Chapter 8

Athwart the low, confused twittering of bird-notes which had infused the solemn silence with a vague hint of life, strident sounds grew dominant--a crow calling to his mate from tree to tree--a short, sharp symphony of swallows--a cock announcing the coming of the dawn.

Then motion broke in upon the majesty; hurried rushes of flight across the sky--beatings of wings--pulsings and ecstasies and triumphs of bird-life--and the Day was new.

Faint twitterings in the copses deepened to melody--to canticles of rejoicing; tints of turquoise and opal crept into the shadows and gold into the greens: the night-dews gleamed upon the firs and grasses, while a luminous haze dimmed the dark glint of the waters to pearly gray, softened the grimness of the mountain-faces and wrapped them--sea and mountains, as soul and body in a vision of mystery, a prelude to the blaze of golden glory that was suddenly outpoured on land and sea.

Yet the heavenly splendor was but for a moment; it faded in sudden gloom, as a bell from the inner chamber called the Lady of the Bernardini to attend the Queen.

* * * * *

When at early morning, the Chamberlain was summoned to the Queen's presence, the change in her beautiful face smote him to the heart: every line had been chiselled by pain--ennobled by a high resolve--by a strong new-born will, rendered selfless; and in her eyes a soul--tried by fire and suddenly grown to a great height--looked forth, luminous.

Instinctively, he dropped his eyes and fell upon his knees, as if in the presence of some heavenly spirit, his hot tears falling upon the fragile hand she held out to him, which he clasped, unconsciously, in both his own, with a grasp so like a vise that it would have smitten her with sharp pain had she been capable at that moment of any physical emotion.

"Beloved Cousin and Queen!" he cried, when he could find his voice, "we love and revere you; we would give our _lives_ to help you!"

She made an effort to speak, but no words came; she could only bow her head to accept his homage, while his asseverations of loyalty and love and impotent help came crowding upon his first utterance--the immoderate outpouring of a deep, knightly soul, unused to confess itself--the barriers of reserve once overcome by the stinging sense of the irreparable wrong of which the revelation to this guileless, confiding girlish nature had suddenly wrenched every memory that once had been happiness, out of her young life--yet, in the very immensity of her anguish, had searched to the inmost truth of her woman's fibre and, in the fierce unfolding, had found it wholly noble.

As he knelt, still protesting, yet out of his great reverence, using no word to wound her--the more compassionate because he might not denounce the one who had wronged her--it was as if he were looking up to a beloved daughter, immeasurably above him, who yet had need of his knightly protection. He did not know that he was speaking--he did not know what passed--only that deep in his soul he prayed to comfort her.

Slowly, with expression, the hot passion melted into a softer mood; his grasp relaxed and she withdrew her hand, seamed and marred with red lines where he had unconsciously tortured it; yet in her misery she was grateful to be reached across the awful gulf of loneliness that separated her from the world by a sense that such loyalty yet remained to her.

She laid her hand lightly on his head, the fingers moving for a moment--half in caress--half in benediction, while he felt her almost imperceptible gesture dismissing this unusual audience where soul had faced soul on the brink of a great catastrophe; and he rose to meet the strange, luminous, unsmiling gaze of the great dark eyes which yesterday had been almost the eyes of a child.

She pointed to the loggia, where the morning breeze came freshly laden with the fragrance of myriad blossoms that were just opening to the gladness of the sunrise--a sunrise over the beautiful, fabled slopes of Cyprus--while shadows still lay on the flower-gemmed plains that stretched between them and the sea. Ah, yes, the cool, blue, restless sea stretched far between her island realm and the proud Venetian home from whence she had sailed a happy girl--one little year before--to meet her radiant visions of the future; and now, in all the splendor of the morning, for her the light of life had died forever on the hills of hope.

