Chapter 12

Had the young knight Marco Bembo but known of his uncle's barbarous murder, and that the white-haired Councillor Zaffo lay foully slaughtered in the first court of the castle because of his great crime of loyalty to the Queen, he might have paused before he attempted to force an entrance to the fortress. And yet he would not--being loyal as the venerable Councillor himself, and as full of bravery as Andrea Cornaro; the thought of the Queen's greater need would but have spurred his courage.

The young Venetian had reached the second court without molestation, when he turned to silence the cry that came from a swaggering band of sailors who had followed him and were shouting for "Alfonso--Prince of Galilee!" They fell upon him at the signal from Rizzo which marked him guilty--for was he not a Venetian?

"_E tu, traditor!_"

The words rang out unanswered, save by his desperate sword.

They were but six, and he was standing against treason, for the Queen and the honor of his house!

He fought them all, without a groan, until his strength was spent; and they, eager to do the will of this ruffianly king-maker, who was winning a fresh coronet for their Prince of Naples--this man of force who would make much booty possible--fought six to one, and spared not.

And then, by bidding of their Chief, they flung the palpitating, tortured, lifeless remnant of what--one little hour before--had been a loyal, noble, winsome man, dreaming of duty and high achievement--into the horror of the moat by the pitiful wreck of Andrea Cornaro--the two murdered for the double crimes of relationship and loyalty to the trembling girl-Queen.

XX

His Grace, the Archbishop, was among the first to respond to the summons of the alarum, having his mind filled with weighty matters of life and death which had rendered him sleepless--some of which he had discussed confidentially with General Saplana, who had been one of those most distinguished and trusted by the late King.

With Saplana the Commander of Famagosta, and with his own brother Gioan Peres Fabrici, as with some other members of the Queen's Council, many details of the conspiracy which was now being brought to so satisfactory a conclusion, had been arranged. They knew that the Neapolitan galley would be in port that night to support the uprising and the proclamation that should be made, if fortune favored. They knew of Ferdinand's untiring machinations to win a hold upon this much contested Crown of Cyprus; and none knew better how from the moment that the coveted alliance between Janus and a Princess of Naples had been frustrated by the Venetian marriage, Ferdinand had not ceased from intrigues to that end, secretly and zealously supported by certain men who were holding important positions of trust in the Government of Cyprus.

Andrea Cornaro, by whose means his niece had come to her throne, would be the most formidable individual opponent in any scheme for the benefit of Naples, and it became important to remove him; yet it could not be done without some apparent excuse--because of his relationship to the Queen, and because unless success were complete, they might have cause to dread the strong galleys of Venice. So the wily Primate--keeping perhaps his own counsel as to the fabricator of the plot--invented a scheme which he asserted that the unconscious Cornaro intended to carry into effect that night by which, _when the great bell of the Castle should sound the call to arms, the Venetians in Famagosta, under Visconti and his band of Italian soldiers were to rise up and murder every Cyprian member of the Council of the Realm_. "Therefore let every man be armed and ready for the defense of Cyprus when the call shall be heard. And spare not the traitors!" he urged upon the Commander of the fortress.

"And if Visconti's men could be under restraint this night," the Archbishop suggested casually, "and if that Chamberlain of the Queen's could be under trusty guard within the palace--not to make suggestions in a matter more to your understanding than mine, your Excellency--but I know the man--a troublesome one and proud and silent--my brother liketh him little. After the Cornaro he is most to fear."

Thus Aluisi Bernardini found himself with his mother, close prisoner in the Royal palace, on the night when his Queen most sorely needed the help he would have perilled his life to give.

* * * * *

The Queen had been restless and could not sleep, being greatly troubled by a missive which the Archbishop had that morning delivered into her hands and which contained a reprimand of no gentle nature, purporting to come from His Holiness of Rome, who charged the Queen and certain gentlemen of her kingdom with being 'wicked and ungrateful,' and assuring her that they were everywhere so regarded, for 'certain reasons well known to the writer,' which were not named.

