CHAPTER XIV. REQUIESCAT!
A strange and mysterious thing is the working of terror on the humanmind. Some it renders incapable of thought or action, paralysing theirlimbs and stagnating the blood in their veins; such creatures die inanticipating death. Others under the stress of that grim passion havetheir wits preternaturally sharpened. The instinct of self-preservationassumes command of all their senses, and urges them to swift andfeverish action.
I thank God with a full heart that to this latter class do I belong.After one gelid moment, spent with eyes and mouth agape, my hands fallenlimp beside me and my hair bristling with affright, I became myselfagain and never calmer than in that dread moment. I went to work withsuperhuman swiftness. My cheeks may have been livid, my very lipsbloodless; but my hands were steady and my wits under full control.
Concealment--concealment for myself and her--was the thing that nowimported; and no sooner was the thought conceived than the means weredevised. Slender means were they, yet Heaven knows I was in no caseto be exacting, and since they were the best the place afforded I musttrust to them without demurring, and pray God that Messer Ramiro mightlack the wit to search. And with that fresh hope it came to me thatI must find a way so to dispose as to make him believe that to searchwould be a futile waste of energy.
The odds against me lay in the little time at my disposal. Yet a littletime there was. The door was stout, and Messer Ramiro might takeno violent means of bursting it, lest the noise should arouse thestreet--and I well could guess how little he would relish having lightsto shine upon this deed of night of his.
With what tools his sbirro was at work I could not say; but surely theymust be such as would leave me a few moments. Already the fellow hadbegun. I could make out a soft crunching sound, as of steel biting intowood. To act, then!
With movements swift as a cat's, and as silent, I went to work. Likea ghost I glided round the coffin to the other side, where the lid waslying. I took it up, and when for a moment I had deposited Madonna Paolaon the ground, I mounted the bench and gently but quickly set back thatlid as it had been. Next, I gathered up the cumbrous pall, and mountingthe bench once more I spread it across the coffin. This way and that Ipulled it, straightening it into the shape that it had worn when first Ihad entered, and casting its folds into regular lines that would lend itthe appearance of having remained undisturbed.
And what time I toiled, the half of my mind intent upon my task, theother half was as intent upon the progress of the worker at the door.
At last it was done. I set the bench where first it had been, at thefoot of the catafalque, and gathering up Madonna in my arms, as thoughher weight had been an infant's, I bore her swiftly out of the circle oflight of those four tapers into the black, impenetrable gloom beyond.On I sped towards the high-altar, flying now as men fly in evil dreams,with the sensation of an enemy upon them and their progress a merestanding-still.
Thus I gained the chancel, hurtling against the railing as I passed, andpausing for an instant, wondering whether those without could have heardthe noise which in my clumsiness I had made. But the grinding soundcontinued uninterrupted, and I breathed more freely. I mounted thealtar-steps, the distant light behind me still feebly guiding me; I ranround to the right, and heaved a great sigh of relief to find my hopesverified, and that the altar of San Domenico was as the altar of otherchurches I had known. It stood a pace or so from the wall, and behind itthere was just such narrow hiding-room as I had looked to find.
I paused at the mouth of that black opening, and even as I paused,something hard that gave out a metallic sound fell at the far end of thechurch. Instinct told me it was the lock which those miscreants had cutfrom the door. I waited for no more, but like a beast scudding to coverI plunged into that black space.
Madonna, wrapped in my cloak as she was, I set down upon the ground, andthen I crept forward on hands and knees and thrust out my head, trustingto the darkness to envelop me.
I waited thus for some seconds, my heart beating now against my ribs asif it would hurl itself out of my bosom, my head and face on fire withthe fever of reaction that succeeded my late cold pallor.
From where I watched it was impossible to see the door hidden in theblack gloom. Away in the centre of the church, an island of light inthat vast sea of blackness, stood the catafalque with its four waxtorches. Something creaked, and almost immediately I saw the flames ofthose tapers bend towards me, beaten over by the gust that smote themfrom the door. Thus I surmised that Ramiro and his men had entered. Thesoft fall of their feet; for they were treading lightly now, succeeded,and at last they came into view, shadowy at first, then sharply outlinedas they approached the light.
A moment they stood in half-whispered conversation, their voices amere boom of sound in which no word was to be distinguished. Then I sawRamiro suddenly step forward--I knew him by his great height--and dragaway, even as I had done, the pall that hid the coffin. Next he seizedthe bench and gave a brisk order to his men in a less cautious voice, sothat I caught his words.
"Spread a cloak," said he, and, in obedience, the four that were withhim took a cloak among them, each holding one of its corners. It wasthus that he meant to bear her with him.
