Chapter THE NINTH: Three Days Elapse

JOY COMES AND POWER, BUT DEATH HAS GRASPED THE VICTIM.

The morning sunshine, streaming through the deep silled casement of the convent cell, filled the lonely chamber with light.

The arching roof and the pavement of stone, the dark gray walls, thronged with monkish effigies, and the distant corner of the room, all glowed with warm glimpses of the daybeams, while a solitary soldier strode slowly along the floor, his brow darkening with a frown, as, with his clear blue eyes fixed on vacancy his mind was absorbed in painful thought.

“St. Withold! and all the Saints in heaven or earth save me now!” he absently muttered, as his right hand grasped the hilt of his good sword.--“Here’s a new wonder, a fresh mystery! Three--three days agone--we were all fighting and slashing, leading murderers to death, and pulling Dukes from their thrones, daring death in as many shapes as swords are fashioned, and all for my Lord Adrian, and lo! we bend all things to our will, dethrone the tyrant, and fill the people’s throats with an outcry for the new duke, and what comes next? Answer my good Robin--answer my old friend--where is the new duke? God knows, and the Saints might tell, an’ we knew how to ask them, but not a whit does Rough Robin know about the matter. The old priest was wont to tell me that the ways of HIM above--off with thy cap, Robin--were full of mysterie. I never knew what he meant till now--”

The small door of the cell slowly grated on its hinges, and as the yeoman turned to discover the cause, he beheld standing before him a cavalier whose form was attired in glossy purple and bright gold, yet all soiled and tarnished with dust, while his young face, pale and careworn, bore traces of the fearful struggle that had shaken his soul within the past few days.

“Ah--Guiseppo! Pale and careworn--thine attire covered with dust--thy broken plume sweeping o’er thy brow----whence came ye boy, in such attire and in such a ghastly trim?”

“I greet thee, good Robin. Yesternight I left the Castle of Albarone--this morn I journeyed from the walls of Florence!”

“Thou dost bear a message?”

“I come from the nobles and the people of Florence! Three nights agone the old walls of the fair city rang with the clash of arms and the peal of trumpet, while the tramp of contending foemen shook the floor of the ducal palace, and the glimmer of their swords was reflected in the very mirrors of the Tyrant-Duke. The morning dawned at last, and dawned on Florence, no longer oppressed by the tyrant, or awed by the vassals of his power. Then it was that the nobles of Florence named their new Duke, then it was that the people confirmed their choice, while the solemn HIGH PRIEST OF THE INVISIBLE, by a parchment scroll affixed to a pillar of the grand cathedral, pronounced his blessing on the fortune of Adrian, Count of Albarone and Duke of Florence--”

“Thus far all was well. Then ye learned the mysterious disappearance of Lord Adrian? Speak I the truth, Guiseppo? The dark scenes which three nights agone gave new legends of horror to the walls of this convent of darkness? The death-bowl administered by the hands of Albertine--the watch of the Ladye Annabel beside the corse--the disappearance of the body, and what troubles me but little, the disappearance of the tyrant-duke? A thousand such dukes might disappear, and we could tell, without a doubt, what became of them all, ‘the devil takes care of his own’ saith the adage--”

“Hast thou no word of the Lord Adrian?”

“Ask the tombs in the aisles of the convent chapel, which yesternoon we ransacked in search of his body, and let their yawning mouths tell the story of our fruitless labor. St. Withold! scarce a foot of earth in the convent garden that we did not turn to the sun in our search--not a cell in the earth-hidden recesses of this foul den, that we failed to illumine with the glare of our torches, not a wizard nook or a blood-stained corner in this devil’s hall, but was laid open to the light, in our strange chase after the body of the dead! And it was all in vain, Guiseppo, all in vain!”

“The Ladye Annabel--hast thou no word of her, Rough Robin?”

“St. Withold, I see her now! Traversed we the dark walls in search of the corse? She went with us, though her feet sunk ankle-deep in the dust of the dead, at every step. She led us on to the fatal room, where the corse had been stolen from her grasp, while bewitched by the drugged potion; she pointed the way to the dark cavern beneath the convent, and when every heart failed, awed with supernatural fear, she, even the fair and gentle Ladye Annabel, still cried on, and on! An’ the saints shower not their blessings on her head, I’ll turn Paynim-hound, and kiss the crescent!”

“Dwelleth the Ladye still within the Convent walls?”

“Since the hour of our search yesternight, she hath shrouded herself within the recesses of the apartments furnished for her use by the vassals of Albarone, when they hastened hither, two days agone. Hast thou a message for the Ladye?”

“I bear a message for the Ladye, and a parchment scroll for the INVISIBLE! Robin come hither--a word in thy ear!”

With the mystic sign of a Neophyte of the Holy Steel, he asked the way to the solemn place, where the order assembled holding their secret yet mighty councils.

“Even now they hold their solemn council, within these convent walls,” answered Robin the Rough.--“In a moment I’ll lead thee to the secret chamber. Yet stay a single moment, Guiseppo. Thou knowest I left the castle on that fearful day, when, when, od’s death I cannot name the deed--”

“That blow, Saints of Heaven! will the _memory_ never pass from my brain! Thou wouldst speak of--of my father?”

“Does the old man live?”

“When thou didst leave the castle, I stood watching silently beside the door of the chamber where lay my father, my own father, stricken down by the hand--the hand of his own son.”

“You watched beside the door, while the leech who had been hurried from the City of Florence disrobed your father, and probed the dagger wound?”

“And I--I, stood trembling beside the door waiting the appearance of the leech, every moment expecting to hear the words--‘Thy father is dead! _Dead_--murdered by his _son_!’ I stood beside the chamber door, all alive with horror, my fancy picturing the dagger, which but a few hours agone, I had drawn from his heart, the point crimsoned with one fearful stain of blood, there I stood, fire in my brain, and hell in my heart, when--”

“Ha, ha, ha--Ho, ho, ho! I have the brand, the flaming brand,” a wild and maddened voice awoke the echoes of the corridor leading to the cell, with its tones of maniac yell. “Ho, ho, ho! I have the brand, the flaming brand! Look ye how it flashes on high, ’tis a serpent, a merry serpent with tongue of fire! Ha, ha, for the brand, the flaming brand!”

The small door of the cell grated on its hinges, and in the very centre of the pavement, brandishing a fire-brand over his head, there stood, a weak and trembling old man, his thin face, with the vacant eye and hanging lip, flushed with madness, while his voice half shriek and half yell, rang echoing round the room.

The brand, ha, ha, the flaming brand! Ha, ha, ye brought the old man no food! Ho, ho, ho, Old Glow-worm and his comrades starve, yet there is a merry blaze in the vault below, I trow! Rafters are all aflame, massy bolts are red with fire, and my comrades go shouting merrily through the long vaults, waving their brands on high, and singing a joyous song as they go--

“Then raise the chaunt,
Then swell the stave--
Here’s to Death, all grim and gaunt,
And to his home, the grave!”