It was the festa of San Triphilio, patron-saint of the city of Nikosia; the great church on the bluff beside the castle was filled with the sickly flames of paltry candles brought by the peasants from far and near. From the quaint tower on the castle-wall one might see them coming in little processions, winding through the forest that clothed the plains below—pausing on the banks of the stream Pedea, to gather water-bloom and rushes to scatter before the shrine of San Triphilio, in memory of the early days when the city had sprung from the marshes to stand—fair and firm upon the hillside above them, beautiful to behold—girt about with impregnable walls and gateways, guarded by its famous citadel, and fortified within by churches dedicated to many saints.

To-day the gates stood hospitably open, to welcome the people who came and went unchallenged through them, wearing their holiday faces and bearing their burden of bloom and green—lotus flowers for the altars, and rushes to scatter on the steps before them—pausing before they entered the sacred precincts to lave their hands in the 'Fountain of Ablution.'

It was truly a festa of the people, and the Cyprian peasants who were a gentle, superstitious, ignorant race, devoutly subject to their priests and trained to the letter of their religious rites, came in from the mountains and the neighboring villages in numbers but rarely seen in the city: a motley throng—yet no shepherd among them was too poor to wear the boot of dark-green leather reaching to the knee—the bodine roughly fashioned and tough enough to protect them from the bites of the serpents which infested the island.

Here and there some shepherd was leading with pardonable pride a sheep who gave a more than usual promise of fine wool, its extraordinary tail, bushy with soft long fleece, carefully spread out on the tiny cart to which it was harnessed for its own protection. It came, meek-eyed and wondering, if a little weary, to this festa of San Triphilio, to whom its first shearing would be vowed, as a special tribute to the saint and a talisman to shield the flocks upon the mountains.

The shepherd might draw himself away, perchance, with a mingling of caste-feeling and of superstition, from some poorer villager of the sect of the "Linobambaki"—a dark, unkempt figure, with his scarlet fez, his string of undressed poultry hanging from his shoulder, even on this day of festa when the saints give all good Christians holiday! But he, poor man, was neither Christian nor pagan—a wonder that the good Lord made him so!—(expressed with devout crossing and genuflexion)—and he would sell a fowl on a holiday for the asking and the few copper carcie that it would bring him, as though he were quite all Mussulman and not half Christian, as his contemptuous nickname signified—a mixture of royal linen and plebeian cotton! His touch might well defile the sacred sheep!

Here was a picturesque peasant-priest from the province of Ormidia, who had left his work in the fields and was moving among the crowd with a slow dignity of motion and the mien of some antique statue—with sheep-skin garments of no shape, nor fashion, nor color, to mark his date—his hair flowing in loose waves to the throat, from under the high, conical hat, his full curling beard and moustache obscuring the lines of the face and intensifying its impassiveness—only in the eyes, without curiosity, a mild look of question at the strangeness of the ways and sights of cities—such as some shepherd-god might wear,—reserving judgment.

To-day, also, some stray brother of the lower order of the Knights Hospitallers might be seen among the throng,—a white star, eight pointed on the breast of the black gown with which in early ages he had been invested by the Patriarch of Jerusalem: and near him some Crusader, with the red cross on his silver mail.

The burghers, too, were abroad in the arcades of the streets of Nikosia, gathering in groups before the Palazzo Reale which had been the residence of the kings of the island until Janus had removed his capital to Famagosta.

But Nikosia had always been a cradle of loyalty in spite of a floating population of strangers who came thronging to visit her monuments and palaces—to see the wonder of her merchandise gathered from the riches of her own fertile land—fruits and wines and silks and jewels, broideries of gold and silver wrought by her peasant women among their vines—exquisite vessels of beaten copper from the famous mines which had baptised this island of Cyprus. But there were carpets also from Persia, and fabulous Eastern stuffs—linens from Egypt, gossamer-fine; and carvings of ivory and gold, and drugs and spices from Arabia. There were slaves too—most fair to look upon—everything that might minister to the luxury of a great city, as there were churches, of many religions, and altars to many saints.

Suddenly a troop of horsemen dashed rapidly through the open gates and into the heart of the city among all the loitering holiday-wanderers, rousing them to instant strenuousness.

"There is news!" some one cried startled. "They have come to pause at the palace of the Vice-Roy. The leader is already within—he hath not waited for his gentlemen to announce him!"