It was to this loggia that Janus had first led her when he brought her to this summer palace of Potamia, that she might see what a vision of beauty he had prepared for his bride--the far-reaching terraced gardens with their brilliancy of exotics, rivalling the plumage of the peacocks that proudly flaunted their jewelled eyes among them--the pergolas of precious marbles from which the vines flung out a wealth of bloom, luring the birds to a perpetual feast of song; and behind them, spreading up to the deep groves of varied greens upon the hillsides, the snow of countless blossoms lay whiter than the wings of the swans, floating at leisure in silver pools among the beds of color. It was here that Janus had spoken words she had dreamed eternally and sacredly her own: Mother of Consolation, she must remember them no more!

She had not thought of this when the sense of suffocation had impelled her to seek the air, to rush where it might blow over her and through her, lift her hair about her throbbing temples and help her to forget. Oh God--Omnipotent and Merciful--can one never forget!

A sob broke in her throat, but she made no sound, as she turned to re-enter her audience-chamber--the sumptuous audience-chamber where she might feel herself less a woman and more a queen.

But Aluisi, obeying her slight motion, had already passed between the marble columns of the portico, out into the sunshine, and stood confronting her--her friend, her cousin, and a Councillor of her realm.

The thought gave her courage, and after a moment's struggle, she grew calm again, listening gravely to the question of State he had wished to open to her before it should be discussed in full Council.

He spoke at first with averted gaze, feigning to be attracted by the beauty of the morning, that he might give her time to recover herself: but as he turned his face to hers for her reply, she put the matter aside with an imperious gesture.

"To-day, Aluisi, I have graver matter to command my thought: the Council shall _wait_ until I give orders for its assembling--thou, meanwhile, using all courtesy in its delay and the enforcement of--of my command--the Queen's command--so only that it be enforced. These methods are new to me," she added, with a sudden softened appeal in her tone; "thou wilt know the way to compass it--for my sake--for it must be done."

"It shall be done," he assented uncompromisingly; but in surprise, knowing only too well the imperious methods of the Council appointed to assist her in her government and the temper of the men who composed that body--for Janus had not been great in his knowledge of men; and possibly the only one of the seven who had been strictly devoted to the King, had died shortly after his appointment, and the place had been filled with one less favorable to the present rule of Cyprus. Fabrici was known to be in sympathy with Naples; Rizzo, Chief of Council, strong, domineering, unscrupulous, was perhaps the creature of Ferdinand, King of Naples. "It shall be done," he said again, having vowed to help her.

"For, until I have had speech with the holiest man among the priests that may be found in all this kingdom of Cyprus," she said with a decision that amazed him, "I will treat of no matter of State, however urgent. Nay, Aluisi--my cousin"--as she noted his start of surprise--"to thee alone--who must be my counsellor in days of desolation--pray Heaven more dark than thou shalt ever dream of--I will confide that out of this night of vigil hath come this resolution which I dare not break. Seek thou the man."

He had already turned to fulfil her quest which might be long in the doing--and these impatient Councillors would be hard to hold; yet he had no thought of parleying with this girl-queen, so suddenly grown to a full stature.

But her voice, even and low, arrested him. "He must be Greek in birth," she said, "and of the Greek Church, which my people love. But above all--_he must be a man to trust_."

He turned when he had crossed the great audience-chamber, under the entrance colonnade of huge porphyry columns, wrought with barbaric symbols of earlier dynasties and guarded by colossal Assyrian bulls--she seemed so young and tender to leave, even for a day, in those surroundings unguarded, at the mercy of that Council of Seven whom he had reason to distrust--in her kingdom seamed with dissensions of which she had, as yet, small comprehension; of which, perhaps, she did not even dream--with her shattered happiness behind her and loneliness before, and this great responsibility pressing its leaden weight upon her fair young head.

He longed to throw her a last reassuring glance--to leave with her the absolute faith that with every power of his being he would uphold and steady her in the rough and desolate way.

For since he came from Venice he had not ceased his vigilant study of the complications of Cyprus, that when her need came he might be ready.

