The Venetian Admiral Mocenigo, god-father to the little prince, had followed close upon the coming of Vettore Soranzo, and they had lost no time in examining into the causes of the difficulties and in fixing the responsibility for the treachery where it belonged: disloyal officers were replaced by men in sympathy with the government, men of weight and character were sought for to fill the vacancies in the Council of the Realm, and it seemed that days of sunshine were dawning for Caterina, guarded by the affection of her people and the invincible arm of Venice.

These Venetian nobles would have made short work in meting out justice to those chiefs who had been the instigators of the conspiracy, but as yet they had eluded the search; though it was rumored that Saplana, the Turkish commander of the Fortress of Famagosta, with his nephew Almerico to whom the conspirators would assign control of the castle of Cerines,—had been in hiding in the palace of the Archbishop. And a tale was brought to Bernardini by a group of agitated peasants from the hamlet of Varoschia, that at early dawn a man fully armed, with the semblance of Rizzo—"not an apparition, Signore sa—but how could one know the face of him with his vizor down?—was riding like the wind to Famagosta, and with him a multitude of horsemen, coming very silently. We saw them from the vineyards high up on the hillside. And then—quite suddenly—we looked and they were gone—they came no more—by San NicolÒ and the Holy Madonna, it is true!"

Significant gestures gave a certain mysterious color to the peasant's tale; but whatever its truth, it was actually known that Rizzo and other of the conspirators had been seen in the neighborhood of Nikosia; and the whereabouts of these intriguers was a topic of absorbing interest, for it was felt that the sunshine would be clearer when Rizzo with his accomplices should have been found and made to suffer the full penalty of their crime.

Rizzo and Fabrici had been absent at the time of the uprising of the citizens of Famagosta, and the wolf-like courage of the Chief-of-Council was on the wane: for the letters of the Queen had not proved the passport he had expected toward the surrender of the Cyprian strongholds to a traitor: since more than one of the Commanders had been found so staunch in loyalty as to question the validity of the royal signature.

When all had gone so well at first, these failures were exasperating to a man of Rizzo's temper—the more so that the little Queen had refused to prepare another letter of dismissal required of her; and Rizzo, the stronger in wrath and insolence because his faith in his star was somewhat less, had set forth himself to enforce the investiture of Almerico as Commander of Cerines—the castle to which he had been refused admittance on the morning of the uprising in Famagosta.

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Venice, meanwhile, with her faculty for establishing confidence and settling all things in order, having brought back the smiles of the Court, had suggested the wisdom of relieving the strain and tickling the fancy of the people by some pageant. There was to be a grand review of the troops in the Piazza on the esplanade, in the presence of the Queen and the infant Prince, at which the presentation by Her Majesty to the Admiral Mocenigo of a golden shield, magnificently wrought with the arms of Cyprus, would diplomatically suggest the important rÖle that Venice had played in the re-establishment of the Government.

Dama Ecciva was in her element again, now that something had happened to scatter the unendurable dulness, and each day brought some new matter for discussion.

"Hast heard, EloisÀ, how that this new Council to Her Majesty hath captured the Secretary of His Reverence the Archbishop? and they thought to hang him for his master's treachery and his own; and then, because he promised to confess to save his life, he is in the Castle instead. And there were revelations!—and intrigues!—verily a Reverendissimo!"

"Name him not to me; I have no patience!"

"Thou hast never patience when I bring thee news: and it is tiresome of thee, for one must talk, or die of ennui in this court!"

"Then let it be of something better." EloisÀ answered in a tone which showed her distaste of the subject.

"Choose thou—since one can never know thy whim. Shall it be of that famous Saplana who runneth away to put himself in hiding;—for fear—verily for fear—the Commander of Famagosta! afraid to die like a man! A comedy!—one might laugh if it were less craven."

"One knoweth not if he be in hiding, since he is not found; he may be a traitor, yet not a coward too."

"Yes, one knoweth, bella Contarini mia: did I not promise thee news? And thou wilt never guess it."

"It was our Admiral Mocenigo who found him?" EloisÀ asked eagerly.

"Nay; not 'our Admiral Mocenigo';" the other answered lingering on the name with a fine mimicry of her tone; "not thine nor mine. Thou hast a foolish way with thee of mine and thine, as if all that came from Venice were held close to thy little heart.—How goes it with thy handsome Signor Bernardini?"

"Oh, Ecciva! The Chamberlain of the Queen! how darest thou? Thou art over free with thy foolish speech."

"Nay, little timid maid; it is thou who art foolish not to see—not to see——. Ah, well, he is but a man for all he is Venetian; and thou—thou art a child and hast no eyes."

