Chapter 11

"Aye--am I!--Where there is cause for mistrust it maketh cowards of us, when faith were better. Thou knowest, gentle Mother, that this Valentine confessed, before his death, that he but heralded a larger craft sent from Rhodes, with knights and gentlemen and letters favoring _Carlotta_! And Gioan Peres Fabrici, Captain of our galley, sent with speed by prayer of us of Venice to bring them hither to confess themselves, _found them not_. He returned, _with speed_--and _found them not_. What thinkest thou, my Mother? Is it my judgment that is gone from too great anxiety?--Or may a valiant captain not see a brigantine armed upon the water?--a ship--a brig, scarce smaller than his own, perchance--that he should let them slip?"

"Why should he let them slip?--And Valentine may not have spoken truth."

"One speaketh truth, or naught--with death so near. And for thy question--I know not why----" He seemed to be evolving knotty reasons, as he sat, with stern brows, deep in thought. With an effort he roused himself and went on with his tale.

"But yesterday, in Council--for Cornaro and I, we had discussed the matter of the royal residence together, thinking it suited not with the Queen's dignity to remain longer in the fortress--a most mournful palace for one so young and who hath need of some distraction about her to keep her from oversadness. But Rizzo, being Chief of Council, would hear naught of the Queen's return to the Palace. Fabrici also spoke against it."

"It is strange:--but they gave no reason?"

"They gave a reason--one of their own making: that there was a matter of more moment before the Council; that the Queen's pleasure might wait."

"Aluisi! What saidst thou?"

"Cornaro lost patience and answered roundly: that he, being by his late Majesty created Auditor of the realm, and by him greatly trusted--it behooved him as much to uphold the Queen's dignity as to have his word in the choice of the residence and aught else pertaining to the costs of the royal household. And that the Chamberlain of the Queen--I having upheld the demand made by him--was like to know what best might suit her Majesty."

"And then?" the Lady Beata questioned, much agitated.

"'Ye are like to know what best might suit Her Majesty--_both being of Venice_,' Rizzo made answer; and _dismissed the Council_."

Neither of them spoke for a few moments.

"How will Andrea accept this insolence?" the Lady Beata questioned.

"There _is_ more--far more than that for anxiety," Aluisi said, dismissing her question with an impatient gesture. "I would that the Queen and the child were here--in their own palace--or that we were there. The question hath turned to one of larger import than the good pleasure of the Queen; or the wisdom of holding the Queen and the Prince Royal in a fortress, when the land is not at war--as if her own people might not be trusted with her life. But the argument did not touch the Council--not more than the whim of us--_of Venice_"--he spoke bitterly. "Before, it was expedient. _Now_----"

"Now?" his Mother urged.

"There may be some scheme behind it, and I would we were there. She hath none of her own beside her, if trouble should come."

"She hath Dama Margherita--who loveth her well."

"Dama Margherita," Bernardini echoed, and a feeling of peace came over him.

But the Lady Beata sat pondering, in troubled silence. What could it mean? Caterina had taken up her residence in the fortress before her illness; it had been thought wise, although it had not been publicly declared. A few of her maids of honor and Lady Beata, Chief Lady of her Court, had gone with her. But before the baptism, her suite had returned to the palace, that all might be as usual for the reception of the royal guests; the Queen had lingered from day to day, partly that she might escape the crowd and keep more quiet until the festivities were over. But now--was it of her own choice? Why did she not return?

"And now--what wilt thou do?" the Lady of the Bernardini asked at length, turning towards her son, failing to see what course of action might be wisest. "May we not go to her to-night?"

"It is too late: the gates are closed; it could do but harm to rouse them for us to pass, with no cause but our anxieties to offer. But to-morrow, we will compass it.

"Meanwhile I have done what may be done to bring hither more who are of our ways of thinking; for who should care for her, if not we '_of Venice_?'" It was evident that the thrust rankled. "I saw our Consul yesterday, who seemed not overanxious from what I told him--therefore _I told him not all_--I trust he hath not been tampered with by this most wily 'Council to the Queen!' but before the night had fallen, I sent a letter of warning to Mocenigo who, with his fleet, will be at anchor off the coast of Rhodes--to pray that he will come, or will send our Provveditore Vettore Soranzo to await the need."

