Chapter 20

"_Not_ confiscation!" she pleaded. "Hath not this mother enough to suffer in knowing that her child hath missed the highest trust? Shall we add this also to her pain, and take from her the estates which have been the home of her people for long ages? Shall she not take the vow of fealty to the State, instead of her child? And for the Dama Ecciva--we grieve that it must be exile--yet the safety of the Crown demandeth it. Be merciful--dear people!"

It was a woman's reason--but a woman's heart, stronger than law or precedent, had won the day.

XXXIV

"A confidential communication of deep import to Cyprus--so thou come at once, and alone. 'The Prisoner in the Castle.'"

The Signor Aluisi Bernardini read the note a second time with frowning brows, for there was more than one prisoner, even of this recent conspiracy, in the castle, and the hand was disguised or unknown to him, and he could but guess at the identity of the sender of this mysterious message, which had been brought him, quite openly, by one of the castle guards.

The man stood waiting at the door of his study, until he called to him:

"Thou hast a message for me from----?"

"The Dama Ecciva de Montferrat, Eccellentissimo," the messenger answered, readily.

"Deliver it."

"I was to remind your Excellency that the galley will sail to-morrow for Venice--if your Excellency should have despatches--the Dama de Montferrat feared that it might not be known beyond the castle."

"Is this known within the castle and by order of the Castellan?" Bernardini asked quickly, in surprise.

"Eccellentissimo, the word came to me by the Dama de Montferrat, in confidence. I have no other message."

The Bernardini pondered a moment. She had meant him to feel that the case was urgent, for no hint of the immediate sailing of the prisoner's galley for Venetian waters had yet reached him, who was usually foremost in any information that touched upon Venetian interests. It might be a ruse, or a mere plausible excuse to her messenger.

"Is there aught else in which I may serve the Dama de Montferrat?" the Bernardini asked with assumed nonchalance, partly to gain time to decide upon his own course of action, yet hoping to throw some little light upon the mystery.

"It is written in the note. Doth your Excellency bid me return alone?"

The man's manner was insistent: he had been shown a jewel of value that should be his if he brought the Bernardini back with him, and such fidelity as might thus be purchased, Dama Ecciva could count upon.

"Nay: I follow," the Bernardini answered, waving him on before,--"yet not too closely. At the castle wait for me."

"Of deep import to Cyprus," he repeated to himself, as he made his way across the breadth of the city to the citadel: he was alone save for his horse, who often brought him a sense of almost human companionship, and to-day the responsive quiver of the animal, as his master laid a caressing touch upon his arched neck, gave him an assurance of fidelity that was helpful. For the matter of this conspiracy had sorely wrought upon him and he might not ignore such a message, though it came from one so unreliable as Dama Ecciva, for she was surely in touch with the disaffected nobles. It might be a new conspiracy--yet it was more likely a mere whim, or an attempt to get her sentence remitted--poor girl!

But he felt no emotion of compassion towards her, save for her duplicity, as he was conducted to the apartment which the Queen had had prepared in the castle for her young prisoner of State. By the Queen's grace, also, the Countess of Montferrat occupied the royal apartment under the same roof and was permitted at certain hours, to visit her daughter, though never without surveillance. But for one so high in authority as the Bernardini there were no restrictions and he soon stood confronting the Dama Ecciva in a small cabinet, which by the Queen's mercy had little the aspect of a prison; for she had thought of the mother, as she gave her orders for the prisoner's comfort, and of the last days that she and her daughter might spend together in their native land, and her tender heart had overflowed to them; there were even flowers from the royal gardens, and the air was fragrant; but in Dama Ecciva's manner there was no softening change.

"So your Excellency hath even deigned to respond to the request of a _prisoner_?" she exclaimed by way of greeting, and lingering with a little mocking pretense on the last word.

"If it be within my power----" he began tentatively.

"Promise not too rashly, my Lord Chamberlain, lest I hold thee to thy word," she answered lightly. "For I shall ask naught of thee that is not within thy sole power to grant. If I ask thee aught--yet I know not if I will:--methinks my mood hath changed."

