The immediate liberation of the Queen had seemed a well-nigh hopeless quest to the body of brave men who were on their way to Famagosta, to pledge the loyalty of their city of Nikosia, so soon as news of the conspiracy had been proclaimed, and they had deemed it rather to be won by strategy than prowess. For the Cyprian forces were few and were chiefly intrenched in the fortress of Famagosta—the most formidable of all the strongholds of Cyprus—leaving no trained men at arms in the city itself, which thus lay unprotected, close under the vigilance of the now hostile Citadel, whose commander, Saplana, had been a favorite of the King but was now among the traitors. The Count of Tripoli was foremost among the leaders of this intrigue and he was Governor of the city of Famagosta! And scattered among this Cyprian corps to see the orders enforced, was a band of mercenariesbrought from Naples by Rizzo!
The situation in Famagosta had been briefly indicated in the despatch which the courier of Bernardini had urged his spent and panting steed to deliver in Nikosia; there were also certain dark hints of rumors current among the outraged populace, that Rizzo, Chief-of-the-Council appointed to help the Queen, might soon be master of all the strongholds of the island, having forced letters from the Queen commanding their surrender to the envoys of the Chief-of-Council.
Outside the cities news travels slowly, as all men know. For along the highways there are no marke-places whence it may be proclaimed—there is no eager populace to tell it from mouth to mouth, and these treacherous orders might even reach the forts and be obeyed in all good faith, by their Commanders before they could have any suspicion of the revolt of the Council.
Of the wisdom and foresight of the Queen's Venetian Chamberlain the Admiral had ample proof; since the Bernardini's message of alarm, sent the night before the mutiny, had arrived only a few hours before it had been followed by his second despatch, in swift and terrible justification.
Because of these rumors Mutio di Costanzo, Admiral of Cyprus, had ordered messages of warning sent to the chief citadels, as he had been able, before he left Nikosia; and also because of them, he rode to-day with a so scanty following not having dared to leave any points of vantage without sufficient guard.
He turned and surveyed his little band of Knights with frowning brows—his invincible Knights of the Golden Spurs—they seemed so few in the face of the perplexities of his problem.
Not that any thought of personal danger for himself or for them, in the few against the many, entered into his difficulties; but that the facts made failure a possibility; and there must be no failure.
He raised his visor and each man saw his leader's face as the face of a conqueror.
"Coraggio, Signori!" he cried; "our cause isjust! God and San Giovanni make strong our arms!"
Well might he be proud of this noble company pressing forward silently, but with quickening pace, at sight of the urgency in their leader's face.
No noble house of Cyprus could boast more ancient lineage, nor so many knights entitled to wear the golden spurs, nor more honorable trophies of the valor dear to knightly hearts. They rode all in full armor, some bearing their famous shields of crimson with the quaint heraldic lion rampant on his golden bar—the device which all men knew had been granted them for extraordinary proof of prowess centuries before.
For this noble family the ancient city of Costanza had been named; and the quaint church of Santa Maria di Costanza, rich in relics and in decoration, had been the private chapel of their historic Castle.
To the assuring rhythm of their strenuous tramp the Admiral turned again to his unsolved problems. For the galleys of Cyprus had hitherto been kept armed by force, but recently their crews had been disbanded, in obedience to a strange clause in the will of King Janus. Now, as Mutio di Costanzo went on his way, wrapped in meditations that were not cheering, the question came to him—"Why?"
Janus, whatever his gifts, had been no judge of men—possibly from too strong reliance in his own power to conquer them by his personal charm. Had this disbanding been deftly suggested to the facile King by his friend, the arch-schemer of Naples?
Was the wily Rizzo, even in those days, planning to leave Cyprus defenceless?
The Admiral gnashed his teeth and sent up a smothered cry to all the saints that his wrath might not unnerve him to the point of losing his iron grip upon himself.
But the situation was not rendered less galling by the reflection that the port of Famagosta—the sole harbor of importance in the island—was covered by the citadel commanded by a traitor; that just within the port a galley flaunting the colors of Naples, rode complacently; and that there were no longer any Cyprian ships-of-war ready for attack.
But retribution must be near; for he knew that Bernardini had sent warning followed by immediate details of the revolt, by secret messengers, concealed in trading-ships to the Venetian fleet off the African coast, and strong help must be at hand. To risk failure by a premature attack, for want of patience to endure a temporary disgrace, would be unmanly weakness. The Madonna be praised, the Chamberlain of the Queen was a man of resource; the people of the cities were devoted to her, and the end might be nearer than seemed possible.
The Admiral was impatient for the conference with Bernardini who had implored him to come without delay.
"At all hazards we shall hold the city-gate," the Chamberlain had written in the first hours of that dark dawn. "With citadel and port in command of the traitors and the Queen in their keeping, this post may have no importance in their eyes.But our help must come from without."
And now the little band of faithful knights were coming in sight of the city-walls—massive and splendid—a monument to the Lusignans.
"For our Queen and Cyprus!" the Admiral said solemnly, his hand upon his sword.
The tone of the utterance made it a command.
"So help us God our Seigneur, and San Giovanni!" the knights answered him in a breath, nerving themselves to attack and success: but they came silently and with no sounds of battle—by order of their chief—not knowing whether to expect welcome or conflict, or whether secrecy might be well.
