"The pa.s.sword hath been given by the Chief of the Council of the Realm; and without it, the gates may not be opened," the castellan answered without preamble, when he appeared for an instant before the slide in the great gate--as quickly closed, though he had recognized a member of the Queen's family.

"Had his uncle known the pa.s.sword and forgotten to give it to him?"

Marco questioned in some anxiety, as he made his way, baffled again, through the crowd in the Piazza, which was growing denser and more excited. "And if he had not known it----?"

He quickened his pace--his horse alert to obey his will, fretting with dilated nostril and pawing hoof at their frequent interruptions.

The citizens had gathered in force, but no one of them knew the cause of the commotion, and they were not immediately formidable in the midst of this armed body of knights and soldiers who kept secret council and obeyed the slightest word of their commanders. Marco searched their faces, as well as he might for the uncertain glare of the torches, but in vain. If he could but find General Visconti and his men, they might cut their way into the fortress--they, being Venetians, were surely loyal to the Queen!

His brain was in a whirl--he could think of nothing that was best, every moment might count--yet he crossed and recrossed his steps, turning down dark streets and back again into the Piazza; he was no longer sure of the safety of the castle; he was growing desperate.

But Visconti's men did not reveal themselves, and Marco worked his way out of the Piazza--since they surely were _not_ there, and since no hint of what was pa.s.sing within the fortress came from behind the porte-cullis--the single opening upon the square.

Little did he dream that Visconti's men, _because they were Venetians and known to be in sympathy with the Queen_ were kept that night, by order of the Council of the Realm, in close detention.

The troop of horse stood impa.s.sible before the entrance and the sentry as tranquilly kept guard upon the turrets, as Marco pa.s.sed them on his way to a small gate upon the seaward side which he had once noticed and now hoped had been forgotten, and where, in truth he entered when he reached it; for it had not been thought important by the planners of this night's strange revel--possibly because few knew of it, or perhaps, because there were none from the port who would not be welcome, for the fleets of Venice were known to be at anchor off the coasts of Turkey, having sailed thither in glad and unsuspecting temper after the courtesies of the baptismal and coronation fetes.

It chanced that it was through this same small, unguarded doorway that Andrea Cornaro had pa.s.sed when--unaware of the new pa.s.sword for the night and zealously kept in ignorance thereof by his colleagues in office--he had been denied admission at the great gate upon the Piazza.

As all persuasion brought him the more strenuous denial, he felt sure of some perfidy and the more bent upon reaching his niece at all hazards--for he was not one to be easily overcome by obstacles.

Meanwhile, Messer Andrea, Auditor to the Queen and Member of the Council of the Realm, had meant to scale the walls by the seaside and fight his way, hand to hand if need be, to the Queen's side, when he had chanced upon this little gate upon the moat so long unused that its rusty bolt yielded without over-much persuasion to his pressure from without. The first court upon which it gave entrance--being the farthest from the Piazza--was dark and deserted, and he pa.s.sed, without resistance into the second court, finding it also empty, except for the sentry pa.s.sing to and fro on his monotonous duty.

The man saluted as he offered the usual pa.s.sword, then, recognizing one of the Queen's Council, presented arms.

Here, at least, all was tranquil--possibly his fears had been too great.

But from the third court--the one first entered from the Piazza, there came as he neared the arched pa.s.sage that led from court to court through the thickness of the ma.s.sive walls, hints of commotion that made him pause to consider whether he might not more surely reach the Queen by some other stairway.

As he drew back into the shadow to make some farther plan, the Count of Tripoli, with Rizzo di Marin, Chief of Council, came through, from the first court, followed by one or two mounted n.o.bles, questioning the sentry as to whether anyone had pa.s.sed that way, and he heard the man give his name.

"Sua Eccellenza, Messer Andrea Cornaro."

The Count of Tripoli repeated this answer, with an accent of surprise.

"He gave the pa.s.sword?" he questioned, sternly.

"_Eccellenza, si--come sempre._"

Andrea Cornaro, to whom fear was unknown, thinking himself called, immediately responded, coming forward into the light.

"I have somewhat to discuss with thee," Rizzo said nonchalantly. "Wilt have a mount? We will go forth upon the ramparts and see whether all be in order."

