The times were perilous, and it behooved those whose duty it was to keep
the wheels of the machine sufficiently lubricated to run without
over-much creaking, to see that not only were all possible precautions
taken to secure the Queen's safety, but that everything that might
promote the loyalty of the uncertain Cyprian nobility should be
encouraged.
Some of the older Greek families lived like petty rulers within their
own estates, holding absolute sway over their vassals and enforcing
their allegiance at least to the point of not daring to act in
opposition to whatever political views their lords might choose to
adopt. Yet the fact that an old patrician was not in sympathy with the
Crown was by no means an assurance of loyalty to Carlotta; it might
simply mean that he was waiting to select one from among the many
banners that were eager to float over his happy island of Cyprus--or
that a more fervent hope possessed him of gathering to his own standard
the various malcontents and of wearing, with true Cyprian magnificence,
the royal honors that he craved;--as why should he not? since more than
one of those ancient Cyprian families claimed kinship by marriage with
the royal house of Lusignan.
Thus it had been decreed by the powers behind the throne that the seat
of government should be removed to Nikosia,--the most loyal of all the
cities of the realm, whose jealousy at her loss of prestige in being
supplanted in this dignity by the less important city of Famagosta
should be wisely taken into account; and great preparations were being
made for the royal progress about to take place, by which it was hoped
to stimulate an increased pride in the Government among the populace and
the citizens.
Great hopes were also entertained by the Admiral Mutio di Costanzo, the
Bernardini, Dama Margherita and Madama di Thenouris that the _High
Court_--an institution distinctively Cyprian, which had not been held
since the death of Janus, but of which a session had now been proclaimed
throughout the island--would assemble a throng of nobles with their
vassals and would prove a strong appeal to their loyalty.
The old Cyprian gentlewoman, Madama di Thenouris, under advice of the
Admiral and the Council, had held long frank talks with the Lady of the
Bernardini.
"We love our gentle Queen," she said with feeling; "and we do our
possible to uphold her. But she also--she must show herself among the
nobles--she must claim their loyalty. Hath she the strength to rise
above her grief and try to rule? There hath been enough of mourning for
the temper of this people; we must have action. We are like
children--half-barbaric--more easily swayed by trifles that please
us--not of such sober poise as the people of Venice; but the good Lord
hath made us thus."
But Caterina was ready to do her part. "Whatever the customs of the
country doth require," she answered without hesitation, "I shall have
the strength, since it is for my people. Only, cara Madama di Thenouris,
thou and the Zia will provide what is best--I cannot think about these
things--they seem like trifles; till I grow stronger," she added
timidly, in a tone of appeal.
"Nay, beloved Lady; they are but trifles; we will spare you thought of
them, that the real matters may help the sooner to win your interest.
But it will not be displeasing to your Majesty to see your maidens about
you in robes of white--to hold a fairer memory of the infant King, in
his innocence and charm, than these robes of woe?" She touched the heavy
mourning folds of the Queen's garments, as she spoke.
Caterina started in surprise; but she answered in a moment, with a
little effort, "Aye--it will be sweeter--mine also, cara Madama; since
never can the grief be less. The Holy Mother, and my _figlio
dilettissimo_--it is enough that they know. And it is for his people!"
Yet in the loneliness of the night, after she had made her last prayer
at the tomb of Janus, and lighted the last taper with her own hands for
him in the Duomo San Nicolo, and wept her last tears before the altar
where, but a few short months ago her little son had been baptized and
crowned--kneeling on the slab that bore her baby's name--the sense of
desolation overpowered her.
"Even this little comfort I must lose," she cried; "Madonna mia--Janus
and my boy seemed nearer here! They leave me nothing--nothing!"
But later in her own chamber, alone in the solemn stillness, deep in
her heart an appeal that could not be uttered because of its intensity,
her strained gaze fastened on the brilliant, star-lit skies as if she
would pierce the mysteries of life and death and surprise some effluence
of spirit-love--some smile of tenderness from the angel of her little
child--a strange calm came to her--a dim perception of eternal
values--of the nothingness of time and place--of the everlastingness of
any love that has been true.--Then slowly she sank upon her knees, still
looking upward, and the anguish lessened and peace and strength
descended upon her soul--a gift from the holiness of the night.
