"It is the ways of Cyprus that I fear," he answered quickly; "and of that strange people--a blending of half-pagan races with the blood of France and Greece. But, Madre mia--there must be no echoes from the Council-Chamber--none of our talk beyond thine own discreet hearing--it would but harm her. And for _acceptance_--'must we _accept_ it for the Caterina?'--thou dost ask--it is an empty word! The will of Venice is _set_ to do this thing."

"Yet our cousin Marco--the child's own father--goeth not heavily; he hath no fear."

"He is mad with the glory of it--after Venice's own temper."

There had been some further talk--not over-much dwelling on vain regrets--and then the Lady of the Bernardini had asked, half-reluctantly:

"How if some Lady of the Cornari went with her?--I--having no daughter of my own--and loving her well? And--thou and I need not be parted."

"I dared not ask it of thee," he cried fervently--"for it is much. I dared not tell thee of the Senate's wish to name thee chief Lady of Caterina's Court."

"The court of the child! The little Caterina!" she exclaimed impetuously, rising and taking a few steps away from him with the irresistible impulse of offended dignity.

"I was bidden to lay their desire before thee--if it should be also of thy will, my Mother; it was not a command," he hastened to a.s.sure her.

But she had already conquered herself--being strong as proud, and prompt in decision, but ruled above all by her deep affections, and she came back to his side before he had found words with which to propitiate her.

"It was strange to me," she said, "but Venice would be more strange without my boy. Let us go together."

"Thou canst verily bear to leave it all?" he asked when he could trust himself to speak.

Her eyes followed the direction of his motion around the vast hall, then came back to rest upon his face.

"The past is ours," she said, "but not to make us weak. Thy 'might-have-beens' are not less wise for women than for men. I have only thee."

"San Marco atone to thee for thy sacrifice," he cried devoutly.

VII

Never was a more brilliant pageant imagined to do honor to the symbolic rite of the _Wedding of the Adriatic_ than the triumphant Signoria had called forth to speed the young Queen to her distant island.

Never did father more solemnly promise his protection to the child from whom he was parting, than did Cristoforo Moro, the Serenissimo, pledge the faith and support of Venetia to the Daughter of the Republic, as with slow majesty, to the rhythm of an ancient wedding canticle, the Bucentoro, escorted by all the galleys of the a.r.s.enal of Venice, the mighty gallea.s.ses of her patrician merchants and the gondolas of her n.o.bles, moved forward, beyond the Lido, where the Amba.s.sador Filippo Podacatharo waited with the fleet of Cyprus--most sumptuously outfitted--to receive the bride of Ja.n.u.s.

And never sailed fairer maiden, more fearlessly, into the far sea of her unknown future, flooded with dreams, as with sunshine. Was it only a glamour, tissued of myth and of legend, that lay on the face of the waters, dazzling her eyes?

The rejoicings of the people speeded her; the bells of all the campanili of Venice came echoing to the sh.o.r.es of the Lido; a tumult of voices--the voices of the _popolazzo_, shrill and jubilant, called down the blessings of all the saints upon her--of Santa Caterina--her own name-saint, fair patron of Betrothals; of charming San Luigi--the blessed guardian of love; of San Nicol, Saint of the Sea; of Messer San Marco and San Tadoro; and shrilly, above them all, rose the babel of women's voices, invoking the Madonna, "Star of the Sea, Sancta Maria!"

But most of all, deep within her girlish soul, love speeded her--love, grown strong through these years of waiting on the image she had fashioned for herself as the portrait of her lord--painted with all the glowing lights of a true and gracious heart that knew no shadows.

As the galleys pa.s.sed beyond the Lido into the wider water and the Daughter of Venice stood in her royal wedding-robes beside the Doge, under the golden canopy of the Bucentoro, a rosy light flashing from the circlet of rubies which, like the espousal ring of the Serenissimo, had been consecrated with solemn ma.s.s and benediction by the Patriarch of Venice,--did the words of the ancient rite occur to some among that throng of n.o.bles, perchance, as an omen?

"_Sea, we wed thee, in token of our true and perpetual dominion over thee._"

But now, with a memory of the gracious legend of San Francisco del Deserto--that where the birds should light the favor of Heaven would follow, as they pa.s.sed the convent on their outward way, a mult.i.tude of birds set free from their golden cages burst upon the air with a flood of song, inspired by their sudden liberty, then came throbbing and overwrought, to seek shelter among the silken sails of the Cyprian galleys--mere specks of iridescence, flashing like jewels in a chance ray of sunlight.

The people saw and shouted, "_Benedizion della Madonna! Viva Messer San Marco! Viva la Regina!_"

When the chimes of the campanili had dimmed to a faint cadence, like some unuttered rhythm of thought, as the distance grew between the outsailing fleet and all that pageantry of Venice, two faces stood forth like visions from the bewildering pictures of the morning and dwelt with Caterina forever.

