafening din. Even 
 Lesina seemed puzzled, for he made an irresolute gesture 
 to seize Francesca with his own hands, but Leo del Valle 
 caught him by the arm, and, suddenly darting from the 
 shrine, Francesca ran up the steps of the altar, shrieking 
 till the very vaults rang with the echo : 
 
 " Rescue rescue ! He comes he comes ! " 
 
 Even Lesina paled as yells from without returned a 
 fearful chorus to the shout, " Altamura ! Altamura ! " 
 
 Maddened with wrath, the old baron turned as the rush 
 and roar, shrieks and yells, swept like a hurricane through 
 the ponderous portals. It was the Duke of Altamura 
 who was leading the havoc, appearing high above the 
 heads of his men-at-arms and shouting with a voice that 
 pealed like the doom of judgment into the ears of those 
 within, " No quarter ! No sanctuary ! " 
 
 And behind him a mass of spearmen rolled in with 
 the cry, " Kill kill ! " surrounding Lesina and his men 
 with their superior numbers. 
 
 Francesca stood at the altar grasping a massive orna- 
 ment of gold, her eyes and nostrils dilated, her black hair 
 dishevelled, and, distinguishing the voice of the man for
 
 Ube Bttacfc on tbe Uorre 329 
 
 whom she had given up all that is dear and sacred to 
 woman, she made the sanctuary ring with the delirious 
 shriek : 
 
 " Rescue rescue ! I am here, Ferrando ! I am 
 here!" 
 
 " Forward, my men forward ! Slay all, spare none, 
 man or woman ! " the duke was heard to yell. " Death 
 to all, spare none ! " 
 
 Francesca heard not these words because of the frantic 
 cries with which she endeavoured to attract, as she im- 
 agined, the assistance of him upon whom she had every 
 claim on earth. 
 
 The knightly spirit in Leo del Valle, upon hearing this 
 murderous order and seeing his chief surrounded, was 
 aroused to the highest pitch, and, while doubtful about 
 his own safety, he was determined to protect the woman 
 at every hazard. He rushed back to the altar, but as he 
 approached Francesca raised one of the massive pieces 
 of plate and shrieked aloud that she would hurl it at him 
 if he advanced one step. 
 
 " I will but protect you, else you are lost ! " replied 
 the young leader. " I heard the duke command even now 
 to slay you for a witch who had intercourse with evil 
 spirits." 
 
 " You lie you lie ! Ferrando has hazarded all to 
 save me, I am saved ! " she shrieked, wildly. " Help, 
 Ferrando, help save your Francesca ! " 
 
 Almost as she uttered these words a horseman crashed 
 with a terrific din into the centre of the sanctuary, flour- 
 ishing his falchion in the midst of the cataract of wild 
 soldiery. Some of these were mangled beneath the re- 
 lentless hoofs, while others, ere being overridden, yelled 
 for mercy or grappled with the steed as their slayer 
 hacked them down.
 
 33 Gastei del /iDonte 
 
 The horseman halted, and Francesca, recognizing him, 
 attempted to rush down from the altar, crying in frantic 
 
 joy: 
 
 " Ferrando Ferrando save me ! I am here I am 
 here!" 
 
 " What woman is this who speaks to us as familiarly 
 as to her dog?" the duke turned to Crivello. "Cas- 
 tellan, do you know her ? " 
 
 " Horror and anguish ! Have this night's terrors 
 changed me so, Ferrando, do you not know me ? " cried 
 Francesca, with an agony in her shrieking tones which 
 pierced all the uproar of human anguish around. 
 
 " Yea, forsooth, thou art my wife, wanton, art 
 thou not? The castellan's wife of the Torre del Diavolo, 
 speak ! " hissed Crivello, lashing himself into the fury nec- 
 essary to stifle even the last compunction of his conscience. 
 Then, raising his bloody axe, he spurred his own horse 
 so furiously that it actually darted up the steps of the 
 altar, but he reached it not sufficiently near his victim to 
 execute his murderous design, for at that very moment 
 a knight in dark armour stepped out from behind a pillar 
 and dashed his shield with such force on the charger's 
 head that the latter, overturning, hurled the castellan 
 backward on the pavement below, where he lay dazed 
 and motionless. 
 
 " In the name of the king I command cessation of 
 strife and bloodshed," he exclaimed, in tones loud and 
 clear, " and two thousand Saracens wait but my signal to 
 enforce the royal command ! " 
 
 The duke started as if stung by a serpent. 
 
 " Ah, it is thou, knight of the Viper," he said, with 
 a glance of mortal hatred. " Bide but till we chastise 
 those insolents in Altamura's domains Altamura is 
 master !
 
 I DEMAND THIS WOMAN, DUKE OF ALTAMURA ! ' "
 
 TTbe Httacfc on tbe Uorre 331 
 
 Ere the Visconti could reply a din of voices arose, above 
 which was heard that of Leo del Valle, who had so far 
 miraculously escaped the clutches of Altamura's men-at- 
 arms, crying, " Sanctuary ! Sanctuary ! Rescue the 
 lady ! " 
 
 This cry suspended for a moment the horrible destruc- 
 tion which raged on all sides, and which had already 
 covered the shrines with blood and brains and the pave- 
 ment with mangled carcasses. 
 
 Ottorino now stepped forward with drawn sword, and, 
 pointing to Francesca, who gazed horror-stricken at her 
 would-be deliverer, he spoke with icy calmness: 
 
 " I demand this woman, Duke of Altamura ! " 
 
 " What ? This woman ? " exclaimed the duke, laughing 
 with mingled fury and derision until the very roof re- 
 echoed his frenzied merriment. 
 
 " I demand this woman ! Thou hast avowed that she 
 is nothing to thee, and hast subjected her to the infamous 
 insults of yonder caitiff, I demand this woman, and, 
 by the Almighty God, I mean to make good my demand ! " 
 
 " Take me from his clutches, Ferrando, take me 
 from his clutches ! " shrieked Francesca. " What means 
 this, what means this ? " 
 
 " What it means, thou guileless bride of Christ ? " 
 roared the duke, whose eyes glowed like living coals 
 behind the ghastly pallor of his cheeks. " What it means? 
 We owe thy gallant deliverer a woman in exchange for 
 an angel, who forsook him at the very gates of paradise, 
 and he has chosen thee to console him, thee ! " 
 
 Without heeding the duke's speech Ottorino turned 
 to Francesca. 
 
 " By all the saints, lady, as you know me for a man 
 of honour, trust and follow me! I mean but for your 
 life and honour, pray do not resist ! "
 
 332 dastel fcel fl&onte 
 
 But these words only increased the woman's fear, and 
 she gazed with such an expression of abject terror at 
 the duke that no words seemed sufficiently strong to ex- 
 press it ; then she flung herself distractedly on her knees, 
 almost directly under the hoofs of his rearing steed. 
 
 " In very truth, fair lady, this fancy for us comes some- 
 what sudden," the duke laughed direfully, "but if you 
 fear, here is my dagger," and he mockingly extended the 
 hilt of a sharp and bloody weapon to his kneeling suppli- 
 cant. She clutched it, darting up and holding it high 
 over her head, shrieking, while she watched his eye like 
 a tigress expecting the spring of a panther: 
 
 " Speak but the word, thou fathomless traitor ! Never 
 until now have I warned thee that thy wizard predicted 
 some day thou shouldst owe thy life to me, speak! 
 Shall I strike this steel into my heart for thine is 
 harder than adamant ! " 
 
 " She raves, Crivello, take her away, remove her to 
 the castle ! " ordered the duke, not without a trace of 
 anxiety in his tones. 
 
 " Touch her but with the remotest tip of thy finger and 
 I will for once debase this good steel in ridding humanity 
 of thy murderous presence ! " said Ottorino, as the 
 Catalan staggered giddily forward. " None but myself 
 will be her escort, and see thou, Sidi Yussuff, that the 
 orders of the king are obeyed ! " 
 
 These words he addressed to the turbaned leader be- 
 hind him, who kissed his sabre, while the duke yielded 
 without further remonstrance. Half-unconscious, Fran- 
 cesca suffered the Lombard to lead her away, keeping her 
 head turned and her eyes fixed on the duke in a stupor of 
 speechless despair until she was out of sight. 
 
 " Lead forth the old robber and truce-breaker," the duke 
 now shouted, with unbridled fury, turning with a gesture
 
 Httacft on tbe TCorre 333 
 
 of livid wrath in the direction whence he supposed Lesina 
 to have witnessed the foregoing scene, but when his com- 
 mand met with no response he repeated it in louder and 
 sterner tones. There was some commotion, as of parties 
 searching for one to appear in a large crowd, and at last 
 Crivello, who had hoped to cool his vengeance for the 
 injuries he had suffered, staggered toward the duke. 
 
 " He is not to be found, my lord, he must have 
 escaped during the struggle for the wanton." 
 
 Hardly had the word died on his lips when the duke 
 dealt the castellan such a terrific blow in the face that the 
 latter fell his entire length on the blood-begrimed stones. 
 " Cur of a Catalan ! Dare breathe again thy vileness upon 
 her name and I will have thee impaled over a slow fire ! 
 Up ! " he continued, approaching the prostrate form, and 
 kicking him as one would a dog. " Up ! Thou hast been 
 so wondrously brave against a woman, up in pursuit 
 of Lesina ! " 
 
 Half-dazed and with the sullen demeanour of the 
 wounded tiger, the Catalan rose. His face was ashen 
 gray; ropelike his thick black hair hung over his be- 
 grimed forehead, while his bloodshot eyes were riveted 
 on the ground. Summoning around him his men-at-arms, 
 they stalked over the mangled, prostrate forms of the 
 dead and dying, and left the Torre, from which Lesina 
 had so mysteriously vanished. Then the duke strode up 
 to the immobile Saracen leader, grasped his black beard 
 with a sudden and unforeseen motion of his right hand, 
 and, giving it a vigorous pull, hissed in the teeth of the 
 emir: 
 
 " Dog of an infidel ! Tell the king his commands are 
 obeyed ! "
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 AN ADVENTURE 
 
 SLOWLY the sun of another day had sunk to rest, and 
 one by one the stars began to appear in the sapphire vault 
 of heaven. Manfred, dreaming of the future and the 
 impending realization of his keenest hopes and desires, 
 was traversing one of the more secluded walks of the 
 garden, when he heard a hobbling step behind him, and, 
 looking around, beheld an aged and withered crone, who 
 upon overtaking him immediately prostrated herself at 
 his feet. At first his preoccupied memory scarcely recog- 
 nized her, till the tones of her ravenlike voice fell upon 
 his ear. 
 
 The old hag seemed to mistake the king for another, 
 for, rising at his beck, she croaked : " Hist, knight, I 
 bear a secret matter. But first, that thou mayest believe 
 in me knowest thou this Nazarene amulet, which I 
 bring as a token from one who, in great dread of a 
 mighty enemy, has sought refuge among the followers 
 of the prophet ? " 
 
 Manfred scanned the uncanny messenger with a scru- 
 tinizing gaze. 
 
 " I have seen it ere now," he replied deliberately, tak- 
 ing care not to reveal his identity, while he glanced at the 
 quaint silver medallion which the Moorish hag held out 
 to him in her withered claw. 
 
 "The lady to whom this medallion belongs, and who 
 
 334
 
 Hn Hfcventure 335 
 
 hath often sought the aid of our power, sends thee this 
 token and by it adjures thee to see her in all haste and 
 secrecy, and to devise means for immediate flight," said 
 the crone. " Or, if it be not possible for thee to flee 
 with her this very night, at least she would confide to 
 thee a matter upon which hangs life and death." 
 
 The old hag paused, her dark eyes eagerly scanning 
 the face of the supposed Lombard. The king had little 
 cause to place any trust in his Moorish suppliant, though 
 the message sounded plausible and was supported by cir- 
 cumstances but too well known to him through the Vis- 
 conti. Accordingly the final statement, coupled with his 
 information regarding Helena di Miraval's mysterious 
 abduction and his own knowledge of the duke's remorse- 
 less temper, excited Manfred's apprehension in the highest 
 degree. He rapidly revolved in his mind the chances of 
 reaching Ottorino, but, considering the nature and 
 urgency of the appeal, he upon second consideration 
 abandoned the thought, prompted as much by the fas- 
 cination of the adventure itself as impelled by the hope 
 of proving instrumental in restoring his lost treasure to 
 the despairing Lombard. Convinced, after many inquiries, 
 of the plausibility of the old dame's statements, Manfred 
 finally resolved to accompany her to Helena's place of 
 refuge. His usually darkly garbed person he fancied 
 would run little risk of being recognized in the ever deep- 
 ening dusk, the less so with the addition of a nocturnal 
 visor and cloak, worn by the nobles at a period when 
 innumerable feuds rendered almost every third man an 
 enemy. The secret hope of gathering intelligence more 
 definite in regard to Enrico's mysterious death proved 
 another equally potent factor urging Manfred onward. 
 After having adjusted visor and cloak, he commanded 
 the hag to lead the way, following his guide at some
 
 33 6 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 distance and taking care not to lose sight of her. After 
 traversing the vale of the Oreto, they at length arrived 
 at the alchemist's habitation. Without that misgiving 
 which he for whom the summons had been meant would 
 have experienced upon beholding the dismal watercourse, 
 Manfred consented to enter the narrow channel, the 
 Moorish hag leading the way. For some time they pro- 
 ceeded by the dim light which fell from between dark 
 and gloomy walls, until Manfred imagined that they were 
 near the place indicated by the old woman. Suddenly a 
 loud crash sounded from behind. Manfred had scarcely 
 time to turn in alarm to ascertain the cause ere streams 
 of light blazed down upon him from various unsuspected 
 holes in the lofty walls of the enclosure, and innumerable 
 faces, instinct with malice and rage, peered at him. A 
 storm of hooting, revilings, and cries for vengeance as- 
 sailed his ears like discordant shrieks in a tropical Indian 
 forest. Arquebuses and crossbows were levelled at his 
 head from many points, and he perceived that the waters 
 in the dark channel were rising rapidly, and that an iron 
 grill had descended between himself and the exit. At this 
 fearful crisis a door in front flew open and the form of 
 a half-clad girl appeared, shrieking, " Enrico Enrico ! " 
 with delirious and despairing iteration. His aged guide 
 called to Manfred to fly and save himself, while she ran 
 up the stairs, seizing the girl in her arms. The king 
 made but one spring after her into the vault, which was 
 in total darkness, when suddenly he felt himself seized on 
 all sides. His efforts to draw his sword proved futile, 
 for it had been snatched from the sheath from behind. 
 At the same instant lights flashed on all sides, and he 
 found himself completely hemmed in by a throng of 
 Moslems, armed with knives and poniards and raging 
 with wild imprecations and fury. Treachery and Alta-
 
 an H& venture 337 
 
 mura were ideas which flashed almost simultaneously 
 through Manfred's mind. He anticipated little less than 
 immediate destruction, yet he disdained to reveal his 
 identity, determined to discover the clue to the mystery 
 which had so long baffled mankind, and which the mere 
 suspicion of his presence would shroud in abysmal dark- 
 ness. He had not fully decided upon the course which 
 would lead him from the present dilemma, when the old 
 crone, his former guide, suddenly rushed upon him, 
 shrieking, while with her long, bony claws she clutched 
 at his surcoat. 
 
 " Dog of mine enemy ! Shall I witness for thee that 
 thou hast betrayed and defiled the pure blood of Omar, 
 and the punishment which is upon it? Accursed be thou 
 and all thy tribe, and blessed by Allah be they who con- 
 trive at thy destruction ! " 
 
 Manfred receded as close to the wall as the narrow 
 channel would permit, resolved only as a last resort to 
 reveal his identity. 
 
 " Bind him ! Lead him before the king, the friend 
 of the Saracens ! " " Yield thee, accursed giaour, be- 
 trayer of the daughter of the prophets," some voices were 
 heard to yell. From the sudden stillness which succeeded 
 this outburst of frenzy, Manfred augured that there was 
 no immediate danger of assassination. The enraged 
 throng pressed around him closer and closer, and to argue 
 with them with their passions heated to their present 
 frenzy he knew would be a vain and fruitless endeavour. 
 The mad girl's shrieks continued to ring from a secluded 
 chamber down the gloomy gallery. Suddenly a dark 
 form loomed up in the background, causing the Moslems 
 to give way on both sides and revealing the passion-in- 
 flamed countenance of the Duke of Altamura. 
 
 " Villain most prodigious villain ! " he exclaimed,
 
 338 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 swiftly approaching his prisoner and no longer able to 
 disguise his triumph. " At last I have tracked thee to thy 
 haunts ! I will not recite all thy crimes, the basest among 
 which is the use thou hast made of thy Moorish paramour 
 to spread black suspicion against myself. Admit thy 
 guilt, thou hast but scant time for confession, and less 
 for repentance." 
 
 Manfred, who had remained silent during the mad 
 uproar provoked by his arrival, found himself under the 
 necessity of abandoning a policy which the entrance of 
 the duke rendered equally futile and perilous, for, once 
 the signal given to seize his person, he would be unable to 
 make himself heard in the frenzied clamour and uproar. 
 
 " Thy steel is swift, Duke of Altamura though thy 
 vengeance has mistaken its victim ! " He spoke in tones 
 as clear and calm as if the words were carved out of 
 marble. 
 
 At the sound of the well-known voice the duke started, 
 his pallor deepening into more livid hues, and he glanced 
 from the speaker to the Moorish hags and from the latter 
 to his prisoner with such an expression of incredulous 
 amazement that the words he tried to speak were choked 
 in the utterance. Nor did Manfred afford him time for 
 parley, for, raising his visor, he stood revealed to the 
 whole evil company by the glorious wealth of his golden 
 locks. So terrible was the consternation among the tools 
 of the duke's malice that they prostrated themselves as 
 one man at his feet, not daring to raise their eyes to the 
 royal countenance. 
 
 " Gaze not so wildly, my lord duke," Manfred con- 
 tinued, in accents not devoid of irony. " We came but 
 hither as proxy for another for whom thou hadst pre- 
 pared this splendid reception." 
 
 The duke bent low to conceal his mortification.
 
 Hn Hfcventure 339 
 
 " I crave the king's pardon ! " he stammered, after a 
 pause. " Little did I expect to meet the son of Frederick 
 the emperor in these hovels and in this company! As 
 for that other, I owe him scant thanks and less good 
 will, for what ulterior motive may urge on his frenzy, 
 the intent deserves of recognition!-" 
 
 A disdainful wave of Manfred's hand interrupted the 
 speaker. 
 
 "We came not hither to engage in such subtle con- 
 troversy. Bring hither the girl whose shrieks were to 
 have been the signal of the Visconti's doom, we would 
 have speech with her." 
 
 This command was directed toward the trembling, 
 cowering hag, who would have slunk away had not 
 Manfred now barred the egress. She mumbled an inar- 
 ticulate response, but, instead of obeying, her gaze rose 
 in mute interrogation to the Duke of Altamura. 
 
 " By the splendour of God ! " Manfred turned upon 
 the vindictive crone. " Whose commands are obeyed 
 here? Bring the girl to our presence, else thou wilt not 
 cheat the hangman longer out of thy time-withered 
 carcass ! " 
 
 There was something in Manfred's eye which caused 
 the hag to rise and slink away, not, however, ere she 
 had, unobserved by the king, exchanged a meaning glance 
 with the duke. The cries of the mad girl had ceased, and, 
 heedless of Altamura's sullen presence, Manfred awaited 
 with ill-concealed anxiety the return of the old dame. 
 But moment after moment passed and she came not. The 
 king was on the point of penetrating alone, regardless 
 of the hazard of the venture, into the intricate labyrinth 
 of the old pile, when shuffling steps were heard approach- 
 ing from a direction whence he had least expected them, 
 and both Moorish dames came slowly out of the dusk,
 
 340 Gastel feel /iDonte 
 
 carrying between them the apparently lifeless body of 
 Leila. The hags laid their comparatively light burden at 
 Manfred's feet, while with many grotesque bends and 
 malicious leers of their serpent eyes they expanded on 
 the strange illness of the unfortunate girl. Like a waxen 
 image Leila lay upon the faded blanket which they had 
 hastily wrapped around her frail body. 
 
 Manfred bent over the wasted form of the poor mad 
 girl, regarding her with long and wistful gaze, then he 
 turned a terrible look upon the duke, whose countenance 
 was overspread with a purple pallor and whose eyes dared 
 not meet those which he knew were riveted upon him. 
 
 " Guide us back to earth and lead the way," Manfred 
 at last said, imperiously, while the duke stammered some 
 incoherent apologies and, bowing low in deference to the 
 royal command, preceded the king through the dark 
 passage; but such a terrible glance did he bestow on 
 his Moorish coadjutors that, shuddering and whining, 
 they raised Leila's frail body between them and crept 
 back into their hovels. 
 
 After having safely emerged into the moonlit groves, 
 the king parted from Altamura and returned alone to 
 the palace, without being one jot nearer the solution of 
 the mystery than before. 
 
 An hour later the duke entered a dismal chamber in the 
 Torre del Diavolo, which, securely locked and dimly 
 lighted, had escaped the devastation wrought by Lesina's 
 band in the duke's stronghold. For a moment Altamura 
 paused, while a convulsive tremor shook his frame. 
 
 " How dreary this abode, since she has left it," he 
 murmured, glancing around uneasily; then he turned to 
 Crivello the Catalan, who had preceded his terrible master 
 and was awaiting the manifestation of his will.
 
 an Hfcventure 341 
 
 " The hour has come, Crivello," said the duke, chang- 
 ing his tone to a sneer, " when thou must call up the 
 flimsy ghosts of all those thou hast sent butchered to the 
 fiends, to help thee lead thy victims to their doom." 
 
 Crivello stared aghast at this ominous speech. 
 
 " My lord, what may this now avail, the corona- 
 tion is scarce a day removed ? " 
 
 " Between life and death there is not one moment, 
 Crivello," remarked the duke, sombrely. "A day! 'Tis 
 long enough for the destruction of the whole human race, 
 had we but the means in our hands. I practise the 
 maxims I preach, crushing those I have provoked, striking 
 suddenly and with but one blow, rooting out the ob- 
 stacles to my greatness, thus depriving my haters of their 
 sole balance against me." 
 
 Crivello glanced at his terrible master with an expres- 
 sion of awe. 
 
 "And has your Excellency chosen me to be present 
 at the feast, that mine ears may tingle with the music ? " 
 
 " Thou knowest I am at times of a sallow and melan- 
 choly mood, and require strange harmonies to enliven my 
 dark meditations ! " 
 
 " Your Excellency has marked some high in the 
 Church." 
 
 " What of it ? What ails thee, my man ? " 
 
 " You would not slay them as " 
 
 " As their more worldly brethren ? Believe me, Cri- 
 vello, when they are laid out side by side, their carcasses 
 deprived of their costly covers, not even thy discrim- 
 inating eyes will be able to discover churchman from 
 layman." 
 
 " But you would not lay hands on a cardinal ? " ex- 
 claimed the Catalan, in amazement, crossing himself re- 
 peatedly.
 
 342 Cartel fcel /iDonte 
 
 " Shall I rear the viper brood in mine own house ? I 
 am no respecter of persons, Crivello. They shall perish 
 together, only the cardinals shall come last, that their 
 more worldly brethren may profit by their parting spir- 
 itual advice. And now take the lamp and lead the way 
 below. The moon looks too revealingly into our enter- 
 prise and thy too tender conscience." 
 
 Crivello bowed in silence, though he did not conceal an 
 expression of deep chagrin, which the duke failed not to 
 note, for his penetrating gaze never abandoned the cas- 
 tellan. The latter led the way with rapid strides, and 
 they soon arrived at a massive oaken door. The duke 
 burst this open with a furious kick and entered in ad- 
 vance of the castellan. 
 
 It was a gloomy chamber with grated windows, open- 
 ing into a narrow courtyard. There in the corner, his 
 large white eyes glaring with a strange expression of 
 bloodthirsty eagerness, knelt Zem, the African, busily en- 
 gaged in stripping the bulky carcass of a man. The cas- 
 tellan, holding high the lamp, stared with dogged im- 
 passiveness at the spectacle which revealed itself to his 
 stony gaze. The light, falling on a ghastly and distorted 
 visage, revealed the features of Landulf of Trent, and 
 also the means of his death, a handkerchief knotted in a 
 peculiar manner around his neck. At a little distance 
 lay another corpse, partially thrust into a sack; a third 
 body, that of San Severino, lay stretched out, black in 
 the face, the eyes protruding from their sockets. 
 
