The Royal Pawn of Venice

by Mrs. Lawrence Turnbull

  XVIII

  "Is there aught to fear, Aluisi?--Thou seemest overgrave," the LadyBeata asked anxiously as her son came late, one evening into her privateboudoir in their suite in the palace; he looked unusually weary anddepressed.

  "There is always much to fear," he answered, with no brightening of hisanxious face in response to his mother's smile.

  "But not now--surely not now! She hath won the heart of thepeople--these fetes were a triumph--they almost gladdened her. And now,poor child, she hath the little one to bring her comfort."

  "Aye, Madre mia; she hath perchance won the love of the simple folk; butit is a powerless love."

  "Aluisi!--thou art not like thyself to scorn it."

  "I may well be not like myself in so strange a land," he answeredbitterly. "But I know not scorn; nor hopeless trust, neither."

  His mother watched him wondering, as he, who was usually soself-contained, strode impatiently about the chamber, as if its limitsfretted him.

  "A few cries of loyalty--a group of peasants kneeling--make a prettyshowing--a tribute to bring her comfort--but it is the chaff before thewind, when danger cometh. And she hath never spoken of the many fiefsfrom which they came not--withheld by command of their jealous nobles.This peasantry hath no initiative--no aggressiveness. How wouldst thouthat they should save her when danger cometh?"

  "What danger, Aluisi?"

  "The ever-present danger from without and within," he answereddespondently. "One knoweth not from whence the first blow shall come."

  She was silent for a moment, seeking how she might pursue the themewithout further irritating him.

  "If the peasants are powerless," she said, "the burghers are strong. Andthey came in throngs to the coronation."

  "Aye, Mother; they are our hope: I thank thee for thy word."

  A silence fell again between them, and his face grew less anxious.

  "The burden is heavy for thee," she said, as he came and stood near herlow couch. "It will ease thee to speak of it, if thou mayest not dismissit. It is not this last attempt of Carlotta that troubles thee? _That_hath been crushed?--without renewal?"

  He gave a short laugh.

  "One knoweth not," he answered, with an attempt at playfulness thatshowed no color of mirth. "These two hours have I been within. Cornarowas with me. Another _mahona_ may have chanced to land, coming fromAfrica with some other Valentine to do Carlotta's bidding and assert herclaim to this uneasy crown of Cyprus; _this_ Valentine of Montolipho,poor youth, having no longer a brain to work her schemes.--But dangerfrom within is less easy to quell."

  She had never seen him so uneasy: but she tried to control herapprehension since he needed all her strength.

  "What saith Andrea Cornaro? Doth he share thy fear?" she asked in a loweven tone.

  "We spoke together but now of his Grace, the Archbishop, who verily worea face that boded no good to the child nor his mother--even as he heldhim in baptism that day--sealing him with the sign of the HolyCross!--And to-day, in Council--verily Cyprus hath need of a newCouncil----" he broke off suddenly.

  "The Archbishop is not of the Council, Aluisi!"

  "But his brother, the Count Carpasso, is more to fear," he criedwrathfully. "They are men of one mind and both creatures of thattreacherous King of Naples. If Janus had had more wit, he would haveleft Gioan Peres Fabrici to this day, bargaining for his cargoes ofgrain, instead of naming him to the Council of the Realm and lavishingthe honors of the kingdom upon this faithless favorite."

  "Faithless--my son? It is an evil word."

  The quiet interruption arrested the angry flow of his speech.

  "I pray that he be not found faithless," he said more quietly, "when hehath a chance to prove his quality. But one would think a man so favoredof the King would seek, at every turn, to prove his loyalty before theQueen--in which I find him not overanxious."

  "It is thou, perchance, who art overanxious, from the greatness of thineown loyalty, and the burden it hath brought thee."

