X
All day the queen had been restless and depressed, starting at the soundof a footfall only to drop her eyes again in disappointment and relapseinto unquiet revery; the weight of empire hung heavily upon her girlishspirit and she was unutterably lonely in the absence of Janus whichseemed so unduly prolonged. It was the latest day that he had named forhis possible absence, and still no courier had come to announce hisreturn.
The noon had been unusually sultry, the stifling heat of the upperchambers oppressed her and the ceaseless, rasping whir of the cicalasmote her with weariness, but she resisted the attempt of her ladies todetain her in the cooler atmosphere of the _voto_, for in theseunderground chambers she could have no sight of the great plain beyondthe boundaries of the palace-gardens--and she preferred remaining in thehalls that overlooked the terraces--turning her eyes often in thedirection of the forest.
It was like a pall upon them all to see their young mistress, usually sogracious and responsive, wholly absorbed in her troubled revery; butto-day her maidens played their sweetest strains upon their silverylutes, without her answering smile; the gentlemen of her court sought invain for some diversion to distract her; even the Lady Margherita coulddo nothing for her pleasure, while she watched in unobtrusivetenderness, feeling that quiet, however unsatisfying, was more welcomethan speech.
The pages, at a sign from the Lady Margherita, had dipped their frondsof feather in the great vases of mountain-snow that stood between thecolumns, and waved them about the chamber; the queen followed theirmovements with a fleeting smile as this breath of coolness reached her,then fixed her eyes again, with a despairing look, upon the distantforest.
"She wearieth for the King," her maidens said low to each other, "andverily he may come to-night, for the days have already numbered morethan he giveth of wont to the chase."
"She is not like herself," the Lady Ecciva de Montferrat whispered toher young Venetian companion, Eloisa Contarini, as the company strolledout upon the terraces at a sign from the Lady Beata Bernardini whoseloving motherly eyes saw that Caterina needed rest and solitude. "She isstrange and pale to-day--like one who hath seen a vision." Lady Eccivaspoke with deep seriousness, for superstition was a vital part of theCyprian nature, belonging alike to peasant and noble.
"How meanest thou--_a vision_?" Eloisa questioned, startled.
The other turned to see that they were not followed and answered in anawe-struck tone: "_The vision of the Melusina--the fate of theLusignans!_ Didst thou not hear her shriek from the Castle of Lusignanin the dead of night?"
"_The Melusina?_ Ecciva, who is _the_ '_Melusina_?'"
"She is the evil genius of the House of Lusignan," Ecciva explained toher excited companion, "all Cyprus knoweth that when the Melusina crieththree times from the towers of the ancient Chateau of Lusignan, in farFrance, it meaneth death, or some great misfortune to a ruler of thishouse."
"And thou--didst hear this lamentation verily, Ecciva? I should havedied from fear!"
"Yea, thou being from Venice--not knowing that it bodeth not harm forthee--it is misfortune only for some ruler of their house of Lusignan."
"And that is naught to thee!" the Venetian girl exclaimed inastonishment. "Thy King--is he nothing to thee?"
"One knoweth not," the other answered nonchalantly. "There isCarlotta--both of the house of Lusignan; and she might be kinder thanKing Janus who seized the fiefs of my father because he came not forthto do him homage when he landed with his army from Alexandria."
Eloisa drew herself impetuously away from her companion who was watchingher through long, half-closed eyes.
"Thou then--why art thou here?" she exclaimed indignantly, "in serviceof my beloved Lady, who is so good and fair, if thou lovest her not--northe King!"
The youthful Dama Ecciva laughed lightly:
"Thou art a veritable _turco_ for fierceness, Eloisa! I have naughtagainst her Majesty, who truly is most fair and gracious--quite otherthan Carlotta--whom I love not at all! And if I held some grudge againstthe King for seizing of my father's lands (which broke his heart beforehe died) one cannot long be churlish in presence of our Janus, who hatha matchless fashion of grace with him, so that all think to have won hisfavor. Verily, that is a King for Cyprus!--he mindeth one of Cinyras. Imust tell thee the tale of our hero of Cyprus some day, Eloisa."
"Aye: but tell me now--how camest thou at Court if the King hath wrongedthy house?"
"Such eyes thou hast!--like a frightened child! I know not if I shallreach thy comprehension, were I to answer thee--but I, being onlydaughter to my father, Gualtier of Montferrat, who had no son--pleadwith my mother to send me hither when I came of age, to do homageloyally to King Janus, and claim our fiefs of him again--I being hisvassal by right of long generations past--there was no other way."
