Under the Witches' Moon

NATHAN GALLIZIER

Description

Fans of historical romance will be swept off their feet by Nathan Gallizier's enchanting novel Under the Witches' Moon. Set in a period that is often underrepresented in the genre, this tale pairs a soul-stirring romance with fascinating details about the customs, beliefs, and daily lives of people during the era.

Sujets

• Historical fiction

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 mai 2016
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781776670055
• Langue: English

Extrait

UNDER THE WITCHES' MOON
A ROMANTIC TALE OF MEDIEVAL ROME
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NATHAN GALLIZIER
 
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Under the Witches' Moon A Romantic Tale of Medieval Rome First published in 1917 Epub ISBN 978-1-77667-005-5 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77667-006-2 © 2014 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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BOOK THE FIRST Chapter I - The Fires of St. John Chapter II - The Weaving of the Spell Chapter III - The Dream Lady of Avalon Chapter IV - The Way of the Cross Chapter V - On the Aventine Chapter VI - The Coup Chapter VII - Masks and Mummers Chapter VIII - The Shrine of Hekaté Chapter IX - The Game of Love Chapter X - A Spirit Pageant Chapter XI - The Denunciation Chapter XII - The Confession BOOK THE SECOND Chapter I - The Grand Chamberlain Chapter II - The Call of Eblis Chapter III - The Crystal Sphere Chapter IV - Persephoné Chapter V - Magic Glooms Chapter VI - The Lure of the Abyss Chapter VII - The Face in the Panel Chapter VIII - The Shadow of Asrael Chapter IX - The Feast of Theodora Chapter X - The Chalice of Oblivion BOOK THE THIRD Chapter I - Wolfsbane Chapter II - Under the Saffron Scarf Chapter III - Dark Plottings Chapter IV - Face to Face Chapter V - The Cressets of Doom Chapter VI - A Meeting of Ghosts Chapter VII - A Bower of Eden Chapter VIII - An Italian Night Chapter IX - The Net of the Fowler Chapter X - Devil Worship Chapter XI - By Lethe's Shores Chapter XII - The Death Watch Chapter XIII - The Convent in Trastevere Chapter XIV - The Phantom of the Lateran BOOK THE FOURTH Chapter I - The Return of the Moor Chapter II - The Escape from San Angelo Chapter III - The Lure Chapter IV - A Lying Oracle Chapter V - Bitter Waters Chapter VI - From Dream to Dream Chapter VII - A Roman Medea Chapter VIII - In Tenebris Chapter IX - The Conspiracy Chapter X - The Broken Spell Chapter XI - The Black Mass Chapter XII - Sunrise
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"To some Love comes so splendid and so soon, With such wide wings and steps so royally, That they, like sleepers wakened suddenly, Expecting dawn, are blinded by his noon.
"To some Love comes so silently and late, That all unheard he is, and passes by, Leaving no gift but a remembered sigh, While they stand watching at another gate.
"But some know Love at the enchanted hour, They hear him singing like a bird afar, They see him coming like a falling star, They meet his eyes—and all their world's in flower."
ETHEL CLIFFORD
BOOK THE FIRST
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Chapter I - The Fires of St. John
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It was the eve of St. John in the year of our Lord Nine HundredThirty-Five.
High on the cypress-clad hills of the Eternal City the evening sun hadflamed valediction, and the last lights of the dying day were fadingaway on the waves of the Tiber whose changeless tide has rolled downthrough centuries of victory and defeat, of pride and shame, of gloryand disgrace.
The purple dusk began to weave its phantom veil over the ancientcapital of the Cæsars and a round blood-red moon was climbing slowlyabove the misty crests of the Alban Hills, draining the sky of itscrimson sunset hues.
The silvery chimes of the Angelus, pealing from churches and convents,from Santa Maria in Trastevere to Santa Maria of the Aventine, began tosing their message of peace into the heart of nature and of man.
As the hours of the night advanced and the moon rose higher in thestar-embroidered canopy of the heavens, a vast concourse of peoplebegan to pour from shadowy lanes and thoroughfares, from sanctuariesand hostelries, into the Piazza Navona. Romans and peasants from theCampagna, folk from Tivoli, Velletri, Corneto and Terracina, pilgrimsfrom every land of the then known world, Africans and Greeks, Lombardsand Franks, Sicilians, Neapolitans, Syrians and Kopts, Spaniards andSaxons, men from the frozen coast of Thulé and the burning sands ofArabia, traders from the Levant, sorcerers from the banks of the Nile,conjurers from the mythical shores of the Ganges, adventurers from theBarbary coast, gypsies from the plains of Sarmatia, monks from theThebaide, Normans, Gascons and folk from Aquitaine.
In the Piazza Navona booths and stalls had been erected for the sale offigs and honey, and the fragrant products of the Roman osterié.
