A few moments later the little band was joined by the newcomers, masked, garbed in sombre black and heavily armed, three-score Spaniards, trusted above their companions for their loyalty and allegiance to Holy Church. Among them Tristan recognized the Cardinal-Archbishop of Ravenna, the Bishop of Orvieto and the Prefect of Rome.
Odo of Cluny noted Tristan's shrinking at the sight of the two men who had been present when the terrible accusation had been hurled against him on that fatal morning—the accusation in the Lateran, which had launched him in the dungeons of Castel San Angelo.
He comforted the trembling youth.
"They know now that the charge was false," he said. "To-night we shall conquer. We shall set our foot upon Satan's neck."
Withdrawing under the shelter of the trees, regardless of the increasing fury of the storm, the leaders held whispered consultation.
Before them, set in the massive wall, appeared a door not more than five feet high, studded with large nails.
The Prefect of Rome bent forward and inserted a gleaming piece of steel in the keyhole. After a wrench or two, which convinced the onlookers that the door had been long in disuse, it swung inward with a groan. The Prefect, with a muttered imprecation, beckoned his followers to enter, and when they were assembled in what appeared to be a courtyard, he took pains to close the door himself, to avoid the least noise that might reach the ear of those within the enclosure.
At the far end of this courtyard a shadowy pavilion arose, culled from the Stygian gloom by the sheen of the lightnings. It seemed to have been erected in remote antiquity. A circular structure of considerable extent, its ruinous exterior revealed traces of Etruscan architecture. No one dared set foot in it, for it was rumored to be the abode of evil spirits. Its interior was reported to be a network of intricate galleries, leading into subterranean chambers, secret and secluded places into which human foot never strayed, for, not unlike the catacombs, it was well-nigh impossible to find the exit from its labyrinthine passages without the saving thread of Ariadné.
At a signal from the Prefect of the Camera all stopped. Heavy drops of rain were falling. The hurricane increased in fury.
It was a weird scene and one the memory of which lingered long after that eventful night with Tristan.