Chapter 7

So quickly death had fallen upon the brilliant, pleasure-loving young monarch--so without warning--that it seemed to those of his court like some dread nightmare from which they might presently awake to a new morning, fair and gay as those they had known so little time ago, before the music and the mirth, the jewels and the festal robes that befit a court had given place to the gloom and mourning of these horrible days. As in a dream they had taken part in the sumptuous funeral ceremonies, feeling still that it could not be true--he was too young, too brave, too gay, too gracious, to have come so soon to this! And if to some of those young nobles it was rather the shock of the loss of a boon companion than a serious grief, there were many among them who, for the few bright words that cost him little--a smile--the grasp of his ready hand--permission to come and shine about him--now brought their tribute of adoring tears.

Meanwhile, in the halls of the palace, time moved with slow and halting footsteps: the stricken Queen came rarely among her circle of ladies, and only for short intervals, and the talk, however varied, was but upon one absorbing theme.

It was known that soon after the funeral, the Queen seeking how she might do highest honor in preparing the permanent tomb, had been told of the priceless sarcophagus of oriental jasper--the gift in early ages of the Emperor of the East to Santa Soffia in Nikosia, and she had sent an envoy to the brothers of the convent to ask that it be surrendered for the tomb of Janus, their king, promising whatever compensation they should ask.

"Ah, but it will be magnificent, that tomb under the dome of our own San Nicolò! It will stand on the precious mosaic pavement from Alexandria, on columns of ivory chased with gold. Dama Margherita hath seen the design which hath been made for her Majesty by the curator of our library of art."

"I also," said the little Contarini, timidly, for she was proud of the favor of the Queen whom she devotedly loved: "It was most beautiful; and the Serenissima la Regina held it long, as if she could not put it away."

But a hand was raised to hush the topic:

"Speak no more thereof; for word hath come but now that the request of her Majesty hath been denied."

There was a chorus of indignant protest:

"It could not be, when she so grieveth! They have no hearts--those _frati_ of Santa Soffia!"

"The Queen will not endure this refusal without reason!"

"There was no reason that should be told," their informer whispered low to one of them. "For love of the Queen, hush the topic."

But an elderly member of the Queen's Council who had been passing through the great Hall and had paused near them, taking no part in the conversation, now came forward, after a moment's hesitation.

"_I_ speak that you may forget it," he said: "for it seemeth to be a pleasing theme of discussion among you--yet should be so no more--a mere extravaganza of fancy that our girl-queen might wisely abandon."

"Signore!" exclaimed the Lady of the Bernardini, rising indignantly, "I maintain the dignity of our Sovereign Lady's Court, while she perforce, from sore affliction, must be absent. All speech must be as in her presence."

The Councillor, resenting the reproof, gave a slight cold bow, studying her curiously, and pondering whether he dared go further.

"The matter is of interest," he pursued, after a moment's pause, "for they _gave_ their reason, these monks of Santa Soffia, and scrupled not--being willing to keep their treasure."

"Signore Consiglière----!" Dama Margherita exclaimed beseechingly.

But if the monks of Santa Soffia had a reason for their conduct, he also had for his, and would not be stayed.

"They gave their reason; that the precious gift should not be desecrated to _hold relics that were subject to excommunication_," he said with painful distinctness, and would not linger for any explanation.

"It is shameful--such a reason so calmly told by a member of our Queen's Council! He should unsay the words!" one of the maids of honor cried hotly. "There could be no color for it: the Signor Fabrici hath proven that he loveth not the Regina!"

"It was unholy speech," said Dama Margherita crossing herself, "which had not been, save for the Consiglière: it hath no shade of truth; may the Holy Madonna forgive him--and us, who have listened to slander."

"Cara Dama Margherita," said the little Contarini consolingly, "if we have listened--it is not with our hearts!"

"Thou art wise, carina: and we who love her will see that the ill word goeth not beyond."

But the speech of the Consiglière had caused such consternation that it could not be immediately dismissed; and one of the elder ladies of the Court was obliged to explain it, for "excommunication" was a word of evil omen.