"Aye, there is news:—may the Saints have mercy!" one of the burghers answered to the quick questions of the visitors from the hamlets. "And it is strange news, I wot—Heaven help us! For that was our own Seigneur, Pietro Davilla, new created a Knight of St. John, and gone but this morning, with all the gentlemen and squires of his household, to pay his homage—a leal Knight to Her Majesty. It must be some dread matter that hath chanced to turn him from such duty and purpose ere he could reach Famagosta."

"That was the Seigneur Davilla, on the black champing steed? one of the Councillors of the Realm?" a stranger asked.

"Aye, man; thou art in luck to see our Seigneur with all his bravery of men and horse! That was he who entered the palace of the Vice-Roy."

"And that other—all armed, with vizor down—the steed that bore him foaming with haste, as if his hoof had scarce touched ground?"

"I know not: but he weareth the colors of the Royal House. He hath the look of some spent herald. See, they summon him from within! It must be that he bringeth tidings from Famagosta. Pray Heaven it is well with Her Majesty!"

"And with our Prince!"

"Viva la Regina!"

"Heaven save the Queen and the Infant King!"

A tumult of vivas broke from the excited throng who were on edge with unquiet expectation.

And while they still waited watching the signs of commotion through the palace portals, they beguiled their impatience with bits of broken talk—strange surmises—asseverations of loyalty—distrust of the foreigners who filled important offices in the Government, especially of the Council of the Realm, which they looked upon with unconcealed displeasure. For they of Nikosia were desperately loyal and somewhat sore, withal, that King Janus had seen fit to remove the capital from their splendid city of Nikosia, which from the beginning of the Lusignan dynasty, had held this supremacy.

"For that Janus had captured Famagosta from Genoa, a feat of prowess for his youth—and so would make his boast on it—keeping it ever in mind," an elderly citizen explained to the crowd with a singular mingling of admiration and disapproval. "And mayhap he might have lived to learn more wisdom—may God have mercy on his soul!—if it had pleased His Majesty to dwell in our Palazzo Reale of Nikosia, where one may breathe the air of Heaven, instead of a pestiferous malaria from the marshes of Famagosta."

"It would be well that Her Majesty came hither to dwell," said one of the burghers eagerly; "and the Prince—because of the noisome air and water of Famagosta."

"Aye; and because of other things," interposed a stalwart man who had just issued from the palace of the Vice-Roy and joined the waiting throng. "That she may dwell among a loyal people and away from the Council of the Realm which one may not trust."

He spoke in tones of bitter wrath, startling the others by his hint of danger.

"How 'the Council of the Realm'?" another citizen questioned, astonished and half indignant. "Is not our Seigneur Pietro Davilla one of them?"

"Aye—he is one—but a noble of Nikosia—our loyal city. And because of his loyalty—lest he be thought one with their foul purposes—he hath returned in haste. I spoke with one of his gentlemen but now. Nay, bide your time." For the crowd turned upon him with an avalanche of ejaculations and questions: "it will be proclaimed from the Palazzo Reale."

"But, Stefano—the Council of the Realm?" one of his listeners persisted.

"There are too many foreigners in the Council: and that black-browed fiend of Naples is the worst of them!""Be not so daring, man! Hast thou no fear?" a stranger in the crowd exclaimed warningly; "we shall all be arrested for rebels."

"Fear!" a citizen echoed—"Santa Vergine! That was our Stefano!—thou knowest him not."

But Stefano was one who spoke when it pleased him: he deigned no reply, but fixed an intent gaze on the balcony of the palace, while the crowd fell to talk among themselves, still waiting eagerly for news.

Stefano Caduna, this man of the people, was, in truth an idol in Nikosia: rugged, commanding, with an air and tone of authority, the people looked to him for leadership. While they were speaking he moved quickly forward, the crowd making way for him at his quiet gesture—the strong hand, slightly raised.

"Pace!" he commanded, with a motion toward the palace of the Vice-Roy, and an instant hush fell upon the throng.

A band of knights, fully armed, came forth and stood before the palace portal, while their banner-bearers unrolled the standards of the Queen and the Prince—a challenge to the eager cries of loyalty which greeted them. Mounted messengers were dashing with orders up to the citadel and down to the city-gates. The Vice-Roy himself had come to the balcony above the portal and stood watching the messengers anxiously, as if he would speed them beyond their possible. Then he turned to the crowd of eager, upturned faces, now quieted once more, by an imperative motion from Stefano.

Mutio di Costanzo, Admiral of Cyprus and Vice-Roy of Nikosia, Lord of the city and fortress of Costanza, one of a long line of knights, was a gentleman of honor devoted to the Crown and a loyal friend to the Queen: he held the confidence of the people and deserved it well.