At the tramp of their horses' feet the warden had advanced to the grille of reconnoitre and withdrawn the small stone shutter for inspection; his head appeared behind the bars, but he wore no tell-tale colors:
"Open! in the name of the Queen! to Her Majesty's faithful vassals!"
The Admiral spoke low—for secrecy might be the very discretion of valor: but fearlessly, for the words were a signal, and every knight stood ready.
"Who challengeth? Speak low."
Was it the word of caution, or a ruse de guerre?
"One of Nikosia."
The Admiral gave the password which Bernardini had sent in that hasty note, and listened, trembling as a brave man may with impatience to be within and at his post of duty, while one by one the bolts were withdrawn, the portcullises were raised, and the signal to advance was given—quite silently: the finger of the guard who had been detailed to accompany them, was upon his lips.
Not until he had conducted them beyond, into the city, did he speak: "We know not what echoes there may be within those walls," he said, pointing back to the ponderous gateway with its many vaulted passages.
Then impatient, the Admiral asked for news.
"Your Excellencies are expected: the citizens await you:" it was said in a tone that meant more than courtesy: Mutio di Costanzo scanned him narrowly.
"From whom dost hold thy orders?" he asked.
"From the Signor Bernardini, commander of the city," the man answered readily.
"Then speak."
"The Signor Bernardini hath this night rescued our infant Prince from the galley of Naples——" He supplemented the statement with an angry oath coupled with Rizzo's name. "We know not where our Signor hath hidden him."
"And the Queen?"
The guard shook his head.
"The Signor hath waited for help to come: it is said that her rescue will be this day. In the Palazzo Reale the guard hath been trebled for her defense, and every man would give his life for the Queen."
"Is there more?"
"Aye, your Excellency: rumor hath it that that devil of a Rizzo hath forced Her Majesty to give him letters of surrender for every fortress of Cyprus, and that to-day he is gone, with other traitors, to receive the keys of all our citadels.Panagia mou!he is capable of every treachery! If he werenot within——" He indicated the fortress with a scowl of hatred, then made a motion which seemed to include the entire city and plant the people, resolute, before the windows of the Queen.
"And the Governor of Famagosta?"
"That traitor Tripoli is in the train of the scoundrel Rizzo, both faring forth for other treacheries, thinking us safe enough to leave, with those spies of Naples on guard." His sputtering curses choked further speech.
"It shall benow," said Mutio di Costanzo: "conduct us to the Signor Bernardini"—yet wondering at the silence of the streets as he passed.
"Your Excellency," said the guard once more, in answer to his question, "it is the order of the Bernardini who hath commanded quiet and hath promised, on his life, to restore the Queen to her people."
The hasty conference in the Palazzo Reale, developed the fact that the citizens of Famagosta, too furious for any considerations of expediency, had been with difficulty restrained from storming the Citadel and demanding the Queen's instant release: and now that any trained force, however small, was upon their side, the critical moment had come. Men, women and children flocked into the deserted streets and eagerly followed the cavalcade of Knights to the Piazza San Nicolò, where the crowd was increasing every moment; and when Bernardini and Mutio di Costanzo appeared among them, they were greeted with cheers and vivas.
"Regina!"
"Madonna Nostra Reale!"
"Regina!"
"Subito! Subito!"
The cries startled the silence of the streets, and further restraint was impossible.
"Regina! Madonna Nostra Reale! Subito!"
The city rang with their shouts—the voice of a multitude magnificent in righteous emotion—from the gruff tones of the men of the populace hoarse with anger, to the strident cries and sobs of the women and the high treble of little children; and clear and calm throughout the chorus, the clarion-notes of command.
The mighty sound penetrated to the depths of the Citadel, waking the Cyprian force from its stupor of despondency, rousing the dormant manhood within them.
It reached the chamber of the captive Queen, who had known no thrill of hope since that night of horror.
"My God! my God!" she cried, with streaming eyes. "I thank thee!—Madonna mia Sanctissima!My people are calling for me!"
"In the name of Her Majesty!"
"Surrender command to the Admiral of Cyprus!"
To no mighty force could those strong bars have been more swiftly withdrawn; nor was there need of contest to displace the trembling guards of Naples, as the men of Cyprus within the fort hastened to obey the mandate from without, saluting asthe massive gates creaked upon their hinges and protesting that further haste had been impossible.
"Let every traitor crave mercy!" the Admiral thundered as he crossed the drawbridge with his cavalcade: "and on your knees crave pardon of your outraged Queen as we descend."
"Signori!"—to the Knights of the Golden Spurs—"await us here—none less loyal may stand on guard."
To-day the entire armament of the fortress was less than of wont; for Rizzo and Tripoli, secure in their victory and confident that there would be no uprising since none had yet been attempted, had not hesitated to take a considerable following with them to secure the surrender of the other citadels of Cyprus "by order of the Queen." For was not Rizzo the happy holder of many pretty bits of parchment signed by the hand of "Caterina Regina" herself and attested by the royal signet of Cyprus—which to disobey was treason? It would be a pretty farce to insist upon the potency of that trembling signature wrested from the captive Queen when she had worn no semblance of power—a farce to which the Neapolitan schemer was fully equal.