 The Catalan approached the partially concealed carcass, 
 and, bending over it with his lamp, endeavoured to iden- 
 tify the victim, but, failing in his efforts, his gaze re- 
 turned inquiringly to the duke. 
 
 " Here lies all that is mortal of Count Cenci, pleni- 
 potentiary of the King of Sicily at the Conclave of Vi-
 
 an Bfcventure 343 
 
 terbo. The Lord grant him a happy awakening," the 
 duke responded, in a nasal, canting tone, whose sarcasm 
 contrasted fearfully with the air of death which hovered 
 around the very walls. " As for San Severino," he con- 
 tinued, in accents more fierce, " let him seek his bride 
 in hell, since she spurned his suit on earth. And yonder 
 Teuton, ah! He loved our Southern skies so well 
 that we may well grant him six foot of Southern earth. 
 He was reluctant to return to his land of flaxen-haired 
 maidens, were-wolves, and sour grapes, perchance we 
 did not cheat him in the exchange. And now, Crivello, 
 thou wilt learn that I have as much need of thee as thou 
 canst ever have of me. Follow me, nay, fear not, 
 for if I wanted to slay thee thou wouldst be even now 
 in paradise." 
 
 " I admire your Grace's policy," stammered the Cat- 
 alan, half-sullen, half-sincere, " though I understand not 
 all its intricate windings. You have despatched these, 
 yet your greatest enemies live : Lancia, Capece, and John 
 of Procida." 
 
 "They live, how long?" replied the duke, with a 
 fearful smile, then, beckoning his companion to follow 
 him, he led the way out of the chamber. The two crossed 
 a shadowy court to a tower, and ascended by a flight of 
 narrow stairs to a chamber, barred within and guarded 
 without. For a moment he paused, turning to the cas- 
 tellan who was closely on his heels. 
 
 " The Conclave of Viterbo has spoken ; the Cardinal of 
 Narbonne, the mortal enemy of the Hohenstaufen, is 
 the chosen successor to Urban." 
 
 While the Catalan stared incredulously at the speaker, 
 the duke, passing the guard, unlocked the door, where- 
 upon he and Crivello entered, and noiselessly the portals 
 closed behind their retreating forms.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE EXCOMMUNICATION 
 
 THE morning of the eventful day which was to seal 
 the destinies of the Sicilian kingdom of Hohenstaufen 
 was slowly breaking. A distant clamour of merriment 
 and the ringing of the bells from cloisters and convents 
 mingled with the strains of martial music, as at early 
 dawn a flood of horsemen swept through the verdant 
 avenues of Palermo. The waving heron-plumes, iron- 
 chain armour, and gleaming helmets, the rich trappings 
 of the horses, caparisoned in velvet with silver reins, the 
 streaming banners, turbans starred and striped with 
 silver and gold, surmounted by lances painted red and 
 blue, and the unsheathed scimitars, revealed the array 
 of Sidi Yussuff's Saracens. The great Moslem leader, 
 dressed in a purple kaftan lined with sable, and mounted 
 upon a steed covered with steel and gold, rode at the 
 head of almost countless files of archers, whose faces 
 were bronzed by the suns of Syria and Iran. A dis- 
 cordant din of drums, flutes, timbrels, and gongs, the 
 clash of armour, jingling of chains, and shouts of 
 " Allah/' were confounded in one terrible and warlike 
 noise, which lingered long upon the air after the tramp 
 of thousands of horses' hoofs had died away in the 
 distance. 
 
 It was in the ancient cathedral of Santa Rosalia, the 
 
 344
 
 Excommunication 345 
 
 patron saint of Palermo, that the coronation of Manfred 
 as King of Sicily, Apulia, and Capua was to be con- 
 summated. 
 
 The noonday sun shed his piercing rays over the vast 
 area of the interior, lighting up innumerable shrines and 
 altars, all glistening with gold plate, emblazoned canopies, 
 set forth with relics of saints and statuary and every 
 decoration of precious ornaments. Columns of porphyry 
 and cipolin seemed to drop like fantastic stalactites from 
 the golden Byzantine arches, and the entire nave was 
 bathed in glowing colour. Soft gleams of sunlight found 
 their way through the painted windows, covering the 
 mosaics upon the undulating walls with golden glory. 
 The grand altar had been raised upon a circular platform, 
 carpeted with cloth of gold and canopied by a pavilion 
 of starry azure. It was surmounted by the diagonally 
 crossed banners of the Ghibellines, a white lily in a field 
 of carmine, and the imperial standards of Hohenstaufen, 
 the crowned sun-soaring eagle in a field of azure. 
 
 The hour was early and the vast nave dreamed of 
 the splendour of bygone days, of the destinies of days to 
 come. Around it were the sombre and stately resting- 
 places of princes born in the purple, assembled here from 
 lands so distant, from the craggy heights of Hohen- 
 staufen in far-off Suabia, from the green orchards of 
 Cotentin, from the dry hills of Aragon. Here the con- 
 querors of the Southland slept ; the porphyry sarcophagus 
 of King Roger the Norman stood side by side with that 
 of Constanzia, mother of Frederick the Second, who 
 brought Sicily to the house of Hohenstaufen and in 
 whom the glorious dynasty of the Norman kings came to 
 a close. In front of Constanzia's resting-place towered 
 the porphyry tomb of her husband, Emperor Henry the 
 Sixth, who died at Messina under sentence of excom-
 
 346 dastel Oel flDonte 
 
 munication from Celestine III., which for a time forbade 
 his burial in hallowed ground. 
 
 Overshadowing that of King Roger rose the sar- 
 cophagus of his grandson, the great Emperor Fred- 
 erick II., who died at Castel Fiorentino in Apulia. When 
 it was opened almost a century later, after the last of his 
 race had been swept from the throne of the land they 
 had loved so well, the body of the emperor was found 
 wrapt in the robes which had been given by the Saracens 
 to Emperor Otto IV., whose aid in time they had in- 
 voked. An ancient sarcophagus on the right against 
 the wall contained the remains of Constanzia of Ara- 
 gon, the widow of Emerich, King of Hungary, the 
 first wife, ten years older than himself, who was forced 
 by Innocent III. upon the then youthful Emperor Fred- 
 erick II. Thus almost all the great Hohenstaufen, save 
 alone Frederick I., Barbarossa, whose body was swept 
 away by the waves of the Kydnos during his crusade 
 against the Seldschukkes of Damascus, the most hated 
 and the most beloved, slumbered side by side under the 
 high vaulted roof of the great Gothic pile. Here they 
 slept unchanged, though centuries passed by. Rude hands 
 break open the granite lids of their sepulchres, to find 
 tresses of yellow hair, fragments of imperial mantles em- 
 broidered with the hawks and stags the royal hunter 
 loved. But the huge stone arks remain unmoved, guard- 
 ing the mouldering dust beneath the gloomy canopies of 
 porphyry and malachite, which temper the light of the 
 western sun. 
 
 The tolling of many bells, the clash of armour, and the 
 shouts of the multitudes, over which rose the sound of 
 trumpets and din of Turkish music, announced the ap- 
 proach of the royal procession. For some time before it 
 appeared a melodious chant was remotely audible, min-
 
 Ube Excommunication 347 
 
 gling with that of the cathedral choirs with sweet and 
 melancholy effect, as if the heavens had opened and the 
 distant harmony descended from angelic voices. When 
 the magnificent pageant did appear, it was a moving mass 
 of glitter and sumptuous colour as the sun streamed down 
 upon it. It slowly wound its way down the Cassaro, 
 headed for the open portals of the cathedral, around which 
 flocked an almost bewildering throng of counts, barons, 
 noblemen, bishops, knights, friars, and beggars. The 
 rich capes of the ecclesiastics, stiff with gold and gor- 
 geous brocade, the jewelled mantles of the nobles, the 
 polished breastplates and tasselled spears of the guards, 
 the steel casques and velvet robes of the knights, the 
 Saracenic banners, the blood-red flags with the crescent 
 waving above thousands of turbaned heads, all made 
 a dazzling confusion of splendour. 
 
 First in the procession came twelve heralds upon snow- 
 white chargers and garbed in the colours of Hohen- 
 staufen, then came a company of Apulian spearmen, fol- 
 lowed by another of Saracen archers. Directly in their 
 wake marched the entire fighting array of Sidi Yussuff, 
 and those who closely scrutinized the emir's countenance 
 wondered at the deadly pallor of his set features, height- 
 ened by his black beard and the stony gaze with which 
 he stared straight before him, looking neither to the left 
 nor to the right. After these came a company of fifty 
 pages, dressed in scarlet, green, and yellow doublets, 
 richly embroidered, and bearing white staffs, the em- 
 blems of their peaceful mission. Another company of 
 Apulian knights came into sight, then, head erect and 
 towering above even the tallest in the procession, appeared 
 Manfred, Prince of Taranto. A deafening shout went up 
 when the people beheld their beloved ruler, conspicuous 
 not alone by the traditional comeliness of his house, but
 
 348 Gastel fcel /Route 
 
 likewise by the peculiar magnificence of his dress. The 
 dark green hunting-suit which he was accustomed to 
 wear had been replaced by a garb of rich crimson satin 
 and gold brocade ; his cap with the white heron's feather 
 was encircled by three rows of jewels, conspicuous among 
 which were pearls and rubies of great price. His doublet 
 glittered with so brilliant a lustre that it dazzled the eye 
 as much as the sun. Even his boots were of fretted gold- 
 work; and a magnificent mantle of imperial purple, 
 lined with ermine, almost covered his noble charger. The 
 imperial flambeau and the insignia of many illustrious 
 orders of knighthood completed his splendid accoutre- 
 ment. 
 
 Manfred was surrounded by the entire council of the 
 kingdom. He himself rode between Frederick of An- 
 tioch, his stepbrother, and John of Procida, closely fol- 
 lowed by Drogo, high admiral of the realm, the brothers 
 Lancia and Capece, the Count of Caserta, and the chan- 
 cellor John of Alif6. The Duke of Altamura, who rode 
 directly in their wake, was generally remarked for his 
 sombre habit of black velvet, which contrasted strangely 
 with the deadly pallor of his visage. He rode at the 
 head of the Apulian barons, and was closely followed 
 by the Lords of Lecce, Monopoli, Bari, Andria, Foggia, 
 Melfi, Potanza, Tricarico, Avelino, Catanzaro, Ceriguola, 
 Aversa, Acerra, and Venosa. These in turn preceded 
 the envoys of the Ghibelline states, vying with each other 
 in splendour of array and accoutrement. 
 
 The sea-green banner with the Golden Viper, the em- 
 blem of the Visconti of Milan, floated proudly in the 
 glowing sunlit air, and the Lombard contingent, led by 
 Ottorino, moved at the head of the gleaming procession, 
 followed by the embassies of Marino Tiepolo, Doge of 
 Venice, and Andrea Doria, ruler of Genoa, the latter
 
 Excommunication 349 
 
 represented by the noble Fiesco da Lavagna, afterward 
 destined to so tragic an end. The contingent of Can- 
 grande della Scala of Verona rode ahead the Pisan caval- 
 cade, led by Ugguccione, leader of the Ghibellines in that 
 third maritime city of Italy. Then one by one appeared 
 the contingents of Feltro in Treviso, and Montefeltro in 
 Urbino, of Obizzo of Este and Ferrara, the envoys of 
 Gerhard da Cammino, Lord of Padua and Treviso, of 
 Guido of Monfort, who six years later during holy mass 
 killed Henry, son of Richard Cornwallis, in the cathedral 
 of Viterbo, of Cassalodia of Mantua, and of Michael, 
 former Seneschal of King Enzio, Manfred's stepbrother, 
 now Lord of Logodoro in Sardinia. One long array of 
 courtly splendour comprised the embassies of Peter of 
 Aragon, Manfred's kinsman, the Kings of Castile, and 
 the imperial Comneni of Epirus. These embassies were 
 followed by representatives from Asti, Imola, and Faenza, 
 the Foccaccia of Pistoja, Malatesta, Lord of Verucchio 
 and Rimini, William, Marquis of Montferrat, Provenqan 
 Salvani, Lord of Sienna, and the Lambertazzi of Bologna. 
 The banners of Ghibelline Italy floated around the portals 
 of the cathedral in imposing array: the eagle of the 
 Polentas of Cervia and Ravenna, the green lion of Forli, 
 the cock of the Galuras, the blue eagle of Este, the broken 
 column of the Colonnas, the ladder of the Delia Scalas, 
 the broken loaf of the Frangipani, the flaming torch of 
 the Modicas, and the hitherto unconquered rampant lion 
 of Cyprus, in the azure house of Lusignan, waved proudly 
 beside the lion of San Marco. 
 
 Helena of Epirus, the queen, with her stately retinue, 
 consisting of the most beautiful women of Sicily, closed 
 the procession, which now poured down the sunlit aisles, 
 spreading fanlike to the right and left, each dignitary, 
 nobleman, and envoy taking the station assigned to him
 
 Castei fcel /iDonte 
 
 by the master of ceremonies. From various chapels the 
 choirs poured forth their torrents of melody, mingling in 
 one grand choral, as if to illustrate the union of the 
 Church with the powers of the world, and the mighty 
 multitude joined in the Gloria in Excelsis which rose 
 to the vaulted roof and vibrated in long, ringing echoes. 
 
 Ottorino Visconti had taken his station in the fore- 
 ground of the cathedral, and so deadly was the pallor 
 of his face that it called forth almost universal comment. 
 
 A great weariness weighed down Ottorino's spirit, 
 filling his heart with a dim consciousness of the futility 
 of all ambition and all endeavour. Every effort to find 
 a trace of the woman whom he had lost on the very 
 threshold of liberty had been fruitless. Oblivious to the 
 present and to the pompous scenes which surrounded him 
 on all sides, he stared vacantly into space. Every now 
 and then his thoughts reverted to that fateful night, and 
 the chant murmured past his ears like the gentle sound 
 of waves flowing 'neath the mesmerism of the moon, 
 while all manner of vague suggestions rushed over him. 
 
 Innumerable candles in bronze, silver, and gold can- 
 delabras shed their unsteady glow through the purple 
 dusk. In the dazzling effulgence, which confused and 
 blinded the expectant multitudes, no one noted the gradual 
 dying out of the light of day. The sky over the cathedral 
 was without a stain, but the eminences toward the west, 
 whose lovely slopes were covered by vineyards and olive 
 groves, were hung with gloom. A huge and sullen cloud 
 seemed to be gathering over the heights, and occasionally 
 flashes and gleams of malignant flame burst from its 
 bosom. 
 
 As the hours wore on the cloud deepened, obscuring 
 the brightness of the sun, which had been hanging over 
 the city like a fiery buckler. The distant roar grew
 
 Ube Bxcommuntcatton 35 1 
 
 louder and more continued, and the blackness of night, 
 of night without a star, fell far and fast upon the horizon. 
 
 The gaze of the assembly was now directed toward the 
 background, whence slowly, two by two, in their funereal 
 garb, the Dominican brotherhood filed in, forming a 
 crescent around the chancel, which was as yet deserted. 
 
 Oceanlike now rose the chant of measured voices, but 
 instead of the Kyrie Eleison the sounds of the hymn 
 
 " Vexilla Regis prodeunt inferni " 
 
 were darkly intoned by the Dominicans, and it seemed 
 as if a pall had suddenly fallen over all the many-hued 
 magnificence which had set the air alight. 
 
 On an ebony table, richly carved and inlaid with gems 
 of great price, lay the fateful crown of Hohenstaufen, 
 the crown with which Emperor Frederick had proclaimed 
 himself King of Jerusalem in defiance of papal interdict 
 and excommunication, the crown which he had success- 
 fully defended against three hostile pontiffs. 
 
 Manfred stood before the elevated platform directly 
 beneath the station of the Archbishop of Palermo, who 
 was to perform the ceremony. He glanced uneasily 
 around the nave, while a shadow of profound displeasure 
 clouded the clear and youthful brow. Where tarried the 
 archbishop? Still the chancel was deserted, the chant 
 had ceased, and every eye rested with expectant eager- 
 ness on the son of their beloved emperor, whose gaze 
 flitted in mute interrogation from one of his councillors 
 to another. They, however, appeared equally stupefied 
 at the unaccountable absence of the archbishop, and there 
 was a breathless, expectant hush. With sudden deter- 
 mination Manfred raised the crown from its repository, 
 and, holding it aloft, faced the assembled thousands. 
 
 " In the name and omnipresence of the Triune God
 
 35 2 Castel fcel /IDonte 
 
 and by the freewill of the people of Apulia, Calabria, and 
 Sicily, I herewith place upon my brow the august emblem 
 of our imperial house, descended unto us in virtue of the 
 testament of our illustrious predecessor, Emperor Con- 
 rad IV., and our beloved father, now resting in the Lord, 
 Emperor Frederick II., and by right of the treaties of 
 Roger the Norman, bequeathing these lands unto 
 Henry VI. , Emperor of Germany." 
 
 A sheet of lightning at this instant covered the entire 
 horizon, and the whole edifice rocked and trembled in the 
 terrific reverberation which almost simultaneously burst 
 with an appalling roar over the cathedral. The vast 
 assemblage was for a moment swayed by an unearthly 
 terror, as if doomed to immediate destruction. And the 
 crown of the kingdom of Sicily had fallen from Man- 
 fred's grasp on the marble floor beneath. ./ 
 
 Again a large sphere of fire shot fiercely through the 
 heavens, lighting its track down the murky air and cast- 
 ing a disastrous and pallid illumination over the bloodless 
 faces of the assembled thousands. Its lurid gleam re- 
 vealed the form of a Dominican, who stood in the chancel 
 instead of the archbishop. Throwing back his cowl, the 
 severe Spanish features of Fra Domenico were disclosed 
 to view. Pale but composed, he stood like one brought 
 forth to suffer some terrific punishment, yet as one who 
 despised its terrors. 
 
 A brief silence succeeded the sullen roar of the tempest, 
 during which the monk peered through the clouds of 
 incense, as if collecting all his energies for a dreadful 
 feat. His eyes seemed the only living thing in that stony, 
 ascetic face, as slowly they rolled over the vast assembly 
 as if in search of one upon whose head the thunder of 
 his anathema might descend. For a moment it appeared 
 as if the friar intended to speak, but the words he had
 
 Ube Excommunication 353 
 
 begun to form died on his lips; his chest heaved with 
 convulsive breathing, but again he was silent. 
 
 There was another brief pause of breathless suspense. 
 An overwhelming awe had fallen upon the assembly, 
 while with a livid, satirical smile the Duke of Altamura 
 watched every movement of the Dominican, as if assured 
 that no failure of his courage need be anticipated. 
 
 Manfred started as if waking from a dream, staring in 
 mute wonder from the emblem of royalty which lay for- 
 gotten at his feet to the strange occupant of the chancel. 
 Pale, dazzled, and staggering, as if under the influence 
 of a sunstroke, the monk swayed in the pulpit and seemed 
 about to fall, when his gaze lighted on the pallid visage 
 of the Visconti. Raising himself with a sudden effort, 
 he fiercely snatched the leaden seal from the bull which 
 he held in his tight grasp. Then, while lightnings hissed 
 from the ominous gloom of the clouds, and thunder bel- 
 lowed in deafening echoes through the heavens, the monk 
 in strangely discordant tones began to speak : 
 
 " In the name of Clement IV., servant of servants of 
 God, Viceroy of Christ on the throne of the Apostle, and 
 in virtue of the power vested in him by Jesus Christ and 
 St. Peter, his successor, I herewith pronounce the anath- 
 ema over Manfred, son of Frederick the Hohenstaufen, 
 over Helena of Epirus, consort of the arch heretic, over 
 their sons, their daughters, and their children's children, 
 over their friends, their adherents, their servants, and 
 their hosts ! I herewith expel them from the communion 
 of the saints as heretics, standing without the pale of 
 the Church. I forbid any one, under like penalty, to offer 
 them shelter or refuge, drink or food; I withdraw from 
 their guilty heads the benefice of protection and law. 
 I forbid any friar to attend their sick-bed, or to receive 
 their dying confession, and I deny them burial in conse-
 
 354 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 crated earth! I herewith grant full absolution to any 
 one whosoever frees the land from the reptile progeny 
 of the arch heretic, and to this end I cut asunder, solve, 
 and break the ties of obedience which have bound to- 
 gether subjects and king, and I declare null and void all 
 treaties, public or private, entered into by Manfred, Count 
 of Taranto, or by authority of his councillors, friends, or 
 representatives! I further lay the interdict upon every 
 church, cloister, chapel, or sanctuary in Apulia and Sicily ; 
 their doors shall be nailed up ; no candle shall be lighted, 
 no mass shall be sung, no prayer shall ascend to the 
 throne of heaven, till the serpent brood of Hohenstaufen 
 has been swept from the earth. May their name perish 
 with them and their memory be wafted into oblivion for 
 ever and for ever ! " 
 
 After the last echoes of the anathema had died away 
 under the vaulted roof of the cathedral, the Dominican 
 remained for a moment motionless as a statue, like one 
 benumbed by his own daring. Then, as if by secret 
 command, every light in the cathedral was extinguished, 
 and the dense gloom was lightened only by the almost 
 incessant flashes from the angry heavens. 
 
 With a shriek that rang to the very summit of the 
 edifice, Helena of Epirus had, after the last words of the 
 Dominican, rushed to Manfred's side, and when Ottorino 
 first recovered from the shock of the fearful catastrophe, 
 he beheld king and queen locked in each other's arms. 
 
 For a moment the consternation in the cathedral was 
 so intense that hardly a sound was audible in the vast 
 area. Every one had retained their station as if rooted 
 to the spot. Manfred had raised both arms as if to ward 
 off a mortal blow from the head of his beloved queen. 
 The brothers Lancia glared wrathfully and with suspicion 
 into the green serpent eyes of John of Alife, whose
 
 Ube Excommunication 355 
 
 bewilderment was either real or so well feigned that it 
 defied the aim of suspicion. Conrad Capece had started 
 up, sword in hand, but Altamura drew him back and 
 implored him in a whisper to desist from violence, which 
 would but aggravate the situation. In this way a few 
 moments of dull and abject silence passed. Terror- 
 stricken, speechless, and breathless, every eye followed 
 the Dominican, the representative of the Church of Rome, 
 the greatest power on earth, as his tall, sepulchral form 
 disappeared in the background among the shrines. 
 
 Then a sudden tide of fear swept over the lowly mur- 
 muring multitudes, increasing almost to a panic in the 
 funereal pall which oppressed them, and, as if pursued by 
 the legions of some formidable unearthly foe, knights, 
 squires, pages, and men-at-arms swept in one mad torrent 
 over each other in the wild, unreasoning impulse of gain- 
 ing the piazza, crushing beggars and noblemen, women 
 and children, in fear-struck panic. As they did so, a tre- 
 mendous thunderbolt descended solidly on the roof of 
 the cathedral, as though a thousand walls had been bat- 
 tered down at one blow. With one despairing outcry 
 of wild brute fear the masses rushed headlong through 
 the portals in a struggling, shrieking, sweltering swarm, 
 until no one remained in the gloomy, lightning-illuminated 
 nave save Manfred and his queen, who found themselves 
 face to face with Ottorino Visconti. 
 
 "Courage, King Manfred, courage! The pillars of 
 the Ghibelline state still stand and the hearts of thy loyal 
 subjects, who worship the son of their great emperor, 
 cannot be turned at the wink of a fanatic monk ! " 
 
 Manfred raised his right hand with a gesture of de- 
 spair. 
 
 " Where are they ? Swept away, as if they had 
 never been ! "
 
 35 6 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 " They will return, King Manfred. The thunder of 
 the anathema has benumbed their senses, give them 
 but time and they will vindicate themselves gloriously. 
 Drive the sombre shadows from thy brow, O king ! Thou 
 alone art their rightful sovereign, and victory will crown 
 our arms ! " 
 
 " I thank thee, Visconti," Manfred replied, extending 
 both hands to Ottorino. " Thou wert kind to think of us, 
 sorely distressed as thou art." 
 