He never forgot the vision of the girl-queen in her sweeping widow's robes, across the great space between them, in the sunshine of the loggia--her hand extended as if to hasten or to bless him--a wonderful, unearthly light and strength in her face; and, for one moment as she met his gaze and understood the full depth of his devotion, the ghost of a smile--as if it had been granted him to bring her in this hour of martyrdom one little ray of human comfort.

XIV

Hagios Johannes, the holiest man in Cyprus, stood waiting in the vast, empty presence-chamber of the young Queen; for, since the sudden death of Janus, there had been no court-life in this palace of Potamia, and the gloom hung most heavily over the more sumptuous halls of ceremony.

Hagios Johannes--_the holy John_--they called this prior of the House of Priests from Troödos--the Mountain of the Holy Cross--after the name of the earlier Saint who had made the spot famous for the holiness of his living, for his boundless charity and the wisdom of his judgments, so that the people had gone to him in ceaseless procession with their sins and woes in the days of primitive Christianity in Cyprus, and had returned to their peasant homes the stronger to endure and to renounce. Johannes the Lesser, this one called himself--being truly great and devout of heart, so that his vision was wise and true as that of Hagios Johannes the Greater.

A curtain at the further end of the audience-chamber parted to admit a stately figure in mourning-robes, as the Lady Beata of the Bernardini advanced to meet him, bringing the message that the Queen would receive him in an inner cabinet.

"She is very worn and tired, most Reverend Father, and in years so near to childhood that the nobility and strength of her resolve are marvellous. And the comfort that she seeketh of thee she doth most sorely need."

The eyes of this strong and faithful friend gleamed with unshed tears as she turned them upon the prior, in tender appeal.

But to Hagios Johannes all courts were strange; the life of his mountain overflowed with possibilities of ministration which busied all his powers, and it was the first time that he had ever entered any of the palaces of the luxurious Kings of Cyprus--of which, perhaps, this summer palace of Potamia was the most sumptuous. The long corridors of precious marbles, with intricate carvings and gleamings of gold and mosaic displeased him, though he had no knowledge of their worth or beauty; but he stood aghast at the magnificence of the audience-chamber, and the huge Assyrian bulls which guarded the entrance gave a hint of pagan power and oppression which instantly angered him.

The appeal of the gracious Lady Beata but roused his indignation.

He was a stern, wild figure with his flowing beard, his long hair falling straight and unkempt about his brown throat; and his sombre monk's garment was wrought on breast and shoulders with a salient cross of natural thorns--the symbol of those monks of Troödos--the Mountain of the Holy Cross; and the Lady Beata trembled for the interview that was to be, as he answered her rudely:

"The dwellers in palaces of ivory have naught to do with wild men of the mountains who live close to nature and care only for suffering humanity. I have Christ's work to do; let others bring her rose-leaves and honeyed words."

She laid a gentle, detaining hand upon him as he thrust aside the curtain of the inner chamber.

"Most Reverend Father, are not the words of our Lord and Saviour, as well for those who suffer in palaces, as for the wanderers and poor upon the earth?

"Are not the wounds of the spirit as deep in anguish as those of the physical man?

"May not the burdens of rulers be greater than those of the ruled?--Have compassion upon our Queen!"

"Christ knoweth not kings," he answered her, as he shook off her light touch--"save only those who bow to Him: and the mighty among men--aye--even he who calleth himself His Vicar upon earth--are puffed up with pride and know in their hearts no virtue in this--His sacred symbol." He pressed his rough hand hard against the thorns upon his breast as he spoke. "Hath not he--this false and sumptuous Vicar--but now asserted that we, of the Holy Greek Church have no part in the Communion of the Holy Catholic Church on earth? Did Christ call the Latins only?" he ended fiercely.

