XV

It was a moonless night in June, with lowering clouds and a threat of

distant thunder echoing from the far mountains.

A crowd was gathering, low-voiced and eager, in the Piazza San Nicolo: a

crowd chiefly of the people, and the faces and costumes of many races

came out grotesquely under the spasmodic glare of the torches which

flared about the standard of Cyprus, in the centre of the square--the

standard was tied with mourning and wreathed with cypress. There were

many women--here and there a peasant with a child slumbering in her

arms, or clinging sleepily to the tawny silk scarf woven under her own

mulberry trees. Here and there, with the fitful motion of the wind, the

light touched the fair hair of a chance peasant from the province of _La

Kythrea_ into gleams of gold that a Venetian patrician might envy, or

brought into sudden relief the smothered passion of some beautiful, dark

Greek face. But the women were chiefly of the lower Cypriote

peasant-type, heavy-featured and unemotional. There was a sprinkling of

monkish cowls and of the red fez from the Turkish village of Afdimou

which lay in seeming friendliness of relation close to the village of

Ormodos, whose population was wholly Greek.

In front of the long facade of the palace of Famagosta a cordon of

soldiers stood motionless, while before them the mounted guard paced

slowly to and fro; and across the Piazza, with that impatient, surging

crowd between, was faintly heard the steady footfall of the sentinels,

measuring and remeasuring with unemotional precision their narrow beat

before the entrance to the world-famed fortress of Famagosta.

A group of nobles in eager, low-voiced converse crossed the square,

pressed through the cordon of soldiers and gave the password and the

great door was opened to admit them and closed again.

Two burghers picked out a face among them, as the torches of their

escorts flared.

"That was Marin Rizzo, Counsellor to the Queen; a man of

power--unscrupulous."

"And more a friend--I have heard it whispered in Nikosia--to Naples than

to Cyprus."

"Hast evidence for thy speech?" the other questioned eagerly in a lower

tone.

"It is for that we must watch; the time is threatening."

"But Messer Andrea Cornaro was with him: he will know how to guard the

interests of the Queen, having been so great a favorite with our Janus,

and one for management, despite his courtly ways! Without our Messer

Andrea, his niece had never been our Queen."

"Nay--nor if His Holiness had had his will. I had the tale from a source

to trust, though the story was kept hushed. It would take one like our

Janus, with his royal ways, to scorn the flattering offers of His

Holiness! There were also threats!"

"Nay; threats would never move him, except to see the comedy thereof and

make his mood the pleasanter! But I had not dreamed him saint enough for

the Holy Father to sue to him for an alliance."

"Ah, friend, the ways of those above us be strange! But it was for this,

I take it, that His Holiness--who hath a temper most uncommon

earthly--sent none to represent him at the Coronation of the King."

The other shrugged his shoulders. "It lacked for naught in splendor; it

was a day for Cyprus and for Nikosia."

"_Vanitas Vanitatum_," droned a friar of the Latin Church who had been

standing near enough to catch echoes of their speech.

Both men glanced towards him and instinctively moved away.

"Aye; little it matters now--coronation honors or splendors for him! But

he had a way with him!"

"And he was one for daring!"

They crossed themselves and lapsed into silence, as their eyes sought

the banners drooping, shrouded, before the palace-gates, near the statue

of their dead King--a very Apollo for beauty--the pedestal heaped high

with withered tokens of loyalty and mourning.

But the mass of the waiting crowd were silent, scarcely exchanging a

whispered confidence;--so still that the long, low boom of the surf upon

the shore reached them distinctly, like a responsive heart-throb. They

could hear the storm-waves outside the port dashing wildly against the

rock-bound coast, with fierce suggestions of strife. But they knew that

within their sheltered harbor their waiting galleys rode at anchor,

ready to sail at a moment's notice--for Venice, for Rome, for

Egypt--though the flags they bore were still at half-mast, with their

King but a month dead.

There was a sense of suppressed excitement in the hush of the throng;

almost, one might have said, an atmosphere of prayer. For the great bell

of San Nicolo--the bell with that wonderful voice of melody--was ringing

softly, as for vespers; continuously, as if the people had not answered

to the call. Yet many a low-voiced "Ave" responded to the chime as now

and again some toil-worn hand lifted the rosary that hung from a girdle,

or clasped a rude cross closer.

Restless under the chiming, some simple mother who had fought for her

place in the crowd before the palace, deep in her heart besought the

blessed Madonna to forgive her because she would not yield it to kneel

at the altar in the Duomo; while leaning over the little one slumbering

on her breast, she kissed it with a meaning holy as prayer, and did not

dream that the angels were watching.