He mounted now the bench, and I could imagine with what elation of mindhe put out his hands to remove the coffin-lid. As well as if his soulhad been transformed into a book conceived for my amusement did Isurmise the exultant mood that then possessed him. He had trickedFilippo; he had out-witted us all--Madonna herself, included--and he wasleaving no trace behind him that should warrant any so much as to dareto think that this vile deed was the work of Messer Ramiro del' Orca,Governor of Cessna.
But Fate, that arch-humourist, that jester of the gods, delights inmighty contrasts, and has a trick of exalting us by false hopes andhollow lures on the very eve of working our discomfiture. From the soulthat but a moment back had been aglow with evil satisfaction there bursta sudden blasphemous cry of rage that disregarded utterly the sanctityof that consecrated place.
"By the Death of Christ! the coffin is empty!"
It was the roar of a beast enraged, and it was succeeded by a heavycrash as he let fall the coffin-lid; a second later a still louder soundawoke the night-echoes of that silent place. In a burst of maniacalfrenzy he had caught the coffin itself a buffet of his mighty fist, andhurled it from its trestles.
Then he leapt down from the bench, and flung all caution to the winds inthe excitement that possessed him.
"It is a trick of that smooth-faced knave Filippo," he cried. "They havelaid a trap for us, animals, and you never informed yourselves."
I could imagine the foam about the corners of his mouth, the swellingveins in his brow, and the mad bulging of his hideous eyes, for terrorspoke in his words, and the Governor of Cesena, overbearing bully thoughhe was, could on occasion, too, become a coward.
"Out of this!" he growled at them. "See that your swords hang ready.Away!"
One of them murmured something that I could not catch. Mother inHeaven! if it should be a suggestion of what actually had taken place, asuggestion that the church should be searched ere they abandoned it? ButRamiro's answer speedily relieved my fears.
"I'll take no risks," he barked. "Come! Let us go separately. I first,and do you follow me and get clear of Pesaro as best you can." His voicegrew lower, and from what else he said I but caught the words, "Cesena"and "to-morrow night," from which I gathered that he was appointing thatas their next meeting-place.
Ramiro went, and scarce had the echoes of his footsteps died away erethe others followed in a rush, fearful of being caught in some trap thatwas here laid for them, and but restrained from flying on the instant bytheir still greater fear of that harsh master, Ramiro.
Thanking Heaven for this miraculous deliverance, and for the wit ithad lent me so to prepare a scene that should thoroughly mislead thoseravishers, I turned me now to Madonna Paola. Her breathing was grownmore heavy and more regular, so that in all respects she was as onesleepi
ng healthily. Soon I hoped that she might awaken, for to seek tobear her thence and to the Palace in my arms would have been a madness.And now it occurred to me that I should have restoratives at handagainst the time of her regaining consciousness. Inspiration suggestedto me the wine that should be stored in the sacristy for altar purposes.It was unconsecrated, and there could be no sacrilege in using it.
I crept round to the front of the altar. At the angle a candle-branchprotruded, standing no higher than my head. It held some three or fourtapers, and was so placed to enable the priest to read his missal atearly Mass on dark winter mornings. I plucked one of the candles fromits socket, and hastening down the church, I lighted it from one of theburning tapers of the bier. Screening it with my hand, I retraced mysteps and regained the chancel. Then turning to the left, I made for adoor that I knew should give access to the sacristy. It yielded to mytouch, and I passed down a short stone-flagged passage, and entered thespacious chamber beyond. An oak settle was placed against one wall, andabove it hung an enormous, rudely-carved crucifix. Facing it against theother wall loomed a huge piece of furniture, half-cupboard, half-buffet.On a bench in a corner stood a basin and ewer of metal, whilst a fewvestments hanging beside these completed the furniture of this austereand white-washed chamber. Setting my candle on the buffet, I opened oneof the drawers. It was full of garments of different kinds, among whichI noticed several monks' habits. I rummaged to the bottom only to findsome odd pairs of sandals.
Disappointed, I closed the drawer and tried another, with no betterfortune. Here were under-vestments of fine linen, newly washed andfragrant with rosemary. I abandoned the drawer and gave my attention tothe cupboard above. It was locked, but the key was there. It opened,and my candle reflected a blaze on gold and silver vessels, consecratedchalices; a dazzling monstra, and several richly-carved ciboria of solidgold, set with precious stones. But in a corner I espied a dark-brown,gourd-shaped object. It was a skin of wine, and, with a half-suppressedcry of joy, I seized it. In that instant a piercing scream rang throughthe stillness of the church, and startled me so that I stood there forsome seconds, frozen in horror, a hundred wild conjectures leaping to mymind.
Had Ramiro remained hidden, and was he returned? Did the scream meanthat Madonna Paola had been awakened by his rough hands?
A second time it came, and now it seemed to break the hideous spell thatits first utterance had cast over me. Dropping the leather bottle,I sped back, down the stone passage to the door that abutted on thechancel.
