"TENDIMUS IN LATIUM"
It was very hot.
Commendone stood in the ante-chamber of the torturers.
He wore the garment of black linen, the hood of the same, with the two
circular orifices for his eyes.
John Hull kept touching him with an almost caressing movement--John
Hull, a grotesque and terrible figure also in his torturer's dress.
Alonso moved about the place hurriedly, putting this and that to rights,
looking after his instruments, but with a flitting, bird-like movement,
showing how deeply he was excited.
The room was a long, low place. The ceiling but just above their heads.
A glowing fire was at one end, and shelves all round the room. At one
side of the fire was a portable brazier of iron, glowing with coals, and
on the top of it a shape of white-hot metal was lying.
Alonso came up to Commendone, a dreadful black figure, a silently moving
figure, with nothing humanly alive about him save only the two slits
through which his eyes might be seen.
"Courage, Senor," he whispered, "it will not be long now."
Johnnie, unaware that he himself was an equally hideous and sinister
figure, nodded, and swallowed something in his throat.
John Hull, short, broad, and dreadful in this black disguise, sidled up
to him.
"Master," he whispered, "it will soon be over, and we shall win away. We
have been in a very evil case before, and that went well. Now that we
are dressed in these grave-clothes and must do bitter business, we must
make up our minds to do it. 'Tis for the sake of Mistress Elizabeth,
whom we love--Jesus! what is that hell-hound doing?"
The broad figure shuddered, and into the kindly English voice came a
note of horror.
Johnnie turned also, and saw that the torturer was tumbling several
long-handled pincers into a wooden tray. Then the torturer took one of
them up, and turned the glowing _something_ in the brazier, quietly,
professionally, though the red glow that fell upon his horrible black
costume gave him indeed the aspect of a devil from the pit--the bloody
pantomime which was designed!
The two Englishmen stood shoulder to shoulder and shuddered, as they saw
this figure moving about the glowing coals.
Johnnie took a half-step forward, when Hull pressed him back.
"God's death, master," Hull said. "_We_ look like that; we are even as
he is in aspect; we have to do our work--now!"
A door to the right suddenly swung open. Two steps led up to it, and a
face peeped round. It was the face of a bearded man, with heavy eyebrows
and very white cheeks. Upon the head was a biretta of black velvet.
The head nodded. "We are ready," came the voice from it. The door fell
to again.
Then Alonso came up to Johnnie. "The work begins," he said, in a gruff
voice, from which all respect had gone with design. "You and Juan will
carry in that brazier of coals."
He went to the door, mounted the two stone steps, and held it open.
Johnnie and Hull bore in the brazier up the steps, and into a large room
lit, but not very brightly, with candles set in sconces upon the walls.
Following the directions of Alonso, they placed the brazier in a far
corner, and stood by it, waiting in silence.
They were in a big, arched dungeon, far under ground, as it seemed. At
one end of it there was an alcove, brilliantly lit. In the alcove was a
dais, or platform. On the platform was a long table draped with black,
and set with silver candlesticks. On the wall behind was a great
crucifix of white and black--the figure of the Christ made of plaster,
or white painted wood, the cross of ebony. In the centre of the long
table sat Don Diego Deza. On one side of him was a man in a robe of
velvet and a flat cap. On the other, the person who had peeped through
the door into the room of the torturers.
There came a beating, a heavy, muffled knock, upon a door to the left of
the alcove.
Alonso left the others and hurried to the door. With some effort he
pulled back a lever which controlled several massive bolts. The door
swung open, there was a red glare of torches, and two dark figures,
piloted by the torturer, half-led, half-carried the bound figure of a
man into the room.
They placed this figure upon an oak stool with a high back, a yard or
two away from the dais, and then quietly retired.
As the door leading to the prison closed, Alonso shot the bolts into
their place, and, returning, stood by the stool on which was the figure.
The notary came down from the platform, followed by the physician. In
his hand was a parchment and a pen; while a long ink-horn depended from
his belt. Father Deza was left alone at the table above.
"I have read thy depositions," the Inquisitor said, speaking down to the
man, "wherein thou hast not refuted in detail the terrible blasphemies
of Servetus, and therefore, Luis Mercader, I thank the Son of God, Who
deputeth to me the power to sentence thee at the end of this thy
struggle between Holy Church and thine own obstinate blasphemies. In
accordance with justice of my brother inquisitors, I now sign thy
warrant for death, which is indeed our right and duty to execute a
blasphemous person after a regular examination. Thou art to be burnt
anon at the forthcoming Act of Faith. Thou art to be delivered to the
secular arm to suffer this last penalty. Thy blood shall not be upon our
heads, for the Holy Office is ever merciful. But before thou goest, in
our kindness we have ordained that thou shalt learn something of the
sufferings to come. For so only, between this night and the day of thy
death, shalt thou have opportunity to reason with thyself, perchance
recant thy errors, and make thy peace with God."