None but a man who knew the famous stronghold of Famagosta so intimately as did the Admiral of Cyprus could thus quickly have made sure that the surrender was complete and that no secret reserves of men and arms were kept back for further intrigues. To swear in those who would stand for Cyprus—to banish the mercenaries of Naples andall who were in sympathy with them to the dungeons below—to make sure of the color of the guards at port and passage—was not so much longer in the doing than in the telling.
And yet, to the young Queen and Margherita the moments had seemed hours: they stood close together; straining every faculty to interpret the meaning of the commotion below, within the fortress, alternating between hope and fear as, at intervals, the cries of the people reached them from the piazza, indistinct and broken by the thickness of the walls; now and again a fierce imprecation rising above the tumult—yet surely there were tones of loyalty—voices calling for "Caterina Regina!"
Caterina's strength was well-nigh spent—she had suffered so much; she caught the hand of Margherita in agitation as the tramp of footsteps echoed through the corridor nearing the door of her chamber, and Margherita laid her other hand on Caterina's with an almost maternal tenderness, from the great pity within her.
"Beloved Lady!" she cried reassuringly; "they bring us glad tidings."
For she read it in their faces as the Bernardini and Mutio di Costanzo knelt in the low doorway to offer their homage.
But the young Queen seemed to tremble between life and death as she stretched forth her arms to them with a low wail that almost unnerved those strong faithful men.
"My Boy! My Boy!—your Prince!"
How may joy immeasurable be told in aninstant's space, and one schooled to agony not die from the swift change to such rapture of content!
For the Bernardini had answered her: "Safe in the Palazzo Reale: and the people are clamoring for their Queen!"
And because the Dama Margherita had seen the great shining light in his eyes her heart went out to him, and she knew that the safety of the Royal infant meant a tale of loyalty and danger that Aluisi Bernardini would never tell.
But at last the Admiral and the Bernardini led Caterina forth into the piazza, pale and calm—the glory of a great gladness in her eyes—the suffering which had left deep traces in her face disguised by the exaltation of the moment so that she scarcely seemed less radiant than when she had last stood there on the day of the coronation fête with her child in her arms—as any woman of the people might have done, the tender, baby-cheek pressed close to hers.
Some of them remembered it as they fell on their knees around her, kissing her hands, offering her homage—reparation—sobbing out their devotion:
"Regina! Madonna Nostra Reale! Regina! Regina! May the Holy Mother bless her and our little King!"
She was not a thing of State and jewels, cold and distant like the proud Queen Elenà, but a tender human mother, fair and young, and her heart had been all but broken when that wicked Chief of Council had stolen away the child!—the people might gather close about her and weep and rejoice with her.
"Madonna Nostra Reale!"
The air was still ringing with the loyal shouts of the multitude when Vettore Soranzo with that eagerly expected Venetian fleet, weighed anchor in the port of Famagosta and with his men streamed through the unresisting gates of the Fortress into the Piazza San Nicolò, where the young Queen still stood radiant.
With the holy calm of night peace brooded over the distracted city and the Cyprian stars looked down on the old, sweet story of mother and child—as closely clasped beneath the gilded roof of the royal palace as under the thatch of a peasant shed—smiling, forgetful of the days of anguish that had parted them.
The Venetian Admiral Mocenigo, god-father to the little prince, had followed close upon the coming of Vettore Soranzo, and they had lost no time in examining into the causes of the difficulties and in fixing the responsibility for the treachery where it belonged: disloyal officers were replaced by men in sympathy with the government, men of weight and character were sought for to fill the vacancies in the Council of the Realm, and it seemed that days of sunshine were dawning for Caterina, guarded by the affection of her people and the invincible arm of Venice.
These Venetian nobles would have made short work in meting out justice to those chiefs who had been the instigators of the conspiracy, but as yet they had eluded the search; though it was rumored that Saplana, the Turkish commander of the Fortress of Famagosta, with his nephew Almerico to whom the conspirators would assign control of the castle of Cerines,—had been in hiding in the palace of the Archbishop. And a tale was brought to Bernardini by a group of agitated peasants from the hamlet of Varoschia, that at early dawn a man fully armed, with the semblance of Rizzo—"not an apparition,Signore sa—but how could one know the face of him with his vizor down?—was riding like the wind to Famagosta, and with him a multitude of horsemen, coming very silently. We saw them from the vineyards high up on the hillside. And then—quite suddenly—we looked and they weregone—they came no more—by San Nicolò and the Holy Madonna, it is true!"
Significant gestures gave a certain mysterious color to the peasant's tale; but whatever its truth, it was actually known that Rizzo and other of the conspirators had been seen in the neighborhood of Nikosia; and the whereabouts of these intriguers was a topic of absorbing interest, for it was felt that the sunshine would be clearer when Rizzo with his accomplices should have been found and made to suffer the full penalty of their crime.
Rizzo and Fabrici had been absent at the time of the uprising of the citizens of Famagosta, and the wolf-like courage of the Chief-of-Council was on the wane: for the letters of the Queen had not proved the passport he had expected toward the surrender of the Cyprian strongholds to a traitor: since more than one of the Commanders had been found so staunch in loyalty as to question the validity of the royal signature.
