Part 57

"Thou shalt keep thy vow!

"Thou shalt make none other; none other may be so holy for thee.

"Thou hast tasted joy and found it bitter; in duty shalt thou find sweetness and strength.

"And the Lord thy God, and the Madonna and the Holy Christus shall bless thee. Amen.

"I have the revelation!"

The crisp sentences crashed upon each other like a rushing torrent, hot with inspiration, challenging acceptance. She had risen to her feet and stood quivering before him, her eyes held to his by a strange fascination--the wild glow within his giving her sight of her dormant self and will.

He raised his crucifix above her and she slowly fell on her knees; and so he left her.

XXIX

For days after the visit of Hagios Johannes, Caterina scarcely spoke, or noticed what was passing around her; and the Lady of the Bernardini and Dama Margherita, with hearts aching from the burden of their pity, were helpless before such desolation.

But at last the young Queen turned to them with mournful eyes of comprehension, holding out her hands to clasp theirs in a convulsive pressure, rousing herself heroically from her absorption and nerving her dormant will to meet the unwelcome stress of life again.

"The Holy Mother hath left you for me to love," she said in a tremulous voice. "Life is not all a blank."

They could not answer her for tears; but her own eyes were dry.

"I thought," she said, "if it might but have been the will of Christ that death should come to me--also"--she paused a moment to steady her voice, "it would have been sweet--I was so weary. And when it did not come to lift me out of the shadow, I longed to carry my broken heart into some holy Sisterhood and be at rest--I felt no strength to live. I thought it might have been the will of the Madre Sanctissima, for she hath suffered; and I know not how to live without my figlio dilettissimo."

Then suddenly she clasped her hands crying out with the passion of prayer:

"My God! I would have trained him for thee! He should have been a noble man and a Christian King. Why hast Thou stricken me!"

She turned to them wide-eyed with her question but the Lady Beata, for answer, could only fold compassionate arms about her--soothing her silently; so young and so bereft.

But Caterina struggled into quiet speech again, as in a confessional--sorely needing some comfort of human sympathy after her long, silent conflict.

"I thought it might have been the will of the Blessed Mother that I should rest; but Hagios Johannes hath shown me that it might not be; I have taken my vows again to serve my people--to live for them; the padre hath promised me that strength shall come."

Her lip quivered, but she bore herself bravely. "Thou wilt help me, Zia," she continued, in pathetic appeal, "and thou, my Margherita; for life is difficult. And Aluisi--he will think what must be done for the people until my strength returneth--for I have forgotten how to think." She pressed her hands tightly against her forehead as if to compel the resistant brain-power.

Then suddenly she laid her hot, trembling hand on that of her compassionate, motherly friend, her voice rising into a wail--"Father Johannes hath said that I must give the people all the love I gave my baby--but not yet--I cannot do it yet!--Mother of Sorrows forgive me!--he doth not know."

She fell back on her pillows exhausted by her emotion, while in a low, crooning voice the name she loved to utter broke from her longing lips again, like a threnody:

"Figlio dilettissimo!"

The Lady Beata's heart was wrung with pity.

"Nay, nay, Carinissima," she said, stooping over the couch and speaking with tender decision, "Hagios Johannes could not know what mothers feel! This holy love for thy little one shall bide ever with thee and grow with thy life. It is thy breath of Heaven! It shall nerve thee to do the work of thy child--to live for the people he would have ruled. Him thou shalt love forever--it is the will of the Madre Beatissima:--but after thy child shall come his people."

A change passed over the strained, worn face of the young Queen, like a faint breath of comfort.

"Zia mia," she murmured, laying her thin white hand in the warm, restful clasp: and so passed into the first quiet sleep that she had known for days.

* * * * *

While the unhappy Queen was bravely struggling to recover her poise, many things were happening; for the death of the infant King had been the signal for further manifestations of discontent from a party of Cyprian nobles whose dread of the "Lion of the velvet paw" increased as the need for some firm governing hand became more evident. They would have liked to anger Venice to the point of withdrawing all protection and leaving them to their own devices--yet they dared not attempt it openly, appreciating the futility of any armed resistance that unassisted Cypriotes might offer.