"_We have sworn fealty to the Emperor--we are true men--be others untrue._"

And then in unison--swift, sure, triumphant--the words vibrated on the air: "_We have sworn fealty to the Emperor--we are true men--be others untrue._"

The voices in the garden had long since ceased, and one by one the wanderers had gathered on the terrace, waiting in responsive silence the conclusion of the tale they loved. Among them the Bernardini stood entranced. He had been strolling alone, filled with anxious thoughts which had brought him to a mood easily wrought upon, and from the silence of the garden to come suddenly upon this scene of picturesque action was a surprise that gave it added power.

He stood as if fascinated, never moving his gaze from the lithe figure of Margherita, whose every motion revealed new grace and unsuspected depths of feeling. Margherita, whom he had thought so grave and cold! So intently was he watching her that he realized no others in the vivid pantomime until the music maidens had gathered closely about her with hushed lutes and a mysterious silence fell--as of night upon the plain--spreading with the slow movement of the down-turned palms of all that girlish throng--the graceful, swaying figures scarce advancing, yet seeming to encompa.s.s the plain.

Between these interludes of dramatic rendering, the thread of the story was held in a quick, clear monotone easily followed. The hushed tramp of a great army withdrawing in the night--not from fear, but to honor their vows--the words of Iblin: "_We will not fight our Emperor, for our men are more than his: which having seen, it will now perchance please him to accept our terms of honorable peace._" The Emperor's acceptance of the terms from fear or wile, or because of new wars pressing in his own lands: his promise to leave the customs of the realm to Cyprus: and then, as Suzerain, his swift summons to the Lord of Iblin to join him in Crusade with men and arms. But the friends of the faithful guardian close round him and the chant of Margherita grows fierce and ominous:

"_Beware! He meaneth treachery. It is no summons--save to entrap thee._"

But the answer rings out loyally in the knightly faith of those early days, while the deep, contralto tones electrify her audience: "_Shall we show fear of our Emperor, or fail to bring him aid in holy warfare of Crusade--we, who are Christian knights? Faith begetteth Faith!_"

Then the Cypriotes fare them forth to do the bidding of their dauntless leader,--all the knights and n.o.bles of Cyprus and Jerusalem, the youthful King and the sons of the Lord of Iblin--with interchange of gifts and feasting and homage as of leal men to their Suzerain: with much pledging of faith, from each to each, after the manner of those days--against the background of that n.o.ble chorus following from afar in ma.s.sive, chanted solemn tones--

"_Faith begetteth Faith._"

But now, to the cities of Cyprus, left dest.i.tute of defense while their n.o.bles were gone to honor the Emperor's command, came a band of mercenaries of the Emperor's sending, who stole the customs and by their lawless acts frightened the people who fled for safety to the convents, denouncing Frederick as false and craven; while the governors sent by him, in despite of his solemn treaty, made havoc in the land, proclaiming in every city:

"_Let not the Lord of Iblin set foot in this land of Cyprus--by order of the Emperor!_"

Suddenly the indignant cries of the whole listening company mingled in confusion with the inspired voice of the improvisatrice and the descriptive music of the lutes.

Caterina sprang to her feet, not knowing what she did: "Bring back the Lord of Iblin!" she cried. "Bring the n.o.ble Joan back! Save this people of Cyprus!"

At the sound of her voice the lords and ladies of her court came crowding up the steps of the loggia from the terrace, clinging around her, kissing her hands with fervent words of loyalty and pleasure, before she realized that she was in the _Now_, or that she had cried out in her excitement. But this was the Cypriotes' story of stories, and her unconscious action had bound them to her.

But Dama Margherita, still in her trance of song, waved them to quiet again as they stood grouped about the Queen, in the very mood of the closing scene, creating an atmosphere of restrained pa.s.sion, through which the voice of the improvisatrice throbbed and pulsated like their own hear-beats.

But now the tones of the improvisatrice are low and quiet, and her motions a.s.sert the dignity of a life n.o.bly lived. For Joan of Iblin has returned from Crusade, has conquered the intruders and restored quiet to the realm. But, thereafter, siege is laid to his own castle and fief of Beirut, and now, gray-haired and full of honors, his time of service drawing to a close, his trust fulfilled and the young monarch come to his majority, he implores his royal ward to a.s.semble his full court, and kneeling in their presence before the youth whom he had served from tenderest infancy, he prays:

"_If I have served thee well, my nephew and my monarch--now come to thine own--because I loved thee well, yet loving honor more:_

"_If I have fought for thee in keeping of my trust, and dared the enmity of the Emperor our Suzerain,--and for thy sake:_

"_Now, by my love for thee--for I am old and the cities of my fiefs are doomed;_

"_Send, if it seemeth good to thee and to these, the knights and barons of thy realm, and save my lands--that they be not wrested from me when my strength is spent!_"

The true-hearted Prince threw loving arms about him, with words of comfort and with promises, and would have raised him. But the Lord of Iblin would bring his speech to its conclusion and have his say before them all, thus kneeling--as if it were a rendering of his trust, a fitting close to a so loyal life.