"The word is a slander," she said. "But it is known that the Holy Father hath had small friendship for King Janus since he declined alliance with the niece of His Holiness, who was not one to please our young King's delicate fancy, though His Holiness strove to have his will--first by promises and then by threats."

They pressed closely about her, with exclamations of interest and astonishment, for this gray-haired noble woman, Madama de Thénouris, had not been one of those to retail gossip and they might not question her strange tale; they knew that she had some serious purpose in this unwonted freedom of speech.

"This was known by some of us in Cyprus before the marriage of our King--yet was kept hushed, lest trouble should grow from mention of the displeasure of the Holy Father; but no threat of excommunication hath reached this court. My children, I am trusting you with confidences--for it is a time of trouble for our most gracious Lady and we of her court must know truth from slander that we may stand for her."

Each one came and laid her hand, in silent pledge, in that of the gray-haired speaker.

"Later, not long since," she continued, "there came from Rome a tale--maliciously whispered about by Fabrici--not to be believed--that by some act of renunciation of the Christian Faith, Janus won the favor of the Sultan when he sent him hither to regain his throne. The Consiglière Fabrici went with others to the monks of Santa Soffia, and if he told this matter there, so as he hath whispered it in the court of Cyprus, it may well be that the _frati_ reasoned thus."

"Is it true, Madama, that an ambassador is already come from the Sultan to acknowledge Caterina as Queen of Cyprus, and that there shall be some gathering of the court to-night to receive his homage?"

"Aye; such a gathering as one may have in these sad days, my children."

"And Carlotta?" another asked eagerly--"Ecciva--tell them what thou hast spoken of Carlotta."

"That she, in very person, hath sailed from Rhodes to meet the Admiral of Venice on his fleet--to throw herself on his mercy, as _heir of Cyprus_, to ask his help, to place her on the throne, _from the long friendship between the islands_." She told it with a little note of triumph, for it was strange news.

"Carlotta! To seek aid from Venice!--It cannot be true!"

"Aye; it is verily true," Madama de Thénouris said quietly--"as Ecciva hath told it; for a report hath come from Messer Mocenigo, himself. But that is like Carlotta, who leaveth no imagining of her brain untried. She hath even the courage to urge her near connection with Venice _through her brother Janus the King, by his marriage with Caterina Veneta_!"

"She hath lost her reason, one would say: there can be no more to fear from Carlotta!"

"No more to _hope_ from Carlotta," some one corrected in an undertone; but the voice sounded unfamiliar in the group and when they looked to see who might have spoken, there was no one to whom they could assign it.

Eloisà Contarini turned to the young Dama Ecciva de Montferrat with her impulsive question:

"Who was it, Ecciva?"

"Nay, I was about to ask--I also."

Dama Margherita turned and looked at her steadily; the girl gazed back at her with narrowing eyelids, slightly shrugging her shoulders as she finally dropped her eyes.

"But Carlotta?" one of the Venetian maids of honor questioned, impatient for the tale: "she knew not of the will of his Majesty the King?"

"Nay; and she had hope of being first to carry news of his death to the Admiral of Venice;--a most strange hope of any favor from such a quarter!"

"The answer of the Mocenigo was a marvel of courtesy, as it hath been reported, and worthy of a diplomat," Madama de Thénouris continued. "Most graciously he assured the Princess that Venice held her friendship gladly and would not fail of anything that she might do to prove her loyalty to this Crown of Cyprus. Yet now, the Daughter of the Republic, Caterina Veneta, being left by the Will of Janus Queen of Cyprus, Venice must first uphold the rights of Caterina, and might show her Eccellenza, the Princess Carlotta, no favor that could prejudice the sovereignty of the Queen."

"And then?"

"And then came further pleading from Carlotta, with a new tissue of reasons. But finally the Mocenigo told her plainly: 'The reasons which avail in kingdoms are arms--not questions of legality.'"

"It is a theme for a comedy! And Carlotta----?"

"Hath sailed again with new wisdom for Rhodes; or, perchance to plan some enterprise that bespeaketh her less mad."

"She is not mad--but brave!" cried the Dama Ecciva boldly.