He was dumb as he looked at her--within a few hours of perpetual banishment she stood before him, brilliant, inconsequent, carefully dressed in her usual fanciful garb--the very jessamines in her hair lusciously over-sweet--with no hint of regret in face or manner--her old fire-fly self.

"Our time is short, Dama Ecciva," he reminded her at length, when she had chosen a cushioned corner and sat toying with a bunch of wild orchids--seemingly forgetful of his presence, as of her summons. "We are alone: and if thou hast a confidence to make--'of import to the State'----"

"The time is long enough for our needs, Eccellentissimo," she retorted, with a rippling laugh. "Verily, I like these wild blooms better than Her Majesty's choice favorites--this orchid hath a face well-nigh human--but overwise; I scarce need tell it--as to thee--that the sailing of the galley was my device to bring thee quickly."

He bit his lip to hold back his impatient speech, for she might not be dealt with as other women, by any appeal to trust or reason.

"Wherefore 'quickly'," he answered her, "since there is time?"

She looked up in surprise at having missed the expected reproof for which she was already fashioning a saucy reply, and her mood changed suddenly.

"Nay, nay, there is not time," she cried passionately, stretching out her hands to him. "There is _not_ time! Though it be not to-night, it may be to-morrow--who knoweth? And it is forever--forever and ever! Caro Signore, art thou not a little sorry for me?"

She looked like a child as she made this appeal, and his heart smote him for his coldness, for she was truly suffering. His sudden sympathy brought a new note of tenderness to his voice.

"So sorry," he said, as he took her hand in a compassionate clasp. "So sorry--that only duty to our land of Cyprus stayeth me from seeking that thy weary penance be lightened. If I might, I would help thee."

"_Our land of Cyprus!_ and thou a Venetian!" she cried triumphantly, her rainbow face flashing smiles, "and how, caro Signore--_carissimo Signore_--if 'duty to our land of Cyprus' should bid thee help me?"

"It is some new intrigue of which thou hast knowledge?" he questioned, striving to hold her thoughts in one direction.

"Is not the one for which I stand here, and which will send me hence, enough," she answered tantalizingly, "that thou wouldst have more?"

"If it be but for whim of speech that thou hast summoned me," he said rising, knowing well that she would yield nothing to persuasion, "I may not linger longer. If there be a way in which I may serve thy mother, the Countess--ere I take my leave----?"

She shook her head for answer, pulling impatiently at the orchids which she had gathered up again; they seemed akin to her--half elfin flowers.

"Or if there be some message of farewell for Her Majesty?"

Again she shook her head, in emphatic denial; but she was conscious that the Bernardini still lingered, although he had taken a few steps away from her: and looking up she saw that he was watching her in keen disappointment. Suddenly her cheek flamed, for his look was both compassionate and reproachful, yet despite her anger, she thought him more than ever noble while she struggled to repress the half-conscious feeling within her that dumbly answered to his appeal.

"She hath been merciful and forgiven much," he urged, in a tone that was still compassionate toward Ecciva herself; "she hath suffered much because of the grief for thy mother and thyself--and because she might not lighten the penance. Is there no little word of farewell for her?"

Dama Ecciva tossed away her flowers, and rose indignantly:

"I _have_ a message for Her Majesty," she said in quick, hard tones. "Tell her I thank her for"--she glanced about the chamber as if summing up its comforts and elegance--"for her flowers. Tell her that the de Montferrats come of a noble house, well nigh as old as the Lusignans; that of our elder branch came a queen of Cyprus. Tell her that if I know not how to thank her for that she hath decreed banishment for a noble of our ancient house--she who hath lived in our land of Cyprus these _few years of her little life_--if I lack the grace to be so good a courtier--yet I humbly thank her for--these orchids--which might have sprung from some mouldering trunk in a forgotten corner of my estates. They mind me of the days before _she_ came to Cyprus."

She crushed them angrily beneath her foot as she spoke, and her words stormed upon him.

As he would have answered her, she broke in with more hot words.