The only steady light in all the square was the soft gleam, as of

moonlight, streaming through the windows of the Duomo out into the mist,

and here and there among the crowd some face turned towards it and was

heartened.

For back of the splendid marble columns of the peristyle, when the light

from some torch flashed suddenly upon their polished surfaces, the long

lines of palace-windows lay dark; and it was growing late.

"They say that the holy sisters keep vigil this night in the Convent of

the Blessed Santa Croce," murmured a woman's voice.

"Aye," another answered her reverently, "for the love of Santa Elena and

the Holy Relic, they will bless our beautiful Lady!"

The theme unsealed their peasant tongues, for this relic brought from

the East by the Mother of Constantine, was the glory of Cyprus, and

their speech flowed more freely.

"The most Reverend our Archbishop should send for that Santa Croce in

procession, to bring it hither--for truly it can do anything!" another

woman cried eagerly. She crossed herself and bowed devoutly as she

spoke. "For all the world knoweth that once, when it had been lost and

the good pater would prove if he had really found it, he held it in the

heart of the fire until it glowed like the very flame itself. But when

he drew it forth, it was burned not at all--_Santissima Vergine!_--but

wood as before--being too holy to burn. A miracle! And then----"

"I also know the miracle about Queen Alixe," another woman interposed,

eager to show her knowledge of the marvel of the Relic, "for my sister

dwelleth by the gate of the Convent of the Troodos, and she hath much

learning of the most blessed Relic;--how that Queen Alixe laid the bit

on her tongue--she who could never speak fairly--more like a blockhead

of a stammering peasant than a Royal lady--may Heaven forgive me! And

how for ever after, her speech flowed freely, so that all might

understand her. It must be good to be in Cyprus."

"Holy Mother! but it should be lonely in the great palace," a young

peasant-mother confided to her nearest neighbor, as she shifted the baby

to her other arm and arranged her wrappings tenderly, with hands that

looked too rough for such loving ministration. She was thinking of her

Gioan who would be waiting for her with a gruff greeting when she

returned, but who was good to her, if he often scolded when the porridge

was burned. But men were that way about women's work, and never knew

that an angel would forget when the baby cried. "_But_ she was growing

heavy, blessed be the Madonna! Why wasn't there a light?--It would be

good if one might sleep!"

A mounted messenger came out from the fort and dashed across the square;

the crowd holding breath, parting silently before him, but surging

tumultuously back, to wait--though they were very weary and the shifting

clouds were dropping rain. But there were yet no lights in the palace

windows.

It was growing darker and the wind was rising; a quick flurry of drops

extinguished some of the torches, and in the greater gloom the voice of

the wind wailed like an evil omen. But still the women would not

go--waiting for that sign of _the light in the palace windows_.

Only they pressed closer to each other and crossed themselves in terror,

with smothered ejaculations and adjurations, shuddering from the

superstitions that enthralled their simple natures; for at this season,

in Cyprus rain was most unwonted, surely a sign of Heaven's displeasure!

Still they waited in the darkness of the night, with shivering hearts,

with the wind growling like angry fiends out beyond the harbor and down

from the environing hills--upheld to this costly tribute of devotion by

the dumb, dog-like loyalty which their beautiful young Queen had roused

within them, by a smile on her wedding-day and the sorrow that had

quenched it.

"It is good, _va_, to see the light in the Duomo! There is many a good

candle burning for her at the shrine of Our Lady of Mercy, this night."

"An' there were none for ourselves, we should find one for her!"

"Not a woman of our _casal_ but held a candle in her hand as we came in

at the gate of the city; for the silkworms have given us silk and enough

to spin this year; and if they had not, we would not grudge it to her.

For she hath a smile like an angel. May our Holy Mother bless her for

them both."

"And beautiful--beautiful so that it warms the heart! Dost thou remember

the day when she came out of the Duomo, beautiful as the Madonna

herself--may our Blessed Lady in Heaven forgive me!--with a necklace and

a crown flashing fire, that our Holy Mother of Jesus might wear on the

Feast of the Annunciation?--and the smile on her face?--and the King

beside her----? Ah, but it was a wedding--Holy Saints!--and they ought

to be happy--the great ones!"

"Hush then!--But surely 'tis a sin that they left the mourning upon the

banner to-night, one should have more respect! If I could get into the

Duomo for a drop of Holy water--Sancta Maria!"