The words of his Swan-Song had been chanted in full, rare, solemn harmony--the lutes in gracious melody accompanying, like an undertone of love--slow tears down dropping from the eyes of Margherita.

And one by one, as the chant proceeded, through her strange magnetic power, her listeners _saw_ a knight step forth from the circle and drop to his knees, swearing fealty to the King and the Lord of Iblin, until all were kneeling. Then the chanting voices hushed and the rapid motions ceased: and under that spell they saw, as in a vision, luminous in the darkness, the kneeling knights of that early court of Cyprus, and in their midst, the gray-haired Joan of Iblin and the boyish monarch, in his young, rosy strength--a vision of love and loyalty!

Aluisi Bernardini breathed a sigh of content as he moved quickly away with a sense of his responsibility being shared; for it was only now that he felt that he knew Margherita, and she would be ever near the Queen, a Cypriote of the Cypriotes, but loyal to her heart's core. He could have kissed the hem of her trailing robe as it floated towards him, stirred by the motion of his pa.s.sing--for in the maiden's tale she had revealed herself to him: it was not of her grace and talent, nor of the poem that he thought--but on the surety of her staunchness of soul--of her consecration: he heard her voice again ringing in the words:

"_We are true men: be others untrue!_"

XI

A Little page who had been leaning on the marble parapet beyond the terrace, came stealthily and beckoned to a comrade on the steps of the loggia.

"A troop of horse were coming across the plain," he explained in low, agitated tones, as the other reached his side, and followed him back to the post where he had been watching. "I saw them all the time Dama Margherita was reciting--Holy Mother, but it was long!--I thought the King was coming, and it was I that should carry the news to her Majesty--I came near crying out! But I could not see his orange plume, and I waited. They came slowly--_Santissima Vergine!_ _He was not there!_"

He clutched his comrade's doublet with a trembling hand and turned an ashen face towards him.

"What ailest thee, Tristan?--thou who art already a damoiseau and shalt be a true knight? Thou art verily dreaming--I see nothing."

"They are gone within--in the first great court of the palace--those who came. They were the King's gentlemen--_all_ the King's gentlemen--Messer Andrea among them. I thought the champing would have roused the Queen who hath been watching all the day. I am not afraid----" he gasped; "but it was so horrible!--Thou knowest, Guido, Messer Andrea never leaveth the King."

The boy's eyes were dark with fear.

"He will come with the others--he will surely, surely come," Guido a.s.severated.

They clasped each other close and pressed their fresh cheeks together, trembling so that they could scarcely speak, yet struggling to be brave, as became little pages that should be knights.

"They were so long," poor Tristan said in a choking whisper, "and it was so still--_so still_--no music, and they returning from the chase!

And--when they came nearer, I thought I saw his horse, but I could not see a rider--and I thought, I thought--perhaps because it _was_ dark--and I ran down the front of the palace to get nearer when they crossed the bridge. Ah, but the tramp was dreadful! And--and--it was his horse, and a squire leading him--and--behind them--oh Guido!--_Then I knew_."

"We will be knights, Tristan mio," Guido whispered, wiping away his comrade's tears while his own were falling; and then, straining each other convulsively, they broke down in sobs together.

Dama Ecciva stole up the steps from the terrace, and catching Eloisa's hand, dragged her forcibly away.

"Come quickly," she whispered, with chattering teeth, "_Santa Maria Vergine!_ I am so frightened. Oh, the poor, poor Queen! That was why she hath been so strange--she hath truly seen the vision. Poverina, it breaks one's heart! And he but a week away! So gay and debonair, and beautiful as a G.o.d!"

There was no mistaking her wild eyes.

"Tell me!" Eloisa gasped.

"I was there in the pergola, and I saw them come--the _frati_ from the Troodos in the midst of the troop of horse--with--with IT.--Oh Eloisa, _it was true!_--They are telling her now."

There was a stir in the great audience-chamber back of the loggia where Caterina sat--a sound of hesitant feet, as of many who came unwillingly, unutterably weary from the dull weight of evil tidings.

The m.u.f.fled footsteps roused her from her revery and she turned her head and saw them coming. Her heart stood still for fear.

Messer Andrea came before the others, falteringly--as if youth had died out of him: he was pale and strange and no words fell from his blanched lips during that long instant while he crossed the interminable stretch between them, and Caterina waited, with all her tortured soul crying out for Ja.n.u.s.

Then the King's favorite, with the cruel story written in his anguished eyes, turned them full upon hers for one moment, that she might _know_--then bowed his head upon his breast and opened his arms, as if he fain would shelter her--