She had put the letter aside, meaning to discuss it with her Chamberlain in the morning; but in the darkness and solitariness of her chamber, it assumed new proportions, and she finally sent to pray the Lady Margherita to come to her, and they sat far into the night--Dama Margherita trying in vain to comfort her with her assurance that she did not believe the letter to be genuine.

"His Holiness could not speak without reason," she asserted; "and having reasons, why should he not give them--that the fault might be confessed and atoned for?--_There are no reasons._ It is the work of some one who seeketh to annoy."

Dama Margherita had a positive way of seeing things, which was often helpful to Caterina's more gracious nature.

"Cara Margherita--it was His Grace himself who gave the letter into my hand."

But Dama Margherita had no reverence for the Archbishop of Nikosia.

"I think, your Majesty, that letter is not genuine," she repeated, uncompromisingly.

"But--Margherita--the most reverend, the Archbishop would not----"

Caterina broke off with a vivid flush and left the sentence unfinished, remembering that there had been a previous Archbishop of Nikosia whose code had not been fashioned by her ideals.

Dama Margherita had but just withdrawn when the uproar in the streets began and she rushed back at once to her Lady's side. The sounds came muffled through the massive walls of the castle for there was no outlook on the Piazza; it was the low muttering of a storm, none the less terrible because undeclared. But there could be no mistaking the dread clangor of the bell, and the two young, helpless women clung to each other in trembling silence.

Caterina was the first to recover her composure; she made a pathetic effort to steady her voice as she spoke.

"Margherita, I must know at once what this meaneth. If one of the Council would come to me--there is always one in the Castle--my Uncle Andrea--or the Councillor Zaffo--I would they had not sent Aluisi and the Zia back to the palace!--and--and--_I will go to the Boy_."

"Dear Lady," Margherita besought her. "Let me rather bring him hither. The Council will be coming at once--they would rather find you here. I will come with the Prince and his _aya_, so soon as I shall have found one of the Council. Your Majesty will not fear to be left alone?"

"No: _No!_" Caterina hastened her with a motion of her hand. "The others will be here; thou wilt hasten with the child--and then thou wilt leave me no more!"

But Dama Margherita was already far down the narrow stone corridor, beyond hearing the confession of failing courage which would have brought her instantly back, when a tapestry was thrust hastily aside, and Maestro Gentile, the old white-haired physician, fully armed, but with the air of a hunted man, tottered into the room.

"They seek my life," he gasped, "I know not why. I came through the terror lest your Majesty should need me--for it is a night!--San Nicolò save us!"

"Madonna mia!" the Queen cried piteously with clasped hands, "I do not understand!"

"It is the time for reckoning, fair Majesty; and those who have the power shall rule."

The Archbishop of Nikosia had entered the Queen's apartment unperceived and stood watching her with eyes of triumph.

She shrank from him with a sudden comprehension of his false nature, while he offered his explanation in a voice that struck her sensitive soul like a blow.

Instinctively she drew nearer to the old physician as if craving some stay, and laid her hand affectionately on his arm; then she pointed to the door: "Leave us at least the courtesy of our apartment!" she exclaimed indignantly to the Archbishop; "your Grace came unannounced."

"I came to bring your Majesty news of import," he began, taking no notice of her command. "His Majesty of Naples----"

Was he indeed about to confess his connection with the intriguing King of Naples, of which there had been more than one rumor? Aluisi had bidden her weigh the Primate's counsels before accepting them.

"We will hear your news in presence of the Councillors of the Realm, whom I have already summoned," the Queen interrupted, raising her fragile hand with a motion of silence--her slight trembling figure held erect by force of will, her head thrown back--her eyes flashing scorn--her voice steadied by a supreme effort.

He paused, half in admiration, half in triumph, gloating over the success of the conspiracy of which he had been the master-mind, while he picked the words in which he would announce it to his victim, as one might choose the pebbles for a sling--the smoothest and the sharpest.

"It is scarce fitting that your Majesty should be last to hear what is already proclaimed throughout Famagosta," he said, "that Alfonso of Naples hath been created Prince of Galilee and Heir to Cyprus."

