Part 32

"'Ye are like to know what best might suit Her Majesty--both being of Venice,' Rizzo made answer; and dismissed the Council."

Neither of them spoke for a few moments.

"How will Andrea accept this insolence?" the Lady Beata questioned.

"There is more--far more than that for anxiety," Aluisi said, dismissing her question with an impatient gesture. "I would that the Queen and the child were here--in their own palace--or that we were there. The question hath turned to one of larger import than the good pleasure of the Queen; or the wisdom of holding the Queen and the Prince Royal in a fortress, when the land is not at war--as if her own people might not be trusted with her life. But the argument did not touch the Council--not more than the whim of us--of Venice"--he spoke bitterly. "Before, it was expedient. Now----"

"Now?" his Mother urged.

"There may be some scheme behind it, and I would we were there. She hath none of her own beside her, if trouble should come."

"She hath Dama Margherita--who loveth her well."

"Dama Margherita," Bernardini echoed, and a feeling of peace came over him.

But the Lady Beata sat pondering, in troubled silence. What could it mean? Caterina had taken up her residence in the fortress before her illness; it had been thought wise, although it had not been publicly declared. A few of her maids of honor and Lady Beata, Chief Lady of her Court, had gone with her. But before the baptism, her suite had returned to the palace, that all might be as usual for the reception of the royal guests; the Queen had lingered from day to day, partly that she might escape the crowd and keep more quiet until the festivities were over. But now--was it of her own choice? Why did she not return?

"And now--what wilt thou do?" the Lady of the Bernardini asked at length, turning towards her son, failing to see what course of action might be wisest. "May we not go to her to-night?"

"It is too late: the gates are closed; it could do but harm to rouse them for us to pass, with no cause but our anxieties to offer. But to-morrow, we will compass it.

"Meanwhile I have done what may be done to bring hither more who are of our ways of thinking; for who should care for her, if not we 'of Venice?'" It was evident that the thrust rankled. "I saw our Consul yesterday, who seemed not overanxious from what I told him--therefore I told him not all--I trust he hath not been tampered with by this most wily 'Council to the Queen!' but before the night had fallen, I sent a letter of warning to Mocenigo who, with his fleet, will be at anchor off the coast of Rhodes--to pray that he will come, or will send our Provveditore Vettore Soranzo to await the need."

His Mother grasped his wrist--her eyes dilating. "It must be long before they can come," she said, in a whisper.

"Not many days," he answered reassuringly; "and I have sent by a trusty Cypriote who will make full speed to bring me back the message that meaneth large reward for him. My warning must reach Mocenigo before any message sent from Cyprus to Venice might get to him again."

"Is there aught else that may be done?"

"I have given command to put my fastest brig in trim, and to-morrow she will sail with merchandise for Venice; all day she hath been lading in the port. The message in my special cypher, known only to the Secretary of the Ten, is ready here." He drew the missive from his breast, as he spoke, replacing it instantly. "Marco Bembo will sail with it on the morrow, which he may well do without suspicion, having come hither for the ceremonies now over. The brig will leave the port with all due tranquillity; and afterward will make all possible speed."

"There could be nothing more," she said rising; "thou hast thought of all."

"I thought also to have some one watching--ready to appeal to the burghers, if need should be: and I have sent but now a most secret message by my own trusty squire to his Eccellenza, Mutio di Costanzo, to tell him what hath chanced. He being Governor and Admiral of Cyprus, hath so great power that it should not be left for the Queen's Council to reach him first--if there should be scheming. Being Vice-Roy of Nikosia, he will have the will of the citizens for his following--if need should be. And his loyalty is sure: it was he, who with our bailò of Venice received Caterina's oath of allegiance, after the death of Janus; and he will not fail her."

"Thou hast a right to thy weariness," his Mother said, laying her firm white hand with a weight of tenderness for a moment on his head. "Thou mindest me of thy father--so full of carefulness to be before in any cause that he held dear. I would thou wert not lost to Venice--it was my hope for thee--thou wouldst have been a power in her Councils."

"We would not be false to our own for any fancied glory that might be possible for us," he answered more lightly than he had yet spoken: but he knew that his Mother's ambitions for him were not fulfilled in this mission to Cyprus--that she had sacrificed her heart's desire for him.

He caught her beautiful white hand and spread it tenderly out upon his own--a hand that it had taken generations to fashion--made to command, yet knowing when to yield--modelled with exquisite lines of grace, goodness, courtesy, power--a hand of character, yet with delicate flushes of pink in finger tip and palm, with a touch as tender as strong.

"It is too hard for thee, Madre mia, away from thine old home," he said tenderly. "There is room in the brig for thee to-morrow, if thou wilt: and Marco for thine escort."

She shook her head: "It would be harder to live without my boy," she said resolutely. "Now think on sleep, of which thou hast need--and----" She half-framed the name of Margherita, yet would not utter it.

He smiled at the wistful look in her face; for he understood. "Nay, Madre mia; such thoughts are not for me. I am a general in an alien camp, with scarce wit enough for my tangled duty."

Then he bent his knee, and kissed her hand, in knightly fashion of the time, as doing her reverence, whom in his heart he loved, and left her--a little comforted by his long confidential talk.

But the Lady Beata stood for a while motionless where her son had left her, before the long window that faced the splendid peristyle of the palace. Between the great spaces of the columns she saw the Piazza beyond them flooded with moonlight--white and still and absolutely deserted. There were no human sounds save the monotonous tread of the sentinels pacing to and fro before the palace; and across the Piazza, those of the guard before the closed entrance of the Fortress of Famagosta where their Queen and the infant Prince were in residence, echoed them back. From the Duomo San Nicolò shone the faint twilight glimmer of the tall candles that were ceaselessly burning about the tomb of Janus--each pale flame wafting a prayer for absolution from the broken heart of the Queen, who before her illness had brought them daily with her own hands: and far down upon the shore was dimly heard the ceaseless flow of the waves, keeping rhythmic beat to the passing moments in the mystery of the night.

XIX

The moon had waned and the night was starless when the chimes of San Nicolò told three of the morning in low melodious tones like a voice from dreamland, breaking no slumber.