  "Aye--am I!--Where there is cause for mistrust it maketh cowards of us,when faith were better. Thou knowest, gentle Mother, that this Valentineconfessed, before his death, that he but heralded a larger craft sentfrom Rhodes, with knights and gentlemen and letters favoring _Carlotta_!And Gioan Peres Fabrici, Captain of our galley, sent with speed byprayer of us of Venice to bring them hither to confess themselves,_found them not_. He returned, _with speed_--and _found them not_. Whatthinkest thou, my Mother? Is it my judgment that is gone from too greatanxiety?--Or may a valiant captain not see a brigantine armed upon thewater?--a ship--a brig, scarce smaller than his own, perchance--that heshould let them slip?"

  "Why should he let them slip?--And Valentine may not have spoken truth."

  "One speaketh truth, or naught--with death so near. And for thyquestion--I know not why----" He seemed to be evolving knotty reasons,as he sat, with stern brows, deep in thought. With an effort he rousedhimself and went on with his tale.

  "But yesterday, in Council--for Cornaro and I, we had discussed thematter of the royal residence together, thinking it suited not with theQueen's dignity to remain longer in the fortress--a most mournful palacefor one so young and who hath need of some distraction about her to keepher from oversadness. But Rizzo, being Chief of Council, would hearnaught of the Queen's return to the Palace. Fabrici also spoke againstit."

  "It is strange:--but they gave no reason?"

  "They gave a reason--one of their own making: that there was a matterof more moment before the Council; that the Queen's pleasure mightwait."

  "Aluisi! What saidst thou?"

  "Cornaro lost patience and answered roundly: that he, being by his lateMajesty created Auditor of the realm, and by him greatly trusted--itbehooved him as much to uphold the Queen's dignity as to have his wordin the choice of the residence and aught else pertaining to the costs ofthe royal household. And that the Chamberlain of the Queen--I havingupheld the demand made by him--was like to know what best might suit herMajesty."

  "And then?" the Lady Beata questioned, much agitated.

  "'Ye are like to know what best might suit Her Majesty--_both being ofVenice_,' Rizzo made answer; and _dismissed the Council_."

  Neither of them spoke for a few moments.

  "How will Andrea accept this insolence?" the Lady Beata questioned.

  "There _is_ more--far more than that for anxiety," Aluisi said,dismissing her question with an impatient gesture. "I would that theQueen and the child were here--in their own palace--or that we werethere. The question hath turned to one of larger import than the goodpleasure of the Queen; or the wisdom of holding the Queen and the PrinceRoyal in a fortress, when the land is not at war--as if her own peoplemight not be trusted with her life. But the argument did not touch theCouncil--not more than the whim of us--_of Venice_"--he spoke bitterly."Before, it was expedient. _Now_----"

  "Now?" his Mother urged.

  "There may be some scheme behind it, and I would we were there. She hathnone of her own beside her, if trouble should come."

  "She hath Dama Margherita--who loveth her well."

  "Dama Margherita," Bernardini echoed, and a feeling of peace came overhim.

  But the Lady Beata sat pondering, in troubled silence. What could itmean? Caterina had taken up her residence in the fortress before herillness; it had been thought wise, although it had not been publiclydeclared. A few of her maids of honor and Lady Beata, Chief Lady of herCourt, had gone with her. But before the baptism, her suite had returnedto the palace, that all might be as usual for the reception of the royalguests; the Queen had lingered from day to day, partly that she mightescape the crowd and keep more quiet until the festivities were over.But now--was it of her own choice? Why did she not return?

  "And now--what wilt thou do?" the Lady of the Bernardini asked atlength, turning towards her son, failing to see what course of actionmight be wisest. "May we not go to her to-night?"

  "It is too late: the gates are closed; it could do but harm to rousethe
m for us to pass, with no cause but our anxieties to offer. Butto-morrow, we will compass it.

  "Meanwhile I have done what may be done to bring hither more who are ofour ways of thinking; for who should care for her, if not we '_ofVenice_?'" It was evident that the thrust rankled. "I saw our Consulyesterday, who seemed not overanxious from what I told him--therefore _Itold him not all_--I trust he hath not been tampered with by this mostwily 'Council to the Queen!' but before the night had fallen, I sent aletter of warning to Mocenigo who, with his fleet, will be at anchor offthe coast of Rhodes--to pray that he will come, or will send ourProvveditore Vettore Soranzo to await the need."