But the crowd had swelled to hopeless density, and both women threw out

their hands with the magical gesture that never failed to exorcise the

evil spirits brought near by such an omen. Then they touched each other

reassuringly, and crossed themselves and were silent again.

For a beautiful Greek, not of their own class, stepped out from her

group of attendants, and knelt on the pavement, stretching out her hands

towards the dark palace with a prayer--they could hear her

murmuring,--"For _her_ sake--for the sake of the innocent one who hath

been wronged--Holy Mother of Angels, grant us one of her blood to rule

this land!"

Her heavy veil of mourning fell aside as she hastily rose and joined her

attendants, disappearing in the crowd.

"Madama da Patras! Could it be Madama da Patras, mother to the King,

kneeling on the pavement in the night!"

"Her heart is broken with grief, and she thought not to be seen, poor

lady."

Two nobles were wending their way with difficulty across the Piazza,

they lingered a moment, arrested by the words of the prayer.

"This night may make the difference between anarchy and peace for

Cyprus," one of them said to his companion, as they resumed their

struggle.

"Aye--Cyprus for the Cypriotes,--instead of Genoa, or Venice, or

Naples."

"Or Queen Carlotta?"

"_Maledetto!--Who spoke?_"

But the challenge was unanswered. The noble who had dared to name aloud

the daughter of their last Queen--the sister of their late King--had

been lost in the darkness before the trusty guard, _sent from Venice_,

could make sure of him.

"The fellow should be thrust through for his insolence. A Cyprian master

is good enough for Cyprus," they confided to each other, as they made

pause again, emerging from the crowd at the other end of the piazza,

before the gate of the fortress.

"What matters it?" his comrade answered him nonchalantly, "for canst

thou tell me the color of a Cypriote now? and his native tongue may be

liker that of Spain or Venice than of France or Greece. My Lord of

Piscopia hath the color of Venice."

"But of the very household of our Queen:--speak soft! Our

Queen?--Perchance this night may be her undoing--how runs King Giacomo's

will? Yea, for the matter of the fiefs, she hath been royal with her

gifts--a matter not so lordly when confiscation cometh thus easily."

"But she hath a royal way with her, as of one born to the throne, and

for that matter it were not strange for one of the house of

Cornelii--they held their heads proudly enough in Venice, I am told; and

her mother was of the blood of a Comnenus--more royal than a Lusignan,

if not so well tempered."

"Aye; she is well enough."

"And she hath a grace that hath verily won the people; never was there

such a crowd in the time of any other Queen. See how they throng before

her gates to-night--poor simple souls--conquered by a smile that

costeth naught."

"Nay; it is not strange; for the people entered little into the thought

of Queen Carlotta, or Queen Elena. There is no harm in her; she is a

good child, and beautiful enough to be a saint; with too little

understanding of the ways of our court: too great a saint for Janus--by

every blessed saint of Cyprus! But I had rather she had more earthliness

and wile than be the pawn of Venice. A Cyprian for the Cypriotes! Our

Janus were better;--a Lusignan--not too much a saint--not a child nor a

woman neither--but masterful: less the pawn of Venice."

"As well of Venice with her fleets and commerce, as of Naples--if it be

not a Cyprian. How sayest thou? And it was King Janus himself who gave

Pelendria--that most royal and bountiful fief of a prince of

Lusignan--into the hands of that parvenu of Naples, _Rizzo_! The King

verily guessed not his quality when he named him to such estate! He

would outrule monarchs."

"_Pace!_"

Close to them, in the crowd, they heard the sound of a soldier's lance

rasping the pavement as he stood at rest. One not far off seemed to

answer his signal.

The storm was growing fiercer; the sullen mutterings of the wind broke

into a shriek, with a terrible downpour of rain; but the rushing crowd

was stayed by a cry of joy that rose above the tumult--a cry of love

from the heart of the people--

"Mater Beatissima! _A light in the palace window!_"

A candle flamed in a dark window--two--more--a light in every casement!

The gates of the palace were thrown wide and a splendid mounted corps

rode forth amidst a flare of torches--white plumes of rejoicing waving

from their casques--white banners raised high on the points of their

lances--while the herald, in full armor with vizor up, bore proudly

before the people the silken banner with the arms of Cyprus blazoned

upon it--the white, royal banner of a Prince of Galilee.

The waiting people went wild with joy, for the bells of all the churches

of Famagosta were pealing a jubilee, and the night rang with shouts of

homage for the Prince of Galilee, the heir to the crown of Cyprus:

For an infant prince had just opened his unconscious eyes upon his

troubled earthly heritage.