As the phantom slowly began to recede into the shadows, Eckhardt with a supreme effort shook off the lethargy which benumbed his limbs. He dared remain no longer inert, he must penetrate the mystery, whatever the cost, whatever the risk. With imploring, outstretched arms he staggered after the apparition,—if apparition indeed it was,—straining his gaze towards her slowly receding form—and so absorbed was he in his pursuit, that he saw not the shadow which glided into the mortuary chapel. Suddenly some dark object hurled itself against him; quick as a flash, and ere he could draw a second breath, a dagger gleamed before Eckhardt's eyes; he felt the contact of steel with his iron breast-plate, he heard the weapon snap asunder and fall at his feet, but when he recovered from his surprise, the would-be assassin, without risking a second stroke, had fled and the apparition seemed to have melted into air. Eckhardt found himself alone with the dead body of the Pontiff.
With loud voice he called for the sentry, stationed without, and when that worthy at last made his appearance, his heavy, drooping eyelids and his drowsy gait did not argue in favour of too great a watchfulness. Making the sentry doff his heavy iron shoes, Eckhardt bade him secure a torch, then he made the round of the chapel, preceded by his stolid companion. The Margrave's anxiety found slight reflex in the coarse features of his subordinate, who understood just enough of what was wanted of him to comprehend the disappointment in his master's countenance. As every door was locked and bolted, the only supposition remaining was that the bravo had discovered some outlet from within. But Eckhardt's tests proved unavailing. The floor and the walls seemed of solid masonry which to penetrate seemed impossible. The broken blade offered no clue either to the author or perpetrator of this deed of darkness, and after commanding the sentry to keep his watch for the remainder of the night, inside, Eckhardt endeavoured once more to compose himself to rest, while the man-at-arms stretched his huge limbs before the pontifical bier.
The bells of St. Peter's chimed shrill and loud as a mighty multitude, greater even than that of the preceding night, swept within its portals toward the chapel of Boniface VIII. There, filling every inch of space, only the more fortunate of the crowd gained a glimpse of the coffin, which had been closed, for the corpse was decaying fast, the effect of the terrible and mysterious poison which had been mixed in the holy wine. At length, as the solemn chant of the choristers began to swell through the edifice, preluding the celebration of the Death Mass for the departed Pontiff, a silence as of the tomb pervaded the vast edifice.
Thus the day wore on,—thus the day departed.
The solemn chant had died away. The sun of another day had set.
The funeral cortege set in motion. Fifty torches surrounded the bier and so numerous were the lamps in the windows of the streets through which the funeral procession passed, so abundant the showers of roses which poured upon the bier, that the people declared it surpassed the procession Corpus Domini.
Interchanging solemn hymns, the cortege arrived at last before the church of San Pietro in Montorio, where the body was to be placed in the niche provisionally appointed, where it was to remain till the death of the succeeding pope should consign it to its final place of rest.
The ceremony ended, the people dispersed. Few loiterers remained on the pavement of the church. The sacristan announced that it was about to be closed, and waiting until, as he thought, all had departed, he turned the ponderous doors on their hinges and shut them with a crash. The report, reverberating from arch to arch, shook the ancient sepulchre through its every angle. The lamps, which at wide intervals burned feebly before the shrines of the saints, lent additional solemnity and awe to the obscurity of the place. One torch was left to light a narrow circle round the entrance to the crypt.
Silence had succeeded when out of the shadow of the tomb there passed two figures, who upon entering the narrow circle of light emanating from the dim, flickering taper, faced each other in mute amazement and surprise.
"What are you doing here?" spoke the one, in the garb of a monk, as they stood revealed to each other in the half gloom.