*CHAPTER II*
*THE PAGEANT IN THE NAVONA*
The man, who had entered the hall of audience with the air of one towhom every nook and corner was familiar, looked what he was, a war-wornveteran, bronzed and hardened by the effect of many campaigns in manyclimes. Yet his robust frame and his physique betrayed but slightevidence of those fatigues and hardships which had been the habits ofhis life. Only a tinge of gray through the close-cropped hair, and nowand then the listless look of one who has grown weary with campaigning,gave token that the prime had passed. In repose his look was stern andpensive, softening at moments into an expression of intense melancholyand gloom. A long black mantle, revealing traces of prolonged and hastytravel, covered his tall and stately form. Beneath it gleamed a darksuit of armour with the dull sheen of dust covered steel. His helmet,fashioned after a dragon with scales, wings, and fins of wrought brass,resembled the headgear of the fabled Vikings.
This personage was Margrave Eckhardt of Meissen, commander-in-chief ofthe German hosts, Great Warden of the Eastern March, and chief adviserof the imperial youth, who had been entrusted to his care by his mother,the glorious Empress Theophano, the deeply lamented consort of EmperorOtto II of Saracenic renown.
The door through which he entered revealed a company of the imperialbody-guard, stationed without, in gilt-mail tunics, armlets and greaves,their weapon the formidable mace, surmounted by a sickle-shaped halberd.
The deep hush, which had fallen upon the assembly on Eckhardt's entranceinto the hall, had its significance. If the Romans were inclined tolook with favour upon the youthful son of the Greek princess, in whoseveins flowed the warm blood of the South, and whose sunny dispositionboded little danger to their jealously guarded liberties, theirsentiments toward the Saxon general had little in common with theirevanescent enthusiasm over the "Wonder-child of the World." But if theRomans loved Eckhardt little, Eckhardt loved the Romans less, and hemade no effort to conceal his contempt for the mongrel rabble, who,unable to govern themselves, chafed at every form of government andrestraint.
Perhaps in the countenance of none of those assembled in the hall ofaudience was there reflected such intensity of surprise on beholding thegreat leader as there was in the face of the Grand Chamberlain, theolive tints of whose cheeks had faded to ashen hues. His tremblinghands gripped the carved back of the nearest chair, while from behindthe powerful frame of the Patricius Ziazo he gazed upon the countenanceof the Margrave.
The latter had approached the group of ecclesiastics, who formed thenucleus round the venerable Archbishop of Cremona.
"What tidings from the king?" queried the patriarch of Christendom.
Eckhardt knelt and kissed Luitprand's proffered hand.
"The Saint has worked a miracle. Within a fortnight Rome will once moregreet the King of the Germans."
Sighs of relief and mutterings of gladness drowned the reply of thearchbishop. He was seen to raise his hands in silent prayer, and thedeep hush returned anew. Other groups pushed eagerly forward to learnthe import of the tidings.
The voice of Eckhardt now sounded curt and distinct, as he addressedArchbishop Heribert of Cologne, Chancellor of the Holy Roman Empire.
"If the God to whom you pray or your patron-saint, has endowed you withthe divine gift of persuasion,--use it now to prompt your king to leavethis accursed land and to return beyond the Alps. Roman wiles and Romanfever had well-nigh claimed another victim. My resignation lies in thehands of the King. My mission here is ended. I place your sovereign inyour hands. Keep him safe. I return to the Eastern March."
Exclamations of surprise, chiefly from the German element, the Romanslistening in sullen silence, rose round the commander, like a sullensquall.
Eckhardt waved them back with uplifted arm.
"The king requires my services no longer. He refuses to listen to mycounsel! He despises his own country. His sun rises and sets in Rome.I no longer have his ear. His counsellors are Romans! The war isended. My sword has grown rusty. Let another bear the burden!--Ireturn to the Eastern March!"
During Eckhardt's speech, whose curtness barely cloaked the grief of thecommander over a step, which he deemed irrevocable, the pallor in thefeatures of the Grand Chamberlain had deepened and a strange light shonein his eyes, as, remote from the general's scrutiny, he watched andlistened.