"I have but left my horse," Cornaro answered, calling the animal to him with a motion of his hand, "but I would first know of this tumult." He kept his hand upon the bridle and remained standing, while he looked searchingly from Rizzo to Tripoli, the Governor of Famagosta.

"What is this tumult?" he repeated angrily, seeing them not quick to answer.

"Nay, Friend, how knowest thou not? being of the Council--as we:" Rizzo answered with a hint of provocation in his tone. "It is but some difference of the soldiers as to rations and pay: it threatened mutiny and had to be met. It will be put down. Mount then, your Excellency."

"'Rations,' and 'pay,'" Cornaro answered scornfully, "to rouse the city and 'put it down'--at dead of night!"

"Aye: since they chose this time for their own deed of darkness, we men-at-arms may not be dainty about the hour of retribution."

"The Queen--my niece," said Andrea, taking a sudden resolution and throwing the reins across his horse's neck; "I will first go to her.

Later I wait thy pleasure, Signor Rizzo; on the ramparts, or where thou wilt.--This is no lightsome night for a woman--a mere girl."

"'A woman'--'a mere girl'!"--the Chief of Council began tauntingly.

Cornaro's hand was upon his sword.

"_Scusi!_" Rizzo said, suavely, being not yet ready for the break. "I meant no disrespect--but she is young to rule. If thou wilt take thy horse, we will first seek the Queen, who would speak with thee. Nay--not by that court--the winding mount is quieter."

The Count of Tripoli and his companions had already left them and pa.s.sed into the first court, in eager converse; but Cornaro was scarcely in the saddle before a sudden great uproar in the streets of the city beyond the fort arrested them. Cries, as of many men in concert, proclaiming Alfonso, son of Ferdinand of Naples, Prince of Galilee and Heir to the Crown of Cyprus--"by order of the _Council of the Realm_:" deafening shouts and threats of the citizens, protesting:--sounds of clashes of arms, terrorizing the people:--the sudden crash of the alarum bell, bursting forth anew to drown their protests:--

Then again the traitorous cries, pa.s.sing off through the more distant streets of the city:

"_Viva Alfonso--Prince of Galilee and Heir to the Crown of Cyprus!_"

"What meaneth this insolence!" Cornaro cried, white with pa.s.sion and instantly drawing his sword.

The Neapolitan was not braver than the Venetian--but with an infinitely cooler brain, well-skilled in villany and intrigue and troubled by no sense of honor, he seized his opportunity, and when his victim's arm was raised, he dealt him a desperate blow on the head which hurled him, with stunning force from his horse. And then, upon the pavement of the castle-court, having him at disadvantage and senseless from the blow, the valiant Chief of Council, cruelly and like no loyal knight, summoned his mercenaries to his aid and dispatched his enemy with quick sword-thrusts, bidding them toss the lifeless body into the moat that circled the castle walls.

The faithful horse was the solitary mourner who watched his unconscious master while life was ebbing and sought to comfort him with mournful whinnies of almost human affection.

Had the young knight Marco Bembo but known of his uncle's barbarous murder, and that the white-haired Councillor Zaffo lay foully slaughtered in the first court of the castle because of his great crime of loyalty to the Queen, he might have paused before he attempted to force an entrance to the fortress. And yet he would not--being loyal as the venerable Councillor himself, and as full of bravery as Andrea Cornaro; the thought of the Queen's greater need would but have spurred his courage.

The young Venetian had reached the second court without molestation, when he turned to silence the cry that came from a swaggering band of sailors who had followed him and were shouting for "Alfonso--Prince of Galilee!" They fell upon him at the signal from Rizzo which marked him guilty--for was he not a Venetian?

"_E tu, traditor!_"

The words rang out unanswered, save by his desperate sword.

They were but six, and he was standing against treason, for the Queen and the honor of his house!

He fought them all, without a groan, until his strength was spent; and they, eager to do the will of this ruffianly king-maker, who was winning a fresh coronet for their Prince of Naples--this man of force who would make much booty possible--fought six to one, and spared not.

And then, by bidding of their Chief, they flung the palpitating, tortured, lifeless remnant of what--one little hour before--had been a loyal, n.o.ble, winsome man, dreaming of duty and high achievement--into the horror of the moat by the pitiful wreck of Andrea Cornaro--the two murdered for the double crimes of relationship and loyalty to the trembling girl-Queen.

XX