"What meanest thou, Ecciva? Nay, thou shalt tell me." She caught her companion's hand as Ecciva made a feint of turning away.

"So——; now there is something found that doth not tax thy fickle patience, since we speak of the splendid Bernardini! Thou hast ever thine adoration ready for a Venetian."

EloisÀ flushed indignantly, but she answered staunchly: "Not only I—but every one who loveth what is noble. Thou knowest, Ecciva, the Court is full of his praises."

"Aye, is it, my little one? As well it may be! Then what harm that I should sing them too? Verily, I think he is noble beyond all others;" her taunting tone became suddenly earnest. "And this I came to tell thee."

"This is not news," the other answered coldly, having found it difficult to keep the pace of Ecciva's changing admirations, for the Cyprian maiden was easily captured by any demonstration of power; "and thou camest to bring me news."

"Hast ever thought that the Chamberlain of the Queen would woo a bride?" Dama Ecciva asked lightly, but unconsciously opening and closing her slender henna-stained fingers, straining them into the soft palms with strenuous motions, while she waited for her companion's reply.

"If I knew his secrets or dreamed them, I would not tell thee—being his friend," EloisÀ exclaimed indignantly, "such talk ill befitteth the dignity of Her Majesty's maids of honor. What is thy news?"

Ecciva came closer and laid one hand on EloisÀ's wrist, tightening her clasp while she spoke in low, slow, insinuating tones—holding her with her strange gaze.

"This is no news to thee—that I—that I——? Tell me EloisÀ, dost thou not see?"

The Venetian turned from her uneasily.

"Thou hast shewn me nothing with all thy talk of the Bernardini;" she spoke the name unwillingly, Ecciva seemed to force her to continue the theme, and it was with difficulty that she could withdraw her hand from the Grecian maiden's sinuous clasp. "Let us talk no more; for thou hast no news of real matter."

"Not of the Bernardini, since thou wilt not hear it. But how if I knew of a bride for him?"

"I think he would not ask of whom thou speakest!" EloisÀ tried to laugh and shake off the spell. "I will listen no more, Ecciva."

But the other paid no heed. "How if I knew of a bride for him?" she repeated; "of a most ancient house of Cyprus; noble enough to mate with him—for out of it came one of the queens of the land——. And if—and if she would not say him nay!—How then, Carina? For thou, 'being his friend,' wouldst wish to see him win such favor——?"

"It is not the Dama Margherita de Iblin," EloisÀ asked with sudden eager interest.

"The Lady Margherita!" Ecciva echoed with a scornful toss of her head. "Doth one seek a bride no longer young when one is a man like that? Nor—nor beautiful?—She is not beautiful!"

"She is more rare than beautiful," EloisÀ retorted, piqued. "For she is noble, like the Signor Bernardini: and her face is like her soul."

"They should not trust their secrets to so young a maid!" the Lady Ecciva cried tauntingly.

She had suddenly flushed and grown pale again. Then a new thought came to her. "But she also is a Dama di Maridaggio—she also. Thou mightest tell that for a bit of gossip to the Queen, who, perchance, hath influence with the Signor Bernardini." She had laid her hand again on EloisÀ's, with an insistent touch.

"Why dost thou say, she also?"

"That is for thy puzzle—to amuse thee, carinissima; for verily thy brain is dull. It is no wonder with the gravity of this court! But happily to-morrow—thou shalt see to-morrow how the people shout to him, for Cyprus doth owe him honor—and Her Majesty more than life. It is the Bernardini who hath done it all—more than the Soranzo, or the Mocenigo—more even than our great Admiral of Cyprus. Thou shalt see!"

EloisÀ fell easily into praises of her hero, and her tongue was unsealed. "To go at night, with only a poor fishing-skiff and a handful of men, to steal back the little king from the galley of Naples—it was not easy! But how should one think of peril when the Prince was in danger?—They are both like that—he and she."

"All knights are like that, or they would be craven: that was no honor to him. But what woman went with him from the palace? I watched them going; it was a night like some great poem!"

"That was our dear Lady of the Bernardini; lest the Prince should be strange without some loving face about him, and none can smile him into quiet, as she with her gracious ways; and they feared a sound, for the galley lay close under the fortress. So quietly they went, along the shore, lingering where the nets are thrown by the shallows, to take the galley by surprise—the Lady of the Bernardini shrouded in the mantle of a fisher-woman.""And after?—When they had found him? For it was not told where they hid the child—or I heard it not."

