black, the cap of dark fur on his forehead, with the blaze of a single
gem relieving its midnight darkness, standing silent and motionless on
one side of the hall door, his keen gray eyes half hidden by his brows,
as though he was absent with thoughts of more than mortal interest.
The Duke, the gallant Duke, all show, and glitter, and costume, a
doublet of white satin encircling his well-proportioned form, a cloak of
the most delicate crimson depending from his left shoulder, the hilt of
his jeweled sword glittering in the light; while his dainty cap of pink
velvet, with the snow-white plume thrown aside from its front,
surmounted his vacant face, marked by the neatly circled hair, the
carefully trimmed moustache and beard. His eyes glared vacantly to and
fro, and it might easily be seen that his grace of Florence was on a
mental excursion after his looking glass.
This flashing of torches, this gallant array, heralded the approach of
the Ladye Annabel, who presently emerged from the hall door, followed by
a long line of the bower maidens, arrayed, like their mistress, in
flowing robes, white as the mountain snow untouched by the summer sun.
The face of the Ladye Annabel was pale as the attire that enveloped her
slender form, and she leaned for support on the arm of her black-eyed
cousin, the damsel Rosalind.
Pale and beautiful, the victim of the sacrifice of the morrow, neither
returned the deep inclination of the head with which the Duke of
Florence greeted her appearance, nor glanced upon the countenance of her
father; but slowly moved down the steps of stone, her eyes downcast, and
her face calm as the sculptured marble.
“She is pale,” murmured Aldarin, “pale as death! She walks with the
measured step of the victim walking to the living tomb!”
“I’ faith, she is beautiful!” muttered the Duke. “My bride will hang
like a pleasant costume on this royal arm!”
The black-bearded Hebrew gazed upon the Ladye Annabel with a keen and
searching eye, while the Arab mute, standing at his back, bowed his head
low on his breast, and veiled his face with one hand, as the other was
thrust within the folds of his coarse doublet.
Slowly the procession ascended the steps of stone, one foot of the
betrothed was upon the pavement of the castle yard, when a rushing sound
was heard, a hurried footstep, and the Jew rushed through the
men-at-arms--flinging himself at the maiden’s feet, he threw open the
casket which he held in his hand.
“Fair ladye,” he cried, in a deep-toned voice, “It is the lace--the lace
of price, which two days since I promised to procure thee. ’Tis worth
its weight in gold--aye, an hundred times over! Look, ladye--’tis the
best that gold or favor might procure.”
The Ladye Annabel started at the uncouth appearance and bearded face of
the Jew, while the bystanders seemed struck dumb with his audacity.
In an instant cries of execration arose on all sides. The Count Aldarin
advanced hastily to his daughter’s side, while the Duke of Florence
muttered an involuntary oath, as two of the men-at-arms raised their
swords to hew the Israelite to the earth.
It was a fearful moment, and the Jew seemed to feel that his fate was
wavering like the sunbeam on the point of a brightened dagger.
He made a quick gesture to the Arab mute, he seized the wrist of the
fair Rosalind, and looking her earnestly in the face, whispered a
hurried word in the maiden’s ear, deep and piercing in its import, yet
inaudible to the group clustered around.
Rosalind turned pale, started quickly aside, but in a moment seemed
chiding herself for this folly, as with a smile on her lip she spoke to
the Ladye Annabel in a low and murmured tone. Annabel started, with the
quick convulsive start that follows an overwhelming surprise.
She started, but in a moment recovering herself, she exclaimed with a
firm voice, and extended arms--
“Touch him not--do the Jew no harm! It is by my command that he is here.
Sir Merchant,” she continued, with a smile of kindly meaning, “you will
wait for me, in the hall of the castle--there will I look at your wares
when the evening mass is done.”
“This is wondrous strange,” murmured Aldarin. “Some changing woman’s
fancy, I trow--”
“Certes, the lace must be rare in texture, and quaint in device!” half
muttered the Duke. “Yet I never knew that there was magic in the mere
mention of such costly gear, before this moment!”
The men-at-arms released the Jew, and the procession passed on towards
the more distant precincts of the castle, where the light of many
torches presently streamed from the arching windows of the chapel of St.
George of Albarone, showing in full and beautiful relief the snow-white
forms of the maidens, passing through the sacred door of the church
followed by the Count Aldarin and the Duke, environed by a glittering
throng of cavaliers.
Meanwhile, alone and in the darkness, deserted by the crowd, near the
hall door, stood the Hebrew and his Mute Servitor, gazing ardently upon
the receding procession, until the last cavalier disappeared within the
walls of the chapel.
Then it was that a grim smile passed over the bearded face of the Jew,
while the Arab boy started wildly aside clenching his hands with sudden
agitation, as the strains of the Holy Mass, floating from the chapel,
broke upon his ear.
An hour passed. The holy ceremonies of religion had ceased to echo
through the walls of the chapel. The Ladye Annabel attended by her
maidens had again passed into the castle hall. Beside one of the pillars
of the lofty door, stood the gallant Guiseppo, his arms folded and his
eyes fixed upon the heavens above.