She looked at him with a scorn that burned. "Is your Grace a _man_," she said, "to use this speech? Or do I not hear aright--from the horror of this night?"

Then she turned to Maestro Gentile, compassionate and protecting.

"It cannot be that any should seek thy life," she said. "Thou art my friend:--I will shield thee here--_Madonna Sanctissima_! I cannot think--let us pray that this horror pass!"

She put her hands over her eyes and sank upon her knees, and Maestro Gentile knelt beside her.

There was a rush of footsteps, as of pursuers coming swiftly up the secret passage by which the physician had entered the royal apartments; in another second the hanging was torn aside and Rizzo, dark and ferocious, panting like some savage with the madness of the deeds already done--his eyes glaring upon his prey--with an oath at finding them so engaged, thrust the young Queen violently away, and sprang at the physician crying out in a voice of frenzy, as he dealt him two desperate blows with his iron gauntleted fists.

"_E tu traditor!_"

It was the inglorious watchword--the signal of the brutal captain of this unequal fight; and the mercenaries following his lead, fell upon the old man and held him down while Rizzo stripped him of his sword, which, despite his years, he might have wielded too deftly.

There was a second's reaction from the exhaustion of the rapid chase, and while they drew breath, the physician who had been protected from serious harm by the corslet worn under his long mantle, had watched his opportunity, and with the agility of a hunted man, he started to his feet and escaped into the corridor, running for his life, on and up to the ramparts.

The Queen threw herself before the doorway, in agonized pleading for the life of her friend. But the clinging hands and streaming tears, the heroism of the girl facing all those frenzied men alone, were as nothing to their wrath at the delay--and in a moment they had passed her in hot pursuit.

She listened, every faculty tense to detach the sounds of this tragedy from that other, jangling from without. She heard the footsteps of the ruffians overtaking him; she heard their demoniacal cries, echoing back;--his faint words--"_What have I done that ye seek my life_,"--but the voice came no more--only sounds of struggle, growing dimmer, as they dragged him farther away upon the ramparts--then silence--and the misery of it burning in her brain.

She staggered back against the doorway where she stood.

Then suddenly, came a flash of agonized revelation--the consciousness that this was but one link in the dark scheme of revolt, and with it came the acute revival of all her powers--the sharpening of every faculty of heart and brain.

"My Boy!" she cried--her voice thrilled through the castle--"_Madonna Dolorosa_--_My Child!_" and with the fleetness of a deer she turned and sped with flying feet, down the corridor to the chamber of the little Prince.

So lithe--so brave--so beautiful--so tortured--so resolute--she was a thing to curb and hold! Alvigi Fabrici, the tool of Ferdinand, would have liked to follow her and see the panting vision of her face, when she reached the cradle of her child--_and found him gone_.

But there was already silence in the corridor: no faintest echo of flying feet--no vaguest rustle of fluttering robes--a moment had sufficed for the mother's startled quest.

XXI

It was dawn after that night of tragedy.

From sheer exhaustion of passion the turmoil in the streets had subsided; the cries of indignant protest had ceased and the populace accepted their fate in sullen acquiescence, knowing themselves not strong enough to contest without aid those intriguing Councillors of the Realm who were entrenched behind the impregnable fortress of Famagosta where they held close captive the Sovereign they had sworn to defend and obey.

The Piazza was deserted: the malcontents who had gathered to mutter at the horror of the moat where the victims of the night had been tossed unburied, had been dispersed by threat of arms; the sentinels nodded at their posts--scarce knowing whose power they were upholding, nor by what name men called their masters. Here and there throughout the city, a little knot of the graver burghers might be found lingering to discuss the situation in attitudes of helpless dejection, and scattering with their problems all unsolved. They were too insignificant to dread, and for the moment the triumphant conspirators were content to leave the city without further imposition or molestation to such rest as a merciful nature might vouchsafe.

