But the Lady Beata stood for a while motionless where her son had left her, before the long window that faced the splendid peristyle of the palace. Between the great s.p.a.ces of the columns she saw the Piazza beyond them flooded with moonlight--white and still and absolutely deserted. There were no human sounds save the monotonous tread of the sentinels pacing to and fro before the palace; and across the Piazza, those of the guard before the closed entrance of the Fortress of Famagosta where their Queen and the infant Prince were in residence, echoed them back. From the Duomo San Nicol shone the faint twilight glimmer of the tall candles that were ceaselessly burning about the tomb of Ja.n.u.s--each pale flame wafting a prayer for absolution from the broken heart of the Queen, who before her illness had brought them daily with her own hands: and far down upon the sh.o.r.e was dimly heard the ceaseless flow of the waves, keeping rhythmic beat to the pa.s.sing moments in the mystery of the night.

XIX

The moon had waned and the night was starless when the chimes of San Nicol told three of the morning in low melodious tones like a voice from dreamland, breaking no slumber.

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 ent.i.tled 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 pa.s.seth 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 pa.s.sword 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 pa.s.sed swiftly by to the palace of the Bail, the Venetian Resident.

But the Bail 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 Bail 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 rea.s.suringly, turning the head of his good steed towards the castle--a place of security indeed--a fortress famed as impregnable.

The Royal Palace was doubly guarded--as never before, and Marco when he reached it, plead in vain for admission.

"By order of the Council of the Realm, no man might enter."

"Then take, I pray thee, this message to His Excellency, the Chamberlain of the Queen, and bid him come hither--it is for life or death."

A golden coin, with the head of Ja.n.u.s stamped upon it, glittered in his palm. The valiant guard received the gift and refused the message.

"No man shall enter, nor leave this palace to-night: by order of the Council of the Realm."

"I bring an order from His Excellency, Andrea Cornaro, Auditor of Her Majesty, and member of the Council of the Realm," Marco pleaded desperately.

"_Our_ orders are of the _Chief of Council_, the Signor Marin Rizzo--whom to disobey this night _is death_."

The foremost guard of the line had led the defense: and among them all there was no motion to favor this young cousin of their Queen. He was a knight, and brave at arms--but to have fought that band meant certain death; and at the castle, one might, perchance, help the Queen!

"There are some with Caterina to help her," he thought in his loyal heart, as baffled at the palace, he pushed his way across the Piazza and reached the entrance to the castle, "and here she is surely safe."

The Count of Zaffo, her aged Councillor and friend, had risen from a sick-bed to go to her; he had been first to enter the castle-court. "So ill, that he scarce could hold himself upon his palfrey," some one told the young knight in the crowd, in answer to his question.

"The old Councillor scarce could strike a blow for her," thought Marco; "but it is good that he should be within: for his devotion to Caterina is known. And Messer Andrea is there!"

He drew breath more freely for this gleam of comfort, as he gave the usual pa.s.sword.

But the guard was obdurate.

"It is not the pa.s.sword for this night, my Lord."

"I pray thee--I am cousin to Her Majesty, and _must_ have speech with her."

"Eccellenza; by order of the castellan, none may pa.s.s, save those who give the word."

"Then call me hither the castellan."