1st MONK.--The storm increases; hark! how dismally
It sounds along the cloisters!
BERNARD.--As on I hastened, bearing thus my light,
Across my path, not fifty paces off,
I saw a murdered corse, stretched on its back,
Smeared with new blood, as though but freshly slain.
JOANNA BAILLIE.
The apartment adjoining the council-room of the castle, and selected
this night as the scene of King Ferdinand's banquet, was at the
commencement of the storm filled with the expected guests. From forty
to fifty were there assembled, chosen indiscriminately from the
Castilians and Arragonese, the first statesmen and bravest warriors
of the age. But the usual animated discussion, the easy converse, and
eager council, had strangely, and almost unconsciously, sunk into a
gloomy depression, so universal and profound, that every effort
to break from it, and resume the general topics of interest, was
fruitless. The King himself was grave almost to melancholy, though
more than once he endeavored to shake it off, and speak as usual. Men
found themselves whispering to each other as if they feared to speak
aloud--as if some impalpable and invisible horror were hovering round
them. It might have been that the raging storm without affected all
within, with a species of awe, to which even the wisest and the
bravest are liable when the Almighty utters His voice in the tempest,
and the utter nothingness of men comes home to the proudest heart.
But there was another cause. One was missing from the council and the
board; the seat of Don Ferdinand Morales was vacant, and unuttered but
absorbing anxiety occupied every mind. It was full two hours, rather
more, from the given hour of meeting; the council itself had been
delayed, and was at length held without him, but so unsatisfactory did
it prove, that many subjects were postponed. They adjourned to the
banquet-room; but the wine circled but slowly, and the King leant back
on his chair, disinclined apparently for either food or drink.
"The storm increases fearfully," observed the aged Duke of Murcia,
a kinsman of the King, as a flash of lightning blazed through the
casements, of such extraordinary length and brilliance, that even the
numerous lustres, with which the room was lighted, looked dark when
it disappeared. It was followed by a peal of thunder, loud as if a
hundred cannons had been discharged above their heads, and causing
several glasses to be shivered on the board. "Unhappy those compelled
to brave it."
"Nay, better out than in," observed another. "There is excitement in
witnessing its fury, and gloom most depressing in listening to it
thus."
"Perchance 'tis the shadow of the coming evil," rejoined Don Felix
d'Estaban. "Old legends say, there is never a storm like this, without
bringing some national evil on its wings."
"Ha! say they so?" demanded the King, suddenly, that his guests
started. "And is there truth in it?"
"The lovers of such marvels would bring your Grace many proofs that,
some calamity always followed such a tempest," replied Don Felix. "It
may or may not be. For my own part, I credit not such things. We are
ourselves the workers of evil--no fatality lurking in storms."
"Fated or casual, if evil has occurred to Don Ferdinand Morales,
monarch and subject will alike have cause to associate this tempest
with national calamity," answered the King, betraying at once the
unspoken, but engrossing subject of his thoughts. "Who saw him last?"
Don Felix d'Estaban replied that he had seen him that day two hours
before sunset.
"And where, my Lord--at home or abroad?"
"In his own mansion, which he said he had not quitted that day," was
the rejoinder.
"And how seemed he? In health as usual?"
"Ay, my liege, save that he complained of a strange oppressiveness,
disinclining him for all exertion."
"Did he allude to the council of to-night?"
"He did, my Lord, rejoicing that he should be compelled to rouse
himself from his most unwonted mood of idleness."
"Then some evil has befallen him," rejoined the King; and the
contraction of his brow denied the calmness, implied by his unmoved
tone. "We have done wrong in losing all this time, Don Alonzo," he
added, turning to the Senor of Aguilar, "give orders that a band of
picked men scour every path leading hence to Morales' mansion: head
them thyself, an thou wilt, we shall the more speedily receive
tidings. Thine eyes have been more fixed on Don Ferdinand's vacant
seat, than on the board this last hour; so hence, and speed thee, man.
It may be he is ill: we have seen men stricken unto death from one
hour to the other. If there be no trace of him in either path, hie
thee to his mansion; but return not without news. Impalpable evil is
ever worse than the tangible and real."
Don Alonzo scarcely waited the conclusion of the King's speech, so
eager was he to depart; and the longing looks cast after him betrayed
how many would have willingly joined him in his search.
