The pageant had been brilliant, as one may read in the chronicles of the time.

Even the Queen of the Adriatic, in all her pride, could offer little to surpass the splendor of this great esplanade by the sea where the review had been held. The pavement of costly mosaic stretched along the coast, guarded by the lofty tower which jutted out upon the sea; while the other side of this unusual piazza was dominated by the famous Citadel which climbed the steep acclivity with intricate windings of crenellated walls, dotted with sentry towers where banners were floating. In that clear atmosphere distance was not appreciable, and the castellated slopes seemed to lead up to the highest peak of the TroÖdos, whose snow-crowned summit flashed its crystal against the deep blue of the Cyprian sky.

The massive walls of modern Famagosta skirted the esplanade, and above their mighty bulwark rose the domes and pinnacles of her palaces and churches—a city of delight. There were strange monuments breaking the sky-line; there were statues and fountains gleaming in the sunlight; there were hedges of rose and myrtle outlining the terraced gardens on the hill-slopes, where rioted all manner of fruits and bloom: back of them the vineyards of Varoschia—lemons, burning like topaz against the dark thatch of their glossy leaves, and near them the thin gray of the olive-trees, outlining with pale shadow the forests that spread to the mountains.Vast vases of stone looked down from the heights in grotesque shapes—serpents coiled, thrusting out their tongues tipped with rubies, with glaring emeralds for eyes: and below them, deep cut in the living rock and blazoned so that one might read them from afar, the arms of the kingdom—as if sacred pythons, terrible and fierce, kept watch above the harbor for the honor of the realm.

And far off, against that wonderful mountain background, a colossal marble lion stood guard over the ruins of the city that slept upon the coast below—with demoniac, fiery eyes of flashing jewels, striking terror to the souls of mariners who might have wandered with sacrilegious feet among those crumbling tombs and temples in search of buried treasure.

For this buried city on the coast was the ancient city of Salamis, and famed for her magnificence—the Famagosta Vecchia which had furnished many a stately column and intricately wrought carving to enrich the modern city to which Janus had transferred the capital of his kingdom. Half-buried fragments of palaces and tombs and temples reached far along the coast, giving the touch of pathos and historic interest: and about them swept the broken circles of the splendid aqueduct which, in the days long past, had gathered the waters of the mountain streams to furnish the countless fountains and cisterns of Salamis. Great palms had sprung up in the fissures of the massive, grass-grown arches, and vines trailed draperies of beauty over their decay—and so they stood, a monument to the past, challenging the dwellers of the modern city to a labor so needful for the public weal.The port was gay with trading ships and colors of many lands; but Mutio di Costanzo studied it with frowning brows, noting only the absence of his own galleys of Cyprus, which lay, unmanned in the dock-yards by order of King Janus the Second! And before them, where he turned his gaze, still frowning, on the silver of the sea rode the galleys of the fleet of Venice—decked with the banners of San Marco and of Cyprus.

Caterina, under her canopy, with all her court about her in fullest state, had received the homage of the people, as she passed her forces in review, her cheek tingling with honest pleasure at their enthusiastic greeting. The little Prince had been beside her, crowing his delight at the music, the motion, the noise, the color, in most unkingly fashion, quite unconscious that the storied jewel of his realm—the great ruby that Peter the Valiant had received as the tribute of a conquered Eastern city, glittering in the lace of his infant-cap, by way of royal insignia—demanded a regal bearing.

The presentation to the Mocenigo of the golden shield, richly inlaid with the arms of Cyprus, had made a pretty scenic episode, quite worthy of dramatic Venice.

For Mutio di Costanzo also, and for the Bernardini, there had been demonstrations, as Dama Ecciva had foretold: but the Lady Margherita de Iblin had noticed with uneasiness, that whereas it was a time when the people, high and low, should have assembled to testify their loyalty and affection, the crowd was chiefly composed of burghers and peasants from the hamlets in city neighborhoods, and that many of the old Cyprian nobles with their tenantry were conspicuously absent. And since the death of Janus, some of those who had formerly been in attendance at court, had rarely shown themselves there.

Dama Margherita spoke of this afterwards to the Admiral, for he had asked for some private conversation with her in her boudoir, when the ceremonies should be over.

"What mean these absences?" she asked, when they had bemoaned the situation.

"Venice is feared, not loved," he answered her.

But she was unwilling to confess that she understood him, having a pride in her land and love for her Queen.

"Pardon, your Excellency," she said, "we were speaking of Cyprus."

He passed the interruption by as unworthy, being greatly in earnest.

"And the Queen—a very lovely young woman—is a mere figurehead—a pawn to be moved at the discretion of the higher powers."

"Then, my Lord, it should be seen to that she hath a Council competent to advise," the Lady Margherita retorted with ready indignation, "instead of a horde of traitors."

