He drew breath more freely for this gleam of comfort, as he gave the usual password.
But the guard was obdurate.
"It is not the password for this night, my Lord."
"I pray thee—I am cousin to Her Majesty, and must have speech with her."
"Eccellenza; by order of the castellan, none may pass, save those who give the word."
"Then call me hither the castellan."
"The password hath been given by the Chief of the Council of the Realm; and without it, the gates may not be opened," the castellan answered without preamble, when he appeared for an instant before the slide in the great gate—as quickly closed, though he had recognized a member of the Queen's family.
"Had his uncle known the password and forgotten to give it to him?" Marco questioned in some anxiety, as he made his way, baffled again, through the crowd in the Piazza, which was growing denser and more excited. "And if he had not known it——?"
He quickened his pace—his horse alert to obey his will, fretting with dilated nostril and pawing hoof at their frequent interruptions.
The citizens had gathered in force, but no one of them knew the cause of the commotion, and they were not immediately formidable in the midst of this armed body of knights and soldiers who kept secret council and obeyed the slightest word of their commanders. Marco searched their faces, as well as he might for the uncertain glare of the torches, but in vain. If he could but find General Visconti and his men, they might cut their way into the fortress—they, being Venetians, were surely loyal to the Queen!