Part 33

Suddenly the sharp wild clangor of the great alarum-bell of Famagosta crashed through the silence.

The citizens sprang from their sleep with cries of terror and rushed to the windows; but, alas, they had not dreamed that dreaded danger signal which kept up its fateful toll. Already men, fully armed, were hurrying through the streets that led to the Piazza; whence came echoes of voices talking in quick, awe-struck tones--the flash of torches--a horseman dashing down from the castle to the walls at the port--sounds of excited action ringing back from the ramparts--the quick gallop of a cavalier rushing to join his command.

What might it mean!

Commander Saplana moved calmly out among his mounted suite, fully equipped, from the Castle into the Piazza; yet there had not been many moments in which to make ready since the first notes of that wild alarum had sounded!

Those among the citizens entitled to bear arms were quickly accoutred and dashed out to mingle with the throng.

"What is it?" men questioned of each other--but no one knew.

Had the Genoese returned to storm by night this post of vantage so long their own--and still so coveted?

Were the Turks upon them?

Was it some intrigue of Ferdinand of Naples?

Was it treason?

Was it Carlotta come from Rhodes, with men-at-arms, to surprise them?

There was stealthy talk of a foreign galley in the port.

Some one had noted strange sailors in the throng: one might not be sure of the letters on their caps, because of the darkness: but they were Christians--not Turks--thanks be to the Madonna!

"But the Queen is safe, Sanctissima Vergine! The Queen is in the Castle."

"There is His Excellency, Maestro Gentle, physician to Her Majesty, he passeth but now, the glimmer of his mail beneath his cloak! Holy saints! A gray-haired man, rushing out into the night--thinking first of the Queen and of her safety! The Madonna will be good to her!"

The old court physician gave the password at the castle-gate and entered.

The Signor Andrea Cornaro rode forth from his palace, fully armed, and with him Marco Bembo, cousin to the Queen--surely, they would know! The citizens called to them urgently for some explanation of the tumult, but they passed swiftly by to the palace of the Bailò, the Venetian Resident.

But the Bailò gave them no comfort.

"I know naught of the trouble," he answered them, "save that warning hath been sent me by His Excellency, the Count of Tripoli, that it were wiser that I keep within."

"Then art thou the more needed!" burst from the lips of Cornaro, made desperate by this coolness; "for it well may be that the Count of Tripoli is a traitor set high in trust!"

But the Bailò listened to their importunate pleadings as if it were a trifle.

"Come with us swiftly to the Queen! By all the saints in heaven!--she should have her own about her in this danger--whate'er it be!"

"Nay," he said, and would not move. "This is a place of intrigue--and warning hath been sent me. It is, perchance, some one who seeketh my life."

There was no time to parley.

"Haste thee to the royal palace," the elder man said to his nephew, as they galloped away, "and bring from thence, with all speed, the Queen's Chamberlain, the Bernardini--there is none more loyal. Let none hinder thee."

"I serve our house and our honor!" young Marco called back to him, as he put his horse to the spur.

"I go at once to Caterina," his uncle answered reassuringly, turning the head of his good steed towards the castle--a place of security indeed--a fortress famed as impregnable.

* * * * *