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 Nicolo

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.