His legs would not support him, a rush of blood set his face aflame.

He had scarcely broken his fast for thirty hours, having eaten only a crust of bread at noon.

He felt millions of pins pricking him, felt the violent beating of his heart, felt his mind becoming clouded.

What was that tangle of serpents winding themselves about his feet, in the disguise of innocent grasses?
And what sinister demon was that, waiting for him down there, crouching on all fours on a rock, disguised as a bush and ready to jump upon him?
Were not the demons waiting for him at the monastery also?
Did they not nest in the openings of the great tower?
Was there not a black flame flashing in those openings?
No, no, not now; now they were staring at him like half-closed and mocking eyes.

Was this the rumbling of the Anio?
No, rather the roaring of the triumphant abyss.