An inarticulate murmur of devotion stirred the crowd as he stood for a moment quite silent before them, too overcome by emotion to trust himself to speech. When he spoke, his voice was calm, far-reaching and authoritative.

"Citizens of Nikosia," he said, "I bring you black news of perfidy to our Queen and infant King."

He was interrupted by deafening cries of anger and alarm; but Stefano commanded silence.

"I know," the Admiral continued, his noble face a shade less stern, "that every heart and arm in Nikosia is hot for her defense."

And now Stefano let the passion of loyalty have sway. But the Admiral had more to say.

"The gates of the city will be instantly closed and closely guarded; no man will be allowed to enter who doth not declare for the Queen—who is captive in the Fortress of Famagosta."

The shock of the news held them dumb while they listened. "The Council of Nikosia will sit at once to discuss measures for her release; the forces of Nikosia and of the citadel will immediately report, fully armed. The traitors are Rizzo di Marin and others of the Council of the Realm who have insolently proclaimed Alfonso of Naples as Prince of Galilee and Heir to the Crown of Cyprus."

But now their voices came back to them, sputtering, uncontrolled; a babel of sounds arose, cries of loyalty—of fear—of indignation and wrath and fervor of affection—of hatred for the Council. Questionings, denunciations, curses that made one's hair stand on end—

Only for a moment.

Then the voice of the Admiral was heard again, stilling the chaos as by magic.

"Every man to his post. Let order prevail, for love of our Queen! We have stern work before us."

And below, among the people, Stefano Caduna boiling with suppressed anger, which deepened his voice to an ominous calm—as of the lull before an earthquake—saw that the orders of the Vice-Roy were instantly obeyed.

Stefano was in the very heart of the action in Nikosia during the days that followed; the people furious at the outrage to their Queen, swore that it should be people against nobles, if there were need, in her defense; and assembling in great numbers, at the house of Stefano, they chose a 'Council of the People' and made him its chief.

And well it was for the peace of Nikosia that Stefano was gifted with that rare power which marks some men for mediators in time of storm. He stood between the nobles and the people, trusted by both parties—a man of force and judgment—reticent, comprehending, swift to see his way and scorning subterfuge.

He it was who headed a delegation of the people to urge their petition that the Queen should be rescued with all speed and brought for safety within their walled and loyal city, and who rested not until the Vice-Roy with all his knights and all the forces that could be spared from the defense of Nikosia and of the citadel which they were holding for Her Majesty, had ridden forth to Famagosta.

Stefano commanded the guard at the gates of Nikosia—as also the force of the entire city, during the absence of the Vice-Roy: and he could be swerved nor fooled by no entreaties nor orders from any noble in the land. "No man entereth," he explained in that terrible cold iron voice of his, "save only he who sweareth to live and die in defense of Her Majesty."

He it was, also, who, waiting for no parleying, thundered a refusal to surrender the city to those who brought the demand from the Fortress of Famagosta, signed in trembling letters by the Queen's own hand, "Caterina Regina."

"Nay, but Her Majesty shall write the letters from her own palace—freely—that we, her loyal, servitors may know her will,—or ever we surrender her city of Nikosia." And so, sent back the envoys of Rizzo—foiled.

And when some days later, yet others came—a company of mounted noblemen, demanding entrance in the Queen's name to deliver her answer to the letter sent by the Council of the People from Nikosia and to take their oath of loyalty—Stefano, still unbelieving, not knowing how it fared in Famagosta, gave his unvarying answer:

"No man entereth, save only he who sweareth to live and die in the Queen's defense.""We are content to swear," they answered him.

But still he gave no order to open the gates, but rode forth himself with the captains of the Council of the People, fully armed, to meet them, dismounting as they approached and offering all courteous salutations of the time—yet with reluctant speech—fearing to grant unwise credence, lest this should be some new perfidy.

"Think not to deceive us with fair words," said Stefano, "who hold this city for our Queen; but if with most solemn oath ye swear to live and die in her defense, we make you welcome."

"On most fair honor of a Knight," they answered him, "in the name of San Giovanni!"

"Call hither the Chaplain with the Holy Book!" said Stefano.

And so without the city, Stefano Caduna, man of the people, received the most solemn oath of these knights and nobles, envoys of the Queen, bareheaded and on bended knee before him, ere he would consent to unbar the gates of Nikosia to receive Her Majesty's own messengers.