He had said this in a rapid mutter, a monotone of vengeance. As he
concluded he nodded to the black figure by the prisoner's chair.
Alonso turned round. With shaking footsteps, Hull and Johnnie came up to
him, carrying ropes.
There was a quick whisper.
"Tie him up--_thus_--_yes, the hands behind the back of the stool_; the
left leg bound fast--it is the right foot upon which we put the
_trampezo_."
They did it deftly and quietly. Under the long linen garments which
concealed them, their hearts were beating like drums, their throats were
parched and dry, their eyes burnt as they looked out upon this dreadful
scene.
The notary went back to the dais, and sat beside Father Deza. The
surgeon took Alonso aside. Johnnie heard what he said....
"It will be all right; he can bear it; he will not die; in any case the
_auto da fe_ will be in three days; he _must_ endure it; have the water
ready to bring him back if he fainteth."
The chirurgeon went back to the alcove and sat on the other side of the
Inquisitor.
"Bring up the brazier," Alonso said to Commendone.
Together Johnnie and Hull carried it to the chair.
"Now send Juan for the pincers...."
There came a long, low wail of despair from the broken, motionless
figure on the stool. The long pincers, like those with which a
blacksmith pulls out a shoe from the charcoal, were produced....
The torturer took the glowing _thing_ on the top of the brazier, and
pulled it off, scattering the coals as he did so.
Close to the foot of the bound figure he placed the glowing shoe. Then
he motioned to Hull to take up the other side of it with his pincers,
and put it in place so that the foot of the victim should be clamped to
it and burnt away.
John Hull took up the long pincers, and caught hold of one side of the
shoe.
Johnnie turned his head away; he looked straight through his black hood
at the three people on the dais.
The notary was quietly writing. The surgeon was looking on with cool
professional eye; but Don Deza was watching the imminent horror below
him with a white face which dripped with sweat, with eyes dilated to two
rims, gazing, gazing, _drinking the sight in_. Every now and again the
Inquisitor licked his pallid lips with his tongue. And in that moment of
watching, Johnnie knew that Cruelty, for the sake of Cruelty, the mad
pleasure of watching suffering in its most hideous forms, was the hidden
vice, the true nature, of this priest of Courts.
At the moment, and doubtless at many other moments in the past, Father
Deza was compensating, and had compensated, for a life of abstinence
from sensual indulgence. He was giving scope to the deadlier vices of
the heart, pride, bigotry, intolerance, and horrid cruelty--those vices
far more opposed to the hope of salvation, and far more extensively
mischievous to society, than anything the sensualist can do.
The bitterness of it; the horror of it--this was the wine the brilliant
priest was drinking, had drunk, and would ever drink. Into him had come
a devil which had killed his soul, and looked out from his narrow
twitching eyes, rejoicing that it saw these things with the symbol of
God's pain high above it, with the cloak of God's Church upon his
shoulders.
As Johnnie watched, fascinated with an unnameable horror, he heard a
loud shout close to his ear. He saw a black-hooded, thick figure pass
him and rush towards the dais.
In the hands of this figure was a long pair of blacksmith's pincers, and
at the end of the pincers was a shoe of white-hot metal.
There was another loud shout, a broad band of white light, as the mass
of glowing metal shot through the air in a hissing arc, and then the
face of the Inquisitor disappeared and was no more.
At that moment both Commendone and the sworn torturer realised what had
happened. They leapt nimbly on to the dais. From under his robe Alonso
took a stiletto and plunged it into the throat of the notary; while
Johnnie, in a mad fury, caught the physician by the neck, placed his
open hand upon the man's chin, and bent his head back, slowly, steadily,
and with terrible pressure, until there was a faint click, and the
black-robed figure sank down.
The _trampezo_ was burning into the wooden floor of the dais. Alonso ran
back into the room, caught up a pail of water, and poured it upon the
gathering flames. There was a hiss, and a column of steam rose up into
the alcove.
He turned his head and looked at the motionless form of the Inquisitor.
The face was all black and red, and rising into white blisters.
