Chapter THE FIFTH: The Cavern of Albarone

THE FUNERAL TRAIN, BEARING THE CORSE ALONG THROUGH THE GROUPS OF
SPECTRAL-FORMS, ARE AWE STRICKEN BY THE APPEARANCE OF A STRANGE
KNIGHT.

Above, the cavern roof spread vast and magnificent, like an earth-hidden sky.

Around, on every side, in rugged grandeur, extended the rocky walls; and far in the distance, the solid pavement seemed to grow larger and wider, as the gazer looked upon its surface of substantial stone.

The light of the funeral torches flashing over the abrupt rocks, revealed the level floor, and gave a faint glimpse of the vast arch extending far above. The ruddy beams flashing on every side, disclosed a strange and bewildering spectacle.

Around the walls of the cavern, and over the floor, were scattered figures of gigantic stone, rising from the pavement, at irregular intervals, in various and strangely contrasted attitudes, bearing the most singular resemblance to the gestures of living men, yet with every face stamped with an expression that chilled the heart of the gazer, as though he beheld a spirit of the unreal world.

A wild legend was written in the archieves of Albarone, concerning these strange figures.

In the olden time, when eternal midnight brooded through these cavern halls, a demon band shook the rugged arches with their sounds of hellish wassail, startling the gloom of night and the brightness of noonday above, with the echo of their shrieks and yells; while their foul blasphemies of the AWFUL UNKNOWN infected the very air with a curse, and sent disease and death abroad from the cavern over the land, until every lip grew pale, and every heart was chilled, at the mention of the demon vault of Albarone.

It was when the impious revel swelled loudest; when the infernal goblet was raised to every lip; when the glances of glaring eyes, burning with the curse of Lucifer, were exchanged between the supernatural revellers; when the sounds of mockery and yells of blasphemy, echoing and thundering around the vault, realized a hell on earth, that the words of the Invisible broke over the scene, and the figures of the demon band were suddenly transformed to lifeless stone.

This wild tradition gained credence from the positions and attitudes of these strange statues.

The smallest of the figures was three times as large as the tallest and most robust of men; there were others whose heads of dark rock well nigh touched the cavern’s roof, while their outstretched arms and writhing attitude filled the gazer with indefinable dread.

Some were springing in the festal dance, the smile, grim and ghost-like wreathing their lips of stone; some were circling in groups of wild revelry, their faces agitated by laughter; while others, with upturned countenances, bearing the impress of every dark and hellish passion, and arms thrown wildly aloft, seemed daring the vengeance of heaven, and mocking the power of God.

Among all these various and contrasted figures, there was not one form of beauty, not one shape of grace; but all were expressive of low, bestial revelry, servile terror, or else of sublime hatred and defiance.

Some were formed of the darkest, and some of the lightest stone. Here arose a form of dark rock, side by side with a shape of snow-white stone; yonder towered a figure of dusky red, and farther on, a form of dark blue, veined by streaks of crimson and purple, broke through the darkened air.

The ancient esquires who bore the corse, had faced the brunt of a hundred battles, and fought in the van of a thousand frays, yet it was not without a shiver of terror that they looked around upon this wild and unearthly scene, thronged with those dark and fiend-like figures.

As they advanced, a new wonder attracted the attention of the funeral train.

Far in the cavern, to all appearance near the centre, a vast mound, of a square form, arising from the level pavement, was hung with burning lamps, and overlooked by a figure of stone, which seemed to those of the funeral train to exceed all the others, both in the magnitude of its height, and the wildness of its attitude. The lamps burning above this mound, threw a strong light over the dark figure, and along the pavement, for some few yards around; while the space between the mound and the procession was lost in entire darkness.

The bearers of the corse, advancing towards the mound, led on the funeral train, who all, save the Count Aldarin, seemed seized with a sudden and indefinable dread. The battle song was still continued, the swords were still brandished, and the torches were still waved on high; but there was a tremor in the notes of the song, the swords were grasped with the nervous sensation that men ever feel when expecting to meet antagonists of the unknown world, and the waving of the torches was accompanied by the muttered exorcisms of the monks.

As for the Ladye Annabel, she leaned half swooning upon the arm of the venerable abbot, who, in good sooth, was as much frightened as the maiden.

The esquires who bore the remains of their gallant lord, had now gained near half the way over the pavement of stone, toward the mound; the last of the servitors had emerged from the narrow passage into the cavern and the whole train extending in one unbroken line, marked by the long array of torches flashing over the armor of the warriors, and the white robes of the monks, presented a striking and imposing spectacle.