The pleading face of the Mother deep with tenderness, yet shadowed by an unspoken dread of the unknown that lay beyond:

And the gaze of the saintly Patriarch, Lorenzo Giustiniani, full of strength and inspiration.

It was early summer, when the mere living was a joy; and there was much time for gracious dreaming as the galleys of Cyprus floated down the length of the Adriatic and past the fair coasts of the Mediterranean, before the coming of that wonderful day of days when the bridal fleet was nearing the sh.o.r.es of the _Isola Fortunata_ which had been for long the Mecca of the young Queen's girlish visions.

It lay before her radiant under the Cyprian sky--palaces and ramparts stretching in long lines a-down the coast, against the background of mountain ranges, densely wooded and crowned with the sparkling snows of Troodos; there were gardens rainbow-dyed in bloom, cool with the spray of fountains and the shadows of waving palms; and between the cities were wonderful, fertile plains flowing down to the foam of the sea--a vision of tangled blossoms wreathing with beauty the shattered splendor of temples of outworn divinities, or rippling with ta.s.selled corn and vines and all manner of fruit-bloom, in luxuriant promise of present good.

What could there be but happiness in such a home! Already the spell of the fabled Cyprian isle was upon her,--could she ever forget this first vision of her land of dreams--fairer than even her hope had limned it!

As she stood with beating heart, waiting with impatience that she scarce could bear for the first touch of her new, strange sh.o.r.e, for the first glimpse of her lover's face--all her pulses tuned to this harmonious rhythm of sky and sea and romance, it was told her that a messenger waited to speak with her.

"Let him approach," she said, turning half-unwilling to watch a knight who advanced, unattended, bearing a missive with the pendant royal seal of Cyprus that she knew so well. He knelt before her, vizor down, yet with the customary homage; then, rising--

"I am sent by his Majesty the King," he said, "to bear his greeting to his most gracious Sovereign Lady, or ever her foot shall touch the sh.o.r.e which blossoms for her alone."

She drew a little pace away from him, fearing to utter her thought until she had seen his face.

"Doth it become one so to speak the message of his King, with _visor down_, Sir Knight, to the bride whom his Majesty would honor?" she answered half-playfully--yet a little bashful in her first speech in the Grecian tongue which she had striven to make her own.

"Our Sovereign Lady doth answer right royally," he said, as he bowed his acquiescence in her command, pa.s.sing his helmet to one of the knights who came thronging behind him, and stood confronting her--very courteous and deferent in his bearing, though the breeze was tossing his waving hair about his throat with a hint of comradery, and there was a world of love and mastery in his charming face.

Her own--very fair and true and radiant with girlish beauty--flushed, then paled again, with the quickened beating of her heart, and her eyes, eloquent in confession, were fixed on his, which deepened to a glow of pride and pleasure; yet he was loth to make an end of her charming confusion.

"Hath this missive from his Majesty no meaning for his bride of Venice?"

he asked, coming nearer.

"Ja.n.u.s!" she cried--all her soul shining in her eyes; and then, in her own soft, Italian tongue:

"How should my heart _not_ know thee!"

VIII

Caterina Veneta, Queen of Cyprus, stood on a high balcony of the summer palace in the Casal of Potamia, one beautiful June morning at early dawn, waving farewell to the cavalcade of n.o.bles who were winding up the pa.s.s that led to the great forests where the patricians of the island were wont to pursue their favorite pastime. Ja.n.u.s was among them, leading in the chase as in every art that demanded agility and prowess--lithe, strong and beautiful in her eyes as in the first days of their short romance.

It was the one hour of the torrid day when the air was fragrant with the breath of flowers and tingling with the freshness of the sea; and in the sparkle of the morning, with sunshine in her heart and love-light in her eyes, she was very fair to look upon.

The scene had been exhilarating, full of color and motion--laughter and repartee mingling with the adieux of the knights and seigneurs to their ladies, the notes of the hunting-horns, the snorts of impatient steeds, the short expectant bark of the dogs, as the Master of the hounds, the young Count of Jaffa, with his great army of hunters and attendants, moved before the cavalcade into the heart of the forest. A fantastic train it was, with the picturesque costumes of the riders, the tinted tails of their horses and dogs flashing an orange trail in the sunshine, a touch of coquetry much in vogue among the young Cyprian n.o.bles of the day.

Caterina had watched the start with pride in her husband's grace and courtly bearing, his beautiful strong youth and the devotion of his chosen group of friends: and the winning charm of his manner, as he looked back with a parting act of homage, brought a flush of pleasure to her cheek. She stood for a moment, her eyes growing deep with delicious memories, as she recalled the romance of their first meeting.