"Tell her that I shall not lose my color in exile; it will not cure me of my _crime of loyalty_ to my people--I cannot change my faith--tell her----"

But he interrupted gravely:

"Thou dost wrong thyself and her: knowing well that thy 'crime' is not 'of loyalty to thy people'; but that thou couldst _profess_ a loyalty which was but pretence to the Queen who held thy vows of fealty."

She was quivering still with anger and she did not answer him.

"Speech is useless," he said, "if it be not reasonable: and none grieveth more than our gentle Lady that the welfare of the State demandeth the exile of one who hath conspired against it. She, of her grace, will have it that others have misled thee;--that of thine own heart thou wouldst not have sought this treachery."

"_Treachery!_" her eyes flamed. "If that be treachery----Listen! I thought to send thee away without my confidence and leave thee to thy blind struggle to rule our people of Cyprus--thou and the fair little Queen! Yet I _will_ tell thee, for I cannot leave thee so."

She had come nearer. "Will the nobles in their far lands bow at _her_ bidding? _Never!_ They need a _man_ to sway them, for the good of Cyprus--one who knoweth how to rule--of strength and constancy to shape their kingdom and make it great. For _such_ a man the nobles would rise in their might."

"There is none such," he answered coldly, "and talk of treason--except it were a maid's wild dreaming--must be brought before the Council of the Realm. Unless thou hast confession of some real import to the State--or names that we should know--and for the telling much might be forgiven thee--I bid thee farewell. Truly it is hard for thee, my poor Dama Ecciva; but in thy heart thou knowest that the penalty could not be less.--May thy reason and the years soften it to thee."

She had not listened to his last words, but stood irresolute as he took his ceremonious farewell: then suddenly she sprang towards him and caught his hand to detain him. Her face had grown soft and eager.

"It _is_ 'confession'!" she cried, "'of import to the State'--and 'names' that thou shouldst know. There are many nobles whom I could reach--I will name thee all their names when we have spoken together: those who suffer banishment with me are but a few. At word of mine they would kindle into fire and make a glory of Cyprus!" She had drawn herself up proudly, her eyes were flashing; she had clenched her small hands so tightly over his that he could not withdraw it.

"Poor child!" he said compassionately; "shall one woman rule them, and not another!--It is the madness of imprisonment and exile; it shall be forgiven thee."

He tried to make his escape, but she clung to his hand yet more closely, so that he could not move without dragging her with him.

"It is not forgiveness that I want," she cried furiously, "but comprehension. Canst thou not see! Have I not said that Cyprus hath need of a man to rule? _Who_ led the people to storm the Fortress of Famagosta? _Who_ ruled the city in quiet through those days of stress?--_Thou_ art the man! _Through me, who hold the key, thou shalt rule them well._"

"I am a Venetian," he answered coldly; and no longer hesitating to use the needful force to unclasp the clinging, importunate hands. "From compassion have I shown too great patience with thy mad dreaming. I will direct that the Countess of Montferrat be permitted to come to thee now: for the galley must soon sail for Venice.--May the Madonna help thee!"

But as he reached the door a mocking laugh rang out and made him turn in surprise, for it was but a moment since he had instinctively averted his gaze, lest he should read too easily in her mobile face the emotion which she made no effort to conceal.

"Let us at least part with due ceremony, your Excellency," she said, "since we shall both have travelled to other worlds before we meet again: I--who might have been a Queen, hadst thou but believed my 'mad dreaming' and accepted my aid to make thee--that which should have made me thy Queen indeed, and thee a Sovereign of Cyprus!--had I but condescended so far!"

She swept him her most courtly reverence. "Adieu! Thou art a man indeed--like many another--to let a woman outwit thee and befool thee--so that even now thou knowest not within thy soul if she hath spoken truth,--or flattery to beguile thee; or 'mad dreaming'--for which, perforce, she 'may be forgiven,' and render thanks! Thou knowest not whether she hath, in truth, spoken _to mislead thee_ that which should have brought the pride of thy superb Venice low--hadst thou but listened!--So much hath my 'confession' availed thee. O, most astute Venetian!"

