For days after the visit of Hagios Johannes, Caterina scarcely spoke, or
noticed what was passing around her; and the Lady of the Bernardini and
Dama Margherita, with hearts aching from the burden of their pity, were
helpless before such desolation.
But at last the young Queen turned to them with mournful eyes of
comprehension, holding out her hands to clasp theirs in a convulsive
pressure, rousing herself heroically from her absorption and nerving her
dormant will to meet the unwelcome stress of life again.
"The Holy Mother hath left you for me to love," she said in a tremulous
voice. "Life is not all a blank."
They could not answer her for tears; but her own eyes were dry.
"I thought," she said, "if it might but have been the will of Christ
that death should come to me--also"--she paused a moment to steady her
voice, "it would have been sweet--I was so weary. And when it did not
come to lift me out of the shadow, I longed to carry my broken heart
into some holy Sisterhood and be at rest--I felt no strength to live. I
thought it might have been the will of the Madre Sanctissima, for she
hath suffered; and I know not how to live without my _figlio
dilettissimo_."
Then suddenly she clasped her hands crying out with the passion of
prayer:
"My God! I would have trained him for thee! He should have been a noble
man and a Christian King. Why hast Thou stricken me!"
She turned to them wide-eyed with her question but the Lady Beata, for
answer, could only fold compassionate arms about her--soothing her
silently; so young and so bereft.
But Caterina struggled into quiet speech again, as in a
confessional--sorely needing some comfort of human sympathy after her
long, silent conflict.
"I thought it might have been the will of the Blessed Mother that I
should rest; but Hagios Johannes hath shown me that it might not be; I
have taken my vows again to serve my people--to live for them; the padre
hath promised me that strength shall come."
Her lip quivered, but she bore herself bravely. "Thou wilt help me,
Zia," she continued, in pathetic appeal, "and thou, my Margherita; for
life is difficult. And Aluisi--he will think what must be done for the
people until my strength returneth--for I have forgotten how to think."
She pressed her hands tightly against her forehead as if to compel the
resistant brain-power.
Then suddenly she laid her hot, trembling hand on that of her
compassionate, motherly friend, her voice rising into a wail--"Father
Johannes hath said that I must give the people all the love I gave my
baby--but not yet--I cannot do it yet!--Mother of Sorrows forgive
me!--_he doth not know_."
She fell back on her pillows exhausted by her emotion, while in a low,
crooning voice the name she loved to utter broke from her longing lips
again, like a threnody:
"_Figlio dilettissimo!_"
The Lady Beata's heart was wrung with pity.
"Nay, nay, Carinissima," she said, stooping over the couch and speaking
with tender decision, "Hagios Johannes could not know what mothers feel!
This holy love for thy little one shall bide ever with thee and grow
with thy life. It is thy breath of Heaven! It shall nerve thee to do the
work of thy child--to live for the people he would have ruled. Him thou
shalt love forever--it is the will of the Madre Beatissima:--but after
thy child shall come his people."
A change passed over the strained, worn face of the young Queen, like a
faint breath of comfort.
"Zia mia," she murmured, laying her thin white hand in the warm, restful
clasp: and so passed into the first quiet sleep that she had known for
days.
* * * * *
While the unhappy Queen was bravely struggling to recover her poise,
many things were happening; for the death of the infant King had been
the signal for further manifestations of discontent from a party of
Cyprian nobles whose dread of the "Lion of the velvet paw" increased as
the need for some firm governing hand became more evident. They would
have liked to anger Venice to the point of withdrawing all protection
and leaving them to their own devices--yet they dared not attempt it
openly, appreciating the futility of any armed resistance that
unassisted Cypriotes might offer.
For the Turk was watching from his near point of vantage; and if he had
hitherto been content with sending his private ships to ravage and
terrorize the towns along the coast, this might but be the prelude to
more ambitious projects. Naples was still eagerly awaiting some
favorable moment to lay hands upon the coveted island, and rumors of
waning favor had been wafted from Alexandria, since Cyprus had allowed
the tribute due to the Sultan to fall in arrears.