Her voice took on a higher key in her excitement, and the Admiral laid his hand lightly on her arm to quiet her.

"Dear Dama Margherita," he said, "we have been in conference with His Excellency the Signor Mocenigo—a very remarkable mind—and the Provveditore Vettore Soranzo; and the vacancies in Her Majesty's Council have been filled with men, whom may Heaven keep more loyal!—But why did not the Counts of the Chamber rise up in eager demonstration of interest to put their best men in those vacant seats? And why—are we quite safe to discuss it here?—why did we—having her interests at heart—not dare to ask the great nobles whom we wished to reach, to take those places?"

"It is because of Janus, who hath been heedless and unfair?" she asked reflecting. "For verily the people love the Queen."

"Let us not deceive ourselves out of our very loyalty. The citizens and the nearer peasants hold her in love and reverence: but those of the larger casals and fiefs—the ancient nobles, have the power; and few of these are in her court. I would it were otherwise."

"It is something, your Excellency, to have won the love of the simpler folk as no Queen of this land hath ever done before," the Lady Margherita said staunchly.

"It is something, but not all," he answered; "the nobles are as much to be taken into consideration as the poorer classes. It is not all," he repeated with emphasis. "One may win from sympathy—but one must rule a kingdom by power. And the Queen—God help her!—is a charming child."

"My Lord!"

"A charming child—with a heart developed and matured like a saint; but with a mind untrained to intrigue, unsuspicious of jealousies, unconscious of any injustice wrought by her husband, not apt to comprehend, perhaps, any grievance of the nobles——""May we not help her?" Dama Margherita interrupted eagerly. "She would give back the fiefs if she knew that they had been misplaced—that any right had been violated. And now—after these confiscations——"

"Aye, there are more lands to satisfy their demands, it is true. But in their pride they might refuse—let her not wonder at it, nor cease from her courtesies. The nobles are rather sullen than overt in their discontent. They do not want Venetian galleys in their waters—though they must welcome them—nor to do homage to a Venetian for the gift of their own lands. And the restoration is less simple than was the confiscation. For temporary lords have been created and these remain to be reckoned with—even if the will were there."

"I am sure, your Excellency, that the will would not be lacking if this matter were understood; for Her Majesty is fair and generous, and eager to do all her duty by her people. It is of them, and never of herself, that her heart is full."

The old Knight looked at her with kindling eyes as he raised her hand to his lips with the gallantry of the time; yet retaining it in his own and petting it in fatherly fashion, for she had been his daughter's friend from childhood.

"Dear Margherita," he said with emotion, "it is well for our dear Queen that thou art so loyal; and well for our distraught land that thou shouldst be near her." He kissed her hand again as he released it. "I spoke but to try thee, my child. If there are those near her whom we may not trust—it is not thou: I know that a de Iblin could not be disloyal."

"To try me—my Lord——! Me!"

She had drawn away from him, wounded and disdainful, her voice thrilling with anger.

But he answered her quietly and sorrowfully. "Could I risk any hurt to thee, cara Dama Margherita, if duty of plainest speech were not imperative? I trust thee wholly—how else could I speak thus with thee? I have never for a moment doubted thee; yet one might doubt one's own loyalty in this court of Cyprus—where, it is told me, there is a most subtle intriguer who seeketh to do thee harm."

"So it be not those whose esteem is dear to me," she answered wearily, still smarting from the hurt, "what matters it?"

"My child," he pleaded, "if it had not been needful, I should not have told thee; nor told thee thus, but that I wished to see if any suspicion of this had dawned upon thee. But thou, like the Queen, art too noble to soil thy soul with distrust. Yet, bethink thee, for her sake, if there be any within this circle—however fairly spoken—who may be intriguing against thee, yet seeking in secret to disaffect the court in favor of some other claimant."

"Who brought your Excellency this tale?" she asked; "since all may not be trusted?" Her tone was a challenge, and she moved towards the door to close the interview, but the Admiral would not follow.

"Put by thine indignation, Margherita," he answered patiently, "for I have told thee as I would tell my own Alicia, if danger threatened—if somewhat overclumsily it seemeth to a maiden's fancy. It was told me, in confidence, by one of judgment and most loyal honor, whose name I may not reveal, and who besought me that I should warn thee—thee, Margherita—who knew thy loyalty staunch as his own."

A slow, pale flush grew on the girl's proud cheek as she listened and her eyes took on a strange light.

"What matters it, my Lord," she said again, "to me, if I have thy trust and—and—that of all men of honor! Forgive the temper of my house!" She stretched out her hand to him.

"So thou but know when to curb it," he answered smiling, "it is thy strength and our pride. And now—as to this other?"

"My Lord, I do not know"—but she paused suddenly.

