Part 13

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?”

“As I told thee before, thou rattlebrained popinjay!” the other replied with a good natured smile. “With a heavy heart I wended along the highway, on the eve of the bridal, thinking of the fair Ladye Annabel, when who should I behold trudging before me, but this good son of Moses. I laid him upon the earth in a wink--gagged him, and concealed him in the cottage of a peasant, whose ears I filled with a terrible tale of the Jew’s roguery; how he had stolen the plate of the castle, and so on. I then disguised myself in the Hebrew’s attire; with what success you are already aware.--After I had effected the deliverance of the Ladye Annabel, I released the Jew who ran beardless and affrighted, as fast as his legs could carry him, out of the demesnes of Albarone!”

“Where didst leave the Ladye Annabel, Robin? Who was the Arab Mute? Where is he now?”

“I left her _in safety_, most sagacious Guiseppo. And as for the Mute--I’ll tell thee anon. How didst feel when I came to release thee from the dungeon? eh?”

‘O! St. Peter! By my troth it would make a picture. There I sat, upon the bench of stone; the taper flinging its beams around the dreary walls, my elbows resting upon my knees, and my face supported by my clenched hands; my mind full of dark and gloomy thoughts, and my fancy forming various pleasant pictures of the gibbet, which was to bear my figure on the morrow. Imagine this delicate form swinging on a gibbet--ugh! Thus was I employed, when I heard a noise like the drawing of bolts. I started, expecting to behold the Count Aldarin; he had _visited_ the cell an hour or so past, and informed that I had the honor of being--mark ye, my soldier--_his son_. I started and beheld--thy welcome visage, my good Robin.”

“Marry, it was well for thee that the secret passage was known to me. How sayst thou? Did the murderer aver that he was thy father?”

“Even so. The Count Aldarin, has ever been kind to me, yet I never thought I was connected with him by any ties of blood. I have always been known throughout the castle as _the foundling_. Pleasant name--eh, Robin? The tale runs that a peasant returning home, on an autumn night, discovered a child some three years old, crying in the forest. That child the Scholar Aldarin adopted, and called Guiseppo; which title was occasionally varied by the servitors of Albarone, to that of _Guiseppo Stray-Devil_, _Lost-Elf_, and others of like pleasing character. But whither are we wandering now, good Robin? This is the second day of our flight; whither are we bound?”

“Thou wilt know ere long. Didst ever hear of Sir Geoffrey O’ Th’ Longsword?”

“What, the stout Englisher! The brave knight who now commands the soldiers of our late Lord, in Palestine? He that is noted for the strength of his arms, and the daring of his spirit? Why all Christendom rings with his feats.”

“Well, my bird of a page, I have lately heard by a wandering palmer, that a truce has been made, between that son of Mahound, Saladin, and the princes of Christendom. Further it is said, that a body of the crusaders have sailed from Cyprus, and are bound to Italy. Dost see aught in this, my popinjay?”

“The Saints help thy senses! Surely you do not mean to say that the soldiers of Albarone are returning home?”

“Marry but I do. I mean to wend towards the nearest seaport; I mean to--”

“By our Lady,” interrupted Guiseppo, “I spy the dawning of our Lord Adrian’s day. I do by heaven!”

And thus conversing they pursued their way along the forest path.

* * * * *

Higher and higher rose the sun in the Heavens, and its beams shone upon the armor of a gallant company which journeyed in brilliant array along a bye-road leading thro’ a wide and shadowy forest.

Near the head of the company, on a stout black steed, rode a tall, stalwart man, full six feet high, broad shouldered, in form, with a stern, weather beaten countenance. His long white hair, escaping from beneath his helmet, the vizor of which was raised, fell upon his mail-clad shoulders, and his beard, frosted by time and battle toil, swept over the iron plate that defended his muscular chest.

On either side rode his Esquires, mounted on horses dark and stout, as that of their knight commander. They were brothers, and side by side had fought in a thousand battles.

Both tall, muscular, and dark featured; both having dark eyes, dark shaggy brows, stiff hair and beard of the same dark hue, they were known among the ranks of the crusaders as the twin brothers--the brave Esquire Damian, and the gallant Esquire Halbert.

Hard matter it were to tell one from the other, so much they looked alike, had it not been that the visage of Damian, was marked by a sword wound, which extending from the right eyebrow, passed over his swarthy forehead and terminated near the left temple; while a deep gash cut into the right cheek of Halbert, served to distinguish him from his brother.