Guiseppo was enrapt in the mysteries of a sombre study.
He was just wondering what the stars could be made of, whether they were
veritable balls of fire, unstable meteors, or angel’s eyes--how it
chanced that they were lighted up so regularly every night, stormy ones
of course excepted--where they went in day-time--and then he fell to
thinking of angels, fairies, and other beings made all out of air--and
from angels it was quite natural that his thoughts should pass to woman;
and with the thought of woman came dim, floating visions of ancles well
turned, black eyes beaming like living things, ruby lips wreathing in a
smile, while they wooed the kiss of love. There is no knowing how far
his musings might have gone, had he not been disturbed by the sound of a
footstep breaking the silence of the castle yard. He looked in the
direction from whence the sound proceeded, and beheld a strange figure,
clad in solemn black, approaching from the gloom of the court-yard. It
drew nearer and nearer, and Guiseppo beheld the form of the Scholar
Aldarin.
He came slowly onward, toward the light burning over the hall door, and
the Page remembered in after life that his face was most ghastly to
behold, most fearful to look upon.
His head drooped upon his breast over his folded arms, his eyes dilated
to their utmost, glaring vacantly on the earth, while his lips moved in
broken murmurs, the Scholar ascended the steps of stone, as the Page
observed him from the shadow of a massive pillar.
“It hastens, it hastens to perfection--THE MIGHTY SPELL! The
marriage--ha, ha, Duchess of Florence!--HE shall live again--ha, ha! the
world shall not say Aldarin toiled in vain! The secret--a few more
days--ALDARIN LIVES FOREVER!”
And as the murmurs broke wildly from his lips, the Scholar disappeared
within the shadow of the hall door, leaving the careless Guiseppo to
the memory of that fearful face. It was an appalling memory. Guiseppo’s
cheek grew pale, and his whole frame trembled with an indefinable fear.
How long he remained in this state he knew not, but after a long lapse
of dreamy reverie, he was startled by a slight tap on his shoulder.
Looking around, he beheld the beaming eyes of the fair Rosalind fixed
upon him with a glance which for the moment banished the face of Aldarin
from his mind, and made his heart knock sadly against his breast.
“What wouldst have, Rosalind?” _The maiden whispered in his ear._
It was curious to see the change that came over the countenance of the
page; the pallor vanished from his visage, which swelled out on either
side as though he had an orange in each cheek, his lips were curiously
pursed, while his eyes rolled about in his head after a strange fashion.
“Eh? Rosalind?” he cried, as if he had not understood her aright.
Again did the maiden whisper in his ear.
“By our Lady!” exclaimed Guiseppo, “but this does exceed everything that
I ever did hear. Art not crazed, sweetheart?”
“Say, Guiseppo, wilt do it for my sake!”
The bewitching smile with which this was said, appeared to complete the
conquest of the page.
“I’ll obey thee,” he cried, “but surely ’tis a strange request.”
“_Strange?_ nonsense! Never call the whim of woman--_strange_! Hie thee
away and do ’t immediately. I will tell thee more concerning this matter
in the evening. Away! away!”
And as the lovely damsel tripped lightly down the steps and wended her
way toward the castle gate, on an errand whose import may possibly be
revealed in future pages of this history, the page Guiseppo entered the
hall of the castle, while his frame shook with a pleasant fit of inward
laughter.
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!”
CHAPTER THE SIXTH.
SIR GEOFFREY O’ TH’ LONGSWORD.
THE SPIRIT OF THE CHRONICLE THROWS BACK THE CURTAIN OF FATE, AND GIVES
TO VIEW SOME GLIMPSES OF THE LAST SCENE, IN WHICH THE BARBS OF ARIMANES
BECOME THE AVENGERS OF HEAVEN.
Along a mossy, winding path, that led through the sunlit glades and
shady recesses of a green and bowery forest, two travellers, one a
stripling and the other a man of some forty winters, were wending their
way, while the dew was yet upon the turf, and while the morning carol of
innumerable birds arose from the bosom of the rich foliage.
--Thus in his own enthusiastic way speaks the Chronicler of the Ancient
MSS. His words, it is true are somewhat redundant, but yet there is
heart in them after all.--
The cheeks of the youth were strangely puffed out, his lips were
gathered like the mouth of a purse, while he whistled with an
earnestness that was certainly wonderful. Presently he spoke--
“By’r Ladye, but that was the most exquisite thing of all. Eh? Good
Robin? The idea of thy carcass being perched upon the back of the Demon
Statue in that pestilent cavern. And frightening the old Count into
fits, too! Ha! ha! ha! ’Twas rich! By the Saints it was! Oh, Robin, thou
art certainly the very devil for mischief! That prank of gagging the old
Israelite, and stealing his beard, coat, pack and all, was cruel, by my
troth it was! Where didst thou leave the old gripefist?”