Strings of colored lanterns danced and quivered in the air. The fitfullight from the torches, sending spiral columns of resinous smoke intothe night-blue ether, shed a lurid glow over the motley, fantasticcrowd that increased with every moment, recruited from fishermen,flower girls, water-carriers and herdsmen from the Roman Campagna.
Ensconced in the shadow of a roofless portico, a relic of the ancientCircus Agonalis, which at one time occupied the site of the PiazzaNavona, and regarding the bewildering spectacle which presented itselfto his gaze, with the air of one unaccustomed to such scenes, stooda stranger whose countenance revealed little of the joy of life thatshould be the heritage of early manhood.
His sombre and austere bearing, the abstracted mood and far-away lookof the eyes would have marked him a dreamer in a society of men who hadlong been strangers to dreams. For stern reality ruled the world andthe lives of a race untouched alike by the glories of the past and thedawn of the Pre-Renaissance.
He wore the customary pilgrim's habit, almost colorless from theeffects of wind and weather. Now and then a chance passer-by wouldcast shy glances at the lone stranger, endeavoring to reconcile his ageand his garb, and wondering at the nature of the transgression thatweighed so heavily upon one apparently so young in years.
And well might his countenance give rise to speculation, were it butfor the determined and stolid air of aloofness which seemed to renderfutile every endeavor to entice him into the seething maelstrom ofhumanity on the part of those who took note of his dark and austereform as they crossed the Piazza.
Tristan of Avalon was in his thirtieth year, though the hardshipsof a long and tedious journey, consummated entirely afoot, made himappear of maturer age. The face, long exposed to the relentless raysof the sun, had taken on the darker tints of the Southland. The nosewas straight, the grey eyes tinged with melancholy, the hair was ofchestnut brown, the forehead high and lofty. The ensemble was that ofone who, unaccustomed to the pilgrim's garb, moves uneasily among hiskind. Yet the atmosphere of frivolity, while irritating and jarringupon his senses, did not permit him to avert his gaze from the orgy ofcolor, the pandemonium of jollity, that whirled and piped and roaredabout him as the flow of mighty waters.
One of many strange wayfarers bound upon business of one sort oranother to the ancient seat of empire, whose worldly sceptre had longpassed from her palsied grip to the distant shores of the Bosporus,Tristan had arrived during the early hours of the day in the feudal andturbulent witches' cauldron of the Rome of the Millennium.
And with him constituents of many peoples, from far and near, hadreached the Leonine quarter from the Tiburtine road, after months oftedious travel, to worship at the holy shrines, to do penance and toobtain absolution for real or imaginary transgressions.
From Bosnia, from Servia and Hungary, from Negropont and the islandsof the Greek Archipelago, from Trebizond and the Crimea it cameendlessly floating to the former capital of the Cæsars, a waste driftof palaces and temples and antique civilizations, for the End of Timewas said to be nigh, and the dread of impending judgment lay heavilyupon the tottering world of the Millennium.
A grotesque and motley crowd it was, that sought and found a temporaryhaven in the lowly taverns, erected for the accommodation of perennialpilgrims, chiefly mean ill-favored dwellings of clay and timber,divided into racial colonies, so that pilgrims of the same land andcreed might dwell together.
A very Babel of voices assailed Tristan's ear, for the ancient sonoroustongue had long degenerated into the lingua Franca of bad Latin, thoughthere were some who could still, though in a broken and barbarousfashion, make themselves understood, when all other modes of expressionfailed them.
All about him throbbed the strange, weird music of zitherns and lutesand the thrumming of the Egyptian Sistrum. The air of the summer nightwas heavy with the odor of incense, garlic and roses. The higherrisen moon gleamed pale as an alabaster lamp in the dark azure ofthe heavens, trembling luminously on the waters of a fountain whichoccupied the centre of the Piazza Navona.
Here lolled some scattered groups of the populace, discussing theevents of the day, jesting, gesticulating, drinking or love-making.Others roamed about, engaged in conversation or enjoying the antics oftwo Smyrniote tumblers, whose contortions elicited storms of applausefrom an appreciative audience.
A crowd of maskers had invaded the Piazza Navona, and the uncommonspectacle at last drew Tristan from his point of vantage and causedhim to mingle with the crowds, which increased with every moment,their shouts and gibes and the clatter of their tongues becomingquite deafening to his ears. Richly decorated chariots, drawn byspirited steeds, rolled past in a continuous procession. The cries ofthe wine-venders and fruit-sellers mingled with the acclaim of themultitudes. Now and then was heard the fanfare of a company of horsemenwho clattered past, bound upon some feudal adventure.
Weary of walking, distracted by the ever increasing