There, by the high-altar, I saw a form that seemed at first luminous andghostly, but in which presently I recognised Madonna Paola, the dim raysof the distant tapers finding out the white robe with which her limbswere hung. She was alone, and I knew then that it was but the verynatural fear consequent upon awakening in such a place that had provokedthe cry I had heard.
"Madonna," I called, advancing swiftly towards her. "Madonna Paola!"There was a gasp, a moment's stillness, then--
"Lazzaro?" She cried, questioningly. "What has happened? Why am I here?"
I was beside her now, and found her trembling like an aspen.
"Something horrible has happened, Madonna," I answered. "But it is overnow, and the evil is averted."
"But how came I here?"
"That you shall learn." I stooped to gather up the cloak which hadslipped from her shoulders as she advanced. "Do you wrap this aboutyou," I urged her, and with my own hands I assisted to enfold her inthat mantle. "Are you faint, Madonna?" I asked.
"I scarce know," she answered in a frightened voice. "There is a blackhorror upon me. Tell me," she implored again, "what does it mean?"
I drew her away now, promising to satisfy her in the fullest manner onceshe were out of these forbidding surroundings. I led her to the sacristyand seating her upon the settle I produced that wine-skin once again.
At first she babbled like a child of not being thirsty; but I wasinsistent.
"It is no matter of quenching thirst, Madonna," I told her. "The winewill warm and revive you. Come Madonna mia, drink."
She obeyed me now, and having got the first gulp down her throat shedrank a lusty draught that was not long in bringing a healthier colourto replace the ashen pallor of her cheeks.
"I am so cold, Lazzaro," she complained.
I turned to the drawer in which I had espied the rough monks' habits,and pulling one out I held it for her to don. She sat there now, in thatgarment of coarse black cloth, the cowl flung back upon her shoulder,the fairest postulate that ever entered upon a novitiate.
"You are good to me, Lazzaro," she murmured plaintively, "and I haveused you very ill." She paused a second, passing her hand across herbrow. Then--"What is the hour?" she asked.
It was a question that I left unheeded. I bade her brace herself andhave courage for the tale I was to tell. I assured her that the horrorof it was all passed and that she had naught to fear. So soon as hernatural curiosity should be satisfied it should be hers to return to herbrother at the Palace.
"But how came I thence?" she cried. "I must have lain in a swoon, forI remember nothing." And then her swift mind, leaping to a reasonableconclusion; and assisted, perhaps, by the memory of the shatteredcatafalque which she had seen--"Did they account me dead, Lazzaro?" sheasked of a sudden, her eyes dilating with a curious affright as theywere turned upon my own.
"Yes, Madonna," answered I, "you were accounted dead." And, with that, Itold her the entire story of what had befallen, saving only that I leftmy own part unmentioned, nor sought to explain my opportune presencein the church. When I spoke of the coming of Ramiro and his knaves sheshuddered and closed her eyes in very awe. At length, when I had done,she opened them again, and again she turned them full upon me. Theirbrightness seemed to increase a moment, and then I saw that she wasquietly weeping.
"And you were there to save me, Lazzaro?" she murmured brokenly."Lazzaro mio, it seems that you are ever at hand when I have need ofyou. You are indeed my one true friend--the one true friend that neverfails me."
"Are you feeling stronger, Madonna?" I asked abruptly, roughly almost.
"Yes, I am stronger." She stood up as if to test her strength. "Indeedlittle ails me saving the horror of this thing. The thought of it seemsto turn me sick and dizzy."
"Sit then and rest," said I. "Presently, when you are more recovered, wewill set out."
"Whither shall we go?" she asked.
"Why, to the Palace, to your brother."
"Why, yes," she answered, as though it were the last suggestion thatshe had been expecting, "And to-morrow--it will be to-morrow, will itnot?--comes the Lord Ignacio to claim his bride. He will owe you no meanthanks, Lazzaro."
There was a pause. I paced the chamber, a hundred thoughts crowding mymind, but overriding them all the conjecture of how far it might be frommatins, and how soon we might be discovered by the monks. Presently shespoke again.
"Lazzaro," she inquired very gently, "what was it brought you to thechurch?"
"I came with the others, Madonna, to the burial service," answered I,and fearing such questions as might follow--questions that I had beendreading ever since I had brought her to the sacristy--"If you arerecovered we had best be going," I told her gruffly.
"Nay, I am not yet enough recovered," answered she. "And before we go,there are some points in this strange adventure that I would have youmake clear to me. Meanwhile, we are very well here. If the good fatherscome upon us, what shall it signify?"
I groaned inwardly, and I grew, I think, more afraid than when Ramiroand his men had broken into the church an hour ago.
"What kept you here after all were gone?"
