Part 54

"It is well," she said, in a tone of perplexity, "if it seemeth so to the Council of the Realm. But our counsellors of Venice who brought us aid, spoke not of this."

She lifted her liquid dark eyes to his face, as she spoke--a girl of nineteen, bewildered with the intricate jealousies and strifes of her island kingdom--no wonder that she felt her hands weak to hold the sceptre so disputed!

"It may be that Venice hath not so closely at heart the interests of Cyprus as the Queen herself might hold them," he answered slowly and watching her as he spoke. "We must win the Cyprian nobles to our councils and consult their needs and bring them before the people as in the grace of your Majesty. Let us not always think the thoughts of Venice." She started and flushed slightly at his last words, but how could he help her else?--"We must do this to bind the hearts of the nobles to our Prince," he added, to give her courage.

"Let us not always think the thoughts of Venice!" The meaning was new to her, and for a few moments she struggled with it silently; then she lifted her eyes to his face and searched it artlessly, as a child might have done, to see if she had fully comprehended his strange speech--most strange from her Venetian Councillor.

But he met her gaze as frankly, having nothing to add to the simple statement wherewith he had sought to arouse this new consciousness within her, and which he wished her to ponder.

"Thou art more Cyprian, my cousin, than any member of the Council hath ever shown himself," she said at length, "and it heartens me--for thou art right. But now--just now--what may be done?" She spoke eagerly, as if from a new standpoint.

"There is Stefano Caduna, a man of the people--most worthy of your Majesty's grace. And there is Pietro Davilla, Seigneur and Knight, who hath proven his loyalty--how if he were to be named Grand Constable of Cyprus? Shall these be spoken of to the Council which will meet to-morrow, that some favor may be decreed them?"

"It is well; it should be done, thou art strength to me, Aluisi."

"Is there aught else that should be brought before the Council?" he asked.

She hesitated a moment, and then added with visible timidity and reluctance, flushing a vivid scarlet:

"There are other things that seem too petty--but since the death of the Auditor, our Uncle Andrea, thou hast perchance noted much scantiness of our treasury, though when it is a question of pageantry, the Council hath ever found enough and to spare. But the land is a rich land; yet there are no moneys in my hand wherewith to reward a favor or grant a dole of charity. If this be a symbol of power----"

"I will replace the voice of Messer Andrea in the Council," he hastened to assure her. "And, meanwhile--we are of one house, my Cousin----"

"Because thou art generous, shall the Council do less than its duty?" she asked proudly. "Or shall I be content to know that measures wise for the ruling of the realm may be frowned upon by those who hold the keys of my treasury--yet render no account? The knowledge of this added treachery hath come to me but recently; and this also was of Rizzo's malfeasance. Dost think that moneys shall be found for the manning of our fleet? Or that I have any voice in the spending of them?"

"The Madonna be praised that Rizzo and that Minister of Satan are fled!" he exclaimed devoutly.

"While Rizzo held office, I might ask no question," she said, turning towards him a face of pathetic appeal; for she had never before dared to speak freely of her grievances even to him--in so comprehensive a manner had the Chief of Council known how to assert himself: "and now, that I would fain have knowledge, that I may rule my people wisely, so much there is to set in order, that my heart doth fail me. I have written to the Serenissimo to tell him my perplexities--to pray that he might make it lighter for me to rule."

The Bernardini knew that she had cause for her failing courage, while yet he keenly felt that the remedy should not lie in an appeal to Venice, whose power was the unacknowledged core of bitterness in the growing disaffection among the Cyprian nobles. It might not yet be too late to save the kingdom for Cyprus; and what it lay within his power to do, Venetian though he was, he would do, rather than see this 'isola fortunata' slip without a struggle, into a mere Venetian province. The knowledge had been painfully growing within him that Venice was playing her hand skilfully--that Caterina would find herself simply a pawn to be moved at will of the Republic, and that "check" would be called whenever that masterful will should elect: there had been signs, too many to ignore, of splendor of movement and expenditure whenever the prestige of the Republic might be concerned--of indifference when the grievances of the Queen were confessed, or the autonomy of the island was in question--of slowly increasing assertion of Venetian power and rights.

He had accepted his mission, at the hands of his Government, to protect the rights of the Queen--not to enslave Cyprus; and his duty stood forth to him in firm, unwavering lines. Yet how should he dismay Caterina further in the attempt to force her fuller comprehension? He hesitated for a moment, but there seemed no other way. For very pity of her he spoke decidedly, with slow insistence holding her attention.

"The Queen of Cyprus holdeth her kingdom by no favor of Venice; but of inheritance, through her husband, the King. The failures in the Government should be righted by Cyprian wisdom; we must fill the vacancies with Cypriotes. I will take counsel with His Excellency the Lord Admiral of Cyprus."

XXVIII

It was the birthday of the little Prince:--only one year since he had opened his baby-eyes on life--and the day of his anniversary dawned radiantly.

Then, suddenly, athwart the sunshine and the promise, like the cloud in a perfect sky in a day of June, the shadows gathered and darkened.

The child was stricken.

"There is no hope," they said; and before the day had closed the little dimpled hands were folded over his marble breast, the long dark lashes peacefully swept the violet eyes that would never again unclose; and the tiny restless feet were still--oh, God, how still!--while, on the baby-brows that would never know the weight of the crown he was born to bear, the smile of a cherub crowned him with the promise of fairer Life.

The nobles, the soldiers, the courtiers, the people, they came and looked, often with silent tears, as he lay in state, in the light of countless tapers, on his mound of flowers--offerings not only from royal terraces--for his mother had willed it so--but the gifts which his people had brought, lay there together, rare exotics and the flowers of the field and forest, crushed and mangled, perchance, in some toil-worn hand when they came from far.

How little he seemed to have carried the hope of a kingdom!--how strong, to have swept it away with the mere folding of his baby-hand!--how mighty, to have crushed all dreams of happiness, forever, within his mother's breast!

GOD HAVE MERCY!

* * * * *

When the first days of the shock of the child's death had passed, and the Queen had roused herself to notice those who were anxiously watching her, she asked to be left alone with Dama Margherita: but of the child she would not speak.