"A vassal so loyal doth honor to him and thee!" the warm-bloodedVenetian maid cried scornfully, with a toss of her dainty head.
Again the Lady Ecciva laughed lightly, but no shadow of discomposuremarred the exquisite outlines of the beautiful, cold face: the skin,delicate and fine as ivory, showed no flush of color: her eyes andtresses were dark as night--the eye-brows slender, yet marking a perfectarc--the eyes beneath them tantalizing, inscrutable--the mouth rosy asthat of a child--the fingers long, sinuous, emphasizing her speech withmovements so unconscious that sometimes they betrayed what her wordsleft unguessed.
"I do not understand thy vassalship," the Lady Eloisa said withhesitation--yet eager to know more of her companion's attitude towardthe Queen; they had wandered far down the terrace to the basin where theswans were floating, opalescent in the sunset light.
Dama Ecciva broke off some oleander blossoms and flung them at the royalbirds with teasing motion, watching them contentedly as, one by one,they floated away with ruffled plumage and sounds of protest.
"It is a right of our house for many generations," she explained; "beingallied with royalty through the elder branch of the Montferrats, I am a_dama di maridaggio_ by birth, and since there is no son of our house tooffer homage in return for our fiefs, the duty was mine to do service toour King and claim our lands of him again. It was a simple ceremony--tobend the knee and kiss his hand, and make some empty vows--to see mymother Lady of her lands once more."
"Aye, it were well--if thy vows were not so 'empty,'" Eloisa protested."How shouldst thou speak so coldly of thy vision, if thou hadst onespark of loyalty?"
"It was not _my_ vision," her companion answered nonchalantly; "I sleptthe night through, the better to enjoy the day, which, verily, was notworth taking such trouble for,--so stupid hath it been!"
"But the vision?" Eloisa questioned impatiently--"there was no vision!Thou hast said it but to frighten me!"
"It is her Majesty who hath had the vision--one can tell it but to lookat her: and for the three fatal shrieks--the shrieks to curdle one'sblood--Josefa told of them but now. _Some_ one hath heard them; butthey hush it in the court for it meaneth disaster."
"I may not stay with thee!" Eloisa cried turning away in hotdispleasure; "not for fear--for I do not believe thy vision: but becauseI hate thy mocking spirit and thy so strange loyalty--_dama dimaridaggio_!"
The Lady Ecciva calmly resumed her pastime of swan-teasing as herimpulsive companion, flushed and panting, began to climb the long flightof marble steps that led back to the palace-plateau.
"I think I am better companioned this heavenly night without thypreaching," she said serenely, as Eloisa, half repenting her quickness,turned back to wave her a farewell, "for the breezes are comfortingafter the day, and fret me not with questions. And for my_loyalty_"--she lingered mockingly on the word--"my loyalty will serveKing Janus well enough, unless he seeketh to enforce his rights to mydispleasure."
"How to thy 'displeasure'? What 'rights'?"
"His right of Lord of the fiefs--for our lands are gifts of theCrown--to choose a husband for his _dama di maridaggio_ who suiteth nother fancy."
"Nay, verily, Ecciva, he is a noble gentleman--h
e would not press theetoo hard, thou wouldst protest."
"Aye, I should protest--I _would_ protest. And so he hath no scheme tomarry me with the miserable Neapolitan noble who held our lands while wewere dispossessed, I care not! But it were good to know what fancy mightseize him--our charming Janus! For he is a man of many moods and somefavorite of the Soldan may next be friend to him!"
The evening breezes were slowly waking over the torrid land, bringingneeded refreshment after the long sultriness of the day: the air wasladen with delicious odors--fragrance of rose and jessamine and orangeblooms; birds of brilliant plumage called to each other in jubilantnotes as they flitted hither and thither among the pomegranate blossomswhich burned, like tongues of flame, among the thickets of green.
Back through the long alleys of wonderful trees where many a clingingvine trailed masses of riotous color, it was pleasant to hear mirthfulvoices ringing freely after the dull day's repression, or echoing backmore faintly from adventurous wanderers in the farther shrubberies. Thisgarden of delights which Janus had made for his bride, environing thispalace of Potamia, was alive with charm--rippling with stolen streams,more costly than molten silver at the summer's height, which kept it insuch vesture of luxuriant bloom as only a monarch might command.