His Mother grasped his wrist--her eyes dilating. "It must be long before they can come," she said, in a whisper.

"Not many days," he answered reassuringly; "and I have sent by a trusty Cypriote who will make full speed to bring me back the message that meaneth large reward for him. My warning must reach Mocenigo before any message sent from Cyprus to Venice might get to him again."

"Is there aught else that may be done?"

"I have given command to put my fastest brig in trim, and to-morrow she will sail with merchandise for Venice; all day she hath been lading in the port. The message in my special cypher, known only to the Secretary of the Ten, is ready here." He drew the missive from his breast, as he spoke, replacing it instantly. "Marco Bembo will sail with it on the morrow, which he may well do without suspicion, having come hither for the ceremonies now over. The brig will leave the port with all due tranquillity; and afterward will make all possible speed."

"There could be nothing more," she said rising; "thou hast thought of all."

"I thought also to have some one watching--ready to appeal to the burghers, if need should be: and I have sent but now a most secret message by my own trusty squire to his Eccellenza, Mutio di Costanzo, to tell him what hath chanced. He being Governor and Admiral of Cyprus, hath so great power that it should not be left for the Queen's Council to reach him first--if there should be scheming. Being Vice-Roy of Nikosia, he will have the will of the citizens for his following--if need should be. And his loyalty is sure: it was he, who with our _bailò_ of Venice received Caterina's oath of allegiance, after the death of Janus; and he will not fail her."

"Thou hast a right to thy weariness," his Mother said, laying her firm white hand with a weight of tenderness for a moment on his head. "Thou mindest me of thy father--so full of carefulness to be before in any cause that he held dear. I would thou wert not lost to Venice--it was my hope for thee--thou wouldst have been a power in her Councils."

"We would not be false to our own for any fancied glory that might be possible for us," he answered more lightly than he had yet spoken: but he knew that his Mother's ambitions for him were not fulfilled in this mission to Cyprus--that she had sacrificed her heart's desire for him.

He caught her beautiful white hand and spread it tenderly out upon his own--a hand that it had taken generations to fashion--made to command, yet knowing when to yield--modelled with exquisite lines of grace, goodness, courtesy, power--a hand of character, yet with delicate flushes of pink in finger tip and palm, with a touch as tender as strong.

"It is too hard for thee, Madre mia, away from thine old home," he said tenderly. "There is room in the brig for thee to-morrow, if thou wilt: and Marco for thine escort."

She shook her head: "It would be harder to live without my boy," she said resolutely. "Now think on sleep, of which thou hast need--and----" She half-framed the name of Margherita, yet would not utter it.

He smiled at the wistful look in her face; for he understood. "Nay, Madre mia; such thoughts are not for me. I am a general in an alien camp, with scarce wit enough for my tangled duty."

Then he bent his knee, and kissed her hand, in knightly fashion of the time, as doing her reverence, whom in his heart he loved, and left her--a little comforted by his long confidential talk.

But the Lady Beata stood for a while motionless where her son had left her, before the long window that faced the splendid peristyle of the palace. Between the great spaces of the columns she saw the Piazza beyond them flooded with moonlight--white and still and absolutely deserted. There were no human sounds save the monotonous tread of the sentinels pacing to and fro before the palace; and across the Piazza, those of the guard before the closed entrance of the Fortress of Famagosta where their Queen and the infant Prince were in residence, echoed them back. From the Duomo San Nicolò shone the faint twilight glimmer of the tall candles that were ceaselessly burning about the tomb of Janus--each pale flame wafting a prayer for absolution from the broken heart of the Queen, who before her illness had brought them daily with her own hands: and far down upon the shore was dimly heard the ceaseless flow of the waves, keeping rhythmic beat to the passing moments in the mystery of the night.