 " I searched every sanctuary ; thy kindness, King 
 Manfred, opened every convent, gave me access into 
 every cloister; I spared neither bribes nor threats. If 
 the lady of Miraval lives, only He who looks through 
 prison walls may know her place of concealment. Yet, 
 what is this trial compared with the calamity of this 
 hour!" 
 
 "We cannot escape our fate! Perchance thou wilt 
 find the woman of thy heart when we touch upon Apulian 
 soil." 
 
 " I fear, King Manfred, an oracle speaks in thy words ! 
 When shall we start ? " 
 
 "With the earliest. The fleet lies anchored at Man- 
 fredonia. The Saracens will cross to the mainland at 
 once. We must crush the pontiff ere he can marshal his 
 black hosts against us ! I fear some foul play has been 
 wrought on Count Cenci and thus have our dreams of 
 tranquil peace been shattered! But thou, Visconti, 
 when are we to meet again ? " 
 
 " I have cast my lot with thine, King Manfred, here 
 is my hand ! " 
 
 Helena of Epirus spoke not, for the anguish welling 
 up from her heart, with the memory of the Dominican's 
 terrible curse, choked her utterance. Without the tempest 
 raged with unabated fury, and incessant lightnings seemed
 
 TEbe Excommunication 357 
 
 to wrap earth and sky. The tramp of mailed feet re- 
 sounded from the portals, and a moment later the Duke 
 of Altamura, John of Alife, and Reinald Aquino, Count 
 of Caserta, strode toward the royal couple, closely fol- 
 lowed by the brothers Lancia, Capece, and John of Pro- 
 cida, whose mien betrayed no feigned anxiety. 
 
 " We come from the palace, King Manfred," the latter 
 exclaimed, rushing up to where Manfred stood, " think- 
 ing that you had thither preceded our anxiety." 
 
 The king bowed; a smile hovered on his lips. 
 
 " My lords, we thank you for your loyalty. Any tid- 
 ings of import ? " 
 
 " Charles of Anjou has arrived at Rome," replied the 
 Duke of Altamura. " The Romans have proclaimed him 
 senator, and Clement himself has decorated the Provengal 
 banners with the cross, which is to mark the war of 
 extermination 'gainst the Ghibellines of the South." 
 
 There was a deep hush, broken but by a half-suppressed 
 sob, as Helena of Epirus clung almost hysterically to the 
 man of her love and choice. 
 
 " Away ! " Manfred replied, raising himself to his 
 full height. "We temporize no longer! We count on 
 your loyalty, my lords, in this hour of darkest gloom 
 which has spread itself over the crown of Hohenstaufen, 
 and bid you to our palace, there to receive your final 
 orders ! " 
 
 " We will be true to the king's Majesty to the last," 
 Caserta replied, bending low, then, preceded by the king 
 and queen, the whole company hastened toward the por- 
 tals of the cathedral. The storm had subsided with a 
 rapidity peculiar to the South. The sun burned through 
 a broad chasm in the cloudbank, and a pleasant breath 
 of flowery perfume lingered on the purified air. Like one
 
 35* Castel Del flDonte 
 
 roused from a frightful dream Manfred stared across the 
 deserted piazza.. 
 
 " One last glance at the glorious edifice wherein our 
 imperial father sleeps toward the day of resurrection; 
 may he intercede for us at the throne of the Almighty! 
 Ah, why were we to be deprived of a parting benediction 
 from our venerable friend, the archbishop ? With lighter 
 hearts had we departed from these dearly beloved shores." 
 
 They were slowly traversing the piazza, when John 
 of Procida replied in answer to the king's query, spoken 
 rather in soliloquy than in anticipation of a response: 
 
 " The Archbishop of Palermo died suddenly before 
 the hour set for the coronation."
 
 BOOK THE THIRD 
 
 ** Se 1 1 pastor di Cosenza, cJfalla caccfa 
 Di me fu messo per Clemen te, allora 
 Avesse in Dio ben letta questa faccia, 
 L?ossa del corpo mio sarieno ancora 
 In co del ponte presso a Benevento, 
 Sotto la guardia della grave mora" 
 
 DANTE, Purgatorio, Canto III., 124-129.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CASTEL DEL MONTE 
 
 UPON a solitary conical hill rising above the long chain 
 of the Murgie and overlooking the maritime part of 
 the provinces of Basilicata and Capitanata stands Castel 
 del Monte, the great Hohenstaufen castle of Emperor 
 Frederick the Second. Stretching northward to Monte 
 Gargano and Foggia dream the plains of sunny Apulia. 
 Terra di Bari and Terra di Otranto fade into the horizon 
 to southward, and the blue waves of the Adriatic from 
 Barletta to Brindisi form the boundary to eastward. 
 
 The wide Apulian plains dreamed deserted in the 
 glow of the westering sun, when a cavalcade of horse- 
 men swiftly approached Castel del Monte on the road 
 leading from Trani to Corato. The monotony of the 
 green, undulating expanse, stretching from Andria to 
 the banks of the Garigliano, was only now and then 
 broken by an octagon watch-tower, a white stone wall, or 
 queer looking circular huts, resembling tombs. They 
 were crowned with a rough cross, and scattered over 
 plain and morass, beyond which the river gleamed at 
 intervals through rank verdure and stagnant marshes. 
 
 At the base of a hill which offered shelter against the 
 otherwise unconfined gaze across the plains, the troop 
 of horsemen halted, while their leader scanned the inter- 
 vening space which lay between them and the imperial 
 castle. 
 
 361
 
 362 Castei &el flDonte 
 
 " Yonder it lies," said the foremost of the company, 
 checking his steed and pointing to the summit of the 
 craggy eminence, the pinnacles of which shone golden 
 in the fast waning light of day. 
 
 John of Alife had risen in his stirrups, craning his 
 neck toward the point indicated by his companion. 
 
 " We cannot approach unseen over the plains," contin- 
 ued the speaker, in whom we recognize the Duke of 
 Altamura, as, shading his eyes, his gaze swept the broad, 
 undulating expanse, the horizon of which was bounded 
 only by the towering heights of far-off Soracte, rearing 
 its frosted silver pinnacles into the ever-deepening purple 
 dusk. 
 
 " This mole-hill will screen us from sight till the sun 
 has gone down," the chancellor replied. " Our horses' 
 hoofs will not be heard in the grass." 
 
 " We must wait ! Daylight is fading fast and Crivello's 
 eyes are sharp." 
 
 Dusk had no sooner fallen than the Duke of Altamura 
 gave the command to continue the advance, and silently 
 the cavalcade cantered onward. 
 
 John of Alife talked incessantly to his companion, as if 
 to allay or to veil his own misgivings, for as yet the 
 duke had not intimated to him the purpose of this sin- 
 gular expedition, though he had most strenuously insisted 
 upon his society. 
 
 " For once our shrewd and stalwart castellan shall find 
 himself trapped in his own wiles," Altamura at length 
 remarked, during a lull in their conversation. "Verily 
 he is playing his role so well that he believes in it himself ! 
 But I will be convinced of his treachery ere I deprive 
 myself of so valuable a minister. The affair at Lucera 
 is plausible, and Crivello hath ambition ! " 
 
 John of Alife shrugged his shoulders.
 
 Castel fcel flDonte 363 
 
 "Thou canst not bribe the Moslem, duke, thy gold 
 buys but Apulians ! " 
 
 " Ay ! Twas less a point of bribe than strategy ! John 
 the Moor had agreed to close the gates of the city against 
 the king; his Saracens were to rise in revolt; with Lu- 
 cera lost to the cause, rebellion flaming from every ham- 
 let, the downfall of the dynasty was but a question of 
 hours." 
 
 " Yet, how different it befell," mused the chancellor, 
 as if soliloquizing. " Manfred's march was one of con- 
 tinued triumph. Aware of the risk at stake, the king 
 rested neither day nor night, and the brothers Capece, 
 knowing the country, led the way by mountain paths 
 more fit for goats than horses, avoiding Avellino, the 
 Hohenburg's stronghold. It was sunset when we reached 
 the castle of Atropaldo. Without consuming more time 
 than scanty refreshments required, we continued in forced 
 marches to Nusco, in the territories of Acerra ; thence to 
 Lavello and Venosa, and everywhere the king was re- 
 ceived with great demonstrations of joy and affection. 
 Thence we lost ourselves in the wilds of the Murgie, 
 where in the Stygian darkness of a starless night, during 
 a violent storm of rain, our small band almost lost its 
 way. By good luck we met a huntsman who had been 
 in the service of the late emperor. He conducted us to a 
 little hunting-box, St. Agapito, in the woods of Incor- 
 onata, which offered shelter from the tempest and where 
 we could dry our drenched clothes at a large fire, which 
 Adenolfo Pardo, the huntsman, insisted on lighting, to 
 welcome his prince." 
 
 Altamura made a gesture of disdain. 
 
 " May the foul fiend light a fire under him in return ! 
 But what of Lucera? I long to hear the tale that has 
 mocked my ears like voices of the fiend."
 
 364 Castel &el dDonte 
 
 " It was on the following morning," the hunchback, 
 hoarsely croaking, continued. " We swiftly approached 
 the Saracen city, riding closely under her walls. Man- 
 fred took off his helmet, that the Moslems might see his 
 face and his fair hair ! " 
 
 The chancellor paused for a moment with a sneer, 
 such as a vampire might have given. 
 
 "But John the Moor?" the duke exclaimed, impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 " From the turrets in response to the king's demand 
 for admission there came the answer that the command- 
 ant was absent, having left strict orders to admit no 
 one into the city. Manfred remonstrated with the 
 archers of the watch, and no sooner had they recog- 
 nized the son of their beloved emperor than they en- 
 deavoured to induce Marchisio, second in command, to 
 give up the keys. This he refused to do, and the king 
 was on the point of entering his city through a drain 
 when the Saracens made a rush, burst open the gates, 
 seized Manfred in their arms, and conducted him in 
 triumph into the fortress." 
 
 "But John the Moor?" 
 
 " Ay ! He was sorely ignorant of what had transpired 
 at the gates, for Marchisio had been bound. Sitting in 
 state in the council-chamber, surrounded by his chief 
 eunuchs and emirs, he read to them Charles of Anjou's 
 and the pontiff's promise of protection and reward, if 
 they captured and delivered into their hands the usurper, 
 as they styled the king. By his side sat thy Catalan, but 
 his Christian spirit seemed sorely vexed, for his visage 
 bore a gloom, savouring little of the blessed. Then John 
 the Moor proposed an auction for Manfred's head, and 
 lively enough the bids were going, when in stepped a 
 strange knight, his dark cloak drawn over his visage. He,
 
 Castel fcel /Route 3 6 s 
 
 witnessing the last bid, quickly advanced, and, striking 
 the floor with the point of his sabre, exclaimed : ' What ! 
 A lousy hundred florins for the head of so great a king? 
 Ten thousand florins I bid, hear ye, hungry knaves ? Ten 
 thousand florins, full weight ! ' ' Whoever thou mayest 
 be,' says John the Moor, rising, ' thou art a noble knight, 
 and here is my hand.' ' Thou art quite right concerning 
 my quality,' the knight declared, grasping the proffered 
 hand, while he dropped the cloak from his face, ' for I 
 am Manfred, thy king and judge! Seize the traitor and 
 suspend him from the battlements in plain view of the 
 whole city, that in death at least he may enjoy the lofty 
 station he coveted in life ! ' And thus high perched, John 
 the Moor, thy friend and ally, ended his brilliant career," 
 the chancellor concluded, with an ill-concealed sneer. 
 
 A withering glance of scorn flashed from Altamura's 
 eyes. 
 
 " Then Malerizi was not warned, or the warning 
 reached the one it was least intended for." 
 
 " The warning reached the king." 
 
 " But how ? Through whom ? " 
 
 " Whether by design or accident, thou knowest best ! 
 Crivello was sent to Castel del Monte as reward for some 
 dark deed we have not fathomed yet." 
 
 " Crivello a traitor ? What hath he to gain thereby ? 
 Can his lot be more splendid as subject of the king than 
 as follower of mine? Have I not given him license to 
 cut and slash to his heart's content, without even asking 
 an account thereof? Have I not with lavish hands piled 
 riches and plunder upon him, and even allowed him to 
 confess part of his sins once a year on Good Friday? 
 What more can he want ? " 
 
 " Perchance he aspires to a loftier title ; perchance he
 
 366 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 tires of coupling his fortunes with the sinking star of 
 Altamura." 
 
 " Sinking star ! Not thus spoke the wizard, who 
 promised me the crown of Italy! Onward, ever on- 
 ward, rising until in its mad career it casts the stars 
 from the firmament and envelops nature in chaotic dark- 
 ness that shall know no light save what emanates from 
 myself, for this I dreamed in the days of my boy- 
 hood." 
 
 " And yet your Highness's dreams may be doomed to 
 pass into nothingness, or have you not heard of the 
 destruction of the entire Provengal fleet? Who warned 
 Drogo, the high admiral? There is scarce a craft left, 
 and the men drowned like rats." 
 
 " It was the storm." 
 
 " It was fate, dark, inscrutable fate ! No nobler 
 fleet ever sailed from the ports of France. There is a 
 dark power at work, treason, perchance, in our own 
 ranks, like a poisonous spider, spreading its net around 
 us! We must destroy the centre of the web ere we are 
 drawn within its fateful meshes." 
 
 " My plans are laid," the duke replied, after a brief 
 pause, during which the cavalcade was swiftly approach- 
 ing the castle. " Didst thou not insinuate that Crivello 
 is carrying on a traitorous correspondence with the king 
 by means of carrier-pigeons, keeping him informed of all 
 that happens ? " 
 
 " Nay, not with the king," the hunchback sneered, 
 while he gave his gaunt neck a twist to ascertain that 
 their retinue was not sufficiently near to overhear their 
 discourse, " nay, not with the king, with a certain nun." 
 
 The duke started up as if a viper had stung him, while 
 his hand clutched the hilt of his poniard.
 
 Castel fcel flDonte 367 
 
 " By the fiend, repeat thy speech ! The sound tickles 
 our ear ! " 
 
 " I said not that his messages are of tender import, 
 the lady is too fastidious for fickleness." 
 
 " We require no oracles, the proofs, the proofs ! " 
 
 " Yonder at Castel del Monte thy Catalan sits in state. 
 If thou art eager for the proofs the hour will fetch them ! " 
 
 " That it shall, ere another night has gone ! The king 
 is to be at Castel del Monte to-morrow at sundown ! I 
 will despatch a messenger to the Catalan, purporting to 
 come from Sidi Yussuff, who shall say that I, the duke, 
 demand admittance into San Germane, but the emir not 
 only refuses this permission, but craves my immediate 
 recall, else, since justice be denied him, he will take it 
 at his own hands. Now if Crivello be the traitor thou 
 wouldst have me believe him, he will forthwith despatch 
 his pigeons, clutching at the opportunity of tripping his 
 enemy. The warden is a creature of mine, and will 
 privily admit me without the usual alarums. At early 
 dawn I shall sit in the tower of the winds with my good 
 falcon Gorebec, who never failed me, and whom luckily 
 I thought of taking into the field." 
 
 The duke glanced over his shoulder, beckoning to his 
 side a horseman in the dark green habit of a falconer, 
 who rode a short distance away between two men-at-arms. 
 
 " Hast thou kept my falcon well fed ? " he asked, while 
 stroking the bird's head, after he had removed the cap, 
 which he immediately readjusted. 
 
 " He is well in flesh, your Grace," answered the fal- 
 coner. 
 
 " We shall soon require a feat of him ; until then, see 
 that nothing ruffles his temper. Send Scrivezzo to me, 
 I would have speech with him." 
 
 The individual cited appeared at once by the duke's
 
 368 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 side, and now they continued their advance, while the 
 chancellor, crafty as he was, regarded the duke with a 
 mixture of wonder and approbation, for his subtle and 
 strange device was altogether too much to his own liking 
 for him to offer objections, even had he entertained them." 
 In subdued tones Altamura confided to the bravo the 
 part he was to perform in the impending drama. 
 
 At last they reached Castel del Monte, as the moon was 
 rising above the eastern hills. The duke guided his 
 companions to a postern gate, where his subdued knocks 
 were answered by a swarthy Calabrian, whose counte- 
 nance would have served as ready passport of admission 
 into the renowned band of Ghino di Tacco's bravi. After 
 a mute greeting, a silent nod from the warden admitted 
 the company into the castle, while at the same time Scri- 
 vezzo, with many loud and boisterous protestations, de- 
 manded admission at the main gates, which, when opened, 
 brought him face to face with some six or eight men-at- 
 arms, of whom he requested an immediate interview with 
 the castellan. 
 
 The practised features of the Catalan, which the arrival 
 of a special messenger, whose purpose he knew not, had 
 slightly disturbed, resumed their equanimity during the 
 men-at-arms' oration, but when he delivered to him the 
 pretended message, their habitual gloom returned. The 
 Catalan's eye fell with searching suspicion and uneasi- 
 ness on the crafty features of the messenger, whose dis- 
 like for his person was probably guessed by him, and 
 when the latter, after having delivered himself of his 
 commission, asked leave to depart, as the goal of his 
 journey lay distant, the castellan denied his request. 
 
 "The road thou speakest of," he said, "lies through 
 fen and forest and wastes ; thy horse is spent and so are 
 those of thy men; moreover, I have no warrant to per-
 
 Castel t>el fl&onte 369 
 
 mit any one who enters the castle to leave it. Therefore 
 I most humbly beseech thee to take up thy lodging with 
 me until I can obtain the proper command." 
 
 " Proper command ! " remonstrated Scrivezzo. " Mean 
 you that you will force me to delay on my road, bearing, 
 as I do, a message from the great emir ? " 
 
 " I must do my duty," replied the Catalan, with a look 
 of much significance, " and the time is not far when thou 
 wilt more fully understand my motives ! " 
 
 Ere Scrivezzo could offer remonstrance, two Catalans 
 who had been waiting the signal from their leader seized 
 the disguised envoy and hurried him from the apartment 
 across a gallery, whence they descended by a dark wind- 
 ing stairway to a chamber barred and grated, which he 
 was to inhabit for the night. It was on the following 
 morning that the castellan ordered those of his Catalans 
 who ranked foremost in his esteem to join him in his 
 morning repast, and Scrivezzo, who had been sent for to 
 share therein, made the best of the company which was 
 thrust upon him. The viands spread before them looked 
 inviting enough to have silenced even more serious 
 scruples than those entertained by the bravo's empty 
 stomach. While carefully scanning the apartment, he 
 pretended to be deeply interested in the conversation of 
 the castellan's men. 
 
 Waiting the arrival of their commandant, the company 
 had seated themselves around the plentiful board of their 
 host. Wild boar, roasted whole, haunches of venison, 
 and roasted crane composed the chief viands, while sev- 
 eral beakers of choice red wine served to loosen the 
 tongues, and nothing was wanting save the presence of 
 the host himself, who, as Santuzzo, one of his subor- 
 dinates, stated, had retired to dictate some despatches. 
 Scrivezzo gazed in a rather hungry way at the table,
 
 37 Castel feel /l&onte 
 
 thence with a sigh at the window, where his attention 
 was forthwith caught by a pigeon with something white 
 tied around its neck starting from the tower across. 
 
 The bird flew at first in a straight and steady line to 
 southward, but suddenly it whirled around, panting rather 
 than flying with its wings, and dived down to the lake. 
 Scrivezzo's curiosity was excited, and, gazing upward, 
 it was some moments ere he discovered a hawk so high 
 in the air that it looked like little more than a black spot. 
 But it was descending in its fatal gyrations, and, as if 
 aware of an inevitable doom, the pigeon, after a few vain 
 flutterings, made a last despairing soar. But soon the 
 rapacious claws were in its back and the ruthless beak in 
 its brain. 
 
 Scrivezzo had no time to note what further befell the 
 luckless bird, for at this moment the much desired host, 
 Don Crivello, made his appearance. He entered with so 
 much agitation and anger visible on his countenance, that 
 the disguised bravo's alarms were all renewed. 
 
 " Who is it that presumes to fly a hawk without my 
 permission ? " the Catalan asked fiercely of Santuzzo. " I 
 have just lost one of my best carrier-pigeons, which was 
 seized by a hawk launched from yonder tower, and the 
 letter I aimed to despatch by it is probably lost." 
 
 " It is Ugolino, the under-falconer. I have warned him 
 many a time that he displeases your lordship with his 
 untimely pranks," replied the individual spoken to, bow- 
 ing low in deference to his chief. " But the hawks are 
 too well trained to have eaten the pigeon, therefore un- 
 doubtedly the letter is safe." 
 
 " Go and bring the rogue this instant before me, and 
 by St. Anthony, if the seal is but breathed upon, I will 
 have him sawed in twain as a warning to all such insolent, 
 meddling villains who keep no discipline," exclaimed the
 
 (Tastet del flDonte 371 
 
 castellan, whose agitation was so extreme that Scrivezzo 
 inwardly smiled. 
 
 Santuzzo departed, apparently with very good-will, on 
 his errand, and, striving to resume his equanimity, Cri- 
 vello took his accustomed seat at the table. Some time 
 elapsed, and though the Catalan continued greatly dis- 
 turbed, his subordinates did ample justice to the repast. 
 The crane had not been assailed yet when Santuzzo re- 
 appeared. His naturally insidious and at the same time 
 ferocious countenance displayed its characteristics now 
 so legibly that a child could not have mistaken them. 
 He held in his hand an open letter, which he presented 
 to Crivello. 
 
 " Senor, it was not the under-falconer, as I imagined," 
 he said, with a satanic leer, " but a fellow who came lately 
 into the castle, and who has dared to amuse himself with 
 flying the king's hawks. Him I surprised perusing your 
 letter to a certain high-born lady." 
 
 " Certain high-born lady ? Thou canst not thou hast 
 not read it, too ? " stammered Crivello, turning deadly 
 pale, as he stretched forth his hand to take the epistle. 
 
 " Your lordship knows I am as great a fool about 
 monkish learning as a monk were about soldiery," replied 
 Santuzzo, turning the letter in his hand like one who 
 holds some uncommon instrument, the use of which he 
 knows not. 
 
 " True, so thou hast often said," observed Crivello, 
 breathing hard, as if relieved from a weight on his chest. 
 " But did not this prying villain read it to thee ? " 
 
 " By the rood, I gave him no time," replied the 
 Calabrian. 
 
 " How, my most excellent and faithful Santuzzo, thou 
 didst not in thy passion at his insolence strike thy dagger 
 into him ? " exclaimed Crivello, hurriedly.
 
 372 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 " I caused him to be instantly seized, but I thought it 
 behooved me rather not to forego your lordship's judg- 
 ment," said Santuzzo. 
 
 " Where have you left him? In whose company? Take 
 him at once to the nearest tree," said the castellan, with 
 increasing agitation. " Doubtlessly he is some Provencal 
 spy, else wherefore should he read my letter ? " 
 
 " My lord, he is a free man, and we are in the king's 
 domains! As such he must be fairly adjudged ere he 
 can be put to death," replied the malicious warden, 
 secretly enjoying his superior's confusion. 
 
 "Think you so? Free man, fairly adjudged? We 
 will make short work of him. In the king's absence we 
 sit in his stead! Bring him hither gagged, and I will 
 adjudge him fast enough," Crivello concluded, fiercely. 
 
 " He is even now waiting at the door ; your lordship 
 need not delay your repast," said Santuzzo, stepping 
 eagerly to the portal, which he threw wide open. The bur- 
 nished casques and spears of the duke's men-at-arms met 
 the startled gaze of the banqueters, as they filed into the 
 chamber in rapid succession, while from the centre of 
 their opening ranks, with rapid and fiery step, his eyes 
 blazing with wrath, his fine nostrils quivering, his cheeks 
 pale with concentrated passion, strode Ferrando, Duke 
 of Altamura. 
 
 The suddenness of his entry, his disordered locks wav- 
 ing like black serpents beneath his scarlet hermelin cap, 
 which contrasted strangely with his sombre garb of sable 
 velvet, might have struck terror into men who had less 
 reason to dread his wrath. As it was, Crivello stood 
 fixed and pallid as stone, but his Catalans started up, 
 uncertain where to turn in the unforeseen dilemma, while 
 several murmured an exorcism to the fiend. 
 
