"'Rations,' and 'pay,'" Cornaro answered scornfully, "to rouse the city and 'put it down'—at dead of night!"
"Aye: since they chose this time for their own deed of darkness, we men-at-arms may not be dainty about the hour of retribution."
"The Queen—my niece," said Andrea, taking a sudden resolution and throwing the reins across his horse's neck; "I will first go to her. Later I wait thy pleasure, Signor Rizzo; on the ramparts, or where thou wilt.—This is no lightsome night for a woman—a mere girl."
"'A woman'—'a mere girl'!"—the Chief of Council began tauntingly.
Cornaro's hand was upon his sword.
"Scusi!" Rizzo said, suavely, being not yet ready for the break. "I meant no disrespect—but she is young to rule. If thou wilt take thy horse, we will first seek the Queen, who would speak with thee. Nay—not by that court—the winding mount is quieter."
The Count of Tripoli and his companions had already left them and passed into the first court, in eager converse; but Cornaro was scarcely in the saddle before a sudden great uproar in the streets of the city beyond the fort arrested them. Cries, as of many men in concert, proclaiming Alfonso, son of Ferdinand of Naples, Prince of Galilee and Heir to the Crown of Cyprus—"by order of the Council of the Realm:" deafening shouts and threats of the citizens, protesting:—sounds of clashes of arms, terrorizing the people:—the sudden crash of the alarum bell, bursting forth anew to drown their protests:—
Then again the traitorous cries, passing off through the more distant streets of the city:
"Viva Alfonso—Prince of Galilee and Heir to the Crown of Cyprus!"
"What meaneth this insolence!" Cornaro cried, white with passion and instantly drawing his sword.