The words of his Swan-Song had been chanted in full, rare, solemn harmony—the lutes in gracious melody accompanying, like an undertone of love—slow tears down dropping from the eyes of Margherita.
And one by one, as the chant proceeded, through her strange magnetic power, her listeners saw a knight step forth from the circle and drop to his knees, swearing fealty to the King and the Lord of Iblin, until all were kneeling. Then the chanting voices hushed and the rapid motions ceased: and under that spell they saw, as in a vision, luminous in the darkness, the kneeling knights of that early court of Cyprus, and in their midst, the gray-haired Joan of Iblin and the boyish monarch, in his young, rosy strength—a vision of love and loyalty!
Aluisi Bernardini breathed a sigh of content as he moved quickly away with a sense of his responsibility being shared; for it was only now that he felt that he knew Margherita, and she would be ever near the Queen, a Cypriote of the Cypriotes, but loyal to her heart's core. He could have kissed the hem of her trailing robe as it floated towards him, stirred by the motion of his passing—for in the maiden's tale she had revealed herself to him: it was not of her grace and talent, nor of the poem that he thought—but on the surety of her staunchness of soul—of her consecration: he heard her voice again ringing in the words:
"We are true men: be others untrue!"
XI
A Little page who had been leaning on the marble parapet beyond the terrace, came stealthily and beckoned to a comrade on the steps of the loggia.
"A troop of horse were coming across the plain," he explained in low, agitated tones, as the other reached his side, and followed him back to the post where he had been watching. "I saw them all the time Dama Margherita was reciting—Holy Mother, but it was long!—I thought the King was coming, and it was I that should carry the news to her Majesty—I came near crying out! But I could not see his orange plume, and I waited. They came slowly—Santissima Vergine! He was not there!"