The German contingent, however, was not to be so easily reconciled toEckhardt's declaration. Bernhardt, the Saxon duke, Duke Burkhardt ofSuabia, Count Tassilo of Bavaria and Count Ludeger of the Palatinateunited their protests against a step so fatal in its remotestconsequences, with the result that the Margrave turned abruptly upon hisheels, strode from the hall of audience, and, passing through the rankand file of the imperial guard, found himself on the crest of MountAventine.
Evening was falling. A solemn hush held enthralled the pulses of theuniverse. A dazzling glow of gold swept the western heavens, and thechimes of the Angelus rang out from untold cloisters and convents. Tosouthward, the towering summits of Soracte glowed in sunset gold. Thedazzling sheen reflected from the marble city on the Palatine provedalmost too blinding for Eckhardt's gaze, and with quick, determinedstep, he began his descent towards the city.
At the base of the hill his progress suffered a sudden check.
A procession, weird, strange and terrible, hymning dirge-like the wordsof some solemn chant, with the eternal refrain "Miserere! Miserere!"wound round the shores of the Tiber. Four files of masked, blackspectres, their heads engulfed in black hoods, wooden crucifixesdangling from their necks, carrying torches of resin, from which escapedfloods of reddish light, at times obscured by thick black smoke, marchedsolemnly behind a monk, whose features could but vaguely be discerned inthe tawny glare of the funereal light. No phantom procession at midnightcould have inspired the popular mind with a terror so great as did thisbrotherhood of Death, more terrifying than the later monks and asceticsof Zurbaran, who so paraded the frightfulness of nocturnal visions inthe pure, unobscured light of the sun. In numbers there wereapproximately four hundred. Their superior, a tall, gaunt and terriblemonk, escorted by his acolytes, held aloft a large black crucifix. Afanatic of the iron type, whose austerity had won him a wide ascendency,the monk Cyprianus, his cowl drawn deeply over his face, strode beforethe brotherhood. The dense smoke of their torches, hanging motionlessin the still air of high noon, soon obscured the monks from view, evenbefore the last echoes of their sombre chant had died away.
Without a fixed purpose in his mind, save that of observing the temperof the populace, Eckhardt permitted himself to be swept along with thecrowds. Idlers mostly and inquisitive gapers, they constituted thecharacteristic Roman mob, always swarming wherever there was anything tobe seen, however trifling the cause and insignificant the attraction.They were those who, not choosing to work, lived by brawls and sedition,the descendants of that uproarious mob, which in the latter days of theempire filled the upper rows in theatre and circus, the descendants ofthe rabble, whose suffrage no Caesar was too proud to court in thestruggle against the free and freedom-loving remnants of thearistocracy.
But there were foreign elements which lent life and contrast to thepicture, elements which in equal number and profusion no other city ofthe time, save Constantinople, could offer to the bewildered gaze of thespectator.
Moors from the Western Caliphate of Cordova, Saracens from the Sicilianconquest, mingled with white-robed Bedouins from the desert; Greeks fromthe Morea, Byzantines, Epirotes, Albanians, Jews, Danes, Poles, Slavsand Magyars, Lombards, Burgundians and Franks, Sicilians, Neapolitansand Venetians, heightened by the contrast of speech, manner and garb thedazzling kaleidoscopic effect of the scene, while the powerful Northernveterans of the German king thrust their way with brutal contemptthrough the dregs of Romulus.
After having extricated himself from the motley throngs, Eckhardt,continuing his course to southward and following the Leonine wall, soonfound
himself in the barren solitudes of Trastevere. Here he slackenedhis pace, and, entering a cypress avenue, seated himself on a marblebench, a relic of antiquity, offering at once shade and repose.
Here he fell into meditation.