She flung the words at him in triumphant tones, while he, in noble pity, stood speechless--having seen her face when she thought he had not seen; and she stood thus--radiant--defiant--until there was no longer an echo of footsteps back through the long vaulted corridor of the castle. Then the mocking smile died on her lips and eyes and she threw herself on her couch in a bitter paroxysm of passion.

"One may dare all, for a man of stone," she cried, "and yet not win! And I would have made him great--_great_ beyond his dreams! O fool!--FOOL!"

XXXV

With the removal of the Court to Nikosia days of peace and sunshine had at last dawned for the distracted island kingdom--whether compassed by the wisdom of the astute and vigilant counsellors who sat close under the ear of the youthful Queen--by the superior force of the Venetian galleys, or by the winning charm of the Queen herself. The echoes of conspiracy had been stilled and the cities of Cyprus were taking new pride in their commerce, while they were growing richer in measures of philanthropy and education and that blossoming of arts and culture which only may adorn a court at leisure from petty wars and intrigues.

Early in these days of quiet Caterina had turned once more to her cousin the Bernardini, bidding him ask some favor at her hand--"For verily I owe thee more than I may repay."

"There could be never a debt between us, my cousin," he answered smiling: then with the ceremonious bow of a courtier, he added, with a singular mixture of gravity and playfulness: "I would remind your Majesty of a function of this Court which it hath never pleased my fair cousin to exercise. There is one among the maids of honor--most rare and noble--bounden by special vows of fealty, as a _Dama di Maridaggio_, to marry at the command of her Sovereign."

He stood before her quite unabashed and smiling, while she scanned him in surprise.

"Margherita de Iblin?" she questioned, half unbelieving.

"Margherita!" he answered, radiantly; "there is no other."

"And how--if when I name the other two which custom doth demand for this ceremonial, she shall find a knight more to her liking?" Caterina asked teasingly.

"Name one; and name him thrice," he answered boldly.

"Little I dreamed thee, Aluisi, so poor a knight that thou shouldst lack the courage to plead thine own cause," she exclaimed in amusement. "And of what avail a gift that is not free?"

He joined frankly in her laugh.

"Nay," he said; "the case is quite otherwise. For she will not say me nay, fair Cousin, because--in sooth some day she shall tell me why; and I count myself too leal a knight to tell it--if I knew--before she shall bid me speak. For the cause hath been pleaded and _not_ rejected; and the gift hath been given, but _not_ confessed; which, were it not thus, I should seek no aid--having no mind to steal, were it even the heart of a maid. But now it is rather wit than 'courage' that I lack, to outwit my lady--may those forgive me who hold her favor!"

"I will right heartily forgive thee, so but thou win it," Caterina assured him. "Yet if she hath not said thee nay--what lackest thou of favor?"

He was suddenly grave. "She will not say me '_yea_,'" he answered her, "lest the speaking of the word which she foldeth close in her heart until she giveth her rare self leave to utter it, should make her somewhat less to her Sovereign Lady--who, she hath most solemnly assured me--hath need of us both--and _thus_--with no bond between her two loyal servitors but their loyalty to their Queen."

"Shall mine be less because of their happiness?" Caterina questioned indignantly. "Nay, but much less--_much_ less, without it!--Where is the Dama Margherita?"

"Nay, fair Cousin," he protested, "let discretion rule the command, I beseech you. For she herself is more proud than any Queen and of a temper to which surrender cometh not easily; and the wooing hath been long. Yet the truth of her deep eyes betrayeth her,--and so I trust my happiness in your gracious hands."

But Caterina would not rest until she had found the occasion for speech: and so soon as she chanced to be alone with Dama Margherita, she announced, without preamble, that she would presently command a right royal festival to please the nobles but lately come to court, with jousts of song and floral games, "and I myself will give the prize, and thou--Cara Margherita, being my faithful _Dama di Maridaggio_, shall be the Queen thereof."

But the Margherita drew herself haughtily away from the Queen's outstretched hand.

"I do not understand," she said, in a tone that was half resentful. "I am ever at your Majesty's command for loyalty and service: but this custom displeaseth me--I pray your Majesty, let it be dismissed."