"It is enough of Carlotta," said the Lady of the Bernardini, rising to break up the talk.

But she beckoned to Dama Margherita to remain, as the others were leaving the hall, and gave her a charge in a low tone.

"See to it that these tales add not to the weariness of our beloved Lady who hath already enough of grief to bear; and the time is full of dangers for her. I count much upon thine influence with the younger maids to keep her from breaking her heart," she added with hesitation, but with a smile which conveyed her confidence in the Lady Margherita, "and to hold them loyal."

She laid a detaining hand upon the younger woman's shoulder as she spoke the last words, uncertain whether to confide in her further, and Margherita, having given her assurance, still waited.

"For this question of excommunication," the Lady of the Bernardini said at last--"lest it should be bruited about by the enemies of the Queen--_it hath no color of truth_. My Son, the Lord Chamberlain, hath confided to me--(I am trusting thee, Dama Margherita, that thou mayest _know_ it to be so, for the peace of mind of our poor, young Queen, and so mayest lead others to thy belief--yet speak no hint of this my confidence). My Son, the Chamberlain, hath seen in the most revered chronicle of State of this kingdom, the _Libro delle Rimembranze_, the copy of a letter sent by King Janus to His Holiness, to accredit his Reverence the Archbishop of Nikosia, brother to this same Signor Jean Perez Fabrici the Consiglière, who spoke with us but now--as Ambassador to His Holiness: and the manner of this letter leaveth no room for doubt that he wrote as a son of the Church, in all confidence of favor. He calleth His Holiness '_Santissimo e Beatissimo Padre!_' and the signature of this letter (which it is noted that he wrote with his own hand) was _'Devotus vester Filius, Rex Jacobus Cipri_.'"

XIII

"Madre Mia!" he said with deep tenderness, "I think it is not possible to hold the knowledge from her longer. It must be told to-night."

They were in the loggia overlooking the splendid stretch of terraced gardens, now flooded with moonlight; they had been standing there, quite silent, for a long time, each feeling that there was something to be spoken and suffered--each praying to defer the moment.

"Oh, Aluisi--no!"

Her tone was an entreaty: but he only put out his hand and laid it tenderly upon hers: the beautiful, tapering fingers trembled under his touch, then slowly quieted, for there was a rare sympathy between them.

"I have done everything," he continued in a low voice, without looking at her, "but they will not wait--matters of State, they say, to be passed upon--a Queen must give her signature when it is needed."

He came closer, suddenly turning upon her a gaze which compelled her startled comprehension. "They would be quite willing to pass the measure _without_ her signature," he added, in a still lower tone. "It has come to that--we must think of her rights and protect her _against her Councillors_!"

"She has had so much to bear, poor child--so young--and her heart is broken already with sorrow for her husband. For she had faith in him. And now!--Have they no feeling for her?"

"Madre, carissima, thou knowest not Rizzo; he is the most powerful among them, and the most ill-disposed. 'Let her take the Prince of Naples,' he hath said openly before the Councillors, 'and give us a man to reign over us.'"

"And Janus but two weeks dead!" The Lady Beata gave an involuntary cry of horror. "But Fabrici, the Archbishop?" she asked after a moment, "may he not influence them to be more gentle with her--having a brother in the Council?"

Aluisi shook his head sorrowfully. "Nay, Mother--I know not which is worse. Venice, at his election, would have prevented it, but could not, because he represented this intriguing power of Naples which hath not ceased from effort to have its will of Cyprus, since the betrothal of Caterina--which also it sought to overthrow."

"How knowest thou?"

He laid his finger on his lips--"If we were yet in Venice, I might not answer thee; but here--and it is for me and thee alone--it was I upon whom the Signoria laid the task of drawing up their monitory letter to Janus to hold him to his contract."

"Oh, if thou hadst not done it! I would rather thou hadst not written it!" she said with a low moan.

"Aye--Mother: and I--even then I knew that it must be happier for the child if that contract might be broken. Though if I had dreamed of _this_ I could not have doomed one of our Casa Cornaro to such suffering and dishonor. But thou knowest the pride of Venice: if not _my_ hand, another's would have written it: and I then--we should not have been here to shield her."