"His wife?" repeated the King, in answer to some suggestions of his
kinsman's. "Nay, man; hast thou yet to learn, that Morales' heart
would break ere he would neglect his duty? No: physical incapacity
would alone have sufficient power to keep him from us--no mental ill."
If the effort to continue indifferent conversation had been difficult
before, it now became impossible. The very silence felt ominous. What
evil could have befallen? was asked internally by each individual; but
the vague dread, the undefined horror of something terrible impending,
prevented all reply; and so nearly an hour passed, when, far removed
as was the council-room from the main body of the castle, a confusion
as of the entrance of many feet, and the tumultuary sound of eager
voices, was distinguished, seeming to proceed from the great hall.
"It cannot be Don Alonzo so soon returned," remarked the Duke of
Murcia; but even as he spoke, and before the King had time to make an
impatient sign for silence, so intently was he listening, the Lord of
Aguilar himself re-entered the apartment.
"Saints of heaven!" ejaculated the King, and his exclamation was
echoed involuntarily by all around. The cheek of the warrior, never
known to blanch before, was white as death; his eye haggard and wild;
his step so faltering, that his whole frame reeled. He sunk on the
nearest seat, and, with a shuddering groan, pressed both hands before
his eyes.
"Wine! wine! give him wine!" cried Ferdinand impetuously, pushing a
brimming goblet towards him. "Drink, man, and speak, in Heaven's name.
What frightful object hast thou seen, to bid thee quail, who never
quailed before? Where is Morales? Hast thou found him?"
"Ay," muttered Don Alonzo, evidently struggling to recall his
energies, while the peculiar tone of the single monosyllable caused
every heart to shudder.
"And where is he? Why came he not hither? Why neglect our royal
summons?" continued the King, hurrying question after question with
such an utter disregard of his usual calm, imperturbable cautiousness,
that it betrayed far more than words how much he dreaded the Senor's
reply. "Speak, man; what has detained him?"
"_Death_!" answered the warrior, his suppressed grief and horror
breathing in his hollow voice; and rising, he approached the King's
seat, and kneeling down, said in that low, concentrated tone, which
reaches every ear, though scarce louder than a whisper, "Sire, he is
murdered!"
"Murdered!" reiterated the King, as the word was echoed in all the
various intonations of horror, grief, and indignation from all around;
and he laid his hand heavily on Aguilar's shoulder--"Man, man, how can
this be? Who would dare lift up the assassin's hand against him--him,
the favorite of our subjects as of ourselves? Who had cause of
enmity--of even rivalship with him? Thou art mistaken, man; it
_cannot_ be! Thou art scared with the sight of murder, and no marvel;
but it cannot be Morales thou hast seen."
"Alas! my liege, I too believed it not; but the murdered corpse now
lying in the hall will be too bloody witness of my truth."
The King released his hold, and without a word of rejoinder, strode
from the apartment, and hastily traversing the long galleries, and
many stairs, neither paused nor spoke, till, followed by all his
nobles, he reached the hall. It was filled with soldiers, who, with
loud and furious voices, mingled execrations deep and fearful on
the murderer, with bitter lamentations on the victim. A sudden
and respectful hush acknowledged the presence of the Sovereign;
Ferdinand's brows were darkly knit, his lip compressed, his eyes
flashing sternly over the dense crowd; but he asked no question, nor
relaxed his hasty stride till he stood beside the litter on which,
covered with a mantle, the murdered One was lying. For a single minute
he evidently paused, and his countenance, usually so controlled as
never to betray emotion, visibly worked with some strong feeling,
which seemed to prevent the confirmation of his fears, by the trifling
movement of lifting up the mantle. But at length, and with a hurried
movement, it was cast aside; and there lay that noble form, cold,
rigid in death! The King pushed the long, jetty hair, now clotted with
gore, from the cheek on which it had fallen; and he recognized, too
well, the high, thoughtful brow, now white, cold as marble; the large,
dark eye, whose fixed and glassy stare had so horribly replaced the
bright intelligence, the sparkling lustre so lately there. The
clayey, sluggish white of death was already on his cheek; his lip,
convulsively compressed, and the left hand tightly clenched, as if the
soul had not been thus violently reft from the body, without a strong:
pang of mortal agony. His right hand had stiffened round the hilt
of his unsheathed sword, for the murderous blow had been dealt from
behind, and with such fatal aim, that death must have been almost
instantaneous, and the tight grasp of his sword the mere instinctive
movement of expiring nature. Awe-struck, chilled to the heart, did the
noble friends of the departed gather round him. On the first removal
of the mantle, an irresistible yell of curses on the murderer burst
forth from the soldiery, wrought into fury at thus beholding their
almost idolized commander; but the stern woe on the Sovereign's face
hushed them into silence; and the groan of grief and horror which
escaped involuntarily from Ferdinand's lips, was heard throughout the
hall.
