The Sorceress of Rome

by Nathan Gallizier

A further circumstance which baffled Eckhardt was the cause of the implacable hatred, which the moving spirit of the trio seemed to bear the pontifical delegate. But the sagacious intellect of the man into whose hands fate had so opportunely placed a lever for preventing a crime, whose consequences it was difficult to even surmise, suggested these dangers and their remedies almost simultaneously. Thus he patiently awaited the separation of the colleagues on their several enterprises, regarding the monk with renewed interest in this new and appalling light.

His tall and commanding form was to be seen from every point. The austerity and gloom of the speaker's countenance only seemed to aid in displaying more brilliantly the irradiations of the mind which illumined it. His harangue seemed imbued with something of supernatural inspiration and dark as had appeared to Eckhardt the motive for the contemplated crime, the probable reason suddenly flashed through his mind. For in the pulpit stood Gerbert of Aurillac, Archbishop of Rheims, Bishop of Ravenna, the teacher of the Emperor, the friend of the Pontiff, he who was so soon as Sylvester II to be crowned with the Triple Tiara of St. Peter.

But there was no time for musing if the double crime was to be prevented. For John of the Catacombs, who had now turned his back on the crowds, had possessed himself of Vitelozzo's cross-bow and was tightening the bow-strings. With equal caution, to avoid betraying his presence, Eckhardt unsheathed his sword. But the jar of the blade against the scabbard, though ever so slight, startled the outlaw's attention. He paused for a moment, listening and glancing furtively about. Then he muttered to himself: "A rat," and resumed his occupation, while Eckhardt slowly stepped from his concealment, taking his station directly behind the kneeling bravo, unseen by the pilgrim and the latter's silent companion.

A brilliant glow, emanating from some mysterious source near the monk and which many afterwards contended as having proceeded directly from his person, suddenly illumined not only the square, the pontifical delegate, and the monk, who held his arms aloft as if imploring a benediction, but likewise the towering form of Eckhardt, leaning on his bare and glittering brand.

With a yell as if he had seen a wild beast crouching for its deadly spring, John of the Catacombs sprang up, only to be instantly struck down by a mighty blow from the commander's gauntleted hand. He lay senseless on the ground, covered with blood. The bow had fallen from his grasp. Setting his foot on the outlaw's breast, Eckhardt hesitated for a moment whether to rid Rome of so monstrous a villain, or spare him, in order to learn the real instigators of the crime, when a piercing shriek from above convinced him that while the bravo had failed, the high-born ruffian had been more successful.

There was no time for parley.

Trampling with his crushing weight over the bravo's breast Eckhardt turned towards the spot whence the cry of distress had come. An intense hush fraught with doubts and fears had fallen upon the monk's audience at the ominous outcry,—a cry which might have been but the signal for some preconcerted outrage, and the hush deepened when the tall powerful form of the German leader was seen stalking toward the deserted house and entering it through a door, which Gian Vitelozzo had forced, the obstacle which had luckily prevented him from reaching before his unsuspecting victim. The ruffian could be seen from below, holding in his arms on the balcony the shrieking and struggling girl, disregarding in his brutal eagerness all that passed below. Suddenly his shoulder was grasped as in the teeth of a lion, and so powerful was the pressure that the noble's arms were benumbed and dropped powerlessly by his side. Before he recovered from his surprise and could make one single effort at resistance, Eckhardt had seized him round the waist and hurled him down on the square amidst a roaring thunder of applause mingled with howls of derision and rage. Those immediately beneath the balcony, consisting chiefly of the scum and rabble, who cared little for the monk's arguments, rejoiced at the prompt retribution meted out to one of their oppressors, though the discomfiture of the hapless victim had left them utterly indifferent. Why should they carry their skin to market to right another's wrong?

Thus they offered neither obstacle nor assistance when the Roman baron, in no wise hurt by his fall, as the balcony was at no great height from the ground, rose in a towering rage and challenged his assailant to descend and to meet him in mortal combat. But by this time the disturbance had reached the monk's ears, and at once perceiving the cause from his lofty point of vantage, Gerbert shouted to his audience to secure the brawler in the name of God and the Church. The mob obeyed, though swayed by reluctance and doubts, while the pontifical guards closed round the offending noble to cut off his escape. But Gian Vitelozzo seemed to possess sovereign reasons for dreading to find himself in the custody of the Vicar of the Church and promptly took to flight.

Overthrowing the first who opposed him, the rest offering no serious resistance, he forced his way to one of the narrow passages of the Ghetto, fled through it, relinquishing his accoutrements and vanished in the shadows, which haunted this dismal region by day and by night. But Gerbert of Aurillac was not to be so easily baffled. He had recognized the Roman baron despite his demeaning attire. With a voice of thunder he ordered his entire following to the ruffian's pursuit, and noting the direction in which Vitelozzo had disappeared, he leaped, despite his advanced years, from his pulpit and waving a cross high in the air, led the pursuit in person, which inaugurated a general stampede of nobles, Jews, pilgrims, monks and the ever-present rabble of Rome.

This unforeseen incident having drawn off the crowd, which had invaded the Ghetto, in the preacher's wake, the great square was quickly deserted and the torches in the high windows were extinguished as if a sudden wind-storm had snuffed out their glowing radiance.