When all had gone so well at first, these failures were exasperating to a man of Rizzo's temper—the more so that the little Queen had refused to prepare another letter of dismissal required of her; and Rizzo, the stronger in wrath and insolence because his faith in his star was somewhat less, had set forth himself to enforce the investiture of Almerico as Commander of Cerines—the castle to which he had been refused admittance on the morning of the uprising in Famagosta.
Venice, meanwhile, with her faculty for establishing confidence and settling all things in order,having brought back the smiles of the Court, had suggested the wisdom of relieving the strain and tickling the fancy of the people by some pageant. There was to be a grand review of the troops in the Piazza on the esplanade, in the presence of the Queen and the infant Prince, at which the presentation by Her Majesty to the Admiral Mocenigo of a golden shield, magnificently wrought with the arms of Cyprus, would diplomatically suggest the important röle that Venice had played in the re-establishment of the Government.
Dama Ecciva was in her element again, now that something had happened to scatter the unendurable dulness, and each day brought some new matter for discussion.
"Hast heard, Eloisà, how that this new Council to Her Majesty hath captured the Secretary of His Reverence the Archbishop? and they thought to hang him for his master's treachery and his own; and then, because he promised to confess to save his life, he is in the Castle instead. And there were revelations!—and intrigues!—verily a Reverendissimo!"
"Name him not to me; I have no patience!"
"Thou hast never patience when I bring thee news: and it is tiresome of thee, for one must talk, or die of ennui in this court!"
"Then let it be of something better." Eloisà answered in a tone which showed her distaste of the subject.
"Choose thou—since one can never know thy whim. Shall it be of that famous Saplana who runneth away to put himself in hiding;—forfear—verily for fear—the Commander of Famagosta! afraid to die like a man! A comedy!—one might laugh if it were less craven."
"One knoweth not if he be in hiding, since he is not found; he may be a traitor, yet not a coward too."
"Yes, one knoweth, bella Contarini mia: did I not promise thee news? And thou wilt never guess it."
"It was our Admiral Mocenigo who found him?" Eloisà asked eagerly.
"Nay; not 'our Admiral Mocenigo';" the other answered lingering on the name with a fine mimicry of her tone; "not thine nor mine. Thou hast a foolish way with thee of mine and thine, as if all that came from Venice were held close to thy little heart.—How goes it with thy handsome Signor Bernardini?"
"Oh, Ecciva! The Chamberlain of the Queen! how darest thou? Thou art over free with thy foolish speech."
"Nay, little timid maid; it is thou who art foolish not to see—not to see——. Ah, well, he is but a man for all he is Venetian; and thou—thou art a child and hast no eyes."
"What meanest thou, Ecciva? Nay, thoushalttell me." She caught her companion's hand as Ecciva made a feint of turning away.
"So——; now there is something found that doth not tax thy fickle patience, since we speak of the splendid Bernardini! Thou hast ever thine adoration ready for a Venetian."
Eloisà flushed indignantly, but she answeredstaunchly: "Not only I—but every one who loveth what is noble. Thou knowest, Ecciva, the Court is full of his praises."
"Aye, is it, my little one? As well it may be! Then what harm that I should sing them too? Verily, I think he is noble beyond all others;" her taunting tone became suddenly earnest. "And this I came to tell thee."
"This is not news," the other answered coldly, having found it difficult to keep the pace of Ecciva's changing admirations, for the Cyprian maiden was easily captured by any demonstration of power; "and thou camest to bring me news."
"Hast ever thought that the Chamberlain of the Queen would woo a bride?" Dama Ecciva asked lightly, but unconsciously opening and closing her slender henna-stained fingers, straining them into the soft palms with strenuous motions, while she waited for her companion's reply.
"If I knew his secrets or dreamed them, I would not tell thee—being his friend," Eloisà exclaimed indignantly, "such talk ill befitteth the dignity of Her Majesty's maids of honor. What is thy news?"
Ecciva came closer and laid one hand on Eloisà's wrist, tightening her clasp while she spoke in low, slow, insinuating tones—holding her with her strange gaze.
"This is no news to thee—that I—that I——? Tell me Eloisà, dost thou not see?"
The Venetian turned from her uneasily.
"Thou hast shewn me nothing with all thy talk of the Bernardini;" she spoke the name unwillingly, Ecciva seemed to force her to continue the theme,and it was with difficulty that she could withdraw her hand from the Grecian maiden's sinuous clasp. "Let us talk no more; for thou hast no news of real matter."
"Not of the Bernardini, since thou wilt not hear it. But how if I knew of a bride for him?"
"I think he would not ask of whom thou speakest!" Eloisà tried to laugh and shake off the spell. "I will listen no more, Ecciva."
But the other paid no heed. "How if I knew of a bride for him?" she repeated; "of a most ancient house of Cyprus; noble enough to mate with him—for out of it came one of the queens of the land——. And if—and if she would not say him nay!—How then, Carina? For thou, 'being his friend,' wouldst wish to see him win such favor——?"
"It is not the Dama Margherita de Iblin," Eloisà asked with sudden eager interest.
"The Lady Margherita!" Ecciva echoed with a scornful toss of her head. "Doth one seek a bride no longer young when one is a man like that? Nor—nor beautiful?—She is not beautiful!"