XIX

The moon had waned and the night was starless when the chimes of San Nicolò told three of the morning in low melodious tones like a voice from dreamland, breaking no slumber.

Suddenly the sharp wild clangor of the great alarum-bell of Famagosta crashed through the silence.

The citizens sprang from their sleep with cries of terror and rushed to the windows; but, alas, they had _not_ dreamed that dreaded danger signal which kept up its fateful toll. Already men, fully armed, were hurrying through the streets that led to the Piazza; whence came echoes of voices talking in quick, awe-struck tones--the flash of torches--a horseman dashing down from the castle to the walls at the port--sounds of excited action ringing back from the ramparts--the quick gallop of a cavalier rushing to join his command.

What might it mean!

Commander Saplana moved calmly out among his mounted suite, fully equipped, from the Castle into the Piazza; yet there had not been many moments in which to make ready since the first notes of that wild alarum had sounded!

Those among the citizens entitled to bear arms were quickly accoutred and dashed out to mingle with the throng.

"What is it?" men questioned of each other--but no one knew.

Had the Genoese returned to storm by night this post of vantage so long their own--and still so coveted?

Were the Turks upon them?

Was it some intrigue of Ferdinand of Naples?

Was it treason?

Was it Carlotta come from Rhodes, with men-at-arms, to surprise them?

There was stealthy talk of a foreign galley in the port.

Some one had noted strange sailors in the throng: one might not be sure of the letters on their caps, because of the darkness: but they were Christians--not Turks--thanks be to the Madonna!

"But the Queen is safe, _Sanctissima Vergine_! The Queen is in the Castle."

"There is His Excellency, Maestro Gentle, physician to Her Majesty, he passeth but now, the glimmer of his mail beneath his cloak! Holy saints! A gray-haired man, rushing out into the night--thinking first of the Queen and of her safety! The Madonna will be good to her!"

The old court physician gave the password at the castle-gate and entered.

The Signor Andrea Cornaro rode forth from his palace, fully armed, and with him Marco Bembo, cousin to the Queen--surely, they would know! The citizens called to them urgently for some explanation of the tumult, but they passed swiftly by to the palace of the Bailò, the Venetian Resident.

But the Bailò gave them no comfort.

"I know naught of the trouble," he answered them, "save that warning hath been sent me by His Excellency, the Count of Tripoli, that it were wiser that I keep within."

"Then art thou the more needed!" burst from the lips of Cornaro, made desperate by this coolness; "for it well may be that the Count of Tripoli is a traitor set high in trust!"

But the Bailò listened to their importunate pleadings as if it were a trifle.

"Come with us swiftly to the Queen! By all the saints in heaven!--she should have her own about her in this danger--whate'er it be!"

"Nay," he said, and would not move. "This is a place of intrigue--and warning hath been sent me. It is, perchance, some one who seeketh my life."

There was no time to parley.

"Haste thee to the royal palace," the elder man said to his nephew, as they galloped away, "and bring from thence, with all speed, the Queen's Chamberlain, the Bernardini--there is none more loyal. Let none hinder thee."

"I serve our house and our honor!" young Marco called back to him, as he put his horse to the spur.

"I go at once to Caterina," his uncle answered reassuringly, turning the head of his good steed towards the castle--a place of security indeed--a fortress famed as impregnable.

* * * * *

The Royal Palace was doubly guarded--as never before, and Marco when he reached it, plead in vain for admission.

"By order of the Council of the Realm, no man might enter."

"Then take, I pray thee, this message to His Excellency, the Chamberlain of the Queen, and bid him come hither--it is for life or death."

A golden coin, with the head of Janus stamped upon it, glittered in his palm. The valiant guard received the gift and refused the message.

"No man shall enter, nor leave this palace to-night: by order of the Council of the Realm."

"I bring an order from His Excellency, Andrea Cornaro, Auditor of Her Majesty, and member of the Council of the Realm," Marco pleaded desperately.

"_Our_ orders are of the _Chief of Council_, the Signor Marin Rizzo--whom to disobey this night _is death_."