"I remained to pray, Madonna," I answered brusquely. "Is aught else tobe done in a church?"
"To pray for me, Lazzaro?" she asked.
"Assuredly, Madonna."
"Faithful heart," she murmured. "And I had used you so cruelly forthe deception you practised. But you merited my cruelty, did you not,Lazzaro? Say that you did, else must I
perish of remorse."
"Perhaps I deserved it, Madonna. But perhaps not so much as youbestowed, had you but understood my motives," I said unguardedly.
"If I had understood your motives?" she mused. "Aye, there is much I donot understand. Even in this night's transactions there are not wantingthings that remain mysterious despite the explanations you have suppliedme. Tell me, Lazzaro, what was it led you to suppose that I still lived?
"I did not suppose it," I blundered like a fool, never seeing whitherher question led.
"You did not?" she cried, in deep surprise; and now, when it wastoo late, I understood. "What was it, then, induced you to lift thecoffin-lid?"
"You ask me more than I can tell you," I answered, almost roughly. "Doyou thank God, Madonna, that it was so, and never plague your mind tolearn the 'why' of it."
She looked at me with eyes that were singularly luminous.
"But I must know," she insisted. "Have I not the right? Tell me now: Wasit that you wished to see my face again before they gave me over to thegrave?"
"Perhaps it was that, Madonna," I answered in confusion, avoiding herglance. Then--"Shall we be going?" I suggested fiercely. But she neverheeded that suggestion.
She spoke as if she had not heard, and the words she uttered seemed toturn me into stone.
"Did you love me then so much, dear Lazzaro?"
I swung round to face her now, and I know that my face was white--whiterthan hers had been when I had beheld her in her coffin. My eyes seemedto burn in their sockets as they met hers. A madness overtook me andwhelmed my better judgment. I had undergone so much that day throughgrief, and that night through a hundred emotions, that I was no longerfully master of myself. Her words robbed me, I think, of my lastlingering shred of reason.
"Love you, Madonna?" I echoed, in a voice that was as unlike my own aswas the mood that then possessed me. "You are the air I breathe, thesun that lights my miserable world. You are dearer to me than honour,sweeter than life. You are the guardian angel of my existence, the saintto whom I have turned morning and evening in my prayers for grace. Do Ilove you, Madonna--?"
And there I paused. The thought of what I did and what the consequencesmust be rushed suddenly upon me. I shivered as a man shivers in awaking.I dropped on my knees before her, bowing my head and flinging wide myarms.
"Forgive, Madonna," I cried entreatingly. "Forgive and forget. Neveragain will I offend."
"Neither forgive nor forget will I," came her voice, charged with anineffable sweetness, and her hands descended on my bowed bead, as ifshe would bless and soothe me. "I am conscious of no offence that cravesforgiveness, and what you have said I would not forget if I could.Whence springs this fear of yours, dear Lazzaro? Am I more than woman,or you less than man that you should tremble for the confession that ina wild moment I have dragged from you? For that wild moment I shall bethankful to my life's end; for your words have been the sweetest evermy poor ears listened to. Once I thought that I loved the Lord GiovanniSforza. But it was you I loved; for the deeds that earned him myaffection were deeds of yours and not of his. Once I told you so inscorn. Yet since then I have come soberly to ponder it. I account you,Lazzaro, the noblest friend, the bravest gentleman and the truest loverthat the world has known. Need it surprise you, then, that I love youand that mine would be a happy life if I might spend it in growingworthy of this noble love of yours?"
There was a knot in my throat and tears in my eyes--a matter at which Itake no shame. Air seemed to fail me for a moment, and I almost thoughtthat I should swoon, so overcome was I. Transport the blackest soul fromamong the damned of Hell, wash it white of its sins and seat it on oneof the glorious thrones of Heaven, then ponder its emotions, and youmay learn something of what I felt. At last, when I had mastered theexquisite torture of my joy--
"Madonna mia," I cried, "bethink you of what you say. You are the noblelady of Santafior, and I--"
"No more of this," she interrupted me. "You are Lazzaro Biancomonte, ofpatrician birth, no matter to what odd shifts a cruel fortune may havedriven you. Will you take me?"
She had my face between her palms, and she forced my glance to meet herown saintly eyes.
"Will you take me, Lazaro?" she repeated.
"Holy Flower of the Quince!" was all that I could murmur, whereat shegently smiled. "Santo Fior di Cotogno!"
And then a great sadness overwhelmed me. A tide that neaped the frailbark of happiness high and dry upon the shores of black despair.
"To-morrow Madonna, comes the Lord Ignacio Borgia," I groaned.
"I know, I know," said she. "But I have thought of that. Paula Sforzadi Santafior is dead. Requiescat! We must dispose that they will let herrest in peace."