But Eloisa sped quickly up from terrace to terrace, scarcely pausing toanswer the persiflage with which her companion sought to detain her; shewas overwrought and unhappy, in spite of herself; she had no faith inthe vision of Ecciva; she felt hurt and outraged by her coldness, andshe was hastening back for one look in the true and noble face of theLady of the Bernardini, who mothered all these young Venetian maids ofhonor in the court of Caterina, craving to express her deep loyalty tothe Queen herself by some immediate act of silent homage.
Only the Lady of the Bernardini and Margherita de Iblin were withCaterina in the loggia, just without the palace, as Eloisa came flyingup the steps and falling on her knees covered the young Queen's handwith passionate kisses.
"What is it, _carina mia_?" Caterina asked in alarm; "thou bringestnews? There is a courier?"
"_Niente--niente, Serenissima_--only to be near the one I love!" thegirl cried fervently; and then grew suddenly quiet, in full contentafter this needed avowal.
"Poverina, thou art lonely for thy Venice, and thy people," the Queenmurmured in her own soft Italian tongue, while her fingers strayedcaressingly through the glory of red-gold hair which fell unbound aboutthe maid, in the fashion of those days for one of noble birth and tenderage.
But presently she withdrew her hand and motioned Eloisa to a corneramong the cushions on the curving marble slab, grotesquely wrought withtalismanic symbols, which outlined the end of the loggia where they sat."Thou art come a-propos: for the Lady Margherita hath promised us a taleof ancient Cyprus, and we of Venice wish to know these legends of ourbeautiful island."
"Nay, beloved Sovereign Lady;--it is not legend but simple historictruth, which your Majesty hath granted me permission to narrate--a taleof love and loyalty of the annals of our house; and out of it hath comethis Cyprian proverb: '_Quel che Iblin e non si puo trovar._' 'Such anone as Iblin may no man find!'" Dama Margherita, usually so pale andgrave, was flushed and eager; her deep eyes sparkled; her breath camefast.
The name of Joan of Iblin was revered in Cyprus and the Queen turnedtowards Margherita with some comprehension of her pride in the nobilityof this ancestor who had spent himself in loyal service for the earlyKings of Cyprus, touching her hand with a light pressure, smiling herapprobation.
No feast at any court in those days was complete without this diversionof recitation, when the nation's heroes, or some passage from itsgreater classics, furnished the theme; or when some improvisator wove atissue of myth and legend, embroidered with fact, which won its waythrough confiding ages as historic truth, till the time, growingsophisticated, laid it heroically aside for a curio. And Cyprus stoodhigh among the Eastern nations in literary reputation. Was not its poetEnclos earliest among the Greek prophetic singers? Was not the "Cypria"celebrated among the epics of antiquity, a precursor to the Iliaditself? Was any land more fertile than Cyprus in food for poets?
The Cypriotes no longer knew whether Cinyras were god, or man, or myth;whether he were the son of Apollo, or of Pygmalion and the bewitchingivory image of the sculptor's dead wife; or, in very truth, thatsplendid prince of Agamemnon's time, as sung by Homer in the Iliad,winning laurels at the siege of Troy. This hero of the "_Cypria_," washe, in verity the great High Priest of the island and chief of thestately race of the _Cinyradae_ who had ruled the people long in Stateand Sanctuary, and filled their realm with stately temples? TheCypriotes drew breath in an atmosphere of myth and poetry and felt therecital of the feats of their heroes to be no less a duty than adelight.
The improvisatorial faculty so often bestowed upon this imaginativepeople was greatly prized, and not infrequently it descended from fatherto son, as an inheritance, winning for its possessor something of thereverence granted to a prophet.
Dama Margherita de Iblin possessed this gift, though only in moments ofdeep feeling was she willing to exercise it: but to-night she wasstrangely moved out of sympathy for the Queen, whose evident anxietyfilled her with foreboding and whom she eagerly longed to divert.
"Since your Majesty hath graciously commanded the story of Joan ofIblin, Lord of Beirut and Governor of Jerusalem--a tale of our dear landwhen it was young--I will tell it after the fashion of my people," shesaid, rising with her sudden resolve, her strong, dark face grownbeautiful from the play of noble emotions.
She stood for a moment, her tall figure in its sweeping folds swaying inslow rhythmic cadence--her attitude and gesture full of grace anddignity--irresistibly compelling--as in low, penetrating monotone shebegan her chant.