It was in such vigils, since her great sorrows had come to her, that the
desolate girl-queen had learned her life-lessons--and she was no longer
afraid of their solemnity, coming thus into closer friendship with her
own soul and a more implicit faith.
"Dear Father in Heaven!" she cried. "Thou knowest it is because I love
them that I leave them, to do their life-work! and Thou wilt grant me
wisdom! If but I knew--if but I knew my people's need!"
* * * * *
At that most perfect hour of early evening when the sun was sinking
rapidly behind the mountains in a flood of gold and crimson glory, and
the air was filled with a delicious wandering breeze, soft and
refreshing after the heat of the day and laden with the perfumes of a
thousand flowers, the Queen set forth upon her journey.
She was accompanied by her full court of knights and maidens, a guard of
infantry and escort of cavalry, with many mounted nobles besides, to do
her honor,--a sumptuous cavalcade of at least two hundred horse; with
such state had the Council of the Realm thought fit to decree the royal
progress. With them came forth the dignitaries of Famagosta and other
nobles, as was the custom of those days in bidding a ceremonious
farewell--to journey with the royal train a league beyond the city which
the Queen was leaving to take up her residence in Nikosia.
And thus the cavalcade proceeded on its way, pausing anon, for the
greetings of the villagers who came forth to meet them and offer
homage--Caterina slow-pacing on her snow-white palfrey--six knights from
among the noblest in the land in constant attendance at her bridle,
giving place continually to the new group pressing forward to claim
their part of this so honorable service.
They had journeyed thus for an evening and a long day, with but the
needful pauses for rest and refreshment, when they saw before them in
the distance, embowered in delicious gardens of palms and cypresses and
rich masses of bloom, the domes and minarets of the city of
Nikosia--slender and white and lace-like against the deep blue sky--and
climbing the hillside, high above the city, the turrets and crenellated
walls of its far-famed citadel.
The chances of travel had often brought the Signor Bernardini and Dama
Margherita together, and there had been much friendly talk between them
of things which both held dear and in which their hopes for the quieting
of the kingdom had a large share. She was flushed and eager beyond her
wont, when they first came in sight of the distant city of Nikosia, and
he laid his hand upon her bridle and lowered his voice. "Let us not
hasten," he said entreatingly; "the journey hath been so beautiful; and
our bourne is all too near."
"Nay--not too near--for Her Majesty may well be weary."
"The Dama Margherita hath ever a thought for others," he answered her.
"_And for me?_--will she not grant me to reach the bourne I covet?"
"How may I help to that of which I know nothing?" she asked
inadvertently, her thoughts being full of the problems they had
discussed touching the Queen: then suddenly lifting her eyes and meeting
his, she turned her head away in confusion.
"Then I will make confession----" he began eagerly.
"Nay; I am no priest," she answered, touching her horse with her whip.
He followed, disconcerted; but she, repenting, soon quieted her pace and
turned her face to him again, serene as of wont.
"I would fain tell thee my secret, Margherita," he pleaded.
She lacked the courage to reprove him while he lingered on her name with
an accent that turned it to music.
"Nay--if it be a secret, tell it not: for women have tongues."
"Have they also hearts?" he asked.
"Not those who yield them," she said; "but only those who hold them
fast."
"_Is_ my secret a secret, Margherita?"
"Your Excellency--a member of the Council of the Realm hath so reported
it," she answered, laughing frankly. "Who am I, that I should question
his judgment?"
"Thou art thyself," he said half banteringly--half seriously, and
watching to see how she would take it. "To none other would I so defer."
"Not to the Queen?" she asked, still playfully.