He turned to Commendone. "He's dead, or dying," he said, "and now, thou
hast indeed cast the die, and all is over. Thy man hath spoilt it all,
and nothing remains for us but death."
"Silence!" Johnnie answered, captain of himself now, and of all of them
there. "How is the next prisoner to be summoned?"
The torturer understood him. "Why," he said, "we may yet save
ourselves!--that bell there"--he pointed to a hanging cord. "That
summons the jailors. They are waiting to bring the Senorita for
judgment. Don Luis, there, who was to undergo the _trampezo_, would not
have been taken back into the prison at once, but into our room, where
the surgeon would have attended him. Therefore, we will ring for the
Senorita. She will be pushed into this place very gently. The door will
not be opened wide. Doors are never widely opened in the Holy Office.
The jailors will see us taking charge of her, and all will be well. If
not, get your poignard ready, Senor, and you, too, Juan, for 'twill be
better to die a fighting death in this cellar than to wait for what
would come hereafter."
He stretched out his hand and pulled down the bell-cord.
They stood waiting in absolute silence, Alonso and John Hull, in their
dreadful disguise, standing close to the door.
There was not a sound in the brilliantly lit room. The victim that was
to be had fainted away, and lay as dead as the three corpses upon the
dais. There was a smell of hot coal, of burning wood, and still there
came a little sizzling noise from the half-quenched glowing iron upon
the platform.
Thud!
A quiet answering knock from Alonso. Another thud--the heave of the
lever, the slither of the bolts, the door opening a little, murmured
voices, and a low, shuddering cry of horror, as a tall girl, in a long
woollen garment, a coarse garment of wool dyed yellow, was pushed into
the embrace of the black-hooded figures who stood waiting for her.
Clang--the bolts were shot back.
Then a tearing, ripping noise, as Hull pulled the black hood from his
face and shoulders.
"My dear, my dear," he cried, "Miss Lizzie. 'Tis over now. Fear nothing!
I and thy true love have brought thee to safety."
The girl gave a great cry. "Johnnie! Johnnie!"
He rushed up to her, and held her in his arms. He was still clothed in
the dreadful disguise of a torturer. It had not come into his mind to
take it off. But she was not frightened. She knew his arms, she heard
his voice, she sank fainting upon his shoulder.
* * * * *
Once more it was John Hull speaking in English who brought the lovers to
realisation. His strong and anxious voice was seconded by the Spanish of
Alonso.
"Quick! quick!" both the men said. "All hath gone well. We have a start
of many hours, but we must be gone from here at once."
Johnnie released Elizabeth from his arms, and then he also doffed the
terror-inspiring costume which he wore.
"Sweetheart," he said, "go you with John Hull and this Alonso into the
room beyond, where they will give you robes to wear. I will join you in
less than a minute."
They passed away with quick, frightened footsteps.
But as for Commendone, he went to the centre of the alcove, and knelt
down just below the long black table.
The three bodies of the men they had slain he could not see. He could
only see the black form of the tablecloth, and above it the great white
Crucifix.
He prayed that nothing he had done upon this night should stain his
soul, that Jesus--as indeed he believed--had been looking on him and all
that he did, with help and favour.
And once more he renewed his vow to live for Jesus and for the girl he
loved.
Crossing himself, he rose, and clapped his hands to his right side. Once
more he found he was without a sword. He bowed again to the cross. "It
will come back to me," he said, in a quiet voice.
He turned to go, he had no concern with those who lay dead above him;
but as he went towards the door leading to the place of the torturers,
his eye fell upon the oak stool in the middle of the room--the oak chair
by which the brazier still glowed, and in which a silent, doll-like
figure was bound.
He stepped up to the chair, and immediately he saw that Don Luis was
dead.
The shock had killed him. He lay back there with patches of grey marked
in his hair, as if fingers had been placed upon it--a young face, now
prematurely old, and writhed into horror, but with a little quiet smile
of satisfaction upon it after all....
* * * * *
And so they sailed away to the Court of Rome, to take a high part in
what went forward in the palace of the Vatican. They were to be fused
into that wonderful revival of Learning and the Arts known as the
Renaissance.
God willing, and still seeing fit to give strength to the hand and mind
of the present chronicler, what they did in Rome, all that befell them
there, and of Johnnie's friendship and adventures with Messer Benvenuto
Cellini will be duly set out in another volume during the year of Grace
to come.
_Et veniam pro laude peto: laudatus abunde
Non fastiditus si tibi, lector, ero._