The foremost guard of the line had led the defense: and among them all there was no motion to favor this young cousin of their Queen. He was a knight, and brave at arms--but to have fought that band meant certain death; and at the castle, one might, perchance, help the Queen!

"There are some with Caterina to help her," he thought in his loyal heart, as baffled at the palace, he pushed his way across the Piazza and reached the entrance to the castle, "and here she is surely safe."

The Count of Zaffo, her aged Councillor and friend, had risen from a sick-bed to go to her; he had been first to enter the castle-court. "So ill, that he scarce could hold himself upon his palfrey," some one told the young knight in the crowd, in answer to his question.

"The old Councillor scarce could strike a blow for her," thought Marco; "but it is good that he should be within: for his devotion to Caterina is known. And Messer Andrea is there!"

He drew breath more freely for this gleam of comfort, as he gave the usual password.

But the guard was obdurate.

"It is not the password for this night, my Lord."

"I pray thee--I am cousin to Her Majesty, and _must_ have speech with her."

"Eccellenza; by order of the castellan, none may pass, save those who give the word."

"Then call me hither the castellan."

"The password hath been given by the Chief of the Council of the Realm; and without it, the gates may not be opened," the castellan answered without preamble, when he appeared for an instant before the slide in the great gate--as quickly closed, though he had recognized a member of the Queen's family.

"Had his uncle known the password and forgotten to give it to him?" Marco questioned in some anxiety, as he made his way, baffled again, through the crowd in the Piazza, which was growing denser and more excited. "And if he had not known it----?"

He quickened his pace--his horse alert to obey his will, fretting with dilated nostril and pawing hoof at their frequent interruptions.

The citizens had gathered in force, but no one of them knew the cause of the commotion, and they were not immediately formidable in the midst of this armed body of knights and soldiers who kept secret council and obeyed the slightest word of their commanders. Marco searched their faces, as well as he might for the uncertain glare of the torches, but in vain. If he could but find General Visconti and his men, they might cut their way into the fortress--they, being Venetians, were surely loyal to the Queen!

His brain was in a whirl--he could think of nothing that was best, every moment might count--yet he crossed and recrossed his steps, turning down dark streets and back again into the Piazza; he was no longer sure of the safety of the castle; he was growing desperate.

But Visconti's men did not reveal themselves, and Marco worked his way out of the Piazza--since they surely were _not_ there, and since no hint of what was passing within the fortress came from behind the porte-cullis--the single opening upon the square.

Little did he dream that Visconti's men, _because they were Venetians and known to be in sympathy with the Queen_ were kept that night, by order of the Council of the Realm, in close detention.

The troop of horse stood impassible before the entrance and the sentry as tranquilly kept guard upon the turrets, as Marco passed them on his way to a small gate upon the seaward side which he had once noticed and now hoped had been forgotten, and where, in truth he entered when he reached it; for it had not been thought important by the planners of this night's strange revel--possibly because few knew of it, or perhaps, because there were none from the port who would not be welcome, for the fleets of Venice were known to be at anchor off the coasts of Turkey, having sailed thither in glad and unsuspecting temper after the courtesies of the baptismal and coronation fêtes.

* * * * *

It chanced that it was through this same small, unguarded doorway that Andrea Cornaro had passed when--unaware of the new password for the night and zealously kept in ignorance thereof by his colleagues in office--he had been denied admission at the great gate upon the Piazza. As all persuasion brought him the more strenuous denial, he felt sure of some perfidy and the more bent upon reaching his niece at all hazards--for he was not one to be easily overcome by obstacles.

Meanwhile, Messer Andrea, Auditor to the Queen and Member of the Council of the Realm, had meant to scale the walls by the seaside and fight his way, hand to hand if need be, to the Queen's side, when he had chanced upon this little gate upon the moat so long unused that its rusty bolt yielded without over-much persuasion to his pressure from without. The first court upon which it gave entrance--being the farthest from the Piazza--was dark and deserted, and he passed, without resistance into the second court, finding it also empty, except for the sentry passing to and fro on his monotonous duty.