In front of the knight, the standard-bearer, mounted on a cream colored steed, bore aloft a broad banner of azure. A winged leopard was pictured on its folds, and the inscription read thus--_Grasp boldly and bravely strike!_

In the rear of the gray haired warrior, a stout Englishman, riding on a dappled gray, held on high a crimson banner, bordered by white, on which was pictured a two-edged sword, having a long blade, and massy hilt. It bore the motto--

_Hilt for Friend--Point for Foe._

Then, riding at their ease, came the men-at-arms arrayed from head to foot in their armor of Milan steel; their lances were in their hands; each shield hung at the saddle-bow, and each sword depended from the belt of buff.

The gallant band might number an hundred thrice told.

Behind these soldiers come the varlets of the train, riding beside the baggage wains, conveying the sick and wounded, who had endured the burning sun of Palestine, the toil and dangers of the seas, and were now returning to the land of their birth.

And there, riding before the baggage wains, four dark-skinned Moors, mounted on prancing nags, led each man of them, a steed black as night, at his bridle rein.

Untamed they were and wild; their eyes gave forth a gleam like the light of the fire-coal; their necks were proudly arched; their manes flung waving to the breeze. With a disdainful toss of their quivering nostrils and a light and springing step, the barbs trod the earth as gallantly as though they still swept over the desert plains of Araby.

_Linked with the chain of this wierd chronicle, by a strange decree of Fate, these barbs, in the course of a few brief days, became the Instruments of the fearful vengeance of Heaven._

“Damian,” said the stalwart knight, as glancing over the long line of men-at-arms, he gazed upon the Arab steeds,--“How the eye of Lord Julian will glisten when he gazes upon yonder mettled barbs! I’ faith it makes an old warrior’s heart beat, to look upon their arching crests, their eyes of fire, and their skins, black as death.”

“A Paynim warrior gave these steeds in ransom for his freedom? Is that the story Sir Geoffrey?” asked Halbert, “Infidel though he was, he gave a most princely ransom.”

“Hast ever heard the strange legend which the Arabs tell, concerning this race of steeds? They prize them, highly as their weight in gold, red gold. It is said that in the olden time, when Arimanes was hurled from his throne of Evil, by Ormaz, the Great Being of Good, the spirits of his followers, accursed and doomed, sought refuge in the bodies of a race of ebon-colored barbs, that scoured the plains of Araby with the fleetness of the wind, herding together in the vast solitudes of the desert, and untameable by man. At last, after a long lapse of centuries, the most daring of the Arab-chiefs, secured and subjugated to the control of man, two of these wild horses, from which sprung the race of the Barbs of Arimanes, or Demon-Steeds. Yonder horses, prancing and rearing in the grasp of the tawny Moors, are of this race. By my soul, their flashing eyes give them some title to the name they bear--the Barbs of Arimanes!”

“It joys a warrior’s heart to look upon their sinewy forms,” exclaimed the Esquire Halbert, with a flashing eye.

“They are slender and graceful as the wild gazelle,” said Damian, “and yet your stout war-horse of the north bears not fatigue or toil with a better grace.”

“Damian,” said the stalwart knight, “Damian, art thou not sorrowed at the thought of leaving the Holy Land--the glorious scene of so many hard-fought frays? I trow we will all wish to be again in the midst of the gallant mellay; shall we not pine for the rugged encounter with the Paynim host--What sayst thou, Halbert?”

“He that leaves so brave a battle plain as is the land of the Holy Sepulchre, without a sigh of regret, is unworthy of the lay of minstrel, or love of ladye. For my part, I would all these truces were at the devil!”

“I say amen to thy prayer, good brother.”

“Well, well, we shall soon reach the castle Di Albarone; we shall behold our brave leader, the gallant Count Julian. By the body of God, it stirs one’s blood to think of his charge, that ever mowed down the Paynim ranks as though a thunderbolt had smote them! St. George! but I have seen glorious days.”

“By’r Lady, but I have a sneaking fear that the wound of the Count may prove fatal.”

“Fatal?” shouted Sir Geoffrey, in a voice of thunder. “Fatal? Say it not again, Halbert! Fatal, indeed! By my troth, Lord Julian Di Albarone, shall again lead _armies_ to battle.”

“I wonder,” said Damian, “I wonder if that skulking half brother of the Count, still lives? I mean, he who accompanied the Lord Julian to the Holy Land, some score of years since. How was he styled? eh, Halbert?”