Carlotta, upon hearing of the death of the little Janus III, had at once
renewed her claim to the throne; some of the ancient nobles had declared
for her, and it was felt, rather than known, that her partisans were
secretly gathering strength. There was evidently some hostile influence
at work in the innermost circle of the Court.
And now, when Cyprus was at extremity, Venice alone--alert, powerful,
resourceful--could be relied upon for aid: her protection of the island
in the time of Rizzo's conspiracy, had given her the right to a voice in
the government--or so she claimed, and there were none to gainsay it.
Her _Provveditori_ were armed with the plenary power that was not
invariably used to the advantage of Cyprus, yet the vigilant Signoria
were ever ready with fresh instructions--if the paw were of velvet, it
was no longer sheathed!
Letters of condolence were duly sent from the Serenissimo; so, also,
came without delay the declaration that the Queen had inherited the full
rights vested in her son, and should reign alone; with the further
announcement, so simply stated that it might well seem beyond
refutation--_that Venice was heir to her beloved daughter, Caterina
Veneta_.
* * * * *
No wonder that the Cypriotes gnashed their teeth in their powerlessness
to dispute this insolent assertion, while their indignation effervesced
in petty intrigues!
But Dama Ecciva's spirits had revived.
"It is more like the olden days," she said, well content; "for if there
is no splendor of court-life such as our good Janus loved, at least
there is matter for gossip to brighten the mortal dulness of a court in
mourning! The Ambassador hath returned from the Court of Alexandria, and
hath made relation of his mission and declared the favor of the Sultan,
which, to the surprise of some"--she paused and glanced about her to
make sure that all were listening--"hath been granted to Her Majesty the
Queen Caterina--and _not_ to Queen Carlotta."
"There is no Queen Carlotta!" a chorus of indignant young voices
answered her. "If the Lady of the Bernardini were here----"
"Aye--but she is not." Ecciva returned placidly: "The Madonna be praised
for a moment's liberty to utter one's thought! She and the Dama
Margherita who knoweth more surely to tie one's honest speech than even
the great Lady of the Bernardini, are gone to the Sala Regia to
represent Her Majesty and receive the splendid gifts which His
Excellency the Ambassador hath brought from Alexandria. And this am I
sent to tell you, by the Lady of the Bernardini--who is a gracious
tyrant and would save a bit of pleasure for our childish souls out of
the dulness of the days. And when we hear the champing of horses in the
great court of the palace--but there is already a tumult below--fly
then!"
She had dashed out under the arcades and was leaning between the
columns, making her quick eager comments to the bevy of maidens who had
followed her, as the little train of slaves bearing the royal gifts
passed through the court-yard of the palace.
"A regal mantle of cloth of gold, with its gleam of jewels for her lorn
Majesty--who will never again wear aught but trappings of woe, if she
might have her will--it is a waste of treasure!"
"For shame, Ecciva!"
"Nay; for we are only _we_--not the Dama Margherita; nor the Lady of the
Bernardini.--Will the mourning bring back the child?--One may weep one's
life away in vain."
"Thou hast no heart, Ecciva: how should we not grieve with her!"
"So it pleaseth one to grieve, I am well content. But the way of weeping
is strange to me. Methinks it would be kinder to cheer her soul with
some revelry--or a race on that splendid Arab steed, stepping so
daintily, with its great dark eyes and quivering nostrils, where the red
color comes! The Sultan himself hath chosen this beauty for Her
Majesty--she who perchance will never mount him, scorning to do aught
that would make the blood flow warmer through the veins;--going daily to
San Nicolo with her taper and knowing naught of pleasure in life;
unless it verily pleaseth her to grieve! What availeth it to her that
she is Queen!"
"What availeth it to her to win the love of the people as none hath ever
done before!" Eloisa cried hotly, moved from her timidity by her
indignation. "That wilt thou never know, Ecciva, who dost so belie thy
heart with thy unkind speech. But verily"--she pursued, relenting--"thou
art far gentler than thy speech--not untrue, as thou wouldst have us
believe!"
"What is '_untrue_'?" Dama Ecciva asked, undisturbed. "How may one know?
Shall one ask Carlotta?--Or Queen Caterina? Or--if he might but answer
us now--the charming Janus?--My brain is too little to unravel the
mystery."