 " Ha, Crivello, you are then resolved to send me to the
 
 Gastel fcel /iDonte 373 
 
 gibbet for my impudent interference! What, then, does 
 treason merit ? " thundered the terrific master. And, turn- 
 ing with the most courtly and blandishing irony to the 
 company of Catalans, he added : " Pray be not disturbed, 
 good and honest gentlemen, for we are so well assured 
 of your loyalty that we even presume to ask you to assist 
 us in pronouncing what judgment befits this ungrateful 
 traitor, who, not content with fanning into flames more 
 furious the war which is upon us, desires to blacken our 
 good name with foulest insinuations, to array even the 
 king against us, his most faithful and loyal servitor, and 
 to sow suspicion between ruler and subject." 
 
 As he spoke the duke snatched the paper from the pas- 
 sive hand of Crivello, and read aloud passages from the 
 intercepted letter to his no less patient auditors. 
 
 And Crivello had indeed been inspired by an evil 
 genius when he penned this epistle. Stung almost to 
 madness by the deadly insult offered to him by the duke 
 during the assault on the Torre del Diavolo, he had care- 
 fully screened his feelings from his master, vowing in- 
 wardly a vengeance as black as the duke's sins, with which 
 he was so well acquainted, merited in his estimation. 
 After having foiled one after another of the duke's de- 
 signs by timely information to those in position to pre- 
 vent their execution, the Catalan had now penned a letter 
 to Francesca, whose abode since that eventful night had 
 been unknown to the duke. In this letter Crivello advised 
 the lady to warn the king of the dissatisfaction among 
 the Saracens of San Germano, owing to the proximity 
 of the Duke of Altamura, and suggesting the immediate 
 recall of him who was more rapacious than a harpy, more 
 cruel than a tiger, more insidious than a viper; further 
 to advise the king to secure the person of a certain sor- 
 cerer who had assisted the duke in his fiendish devices,
 
 374 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 and who even blasphemously pretended to foretell the 
 future. 
 
 The duke paused for a brief space of time, as if 
 musing over the double meaning of the last sentence, 
 then he turned with a terrible laugh to the men-at- 
 arms in the chamber, who had listened in breathless 
 dismay. 
 
 " Now, senors, if all this be true, deem you that so 
 great a sorcerer ought to be mistaken? You have all 
 heard the contents of this letter, and a noble answer I can 
 give you to its treason and calumny! Are you not here 
 in my presence, in my power, one and all, here in 
 this strong castle, surrounded by my soldiery? Yet I 
 offer you all a friendly welcome, safe lodging, good cheer, 
 and to-morrow at dusk we will continue our march 
 toward Capua, where you shall share in honour alike 
 and profit if our first stroke against Anjou prove suc- 
 cessful. But why keep we our honoured company stand- 
 ing ? Seize yon traitor and away with him ! " 
 
 For a moment Crivello's courage gave way before the 
 duke's dreaded visage. 
 
 " Mercy, my lord, my master, mercy ! " he yelled, 
 prostrating himself before his relentless judge. 
 
 " Mercy, thou merciless traitor ? Hast thou ever shown 
 mercy to thy countless victims whom thou hast sent to 
 await thee in the darkness whither thou goest ? " replied 
 the duke, spurning the wretched culprit with his foot as 
 he endeavoured to clasp his knees. 
 
 At this juncture Santuzzo darted forward and seized 
 the Catalan by the doublet, while his eyes rested ques- 
 tioningly on the duke. 
 
 " I would humbly propose, my lord," he said, with his 
 satanic leer, " that the death of hanging be spared to him
 
 Cartel fcel flDonte 375 
 
 as concession for the services he has rendered your Grace 
 in the past." 
 
 The duke cast a quick glance at the castellan's inter- 
 cessor. 
 
 " So let it be ! I am always happy to oblige my friends. 
 Let him be taken to the top of the tower and precipitated 
 through the trap-door. And when you have done with 
 him, saw me his carcass in twain and set it up like a 
 shark's jaw on the bastion to let people know I loved not 
 nor approved his cruelties." 
 
 At this terrible sentence all vestige of sense deserted 
 the wretched instrument of the duke's guiles and in- 
 trigues. He reeled, but, suddenly recovering himself, he 
 rushed with the ferocity of a wild beast upon the duke, 
 who but for his watchfulness and great agility might 
 have paid the forfeit of his judgment. Crivello's steel 
 was met by a dozen blades which flashed from their 
 scabbards, even his own men turning upon him, and it 
 was apparent that the fated castellan was fighting not 
 for victory, but for a less cruel mode of death. 
 
 " I will give thee one chance to die at least as a man- 
 at-arms," the duke thundered, amid the clash of steel and 
 the wild oaths which accompanied each thrust and parry. 
 The men-at-arms lowered their weapons, while narrowly 
 watching their doomed victim, who, as yet unharmed, 
 stared with ashen pale face and bloodshot eyes at his 
 terrible judge. " Name to me the hiding-place of Lesina's 
 daughter, for thou knowest it, and I will yet be merci- 
 ful." 
 
 For a moment dread silence filled the chamber. 
 
 " Name to thee the hiding-place of the nun thou hast 
 raped from the altars of Christ, the wanton who fol- 
 lowed the trail of her own infamy by fastening herself 
 on thine? Seek her in the hovels of her kind, thou
 
 376 Gastel fcel jflDonte 
 
 knowest the opportunities! Or if thou miss her there, 
 inquire of the fiend with whom thou hast shared her " 
 
 " Upon him upon him ! Hack him to pieces ! " roared 
 the duke, in maddened frenzy, while with a mad leap 
 he rushed into the midst of the recommencing fray, 
 which brought him face to face with the castellan. Like 
 two infuriated tigers they sprang at each other, and so 
 fast and furious followed thrust and parry that, much 
 to their chagrin, the duke's followers were compelled to 
 desist, not daring to approach within sword-length of the 
 combatants. The Catalan's more powerful stature was 
 counterbalanced by the duke's serpent-like agility, which 
 caused him to evade the furious onslaught of his adver- 
 sary. Tables and chairs had been overturned in the heat 
 of the fray ; three times they had made the round of the 
 chamber, without the duke's gaining a positive advantage 
 over Crivello, at the point of whose weapon despair sat 
 and guided his thrusts. Suddenly his foot slipped in the 
 viands which had been overturned, and he had hardly 
 touched the floor in his fall ere the duke's steel pierced 
 him through and through. Crivello's sword fell from his 
 nerveless grasp. Altamura's aim had been true, for from 
 a ghastly wound in the castellan's heart the black blood 
 spurted over the floor, and with one last gasp he sank back 
 dead amidst the fragments of the banquet and the spilled 
 wine. The duke, after one last glance at his former serv- 
 itor, wiped the dark sweat from his brow, then cleaned 
 his bloody weapon on his victim's doublet. 
 
 " Take him away," he turned to Scrivezzo, who rushed 
 forward with the avidity of a wild beast, fearful lest its 
 prey should be snatched from it. " Best to the trap-door ! 
 Let him rot in noble society." 
 
 Then throwing himself with a lofty air into the raised 
 seat so lately occupied by the fallen follower, the duke
 
 Castel fcel /iDonte 377 
 
 filled a goblet of wine to the brim, and, with a smile 
 which seemed full of joviality and heartiness, drank to the 
 health of all his honoured guests and the company of 
 Catalans in particular.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE SHRINES OF ANGELO DEI LOMBARDI 
 
 LIKE a plague-stricken land, where brother fears 
 brother and friend dreads friend, where children turn 
 against parents and lovers eye each other with secret 
 distrust, brooded the broad Apulian expanse. The papal 
 interdict had withered life and joy; no sanctuary was 
 open, no mass was sung; the sick perished without the 
 sacrament, new-born babes were deprived of the bap- 
 tismal fount. The beggar monks had increased as a 
 plague of locusts; their black bands swarmed through 
 Southern Italy, promulgating the decrees of the pontiff 
 and paralyzing the last remnants of loyalty to the im- 
 perial house of Suabia. Everywhere sullen, glowering 
 faces met the gaze, and superstitious fear aided to accom- 
 plish what the Provengals had not so far been able to 
 achieve, the downfall of the dynasty, and with it 
 anarchy, rebellion, and lawlessness. 
 
 Such was the character of the country which Manfred 
 and his trusty band traversed on steeds fleet as arrows, 
 wont to race against the sand-storms of the Arabian 
 desert, on the highroad from Lucera to Castel del 
 Monte. The king longed for reunion with his beloved 
 queen, whom he had not seen since she had left Palermo 
 under the armed escort of the Count of Angalone. The 
 revolt of Lucera, so narrowly averted, and the stringent 
 measures required to quell in the bud any second attempt, 
 
 378
 
 Ube Sbrines of Hngelo oei Xombarfci 379 
 
 emanating from misguided ambition, to play the almost 
 impregnable stronghold into the hands of the Provengals, 
 had detained Manfred much beyond his own expecta- 
 tions. Accompanied by the tried and proven friends of 
 his father, the brothers Capece, Galvano Lancia, the lords 
 of Frangipani, Acerra, and John of Procida, he was 
 hastening southward. While the Saracens of Sidi Yussuff 
 held the ramparts of San Germane against the furious 
 onslaughts of the Provengals, while the Count of Caserta 
 defended the passes of the Garigliano, all was well. With 
 his superior forces Manfred hoped to terminate the war 
 with one successful stroke, the more so as the Romans 
 had turned their starving allies into the bleak wastes of 
 the Campagna, tiring of the rapacious rabble, who plun- 
 dered alike the territories of friend and foe. For Charles 
 of Anjou treated the states of the Church, the patrimony 
 of St. P'eter, whose successor had blessed his banners, 
 with the same rapacious impartiality as if they had been 
 the lands he was yet to conquer. 
 
 Ottorino Visconti had accompanied Manfred to Lucera, 
 and had remained near the king until the revolt of John 
 the Moor had been quelled. Then the anxiety for Helena 
 di Miraval, of whom he had not discovered the faintest 
 trace during their forced inland marches, had not per- 
 mitted him to tarry longer. With the promise to rejoin 
 the royal forces at Castel del Monte, the Lombard de- 
 tached himself from the suite of the king in order to 
 continue unhampered his search for the lost one, a task 
 made hitherto almost impossible, while hampered by an 
 armed retinue. For this reason he had caused Canaletto 
 and the Lombard contingent to attach themselves to the 
 Apulian squadron which Manfred was leading into the 
 Basilicata. He himself set out alone, bearing a heavy 
 heart and oppressed with dreary forebodings of the future.
 
 38 Castel &el /iDonte 
 
 It was a bright but sultry morning, when a solitary 
 horseman was seen winding that unequalled road from 
 whose heights, amid fig-trees, vines, and olives, the trav- 
 eller beholds, gradually breaking upon his gaze, the gray, 
 massive walls of San Angelo dei Lombardi, a feudal 
 town situated in a southeasterly direction from the city 
 of Benevento. The vicinity of the old capital of Norman 
 Italy, which was so soon to assemble within her gates 
 the parliament of the realm and the united Ghibelline 
 forces, had prompted Ottorino to search for Helena di 
 Miraval's unknown dwelling-place in regions which the 
 duke of necessity must traverse within a brief space of 
 time. The surmise that he would not hie away his kins- 
 woman beyond his own possibilities of reach seemed to 
 bid for better success than the Lombard's hitherto erratic 
 researches had been crowned with. That Helena was 
 not in the train of the duke he had assurance positive. 
 Before leaving Palermo he had also ascertained from a 
 bravo, who deemed it nothing amiss to serve two masters, 
 that a high-born lady, whose identity his informant could 
 not reveal, had during the night been conveyed under 
 strong escort on board a ship, ready to start under secret 
 orders for some Apulian or Calabrian port. 
 
 While the surmise that the lady of Miraval might be 
 detained in one of the numerous feudal castles along the 
 coast seemed not altogether vain, Ottorino, after carefully 
 weighing every consideration in favour of or against the 
 latter supposition, concluded that the duke would hardly 
 expose his kinswoman to the dangers arising from the 
 sudden landing of a hostile fleet. He was resolved to 
 continue his search in the duke's trail, more firmly con- 
 vinced than ever that the woman he loved would not be 
 far from her jailer, whose vigilance no message to himself 
 had been allowed to escape.
 
 Sbrines of Hnoelo oei XombarM 381 
 
 Ottorino did not pursue his path with the traveller's 
 customary eye of admiration, nor was the scene which 
 spread before him one very animating or inspiring. 
 All was silent, void, and hushed, and even the light of 
 heaven reflected a gloomy, oppressive glare. Of the few 
 cottages by the roadside some were closed up, some 
 wide open, but all seemingly inmateless. The plough 
 stood still ; the distaff plied not ; there was a darker curse 
 upon the land than the black plague, which was to hold 
 its deadly harvest in these regions a half-century hence: 
 it was the papal interdict. Now and then some forlorn 
 straggler, clad in the coarse garb of the Calabrian peasant 
 or the gloomy vestment of a friar, crossed the deserted 
 road, staring with livid and amazed countenance at the 
 solitary horseman, then crossing himself and vanishing 
 beneath some roof, from whose entrance peered the sullen 
 visage of its starving owner. 
 
 Impatient and well-nigh despairing, Ottorino at last 
 spurred his horse toward the gates of San Angelo dei 
 Lombardi. He had partaken of no food for twenty- four 
 hours ; his strength was almost exhausted and his senses 
 reeled under the relentless rays of the scorching noon- 
 day sun. He almost fell from his horse as he reached 
 a hostelry just outside the gates. His repeated calls 
 eliciting no response, the Visconti dismounted and, fasten- 
 ing his steed to an estrada in which the door, half-torn 
 from its hinges, stood slightly ajar, he entered, but he 
 paused as soon as he had set foot on the threshold. Hud- 
 dled together on the barren floor lay a company of as- 
 pect so little inviting, a medley of beggars' crutches, 
 poniards, clubs, and filth, that Ottorino preferred the 
 pangs of hunger and thirst to the questionable comforts 
 awaiting him in that society. Turning almost as quickly 
 as he had entered, he remounted his steed and was about
 
 382 Gastel Del flDonte 
 
 to head for the moat, when he sighted a dark procession 
 emerging from a gate which he had not earlier observed, 
 which swept by him and disappeared in the valley be- 
 yond, a procession of featureless spectres, wrapped in 
 long, shroudlike robes, hymning in solemn dirge the im- 
 ploring line, " Miserere Miserere." 
 
 Prompted by a sudden impulse, the Lombard resolved 
 to follow. The spectral procession turned down a green 
 lane remote from the road, and disappeared behind the 
 portals of a cloister which for the first time revealed itself 
 to Ottorino's gaze. Beyond the cloister, half-hidden in 
 the green, were the vineyards and olive groves, villages 
 and convents of the Principato, while behind him San 
 Angelo dei Lombardi reared its towers, battlements, and 
 spires to the glowing horizon. 
 
 At the base of a gently sloping, verdant hill stood the 
 cloister, whither the Lombard had been attracted by the 
 strange procession which had vanished behind its massive 
 doors of bronze. They were left ajar, as if in their haste 
 the nuns had neglected to bar the portals, once the barriers 
 between the world and a sphere no layman's foot dared 
 profane. Permitting his steed to graze under the wide- 
 spreading branches of oaks and plane-trees which sur- 
 rounded the sanctuary, Ottorino entered the refectory of 
 the cloister. It was deserted. Through a high and nar- 
 row casement, sunk deep in the massive walls almost 
 directly above the place where he stood, an errant ray of 
 sunlight streamed into the purple dusk. 
 
 While scanning his surroundings in quest of some liv- 
 ing object, Ottorino perceived a chapel close by. Through 
 the painted windows gleamed faintly, dimmed by the 
 noonday sun, the light of tapers. Ottorino stared aghast. 
 Who dared defy the interdict and offer divine adoration 
 before altars profaned and deserted? Approaching with
 
 Ube Sbrines of Hnoelo fcef Xombarot 383 
 
 noiseless steps, he entered the sanctuary and beheld a 
 single nun kneeling in silent prayer before a duskily 
 illumined shrine. Impressed with the desolation and 
 sanctity of the place and the touching sight of this solitary 
 and unselfish bride of Christ, Ottorino, forgetful of thirst, 
 hunger, and fatigue, obeyed but the mastering impulse of 
 his heart; he knelt unseen by the nun, while his lips 
 offered up a fervent prayer for one ray of light in the 
 gloom which oppressed his soul. 
 
 As he rose, somewhat relieved, the nun rose also and, 
 startled by the sound, turned her head. But no sooner 
 had their eyes met than with a wild, delirious shriek they 
 rushed into each other's arms. 
 
 "Ottorino!" 
 
 "Helena!" 
 
 For a time they remained locked in silent embrace. 
 Neither spoke, each dreading to break the spell which 
 had once again woven its magic around them ; only their 
 eyes and hearts held silent converse. 
 
 " Oh, Helena, Helena," Ottorino at last spoke, in falter- 
 ing accents, " have I lived to gaze again into your eyes, 
 to touch your hand, to hold you in my embrace? 
 By what miracle are you here ? Has Heaven returned to 
 me the treasure which I had sought so long with dread 
 and anguish? Helena, speak! Is it you, or is it some 
 mocking phantom ? Are you alone? How pale your face ! 
 Speak, my Helena, speak, for my senses reel." He paused, 
 closing his eyes. His face was very pale. 
 
 "Ah, Ottorino, it is I, Helena di Miraval, your 
 Helena indeed, not a pale and mocking phantom ! But 
 you live you live, Ottorino? You have returned from 
 the waves in which I saw you sink beside the murdered 
 boatman? Tell me all, tell me how it befell, it is 
 like a dream, I cannot grasp it ! "
 
 3 8 4 Castel Del /iDonte 
 
 " Not of myself let us speak, but of you, my Helena, 
 you whom I sought heartsick and despairing throughout 
 the length and breadth of this desolate land! But why 
 this garb, the habit of the cloister? You have not 
 Helena " 
 
 He paused, the unspoken thought driving the last 
 vestige of colour from his face. 
 
 " I am still of the world, despite this garb," she replied, 
 with a smile, " though sadly changed since we last saw 
 each other." 
 
 " Fairer you are and lovelier, my Helena," replied Otto- 
 rino, passionately. " But now tell me, my life, how came 
 you here? Why this gown and what is your mission in 
 this God-forsaken abode? Or is it a prison, in which 
 you have but liberty to roam at will ? Speak of yourself, 
 not of me ! " 
 
 Helena raised her eyes to those of her lover, while her 
 hands rested upon his shoulders. 
 
 " It is like a miracle, a dream, I can hardly grasp 
 it, we both living, standing face to face and hand in 
 hand. What have I not suffered since that dreadful night 
 when I saw you disappear beneath the waves, and felt 
 myself snatched up by the arms of masked and muffled 
 men and carried I knew not whither. When first I 
 woke from my swoon the moon shone brightly on the 
 waves, over which a swift craft bore me toward some un- 
 known goal. My first glance fell upon dark, scowling 
 faces, they told me you were dead. I remember little 
 more till the Stygian darkness of night was rent by in- 
 cessant lightning; crashing peals of thunder and the 
 deafening roar of the tempest drowned the voices of the 
 terrified seamen, who saw their craft at the mercy of 
 the elements. I prayed but for death. The frail shell, 
 containing ten lives, suddenly capsized. The men fought
 
 Ube Sbrfnes of Bngelo fret OLombarM 385 
 
 madly for even a straw to cling to, and no hand was 
 stretched out to save the woman. But a galley plying 
 close by picked up my well-nigh spent and lifeless body ; 
 the duke's men perished in the waves. The noble Gen- 
 oese inquired not as to the quality, name, or rank of 
 her who enjoyed the hospitality of his craft, but when in 
 parting I insisted upon learning to whom Helena di 
 Miraval owed her life, he reluctantly revealed his name: 
 Fiesco di Lavagna." 
 
 " No nobler name echoes through all Genoa ! But then, 
 my beloved then ? " 
 
 " At Naples the commandant of the frigate conducted 
 his charge to a convent, where I remained till I learned of 
 a company of pilgrims ready to set out for the shrines of 
 St. Michael of Angelo dei Lombardi. When the tidings 
 spread of the interdict the officiating monk forsook the 
 shrines before which he had been kneeling, forgetting in 
 his frenzied panic to extinguish the candles before which 
 you found me, not knowing where to turn, where to go." 
 
 After Helena di Miraval had concluded her account, 
 neither spoke for a time. Long and closely they remained 
 in each other's embrace, and while he kissed the tears 
 from the long, silken lashes, on which they trembled like 
 morning dew on mystic night-viols, Ottorino sought to 
 read the untold history of suffering and anguish in the 
 depths of the eyes, which held his own with their subtle 
 spell. 
 
 " It was the magic of these dear eyes that guided me 
 across the plains, hither, to your side in this of all hours, 
 my Helena, hither, where I should have been, to shield 
 you, to guard you, to guide your steps to safety and to 
 freedom. But this air is oppressive and I am faint. Let 
 us seek a resting-place where a gentle zephyr sways the 
 branches of the oaks."
 
 386 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 " There are olives and provisions stored beneath a 
 shrine, where the pilgrims in their haste relinquished 
 them," Helena replied, with a look of deep concern at 
 her lover's pallid countenance, and, taking him by the 
 hand, led him to the indicated spot. Ottorino's strength 
 and spirits quickly revived during the repast, of which 
 Helena but scantily partook, and only in obeisance to his 
 urgent entreaties. 
 
 For the next hour the lovers abandoned themselves 
 wholly to the delight of reunion, while new reminiscences 
 called forth ever new transports of joy and happiness. 
 
 " And now," murmured Helena, her head resting on 
 Ottorino's breast, " now that our fate has so wondrously 
 brought us together " 
 
 She paused, averting her blushing face. 
 
 " Now that we have so miraculously met," said Otto- 
 rino, filling up the silence, " would you say further, that 
 we should not part again? Trust me, dearest, that is the 
 wish which animates my heart. And yet, must I be the 
 one to tell it? I tremble for you, beloved, until we shall 
 have reached the boundaries, beyond which the name of 
 Altamura dies like a meaningless sound." 
 
 " Where shall we go, Ottorino? " Helena faltered, after 
 a brief pause. 
 
 " Ever northward, starting with the rising moon. Bene- 
 vento will be our next resting-place; ere dawn we shall 
 reach her gates." 
 
 " Benevento ? " Helena exclaimed. " There we shall 
 meet the duke. He will destroy us both." 
 
 " Fear not, my love," Ottorino reassured her, as he 
 supported her trembling form. " The Archbishop of 
 Benevento has ever been the Visconti's friend; under 
 his roof you will be as safe as under the emperor's, and
 
 Ube Sbrtnes of Sngelo oei Xombarof 387 
 
 there you will remain until I return from Castel del 
 Monte." 
 
 " But why must we part again ? " she faltered, her 
 eyes seeking his in mute entreaty. 
 
 " My place is by the side of Manfred ; to guard him, 
 the last of his glorious house, 'gainst treason, be it in 
 council-hall or on the field of battle," Ottorino replied. 
 And, as Helena made no response, he continued : " Your 
 silence speaks to me your heart, and I thank you, dearest, 
 with all the love and fervour of mine. But after my re- 
 turn I must find shelter for my treasure other than the 
 old witches' city, and while the mountain passes remain 
 free I will place you in Canaletto's care, who will conduct 
 you safely behind the walls of Ghibelline Florence. There 
 I will claim you as my own when the cloud now obscuring 
 the horizon has faded away." 
 
 " I would follow you to the end of the world, Ottorino," 
 Helena said, glancing up into her lover's face, " but while 
 you remain at Benevento my place is by your side ! " 
 
 Ottorino's gaze rested with unspeakable tenderness on 
 the adored face. 
 
 " You cannot remain at Benevento, dearest," he replied, 
 caressing her dark hair. " The fate of the kingdom may 
 be decided under her very walls. Should I fall you 
 would be left alone without protector at the mercy of a 
 horde of fiends ! " 
 
 She shook her head half-smilingly, half in defiance, but 
 her face was very pale. 
 
 " I would die with you," she spoke, with quivering lips. 
 
 There was such earnestness in her tones that for a 
 moment Ottorino could find no words to reply, then he 
 clasped her softly clinging form to his heart and kissed 
 the sweet pale lips again and again until their sweetness 
 made him forget present and future.
 
