"Let every traitor crave mercy!" the Admiral thundered as he crossed the drawbridge with his cavalcade: "and on your knees crave pardon of your outraged Queen as we descend."
"Signori!"—to the Knights of the Golden Spurs—"await us here—none less loyal may stand on guard."
To-day the entire armament of the fortress was less than of wont; for Rizzo and Tripoli, secure in their victory and confident that there would be no uprising since none had yet been attempted, had not hesitated to take a considerable following with them to secure the surrender of the other citadels of Cyprus "by order of the Queen." For was not Rizzo the happy holder of many pretty bits of parchment signed by the hand of "Caterina Regina" herself and attested by the royal signet of Cyprus—which to disobey was treason? It would be a pretty farce to insist upon the potency of that trembling signature wrested from the captive Queen when she had worn no semblance of power—a farce to which the Neapolitan schemer was fully equal.
None but a man who knew the famous stronghold of Famagosta so intimately as did the Admiral of Cyprus could thus quickly have made sure that the surrender was complete and that no secret reserves of men and arms were kept back for further intrigues. To swear in those who would stand for Cyprus—to banish the mercenaries of Naples and all who were in sympathy with them to the dungeons below—to make sure of the color of the guards at port and passage—was not so much longer in the doing than in the telling.
And yet, to the young Queen and Margherita the moments had seemed hours: they stood close together; straining every faculty to interpret the meaning of the commotion below, within the fortress, alternating between hope and fear as, at intervals, the cries of the people reached them from the piazza, indistinct and broken by the thickness of the walls; now and again a fierce imprecation rising above the tumult—yet surely there were tones of loyalty—voices calling for "Caterina Regina!"
Caterina's strength was well-nigh spent—she had suffered so much; she caught the hand of Margherita in agitation as the tramp of footsteps echoed through the corridor nearing the door of her chamber, and Margherita laid her other hand on Caterina's with an almost maternal tenderness, from the great pity within her.
"Beloved Lady!" she cried reassuringly; "they bring us glad tidings."
For she read it in their faces as the Bernardini and Mutio di Costanzo knelt in the low doorway to offer their homage.
But the young Queen seemed to tremble between life and death as she stretched forth her arms to them with a low wail that almost unnerved those strong faithful men.