They were content to yield this lull in the storm, because it gave them needful quiet in which to mature fresh intrigues, to insure their triumph. Those men of Venice of the Queen's household, who would most strenuously have resisted them, had been quieted forever, it was true; but, as dawn lightened over the ghastly faces upturned beneath the windows of the poor young Queen, an unconfessed tremor stole into the doughty breasts of Rizzo and Fabrici, in the place where most men wear their hearts, and they got them together, in friendly converse, to ponder what should come next.

For Venice was mightier than Naples--and the password they had so successfully wielded for a night--"_à bas Venezia_"--might not suffice to hold for the young Alfonso the dignity of _Prince of Galilee_, which they had proclaimed for him throughout the protesting city; it might even have a baneful ring, when news of the night's murders should reach the Republic. A plausible reason for the death must be contrived and sent forward with letters signed by the Queen's own hand, under the Royal Seal of Cyprus, accompanied with decorous lamentations and condolences on the part of her Councillors--such as one Government is wont to offer to another at the death of any distinguished patrician.

For the Chief of Council, Rizzo di Marin and his Grace the Archbishop of Nikosia, no rest was needful: the consciousness of triumph stirred the blood in their veins like strong wine, and with a sense of exhilaration sharpening all their intellectual faculties, they prepared, in a few hours, work that might ordinarily have required the consideration of days. When they closed their conference they had contrived a sheaf of pretty documents which did more honor to their astuteness than to their loyalty, and which, with the signature of the Queen, would put them in possession of all the strongholds on the coast and many positions of vantage throughout the island, including the splendid city of Nikosia--which had shown much dangerous friendliness for Queen Caterina. It was a marvellous bold scheme--a bloodless victory for Alfonso, Prince of Naples; and Rizzo grew grimly merry as he discussed it with His Grace.

His malignant eyes rested fondly on this order for the surrender of the famous stronghold of Cerines to a nephew of General Saplana, the treacherous Commander of Famagosta; with two such fortresses they should command the coast, and their empire in Cyprus was assured. It was a work of genius, this little parchment--he could scarcely bear to fold it out of his sight in the pouch that he wore next to his heart of stone.

And this--to the magnificent Lord Admiral Mutio di Costanzo, Vice-Roy of Nikosia and friend to Caterina, who had received her oath of allegiance after the death of Janus--so high he stood among the nobles of Cyprus--Rizzo's eyes fairly gleamed as he gloated over it--this order commanding him to yield up the splendid city of Nikosia, with his fortress of Costanza and the fleets of the island, to those who should present this parchment with the little signature of _Caterina Regina_. He, Rizzo, would take the governorship of this city of Nikosia--or, perhaps, the command of the fleets--he knew not which--that was a trifle to decide since all would be in his power: and of course he should instantly re-man the galleys. He allowed himself a moment's vision of this stately Knight Mutio de Costanzo, with his escort of cavaliers--the forty of his noble house entitled to wear the Golden Spurs--surrendering his holdings at the Queen's command, to those whom Rizzo should elect--_Rizzo_, who had heard himself called "that parvenu of Naples"--and the vision filled him with delight.

Then he folded the other orders without a glance, they touched upon minor points of vantage and entered properly into his scheme--the cities of Limisso and, perhaps, of Costanzo--but that might be requiring too much of the noble Lord of Costanzo, this could wait; he crumpled it in his hand. As for this _Castel Dio d'Amore_, it was well.

Still another paper he folded in his pouch. That one must go first beneath her signature lest the pretty little Queen should rebel.--But she should not rebel!--By all the saints and devils, it was a good night's work!

And for that session he wrote no more.

When the pouch, compact and hard, lay closely over the place of his heart, it stirred a thought, and he laughed a short wild laugh, with no melody in it. He did not know his own laugh, and it startled him.

"Perhaps," he thought, "when he should have presided over the investiture of these cities and strongholds of Cyprus in the interests of Naples and Alfonso, 'Prince of Galilee'--installing his own creatures in all those places of power--if Naples were not properly subservient and grateful--he, _holding the key to the land_--perhaps----"

It was a vision that pleased him even better than that of the noble Lord Mutio di Costanzo, surrounded by his escort of cavaliers, golden-spurred, delivering the keys of the city of Nikosia. But he forgot to confide this last tantalizing, supremest vision to His Grace the Archbishop.