The music-maidens stole noiselessly forth upon the loggia, accompanyingthe noble improvisatrice with lute and rhythmic posture; the nightdeepened and the stars came out, and still her hearers listenedbreathlessly, as in moments of emotion the chant leaped wildly to meetthe urgency of her thought, or deepened in melting tenderness to itspathos; for such was the intensity of Margherita's emotion and dramaticquality that she endued each character with an almost startlingvitality--or had she put her auditors under some magic spell with thecompelling gaze of her deep eyes? They felt as if living in that pasttime, partakers in its very action, and they surrendered themselves toher power.
It was the tale of an infant heir of Cyprus, when the realm was youngand the Emperor Frederick was her Suzerain, and with a sweep of hermagnetic fingers Margherita showed the babe lying helpless and appealingbefore his uncle the noble Lord of Iblin, to whom the widowed Queen hadconfided him during his tutelage. The guardian's faith and devotion weresketched in rapid strokes; and when the tiny King had been crowned andhis knights and barons of Cyprus and Jerusalem had sworn him fealty, thesouls of her listeners swelled indignant within them as Dama Margheritathrilled forth the challenge of the Emperor to the Lord of Iblin to laydown his trust and surrender the child with the customs of Cyprus tohim--their Suzerain--until the boy should be of age.
"_Not so--most gracious Lord and Emperor!_" Joan of Iblin had madedauntless answer; "_for my tutelage is by order of the Queen, hismother, who holdeth the regency justly, and by the laws of Cyprus and ofJerusalem--which, with all courtesy, I will defend. I make appeal untothe courts for this our right!_"
Her sympathetic auditors verily _heard_ the tramp of armies in the wildchant of Margherita when the Emperor had replied with scorn and insult,trampling on the rights of Cyprus; they could have sworn that they sawthe Emperor's hosts gathering on the plains as they watched theimpetuous motions of all those beckoning maiden hands; and then,advancing in quiet dignity, sure of their right, the old-time knightsand barons of Cyprus and Jerusalem, moving to the measure of a quaint,Christian psalm: and so fully had her listeners yielded themselves toher potent spell, that but hearkening to her recital, they quailed andtrembled when she told that the enemies of the Lord of Iblin came by
night and sought to whisper treachery to his staunch soul, while intones that scarcely broke the hush, the false words of the tempterreached their consciousness, quivering through them, as if theythemselves were guilty of this treachery:
"_Ye are more in number than the hosts of the Emperor--kill him while hesleepeth! For we will see that his guards wake not._"
Then fell a deep, throbbing silence, tingling with a sense of shame,broken by a sudden discord of the lutes and the wild burst of ringingscorn.
"_Shall we, Christian men of Cyprus, do this iniquity!_"
Again, the whispered voice of the tempter: "_Aye! for the Emperor isfalse; he hath taken thine own sons for hostages and keepeth not hispromise but in his camp entreateth them shamefully; and in the courts,which shall judge of this thy cause, doth seek to malign thee._"
Once more came the voice of Joan of Iblin, invincible:
"_We have sworn fealty to the Emperor--we are true men--be othersuntrue._"
And then in unison--swift, sure, triumphant--the words vibrated on theair: "_We have sworn fealty to the Emperor--we are true men--be othersuntrue._"
The voices in the garden had long since ceased, and one by one thewanderers had gathered on the terrace, waiting in responsive silence theconclusion of the tale they loved. Among them the Bernardini stoodentranced. He had been strolling alone, filled with anxious thoughtswhich had brought him to a mood easily wrought upon, and from thesilence of the garden to come suddenly upon this scene of picturesqueaction was a surprise that gave it added power.
He stood as if fascinated, never moving his gaze from the lithe figureof Margherita, whose every motion revealed new grace and unsuspecteddepths of feeling. Margherita, whom he had thought so grave and cold! Sointently was he watching her that he realized no others in the vividpantomime until the music maidens had gathered closely about her withhushed lutes and a mysterious silence fell--as of night upon theplain--spreading with the slow movement of the down-turned palms of allthat girlish throng--the graceful, swaying figures scarce advancing, yetseeming to encompass the plain.
