Chapter THE FIFTH: The Bridal Morn

THE WEDDING GUESTS CIRCLE ROUND THE HOLY ALTAR, WHILE THE SCHOLAR ALDARIN STRIKES HIS DAGGER AT THE INTANGIBLE AIR.

The first flash of the morn that was to gild the fair brow of the Ladye Annabel with a ducal coronet, glowed faintly in the eastern sky, and the black-bearded Jew stood in the court-yard, casting his eyes earnestly about him, as if waiting the approach of one with whom he had made an appointment.

Not long did he wait, for presently emerging from a small door inserted in a wing of the castle, near the chapel of St. George, the page Guiseppo approached, with his form muffled up in his cloak of blue velvet and gold embroidery; while his slouching hat, drooping over his face, concealed his features entirely from the view.

By his side, at a respectful distance, walked the Arab mute, his head bowed low, and his face half concealed by his jet-black locks, while he tottered under the weight of his heavy burden.

As Guiseppo gained the side of the Jew, a sentinel was passing.

“Ho, sir page!” exclaimed the Hebrew, “thou seem’st fearful of the morning breeze. Hurry along--hurry along--or beshrew me, thou wilt not get the rare lace for the Ladye Annabel--the rare lace worth its weight in gold a hundred times told. Haste thee--haste thee!”

They crossed the court-yard, and presently stood before the pillars of the castle gate, which was guarded by four sentinels, attired in the livery of his grace of Florence.

“Fair sir,” exclaimed the Jew, addressing one of the men-at-arms, “I would pass through the castle gate. I am bound for the village hard by the castle. Albarone, I think you call it?”

“Wherefore abroad so early?” asked the sentinel; “and why goes Guiseppo with you?”

“Yesternight, when I journeyed toward the castle, some of my most precious wares I left behind me at the hostel of the village below. The Ladye Annabel wishes to purchase some rare and costly laces. My business calls me and this poor dumb youth away to the north, and therefore is the page sent with me; he is sent to receive the wares purchased by the Ladye Annabel. Hast any thing further to ask, sir sentinel?”

And as he asked the question, the page Guiseppo and the Arabian drew nearer to the Jew, awaiting the answer with evident interest.

It was observable that the right hand of the mute was thrust within the folds of his doublet, while his blue eye, so strangely contrasting with his dark brows and darker hair, glared fiercely into the faces of the sentinels.

“I have nothing more to ask of thee, _now_,” exclaimed another sentinel, advancing. “But had not the Duke sent me this pass for thee, thy servitor, and the page Guiseppo, the foul fiend take me, but I would have seen thy heathen carcass at the devil, ere a bolt should be drawn for thee to pass forth at this unseasonable hour. Thy way lies before thee, Jew!”

As he spoke, he applied a key to a small door which was cut into the massive timbers of the castle gate. The door flew open, and through the opened space the drawbridge was seen descending. One foot of the Jew was passed through the narrow entrance, when the sentinel who held the pass of the Duke, exclaimed:

“Why, Guiseppo, what aileth thee? Wherefore art muffled up in this fashion? Where are thy merry jests? Where is that magpie tongue of thine? Hast forgotten all thy mischievous pranks--eh, sir page?”

A low, moaning noise came from the mouth of the mute, as he seemed impatient of the delay.

“I have no time to trifle in idle converse,” exclaimed the Jew. “Come on, fair sir, the morning breaks, and I must be on my way.”

He took the page by the shoulder, and gently pulled him through the doorway, leaving the sentinels to their surprise at the strange silence of the mirthful Guiseppo, while the unfortunate mute slowly followed in the footsteps of the Jew, his right hand trembling with a scarce perceptible motion, as he buried it within the folds of his doublet.

With a hurried step, the Jew and his companion passed over the drawbridge, and in a moment standing upon the summit of the hill upon whose rocks and caverns the castle was founded, they viewed the winding road beneath.

The page turned his head--still concealed by his slouched hat--he turned his head for a moment toward the castle, and a slight tremor pervaded his frame.

Then his hand was extended, grasping the hand of the Arab mute, who returned the grasp with a firm pressure upon the white fingers of the dainty page.

“Let us onward! Let us onward!” whispered the Jew. “A long journey have we before us. Onward, I pray ye!”