"She is more rare than beautiful," Eloisà retorted, piqued. "For she is noble, like the Signor Bernardini: and her face is like her soul."
"They should not trust their secrets to so young a maid!" the Lady Ecciva cried tauntingly.
She had suddenly flushed and grown pale again. Then a new thought came to her. "But she also is a Dama di Maridaggio—she also. Thou mightest tell that for a bit of gossip to the Queen, who, perchance, hath influence with the SignorBernardini." She had laid her hand again on Eloisà's, with an insistent touch.
"Why dost thou say,she also?"
"That is for thy puzzle—to amuse thee, carinissima; for verily thy brain is dull. It is no wonder with the gravity of this court! But happily to-morrow—thou shalt see to-morrow how the people shout to him, for Cyprus doth owe him honor—and Her Majesty more than life. It is the Bernardini who hath done it all—more than the Soranzo, or the Mocenigo—more even than our great Admiral of Cyprus. Thou shalt see!"
Eloisà fell easily into praises of her hero, and her tongue was unsealed. "To go at night, with only a poor fishing-skiff and a handful of men, to steal back the little king from the galley of Naples—it was not easy! But how should one think of peril when the Prince was in danger?—They are both like that—he and she."
"All knights are like that, or they would be craven: that was no honor to him. But what woman went with him from the palace? I watched them going; it was a night like some great poem!"
"That was our dear Lady of the Bernardini; lest the Prince should be strange without some loving face about him, and none can smile him into quiet, as she with her gracious ways; and they feared a sound, for the galley lay close under the fortress. So quietly they went, along the shore, lingering where the nets are thrown by the shallows, to take the galley by surprise—the Lady of the Bernardini shrouded in the mantle of a fisher-woman."
"And after?—When they had found him? For it was not told where they hid the child—or I heard it not."
"Yes—now it may be known; thanks be to our Mater Sanctissima!" Eloisà answered devoutly. "They floated about in the fishing skiff until they reached the private galley of the Signor Bernardini—so far around the coast that it would be safe for the Prince. And of the peril, the Lady of the Bernardini had no thought. The galley of His Excellency was dark and with no sign of action, yet it had been manned for a cruise the night before the treason—the poor Signor Bembo was to have gone therein"—her voice faltered and they both crossed themselves, the horror of that night was still so new.
"The crew were hidden within it," she continued after a moment's pause, "and if there had been pursuit, it would have started swiftly for Venice, to put the Prince in safety."
"How came this tale to thee?" Dama Ecciva asked with a sudden twinge of jealousy—"we both being of the court?"
"Nay, nay, Ecciva," Eloisà pleaded; "we both are here to do our duty, and in time of peril—thou knowest well—one may not ask counsel on the house-tops; and this was for life or death. How might they hope to surprise the galley of Naples, if it has been told to all the Court?"
"Thou, then?"
"Listen, Ecciva! Since it is past, thou shalt see how they are noble, this Mother and her son! They left with me that night a message for the dear Queen whom they might not reach with speech, tospare her greater anguish, if they came not back. For, oh my God, how she hath suffered!"
"It is yet more a poem," Ecciva exclaimed, stirred by the hope of further romance, and already half ashamed that she had shown her momentary feeling of jealousy. "The message—tell it!"
"'If we come not back, thou wilt tell our beloved Lady that we have sought to wrest the child from the galley of Naples; for rumor hath it that he is hidden there. And if he be there, we will bring him, or give our lives to save him. Tell her our galley waiteth far, to take the Prince to Venice if, from pursuit, there should be need to fly.'
"But—listen Ecciva—they said, 'if we come not again, and our galley should be found waiting on the coast, then tell her that our lives were little to express our love; and she shall not mourn that we have given them for her and for her child.'—Oh, Ecciva!" she ended with a long sigh of adoring appreciation.
Ecciva broke the tension with her exclamation: "No, Contarini mia, all knights arenotlike that: I said it but to tease thee. Tell it to the Dama Margherita with a face like that, and she will make it a second 'Kypria,' for she hath, verily the gift. I have not such a tale of knighthood to tell thee: yet, if thou carest for my tidings they would make a canto for the new Kypria of the Dama Margherita, in contrast to thine. And first of the traitor Saplana—of whom there is news."
Eloisà greeted the tidings with an exclamation of relief.
"He—and the precious group of noblevillains—or of villain nobles—one's tongue takes twist in talking trash—the more when it is true; a precious group of traitors, all on the wild seashore—how the Dama Margherita would bring out the booming of the waves! These doughty villains fleeing because, forsooth, they feared the fleet of Venice!—tossing their reins on the necks of the steeds that brought them, and leaving them to wander at their will. A little gold and their arms and bucklers in the fishing skiff that brought them to the galley of the noble Ferdinand—the goodly King of Naples,—his well-beloved son, Alfonso, wore not for long the title of the 'Prince of Galilee!'—Is it a pretty tale for the poem of the Margherita? The tale of the fleeing villains!"
"But who went with the Commander?—Which others?"
"There was the nephew, Almerico—much in temper because thy noble uncle the Contarini would not yield up to his traitorous care the Castle of Cerines for the signature forced from the Queen. There was Fabrici—the very Reverend, the Primate of Cyprus. And then—and then—not last, but first, and deepest and darkest traitor of them all—the very darkest villain of them all—there was Rizzo!"