"The murderer?" at length demanded many of the nobles at the same
moment. "Who has dared do this awful deed? Don Alonzo, is there no
clue to his person--no trace of his path?"
"There is trace and clue enough," was the brief and stern reply. "The
murderer is secured!"
"Ha!" exclaimed the King, roused at once; "secured, sayest thou? In
our bitter grief we had well-nigh forgotten justice. Bring forth the
dastardly craven; we would demand the reason of this cowardly blow ere
we condemn him to the death of torture which his crime demands. Let
him confront his victim. Why do you pause, my Lord? Produce the
murderer."
Still Don Alonzo stood irresolute, and a full minute passed ere he
signed to the men who had accompanied him. A figure was instantly led
forward, his arms strongly secured in his own mantle, and his hat so
slouched over his face, that not a feature could be distinguished.
Still there was something in his appearance that struck a cold chill
of doubt to the heart of the King, and in a voice strangely expressive
of emotion, he commanded--"Remove his hat and mantle: we should know
that form."
He was obeyed, for there was no resistance on the part of the
prisoner, whose inner dress was also stained with blood, as were his
hands. His cheek was ashy pale; his eye bloodshot and pale; and his
whole appearance denoting such excessive agitation, that it would have
gone far to condemn him, even had there been no other proof.
"Stanley!" burst from the astonished King, as a wild cry ran round
the hall, and "Death to the ungrateful foreigner!"--"Death to the
base-born Englishman!"--"Tortures and death!" escaped, in every
variety of intonation, from the fierce soldiery, who, regardless even
of their Sovereign's presence, drew closer and closer round, clashing
their weapons, and with difficulty restrained from tearing him to
pieces where he stood.
"He was my foe," muttered the prisoner, almost unconscious of the
import of his words, or how far they would confirm the suspicions
against him. "He robbed me of happiness--he destined me to misery. I
hated him; but I did not murder him. I swore to take his life or lose
my own; but not thus--not thus. Great God! to see him lying there, and
feel it might have been my hand. Men, men! would ye quench hatred,
behold its object stricken before you by a dastard blow like this, and
ye will feel its enormity and horror. I did not slay him; I would
give my life to the murderer's dagger to call him back, and ask his
forgiveness for the thoughts of blood I entertained against him; but I
touched him not--my sword is stainless."
"Thou liest, false traitor!" exclaimed Don Felix, fiercely, and he
held up the hilt and about four inches of a sword, the remainder of
which was still in the body. "Behold the evidence to thy black lie!
My liege, this fragment was found beside the body deluged in gore.
We know the hilt too well to doubt, one moment, the name of its
possessor; there is not another like it throughout Spain. It snapt in
the blow, as if more honorable than its master, it could not survive
so foul a stain. What arm should wield it save his own?"
A universal murmur of execration, acknowledged this convincing
evidence; doubly confirmed, as it seemed to be by the fearful start
and muttered exclamation, on the part of the prisoner the moment it
was produced. The nobles thronged round the King, some entreating him
to sentence the midnight assassin to instant execution; others, to
retain him in severest imprisonment till the proofs of his guilt could
be legally examined, and the whole European World hear of the crime,
and its chastisement; lest they should say that as a foreigner,
justice was refused to him. To this opinion the King leaned.
"Ye counsel well and wisely, my lords," he said. "It shall not be
said, because the murdered was our subject, and the murderer an alien,
that he was condemned without examination of proofs against him, or
being heard in his own defence. Seven suns hence we will ourselves
examine every evidence for or against him, which, your penetration, my
lords, can collect. Till then, Don Felix, the prisoner is your
charge, to be produced when summoned; and now away with the midnight
assassin--he has polluted our presence too long. Away with the base
ingrate, who has thus requited our trust and love; we would look on
him no more."