They hurriedly wended down the hill, and ere an hundred could be told, their forms were lost to sight in the shades of the forest.

All bright and glorious came on the rising day, lighting up the cloudless azure with its kindly beams, shimmering over the waves of the broad, deep river, filling the wild-wood glade with glimpses of golden light; while the far-off mountains towered into the heavens, the white clouds crowning their rugged peaks, radiant with the changing hues of the morning sun.

And while the day wore slowly on, the paths leading through the valley toward the castle, the winding ways that passed through the recesses of the wild wood, and the great highway sweeping on toward Florence the Fair, were all alive with crowds of peasants, in their holiday attire, wrinkled age and red-lipped youth, mature manhood and careless boyhood, all hastening onward toward the castle of Albarone, anxious to behold the marriage of the Duke and the Ladye Annabel.

The day wore on, and the court-yard was thronged by strange and contrasted bands; the peasant in his gay costume, the vassal in his rich livery, side by side with the man-at-arms clad in glittering mail, while the servitors of the house ran hurriedly to and fro, passing with hasty steps from hall to hall, from gallery to gallery, as the confused sounds of preparation for the bridal feast awoke the echoes of the arching corridor or pillared hall.

The first quarter of the day had passed, and the shadow of the dial plate in the castle yard, was gliding over the path of high noon.

As gay a bridal party as ever the sun shone upon, waited within the walls of the chapel of St. George. They waited for the coming of the bridegroom and bride.

There were queenly ladies and beauteous damsels, gallant lords and gay cavaliers, blazing in gorgeous attire; there, mingling with the men-at-arms of Albarone, thronged the retainers of the Duke, robed in the royal livery of his house; and beside the altar stood the priest and the father, the venerable abbot of St. Peters, arrayed in his sacred robes, and the sage and thoughtful Aldarin, Count Di Albarone, attired, as was his wont, in the plain tunic of sable velvet, relieved by the sweeping robe of black, with his pale forehead surmounted by the cap of fur, glittering with a single gem.

Long will it be, by my troth, very long--thus runs the words of the ancient MSS.--ere the light of day will look down upon a scene so full of gaiety and grandeur.

The tall and swelling forms of the noble dames, arrayed in all the richest silks that the East might furnish, covered with gold and brilliant with jewels;--the noble figures of the cavaliers, their gay doublets hung with the symbols of the various orders of chivalry, their belts of every variety of ornament, and of every fancy of embroidery, their diamond-hilted swords, their jeweled caps, surmounted by nodding plumes and their cloaks of the finest velvet depending carelessly from the right shoulder, and falling in graceful folds over the arm,--combined with the glare of Milan steel worn by the men-at-arms, and the glitter of the rich liveries of the retainers of the Duke, formed a scene of vivid and contrasting interest.

The gallant party began to express their wonder at the long delayed approach of the Duke and his fair bride, and even the venerable abbot betrayed marks of impatience.

It was worthy of note, that for the space of ten minutes or more, the Count Aldarin had stood beside the priest, silent and motionless, with his eyebrows knit, and his lips compressed, while he gazed steadily at the slabs of the mosaic pavement in front of the altar, which, for the space of some half score paces or more, was left bare and unoccupied by the crowd.

At last, placing his lips to the ear of the abbot, and hurriedly glancing around, as if fearful of being observed, the Count whispered--

“_What doth_ HE _here?_” he said, pointing to the pavement in front of the altar.

“To whom dost thou refer, my Lord Count?” inquired the Priest.

“S’life!” exclaimed the Count in a voice that trembled from some unknown cause; “S’life! I mean the _stranger_--he in the dark armor, with the raised vizor and that ghastly face. Dost not see him?”

“My Lord, there is no one before the altar attired in armor. Around us are the throng of Lords and Ladies--but all are arrayed in robes of peace. Mayhap you speak of one of the men-at-arms who stand yonder, near the door of the chapel?”

“Shaveling! I mean _the stranger_ who stands in front of the altar. He with the plume as dark as death falling over that pale and lofty forehead. He who gazes so fixedly with those glassy eyes--gazes and looks, yet speaks no word. By Heavens, he means to mock me. I will strike him down even where he stands!”

He advanced hurriedly to the front of the altar, and in an instant the bystanders beheld him striking his dagger in the air, while his pale features were convulsed by a strange expression.