"Ecciva! Not Rizzo!—the land is free of him!"
"Aye,Rizzo, child. Did I tell thee I had news? And for their absences may Heaven be praised!—though, truly, they have deserved worse."
"They have deserveddeath," said Eloisàsolemnly: "death between the columns of the Piazzetta—death and confiscation."
"So, my Venetian, thou never wilt remember that we are Cyprians! The drama of confiscation will surely follow upon their deserts, and there will be fiefs the more for their Cyprian betters. But as for death—'death between the columns'—I could almost be glad that Rizzo hath escaped. How shall one not admire the masterful scheming of the man, and the insolence and power of him?—he is fairly great in wile.—Have I not told thee news enough, and of a quality to make thy hair stand on end—the comely hair of a most decorous young Venetian maid?—and thou hast never a word of admiration. Verily, thou art tiresome!"
"It is so terrible, Ecciva: I cannot jest, nor gloat on it for news."
"There, there, sweet child!" Ecciva had slipped easily back into her old, mocking, taunting way—"go look out thy tire for the morrow and try on thy jewels, for the pageant will be fine: and, do thy best, I shall outshine thee—thee and the Dama Margherita! One pageant in six months of woe—it is not over much."
The pageant had been brilliant, as one may read in the chronicles of the time.
Even the Queen of the Adriatic, in all her pride, could offer little to surpass the splendor of this great esplanade by the sea where the review had been held. The pavement of costly mosaic stretched along the coast, guarded by the lofty tower which jutted out upon the sea; while the other side of this unusual piazza was dominated by the famous Citadel which climbed the steep acclivity with intricate windings of crenellated walls, dotted with sentry towers where banners were floating. In that clear atmosphere distance was not appreciable, and the castellated slopes seemed to lead up to the highest peak of the Troödos, whose snow-crowned summit flashed its crystal against the deep blue of the Cyprian sky.
The massive walls of modern Famagosta skirted the esplanade, and above their mighty bulwark rose the domes and pinnacles of her palaces and churches—a city of delight. There were strange monuments breaking the sky-line; there were statues and fountains gleaming in the sunlight; there were hedges of rose and myrtle outlining the terraced gardens on the hill-slopes, where rioted all manner of fruits and bloom: back of them the vineyards of Varoschia—lemons, burning like topaz against the dark thatch of their glossy leaves, and near them the thin gray of the olive-trees, outlining with pale shadow the forests that spread to the mountains.
Vast vases of stone looked down from the heights in grotesque shapes—serpents coiled, thrusting out their tongues tipped with rubies, with glaring emeralds for eyes: and below them, deep cut in the living rock and blazoned so that one might read them from afar, the arms of the kingdom—as if sacred pythons, terrible and fierce, kept watch above the harbor for the honor of the realm.
And far off, against that wonderful mountain background, a colossal marble lion stood guard over the ruins of the city that slept upon the coast below—with demoniac, fiery eyes of flashing jewels, striking terror to the souls of mariners who might have wandered with sacrilegious feet among those crumbling tombs and temples in search of buried treasure.
For this buried city on the coast was the ancient city of Salamis, and famed for her magnificence—theFamagosta Vecchiawhich had furnished many a stately column and intricately wrought carving to enrich the modern city to which Janus had transferred the capital of his kingdom. Half-buried fragments of palaces and tombs and temples reached far along the coast, giving the touch of pathos and historic interest: and about them swept the broken circles of the splendid aqueduct which, in the days long past, had gathered the waters of the mountain streams to furnish the countless fountains and cisterns of Salamis. Great palms had sprung up in the fissures of the massive, grass-grown arches, and vines trailed draperies of beauty over their decay—and so they stood, a monument to the past, challenging the dwellers of the modern city to a labor so needful for the public weal.
The port was gay with trading ships and colors of many lands; but Mutio di Costanzo studied it with frowning brows, noting only the absence of his own galleys of Cyprus, which lay, unmanned in the dock-yards by order of King Janus the Second! And before them, where he turned his gaze, still frowning, on the silver of the sea rode the galleys of the fleet of Venice—decked with the banners of San Marco and of Cyprus.
Caterina, under her canopy, with all her court about her in fullest state, had received the homage of the people, as she passed her forces in review, her cheek tingling with honest pleasure at their enthusiastic greeting. The little Prince had been beside her, crowing his delight at the music, the motion, the noise, the color, in most unkingly fashion, quite unconscious that the storied jewel of his realm—the great ruby that Peter the Valiant had received as the tribute of a conquered Eastern city, glittering in the lace of his infant-cap, by way of royal insignia—demanded a regal bearing.
The presentation to the Mocenigo of the golden shield, richly inlaid with the arms of Cyprus, had made a pretty scenic episode, quite worthy of dramatic Venice.
For Mutio di Costanzo also, and for the Bernardini, there had been demonstrations, as Dama Ecciva had foretold: but the Lady Margherita de Iblin had noticed with uneasiness, that whereas it was a time when the people, high and low, should have assembled to testify their loyalty and affection, the crowd was chiefly composed of burghers and peasants from the hamlets in city neighborhoods, and that manyof the old Cyprian nobles with their tenantry were conspicuously absent. And since the death of Janus, some of those who had formerly been in attendance at court, had rarely shown themselves there.