"But the Archbishop Fabrici cannot hold malice against Caterina. He hath all the church of Cyprus in his command; he _must_ be friendly to the Queen."

But Aluisi's face gave her no hope, as she turned to him.

"Fabrici, for another cause, holdeth the queen in deep disfavor," he said, "for that he, having been sent by Janus on some embassy of marriage for the child Zarla, came into the Chamber of Counts of the Kingdom--not many days since--and with much grossness of speech would have discussed the matter at length in that presence; which we, of her household--she being in the first grief of her young widowhood--prevented, through members of the Queen's Council, better disposed."

"It was well, Aluisi: it seemeth even now too soon--too cruel--to add this shadow to her grief: and but for thee, she must have known thereof that day. For she seeketh already to take up the burden of the State and questioneth daily of the Secretary of the King of that which passeth in the Council. 'That I may rule my people,' she sayeth sadly, 'and those who loved the King will help me!' With what a tender grace she sayeth '_my people_!'"

"Madre mia, thou who lovest her and art so wise--shall I leave this parchment with thee? Thou best canst spare her in what must be told. I have had made this copy of certain clauses of the Will of Janus, which may not longer wait official reading before the Council in the Chamber of the Counts and in presence of the Queen. Thinkest thou not it would be too hard for her to learn first of its provisions before them all?"

"Thou art right, Aluisi--always right. But her faith in him is deep; how shall I make her believe it?"

"I know not," he answered with a groan, and crushing the parchment in his hand. Then he smoothed it out remorsefully and gave it to her. "It is a faithful copy; there is no other argument. Thou wilt go to her now--for it _must_ be."

With bowed head he led her to the door of the Queen's ante-chamber. "I am here," he said, "if need should be."

She still hesitated. "It may be long, for I know not how to tell her."

"Thank Heaven that she hath one like thee to care for her," he answered, gently forcing her through the doorway as he held her hand. "For I do think the Council would willingly have her away."

In the ante-chamber scattered groups of court-ladies in deepest mourning, were talking in low tones. They all rose as the Lady Beata entered: but she, with only an inclination of her head passed on hastily into the inner chamber which was the private boudoir of the Queen.

Caterina was quite alone, lying back on a low couch near an open window, through which the moonlight streamed in long pale rays; while many soft lights of perfumed oils, burning low in lamps of ivory, made only moonlight within the chamber. She held the miniature of Janus pressed against her cheek, and as the Lady Beata came towards her she tried to welcome her with a quivering smile.

"I sent them all away, Zia mia: sometimes it seems less hard to bear when I am quite alone."

The Lady Beata bent over her, stroking her hair caressingly, striving for courage to break the silence.

"Caterina mia," she said at last, "it is needful to give some thought to matters of government--the Council will not wait. Hast thou the strength?"

"I _must_ have strength," she answered with instant resolution, rising and laying aside the miniature with a lingering look. "Wilt thou call Aluisi? He ever maketh me understand. It is so new to me," she pleaded feebly, as the Lady Beata did not move.

"Carina, it will be best alone; Aluisi hath asked me to speak with thee. If--if thou wilt read this parchment"--the Lady Beata held it out to her--"it is the Will of the late King, Aluisi hath bidden me give it thee."

"There is no need," Caterina answered listlessly, as the Lady Beata opened it and put it into her hand, "the provisions have been told me."

But the other persisted. "To-morrow--for the Council say that they will not longer wait; it will be read before the Counts of the Chamber, and they would have the Queen take oath of fealty to Cyprus."

"I shall have the strength when to-morrow cometh," Caterina answered wearily, and making a motion to return the parchment.

"There are other clauses; Aluisi thought it might be better to read them here--alone--before--before----" Her face was blanched and pained, and her words came with difficulty.

The young Queen looked at her in surprise, then, after a moment's indecision, dropped her eyes upon the page and read the short clauses through; then once more--as if she did not understand--then again, a scarlet flush growing as she read.