But he was serious at once. "Aye--ever to the Queen, in duty bound--by
kinsman's ties--by knighthood's vows--by my honor, by her sorrows, and
by my will--yet this hindereth not that there should be one----"
"Methinks my stirrup is caught fast in the housing!" she interrupted
with an exclamation of dismay: and there was naught to do for the
Bernardini but to dismount and readjust it,--she--talking brightly the
while, of many things for which at that moment he cared naught; and
less, because it was she who spoke.
But when they were riding side by side again, and the city was coming
nearer, he would not be put off for any whim of hers.
"If thou hast discovered my secret--which I would fain know--most
worshipful Dama Margherita,--I would that thou shouldst proclaim it
wherever thy tongue listeth. '_Quel che Iblin e, non si puo trovar!_'"
He knew that the old Cyprian proverb, "Such another as Iblin is, may not
be found," was the pride of her house, and would reach the tenderest
spot in her loyal heart.
She turned to him gravely: "Dear Signor Bernardini, let it not be
spoken between us," she said. "For the Queen hath sore need of us--of
our every thought and care."
"Might we not serve her better so?" he pleaded.
But she shook her head. "Thou who hast been all faith and service,
counting thy life naught--thou knowest. She in her trouble should see
that we think but of her."
"Is this thy answer--most worshipful Margherita?"
Again she turned her eyes to his--serene and deep--no hint of trouble in
them.
"There hath been no question," she said; "there can be no answer, where
there hath been no question."
And although he would fain have spoken further, he could not: for that
brief moment in which her eyes held his--half-commanding--wholly
trusting--was like the sealing of a vow to do her bidding.
Then as she turned away, the echo of a name floated towards
him--"Aluisi!" so spoken as no one had ever uttered it before.--Or had
he surprised it, written on her soul, in that deep gaze, which she had
permitted?
* * * * *
But now the sudden sunset glory of that Eastern clime flamed in the
skies, touching the domes and pinnacles of this city of delights with
flecks of crimson and purple and molten gold, illuminating the lovely
Cyprian landscape with a never-to-be-forgotten light--and Nikosia stood
forth radiant against the background of dark environing hills, clothed
to their summits with kingly cedars--while in the far distance the sea
flashed its silver setting, melting into the opal of the clouds which
seemed to rise from its breast.
Was it this fleeting radiance of color that always stirred the birds to
sudden, joyous song at the charmed hour of sunset?--that outpoured upon
the heavenly breeze, for which the long day often panted, this flood of
perfume of a thousand odors? Or was it only because it was Cyprus and
for her magic beauty she had indeed been named of all the isles of
Greece, "L'Isola Fortunata," beloved of the gods?
But now from the splendid city came sounds of rejoicing--music and
vivas--through the gates thrown wide, the tramp of a multitude issuing
forth to welcome their Queen, with the homage of loyal hearts,--and her
own throbbed almost to breaking. The Vice-Roy and Admiral, Mutio di
Costanzo, with his escort of Knights of the Golden Spurs came bringing
the keys of the city which had stood for the Queen against the mandates
of the Council of the Realm; Stefano Caduna, Leader of the people,
stalwart and faithful, brave as a lion, with his devoted guild about
him--the judges of the courts and the chief men of the municipality; a
chapter of the Knights of St. John, in their white mantles and
eight-pointed crosses of red--the new primate of Nikosia, with all the
hierarchy of his province of diverse creeds--the burghers--the nobles of
the city--they made a welcome that stirred the soul of Caterina and
filled it with a hope warm as the presage of the glowing skies.
"_Viva la Regina--La ben-venuta!_"
The people shouted her name; they thronged to swell the royal
procession as she rode through the garlanded streets, in regal state,
under the golden canopy which they had brought to do her honor, upheld
over her fair young head by four mounted knights of the most ancient
houses of Nikosia. Before the portico of the Duomo Santa Soffia the
cavalcade came to pause, while Caterina dismounted--the people clinging
about her to kiss her hand, to prove their loyalty--until pale from
emotion she left them, and passed with all her noble company under the
fretted arches of the vast portal, to offer up her orisons--her first
act in this city of her adoption, a service of faith and adoration--her
first resting-place in her new home, the altar of the church which was
one in all lands.