“Thou shalt not escape me!” he shouted.--“Elude me not--I’ll have thee, coward! This to thy very heart! What, art thou dagger proof? Guards, I say, seize this traitor! Albarone to the rescue!”

It was with a feeling of indefinable awe, that the bridal throng beheld the Count Aldarin standing with his eyes strained from their very sockets, his brows woven together, and his whole face stamped with an expression which was neither terror nor hate, but seemed a mingling of terror, hate, and despair.

Two courtiers sprang at the same time from the group, crying as they drew their swords--

“My Lord, where is the traitor? Who is’t?”

“Shall I be slain upon my own ground? Where is the traitor? Before your eyes he stands. _He!_ I mean. Look--look! Behold! he leans upon the altar! He smiles in scorn--he mocks me!”

Aldarin stamped his foot with rage, and shrieked--

“By the Eternal God! but this is brave! Will ye see me murdered before your eyes! Seize--I say--seize the traitor!”

“Benedicite!” muttered the venerable abbot, gazing upon the wild face of Aldarin; “the fiend is among us!”

As he spoke, the Duke of Florence all daintily apparelled in his wedding dress, with surprise and vexation pictured in every lineament of his countenance, broke through the throng, exclaiming--

“My Lord Count, thy daughter is no where to be found. The Ladye Annabel hath gone: no one knoweth whither!”

“My Lord Duke,” said Aldarin in a whisper, “can’st thou tell me who is the stranger?”

“Eh?” exclaimed the astonished Duke, gazing upon Aldarin with a vacant stare.

“_He_ I mean who standeth by the altar. He in the sable armor--with the pale brow and the eyes of fire--with the dark plume overshadowing his helmet! By heavens, I behold under his plume the crest of the Winged Leopard!”

“By our Lady, but thou describest the late Count Di Albarone. Mayhap he comes from the grave to witness against his son, the vile parricide, he who hath fled with thy daughter. May the fiend curse him for’t!”

“_Fled with my daughter? my daughter fled?_” shouted Aldarin, as he suddenly seemed to break the spell that bound him.

“Pardon me, my friends. Anxiety for my child--grief for my brother--have driven me mad.--My brain is fevered--I am ill. My daughter fled, say’st thou? How?--when? What meanest thou?”

The Duke hurriedly turned to Guiseppo, who stood among the throng of bower maidens, who had followed his Grace into the chapel.

“Guiseppo, advance. What said the Ladye Annabel when thou didst return this morning from thy errand beyond the castle walls in company with the Jewish merchant. Eh? Guiseppo?”

“My Lord Duke,” replied the page, “I went not forth this morning from the castle walls--”

“Saving this presence,” cried a man-at-arms pressing forward, “saving this presence, Sir Page, but there thou liest. Did I not see thee go forth this morning at daybreak?--the Jew with thee, and thy face muffled up as if thou wert ashamed of thy errand?”

“How say you?” cried Aldarin, whose native perception had returned, “His face muffled? Come hither, girl,” he continued, addressing Rosalind, who stood among the throng of bower maidens. “Girl, when didst see thy mistress last?”

“My Lord Count,” said the maiden, “I left the Ladye Annabel last night at twelve: I slept within the ante-chamber adjoining her bower. This morning on knocking at her door I found it fastened. I did not like to disturb her, so I waited--” here Rosalind seemed confused, while the blush deepened over her cheek. “I waited, my Lord Count, hour after hour, until my Lord the Duke came to lead the bride to church. Then--then--”

“By the body of God, but I see it all!” thus exclaimed the Count Aldarin. “I have been fooled--duped, and by thee, girl! Thou art my own sister’s child, but think not to escape the vengeance of Aldarin! I see all--my daughter--the wanton!--has fled in the attire of this page, he too is a plotter, he who oweth life--fortune--everything--to me! Guards, seize the miscreant! Tremble--well thou may’st! Thou hast invoked the axe--beware its fall! To the lowest dungeon of the castle with him! away! To horse--to horse!” continued Aldarin, glancing round upon the astonished assemblage. “To horse--to horse!--mount every man! Scour every road, every path in the domains of Albarone! Sweep the highway to Florence! A thousand pieces of gold to him who brings the haggard back!”