 388 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 Evening came at last. The burning calm was followed 
 by a breeze, breathing of life, and in the sky sailed, as if 
 it were wafted by the gentle zephyrs, the evening star. 
 The lifeless silence of the plains now began to be broken 
 by a variety of sounds, wild and sad enough in them- 
 selves, but softened by distance and not ill suited to that 
 declining hour which is so fit an emblem of the decline 
 of life. The moaning of the shepherds' horns, the low 
 of the folding herds, the scream of the vulture, wheeling 
 home from some feast of carnage, the howl of the jackal, 
 venturing out on the edge of dusk, came with no un- 
 pleasing melancholy upon the wind. The hour of de- 
 parture was at hand. 
 
 Ottorino gently assisted Helena into the saddle of a 
 jennet which he had procured at a near-by monastery, 
 and much cause for merriment the singular spectacle of 
 a knight of the empire travelling in company with a nun 
 would have afforded to any chance passer-by. But the 
 road they chose was as deserted and lonely as if they were 
 traversing a plague-stricken province. They were ap- 
 proaching a wood, skirting a valley on either side, when 
 a black pedestrian suddenly overtook the Lombard and 
 his companion, and, glancing at the twain, hastened past 
 with almost inconceivable rapidity. Helena had scarcely 
 noticed the phantom, whom she perhaps thought some 
 Moorish slave making his escape. But Ottorino instantly 
 whirled his crossbow, which on this occasion he had for 
 precaution's sake added to his armament, from his shoul- 
 der, carefully set the bolt, and in the twinkling of an 
 eye the rapid messenger had fallen to the ground with 
 a mortal stroke. 
 
 Helena's wonder at this extraordinary act of violence 
 on the part of her lover only subsided when in the slain 
 she recognized the duke's swift African runner, Zem.
 
 Ube Sbrines of Hngelo >ei XombarM 389 
 
 Then the peril from which Ottorino's quick and circum- 
 spect action had delivered them dawned upon her in its 
 whole extent. Closely she kept by the side of her lover, 
 whose trusty steed, refreshed by the noonday siesta under 
 the shady oaks, kept even pace with its fresher long-eared 
 companion. Soon the shrines of San Angelo dei Lom- 
 bardi had vanished in the silvery mists which enshrouded 
 the Apulian plains, and every step brought these two 
 nearer their goal, nearer their fate, nearer the walls of the 
 ancient city of Benevento.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE SHADES OF MIDNIGHT 
 
 IN one of the secluded chambers of Castel del Monte 
 a silver lamp with three branches was burning, diffusing 
 a sweet perfume through the room. The solitary occu- 
 pant of the apartment was walking up and down in a 
 meditative manner, with head bent low ; from time to time 
 he made a gesture with his hand as if to throw some- 
 thing off his mind ; at last he paused before a table, un- 
 buckled his sword, and hung it against the wall ; then he 
 uncovered the inkstand, took a sheet of parchment, dipped 
 his pen in the ink and, rinding that it wrote too thick, 
 began to mend it; but as he turned it and re-turned it, 
 cut it and recut it, his brain began to whirl. In a few 
 moments he recovered himself and, suddenly remember- 
 ing what he was about and what he intended to do, threw 
 away the pen-stump which he had spoiled, took a new 
 one, dipped it into the ink in a determined manner, and 
 started to write. Again he paused, leaned back, and 
 gazed at the ceiling, deliberating how in anticipation of 
 impending events he should begin his letter; but after 
 remaining in this position for some time and receiving no 
 inspiration, the letter made no progress. At last the Duke 
 of Altamura took up a great mass of manuscript which 
 was lying before him, and, throwing it roughly behind his 
 chair, sprang to his feet ; then striking his forehead with 
 
 390
 
 Ube Sba&es of flDiontgbt 391 
 
 his hand, he began afresh to pace the room, talking to 
 himself all the time. 
 
 " The poisonous breath of evil has gone forth and 
 withered the flowers of life, away, foolish vapours ! 
 Let my star shine forth in the impending night that is 
 to precede a clearer morning." 
 
 With a derisive smile he reseated himself to his task, 
 resuming his letter to the Senate and people of Rome, 
 while the phantoms of Guelph and Ghibelline, of Pope 
 and emperor, of intrigues and war, flitted through his 
 burning brain. He heard not the door behind him turn 
 on its hinges, nor was he aware of another's presence, 
 until, raising his head from the parchment, pondering 
 how most subtly to prepare the Romans for that which 
 must so soon befall, he noted in the polished bronze 
 mirror before him the indistinct outlines of a form which, 
 whether a spirit or in the flesh, was there to no good 
 purpose. With a fierce outcry he sprang to his feet and, 
 quickly turning, hurled the inkstand with such force in 
 the direction of the intruder that it missed him but by a 
 hairbreadth, striking the wall behind him and breaking 
 into a thousand fragments, while the dark fluid was 
 spilled over the rich tapestry and the costly Persian 
 carpet. 
 
 A low, derisive laugh mocked the duke's frenzy. 
 
 " Thou wilt encounter phantoms in plenty ere thou 
 startest on the decline of thy career, Duke of Altamura," 
 croaked a mocking voice, while he from whose head had 
 been so narrowly averted the dark baptismal slowly 
 emerged from the shadows. 
 
 " What evil demon brings thee here, Caserta ? " growled 
 the duke, a sinister light flaming in his eyes. " And taunt 
 me not with fear of that of which thou art sorely igno- 
 rant."
 
 39 2 Castel fcel /IDonte 
 
 " What evil demon brings me here ? " replied Reinald 
 Aquino, Count of Caserta, throwing back his cowl and 
 disguise and revealing his pale, haggard countenance. " I 
 know of but one and thou art he." 
 
 " Indeed ! Though from thy tones I should judge thou 
 seekest rather a confessor than associate. Again, what 
 brings thee here ? " 
 
 " Am I not welcome ? " 
 
 " A traitor is never welcome." 
 
 " Art thou mad, duke ? Traitor, hast thou not coun- 
 selled the deed thyself?" 
 
 "Ay though I have counselled, thou art the perpe- 
 trator. Posterity will not deprive thee of that glory ! " 
 
 " Death and perdition, dost thou recant ? " 
 
 " The Duke of Altamura never recants ! What I have 
 begun that I will see to an end. Thy presence here is a 
 menace ! What seekest thou in Castel del Monte ? " 
 
 " Seek seek ? " growled Caserta. 
 
 " I am neither oracle nor wizard ! " 
 
 "Thou knowest, Satan, she is here?" 
 
 " For this, then, thou didst abandon thy trust ? " 
 
 " And if so, wilt thou prevent me ? " 
 
 " If I find it expedient to do so, I will ! " 
 
 " Then let me remind thee, Duke of Altamura, thou 
 art not yet at the end of thy goal. The bridge of the 
 Garigliano is still held by Ghibelline forces ! I have been 
 deceived, belied " 
 
 " Hast thou met a prophet in the desert, or wert thou 
 favoured with a revelation ? " sneered the duke. 
 
 "Ay! I did encounter one of the species of lying 
 prophets Pietro del Vico, the thrice-damned villain, 
 revealed to me, ere his treacherous lips grew cold in 
 death, the identity of those cooing turtle-doves in the 
 cavern."
 
 TIbe Sba&es ot flMCmigbt 393 
 
 Altamura turned pale. 
 
 " A most wondrous fable ! The rogue deserving of 
 tenfold damnation cheats himself into the belief that his 
 lying death-bed confession will straightway carry him to 
 paradise. Where did Del Vico meet his doom ? " 
 
 " At the pass of Casalto. A spear-point pierced his 
 intestines, in his confession he named thee, Duke of 
 Altamura, his accomplice ! " 
 
 " He was an execrable villain in life, he is an ex- 
 ecrable villain in death." 
 
 A mocking laugh broke from the duke's lips as with 
 a sneer he continued : 
 
 " Was it I who caused thee to behold thine own dis- 
 grace in the grottoes of Proserpina, or another, afraid lest 
 the flames of purgatory would burn his black soul to a 
 crisp did he not unload upon another a share of his sins 
 ere he crossed the dark river ? " 
 
 " Then let San Severino gainsay him, the prompter 
 of a deception dark as the blackest midnight." 
 
 The duke shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Thy scruples are belated. I shun the testimony of 
 a carcass." 
 
 " Hast thou slain him, too ? " gasped Caserta, receding 
 in speechless amazement. 
 
 " Vitality is a cursed habit," the duke replied, with a 
 cruel smile. " Why cling persistently to this form of 
 clay?" 
 
 Caserta stared for a moment in silence, then he flew 
 into a rage. 
 
 " Thou unutterable traitor and fiend ! And I struck 
 her down at parting, her mute eyes my silent accusers 
 in the face of heaven." 
 
 Caserta covered his passion-distorted features with his 
 trembling hands, while he gasped for breath.
 
 394 Castel &el flDonte 
 
 " By the fiends of doom, what have we here ? A rant- 
 ing monk or a hysterical neophyte, who raves and whines 
 and brays his shame to the silent stars? Thou hast de- 
 serted thy post upon the lying testimony of a varlet who 
 fears to face his judge in the beyond, thou hast 
 jeopardized the cause to which thou art bound by oaths 
 which not even one of thy kind dares to break. By the 
 five wounds, thy madness goes too far ! " 
 
 " I will have certainty certainty at every risk," re- 
 plied Caserta, advancing with pale, drawn features, " be- 
 fore the last fateful step which must for ever sever the 
 cause of Reinald Aquino from that of Manfred, the 
 Hohenstaufen ! " 
 
 " What hast thou in common with the dynasty ? Art 
 thou not an Apulian? Art thou not one of us? Whose 
 cause have I taken up? Is it not thine? Thou hast 
 pricked my flesh with the sharp thorn of thy hatred, and 
 now thou quakest before the shades thou hast evoked ! " 
 
 " Is our cause so weak that a breath from a woman's 
 lips may overthrow it ? " 
 
 " I mean to save thee from thyself ! The taunts of a 
 dying rogue have made thee oblivious of thy pledge, 
 caused thee to steal hither like a milksop lover who sings 
 to his inamorata in the moonlight. Where is thy lyre, 
 Reinald Aquino ? The moon is rising without, I will 
 conduct thee to a spot where thou mayest croak lustily 
 till cockcrow, striking the chords with the point of thy 
 stiff Spanish beard. How now? One madness is worth 
 another ! " 
 
 Caserta coloured to his very temples, and a hot reply 
 hovered on his lips, but he restrained himself with an 
 effort. 
 
 " Speak, then," he growled, with downcast eyes, which 
 dared not meet the duke's, " I listen."
 
 TTbe Sba&es of flM&nfabt 395 
 
 " Thou must return at once, this very hour ! I will 
 aid thee in thy desire, but I will guide thy steps. Man- 
 fred will arrive this very night. Should thy presence be 
 discovered " 
 
 He paused with a meaning glance. 
 
 " How long the hours will drag." 
 
 " What matters an hour more or less in the brief eter- 
 nity of our existence ? Yesterday at the cradle, to- 
 morrow at the grave, and then, as if it had never been." 
 
 " Were it but all over after death ! " 
 
 " What matters it to thee ? Thou canst come in no 
 worse society over there than thou hast kept here." 
 
 Apparently submissive, Reinald Aquino bowed in 
 silence to the duke, who noted not the fiendish leer in 
 the eyes of his departing visitor, and soon unbroken 
 silence reigned again in the chamber of the high con- 
 stable of Apulia. 
 
 It was nearly the hour of midnight, when the form of 
 the black penitent glided out of a dungeon under the 
 castle, in which from time to time deep groans had been 
 audible, and, passing a number of sentinels, finally van- 
 ished down a long unfrequented gallery. No inquiry 
 or challenge was addressed to him, for the superstitious 
 sentries believed him here on business of the king's, thus 
 authorizing his entry or egress, and the general fear 
 entertained of midnight monkish apparitions prevented 
 idle curiosity to a great extent. 
 
 The wizard continued upon his way until he came to a 
 spiral stairway, descending which he lighted a torch and 
 took a deliberate survey of the chamber below. The 
 first object on which his light gleamed was the figure of 
 a page couched on a bed of straw. So white, so motionless, 
 he lay that but for the apathetic stare which he fixed
 
 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 upon the intruder it might have been thought that a 
 marble statue had been bedded there. 
 
 " Raise thyself, Francesca, raise thyself ! " the black 
 penitent whispered. " The hour of vengeance is nigh ! 
 Canst thou reveal to me where the poisoned wines are 
 concealed? The light hurts my eyes. Speak, where are 
 they?" 
 
 Without replying a single word the disguised page 
 raised her thin white hand and pointed to one of the 
 archways. The wizard immediately entered it, making 
 his way to a circular excavation, which at one time seemed 
 to have served the purpose of a wine-cellar. Snow was 
 piled around it, and in the snow lay glistening a number 
 of bottles of scarlet crystal, finely cut and sealed with a 
 rich silver ornament. Others of exactly similar make and 
 colour, with this difference, that they were sealed with 
 lead and were fewer in number, lay at some distance 
 from the heap. 
 
 Approaching the former, the muffled monk took an 
 instrument from his pouch which was contrived for the 
 purpose, and deliberately wrenched out all the corks, with- 
 out in the least injuring their fine seals. Muttering 
 strange words to himself, he then drew an exactly similar 
 number of the leaden corks, transferring one of the more 
 precious ornaments to each as he proceeded. When he 
 had completed the whole number, he carefully replaced 
 all in the exact form in which they had lain in the snow, 
 and retired. 
 
 " Francesca," he said, as he returned to the page, and 
 again the latter mechanically raised herself and listened. 
 
 " I heard the Moorish hags, before their demise, tell 
 thy unkindly lord that thou alone of all their disciples 
 knowest the antidote to this poison. Thou wilt not be- 
 tray it?"
 
 Ube Sbaoes of fl&ffcniabt 397 
 
 The page laughed soundlessly, covering her eyes with 
 her hands as if the light troubled them, and with a 
 profound sigh and extinguishing his torch the magus left 
 the dungeon, mumbling : 
 
 " Thou shouldst at least have had enough sense spared 
 thee to know thyself avenged, to have witnessed thy 
 destroyer's agony and doom ! " 
 
 Winding to the summit of the stairs, it seemed to the 
 sage that something like a shriek resounded from below, 
 but he dared not pause to satisfy himself, and continued 
 upon his way. His steps had scarcely died away when 
 the form of a crouching human being was seen moving 
 closely along the dark corridor, pausing at intervals and 
 timidly glancing about, then gradually nearing the spiral 
 stairway, which it ascended with soundless, feline agility. 
 
 Once in the upper corridor the figure moved slowly 
 along the dark stone wall, now and then seeking covert in 
 a niche or behind a pillar, until it had reached a landing, 
 where all further progress seemed barred, for the walls 
 converged at this point, and not even the semblance of a 
 door or aperture appeared. The crouching figure slowly 
 pushed its thumb along a ledge of stone until it had found 
 the desired object, then, pressing a spring, the walls 
 noiselessly parted. For a moment the unknown paused 
 and carefully examined the mechanism on the inside, as 
 if to convince himself that egress was not cut off, then 
 he cautiously glanced around. 
 
 Only the occasional glare of far-off lightning on the 
 western horizon lit up the apartment. The intruder 
 dared not move but between the flashes, which succeeded 
 each other at considerable intervals, in order not to stum- 
 ble against some obstruction. The apartment was of 
 considerable circumference, and in a remote corner he
 
 398 Castel Del ADonte 
 
 espied a couch, upon which the Duke of Altamura tossed 
 in restless, dream-disturbed slumbers. 
 
 A fiendish smile gleamed on the intruder's face as he 
 cautiously drew nearer and nearer. Suddenly he paused. 
 Was there indeed some one to anticipate, to foil his ven- 
 geance ? But he saw no weapon, no steel in the hand of 
 the drooping form, who seemed bent rather on soothing 
 the disturbed spirits of the sleeper ; for his couch seemed 
 haunted by visions which he in vain endeavoured to dispel ; 
 cold perspiration stood beadlike on his forehead, and 
 broken accents of terror escaped from his half-closed lips. 
 The page was gazing with looks of mingled love and 
 terror upon the restless sleeper, as if the silent wish could 
 break the evil spell which enthralled him. Creeping 
 stealthily closer, the muffled figure in the shadows crouched 
 down like a tiger before the spring. The page had 
 straightened himself to his full height to remove the dark 
 waves of hair which, falling from beneath his cap, had 
 well-nigh brushed the sleeper's head. Whether they had, 
 or whether the pressure of the nightmare softening per- 
 mitted him to breathe easier, the duke suddenly opened 
 his eyes. A piercing cry rang through the chamber ; with 
 a frenzied oath he sprang from his couch; a long keen 
 blade gleamed in the lightning which rent the heavens; 
 there was a pitiful wail, a fall, and with bloodshot eyes 
 and foaming lips Altamura glared at the dark, prostrate 
 form. 
 
 " Die, damned spectre, die ! " he screamed, like a mad- 
 man. " Wilt thou never cease to haunt me ? Light ! 
 Light!" 
 
 Rushing past his dying victim, the duke shook the door 
 with a frenzied effort, then, recollecting that he had him- 
 self barred it ere he retired, he almost tore away the 
 lock in mad fear.
 
 BY THE ETERNAL GOD, I HAVE KILLED HER ! ' "
 
 ZTbe SbaOes of flMonfabt 399 
 
 " Light ! Light ! " he roared, emerging upon the 
 threshold, and his frantic cries at last roused the guards. 
 The tread of speeding footsteps resounded from every 
 direction, and the duke snatched the torch from the hands 
 of the first man-at-arms who reached the chamber. 
 
 " Varlets ! Is it thus ye guard your lord and master ? 
 I will have ye flayed like useless carrion ! " he yelled, and, 
 closely followed by eight or ten spearmen, he rushed back 
 into his chamber just as the heavens were rent by a 
 blinding flash of lightning, closely followed by a deafen- 
 ing peal of thunder, which shook Castel del Monte to its 
 foundations. 
 
 The duke's hand went to his forehead. 
 
 " Are all the fiends of doom loosed upon me to-night ? " 
 he gasped. " Must it ever and ever appear, to freeze the 
 blood in my veins, dead, as it is, and damned? " 
 
 He paused and staggered, stooping over the prostrate 
 form. 
 
 " What deception of hell is this ? " his voice rang out, 
 like the shrieks of a demon. 
 
 The torch fell from his nerveless grasp, and with a 
 choked outcry the duke sank over his murdered victim. 
 
 " By the eternal God, I have killed her ! Francesca 
 Francesca my love speak stare not at me thus 
 Francesca ah ! this, too this, too ! It is too much, 
 it is too much ! " 
 
 With trembling hands Altamura removed the dark hair 
 which covered Francesca's face like a protecting veil ; once 
 more her bosom heaved, a faint smile hovered on her 
 lips, then the blood-stained fingers which had quivered 
 around the wound in her heart grew rigid ; the arm fell 
 heavily by her side, and, like a child falling to sleep, the 
 hapless victim of the duke's licentiousness passed the 
 barriers of the dark beyond.
 
 400 Castel Set fl&onte 
 
 For a moment or two the duke gazed like one benumbed 
 at the lifeless form of the woman who had given him 
 true love in return for merciless cruelty; then a wail 
 like that of an animal wounded to the death pierced the 
 gloomy stillness of the death-chamber. From the duke's 
 lips oozed bloody foam, and his eyes assumed the glassy 
 stare of the maniac; then with a despairing outcry he 
 fell over the body of Francesca, who in unconsciously 
 saving his life had given up her own, to find that peace 
 in death which had been denied to her in the world. 
 
 While guards and attendants rushed terror-stricken in 
 search of medical aid, the muffled intruder, who seemed 
 for the time to have been cheated out of his own revenge, 
 slowly retraced his steps through the aperture through 
 which he had entered, and which noiselessly closed behind 
 him. 
 
 " Thou hast slain thy guardian angel, Altamura," whis- 
 pered the Count of Caserta. " Fare thee well thy star 
 has set ! " 
 
 On the spiral stairway he met a black friar who was 
 mumbling to himself, seemingly unaware of another's 
 presence. 
 
 " How strangely the world whirls round and round 
 and takes no rest," the monk said, in half-audible whis- 
 pers, but the perturbed and wild expression of his coun- 
 tenance changed into one of self-possession and calm as 
 he observed that he was not alone. 
 
 " The duke is in agony," the muffled stranger said, 
 " swooned unrepenting and unabsolved." 
 
 " So let him perish, it were even justice ! " replied 
 the monk. " But his hour has not yet come ! " 
 
 " Thou speakest like an oracle ! " 
 
 "The mills of the gods grind slowly, yet the dead 
 will rise and sit in judgment."
 
 Sbaoes of flM&ntabt 401 
 
 " Ay, thou speakest truth, friar, for even now death 
 hath struck down a nun of the severest order." 
 
 The stranger's eyes flashed from beneath his mask upon 
 the monk, who replied in tones cold and imperturbed: 
 
 " A nun of the severest order ? " 
 
 " One wretched and guilt-lost, Francesca's body lies 
 yonder, haste thee, friar, lest the devil win the race for 
 her soul." 
 
 With these words the muffled cavalier was about to 
 pass the Dominican, when the latter, with a gesture of his 
 raised hand arrested his steps. 
 
 " The passes of Ceperano are lost, Reinald Aquino ; 
 thou at least wilt not cheat the fiend out of his own." 
 
 "Who art thou?" 
 
 " What matters it to thee ? Time and death solve all 
 mysteries." 
 
 With an oath Caserta bounded down the stairs, while 
 the Dominican hastened to the duke's chamber. Attend- 
 ants in wild confusion ran hither and thither, without 
 knowing whether their master was dead or had only 
 swooned. 
 
 A few moments later the clang of horse's hoofs was 
 faintly audible under the windows of the duke's chamber ; 
 but the sound was quickly lost in the ever increasing roar 
 of the approaching tempest.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CONVIVIUM REGALE 
 
 THE arrival of Manfred and his retinue at Castel del 
 Monte had been delayed nearly a whole day, for it was 
 not until the evening of the day following the dire events 
 narrated above that the fanfares of his heralds announced 
 the approach of the king at the gates of the imperial 
 Hohenstaufen castle. His sojourn in the ancestral halls 
 of his house was to be brief, for Charles of Anjou was 
 reported to have started southward on his crusade, as 
 he styled his tour of conquest. n^, 
 
 The sun had gone down behind the hills of the Basili- 
 cata and the purple dusk of evening spread its shadows 
 over the Apulian plains. The royal court was assembled 
 in the octagon saloon, which had often rung with the 
 merriment of revellers. The guests had grouped them- 
 selves around the king: Galvano Lancia, Marino Capece, 
 John of Procida, Frederick of Antioch, the Counts of 
 Angalone, Falconara, and San Germane sharing one side 
 of the oval board, while the Duke of Altamura, John of 
 Alife, Count Cerro, and Giovanni FranjHpani occupied 
 the other. 
 
 The worn and pallid look of the king excited and ab- 
 sorbed the general attention. His unusual pallor could 
 hardly be accounted for even by the excessive sultriness 
 which was just beginning to yield to the fresher evening 
 
 402
 
 Convivium "Resale 403 
 
 breezes. The Duke of Altamura also wore an aspect of 
 perturbation, more especially so when his eye fell upon 
 a knight who had been noticed for the darkness of his 
 garb and his closed visor. The duke's inquiring glance 
 elicited from this personage a significant nod, which gave 
 him back his spirits, so that despite the unsteady gaze of 
 his eyes his manner gradually assumed something of a 
 wild gaiety. 
 
 Manfred sat for some moments absorbed in deep medi- 
 tation, listening abstractedly to the compliments which the 
 duke addressed to some of the guests. 
 
 " Some wine ! I am faint ! " he cried, at last, with an 
 involuntary shudder which the duke remarked not with- 
 out satisfaction. 
 
 Attendants sped away to execute the order, and soon 
 the chief butler returned with a basket, containing a 
 number of scarlet flasks buried in the fresh snow of the 
 Abruzzi. Almost at the same moment there appeared in 
 a remote corridor the tall form of the Dominican, who re- 
 mained unseen in the shadows, his gaze riveted upon the 
 assembly in the cabinet. 
 
 Manfred, engaged in conversation with the chancellor, 
 John of Alife, was not aware of the monk's presence until 
 Marino Capece whispered a few words in his ear, where- 
 upon he glanced up. 
 