The parchment contained but three short clauses: King Janus left his kingdom to his wife Caterina, who was to reign, with their child, if there should be one; or alone, if the child should die.

He provided a Council of seven to assist her with the Government:

In case of her death and the death of the child, the kingdom should descend to each of the three other children of Janus, in the order named. The unwedded mother of these children was not mentioned and Caterina had never dreamed of their existence.

She stood trembling--her face slowly paling to a marble whiteness. "_Mater Dolorosa!_" she gasped, with a moan of pain, instantly repressed.

The Lady Beata put her arm around her to steady her; but Caterina drew herself away, standing upright.

"Call back the Chamberlain!" she cried, imperiously; and stood waiting--panting--until he entered the room.

Then she drew up her slight figure in defiance, her eyes flashing in her white, white face--her voice ringing scorn as she pointed to the document which had dropped from her hand.

"How should I believe this--this _baseness_ of my husband--your King?" she cried. "Who hath _dared_ to fashion it?"

"Beloved Sovereign Lady"--he answered her, and for very pity could say no more.

She turned from one to the other with an impatient, questioning, imperious gesture.

They came nearer--slowly--silently turning upon her such faces of love and sorrow and comprehension that the fire in her eyes died in anguish.

A quiver shot through her, but she struggled to stand, motioning them away again when they would have helped her--she must drink this cup of bitterness alone. "How should I believe it?" she repeated brokenly, still studying their faces.--"How _should_ I believe it--ye are not faithless to him--to me----?"

There was no need to answer her: again they looked their unspeakable compassion.

But as Caterina's eyes rested upon the parchment once more, a sudden hope came to her. "The will of the King was written in his own hand," she cried eagerly. "Thou hast said it, Aluisi; this is not the writing of the king!"

"Nay, beloved Sovereign Lady," the Chamberlain made answer, as he picked it up, and held it before her; "this is but a memorandum made for your Majesty's convenience, but attested under the seal of the kingdom. The original Will is in the keeping of the Lord of the Privy Seals, awaiting your command. It was thought that your Majesty would wish to see it before the Council should be assembled."

She understood and bowed her head in silence, while all hope died out of her face.

Aluisi advisedly used the ceremonious form by which he was accustomed to address the Queen in public, hoping to hint to her of some necessary preparation to control the meeting of the Council that could not, in any event, be long deferred.

They lingered wistfully, seeking vainly for words that might not hurt her; but Caterina looked at them beseechingly, with dim eyes--her lips moving without sound.

The Lady Beata understood.

"I go now to pray the dear Christ for thee--the Man of Sorrows," she said with inexpressible tenderness. "And later--Carinissima--I will come again, and thou wilt rest."

So young--so sorely stricken--she knelt in the cold moonlight alone--her hands clasped in passionate repression on her throbbing heart--"Mater Dei!" she moaned: "Death--and then _this_!--If but it need not have been told me! If I might but have kept the _memory_ of my happiness!"

Only the stars and the pitying angels looked down on the fierce conflict of grief and love and disillusion with which her desolate young soul wrestled alone through the long, midnight vigil. How should she separate these two beautiful faiths which had been enthroned as one in the happy depths of her guileless heart, without perilling her very trust in God!

Yet, as the sad day dawned over the hills and sea, she knew that God was still in His Heaven, behind the clouds--while she clung as a drowning mariner--the more desperately for her weakness--to the spar of this faith in the wreck of her happiness, though the love to which her whole being had moved in rhythmic content was as a lost star, glimmering uncertainly behind the mists.

But through the desolate night-watches the Lady of the Bernardini in the ante-chamber of the Queen had been agonizing in prayer for her until thought was spent; and now she had moved out upon the loggia and stood there waiting for the dawn that seemed long-deferred, in a half-conscious wonder that there were no sorrows great enough to stay Nature's punctual recurrences--that to-day and to-morrow there would still be dawns and sunsets, whatever happened to the souls of men.

In the silver line that etched the dark mountain crests against the pale monotone of the sky, single firs stood forth saliently, while dim in the distance, vast shapes, clothed in perpetual snows, held wraith-like watch over the smiling plains below, where life and bloom were possible.