"Nay, Margherita, it is my right;" the Queen persisted. "I would have thee choose one of three noble knights whom I will present to thee."

"Three!" she echoed with a sensation of relief: then, after all, her secret had not been guessed: it was truly some freak of the Queen's, and she turned more willingly to listen.

"The first is of rare nobility, whom I fain would honor in bestowing upon him the hand of one so dear--because he hath spent himself for me, and hath held his life little when it might serve me."

Margherita half opened her lips to speak, then closed them resolutely and held silence--a faint flush growing in her cheek.

"The next is one of a most ancient house, of vast estates, it hath been told me, which he himself nameth not, save for some generous use when there is need: of whom all men speak well, because of a certain strength he hath; but women rarely, for the scorn he showeth for heartless trifling. If he should love a woman, she need not fear to trust him."

"And if he loveth not though he were a prince among men," Margherita answered with an effort at playful speech, "it were folly to trust his vows."

"Truly it were folly," the Queen replied, growing suddenly pensive, "and it were not easy to know wisdom from folly in such a matter, perchance. Let us speak no more of it--though I had a third to bring before thee."

"Then," said Margherita with unexpected docility, "an' it please your Majesty I will listen."

"Thou art so gracious that I scarce do know thee!" the Queen retorted playfully, "thou who art wont to hold me with a wholesome fear! But for the third--now I bethink me--it were scarce worth the telling, since it was but a word that he left with me--no more--that I would that thou hadst seen him utter it, a simple vow--yet I know that none shall move him from it! Listen, Margherita: '_For me there is none other._'"

"Said he no more, when he asked so much?" Dama Margherita questioned with a desperate attempt to defer the moment of yielding.

Caterina turned and looked at her seriously.

"If he hath not the gift, already," she said, "it is much to ask. Yet, if he holdeth it, by no constraint--but _because it is for him alone and may not be withheld_--however one may struggle,--need one ask further assurance of happiness? Choose thou from these, my Margherita. They are good knights."

"All three--or one?" Margherita asked, with deepening color and shining eyes that were her confession and surrender. "These three are one--my Lady giveth me no choice."

"How one?" the Queen answered promptly, willing to grant her a little more time, for she saw that it was not easy for this proud maid to yield. "For one is lofty and masterful, and of a great prowess--so that men fear him. And one is knightly and worshipful, with a trick of speech when it pleaseth him, so that a woman might love him if he plead with her for favor. And one--nay, of him we will speak no more. For he hath a will that may not be denied when he hath said, '_For me_ there is none other.'"

"My beloved Lady doth trifle with me," Margherita exclaimed in confusion. "She will not lay this command upon me!"

"My Margherita--most solemnly I bid thee choose that which shall bring thee happiness. For thy lover hath confessed himself to me."

"Is it happiness to love,--or is it pain?" the girl questioned very low.

"If sometimes it may be pain," the young Queen answered, a shadow crossing her brow; "yet even then, methinks, one would not have missed it--so only one hath held one's own heart true: for it discovereth depths and heights one might not know without it, and bringeth dreams that make one's soul the fairer. But for thee, _cara_ Margherita--it shall be all happiness--for thy knight is true and noble like thyself; and my heart is glad that I may give thee to him."

"Since I have not chosen him--and there are three!" Margherita interposed faintly--"but if it is of your Majesty's command----?"

"Tell me but this one thing--dost love him, Margherita?"

"If there must be confession, should not the high-priest of this sacrament be first to hear it?" the proud maid whispered, as she knelt and kissed her Lady's hand with a sudden grace: but the Queen knew that she might neither tease nor trifle more.

"My Margherita," she said, folding her closely; "I could dream no sweeter dream than to know my two very dearest ones worthy of each other and happy together."

So it was not long before the Court of Nikosia was gladdened with a festival of old-time splendor, lasting for many days--with tournaments of knights and jousts of song, and recitals of quaint Cyprian legends and classic story, and all that their most punctilious custom might decree for a noble's marriage feast in the days of the _cinque cento_.

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