Three years had elapsed since the death of a young and beloved wife, whohad gone from him after a brief but mysterious illness, baffling theskill of the physicians. In the ensuing solitude he had acquired gravehabits of reflection. This day he was in a more thoughtful mood thancommon. This day more than ever, he felt the void which nothing onearth could fill. What availed his toils, his love of country, hisendurance of hardships? What was he the better now, in that he hadmarched and watched and bled and twice conquered Rome for the empire?What was this ambition, leading him up the steepest paths, by the brinksof fatal precipices? He scarcely knew now, it was so long ago. HadGinevra lived, he would indeed have prized honour and renown and a name,that was on all men's lips. And Eckhardt fell to thinking of the brightdays, when the very skies seemed fairer for her presence. Time, whoheals all sorrows, had not alleviated his grief. At his urgent requesthe had been relieved of his Roman command. The very name of the citywas odious to him since her death. Appointed to the office of GreatWarden of the East and entrusted with the defence of the Eastern borderlands against the ever-recurring invasions of Bulgarians and Magyars,the formidable name of the conqueror of Rome had in time faded to a merememory.
Not so in the camp. Men said he bore a charmed existence, and indeedhis counsels showed the forethought and caution of the skilled leader,while his personal conduct was remarkable for a reckless disregard ofdanger. It was observed, though, that a deep and abiding melancholy hadtaken possession of the once free and easy commander. Only under thepressure of imminent danger did he seem to brighten into his formerself. At other times he was silent, preoccupied. But the Germans lovedtheir leader. They discussed him by their watch-fires; they marvelledhow one so ready on the field was so sparing with the wine cup, how thegeneral who could stop to fill his helmet from the running stream undera storm of arrows and javelins and drink composedly with a jest and asmile could be so backward at the revels.
In the year 996, Crescentius, the Senator of Rome raised the standardsof revolt, expelled Gregory the Fifth and nominated a rival pontiff inthe infamous John the Sixteenth. Otto, then a mere youth of sixteensummers, had summoned his hosts to the rescue of his friend, therightful pontiff. Reluctantly, and only moved by the tears of theEmpress Theophano, who placed the child king in his care and charge,Eckhardt had resumed the command of the invading army. Twice had he putdown the rebellion of the Romans, reducing Crescentius to the state of avassal, and meting out terrible punishment to the hapless usurper of thetiara. After recrossing the Alps, he had once more turned his attentionto the bleak, sombre forests of the North, when the imperial youth wasseized with an unconquerable desire to make Rome the capital of theempire. Neither prayers nor persuasions, neither the threats of theSaxon dukes nor the protests of the electors could shake Otto'sindomitable will. Eckhardt was again recalled from the wilds of Polandto lead the German host across the Alps.
Meanwhile increasing rumours of the impending End of Time began toupheave and disturb the minds. A mystical trend of thought pervaded theworld, and as the Millennium drew nearer and nearer pilgrims of all agesand all stages began to journey Rome-ward, to obtain forgiveness fortheir sins, and to die within the pale of the Church. At first heresisted the strange malady of the age, which slowly but irresistiblyattacked every order of society. But its morbid influences, seconded bythe memory of his past happiness, revived during his last journey toRome, at last threw Eckhardt headlong into the dark waves ofmonasticism.
During the present, to his mind, utterly purposeless expedition, it hadseemed to Eckhardt that there was no other salvation for the lonelinessin his heart, save that which beamed from the dismal gloom of thecloister. At other times a mighty terror of the great lonesomeness ofmonastic life seized him. The pulses of life began to throb strangely,surging as a great wave to his heart and threatening to precipitate himanew into the shifting scenes of the world. Yet neither mood endured.
Ginevra's image had engraved itself upon his heart in lines deep asthose which the sculptors trace on ivory with tools reddened with fire.Vainly had he endeavoured to cloud its memory by occupying his mind withmatters of state, for the love he felt for her, dead in her grave,inspired him with secret terror. Blindly he was groping through thelabyrinth for a clue--It is hard to say: "Thy will be done."
Passing over the sharp, sudden stroke, so numbing to his senses at thetime, that a long interval had to elapse, ere he woke to its full agony;passing over the subsequent days of yearning, the nights of vain regret,the desolation which had laid waste his life,--Eckhardt pondered overthe future. There was something ever wanting even to complete the dulltorpor of that resignation, which philosophy inculcates and common senseenjoins. In vain he looked about for something on which to lean, forsomething which would lighten his existence. The future was cold andgray, and with spectral fingers the memories of the past seemed to pointdown the dull and cheerless way. He had lost himself in the labyrinthof life, since her guiding hand had left him, and now his soul wasracked by conflicting emotions; the desire for the peace of a recluse,and the longing for such a life of action, as should temporarily drownthe voices of anguish in his heart.