It was a grievance that rankled; and Hagios Johannes had not learned the gracious art of self-control, being accustomed to feel that whatever he thought or wished was good--his hatred as well as that which appealed to him--since he honestly sought nothing for himself, despising riches and station from the depths of his soul, with an open scorn for the great ones of earth and an imperious assertion of his own methods and judgments which he would have denounced in any earthly ruler, however wise. He never dreamed himself an autocrat over that continuous stream of pilgrims who made their way into the House of Priests on Troödos: they were chiefly peasants, rude in ways and understanding, whose accustomedness to absolute methods and short words made their obedience the swifter; and the few more learned ones who came to consult him knew that in his heart he was faithful and seldom treasured the offense against him--though they may have decried his wisdom. But these came more rarely as his absolutism grew upon him, and the prophet of the mountains came down to the cities of the plains only to see the luxury of them--the sin and godliness of them, and to denounce them, in unmeasured words.

Within his soul, although he did not confess it to himself, the generations of men were separated by a wide impassable gulf--the rich and ruling class, the godless, on one side; the poor, the suffering and lowly--the to-be-saved,--on the other, and none ever passed across the deep abyss. He would have challenged any man who counted _him, Father Johannes_, in his hempen garment studded with thorns, among the rulers of men!

The youthful Queen, weary and worn indeed from the perplexities and struggle of the two long nights and days that had elapsed since she had sent her Councillor on his quest of "the holiest man in Cyprus," rose from her couch as the prior entered and advanced to meet him with a gracious reverence.

But he, unconscious of any rudeness, spoke at once, without turning his eyes upon her, and offering no homage.

"I am a plain man from the Mountain of the Holy Cross, your Majesty; I know naught of the ways of Courts. The matter should be great that calleth me from my work. Let it be presented, that I may be dismissed."

She was almost too weak to stand, and the rebuff smote her to the quick; her lip trembled slightly, but she only stretched out her hand to her beloved friend, drawing her close and leaning lightly upon her shoulder, that she might feel the support of loving companionship in her great need.

Father Johannes had been vaguely conscious of some movement in the chamber and involuntarily he turned towards this royal lady whom, as yet, he had never seen, but whose urgent summons had roused his indignation.

She looked so young and fair and simple in her heavy folds of mourning--so worn from vigil, with the lines of anguish and of a strange strength written in her white girl-face--that she might have been the vision of some youthful saint, wearing the rough cross of Troödos upon her breast, beneath her robe: and for a moment, the holy man was startled--did such heavenly visions, in truth, visit the palaces of the great?

There was a moment of stillness in which his wonder grew.

The breeze blew faintly in through the great arched openings, behind which rose the mountain chain that led to his own Troödos; there were the groves of pine, darkly green, below the hills, with their deep solitudes for prayer and meditation between the vast gnarled trunks; and the group of the two noble women before him--severely simple--was a vision of love and womanly grace and spiritual need; the younger one, all pleading and pain, clinging to the elder who closely enfolded her, her face strong in the strength of love. It was not like any life that he had ever seen--this holy man, whose personal life had been solitary and whose knowledge of human love, as it is known in happy homes, had died long years ago with the passing of the mother who had borne him in her heart. It might be that he needed such a vision to redeem his spirit from the harshness which sin and pride in high places, and want and crime and poverty of spirit among ignoble ones, had made him grow to think the whole of life!

He was very weary and his vision was not clear; for the previous day had been a solemn fast, and he had walked far and long since the early morning, that he might be the less delayed. He felt like kneeling where he stood--if perchance it should be a vision!--But he only bowed his head and waited--and his weakness passed.

The younger one--the maiden with that strange mystery of pain and strength in her white face, was coming towards him.

"Father," she said, "hath none offered thee refreshment? Thou must indeed be weary, for the way is long. Zia, let us be served here--in sight of the great forest that will seem like home to our good Padre."

"Nay, nay," he interposed quickly, with an effort to shake off this incomprehensible spell and return to his wonted mood of protest, "for I have never banqueted in the palace of a Queen--your Majesty."

