The Royal Pawn of Venice Part 31

"It hath been spoken of before, but since--since the treachery of the Council and--other things--and the most unbounded confidence by the Signoria reposed in me to uphold the Queen--I have sought more nearly to sift the causes of this disaffection. They seem to me to be not beyond conciliation."

"'_Not beyond conciliation_,'" she echoed, "it _seems_ to thee! It is a sad word to bring me of my people, Aluisi, since I would give my life for them." Her eyes had filled with tears.

"It is sad, beloved Lady: but nothing is hopeless that is not finished.

Is it not better to see wisely than to ignore?--Let us be brave."

She folded her hands very tightly for a moment, as if struggling with herself; then she lifted her eyes to his.

"Teach me," she said. "What wouldst thou?--Thou shalt verily be made one of the Counts of the Chamber, that I may know _one_ loyal among my Cyprian n.o.bles."

"Nay, nay"--he made an effort to a.s.sume a lighter tone--"there is no need; else would it be wise to sail for Venice with the fleet of the Mocenigo! But, pardon me, fair Cousin; there is no need to bind _my_ loyalty with Cyprian t.i.tles and Cyprian lands. Let the Sovereign of Cyprus seek _her own n.o.bles_ for such favors."

"Shall I stoop to _buy_ the people of my kingdom?" she asked, a little bitterly. "Is this thy honorable counsel?"

He rose at once. "My Cousin," he said, "thou art not thyself--thine anger doth color thy speech. I crave thy promise to listen fairly to my honest thinking--which it is not over-easy to bring thee." He spoke compa.s.sionately.

"Forgive me, Aluisi; I listen."

"Out of thy generous heart, thou wouldst have covered me--who am a Venetian--with Cyprian honors. I thank thee. But I will translate thee to thyself. Was it 'to buy my loyalty?'"

"Nay, nay--but of appreciation--to show thee grace. Thou knowest it, Aluisi!" Her repentance came swift and warm as that of a child.

"I know it well," he answered heartily. "Show but this thy grace to thy Cyprian n.o.bles and win them to thy court. They should come _first_ in favor of their Queen."

"Have I been found lacking?" she asked, slowly; "and if--and if there seemeth little to reward?"

"Reward that little openly, and there shall be more. Bethink thee: there hath been great honor shown the Mocenigo."

"It was so ordered by the Republic," she began in a tone of self-justification; then stopped with a sudden perception of his point.

"Was it for this, perchance, that the Cyprian n.o.bles came less heartily?" he pursued. "Is there no honor that might yet be granted to that most n.o.ble knight, the Admiral Costanzo?"

"Whatever favor he would have is already his:--he was the friend of Ja.n.u.s and my own," she answered in a tone of surprise that was almost indignant. And then, with a lingering on the words that was indescribably pathetic, she added:

"Ja.n.u.s hath written of him, '_Nostro caro, fedel a ben amato Sieur Mutio di Costanzo_' (our dear, faithful and well-beloved seigneur) thou mayest read it in our '_Libro delle Rimembranze_.' Could I do aught to add thereto?"

For answer he bowed his head, in tender reverence for her thought: for the loyalty with which she sought and treasured every token of n.o.bility that had been chronicled of her husband--for the proud discretion with which she taught herself such utter silence on her wrongs--for the great love which, growing to a _culte_ through those years of girlish dreams and of fair antic.i.p.ation, had made this att.i.tude possible for her,--who was all truth.

"His Excellency the Admiral is verily the champion of Cyprus," the Bernardini resumed after a little silence; "and methinks he would hold dear the royal order to re-man the galleys which have been disbanded--as it is now thought, by advice of the traitor Rizzo, or of some other Councillor _in favor of Ferdinand of Naples_. I would fain bring this matter for consideration before the Council, if it hath your Majesty's favor."

"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 n.o.bles 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 n.o.bles 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, flus.h.i.+ng 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 a.s.sure 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 a.s.sert 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 n.o.bles. 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 p.a.w.n 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 a.s.sertion 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 suns.h.i.+ne 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, G.o.d, 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 n.o.bles, 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!

G.o.d HAVE MERCY!