With, a rapid movement the unfortunate young man broke from the guard,
which, at Don Felix's sign, closed round and sought to drag him from
the hall, and flung himself impetuously at Ferdinand's feet.
"I am no murderer!" he exclaimed, in a tone of such passionate agony,
that to any less prejudiced than those around, it must at least have
raised doubt as to his guilt. "I am not the base ingrate you would
deem me. Condemn me to death an thou wilt, I kneel not to sue for
life; for, dishonored and suspected, I would not accept it were it
offered. Let them bring forward what they will, I am innocent. Here,
before ye all, in presence of the murdered victim, by all held sacred
in Heaven or on Earth, I swear I slew him not! If I am guilty I call
upon the dead himself to rise, and blast me with his gaze!"
Involuntarily every eye turned towards the corpse; for, vague as such
an appeal might seem now, the age was then but barely past, when the
assistance of the murdered was often required in the discovery of the
murderer. Many a brave heart grew chill, and brown cheeks blanched, in
anticipation of the unearthly sign, so fully were they convinced of
Stanley's guilt, but none came. The stagnated blood did not flow forth
again--the eye did not glare with more consciousness than before--the
cold hand did not move to point its finger at the prisoner; and Don
Felix, fearing the effect of Stanley's appeal upon the King, signed to
the guards, who rudely raised and bore him from the hall.
The tumults of these events had naturally spread far and wide over the
castle, reaching the apartments of the Queen who, perceiving the awe
and terror which the raging tempest had excited in her attendants,
though incapable of aught like fear herself, had refrained from
dismissing them as usual. The confusion below seeming to increase with
every moment, naturally excited her surprise; and she commanded one
of her attendants to learn its cause. Already terrified, none seemed
inclined to obey, till a young girl, high spirited, and dauntless
almost as Isabella herself, departed of her own free will, and in a
few minutes returned, pale and trembling, with the dread intelligence,
that Don Ferdinand Morales lay murdered in the hall, and that Arthur
Stanley was his murderer.
Isabella paused not a moment, though the shock was so terrible that
for the minute she became faint and sick, and hastily quitting her
apartments, she entered the great hall at the moment the prisoner was
being borne from it. Stupefied with contending feelings. Ferdinand did
not perceive her entrance. The nobles, drawn together in little knots,
were conversing in low eager tones, or endeavoring to reduce the
tumultuary soldiery to more order; and the Queen moved on unperceived,
till she stood beside the corpse. She neither shrunk from it, nor
paled; but bending over him, murmured in a tone, that from its
startling indication of her unexpected presence, readied the ear of
all--"His poor, _poor_ Marie!"
The effect was electric. Until that moment horror and indignation had
been the predominant feeling; but with those words came the thought
of his young, his beautiful, his treasured wife--the utter, utter
desolation which that fearful death would bring to her; the contrast
between her present position, and that in which they had so lately
beheld her; and there was scarcely a manly spirit there, that did not
feel unwonted moisture gather in his eyes, or his heart swell with an
emotion never felt before.
"Now blessings on thy true woman's heart, my Isabel!" exclaimed the
King, tenderly drawing her from the couch of the dead. "I dare vouch
not one of us, mourning the noble dead, has, till now, cast a thought
upon the living. And who shall breathe these fearful tidings? Who
prepare the unfortunate Marie for the loss awaiting her, and yet tarry
to behold and soothe her anguish?"
"That will I do," replied the Queen, instantly. "None else will
prepare her so gently, so kindly; for none knew her husband's worth so
well, or can mourn his loss more deeply. She shall come hither. And
the murderer," she continued after a brief pause, and the change
was almost startling from the tender sympathy of the Woman to the
indignant majesty of the Queen--"Ferdinand, have they told me true as
to his person--is he secured?"
"Ay," answered the King, briefly and bitterly: and from respect to his
feelings, Isabella asked no more. Orders were issued for the body to
be laid in one of the state apartments; a guard to be stationed at the
entrance of the chamber, and measures taken to keep the events of that
fatal night profoundly secret, lest confusion should be aroused in the
easily excited populace, or her terrible loss too rudely reach the
ears of the most painfully bereaved. These orders were punctually
obeyed.