CHAPTER IX THE CONSPIRACY It was a night, moonless and starless. Deep silence brooded over the city. Not a ray of light was in the sky. A dense fog hung like a funeral pall over the Seven Hills, and a ceaseless, changeless drizzle was sinking from the heavy clouds whose contours were indistinguishable in the nocturnal gloom. The Tiber hardly moaned within his banks. The city fires hissed and smouldered away under the descending rain, soon to be extinguished altogether. It was about the second watch of the night when two men, wrapped in dark mantles that covered them from head to foot, quitted the monastery of San Lorenzo and were immediately swallowed up by the darkness. The night by this time was more dismal than ever. The wind began to rise, and its fitful gusts howled round the stern old walls of the monastery, or rustled in the laurels and cypresses by which it was surrounded. The great gates were shut and barred. Hardly a light was to be seen along the entire range of buildings. Suddenly a postern gate opened, and what appeared to be a monk, drawing his black cowl completely over his head, came forth and hurried along in the direction of the river. Tristan and his companion, emerging from their hiding-place, followed at the farthest possible distance which allowed them to retain sight of their quarry. Through a succession of the worst and narrowest by-lanes of the city they tracked him to the Tiber's edge. Here, dark as it was, a boat was ready for launching. Five or six persons were standing by, who seemed to recognize and address the monk. Keeping in the shadows of the tall, ill-favored houses, the twain contrived to approach near enough to hear somewhat that was said. "The light over yonder has been burning this half hour," said one of the men. "I could not come before," said he in the monk's habit. "I was followed by two men. I threw them out, however, before I reached the monastery of San Lorenzo. But--by all the saints--lose no more time! We have lost too much, as it is." He entered the boat as he spoke. It was pushed out into the water, and in another moment the measured sound of oars came to their ears. Odo of Cluny turned to his companion. "Tell me, did he who spoke first and mentioned the light yonder on St. Bartholomew's Island--a light there is yonder, sure enough--did he resemble, think you, one we know?" "Both in voice and form," replied Tristan. "My thoughts point the same way as yours!" "I should know that voice wherever I heard it," Tristan muttered under his breath. "But what of the light?" Dimly through the mist the red glow was discernible. "It beams from the deserted monastery," Odo replied after a pause. "Can we put across?" Tristan queried. "The question is not so much to find a boat as a landing-place, where we shall not be seen." "There is a boat lying yonder. If my eyes do not deceive me, the boatman lies asleep on the poop."