Aldarin turned suddenly round, and exclaimed, with a wild gesture:

“How now, vassals? Why this tremor?--Whence this alarm? Do I not lead you? Raise the battle song of our race yet higher, and advance yet more boldly! The banner of the Winged Leopard waves above ye! Shout the war cry, and let your noble lord be borne to his rest as were his fathers before him. Shout the war cry--shout--”

Wheeling suddenly around in the warmth of his excitement, he turned from the men-at-arms, to the corse-bearers, and at the very instant, started a step backward with involuntary horror. The corse sate erect in the death-couch, the white pall falling back from the iron-clad shoulders while the light of the torches fell vividly upon its unclosed eyes as their cold, stony glare rested upon the face of Aldarin.

Aldarin felt his very heart leaping within his bosom, while big beaded drops of moisture, clammy as the death-sweat, stood out from his forehead.

“The Corse hath arisen in the death-couch”--he hurriedly whispered--“The eyes of the dead are unclosed, they are gazing around the vault of death.”

“It is the custom of Albarone,” exclaimed a white-haired Esquire,--“We have raised the corse erect, we have unclosed its eyes. The mighty dead of Albarone enter the vault of death, proudly and erect, with their unclosed eyes gazing fearlessly on the tomb--such is the custom of Albarone!”

“Thanks--brave Esquire--Thanks”--slowly and gaspingly exclaimed Aldarin, as he recovered his powers of mind. “Men of Albarone,” he exclaimed in a loud and commanding tone, “Gaze ye upon the face of the unconquered Dead, gaze upon the erect form, the unclosed eyes, daring the terror of the tomb--and as ye gaze, let the battle-song of our race peal to the very cavern’s roof! Shout the war-cry, shout--”

A figure clad from head to foot in azure armor of shining steel, leaped from behind a form of stone, arising from the cavern floor, at the head of the bier, and seizing the banner-staff from the hands of Aldarin, finished his sentence--

“Shout”--exclaimed the figure armed in azure steel--“Shout Albarone to the rescue! Death to the Murderer!”

The thunder-tones of that voice were known, along the line of men-at-arms, through the columns of the Monks. One wild shout arose from the warriors--

“Ha! For Albarone! Adrian, our Lord, comes from the dead to lead us! On--on! Strike for the Winged Leopard--strike for Albarone!”

Strange it was that the very men, who a moment before had trembled with undefined terror, now hailed with joy the presence of one whom they supposed to have risen from the dead.

In an instant all was confusion and uproar. The Esquires set down the corse, and together with the men-at-arms, clustered around the figure in azure armor, shouting and making the very cavern’s roof re-echo with their exclamations of joy.

The tumult and out-cry, coupled with the name of Adrian, reached the ears of the fair Ladye Annabel, who already half swooning with terror, now felt her brain whirling in wild confusion, as she fell fainting in the arms of the Abbot of St. Peters.

“Brethren,”--cried the Abbot, addressing the monks--“Haste ye away to the upper air for aid, while I stay here with the maiden, and exorcise yon devil, if devil it may be, with solemn prayers and ceremonies. Away--away, the fair Ladye may die, ere ye can return with aid.”

It needed no second word from the Abbot; the Monks gazed in each other’s faces with affrighted looks, and then trooping hurriedly together, hastened across the floor of the cavern, followed by the Servitors, who but a moment past formed part of the procession. It was but an instant ere the white robes of the monks, and the gay livery of the servitors, were lost to view within the confines of the narrow passage.

The Abbot holding the fainting maiden in his arms, her white attire mingling with his sacerdotal robes, gazed around the cavern, and found to his astonishment that all around him was wrapt in darkness, while far ahead, he could discern the lights of the death mound, breaking through the gloom, with the glare of torches, held aloft by the men-at-arms, creating a brilliant space between his position and the mound of the dead.

“All is dark”--murmured the Abbot--“All is dark around me--yet far ahead, I behold the men-at-arms clustering round the Strange Figure--their swords rise aloft, and their distant shouts break on my ear! She lays in my arms, cold, cold and senseless. Save me, mother of Heaven, but I cannot feel the beating of her heart--I hear no sound of aid, no voice of assistance! The cavern is damp, and she may die ere they come with succor,--I will away and seek for aid myself. Lay there, gentle Ladye, at the foot of this strange Statue--thus I enfold thee in my robes of white--thus I defend thee from the cold and damp--in a moment I will be with thee again! God aid my steps!”

At the foot of a figure of stone, wrapping her form in his glittering robe of white and gold, which he doffed from his own trembling frame, the Abbot rested the Ladye Annabel, all cold and insensible, and then hastened from the Cavern in search of aid.

There was a long, long pause around the spot where lay the maiden, while fearful mysteries were enacting far beyond, on the summit of the Death-Mound.

When the Abbot again returned he was companioned by armed men, with glittering attire and flashing swords. He sought the resting-place of the maiden; he beheld nothing but the rough floor of the cavern. The Ladye Annabel had disappeared, and the grotesque figure rising from the pavement seemed to grin in mockery as the horror-stricken Abbot gazed upon the vacant stone, where he had laid the maiden down to rest, her form of beauty, sheltered by his sacred robes.