The man saluted as he offered the usual password, then, recognizing one of the Queen's Council, presented arms.

Here, at least, all was tranquil--possibly his fears had been too great.

But from the third court--the one first entered from the Piazza, there came as he neared the arched passage that led from court to court through the thickness of the massive walls, hints of commotion that made him pause to consider whether he might not more surely reach the Queen by some other stairway.

As he drew back into the shadow to make some farther plan, the Count of Tripoli, with Rizzo di Marin, Chief of Council, came through, from the first court, followed by one or two mounted nobles, questioning the sentry as to whether anyone had passed that way, and he heard the man give his name.

"Sua Eccellenza, Messer Andrea Cornaro."

The Count of Tripoli repeated this answer, with an accent of surprise.

"He gave the password?" he questioned, sternly.

"_Eccellenza, si--come sempre._"

Andrea Cornaro, to whom fear was unknown, thinking himself called, immediately responded, coming forward into the light.

"I have somewhat to discuss with thee," Rizzo said nonchalantly. "Wilt have a mount? We will go forth upon the ramparts and see whether all be in order."

"I have but left my horse," Cornaro answered, calling the animal to him with a motion of his hand, "but I would first know of this tumult." He kept his hand upon the bridle and remained standing, while he looked searchingly from Rizzo to Tripoli, the Governor of Famagosta.

"What is this tumult?" he repeated angrily, seeing them not quick to answer.

"Nay, Friend, how knowest thou not? being of the Council--as we:" Rizzo answered with a hint of provocation in his tone. "It is but some difference of the soldiers as to rations and pay: it threatened mutiny and had to be met. It will be put down. Mount then, your Excellency."

"'Rations,' and 'pay,'" Cornaro answered scornfully, "to rouse the city and 'put it down'--at dead of night!"

"Aye: since they chose this time for their own deed of darkness, we men-at-arms may not be dainty about the hour of retribution."

"The Queen--my niece," said Andrea, taking a sudden resolution and throwing the reins across his horse's neck; "I will first go to her. Later I wait thy pleasure, Signor Rizzo; on the ramparts, or where thou wilt.--This is no lightsome night for a woman--a mere girl."

"'A woman'--'a mere girl'!"--the Chief of Council began tauntingly.

Cornaro's hand was upon his sword.

"_Scusi!_" Rizzo said, suavely, being not yet ready for the break. "I meant no disrespect--but she is young to rule. If thou wilt take thy horse, we will first seek the Queen, who would speak with thee. Nay--not by that court--the winding mount is quieter."

The Count of Tripoli and his companions had already left them and passed into the first court, in eager converse; but Cornaro was scarcely in the saddle before a sudden great uproar in the streets of the city beyond the fort arrested them. Cries, as of many men in concert, proclaiming Alfonso, son of Ferdinand of Naples, Prince of Galilee and Heir to the Crown of Cyprus--"by order of the _Council of the Realm_:" deafening shouts and threats of the citizens, protesting:--sounds of clashes of arms, terrorizing the people:--the sudden crash of the alarum bell, bursting forth anew to drown their protests:--

Then again the traitorous cries, passing off through the more distant streets of the city:

"_Viva Alfonso--Prince of Galilee and Heir to the Crown of Cyprus!_"

"What meaneth this insolence!" Cornaro cried, white with passion and instantly drawing his sword.

* * * * *

The Neapolitan was not braver than the Venetian--but with an infinitely cooler brain, well-skilled in villany and intrigue and troubled by no sense of honor, he seized his opportunity, and when his victim's arm was raised, he dealt him a desperate blow on the head which hurled him, with stunning force from his horse. And then, upon the pavement of the castle-court, having him at disadvantage and senseless from the blow, the valiant Chief of Council, cruelly and like no loyal knight, summoned his mercenaries to his aid and dispatched his enemy with quick sword-thrusts, bidding them toss the lifeless body into the moat that circled the castle walls.

The faithful horse was the solitary mourner who watched his unconscious master while life was ebbing and sought to comfort him with mournful whinnies of almost human affection.

* * * * *