Dama Margherita spoke of this afterwards to the Admiral, for he had asked for some private conversation with her in her boudoir, when the ceremonies should be over.
"What mean these absences?" she asked, when they had bemoaned the situation.
"Venice is feared, not loved," he answered her.
But she was unwilling to confess that she understood him, having a pride in her land and love for her Queen.
"Pardon, your Excellency," she said, "we were speaking of Cyprus."
He passed the interruption by as unworthy, being greatly in earnest.
"And the Queen—a very lovely young woman—is a mere figurehead—a pawn to be moved at the discretion of the higher powers."
"Then, my Lord, it should be seen to that she hath a Council competent to advise," the Lady Margherita retorted with ready indignation, "instead of a horde of traitors."
Her voice took on a higher key in her excitement, and the Admiral laid his hand lightly on her arm to quiet her.
"Dear Dama Margherita," he said, "we have been in conference with His Excellency the Signor Mocenigo—a very remarkable mind—and the Provveditore Vettore Soranzo; and the vacancies in Her Majesty's Council have been filled with men, whommay Heaven keep more loyal!—Butwhydid not the Counts of the Chamber rise up in eager demonstration of interest to put their best men in those vacant seats? And why—are we quite safe to discuss it here?—whydid we—having her interests at heart—not dare to ask the great nobles whom we wished to reach, to take those places?"
"It is because of Janus, who hath been heedless and unfair?" she asked reflecting. "For verily the people love the Queen."
"Let us not deceive ourselves out of our very loyalty. The citizens and the nearer peasants hold her in love and reverence: but those of the largercasalsand fiefs—the ancient nobles, have the power; and few of these are in her court. I would it were otherwise."
"It is something, your Excellency, to have won the love of the simpler folk as no Queen of this land hath ever done before," the Lady Margherita said staunchly.
"It is something, but not all," he answered; "the nobles are as much to be taken into consideration as the poorer classes. It is not all," he repeated with emphasis. "One may win from sympathy—but one must rule a kingdom by power. And the Queen—God help her!—is a charming child."
"My Lord!"
"A charming child—with a heart developed and matured like a saint; but with a mind untrained to intrigue, unsuspicious of jealousies, unconscious of any injustice wrought by her husband, not apt to comprehend, perhaps, any grievance of the nobles——"
"May we not help her?" Dama Margherita interrupted eagerly. "She would give back the fiefs if she knew that they had been misplaced—that any right had been violated. And now—after these confiscations——"
"Aye, there are more lands to satisfy their demands, it is true. But in their pride they might refuse—let her not wonder at it, nor cease from her courtesies. The nobles are rather sullen than overt in their discontent. They do not want Venetian galleys in their waters—though they must welcome them—nor to do homage to a Venetian for the gift of their own lands. And the restoration is less simple than was the confiscation. For temporary lords have been created and these remain to be reckoned with—even if the will were there."
"I am sure, your Excellency, that the will would not be lacking if this matter were understood; for Her Majesty is fair and generous, and eager to do all her duty by her people. It is of them, and never of herself, that her heart is full."
The old Knight looked at her with kindling eyes as he raised her hand to his lips with the gallantry of the time; yet retaining it in his own and petting it in fatherly fashion, for she had been his daughter's friend from childhood.
"Dear Margherita," he said with emotion, "it is well for our dear Queen that thou art so loyal; and well for our distraught land that thou shouldst be near her." He kissed her hand again as he released it. "I spoke but to try thee, my child. If there are those near her whom we may nottrust—it is not thou: I know that a de Iblin could not be disloyal."
"To try me—my Lord——!Me!"
She had drawn away from him, wounded and disdainful, her voice thrilling with anger.
But he answered her quietly and sorrowfully. "Could I risk any hurt to thee, cara Dama Margherita, if duty of plainest speech were not imperative? I trust thee wholly—how else could I speak thus with thee? I have never for a moment doubted thee; yet one might doubt one's own loyalty in this court of Cyprus—where, it is told me, there is a most subtle intriguer who seeketh to do thee harm."
"So it be not those whose esteem is dear to me," she answered wearily, still smarting from the hurt, "what matters it?"
"My child," he pleaded, "if it had not been needful, I should not have told thee; nor told theethus, but that I wished to see if any suspicion of this had dawned upon thee. But thou, like the Queen, art too noble to soil thy soul with distrust. Yet, bethink thee, for her sake, if there be any within this circle—however fairly spoken—who may be intriguing against thee, yet seeking in secret to disaffect the court in favor of some other claimant."
"Who brought your Excellency this tale?" she asked; "since all may not be trusted?" Her tone was a challenge, and she moved towards the door to close the interview, but the Admiral would not follow.
"Put by thine indignation, Margherita," he answered patiently, "for I have told thee as I would tell my own Alicia, if danger threatened—ifsomewhat overclumsily it seemeth to a maiden's fancy. It was told me, in confidence, by one of judgment and most loyal honor, whose name I may not reveal, and who besought me that I should warn thee—thee, Margherita—who knew thy loyalty staunch as his own."
