Part 64

Grace and wisdom to rule her people!

And grant to her, O Giver of all good, Thy benediction, with gladness!

Thy benediction, with gladness!

O Thou, Creator of Life and Immortality, Lord of the living and of the dead, grant that the soul of thy servant Janus may rest in peace!

May rest in peace!

O Thou, Holy and Ineffable, around whose throne the pure souls of sinless little ones float as an effluence of Thy love, grant to the soul of our infant King, Thy joy perpetual.

Thy joy perpetual!

O Thou, supreme in justice, Ruler of all rulers and Judge of all men, grant to the rulers of this Court wisdom, that they may judge righteously!

That they may judge righteously!

Yet, O Eternal Father, Thou who art merciful, grant us to temper judgment with mercy.

Judgment with mercy!

Thou, who art Everlasting Truth, grant us to be true.

Grant us to be true!

And then, while the Archbishop was standing with hands outspread in benediction over the kneeling throng, the music of a wonderful, rhythmic Amen, oft repeated, thrilled and throbbed from arch to arch.

* * * * *

How cruel the changes that had swept the island-kingdom since the last High Court had assembled in this Council-Chamber! Their young and charming monarch, in the very exuberance of life, had been summoned without warning to lay it down. His little child, the hope of the realm, had come and passed as swiftly as some fair vision of the night, leaving scarcely a trace of his short earthly career save in the heart of the mother where its every memory would be cherished deathlessly. And for their fair young Queen, who stood among them widowed and childless--in lieu of the fulfilment of the radiant hopes which had brought her hither, there had been a pitiful record of conspiracy, betrayal and captivity.

These memories smote upon the nobler souls in the throng, moving them to compassion and admiration; for what knight among them could more bravely have borne such suffering and thwarting?

But Caterina, in trailing garments glistening like the snows of Troödos, stood like a queenly lily among her white-robed maids of honor, exalted by the solemnity of the service and looking deep into the heart of her life-problems--ignoring self and contests--dreaming only of duty and the achievement that her people's love might render possible.

They had feared to see her in mourning robes, with a woful court about her,--trembling, sorrow-weighted, pitiful and unimpressive; and a low murmur of admiration just stirred the hush of the chamber as she took her place under the royal canopy and turned to confront the great assembly--the strength of suffering and resolve in the beautiful unsmiling face, which yet seemed to promise and crave for love--to plead with them for their allegiance.

She stood so for a moment, quite still; then she stretched out both arms to them with a sudden impulse.

"My people!" she said brokenly.

Her voice thrilled them, and they answered with a burst of loyalty warm enough to screen the silence of those who took no part in the grateful chorus.

She only bowed her head in acknowledgment, struggling with her emotion: then moving a little aside, she laid her hand upon the arm of the alabaster seat that Janus had been wont to use,--it was filled with lilies in memory of the infant King and guarded by the group of white-clad pages who should have been his knights. And now, as if the touch gave her courage, her voice came clear and unwavering.

"My people!" she said again, lingering on the words as if the claim were inexpressibly dear to her; "because ye were his people--my husband's--the King's: because ye should have been his--my little, little son's;--because they have left me their work to do."

She paused for a moment to steady her voice, for a sudden desperate sense of loneliness and self-pity had overpowered her as she looked into the sea of faces turned to hers and saw--with the intense spiritual insight granted to the few in crucial moments--the conflicting emotions with which they regarded her.

Then, as swiftly, there flashed into her recollection the memory of the scene in Venice, on the day of her betrothal, when there had been revealed to her the sacredness of the tie possible between a Queen and her people--a vision of the holy, surging, passionate mother-love, adequate to all sacrifice. Surely for these days of her desolation that early vision had been granted; and with the force of a heavenly message its memory now brought her strength.

The appeal in her eyes deepened, and the lines of her mouth grew more tender, while she held herself firmly erect,--as one accustomed to rule,--and the tones of her voice took on the accent of unquestioned authority.

"Dear people of Cyprus," she said quite calmly, "I need your love--that together we may rule wisely."