"It is well," he said watching her, "for I may name no names—but thou art on thy guard. She was named to me as very fair—subtle—charming—of an ancient house of Cyprus—we have named no names. Let no confidences escape thee in her presence: but we have no knowledge yet of any traitorous intent that might excuse her dismissal from Court; and if it be but petty, personal jealousy"—again Margherita had flushed unwontedly—"for a mere jealousy, one may not insult a noble, ancient house. It is not known if her sympathy be with Naples, or with Carlotta."

"Your Excellency shall know if aught be discovered that should be told," Margherita promised. "But the matter is difficult."

"As to Her Majesty," the Admiral continued lowering his voice still further, "it hath been found needful to guard her interests, and the Signor Bernardini hath been named to the Council—a most excellent gentleman—if he were not of Venice. I would have had another of our Cyprian nobles, because of this jealousy of Venice. But they have kept themselves so much from court that we have not seen their color; and we dare not trifle with them, for the time is critical."

"Why not thou—Eccellentissimo?"

"Nay; I may keep a wider outlook on the interests of the kingdom without the Council. The city of Nikosia shall stand for her; the trading interests are to watch; the fleets must be re-manned; these intrigues must be thwarted. I outside the court, and thou within, very closely within—as near to the heart of the Queen as she will let thee—we shall work and help her, for her task is not light. She swore her oath of office to me, and I to her gave mine, as solemnly—to help her with my life. It is a heavy load for such tender hands to lift:—a question if one may conquer wile with innocency—yet the strife is noble."

"What may be done to help her?" Dama Margherita questioned, heavy-hearted. "What is my part? It is not only the scandal of watching against intrigue."

"That is no scandal to loyal service: and such her very trust and goodness do demand. But there is more: out of thy fuller knowledge of the Cyprian temper—thy comprehension of their grievances—thy loyal Cyprian pride—thy staunchness to the House of Lusignan—make thyself charming to these great Cyprian nobles; help the Queen to see the need of their conciliation, and stoop a little from thy loftiness to win it for them. To two such women, the impossible is easy. I leave thee now."

"Is there no more?" she asked.

"Nay:—or it is a trifle. If they have found the court a little over-dull, of late, blame them not over-much: the need for gayety and splendor is in their blood—more than in ours of Sicily—more even than in that of Venice—which hath greater gravity. I have spoken with Madama di ThÉnouris and the Lady of the Bernardini; but Madama di ThÉnouris hath better understanding of the Cyprian temper, its need of excitement—half barbaric—its impatience with a tone of gloom; the tourneys, the tennis, the hunt, all that bringeth life—let the court be charming again with jewels and color. Too great gravity is not wise."

"Yet to-day, your Excellency, if there were no lack of brilliancy—how many were not there to see!"

"It is the beginning only," he said; "let it not be the end. Great issues have been changed by such trifles."

"Must there be no more than trifles?" she asked, detaining him, dissatisfied.

He looked at her, uncertain whether it were wise to speak further.

"Tell no one that they are trifles: but listen," he said. "It will take strength, and patience, and wisdom and cunning and grace to rule this people. Shall we ask all this of any woman?" He dwelt upon the words with weighty enunciation."Or of any man?" she answered, half-mocking at the demand. "And if he were really a man, and not a god—and if one might choose one's King——"

He shook his head slowly in response. "Our paragon might not be found in the House of Lusignan, perchance. But surely he would not be a Louis of Savoy—nor a Ferdinand of Naples—no more than a Carlotta. Nor any Cyprian noble who hath eyes upon the Crown."

"Not this, also!" she cried, startled; "not this!"

"So rumor hath it; but none is strong enough. It frets me not. I have but told thee since thou art on guard."

"Is there a remedy?" she asked despondent.

"It is not hopeless. The Ministers must rule the land. We must choose our men and bide our time. Our Queen, by her grace, shall win the people's hearts: and all may be well."

"And the little Prince—under her training?—For she will teach him love and justice. She hath vowed him to the service of his land."

"Aye, he is our hope. We must guard her kingdom for him."

Then suddenly his face flamed with wrath. "This Council of the Realm were arch-traitors!" he said fiercely, "and to think that they escaped death!—Wresting power for their own ends—taking no concern for Cyprian interests—they 'forget' the tribute which assures to Cyprus the support of our Suzerain, and wait for Venice to come with careful inquiry to set such failures right! But what cared they whether the provisions of a solemn treaty were kept or broken? They had no thought of honor—they wanted power to overturn the throne—not to uphold it.—The masterful meanness of such creatures is beyond comprehension!"

"It doth unman me!" he said apologetically to Margherita, after this unusual outburst, for Mutio di Costanzo was a man of few words; then,

"Madama di ThÉnouris is of our private council," he added, to her immense relief, as he left her.

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