A slow, pale flush grew on the girl's proud cheek as she listened and her eyes took on a strange light.
"What matters it, my Lord," she said again, "to me, if I have thy trust and—and—that of all men of honor! Forgive the temper of my house!" She stretched out her hand to him.
"So thou but know when to curb it," he answered smiling, "it is thy strength and our pride. And now—as to this other?"
"My Lord, I do not know"—but she paused suddenly.
"It is well," he said watching her, "for I may name no names—but thou art on thy guard. She was named to me as very fair—subtle—charming—of an ancient house of Cyprus—we have named no names. Let no confidences escape thee in her presence: but we have no knowledge yet of any traitorous intent that might excuse her dismissal from Court; and if it be but petty, personal jealousy"—again Margherita had flushed unwontedly—"for a mere jealousy, one may not insult a noble, ancient house. It is not known if her sympathy be with Naples, or with Carlotta."
"Your Excellency shall know if aught be discovered that should be told," Margherita promised. "But the matter is difficult."
"As to Her Majesty," the Admiral continuedlowering his voice still further, "it hath been found needful to guard her interests, and the Signor Bernardini hath been named to the Council—a most excellent gentleman—if he were not of Venice. I would have had another of our Cyprian nobles, because of this jealousy of Venice. But they have kept themselves so much from court that we have not seen their color; and we dare not trifle with them, for the time is critical."
"Why not thou—Eccellentissimo?"
"Nay; I may keep a wider outlook on the interests of the kingdom without the Council. The city of Nikosia shall stand for her; the trading interests are to watch; the fleets must be re-manned; these intrigues must be thwarted. I outside the court, and thou within, very closely within—as near to the heart of the Queen as she will let thee—we shall work and help her, for her task is not light. She swore her oath of office to me, and I to her gave mine, as solemnly—to help her with my life. It is a heavy load for such tender hands to lift:—a question if one may conquer wile with innocency—yet the strife is noble."
"What may be done to help her?" Dama Margherita questioned, heavy-hearted. "What is my part? It is not only the scandal of watching against intrigue."
"That is no scandal to loyal service: and such her very trust and goodness do demand. But there is more: out of thy fuller knowledge of the Cyprian temper—thy comprehension of their grievances—thy loyal Cyprian pride—thy staunchness to the House of Lusignan—make thyself charming to thesegreat Cyprian nobles; help the Queen to see the need of their conciliation, and stoop a little from thy loftiness to win it for them. To two such women, the impossible is easy. I leave thee now."
"Is there no more?" she asked.
"Nay:—or it is a trifle. If they have found the court a little over-dull, of late, blame them not over-much: the need for gayety and splendor is in their blood—more than in ours of Sicily—more even than in that of Venice—which hath greater gravity. I have spoken with Madama di Thénouris and the Lady of the Bernardini; but Madama di Thénouris hath better understanding of the Cyprian temper, its need of excitement—half barbaric—its impatience with a tone of gloom; the tourneys, the tennis, the hunt, all that bringeth life—let the court be charming again with jewels and color. Too great gravity is not wise."
"Yet to-day, your Excellency, if there were no lack of brilliancy—how many were not there to see!"
"It is the beginning only," he said; "let it not be the end. Great issues have been changed by such trifles."
"Must there be no more than trifles?" she asked, detaining him, dissatisfied.
He looked at her, uncertain whether it were wise to speak further.
"Tell no one that they are trifles: but listen," he said. "It will takestrength, andpatience, andwisdomandcunningandgraceto rule this people. Shall we ask all this of any woman?" He dwelt upon the words with weighty enunciation.
"Or of anyman?" she answered, half-mocking at the demand. "And if he were really a man, and not a god—and if one might choose one's King——"
He shook his head slowly in response. "Our paragon might not be found in the House of Lusignan, perchance. But surely he would not be a Louis of Savoy—nor a Ferdinand of Naples—no more than a Carlotta.Nor any Cyprian noble who hath eyes upon the Crown."
"Not this, also!" she cried, startled; "not this!"
"So rumor hath it; but none is strong enough. It frets me not. I have but told thee since thou art on guard."
"Is there a remedy?" she asked despondent.
"It is not hopeless. The Ministers must rule the land. We must choose our men and bide our time. Our Queen, by her grace, shall win the people's hearts: and all may be well."
"And the little Prince—under her training?—For she will teach him love and justice. She hath vowed him to the service of his land."
"Aye, he is our hope. We must guard her kingdom for him."
Then suddenly his face flamed with wrath. "This Council of the Realm were arch-traitors!" he said fiercely, "and to think that they escaped death!—Wresting power for their own ends—taking no concern for Cyprian interests—they 'forget' the tribute which assures to Cyprus the support of our Suzerain, and wait for Venice to come with careful inquiry to set such failures right! But what cared they whether the provisions of a solemntreaty were kept or broken? They had no thought of honor—they wanted power to overturn the throne—not to uphold it.—The masterful meanness of such creatures is beyond comprehension!"
"It doth unman me!" he said apologetically to Margherita, after this unusual outburst, for Mutio di Costanzo was a man of few words; then,
"Madama di Thénouris is of our private council," he added, to her immense relief, as he left her.