These documents had been prepared in the underground Chamber of Conference of the Fortress, where secrets might be freely uttered because of the double walls of massive masonry: where flaring torches fastened high in the chamber, scattered the ghostly shadows, and ample potations of the fine wine of the "Commanderie" sustained their courage.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, a slender figure with vizor down, showing a tunic of mail between the folds of a dark mantle, came out from the Fortress, and stepping forth into the gray of the dawn, crossed to the Palazzo Reale, with slow, uncertain footsteps.

"Open!--In the name of the Queen's Council!"

The words came in muffled tones from behind the vizor--uncertain, like the footsteps, yet impossible to disregard.

"The password for this night?" the guard demanded.

It was given at once, but with visible repugnance--"_à bas Venezia!_"

"Are ye many?"

"But one."

The bars were instantly drawn back and the young knight entered the first court of the palace.

"Halt! Declare for whom thou standest. That password is already outworn: for they of the Queen's Council be of two minds."

As if from a sense of suffocation the cloak was torn off showing a suit of armor too heavy for the slight limbs; and the helmet was loosened with supple, nervous fingers, disclosing a face pale, strong and soulful. The face might have been that of a man--an artist, or a poet; but the hair, lying in loose, dusky waves about the brows, and low, in rich clinging coils at the back of the shapely head, could only belong to a woman.

A sudden wrath flamed in her deep eyes.

"If they of the Queen's Council be of two minds they are craven, though I, a woman say it! But the Queen's guard, in the Queen's palace, can have but one mind--_to uphold her cause!_"

There was no other voice in all Cyprus so tender, so compelling, so magnetic, so all-convincing; the voice revealed her.

"Dama Margherita de Iblin!" was echoed about the court in surprise. The news spread. The men-at-arms came thronging about her with reiterated assurances of loyalty; it was good to confess their faith to her.

"We hold this palace for our Queen," they said, "and for no traitorous Council. May the holy Saints in Heaven curse them roundly who forced us to do their bidding, when we thought ourselves serving Her Majesty!"

"How came ye so many here?" she asked in astonishment, as they still gathered from the farther courts--a number far greater than the usual Palace-guard--chiefly a company of knights and men entitled to bear arms, but among them many of the more peaceful citizens.

"Whom serve ye all?" She looked keenly from face to face: her words seemed a challenge.

"Caterina Regina!" they cried in concert, with every man's right hand upraised, calling Heaven to witness.

One, with signs of authority stepped forward to explain.

"Eccellenza, we are in command of the Lord Chamberlain Bernardini, who, since he fought his way through the false guard placed before this palace to serve the treachery of the Council, hath not ceased to gather men of metal throughout the city, till enough shall come to claim the Queen's release. For the cries of the women and unarmed weaklings clamoring under the walls of the fortress for her release, are but impotent wails to tickle the pride of those fiends of Naples."

"Bring me to the Bernardini, for I must speak with him on matter, it may be, of life, or death."

"Eccellentissima, the Lord Chamberlain hath not stayed his foot since this horror began--nor may we see his face until he hath done the possible to gather strength for an uprising to chase these devils of Naples."

"Dear men!" she cried, "it is a task!--I speak, not to stay your loyal hands, but to open your eyes that ye be prepared and fail not. The Commander of Famagosta hath men and arms behind those impregnable walls, and all the wicked strength of his cunning Council to direct them,--Rizzo and Fabrici--masters in intrigue--and the men of the galleys of Naples at the tower in the port, commanding land and sea. Without more force it is impossible!"

"Dear Lady, the Bernardini lacketh no courage, and he commandeth. He hath sworn that we shall save the Queen. The Admiral will come from Nikosia; and the galleys of Venice will haste to the rescue, _Pazienza!_ We are bidden to keep the peace and secrecy until the moment shall be ripe; but to die in defense of this palace, which we hold for Her Majesty as a place of refuge."