Between these interludes of dramatic rendering, the thread of the storywas held in a quick, clear monotone easily followed. The hushed tramp ofa great army withdrawing in the night--not from fear, but to honor theirvows--the words of Iblin: "_We will not fight our Emperor, for our menare more than his: which having seen, it will now perchance please himto accept our terms of honorable peace._" The Emperor's acceptance ofthe terms from fear or wile, or because of new wars pressing in his ownlands: his promise to leave the customs of the realm to Cyprus: andthen, as Suzerain, his swift summons to the Lord of Iblin to join him inCrusade with men and arms. But the friends of the faithful guardianclose 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 earlydays, while the deep, contralto tones electrify her audience: "_Shall weshow fear of our Emperor, or fail to bring him aid in holy warfare ofCrusade--we, who are Christian knights? Faith begetteth Faith!_"
Then the Cypriotes fare them forth to do the bidding of their dauntlessleader,--all the knights and nobles of Cyprus and Jerusalem, theyouthful King and the sons of the Lord of Iblin--with interchange ofgifts and feasting and homage as of leal men to their Suzerain: withmuch pledging of faith, from each to each, after the manner of thosedays--against the background of that noble chorus following from afar inmassive, chanted solemn tones--
"_Faith begetteth Faith._"
But now, to the cities of Cyprus, left destitute of defense while theirnobles were gone to honor the Emperor's command, came a band ofmercenaries of the Emperor's sending, who stole the customs and bytheir lawless acts frightened the people who fled for safety to theconvents, denouncing Frederick as false and craven; while the governorssent 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 ofthe Emperor!_"
Suddenly the indignant cries of the whole listening company mingled inconfusion with the inspired voice of the improvisatrice and thedescriptive music of the lutes.
Caterina sprang to her feet, not knowing what she did: "Bring back theLord of Iblin!" she cried. "Bring the noble Joan back! Save this peopleof Cyprus!"
At the sound of her voice the lords and ladies of her court camecrowding up the steps of the loggia from the terrace, clinging aroundher, kissing her hands with fervent words of loyalty and pleasure,before she realized that she was in the _Now_, or that she had cried outin her excitement. But this was the Cypriotes' story of stories, and herunconscious action had bound them to her.
But Dama Margherita, still in her trance of song, waved them to quietagain as they stood grouped about the Queen, in the very mood of theclosing scene, creating an atmosphere of restrained passion, throughwhich the voice of the improvisatrice throbbed and pulsated like theirown hear-beats.
But now the tones of the improvisatrice are low and quiet, and hermotions assert the dignity of a life nobly lived. For Joan of Iblin hasreturned from Crusade, has conquered the intruders and restored quietto the realm. But, thereafter, siege is laid to his own castle and fiefof Beirut, and now, gray-haired and full of honors, his time of servicedrawing to a close, his trust fulfilled and the young monarch come tohis majority, he implores his royal ward to assemble his full court, andkneeling in their presence before the youth whom he had served fromtenderest infancy, he prays:
"_If I have served thee well, my nephew and my monarch--now come tothine own--because I loved thee well, yet loving honor more:_
"_If I have fought for thee in keeping of my trust, and dared the enmityof the Emperor our Suzerain,--and for thy sake:_
"_Now, by my love for thee--for I am old and the cities of my fiefs aredoomed;_
"_Send, if it seemeth good to thee and to these, the knights and baronsof thy realm, and save my lands--that they be not wrested from me whenmy strength is spent!_"
The true-hearted Prince threw loving arms about him, with words ofcomfort and with promises, and would have raised him. But the Lord ofIblin would bring his speech to its conclusion and have his say beforethem all, thus kneeling--as if it were a rendering of his trust, afitting close to a so loyal life.
The words of his Swan-Song had been chanted in full, rare, solemnharmony--the lutes in gracious melody accompanying, like an undertone oflove--slow tears down dropping from the eyes of Margherita.
And one by one, as the chant proceeded, through her strange magneticpower, her listeners _saw_ a knight step forth from the circle and dropto his knees, swearing fealty to the King and the Lord of Iblin, untilall were kneeling. Then the chanting voices hushed and the rapid motionsceased: and under that spell they saw, as in a vision, luminous in thedarkness, the kneeling knights of that early court of Cyprus, and intheir midst, the gray-haired Joan of Iblin and the boyish monarch, inhis young, rosy strength--a vision of love and loyalty!
Aluisi Bernardini breathed a sigh of content as he moved quickly awaywith a sense of his responsibility being shared; for it was only nowthat he felt that he knew Margherita, and she would be ever near theQueen, a Cypriote of the Cypriotes, but loyal to her heart's core. Hecould have kissed the hem of her trailing robe as it floated towardshim, stirred by the motion of his passing--for in the maiden's tale shehad revealed herself to him: it was not of her grace and talent, nor ofthe poem that he thought--but on the surety of her staunchness ofsoul--of her consecration: he heard her voice again ringing in thewords:
"_We are true men: be others untrue!_"