 " What desires the friar ? " he demanded, his knit 
 brows revealing the impending storm. " For the black 
 vultures of Clement we have set aside but one place in 
 our realm where they may dwell with impunity: the 
 branches of the trees." 
 
 " It is not a common friar, King Manfred," interposed 
 the Sicilian. " Some hold him a wizard, of whom great 
 and wondrous things are told." 
 
 " One monk is no better than another," John of Alife*
 
 404 Castel ftel flDonte 
 
 objected. " The Dominicans are a seditious set, it w& 
 a Dominican who pronounced the anathema." 
 
 " The more, then, we admire his courage for putting 
 his head into the noose that shall shorten his breath ! " 
 exclaimed the Duke of Altamura. " Seize the monk in 
 the name of the king; these seditions grow dangerous." 
 
 The duke rose from his seat and pointed with out- 
 stretched arm to the Dominican in the outer corridor, but 
 before the men-at-arms could execute his order the dark- 
 robed knight had approached the royal dais. 
 
 " If it please the king," he spoke in low accents, " per- 
 chance the friar hath important tidings." 
 
 Manfred turned to the guards. 
 
 " Bring the Dominican to our presence." 
 
 "The friar is mad, King Manfred," Altamura inter- 
 posed. " Have we not testimony of his stirring up re- 
 bellion in your capital and delivering seditious harangues 
 to the rabble?" 
 
 " We will have the monk before us ! We will ourselves 
 judge whether he be sane or as mad as some of us who 
 go about unshackled," replied the king, with sudden im- 
 petuosity. 
 
 " What needs it, King Manfred, when we call to mem- 
 ory the strange gambols the would-be wizard has played 
 upon us all ? " 
 
 " Thus it shall be and thus we will learn who is lord 
 and sovereign in our dominions," said Manfred, with 
 increasing severity. Then with a profound and gloomy 
 sigh he glanced around at the dark-robed knight, adding : 
 
 " Knight, we may depend on thee ! Take the guard, 
 thou hast our command." 
 
 " It may arouse a sudden commotion in the castle, which 
 we have not the power to quell, with the excommunica- 
 tion upon us," remonstrated the duke, still bent on carry-
 
 Convivium IRegale 405 
 
 ing out his intent. " The minds of the soldiery are a 
 strange compound of loyalty and superstition." 
 
 " On that point this knight may exercise his own dis- 
 cretion, he has that quality, and we trust him," replied 
 Manfred, with a sigh, which the duke interpreted favour- 
 ably, the more so as the dark knight answered his in- 
 quisitive gaze with a second hardly perceptible nod. His 
 attention was now centred upon the chief butler and his 
 retinue of cupbearers. The dark knight had made his 
 exit from the sala, and the duke watched the butler so 
 intently as he opened the scarlet flasks that, although 
 this personage kept his eye fixed on him for some signal, 
 he stirred not until he had observed that his own goblet 
 and that of the chancellor were filled from the bottles 
 sealed with lead, and that of the king and the other guests 
 from those sealed with silver. 
 
 The company had quieted into momentary silence when 
 the king raised his goblet. 
 
 " Victory for the eagles of Hohenstaufen ! " he ex- 
 claimed, and, rising to their feet, the assembled guests 
 repeated the toast. Then Manfred drained the goblet 
 to the unbounded satisfaction of the duke, whose eyes 
 sparkled with insane triumph as his gaze darted from 
 cup to cup, to make certain that none of those loyal to the 
 Ghibelline cause had shunned the draught he had prepared 
 for them. 
 
 But all with emulous zeal had drained their goblets to 
 the last drop. 
 
 Pilled with his dire inward joy, the duke now rose to 
 return the royal pledge and to drink the health of the 
 king. Altamura drained his ample goblet so heartily that 
 he even tilted it and clinked the gold, to show his friends 
 the zeal which he took in the affairs of the kingdom. 
 Then, anxious to make certain of his victims, he imme-
 
 46 Gastel t>el /Route 
 
 diately turned to the chief butler and commanded the 
 goblets to be refilled, in order to drink to the safe and 
 speedy termination of the present war. 
 
 But where tarried the black knight and the monk? 
 Had the Dominican confederates? Manfred cast uneasy 
 glances at the door through which they were to enter, 
 turning almost immediately to the chancellor with the 
 question uppermost in his mind, regarding the reported 
 rupture between the Pope and his ally and the latter's 
 expulsion from Rome. The question was inadvertently 
 spoken loud enough to reach the ears of the Duke of 
 Altamura, who made reply in the stead of John of Alife. 
 
 " Surely," he said, while a derisive sneer flitted over 
 his pale features, " there is still hope for the king's 
 Majesty, for in the end no one can gainsay that the son 
 of Frederick has at all times been a most exemplary 
 and obedient son of the Church, even from the day when, 
 leading the pontiff's snow-white charger by the bridle 
 over the bridge of the Garigliano, he thereby acknowl- 
 edged himself his servant and vassal for all time." 
 
 Manfred glanced up, his eye falling with an inde- 
 scribable and terrible expression on the duke, and all the 
 marble stolidity of the latter's visage could hardly turn 
 the lightning of that fierce inquiring glance. Just then 
 the monk was espied on the threshold of the chamber 
 between two spearmen of the guard. 
 
 All attention was immediately centred on the friar, and 
 when he faced that splendid assembly, drawing himself 
 to his full height without any sign of reverence or respect 
 for the august presence in which he stood, his visage 
 perfectly bloodless, but instilled with terrible though silent 
 passion, an awe fell upon those present like that which 
 falls upon the souls of men when a tempest gathers and 
 pauses ere it bursts.
 
 Convivium TCegale 407 
 
 The Duke of Altamura now seemed the only one un- 
 troubled by the gloomy guest's appearance, if guest he 
 might be called. He gave the monk a nod, which the 
 latter seemed to comprehend, for a fearful smile lighted 
 his wan and gloomy features, then the friar turned slowly 
 to the king, whose dark contracted brows boded little 
 good for the unwelcome intruder. 
 
 " Thy purpose here, friar, and name it quickly ! " Man- 
 fred said, while his breast heaved with suppressed emo- 
 tion. " We hardly know which to admire the more, thy 
 insolence or thy daring." 
 
 The Dominican remained imperturbed. 
 
 " I have come in an evil hour, the messenger of jus- 
 tice, of retribution. But before I speak in mine own be- 
 half, King Manfred, command thou to be brought into 
 thy presence one waiting without, who is denied admit- 
 tance in thy name by the guards of the Duke of Alta- 
 mura." 
 
 " What, art thou not alone ? " Manfred exclaimed, 
 aghast. " Has thy whole brotherhood infested this 
 abode?" 
 
 " It is a woman," the Dominican replied, sedately. 
 
 " A woman ! " the duke reechoed, bursting into an im- 
 moderate fit of laughter. " A Dominican friar journeying 
 with a woman? O temp or a O mores! Hath she 
 youth and fairness, friar ? If so, grudge not her sight to 
 this noble company, in whose understanding eyes she 
 may find favour." 
 
 " Where is the woman thou speakest of ? " Manfred in- 
 quired, in tones almost harsh with excitement. 
 
 " The black knight, in whose charge I have left her, 
 craves thy direct command to admit her, or permission 
 to break through the opposing guards."
 
 408 Castel fcel /Bonte 
 
 " Who dares to exercise authority in this castle without 
 obtaining orders from us ? " Manfred exclaimed, fiercely. 
 
 " The Catalans of the duke bar the entrance to the 
 hall," the Dominican replied, coldly. 
 
 " Messer Antonio, go and command in our name and 
 on peril of death that none refuse admission to the black 
 knight and the woman, whoever she may be, we shall 
 ourselves judge of the fitness of her presence," said 
 Manfred, with a violent impetuosity which drowned the 
 words in which Altamura began to utter a vigorous pro- 
 test, and which sent the officer of the court speeding upon 
 his errand with unwonted and almost undignified despatch. 
 
 " Even so ! " said the duke, with an indifferent shrug, 
 contradicted by the glitter in his eyes. " I meddle not 
 with women, whether they journey with monks or on 
 their own account. But," he continued, leaning back in 
 his chair, while his eyes darted lightning shafts at the 
 friar, " since I am high constable of the kingdom, I may, 
 even in this august presence, presume to question what 
 doctrines those are thou preachest, monk, which stir the 
 people to disloyalty, rebellion, and other mischief ! " 
 
 " My doctrines, Duke of Altamura, or, as thou stylest 
 thyself, High Constable of Apulia, are matters beyond thy 
 province. The Church alone has the power to decide upon 
 them and the king alone the right to question." 
 
 The Dominican's answer seemed to reconcile Manfred 
 somewhat to his presence. 
 
 "And what are thy projects, monk?" said the king, 
 turning to the friar. " If they be good, we will ourselves 
 aid thee in their execution, thus refuting the pontiff on 
 his own ground." 
 
 " My projects, King Manfred," the Dominican replied, 
 while his stature seemed slowly to grow and to expand, 
 " are to root out from the soil of this beautiful land the
 
 Convivium IRegale 49 
 
 serpent brood of Hohenstaufen, to free the air from their 
 accursed presence, to make the very heavens waver over 
 their heads, to crush them back into night and chaos. 
 My purpose is to hurl destruction on the head of the last 
 of their race and his accursed progeny." 
 
 " He is mad, stark mad, a madman at large," ex- 
 claimed Frederick of Antioch, after a brief pause of 
 profound astonishment. " What shall be his chastisement, 
 King Manfred ? " 
 
 " As a madman let him go unchastised," the king re- 
 plied. " He has a prophet's boldness and perhaps his 
 mission. And his warning reminds us well, duke," Man- 
 fred turned to Altamura. " We did intend visiting some 
 of the dungeons which have recently been crowded with 
 strange malefactors, to do some acts of grace and mercy 
 while we may. Among the rest we are resolved to learn 
 whether the daughter of Lesina is your prisoner or your 
 guest." 
 
 The duke was startled by the directness of the question. 
 
 " A kindly power hath most generously taken care of 
 her," he replied, not without betraying some slight alarm, 
 while his face turned to livid hues. " Our Lady grant she 
 may make no mischief wherever she is at present, for she 
 hath at times a rebellious temper. But with the king's 
 leave," the duke continued, with an effort to quit so 
 dangerous a ground, " I may question this friar further 
 concerning his mission, which he proclaims with such 
 fearless insolence. Thou shouldst have better assurances, 
 monk, than visions to support thee in so dangerous a task 
 as this which thou announcest," the duke said, turning 
 to the Dominican, whose gaze had been attracted by the 
 stir and commotion in the anteroom. 
 
 " This very night I had one in which I will rather 
 confide than in the spears of ten thousand," replied the
 
 410 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 Dominican. " Methought I beheld a putrid carcass breed 
 a snake, which came forth and stung the murderer, and 
 straightway he swelled and burst, and it was given to 
 me to crush the reptile even with mine unsandalled feet. 
 And the carcass resumed its life and became lovely and 
 fragrant and imbued with youth, as one whom you have 
 all seen, and shall see no more." 
 
 " Well spoken, friar ! But the prophets of old, whereof 
 we read in the Scriptures, showed visible signs of their 
 divine commission, and where are thine ? " replied the 
 duke, mockingly, with a look which the friar understood 
 and returned with one of mingled loathing and triumph. 
 
 " What sign can be more manifest," he spoke with 
 slow and terrible emphasis, " than that Ferrando-, Duke of 
 Altamura, the assassin more cruel than Cain, the butcher 
 more remorseless than Nero, the infidel more unbelieving 
 than Iscariot, stands before me unblasted by the light- 
 nings of heaven ? " 
 
 " Monk, mad though thou art, there is malice in 
 thy ravings, which may distinguish thee from thy fellow 
 maniacs," said the duke, kindling with a passion which 
 the friar's epithets were likely to rouse. 
 
 " I appeal to the protection of the king, promised to 
 me by this sign," returned the monk, with a bitter smile, 
 holding high the royal signet. 
 
 " What is this, friar ? Is this hallucination madness ? 
 How earnest thou by this ring ? " exclaimed the king, 
 staring aghast. 
 
 " Let it suffice for the present that I have it ! " the 
 Dominican replied. 
 
 " Be it as thou sayest," Manfred returned, with fathom- 
 less gloom in his tones, while consternation was depicted 
 on every countenance. " And since thou deemest this 
 friar a prophet, duke, honour him as such ! "
 
 <Tom>it>ium Tftegale 4" 
 
 " But thou cravest my proofs ? " the Dominican con- 
 tinued, with studied and ironical slowness, and it was 
 evident that by his connivance the arrival of his com- 
 panion and the black knight was delayed. " And I 
 answer, Duke of Altamura, am I not at liberty ? Have 
 I not compelled the dungeon walls to yield up myself and 
 another, who has confided to me his mission, and have 
 I not summoned hither one who shall lift the veil from the 
 dark mystery of death, and shall bring conviction, proof, 
 and certainty from beyond the grave ? " 
 
 "What wouldst thou say, mad friar? What proof, 
 what conviction dost thou rave of ? " exclaimed the duke, 
 convulsively clutching his dagger, while he shrank from 
 the fierce gaze which the monk turned upon him. 
 
 Ere the latter could make reply the form of the dark 
 knight was seen entering the saloon, accompanied by 
 Messer Antonio and a veiled, girlish figure, that swayed 
 like a storm-broken reed from side to side. Immediately 
 upon taking his station next to the king, the knight raised 
 his visor, and stood revealed to the amazed and fear- 
 struck eyes of the duke as Ottorino Visconti. Quicker 
 than words can tell he had removed from the head of his 
 protegee the long white linen hood and veil, and a cry of 
 terror and amazement rang out at the sight of Leila, the 
 mad girl. Clutching her by the arm and drawing her for- 
 ward with gentle force, Ottorino endeavoured to rouse her 
 from the stupor which lay heavily upon the drooping 
 girl, spent and worn from the prison air. 
 
 " Leila, Leila ! This is the reward I promised thee 
 for thy tears and sorrows : vengeance on the murderer 
 of thy lover, vengeance on the slayer of Enrico ! Look 
 around and tell us who he is ! " 
 
 There was a brief pause of breathless and terrific sus- 
 pense, during which Leila scanned the group with frantic
 
 412 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 eagerness, until her eye fell upon the face of the duke, 
 aflame with demoniac passions and fear, then with a 
 shriek which seemed to rend the very walls she pointed 
 to him. 
 
 " He is there ! He is there! Oh, give me justice, great 
 king, and slay the murderer of Enrico ! " 
 
 And with astonishing swiftness she flew to Manfred's 
 chair, throwing herself frantically at his feet. The duke 
 started up like a wild beast roused in its lair, and was in 
 the act of springing upon the hapless girl, when the king, 
 rising from his seat, placed himself before her, thunder- 
 ing with a countenance awful in its mixture of anguish 
 and fury : 
 
 " Assassin, thou art judged ! Advance but a step 
 and with mine own hands guards, level your spears ! " 
 
 Ottorino's sword instantly gleamed over the kneeling 
 form of the Moorish girl, and the Dominican advanced 
 toward the duke, who stood rooted to the spot as one 
 paralyzed. 
 
 " And now hear me, Duke of Altamura," spoke the 
 monk, his eyes gleaming with supernatural and insane 
 fierceness, his countenance that of an ancient prophet, 
 thundering the curses of heaven upon the evil-doers, 
 " Heaven is at last weary of thy crimes, earth and 
 heaven alike, and the hour of doom, of vengeance, of 
 retribution, is at hand. Assassin and betrayer! Within 
 this hour I command thee to render up thy detestable 
 soul to vengeance, cursed by angels and demons alike, 
 and on the answer to this summons do I stake my claim 
 to be held as a prophet of God or a lying impostor of the 
 fiend. This ring, King Manfred, was given to me by 
 Crivello, the duke's emissary to Lucera, who, after gain- 
 ing admission into the city, was to have roused her de- 
 fenders to revolt. His sins weighed heavily on the Cat-
 
 Conv>i\>ium "Regale 413 
 
 alan, and thy Saracens proved true. Nevertheless thou 
 art sold, betrayed, vanquished ! Not by the weapons of 
 thy foes on the field of battle, but by treason in thy coun- 
 cil, in the ranks of thy soldiery. Not to lift the cause 
 that is doomed beyond redemption do I reveal to thee 
 this arch treason, King Manfred, but that thine own cup 
 of anguish may be the more bitter in the knowledge that 
 those foremost in thy trust have sold thee and thy king- 
 dom. Urban, my pledge is fulfilled ; my soul is free ! " 
 
 " Villain hast thou poisoned my drink ? " suddenly 
 exclaimed John of Alife, his colour changing to livid hues 
 as after a momentary struggle and vacant grasping in the 
 air he staggered from his seat and was supported by 
 some of the guests, who began to feel some alarm on their 
 own account. 
 
 Like an unrelenting judge whose lips have pronounced 
 the doom of the condemned, the Dominican towered silent 
 and immobile among them, while the Visconti's eyes were 
 fixed on Altamura. 
 
 " My own heart is on fire, of this deed at least I 
 am not guilty ! " stammered the duke, in whose veins the 
 direful potion had begun to work. Then he turned fiercely 
 upon the Dominican. 
 
 " Hellish sorcerer, hast thou poisoned me ? " 
 
 " Nay, your Grace, I but changed the leaden stoppers 
 for silver ones, an honourable distinction befitting your 
 rank and merit," replied the Dominican, with a terrible 
 smile. 
 
 " Bear me away, the poison consumes my heart, 
 bear me away," groaned John of Alife, while with one last 
 fearful glance at the duke he added, "This is justice." 
 
 Then he sank senseless into the arms stretched out to 
 receive him. 
 
 " What means this ? Lift the veil from this terrible
 
 414 Castel fcel 
 
 secret, friar, we doubt neither thy mission nor thy 
 summons," exclaimed the king, pale as death. 
 
 " Nothing more or less, son of Frederick, than that 
 Ferrando, Duke of Altamura, intended to poison thee 
 and thy councillors and deliver thy kingdom to Anjou 
 without one stroke of sword. San Germano has been 
 stormed by the Provengals ; Sidi Yussuff, the emir, whom 
 thou didst deny reparation for the duke's insult, Sidi 
 Yussuff and two thousand Saracens cover the ramparts 
 with their bodies. The Count of Caserta has deserted his 
 post, and through the abandoned mountain passes of Arc 
 and Ceperano the invading hosts are marching upon Bene- 
 vento, the keys of which city Anjou expects to receive 
 at the hands of him whom the judgment of Heaven has 
 struck down at last." 
 
 " And is this truth? " gasped Manfred. 
 
 " As true as that thou and thy kingdom are doomed ! " 
 replied the friar. 
 
 "An antidote an antidote! Where are my two 
 apothecaries ? A thousand florins for either ! Bring them 
 hither I am burning up ! " exclaimed the duke, who had 
 fallen on the floor in wild convulsions. 
 
 " Those thou callest are dead," replied the monk, " and, 
 while disdaining absolution, they send thee glad greetings 
 and hope to meet thee in the doom whither thou goest. 
 Dost thou recognize me, Duke of Altamura?" 
 
 The Dominican stepped closely to the dying man, and, 
 throwing back his cowl, revealed features so stern and 
 pallid that the duke for a moment closed his eyes. Sud- 
 denly he raised his head above the floor, peered into the 
 friar's face, and uttered a wild shriek of dismay. 
 
 " Dost thou recognize me, Ferrando ? " 
 
 The duke gasped for breath. 
 
 "Lorenzo!"
 
 <Eom>ix>fum TRegale 415 
 
 " Yea, even he whose life thou hast wrecked, whose 
 happiness thou hast destroyed, whose love thou hast 
 turned into hate," the Dominican spoke, with unutterable 
 meaning. " I am Lorenzo, who has tracked thee down 
 step by step, I am Lorenzo, whom thou didst force into 
 this funereal garb to save from worse than death the 
 head of her who had brought him into this world. I am 
 Lorenzo, who has thwarted thy plans and upset thy de- 
 signs, hither, girl ! See how the murderer of thy Enrico 
 dies!" 
 
 Leila instinctively obeyed the summons of the Domin- 
 ican, who had once more covered his head with the cowl, 
 but when her eyes fell upon the duke's distorted features 
 she uttered a despairing shriek, " Enrico Enrico ! " and 
 sank lifeless into the arms of the friar, who bore her to 
 a couch, where he placed her as gently as he would a 
 sleeping child. 
 
 " Thou poor loving dove," he said, while his hands 
 softly closed her lids, "mayest thou find him who was 
 so ruthlessly torn from thy loving arms, and though thou 
 didst not depart in the faith, requiescat anima tua in 
 pace." 
 
 After having performed this last office, the Dominican 
 vanished from the hall and was seen no more. 
 
 The duke raised himself on his elbow and stared at 
 Ottorino Visconti, who had approached him. 
 
 " Where is the lady of Miraval ? " he hissed in the face 
 of the Lombard. 
 
 " Safe and beyond thy power ! This parting assurance 
 thou mayest take on thy dismal journey ! " 
 
 "Helena safe? Ah! Then all is lost! The poison 
 burns in my entrails," cried the duke, vainly attempting to 
 rise. " But vengeance vengeance, ere I die ! Seize 
 the sorcerer ! Ah ! Let it at least not be said that Alta-
 
 416 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 mura died like a dog! Help help! Helena! Fran- 
 cesca ! Ah ! She, too, she, too, I slew her, I ! An 
 antidote ! Keep off these fiery forms ! The dark one, 
 
 he in the glistening armour, damned spirit ! Canst 
 thou find no rest in the grave, though I tore thy breast 
 with twenty poniards ? Keep him off, keep him off ! 
 He tears out my heart with his burning pincers ! All 
 those ghastly faces, Crivello, too, flames, flames, 
 
 my eyes are on fire ! Help Francesca " 
 
 And the Duke of Altamura fell back lifeless, his head 
 striking the hard mosaic of the floor.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE HOROSCOPE 
 
 IT was nearing the hour of midnight. 
 
 Deep silence reigned throughout Castel del Monte, only 
 the monotonous tread of the sentries broke the intense 
 stillness. The waning moon shed a pale spectral light 
 over the plains beneath, over olive and carob trees and 
 the fantastic shapes of the underbrush. Spectre-like be- 
 neath the canopy of night's dark pall the white Apulian 
 towns stretched toward the distant horizon. 
 
 Two men slowly ascended the spiral stairway leading 
 to the heavily merloned tower of the astrologer. A lamp 
 which he could shade at will shed its unsteady glow over 
 the table on the platform, before which, bent over hour- 
 glass and chart, sat Ben Hussein, the Saracen. His head 
 rested in his hands, and so absorbed was he that he 
 failed to note the approaching footsteps of the two men 
 who were just emerging upon the platform. Raising his 
 head, the Saracen swept the heavens with a glance so long 
 and searching, that the purpose of his presence could not 
 be an object of doubt or conjecture. Then his gaze re- 
 turned to the running hour-glass, thence to the mystic 
 symbols of the visible planets as they were drawn upon 
 the chart according to their position in their respective 
 houses. He studied parallels and degrees and verified 
 the correctness of his calculations with the aid of a second 
 
 417
 
 418 Castel fcel /IDonte 
 
 chart, which seemed to serve as a supplementary survey 
 of the mighty overarch. Again he watched the stellar 
 hosts, as to the tones of their own music they paraded 
 by the throne of the Most High, unchallenged save by 
 Him; occasionally he reversed his hour-glass, though 
 more frequently he made new diagrams, showing the 
 changes of position of the most influential bodies of night, 
 relatively to each other or to the favourable or unpro- 
 pitious signs upon which so much depended. Nor did 
 his eye once weary nor his zeal lag, while unseen his 
 nightly visitors watched every gesture, bending toward 
 the chart, as if endeavouring to decipher the mystic char- 
 acters. At last the foremost of the two softly touched 
 the Saracen's shoulder. Ben Hussein betrayed no sign 
 of surprise. 
 
 "What say the stars, Ben Hussein? What will the 
 end be ? " spoke a low voice, which yet betrayed by its 
 trembling tones the anxiety of the questioner. 
 
 The astrologer threw up both hands. 
 
 " I am only the interpreter of the stars, the messenger 
 of the Supreme Power, King Manfred, not a prophet." 
 