  His Mother grasped his wrist--her eyes dilating. "It must be long beforethey can come," she said, in a whisper.

  "Not many days," he answered reassuringly; "and I have sent by a trustyCypriote who will make full speed to bring me back the message thatmeaneth large reward for him. My warning must reach Mocenigo before anymessage sent from Cyprus to Venice might get to him again."

  "Is there aught else that may be done?"

  "I have given command to put my fastest brig in trim, and to-morrow shewill sail with merchandise for Venice; all day she hath been lading inthe port. The message in my special cypher, known only to the Secretaryof the Ten, is ready here." He drew the missive from his breast, as hespoke, replacing it instantly. "Marco Bembo will sail with it on themorrow, which he may well do without suspicion, having come hither forthe ceremonies now over. The brig will leave the port with all duetranquillity; and afterward will make all possible speed."

  "There could be nothing more," she said rising; "thou hast thought ofall."

  "I thought also to have some one watching--ready to appeal to theburghers, if need should be: and I have sent but now a most secretmessage by my own trusty squire to his Eccellenza, Mutio di Costanzo, totell him what hath chanced. He being Governor and Admiral of Cyprus,hath so great power that it should not be left for the Queen's Councilto reach him first--if there should be scheming. Being Vice-Roy ofNikosia, he will have the will of the citizens for his following--ifneed should be. And his loyalty is sure: it was he, who with our _bailo_of Venice received Caterina's oath of allegiance, after the death ofJanus; and he will not fail her."

  "Thou hast a right to thy weariness," his Mother said, laying her firmwhite hand with a weight of tenderness for a moment on his head. "Thoumindest me of thy father--so full of carefulness to be before in anycause that he held dear. I would thou wert not lost to Venice--it was myhope for thee--thou wouldst have been a power in her Councils."

  "We would not be false to our own for any fancied glory that might bepossible for us," he answered more lightly than he had yet spoken: buthe knew that his Mother's ambitions for him were not fulfilled in thismission to Cyprus--that she had sacrificed her heart's desire for him.

  He caught her beautiful white hand and spread it tenderly out upon hisown--a hand that it had taken generations to fashion--made to command,yet knowing when to yield--modelled with exquisite lines of grace,goodness, courtesy, power--a hand of character, yet with delicateflushes of pink in finger tip and palm, with a touch as tender asstrong.

  "It is too hard for thee, Madre mia, away from thine old home," he saidtenderly. "There is room in the brig for thee to-morrow, if thou wilt:and Marco for thine escort."

  She shook her head: "It would be harder to live without my boy," shesaid resolutely. "Now think on sleep, of which thou hast need--and----"She half-framed the name of Margherita, yet would not utter it.

  He smiled at the wistful look in her face; for he understood. "Nay,Madre mia; such thoughts are not for me. I am a general in an aliencamp, with scarce wit enough for my tangled duty."

  Then he bent his knee, and kissed her hand, in knightly fashion of thetime, as doing her reverence, whom in his heart he loved, and lefther--a little comforted by his long confidential talk.

  But the Lady Beata stood for a while motionless where her son had lefther, before the long window that faced the splendid peristyle of thepalace. Between the great spaces of the columns she saw the Piazzabeyond them flooded with moonlight--white and still and absolutelydeserted. There were no human sounds save the monotonous tread of thesentinels pacing to and fro before the palace; and across the Piazza,those of the guard before the closed entrance of the Fortress ofFamagosta where their Queen and the infant Prince were in residence,echoed them back. From the Duomo San Nicolo shone the faint twilightglimmer of the tall candles that were ceaselessly burning about thetomb of Janus--each pale flame wafting a prayer for absolution from thebroken heart of the Queen, who before her illness had brought them dailywith her own hands: and far down upon the shore was dimly heard theceaseless flow of the waves, keeping rhythmic beat to the passingmoments in the mystery of the night.