"Let it be brought," Caterina said, turning to the Lady Beata, "a simple meal; for I myself have need, having tasted nothing since the long vigil of the night--being too sore from my great perplexity." For she divined that she must be alone with the prior to melt his mood, which grieved her; but she had not the less faith in his judgment for his hatred of royalty, and at all costs she had the grace to crave for truth in the questions she would ask of him.

"My Father," she said with winning gentleness when they were alone, "we will speak together as father and daughter--it will be better so, for I was not born to Majesty, and I have sent to ask of thee thy counsel, for life is difficult. And for my hospitality--is it not offered to the pilgrim in thy House of Priests of the Troödista? Hath not our Lord Himself commanded the giving of the cup of water?"

He was startled at her learning: surely it was rare that women out of holy orders had such knowledge of Christian traditions. He looked at her reverently, still wondering, and would have spoken to excuse his rough speech, but that he knew not how to frame a thought so strange and new.

She motioned him to a seat where a table had been spread under the deep arches that looked toward the forest. There were wines and fruits in tempting chalices of rainbow glass and low baskets of ivory and chiselled silver, cooling with snow from the mountain; figs from Lefcara; _caistas_, golden and delicious, emitting a fragrance of glorified nectarine that rivalled the perfume of the wine itself; pomegranates--the gift of a goddess to the thirsty Cyprian land, planted, as was well known, by the royal hand of Aphrodite herself, each fruit holding a fair refreshment for a torrid Cyprian day in its sparkling, semilucent, ruby pulp: ortolans from the sea-coast, steeped in wine.

The table was a slab of oriental alabaster, polished like a jewel, upheld by griffins with outthrust tongues curiously contorted and entwined. But beyond the silken curtains of the palace-windows the forest and the hills, with a wandering breath of coolness from the mountain-breeze, drew and welcomed him, with some faint, new perception of the oneness of God's earth.

She had banished with a glance the maiden who stood waiting with her lute to give the customary accompaniment to the meal, and they were quite alone.

He crumbled his bread and swallowed his wine like a hungry man, drawing the wild, purple figs nearer, unconscious of the dainties which she did not press upon him, while he tasted the familiar food--the food which his Lord Christ had blessed to man's uses. So, also, the luxury of the service passed unnoticed, as he fixed his eyes on the distant darks of his own forest, with the "Troödista" rising on a peak far, far away--that haven of distressed souls to whom he was a father of consolation. Her fingers toyed with the fruit that lay untasted before her, while the difficulty of speech struggled within her. Yet he felt, subtly, as he kept his eyes upon the hills, that he was in sight of the shadow of a soul in pain, and he waited--for once, oblivious of the distance between a palace and a convent.

"Thou art born a Greek, my Father?" she questioned. "Thou art a priest of the Greek Church--which my people love?"

The commanding habit of a lifetime was strong upon him and again his resentment rose to quench the softer mood which was possessing him, and of which he was afraid.

"I knew not that I had been summoned from my work for Christ to answer of myself," he said sternly. "If thou hast need of counsel, tell it quickly."

Again her lip quivered at the hurt, but she put it aside bravely, as she rose and moved backward for a pace further into the shadow. "I ask it for my people's sake--I being their Queen," she said, "and knowing that my people are rather Greek in feeling, I would do naught to hurt them."

How tenderly the words "my people" fell from the lips of this young, Venetian woman, who seemed almost a child--had their imperious Grecian Queen, Elenà Paléologue ever so uttered them? Had she not named a boy to the highest See in the gift of their church--with no thought of fitness--but solely that he might be put aside lest he come between her and her greed of domination? Had she not plotted murder and whatever else might lie between her and the accomplishment of her will? His heart melted within him, and he rose and followed Caterina into the chamber.

"The most Holy Father of Rome hath of late been prejudiced against the King--my husband--and I sought for one who might give me counsel, unprejudiced."

If she had been a wily diplomat she could not better have wielded the prior's mood than by this unconscious utterance.

"So help me God, I will strive to help thee in counsel," he answered fervently. "But are there not men, set apart as Councillors for the realm, to aid one so young in the ruling of her kingdom?"