 " Whether messenger, interpreter, or prophet," Manfred 
 replied, " it is the burden of that which thou bringest 
 that is of chiefest account. Hast thou compelled yon 
 shining bodies, as they perform their circuits, to yield up 
 to thee their secrets ? Canst thou lead thy lord and king 
 out of the darkness? The burden of mine inquiry thou 
 knowest " 
 
 The astrologer bent his head in obeisance. 
 
 " As yet, King Manfred, no answer has been given ! I 
 have besought the seven good angels and the seven bad, 
 beginning with the prince of the good, who, helmeted and 
 girdled with flame, leads the winged hosts, and ending 
 with Ahriman, the ally and consort of witches. I have
 
 ttbe tjoroscope 419 
 
 besought them all, but the king must forbear! We 
 cannot hasten our fate ; we cannot retard it ; the end is 
 in the throes of its beginning." 
 
 " Thou hast mine horoscope and the stars must respond 
 to thee ! " 
 
 " It is for me to observe the heavens, it is for the 
 stars to answer ! But hearken, O king, a strange con- 
 stellation appears yonder, one rarely ever seen in par- 
 allel, perchance they will respond! If Mars be in the 
 ascendant," he continued, as if speaking to himself, while 
 bending over the chart he glanced abstractedly first at 
 the diagram before him, then at the heavens, but Manfred 
 broke into his soliloquy. 
 
 " What then ? " he questioned, eagerly. 
 
 " Then victory may crown the banners of the White 
 Lily in the Crimson Field." 
 
 " The mandate the mandate ! My spirit chafes at 
 the delay! Canst thou not compel the stars to reveal 
 themselves ? " 
 
 " Neither to hasten nor retard, and waiting is but the 
 wise man's hour of preparation." 
 
 Manfred's voice sank almost to a whisper. 
 
 " Anxiety is an enemy to sleep ! I will wait while thou 
 concentratest thy mysterious forces on the orbs above, who 
 hold so much and reveal so little of the glittering secrets 
 of the beyond." 
 
 " Destiny rules even the planets, King Manfred," re- 
 turned the Saracen, rising from his seat while he fixed his 
 keen, dark eyes first upon the king, then upon the 
 heavens. 
 
 " The stars have revealed themselves, King Manfred," 
 he said, at last. " The report which I founded on thine 
 horoscope confirms to a wonderful degree the message 
 from the firmament ! "
 
 420 Castel Del /l&onte 
 
 " Speak, Ben Hussein ! We would know the decree of 
 fate!" 
 
 " Canst thou endure the bitterness of truth ? For oft- 
 times those high in station prefer the fallacious sweetness 
 of deceit." 
 
 " Speak thy message, Ben Hussein. Whatever it con- 
 tain, we quarrel not with the messenger. Is it life 
 or death ? Victory or defeat ? " 
 
 The astrologer heaved a heavy sigh. 
 
 " To him," he spoke, after a brief pause, " who ventures 
 forth under this constellation, the conjunction does indeed 
 promise success. But methinks that Saturnus, being 
 combust, threatens danger and misfortune alike, whence 
 I infer that the venture may be perilous or even fatal. 
 Violence, death, and captivity are intimated by that 
 adverse conjunction. But behold, O king, behold! 
 Heaven has unrolled to thee her own celestial volume ! " 
 
 Manfred and his companion, who had hitherto re- 
 mained silent, gazed in the direction indicated by the 
 astrologer, and it required no further assurance from the 
 latter's lips to satisfy the king that the object which 
 attracted his attention was what Ben Hussein was ob- 
 serving and pointing to. 
 
 Far away upon the northern horizon there appeared, 
 like a fiery dragon, a huge comet which wound its way 
 through the myriads of stars, illumining the heavens. Its 
 blood-red light seemed to cast over the silent, night-en- 
 wrapped world its lurid, unearthly hues, while the warmth 
 of the Southern night changed to almost stifling sultri- 
 ness, and moon and stars seemed to pale before the 
 terrifying glow. Its fiery tail, dragging after it at tre- 
 mendous length, seemed to whip the heavenly hosts and 
 to menace the system of the celestial planets. 
 
 "Thou givest me no hope? " The king turned to the
 
 TTbc 1>oroscope 421 
 
 Moslem, paling at the sight of a phenomenon which the 
 superstitious trend of the times connected with influences 
 of evil. 
 
 " The corpse-lights have shone upon Castel del Monte ! 
 These eyes beheld the funeral cortege of the dead em- 
 peror traverse the plains. Son of Frederick, thy star 
 has set ! " 
 
 Manfred remained for a moment silent and closed his 
 eyes, then, straightening himself to his full height, he 
 extended his hand to the astrologer. 
 
 " I thank thee, Ben Hussein, even for this truth. 
 But the end is it near ? " 
 
 Ben Hussein bowed his head and a tear glistened in his 
 eye. 
 
 " It is near, King Manfred, it is near ! " 
 
 As the king turned to go the white-haired Moslem 
 suddenly prostrated himself before him and, clasping his 
 knees, muttered in broken accents : " Ben Hussein has 
 been the servant of thy father, as he has been thine, King 
 Manfred ; his whole life has been spent in the service of 
 those he loved. Let me look upon thy face once more, 
 son of my beloved emperor, once more ere I, too, enter 
 the dark portals of oblivion. The black camel death is 
 waiting for its burden." 
 
 " Once more I thank thee, thou loyal friend of our 
 imperial house ! Go in peace and pray before the throne 
 of thy God for thy unhappy king. Farewell, Ben Hus- 
 sein, fare thee well ! " 
 
 The king and Ottorino slowly started toward the spiral 
 stairway, while the Mahometan resumed his solitary 
 watch. Ere they descended they paused once more, at- 
 tracted by the beauty of the night. The waning moon 
 cast her pallid, spectral rays upon the wide expanse of 
 the Apulian plains. In the distance the princely Gang-
 
 422 Gastel fcel fl&onte 
 
 liano was rolling his majestic tide through the verdant, 
 undulating landscape, sweeping his course along by medi- 
 aeval watch-towers and the ruins strewn along the an- 
 cient Via Appia, still the principal thoroughfare from 
 north to south. To southward the white walls of the 
 ancient city of Troja rose into the starry heavens with 
 their towers and battlements, while the comet, having 
 taken a southeasterly course, hung threatening almost in 
 the zenith of the heavens. 
 
 At last they descended into an inner court, where Man- 
 fred paused, turning to his companion. 
 
 " I have striven for right and peace and the highest 
 ideals of mankind. I have aimed to give happiness and 
 prosperity to my subjects, to raise them to a loftier pin- 
 nacle from the serfdom of centuries of darkness and 
 bondage. I have endeavoured to make them remember 
 their great ancestors, to respect themselves and their ruler, 
 it was the legacy of my noble father, who loved the 
 Italians better far than his own native Germans! These 
 are the crimes for which Clement has hurled his maledic- 
 tion upon us, these the offences for which he marshals 
 this foreign crusade against our lands! Our birth, our 
 name, are an offence not to be forgiven, but, though 
 heaven itself blazon destruction upon us, the son of 
 Frederick the emperor will die worthy of the name of 
 Hohenstaufen ! " 
 
 " Courage, King Manfred, courage ! " Ottorino Vis- 
 conti exhorted the king. "While there is life there is 
 hope!" 
 
 Manfred shook his head, then he muttered, speaking to 
 himself : 
 
 " The corpse-lights have shone on Castel del Monte 
 Helena, my Helena, what will become of thee of Man- 
 f redino, our child ? "
 
 f>oroscope 423 
 
 Unutterable anguish sounded in the king's words, then, 
 rousing himself with an effort, he extended his hand to 
 the Visconti. 
 
 " With the early dawn we start ! Until then, my friend 
 farewell ! " 
 
 Bending low over the proffered hand, Ottorino with- 
 drew and Manfred remained alone.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE SPECTRAL MASS 
 
 THE moonlight lay upon the hazy mountain-slopes of 
 the Basilicata. The birds were sleeping, and no sound 
 of life broke the stillness. Only from convents and clois- 
 ters hidden in the valley beneath the muffled tolling of 
 bells indicated the midnight hour. 
 
 A last glance at the stars, at the threatening comet, and 
 Manfred continued upon his solitary way. Again the 
 words of Ben Hussein knocked at the gates of his memory, 
 but a feeling of resignation began to spread over his soul. 
 The realm was not to be saved. There was an opposing 
 fatality, an irresistible, intangible power arrayed against 
 all efforts. He felt it at every step. In the midst of 
 the most harmonious council some luckless dispute was 
 sure to arise. While the Apulian barons seemed on the 
 verge of conciliation, to that verge all approach was 
 suddenly forbidden. Communications had actually com- 
 menced with Clement IV., promising the most certain 
 results, only to be broken off, none could tell how. 
 The amazing treason of Altamura had struck terror and 
 distrust into Manfred's soul. There was an antagonist 
 somewhere, but beyond his grasp, an hostility as power- 
 ful, as constant, and as little capable of being counteracted 
 as the hostility of the plague. The hope of victory had 
 vanished, and with it the hope of life; he would never 
 
 424
 
 Ube Spectral flDass 425 
 
 survive defeat at the hands of Anjou. Worthy of his 
 great name he would die, and with him the glory of the 
 imperial house of Hohenstaufen would sink to a glorious 
 grave. But unspeakable anguish welled up from his heart 
 at the thought of his dearly beloved queen and of his son 
 Manfredino. Could he but have prevailed upon Helena 
 of Epirus to await the outcome of the impending conflict 
 at Manfredonia, whence flight to the ports of her native 
 land on the ever cruising Epirote galleys would be com- 
 paratively easy, he would more calmly have faced the 
 issue. But the queen had steadfastly refused ; neither 
 prayers nor entreaties could prevail upon her high-strung 
 soul. She would not abandon him who was part of 
 herself. John of Procida had been commissioned to con- 
 duct her to safety if the worst should befall, yet Manfred 
 feared he knew not what. Lost in memories of the 
 past, which reverted more especially to the day when at 
 Otranto he had first met and clasped in his embrace the 
 beautiful wife of his soul, Manfred crossed the court, 
 turning toward the wing of the castle wherein lay the 
 apartments of the queen and those of his sister Violanthe, 
 Countess Caserta. His own entreaties and persuasion 
 had tied the knot which had bound her life to Reinald 
 Aquino, a union which had broken her proud, uncom- 
 plaining heart. On his way to bid a last farewell to these 
 two ere the early dawn found him on the road to his 
 destiny, Manfred suddenly paused. 
 
 Strange tones like distant organ chords, mellowed to 
 the sweetness oi ^Eolian harps when the dreamlike touch 
 of the night wind passes over the strings, floated on the 
 air. They seemed to come from the chapel, built and de- 
 signed by Emperor Frederick at a time when the papal 
 interdict had closed every church and sanctuary in the
 
 426 Castcl fcel /iDcmte 
 
 land, and where he had continued to have high mass 
 sung in defiance of anathema and excommunication. 
 
 The chapel was lighted, and as Manfred approached the 
 tones seemed to increase in volume. 
 
 An indescribable terror came upon the solitary listener. 
 
 Who dared to brave the interdict in his own household ? 
 What meant that chant in the chapel of the emperor ? 
 
 Racked with doubts and fears, Manfred slowly ap- 
 proached the portals of the sanctuary. The bars, which 
 had not been unfastened in years, denied admittance. 
 Irresolute he paused. The chant within continued. De- 
 termined to fathom the mystery at all hazards, Manfred 
 turned to a door used only by the officiating monks, and 
 after having traversed a labyrinth of corridors found 
 himself before a portal, which was slightly ajar. The 
 radiance of lighted tapers within cast a narrow, slanting 
 reflex upon the walls of the corridor. Standing upon the 
 threshold of the chapel, Manfred felt an icy shudder creep 
 over his body, such as we experience when a terrible 
 dream oppresses our sleep, paralyzing our limbs and 
 stifling our cries. 
 
 Now he could even distinguish the words of the chant : 
 
 " Lacrymosa dies ilia, 
 Qua resurget ex favilla 
 Judicandus homo reus 
 Dona eis requiem ! " 
 
 But where was the invisible choir of the singers? 
 
 Manfred entered the sanctuary. After a few steps he 
 paused again. Was it a dream ? Were his senses reeling? 
 Proceeded the chant from a choir unseen or spectral? 
 And yonder monk at the altar, who with cowl drawn 
 deeply over his face stood before a bier covered with a
 
 Ube Spectral /iDass 427 
 
 black cloth, the ends of which he held in his hands, 
 who was he ? His features could not be discerned ; even 
 his form appeared shadowy in the bluish vapours of 
 incense, which, rising from two swinging censers by the 
 friar's side and enveloping the chapel as with a mystic 
 veil, curled in spiral wreaths to the lofty dome. 
 
 For a moment the king stood spellbound. 
 
 Within the ever deepening clouds of incense he watched 
 the shadowy outlines of the monk. The censers appeared 
 to swing of their own accord to the rhythm of the mystic 
 chant, which, filling the entire chapel as with spirit voices, 
 seemed to be equally strong, equally sweet and melodious 
 on all sides. 
 
 Drawn onward by a force equally irresistible and mys- 
 terious, Manfred strode toward the bier. The cowled 
 monk appeared to be utterly unconscious of another's 
 presence, but the chill of death ran through the king's 
 veins as he scanned the wan form that mumbled the last 
 rites over the unknown dead. 
 
 The closer Manfred approached, the fainter grew the 
 chant, the more dimly flickered the tapers, the more slowly 
 swung the censers. At last he paused before the bier, and 
 bending over it, started with trembling fingers to remove 
 the cloth, the ends of which the monk held in his hands, 
 hidden beneath the ample sleeves of his gown. 
 
 Suddenly the monk seemed to wake from his stupor. 
 Raising himself to his full height, he flung back the cowl 
 from his head, and simultaneously jerked the black cloth 
 from the bier. 
 
 A frightful shriek ran through the sanctuary. 
 
 From the fleshless visage of a skeleton which peered 
 from the cowl, Manfred, mad with terror, gazed upon the 
 uncovered bier, beholding himself thereon lifeless, a 
 ghastly death-wound in his head.
 
 428 Castel fcel flDoute 
 
 At that moment every light in the chapel was ex- 
 tinguished, monk and bier faded in the midnight gloom, 
 and the chant ceased. 
 
 But Manfred the king fell swooning upon the cold 
 mosaic of the floor.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF BENEVENTO 
 
 THE morning sun of the twenty-sixth of February, in 
 the year of our Lord 1266, dawned upon the plains of 
 Benevento. A golden haze enveloped the eastern hills 
 and a cloudless sky spread its azure canopy alike over 
 the camp of Ghibellines and Guelphs. 
 
 Ottorino Visconti, completely armed, strode forth from 
 his tent and, traversing the narrow pathways of the camp, 
 made for an adjoining height, which permitted the gaze 
 to sweep the plains and the camp of the Provengals. The 
 hour was early and the camp was not astir. Only the 
 sentries passed before the tents of the sleepers, many of 
 whom were not to greet the light of another morning. 
 The Lombard welcomed the early dawn, for sleep had fled 
 from his couch, and, while he restlessly tossed in fitful half- 
 slumbers, weird and terrible dream-phantoms had chased 
 the peace from his soul. It was that last farewell under 
 the walls of the witches' city, the parting from Helena, 
 which now deprived him of his wonted courage and self- 
 reliance, and for the first time he dreaded to meet the 
 issue, knowing that Manfred's eagerness for the impend- 
 ing strife, which was to decide the fate of his dominions, 
 came not from confidence in the justice of his cause, but 
 from the anxiety of despair. The king trusted no longer 
 
 429
 
 43> Castel Del flDonte 
 
 to his star. Since that eventful night at Castel del Monte, 
 when together they had sought Ben Hussein, the astrol- 
 oger, joy and gladness had deserted the heart of the 
 Ghibelline prince, and the combined efforts of his trusty 
 counsellors, the brothers Lancia, Capece, John of Procida, 
 and Tebaldo Annibaldi, the Roman, had availed little to 
 dispel the gloom which had settled over the once sunny 
 disposition of the emperor's favourite son. 
 
 While musing over his own fate and that of the king- 
 dom, Ottorino suddenly found himself face to face with 
 Tebaldo Annibaldi, whose towering form seemed to rise 
 without warning out of the earth before him. 
 
 " Caserta is in the camp," the Roman informed the 
 Lombard, after a brief salutation. 
 
 " Caserta in the camp ? " Ottorino reechoed, reeling 
 back as if he had been dealt a mortal stroke. 
 
 An expression of deepest gloom settled over the face 
 of the Roman. 
 
 " Manfred is reconciled to the arch traitor, has for- 
 given him the loss of the passes of Arce and Ceperano 
 quern Deus vult perdere, prius dementat. The fate of his 
 house is upon him ! " 
 
 Speechlessly these two then gazed into each other's 
 eyes, mutely they clasped each other's hands for a last, 
 an eternal farewell ; then the Visconti continued upon his 
 way, while Tebaldo Annibaldi reentered his tent. Op- 
 pressed by a dark foreboding, Ottorino kissed and re- 
 arranged a scarf, the talisman which Helena di Miraval 
 had at parting fastened to his belt, while the name of the 
 woman beloved above all others lingered on his lips. 
 Then his thoughts reverted to the hour. "A strange 
 spell is upon the king," he muttered, as he continued on 
 his solitary way to the end of the camp. " Alas, when 
 we fight for a cause we despair of, we are lost ! "
 
 Ube Battle of JBenevento 431 
 
 It was noon. 
 
 For the second time the Provengal fanfares sounded 
 challenge over the field of Benevento, and from the op- 
 posing heights the array of the French knights could be 
 clearly distinguished moving down toward the plains. 
 Their banners and pennons waved proudly in the sun- 
 light, and their hosts, as they began to spread at the base 
 of the hills which they had occupied, seemed almost 
 countless. The army of the Ghibellines was marshalled 
 in three great divisions. Giordano and Galvano Lancia 
 commanded the first; under their banners marched the 
 German knights of Rudolph von Hapsburg, who had 
 arrived in the camp at daybreak with eight hundred 
 knights from Bologna, and the forces drawn from Cala- 
 bria and Terra di Lavoro. The second division embodied 
 the main chivalry of Sicily and Apulia, interspersed with 
 Saracens under their own agas and chiefs, and was led 
 by Conrad and Marino Capece. The third division em- 
 braced the flower of martial Italy and marched under the 
 immediate command of Manfred, surrounded by his most 
 renowned leaders, among them Annibaldi, Ottorino Vis- 
 conti, and Frederick of Antioch. Here, too, was the main 
 body of the matchless Apulian cavalry, to whom orders 
 had been given to support either of the wings as necessity 
 should demand, and here were the Saracen reserves. 
 Manfred's strategy relied mainly upon the effect of the 
 charge, and secondly upon the reserves, brought to bear 
 at the exact moment upon the weakest point of the foe. 
 All the horsemen were in complete link or net mail, 
 armed with spears or strong swords and long oval shields, 
 with the device either of the eagle or the lily. The 
 Saracen archers, upon whom Manfred chiefly relied, were 
 numerous in all three of the corps, wearing brass helmets
 
 432 Castel Del flDonte 
 
 on their heads, with leather or quilted breastplates, and 
 gaiters for the lower limbs. 
 
 In this order of march the Ghibelline army of twenty- 
 five thousand men crossed the Galore, taking their position 
 to the northwest of the city, near San Marco, in the field 
 of Grandello, also called the " Field of Roses." Without 
 waiting the signal for battle, the division commanded by 
 Giordano Lancia threw itself with irresistible force upon 
 the Provengals. Almost at that precise moment the 
 Saracen infantry charged the Provengal cavalry, and so 
 terrific was their onslaught that the first line of battle 
 of the French was broken through and scattered like dry 
 leaves. Before the close, serried ranks of the Germans, 
 with their physical strength and veteran practice in their 
 own special armament, the hosts of Charles of Anjou 
 were mowed down as with a scythe. In vain they thun- 
 dered in repeated charges against the stalwart Teutons, 
 whose weapons were the long broadsword. The French 
 line under Giles LeBrun wavered and gave way, and 
 step by step, unbroken in their iron ranks, the Germans 
 pressed onward, their cry, " Suabia ! Knights ! " rising 
 high above the flagging sounds of "Montjoie! Mont- 
 joie!" 
 
 It was the defeat of his hosts which brought Anjou 
 himself to the foreground, within plain view of the 
 Ghibelline forces. Surrounded by Giles LeBrun, Count 
 Robert of Flanders, and Guido de Mirepoix, he cried, 
 " By the fleur-de-lis ! our knights are but women in the 
 garb of Provence ! Ho, spears to the rescue ! With me 
 to the charge, Sieurs de Vendomme, Mirepoix, and Bre- 
 silles ! " 
 
 And, leading the flower of his chivalry, the Provengal 
 came like a thunderbolt upon the second division of the 
 Ghibellines. It was the body of troops under Marino and
 
 Ube Battle of JSenevento 433 
 
 Conrad Capece. At the command of their leaders the 
 foremost line knelt down, leaving but their shields and 
 spear-points against the Provengal horses, while behind 
 them, the ponderous battle-axes raised aloft in both hands, 
 bent forward the soldiery in the second rank, ready to 
 smite and to crush; from the core of the wedge poured 
 the shafts of the Saracen archers. Down in the dust rolled 
 half of the Provencals, while their leader, unable to check 
 the fire of his great steed, found himself borne into the 
 third rank of the Ghibellines, dealing fierce strokes to 
 the left and right. Suddenly his horse went down under 
 him, and an avalanche of knights swept over the fallen 
 Anjou. A thundering cry of triumph rose from the 
 Ghibelline hosts when they saw their detested enemy sink 
 mortally wounded upon the greensward. The Provencals, 
 dismayed by the calamity which had overtaken them, broke 
 their ranks, scattering in wild flight over the field. A 
 cry of despair wailed through the French camp when the 
 soldiers recognized the riderless steed and the equipment 
 of their leader. 
 
 The main division commanded by Manfred had not 
 even tasted of the battle, when upon his foaming charger 
 Conrad Capece brought the tidings of victory. The king 
 received the welcome messenger with bared head, stand- 
 ing erect, his stalwart yet slender figure void of theatrical 
 pomp and bearing; his fair hair, the heirloom of his 
 Teutonic ancestry, falling over his collar of mail, his 
 cheeks flushed, and his clear blue eyes ablaze with vic- 
 tory. No more striking contrast could have been imag- 
 ined between Manfred's appearance and the low brow, 
 furrowed with ire and cruelty, the shaven hair of mon- 
 astic affectation, the tiger eye, and the great beast-like 
 jaw-bone of the sallow-complexioned leader of the 
 French.
 
 434 Castel fcel /iDonte 
 
 "The Anjou is dead, the Provencals are fleeing, 
 long live the king ! " 
 
 The whole division took up the shout and started in 
 pursuit of the vanquished foe. 
 
 " Hold fast to your ranks ! Break not the order of 
 battle ! " shouted Ottorino, when he saw the Apulians 
 make a dash for the French camp, and, snatching a horn 
 from one of the trumpeters, he sounded the return. 
 
 But it came too late. For like a tidal wave sweeping 
 down upon a level coast an enormous body of knights, 
 carrying aloft the banners of Clement IV., the red eagle 
 in the white field with a green serpent in its claws, bore 
 down upon the Apulians. The division led by the king 
 received the full force of the attack, as its front, rear, 
 and flanks were exposed, owing to the rash and un- 
 strategic movement of the wings. 
 
 But was it a deception of the fiend ? 
 
 Manfred's face blanched and Capece stared at the fore- 
 most horseman as if a spectre had risen from the earth. 
 Had he not seen Charles of Anjou sink dead beneath the 
 hoofs of his charger? Had he not, at the head of his 
 own division, swept over his prostrate form? Yet, 
 there was no mistaking the fiendish leer of the one who 
 headed the attacking forces. These consisted of the very 
 flower of the Guelphs, whom the wily Anjou had con- 
 cealed behind the hills, counting upon the very incident 
 which had occurred. And so far did the Provencals out- 
 number the forces of the third division, reduced to almost 
 one-half by the breaking of rank and discipline, that 
 Manfred contracted his line of battle in the shape of a 
 crescent, hoping to crush the French as Hannibal did the 
 Romans at Cannae. 
 
