Part 22

In the silver line that etched the dark mountain crests against the pale monotone of the sky, single firs stood forth saliently, while dim in the distance, vast shapes, clothed in perpetual snows, held wraith-like watch over the smiling plains below, where life and bloom were possible.

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.