“ALDARIN, I think they called him. Sir Geoffrey, hadst not a quarrel with the bookworm? Didst not strike him before the Count at Jerusalem, in the presence of all the princes of Christendom?”

“Tush, a mere trifle! I mind it no more than I would the spurning of a peevish cur. But see! What have we here? Two wayfarers. Ha! one seems like a disbanded soldier! Spur forward, my merry men! They may tell us of our whereabouts: they may give us some news of Albarone. Spur forward!”

CHAPTER THE SEVENTH.

THE STUDENT AND THE FAIR STRANGER.[3]

The bell of the convent of St. Benedict struck the hour of noon, when a young man, attired after the manner of a student, or Neophyte of the monastic order, was slowly wending his way along the path that led to the cottage on the hill, while on his arm, there hung a youth of a slender yet graceful figure and with calm, mild features, shaded by locks of golden hair.

Tall, sinewy, and well-proportioned in form, the face of the Student was marked by features bold and decisive in their expression; his blue eye was full of thought, and his forehead, high and massive, shaded by the cap of velvet, gave the idea of a mind powerful, energetic, and formed to rule.

His hair fell in clustering locks of gold over his neck and shoulders; his plain tunic of dark velvet descended to his knees, revealing a doublet of like material and color, worn underneath, fitting closely to his manly form; while his throat was enveloped by a simple collar of snow-white lace.

His companion wore a neat doublet of light blue, fitting close around the neck, scarce allowing the pretty ruffle that circled the fair throat to be seen, and reaching half way down the leg, it was gathered around the slender waist by a girdle of plain doe skin. His light hair was covered by a hat, with the rim drawn up to the crown on one side, and slouching upon the other, while it was topped by delicate white plumes, fastened by a diamond broach.

Winding amid the fragrant shrubbery that enclosed the path, the student and his companion attained the top of the hill, and passing through the small garden, they presently stood before the neat cottage, which, shadowed by a spreading beech on one side, meeting the foliage of a leafy chesnut on the other, was overrun in front by a fragrant vine, that clomb over the timbers of the doorway, and twined round the solitary casement; the broad green leaves quivering in the beams of the sun, and the trumpet-shaped flowers swinging to and fro in the wooing air.

The student tapped at the door. It was opened by a woman somewhat advanced in life, attired in the dress of a peasant, yet with a cross of ebony strung from her neck. Her look was somewhat severe and stern, her demeanor was commanding, and her figure still retained some remains of youthful beauty.

She started as she opened the door, and an unfinished word burst from her lips.

“Ah! Adr--tush! Leone, I mean--thou art early home to-day, my son.”

“Mother,” said the student, “this is my fellow scholar Florian, son to the Baron Diarmo of Florence. In yonder convent we pursue our studies in one apartment side by side. An hour since, as we strolled through the gardens adjoining the convent, my friend missed his footing, and severely bruised his ancle. Our home being nearer than the convent, I thought I could not do better then bring him hither. I need not commend him to thy care.”

“Thou art welcome fair sir,” the dame replied, with a kindly smile. “Enter our abode; ’tis humble, yet ’tis sacred, for the bounty of the convent bestows it upon my son and me, while he is preparing for the priesthood. Come in, gentle Florian.”

They entered the cottage, and the door was closed.

No sooner had they disappeared than something rustled in the bushes and the bow-legged vagabond, Francisco, emerged into the light.

“Oh--ho!” he cried, “here’s a mystery. The convent allow old Mistress Vinegar-face to reside on their land, in their cottage, while her son is preparing for the priesthood! A likely story, by’r lady! I see it all--’tis as I suppose--these two striplings, are those, for whom such an immense reward has been offered in the neighboring towns and villages. Will not gold line my pouch as well as any other wight’s--eh? Via! Francisco! Vagabond no longer, but henceforth Signor Francisco! Via!”

Thus saying, he walked away with folded arms and a gigantic stride; and as he stalked away, the tall Dollabella, the red-haired Theresa, and black-eyed Loretta appeared from the bushes on the other side of the cot, and, bursting into a loud laugh, they tripped after the swelling “vagabond.”

Meanwhile, within the cot, resting on a cushioned seat, the gentle Florian submitted his foot to the hands of the dame, who drew off the shoe and stocking, and applied ointment to the bruise; remarking, at the same time, that the foot was one of the smallest, and the ancle one of the prettiest in the wide world.

The student glanced at Florian, and smiled.