"Yes—now it may be known; thanks be to our Mater Sanctissima!" EloisÀ answered devoutly. "They floated about in the fishing skiff until they reached the private galley of the Signor Bernardini—so far around the coast that it would be safe for the Prince. And of the peril, the Lady of the Bernardini had no thought. The galley of His Excellency was dark and with no sign of action, yet it had been manned for a cruise the night before the treason—the poor Signor Bembo was to have gone therein"—her voice faltered and they both crossed themselves, the horror of that night was still so new.

"The crew were hidden within it," she continued after a moment's pause, "and if there had been pursuit, it would have started swiftly for Venice, to put the Prince in safety."

"How came this tale to thee?" Dama Ecciva asked with a sudden twinge of jealousy—"we both being of the court?"

"Nay, nay, Ecciva," EloisÀ pleaded; "we both are here to do our duty, and in time of peril—thou knowest well—one may not ask counsel on the house-tops; and this was for life or death. How might they hope to surprise the galley of Naples, if it has been told to all the Court?"

"Thou, then?"

"Listen, Ecciva! Since it is past, thou shalt see how they are noble, this Mother and her son! They left with me that night a message for the dear Queen whom they might not reach with speech, to spare her greater anguish, if they came not back. For, oh my God, how she hath suffered!"

"It is yet more a poem," Ecciva exclaimed, stirred by the hope of further romance, and already half ashamed that she had shown her momentary feeling of jealousy. "The message—tell it!"

"'If we come not back, thou wilt tell our beloved Lady that we have sought to wrest the child from the galley of Naples; for rumor hath it that he is hidden there. And if he be there, we will bring him, or give our lives to save him. Tell her our galley waiteth far, to take the Prince to Venice if, from pursuit, there should be need to fly.'

"But—listen Ecciva—they said, 'if we come not again, and our galley should be found waiting on the coast, then tell her that our lives were little to express our love; and she shall not mourn that we have given them for her and for her child.'—Oh, Ecciva!" she ended with a long sigh of adoring appreciation.

Ecciva broke the tension with her exclamation: "No, Contarini mia, all knights are not like that: I said it but to tease thee. Tell it to the Dama Margherita with a face like that, and she will make it a second 'Kypria,' for she hath, verily the gift. I have not such a tale of knighthood to tell thee: yet, if thou carest for my tidings they would make a canto for the new Kypria of the Dama Margherita, in contrast to thine. And first of the traitor Saplana—of whom there is news."

EloisÀ greeted the tidings with an exclamation of relief.

"He—and the precious group of noble villains—or of villain nobles—one's tongue takes twist in talking trash—the more when it is true; a precious group of traitors, all on the wild seashore—how the Dama Margherita would bring out the booming of the waves! These doughty villains fleeing because, forsooth, they feared the fleet of Venice!—tossing their reins on the necks of the steeds that brought them, and leaving them to wander at their will. A little gold and their arms and bucklers in the fishing skiff that brought them to the galley of the noble Ferdinand—the goodly King of Naples,—his well-beloved son, Alfonso, wore not for long the title of the 'Prince of Galilee!'—Is it a pretty tale for the poem of the Margherita? The tale of the fleeing villains!"

"But who went with the Commander?—Which others?"

"There was the nephew, Almerico—much in temper because thy noble uncle the Contarini would not yield up to his traitorous care the Castle of Cerines for the signature forced from the Queen. There was Fabrici—the very Reverend, the Primate of Cyprus. And then—and then—not last, but first, and deepest and darkest traitor of them all—the very darkest villain of them all—there was Rizzo!"

"Ecciva! Not Rizzo!—the land is free of him!"

"Aye, Rizzo, child. Did I tell thee I had news? And for their absences may Heaven be praised!—though, truly, they have deserved worse."

"They have deserved death," said EloisÀ solemnly: "death between the columns of the Piazzetta—death and confiscation."

"So, my Venetian, thou never wilt remember that we are Cyprians! The drama of confiscation will surely follow upon their deserts, and there will be fiefs the more for their Cyprian betters. But as for death—'death between the columns'—I could almost be glad that Rizzo hath escaped. How shall one not admire the masterful scheming of the man, and the insolence and power of him?—he is fairly great in wile.—Have I not told thee news enough, and of a quality to make thy hair stand on end—the comely hair of a most decorous young Venetian maid?—and thou hast never a word of admiration. Verily, thou art tiresome!"

"It is so terrible, Ecciva: I cannot jest, nor gloat on it for news."

"There, there, sweet child!" Ecciva had slipped easily back into her old, mocking, taunting way—"go look out thy tire for the morrow and try on thy jewels, for the pageant will be fine: and, do thy best, I shall outshine thee—thee and the Dama Margherita! One pageant in six months of woe—it is not over much."

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