When he arose Rome was bathed in the crimson after glow of departingday. The Tiber presented an aspect of peculiar tranquillity. Hundredsof boats with many-coloured sails and fantastically decorated prowsstretched along the banks. Barges decorated with streamers and flagswere drawn up along the quays and wharfs. The massive gray ramparts ofCastel San Angelo glowed in the rich colours of sunset, and high in theazure hung motionless the great standard, with the marble horses and theflaming torch.
Retracing his steps, Eckhardt soon found himself in the heart of Rome.An almost endless stream of people, recruiting themselves from all clansand classes, flowed steadily through the ancient Via Sacra. Equallydense crowds enlivened the Appian Way and the adjoining thoroughfares,leading to the Forum. In the Navona, then enjoying the distinction ofthe fashionable promenade of the Roman nobility, the throngs weredensest and a vast array of vehicles from the two-wheeled chariot to theByzantine lectica thronged the aristocratic thoroughfare. Seeminglyinterminable processions divided the multitudes, and the sombre andfunereal chants of pilgrims and penitents resounded on every side.
Pressing onward step for step, Eckhardt reached the arch of Titus;thence, leaving the fountain of Meta Sudans, and the vast ruins of theFlavian Amphitheatre to the right, he turned into the street leading tothe Caelimontana Gate, known at this date by the name of Via di SanGiovanni in Laterano. Here the human congestion was somewhat relieved.Some patrician chariots dashed up and down the broad causeway; gracefulriders galloped along the gravelled road, while a motley crowd ofpedestrians loitered leisurely along the sidewalks. Here a group ofyoung nobles thronged round the chariot of some woman of rank; there, agrave, morose-looking scribe, an advocate or notary in the cloister-likehabit of his profession, pushed his way through the crowd.
While slowly and aimlessly Eckhardt pursued his way through the shiftingcrowds, a sudden shout arose in the Navona. After a brief interval itwas repeated, and soon a strange procession came into sight, which, asthe German leader perceived, had caused the acclamation on the part ofthe people. In order to avoid the unwelcome stare of the Roman rabble,Eckhardt lowered his vizor, choosing his point of observation upon somecrumbled fragment of antiquity, whence he might not only view theapproaching pageant, but at the same time survey his surroundings. Onone side were the thronged and thickly built piles of the ancient city.On the opposite towered the Janiculan hill with its solitary palaces andimmense gardens. The westering sun illumined the distant magnificenceof the Vatican and suffered the gaze to expand even to the remote swellof the Apennines.
The procession, which slowly wound its
way towards the point whereEckhardt had taken his station, consisted of some twelve chariots, drawnby snow-white steeds, which chafed at the bit, reared on their haunches,and otherwise betrayed their reluctance to obey the hands which grippedthe rein--the hands of giant Africans in gaudy, fantastic livery. Theinmates of these chariots consisted of groups of young women in theflower of beauty and youth, whose scant airy garments gave them theappearance of wood-nymphs, playing on quaintly shaped lyres. Whilerenewed shouts of applause greeted the procession of the New Vestals, asthey styled themselves in defiance of the trade they plied, and the gazeof the thousands was riveted upon them,--a new commotion arose in theNavona. A shout of terror went up, the crowds swayed backward, spreadout and then were seen to scatter on both sides, revealing a chariot,harnessed to a couple of fiery Berber steeds, which, having takenfright, refused to obey the driver's grip and dashed down the populousthoroughfare. With every moment the speed of the frightened animalsincreased, and no hand was stretched forth from all those thousands tocheck their mad career. The driver, a Nubian in fantastic livery, hadin the frantic effort to stop their onward rush, been thrown from hisseat, striking his head against a curb-stone, where he lay dazed. Heresome were fleeing, others stood gaping on the steps of houses. Stillothers, with a cry of warning followed in the wake of the fleetingsteeds. Adding to the dismay of the lonely occupant of the chariot, awoman, magnificently arrayed in a transparent garb of blackgossamer-web, embroidered with silver stars, the reins were dragging onthe ground. Certain death seemed to stare her in the face. Thoughapprehensive of immediate destruction she disdained to appeal forassistance, courting death rather than owe her life to the despisedmongrel-rabble of Rome. Despite the terrific speed of the animals shemanaged to retain over her face the veil of black gauze, whichcompletely enshrouded her, though it revealed rather than concealed themagnificent lines of her body. Eckhardt fixed his straining gaze uponthe chariot, as it approached, but the sun, whose flaming disk just thentouched the horizon, blinded him to a degree which made it impossiblefor him to discern the features of a face supremely fair.