 "With heaven's help we shall yet win the day, 
 Lombards to the rescue ! " cried Ottorino. Without wait-
 
 Ube JSattle of JBenevento 435 
 
 ing the order he set off at a furious gallop at the head of 
 his squadron, completely breaking through the first line 
 of the French. But they were outnumbered a hundred to 
 one. The raging battle soon closed around them, and 
 Ottorino disappeared in the melee. 
 
 Rudolph von Hapsburg, who had been drawn against 
 his will into the ill-timed pursuit of the vanquished 
 Provengals, heard the signals from afar, and when he 
 rallied his heavy cavalry to the attack the fortunes of the 
 day began once more to waver. Then the Anjou's com- 
 mand rang over the battle-field: "A I'estoc! A I'estoc!" 
 
 Discarding the long sword exclusively in use among 
 knights, the French drew the rapier, and whenever a 
 German or an Apulian raised arm to strike, the insidious 
 weapon pierced them through. The day of Civita in the 
 eleventh century was repeated, when once again the 
 Roman sword carried victory from the field. 
 
 Again and again new battalions of Provengals appeared 
 on the edge of the plain, pushing back with irresistible 
 sweep the disordered ranks of Apulians and Sicilians. 
 Suddenly Rudolph von Hapsburg rose in his stirrups and, 
 pointing to the field of Grandello, thundered the ominous 
 words in Manfred's ear : 
 
 " Behold, King Manfred ! The Apulians are going 
 over to the enemy ! Caserta leads the treason ! " 
 
 As one paralyzed Manfred stared across the field. The 
 divisions of Giordano Lancia had disappeared amidst the 
 lines of the enemy ; only the Saracens offered heroic re- 
 sistance, pouring volley after volley of arrows into the 
 serried ranks that came against them. It was the voice 
 of Frederick of Antioch which roused the king from his 
 stupor. Glancing around as one waking from a dream, 
 Manfred's gaze fell upon John of Alife, whose visage
 
 436 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 betrayed little of the sorrow which the terrible act of 
 infamy might have inspired. 
 
 " What seekest thou here in the ranks of men who 
 fight and bleed and die for the cause of their king ? " 
 Manfred said, with terrible accents. 
 
 " I came to witness the victory of the just ! " the chan- 
 cellor replied, with a sardonic smile. 
 
 " Victory ! It would have been cheaply bought had we 
 not heeded thy treacherous counsel and retained thy per- 
 fidious countrymen instead of our trusty Germans ! " 
 
 " I did but counsel the act, thou, O king, art its 
 perpetrator ! " 
 
 " Now by the splendour of God ! Since thou wert so 
 brave in the council-hall, thou shalt thyself bear witness 
 to the issue ! Sidi Abdullah, lead forth the white charger 
 which we ordered held in reserve and raise this brave 
 warrior in the saddle. He shall lead us to victory or 
 death, the first deed of honour his black soul has ever 
 achieved ! " 
 
 The chancellor turned deadly pale and sank upon his 
 knees. 
 
 " Mercy, King Manfred, mercy ! I am not a man of 
 strife and battle ! " 
 
 Ere the hunchback realized what was happening to 
 him, he found himself raised by the hands of Abdullah's 
 Saracens into the saddle of the snorting Berber steed and 
 securely tied. 
 
 The heavy cavalry of Rudolph von Hapsburg thundered 
 over the plain, headed by a crouching hunchback, who 
 emitted unearthly yells as he clung desperately to the 
 mane of his fiery, snorting steed, which kicked and tore 
 at everything. When the French espied this singularly 
 fearless leader, who plunged into their serried ranks as 
 if he bore a charm 'gainst sword and mace, they wavered.
 
 Ube JSattle of JSenevento 437 
 
 Finally, fully convinced that the Evil One in person was 
 bounding in amongst them, they scattered in wild, dis- 
 orderly flight, pursued by Hapsburg and the hunchback, 
 who, unable to check the wild career of his steed, gave 
 forth plaintive cries, invoking in turn demons and saints 
 to deliver him from his sorry plight. 
 
 While the Saracen light cavalry dashed against the left 
 wing of the Provengals, the French centre, unbroken and 
 augmented by the king's own Apulians, swept down upon 
 Manfred, who began to be sorely pressed. On all sides 
 the Italians were now going over to the enemy. The 
 import of Caserta's pledge for himself and the Apulian 
 barons for the first time flashed upon Manfred's mind : 
 " We will be true until the last ! " In vain he glanced 
 around for reinforcements. Those of the Apulian barons 
 who remained near his person, and whom he ordered to 
 charge the enemy, flatly refused. 
 
 Presently Manfred's attention was diverted by a troop 
 of horsemen who crossed the ford of the Galore in his 
 rear, led by a knight of tall and powerful presence, clad 
 in a suit of armour of antiquity so remote that the oldest 
 on the field seemed modern in comparison. His esquire, 
 who followed him, carried his shield, the blazonry of 
 which had been almost effaced by time; he, too, was 
 garbed in a fashion as far out of date as his master. Both 
 wore their visors closed ; lance, sword, mace, and battle- 
 axe were the weapons of his mailed array, numbering 
 about one hundred knights. The extraordinary size and 
 strength of his horse, and its worm-eaten, though re- 
 splendent caparison of tapestry velvet, emblazoned with 
 arms in gold and colours, added to the ominous effect of 
 the leader's appearance. As the strange retinue advanced 
 John of Procida exclaimed : " Why, who comes here
 
 Castel fcel flDonte 
 
 or what? It looks for all the world like the armour of 
 Charlemagne from his tomb in Aix la Chapelle ! " 
 
 By this time the strange knight had reined up his 
 charger directly in front of the king. There was a mo- 
 ment of intense silence, broken but by the din of battle 
 raging around the wings of the division. Manfred 
 scanned the uncanny apparition with a feeling akin to 
 superstitious awe. 
 
 " Wilt thou grant leave to one once thy vassal, now 
 banished by thy decree, to take up arms in thy cause, 
 even though it be lost ? " The leader spoke in deep 
 and hollow voice, which rang strangely in Manfred's 
 ear. 
 
 " Thou art welcome, knight," the king replied, not 
 without a tremor of suspicion in his tones. " But by 
 what name shall we thank thee for thy timely aid, for 
 we are sorely pressed." 
 
 The knight raised his visor, but remained silent. 
 
 " The Duke of Lesina ! " Manfred exclaimed, aghast. 
 
 " Even he, who remembers his oath of allegiance when 
 others forget it ! " 
 
 And without waiting thanks or response, the old duke, 
 ordering his knights to the attack, galloped away and was 
 lost in the thick of the fray. 
 
 At the sight of desertion which met his gaze on every 
 point, Manfred's cheeks paled beneath his helmet, and for 
 a moment his arm dropped as if paralyzed. The strange 
 vision he had beheld in the stately halls of Castel del 
 Monte rose once more before his inner gaze; again he 
 heard the chant of the dead ; it boomed in his ear, hollow 
 as a death-bell, resounding above the din of battle ; then 
 the chant died, the vision faded, and Manfred was re- 
 called to the sense of the present hour by shouts and cries
 
 Ube JSattle ot JSenevento 439 
 
 from the farther end of the field, in which the yell of 
 Provencal triumph predominated. 
 
 A signal from Anjou to Giles LeBrun had conveyed 
 to that commander the order for a mock charge on the 
 Ghibelline vanguard, to be followed by a feigned flight, 
 and so artfully had the stratagem been carried out that, 
 despite the stringent orders of the Ghibelline leaders, 
 despite the warning cry of the king, the Saracens, their 
 blood heated by long contest and seeming victory, could 
 not resist pursuit. They rushed impetuously forward, 
 breaking the order of their hitherto indomitable phalanx, 
 the more eagerly because the French had taken their way 
 toward a part of the field where lay quicksands and 
 marshes, into which the Mahometans trusted to precipi- 
 tate their detested foes. But the tide had turned. With 
 a wild laugh of revengeful joy Charles of Anjou set 
 spurs to his steed, and, followed by all his chivalry, joined 
 the cavalry of Picardy and Flanders in their swoop upon 
 the scattered hosts. Already another division of Saracen 
 infantry was setting in motion to rescue their doomed 
 brethren, but too late. For now the choice reserves which 
 had lain in ambush among the underbrush thundered 
 forth. The whole of the Saracen armament was broken 
 up, corps divided from corps, hemmed in ; attack followed 
 attack, to the front, to the rear, to the right, to the left. 
 Fiercely as the combat raged, it could not long be main- 
 tained against such odds as the Saracens had to contend 
 with, and the entire division was mowed down to a man. 
 A fierce shout rent the air as Anjou's mighty hosts cov- 
 ered the whole of the field. Its lines seemed to blend 
 with the blue horizon, aflame with the rays of the wester- 
 ing sun. 
 
 Suddenly Manfred heard the French war-cry in his 
 rear, and, turning, he beheld the chivalry from Picardy
 
 440 Castel &ei flDonte 
 
 and Languedoc, led by Giles LeBrun and Robert of 
 Flanders, sweeping the field like a tremendous tidal wave. 
 At that moment the silver eagle surmounting his helmet 
 fell to the ground, though it had been fastened in such 
 a manner that neither accident nor human agency could 
 have loosened it. 
 
 " Ecce signum Domini!" he exclaimed, turning to 
 Annibaldi, who, resolved to live or die with the king, had 
 not abandoned him since the battle began. Then Manfred 
 cast one despairing glance over the field where the car- 
 nage was raging at its height. Everywhere he saw his 
 ranks exposed; everywhere treason and desertion met 
 his gaze; on all sides the Provencals were breaking 
 through the scattered resistance of his faithful Moslems ; 
 none of his leaders were near him, perhaps they were 
 no more among the living; the day was lost, crown, 
 kingdom, glory. 
 
 One last glance at the transparent skies above, one last 
 prayer for the wife of his soul and Manfredino his child, 
 then, filled with despair, Manfred gathered around him 
 the last remnants of his once so gallant host, and charged 
 with Annibaldi into the very midst of the Provencals. 
 Once more the king was seen towering high above his 
 companions, high above the French, who swarmed about 
 his little band as hounds around a deer; then he went 
 down, Manfred, the gallant son of Emperor Frederick, 
 the poet-king of Italy, sank lifeless upon the Field of 
 Roses, a death-wound in his head, and surrounded by 
 the dead bodies of his gallant knights. 
 
 Soon the remnants of the Ghibelline host were scat- 
 tered in wild flight over the plain, and Charles of Anjou, 
 the gloomy victor, sat on the battle-field of Benevento, 
 dictating his message of victory to Qement IV., a victory 
 won by treason and crime.
 
 JSattle of Benevento 441 
 
 Night had fallen upon the field of Grandello. 
 
 The victorious hosts of Anjou had forced their way 
 into the ancient city, and a Bacchanale, such as history 
 records but few, preceded the pillage of the old Norman 
 capital of Italy. The stars shone coldly over the unnum- 
 bered slain ; here and there a wolf or a mountain panther 
 began to hold its gruesome feast. Only the moans of 
 the dying or the distant shrieks of the vultures hovering 
 over their lavish prey broke the stillness of the Southern 
 night. The bells from a near-by cloister were tolling the 
 tenth hour of the night when a woman, wrapped in a long 
 black mantle, the ample hood of which concealed her 
 features from the inquisitive gaze of a chance roaming 
 pillager, strode slowly over the field of Grandello. At 
 intervals she stooped to turn over a dead body whose face 
 was hidden, then, rising from her repeated tireless task, 
 she continued upon her dismal journey, not heeding the 
 savage growls of the wild beasts whose feast she inter- 
 rupted, and which shied away but to skulk back as she 
 vanished in the blue haze of the Southern night. 
 
 Undaunted by the horrors of the scenes surrounding 
 her, undaunted by the hoarse, hungry cry of the vulture, 
 the savage glare of the panther, or the threatening growl 
 of the wolves, the wanderer continued her search unflinch- 
 ing, untiring. 
 
 Hour passed upon hour ; the waning moon shed a pale, 
 spectral light over the distant heights, when suddenly 
 she sank with a low moan over one of the prostrate dead, 
 laying her face so close to his that it touched the cold, life- 
 less cheeks. Then she placed her hands gently under the 
 unresisting head, raising it from its hard pillow, while in 
 mute despair her accusing eyes were raised to the starry 
 heavens. 
 
 His helmet cloven in twain, his face all streaming with
 
 442 Castel fcel ADonte 
 
 blood, but calm in its ghastly hues, Ottorino Visconti lay 
 among heaps of the slain. The scarf which she had given 
 to him at parting he had wound around his breast, and 
 this had proven the cause of his death, for, as he had 
 raised his arm to ward off the blow of his assailant, his 
 sword had caught in the flimsy web, and before he could 
 extricate the weapon he had sunk mortally wounded under 
 the hoofs of his steed. 
 
 A wail of mortal anguish broke from Helena's lips, as 
 she gently closed the glassy, staring eyes, kissed the fright- 
 fully mutilated head, and endeavoured to remove the blood 
 from the pale, dead face. Only her piteous sobs broke 
 the stillness of the night, as in frantic despair she en- 
 circled his neck with her arms and whispered words of 
 love and anguish into ears dead to their caressing sound. 
 
 Once more she raised the bleeding, lifeless head, once 
 more she gazed with unspeakable tenderness on the face 
 she loved so well, once more she kissed the eyes whose 
 light had been quenched in death, then she took a phial 
 from the folds of her nun's garb and raised it to her 
 lips. As the empty crystal fell from her nerveless grasp 
 she sank over Ottorino's prostrate form. 
 
 " I am with thee I am with thee ! " she gasped. 
 " How cold thy lips are, my beloved, dost thou know 
 me ? Ah ! My head swims, it is all gloom darkness 
 so soon ? I will be with thee in that long, long night 
 that knows no morn, no waking. I can see thee no 
 longer my love Ottorino " 
 
 With her arms clasped tightly around his neck, Helena 
 di Miraval sank dead on the field of Grandello beside the 
 prostrate body of her lover. 
 
 The pale morning light of the succeeding day beheld 
 a lone horseman speeding to southward and spurring his
 
 JSattle of Benev ento 443 
 
 steed as if pursued by an army of demons. The plains 
 of Benevento lay far behind John of Procida ; before him 
 stretched the broad Apulian expanse. One of the few 
 survivors of the conflict, he shunned the honours held 
 out to him by Charles of Anjou, preferring to return to 
 his native isle, there to mourn the death of Manfred, the 
 son of his beloved emperor. 
 
 The Hohenstaufen rule had been swept from Italian 
 soil, but less than a decade after an avenger was to rise 
 who would repay the insults offered to his countrymen 
 by the insolent Provencals, and the tolling of the bells of 
 San Giovanni degli Eremiti in Palermo was to be the 
 signal for the extermination of every Frenchman on the 
 island, the signal for retribution, the commencement 
 of the Sicilian Vespers.
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 AT Naples there is a legend that the beautiful Helena, 
 the wife of Italy's poet-king, by command of Charles of 
 Anjou was murdered with two of her children in Castel del 
 Ovo, where she had been carried a captive, and that on 
 All Soul's Eve a phantom with long, wavy hair and a 
 sceptre in its hand used to be seen gliding along the 
 corridors into the chapel. With the sceptre it touched a 
 stone in front of the altar, the stone rose slowly, and 
 from behind it came two children, who threw themselves 
 on her breast. Then all three knelt in front of the statue 
 of the Madonna, lifting their hands in prayer. And the 
 infant Christ dipped his finger into the blood which 
 gushed from the breast of Helena of Epirus, and wrote 
 " Revenge " on the altar. In vain were all efforts to 
 wash out the word ; on All Soul's Eve every year it was 
 renewed, until the night of the Sicilian Vespers, when 
 French blood ran in streams. Then Helena of Epirus 
 found rest in her grave and the apparition was seen no 
 more. 
 
 THE END.
 
 From 
 
 L. C. Page & Company's 
 
 Announcement List 
 
 of New Fiction 
 
 KILMENY OF THE ORCHARD 
 
 By L. M. MONTGOMERY, author of the " delightful and irresist- 
 ible ANNE books," " Anne of Green Gables " and " Anne of 
 Avonlea." 
 Cloth decorative, with four full-page illustrations in color by 
 
 George Gibbs $1.25 
 
 Miss Montgomery's new book a charming love story 
 has again for its setting the author's favorite Prince Edward 
 Island. Kilmeny Gordon, the heroine, is certain to prove as 
 dear to the hearts of old and young readers alike as did her 
 predecessor, Anne Shirley, " the dearest and most moving and 
 delightful child since the immortal Alice," according to Mark 
 Twain. 
 
 The following quotation from one of the early chapters will be 
 sufficient to give a clue to the story. 
 
 " Under the big branching white lilac tree was an old, sagging 
 wooden bench; and on this bench a girl was sitting playing an 
 old brown violin. Her eyes were on the faraway horizon and 
 she did not see Eric. For a few moments he stood there and 
 looked at her. ... To his latest day Eric Marshall will be able 
 to recall vividly that scene as he saw it then the velvet dark- 
 ness of the spruce woods, the overarching sky of soft brilliance, 
 the swaying lilac blossoms and amid it all the girl on the old 
 bench with the violin under her chin. . . . Her loveliness was 
 so perfect that his breath almost went from him in his first 
 delight of it. Her face was oval, marked in every cameo-like 
 line and feature with that expression of absolute flawless purity 
 found in the angels and Madonnas of old paintings a purity 
 that held in it no faintest stain of earthliness. . . . There was 
 something very child-like about her and yet at least eighteen 
 sweet years must have gone to the making of her,"
 
 L. C. PAGE &* COMPANY'S 
 
 COMMENCEMENT DAYS 
 
 By VIRGINIA CHURCH. 
 
 12rao, cloth decorative, illustrated . . . . $1.50 
 
 Mrs. Church's new college story is based on the well-knowu 
 play of the same name which had such a successful run last 
 season, and it is hard to imagine a more truthful picture of 
 college life than is here depicted. It all happens at that most 
 interesting time of the college girl's career, Commencement 
 Season, which brings with it a round of receptions, parties, 
 coaching expeditions, Junior Proms, fudge feasts, and the 
 happiest and merriest of times. 
 
 There are girls and girls, scores of them, all through the tale, 
 and all interesting ones, too there's Kate Wells, the most 
 popular girl of the college, and Lorraine, her chum, quiet, digni- 
 fied and sweet, who plays the role of an indulgent sister. And 
 there's the twins; who really ought not to be twins at all, their 
 tastes are so unlike, one preferring men, and the other sports, 
 not to mention the slangy, masculine girl, who goes in for 
 athletics, and the dainty little college flirt. 
 
 Of course there wouldn't be any plot if a man were not allowed 
 to enter in, and as Penny, the roly-poly Freshman, observes 
 " It's nice to see trousers around sometimes, anyway " some 
 mighty nice chaps are allowed to enter on the scene. Then 
 there are three distinct love affairs in the plot, all in admirable 
 contrast. 
 
 Girls who are in school and college will find in " Commence- 
 ment Days " types that they have known among their own 
 classmates, graduates will pick out old friends, and older women, 
 whose school days are among their sweetest memories, will find 
 that girl nature is much the same in this day as it was in theirs. 
 
 MY HEART AND STEPHANIE 
 
 By REGINALD WRIGHT KAXJFFMAN, author of " Miss Frances 
 
 Baird, Detective," etc. 
 
 Cloth decorative, illustrated with two portraits in color by 
 
 A. G. Learned $1.25 
 
 A goodly tale of love and mystery, with the scenes for the 
 most part laid in New York and Paris, dealing with the intrigues 
 and causes celebres of the Austrian Court. The story is woven 
 around the Countess Stephanie, a Polish conspirator, and con- 
 tinues also the stirring career of the American girl, Frances 
 Baird, the heroine of Mr. Kauffman's detective story of that 
 name. A novel to delight the heart of every lover of fiction.
 
 LIST OF NEW FICTION 
 
 A CAVALIER OF VIRGINIA 
 
 By G. E. THEODORE ROBERTS, author of " Hemming, the 
 
 Adventurer," " Captain Love," etc. 
 
 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by Louis D. Gowing $1.50 
 
 Theodore Roberts is one of the younger writers of to-day 
 whom the critics have been watching with interest, as he is a 
 born story-teller and the possessor of an unusually fine literary 
 style. 
 
 The scene of his present story is laid in the old chivalric days 
 of colonial Virginia, although part of the action takes place 
 upon the high seas, and the scene shifts for a short time to 
 England, Spain and to the unsettled parts of North America. 
 
 The story develops the boy and girl love affair of the Cavalier 
 and a typical Southern beauty, Isobel Dariza. The characters 
 are admirably drawn and the reader follows with breathless 
 interest the adventures of Francis Drurie, the Cavalier, through 
 his stirring adventures on land and sea. 
 
 " A Cavalier of Virginia " is easily the finest story Mr. Roberts 
 has yet given the reading public, and is assured great popular 
 success. 
 
 THE COURT OF LUCIFER 
 
 By NATHAN GALLIZIER, author of " Castel del Monte," " The 
 Sorceress of Rome," etc. 
 
 With four illustrations in full color by the Kinneys . $1.50 
 
 Mr. Gallizier's new book, completing his Italian trilogy, of 
 which " Castel del Monte " and " The Sorceress of Rome " 
 have already been published, is a brilliant historical romance 
 woven around the famous and notorious Borgia family, the main 
 theme touching upon the perfidy and cunning of Cesare Borgia, 
 that brilliant and unprincipled son of Pope Alexander VI. 
 
 Mr. Gallizier has chosen a most interesting field for his his- 
 torical romances, and in his new book he tells with vividness 
 and daring of the glamour and stir of the old days in Rome, the 
 corruption of church and state, and the subsequent downfall of 
 " The Imperial City." 
 
 Of " Castel del Monte" and "The Sorceress of Rome" the critics 
 have written as follows: 
 
 "The author displays many of the talents that made Scott 
 famous." The Index. 
 
 " There is color, there is sumptuous word-painting in these 
 pages; the action is terrific at times; vividness and life are in 
 every part; and brilliant descriptions entertain the reader and 
 give a singular fascination to the tale." Grand Rapids Herald.
 
 L. C. PAGE &> COMPANY'S 
 
 A SOLDIER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 By ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS, author of " An Enemy to 
 the King," " Philip Winwood," etc., and G. E. THEODORE 
 ROBERTS, author of " Hemming, the Adventurer," "Captain 
 Love," etc. 
 
 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated .... $1.50 
 The many admirers of the brilliant historical romances of the 
 late Robert Neilson Stephens will be gratified at the announce- 
 ment of a posthumous work by that gifted writer. The rough 
 draft of the story was laid aside for other work, and later, with- 
 out completing the novel, the plot was utilized for a play. With 
 the play completed Mr. Stephens again turned his attention to 
 the novel, but death prevented its completion. Mr. Roberts 
 has handled his difficult task of completing the work with care 
 and skill. 
 
 The story, like that of " The Continental Dragoon," takes as 
 its theme an incident in the Revolution, and, as in the earlier 
 novel, the scene is the " debatable ground " north of New York. 
 In interest of plot and originality of development it is as remark- 
 able as the earlier work, but it is more mature, more forceful, 
 more real. 
 
 THE LEAD OF HONOUR 
 
 By NORVAL RICHARDSON. 
 
 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . . $1.50 
 
 If this book is a criterion of what is to come, Mr. Richardson 
 will take high rank among American novelists. His writing has 
 a beauty of phrase, a poetry of expression that is unusual, and 
 joined to this is directness and power. 
 
 His plot is well conceived and well executed and his characters 
 are living, breathing men and women whose fortunes are fol- 
 lowed with ever deepening interest. 
 
 The scene of the story is Natchez, Miss., in about 1830, and 
 the central character is Sargent Everett, a young lawyer, in 
 whom many will recognize a portrait of the Hon. Seargent 
 Prentiss. Indeed many of the incidents of the story are drawn 
 from the early life of that prominent statesman and silver- 
 tongued orator. 
 
 Young Everett's struggle for recognition, his final success, his 
 brilliant progress in his profession, are matters of absorbing 
 interest. His love, his hope, his struggle with self, his temptation, 
 and his renunciation, and always his steadfast following of the 
 lead of honor, form the theme of this remarkable novel.