For a moment it seemed as if the frightened steeds were about to dashinto an adjoining thoroughfare.
Breathless and spellbound the thousands stared, yet there was none torisk his life in the hazardous effort of stopping the blind onrush ofthe maddened steeds. Suddenly they changed their course towards thepoint where, hemmed in by the densely congested throngs, Eckhardt stood.Snatching the cloak from his shoulders, the Margrave dashed through theliving wall of humanity and leaped fearlessly in the very path of thesnorting, onrushing steeds. With a dexterous movement he flung the darkcover over their heads, escaping instantaneous death only by leapingquickly to one side. Then dashing at the bits he succeeded, alone andunaided, in stopping the terrified animals, though dragged along for aconsiderable space. A great shout of applause went up from the throatsof those who had not moved a hand to prevent the impending disaster.Unmindful of this popular outburst, Eckhardt held the frightened steeds,which trembled in every muscle and gave forth ominous snorts, until thedriver staggered along. Half dazed from his fall and bleeding profuselyfrom a gash in the forehead, the Nubian, almost frightened out of hiswits, seized the lines and resumed his seat. The steeds, knowing theaccustomed hand, gradually quieted down.
At the moment, when Eckhardt turned, to gain a glimpse of the occupantof the chariot, a shriek close by caused him to turn his head. Theprocession of the New Vestals had come to a sudden stand-still, owing tothe blocking of the thoroughfare, through which the runaway steeds haddashed, the clearing behind them having been quickly filled up with ahuman wall. During this brief pause some individual, the heraldry ofwhose armour denoted him a Roman baron, had pounced upon one of thechariots and seized one of its scantily clad occupants. The girl haduttered a shriek of dismay and was struggling to free herself from theruffian's clutches, while her companions vainly remonstrated with herassailant. To hear the shriek, to turn, to recognize the cause, and topounce upon the Roman, were acts almost of the same moment to Eckhardt.Clutching the girl's assailant by the throat, without knowing in whosedefence he was entering the contest, he thundered in accents of suchunmistakable authority, as to give him little doubt of the alternative:"Let her go!"
With a terrible oath, Gian Vitelozzo released his victim, who quicklyremounted her chariot, and turned upon his assailant.
"Who in the name of the foul fiend are you, to interfere with mypleasure?" he roared, almost beside himself with rage as he perceivedhis prey escaping his grasp.
Through his closed visor, Eckhardt regarded the noblemen with a contemptwhich the latter instinctively felt, for he paled even ere hisantagonist spoke. Then approaching the baron, Eckhardt whispered oneword into his ear. Vitelozzo's cheeks turned to leaden hues and,trembling like a whipped cur, he slunk away. The crowds, uponwitnessing the noble's dismay, broke into loud cheers, some even went sofar as to kiss the hem of Eckhardt's mantle.
Shaking himself free of the despised rabble whose numbers had been ahundred times sufficient to snatch his prey from Vitelozzo and hisentire clan, Eckhardt continued upon his way, wondering whom he hadsaved from certain death, and whom, as he thought, from dishonour. Theprocession of the New Vestals had disappeared in the haze of thedistance. Of the chariot and its mysterious inmate not a trace was to beseen. Without heeding the comments upon his bravery, unconscious thattwo eyes had followed his every step, since he left the imperial palace,Eckhardt slowly proceeded upon his way, until he found himself at thebase of the Palatine.