Chapter Fifty-two

 

 

Oh, Duxia!

 

 

Handel immediately attempted to have Mala and Duxia moved into the infirmary when they got to the Canossa fortress, but it was filled to overflowing with wounded. Handel told the story of the frozen pass and Mathilda had them moved into private quarters within Huntsman’s Hall, the grand complex where feasts were held and dignitaries were entertained.

“You’ll be far more comfortable here,” Mathilda said to the two women as they lay within large beds finely furnished with plush quilts and elegant coverings, “and enjoy much more privacy as you recover. My servants will take care of your needs and I’ll have the infirmarians check on you daily.”

Touched by this, Mala sat up in her bed and extended her hand to Mathilda. As Mathilda’s hand met hers, Mala kissed it. “You are generous beyond Heaven itself,” she said, on the verge of tears.

“Those who have much should give much,” Mathilda replied. Then she looked at Handel and said, “The two bodies strapped to the wagon you mentioned, we shall hold a short service for their departed souls tomorrow morning in the cathedral. Cardinal Odo is still here so I will ask him to make arrangements. Afterwards, we will hold a burial ceremony in the cemetery.”

“Ah, I didn’t realize the Cardinal was here,” said Handel. “What an honor it will be to have the most respected Cardinal of all Christendom give the final benediction.”

“Yes, Cardinal Odo arrived two weeks ago for a strategy meeting with General Padule and me. Guillaume and Tristan were here briefly also, but Guillaume had to return to Montelucio and the Cardinal sent Tristan south to meet with the Normans.”

As the Countess uttered the name “Tristan”, Mala gave a start. Duxia saw this and quickly shot Mala a glance and placed a finger to her mouth. Say nothing, the gesture said.

“Yes,” Mathilda continued, “Tristan is such a skilled diplomat for one so young. I am so proud of him, and of Guillaume as well. Such exceptional nephews, both of them.” Then, as she led Handel to the door she said, “Ladies, I shall say a special prayer tonight for your swift recovery.” Turning, she settled her eyes upon Mala and added, “And in the morning, my poor dear, we shall bless and bury your unfortunate child and husband.”

“Thank you, Countess,” interrupted Duxia. “I pray this is not asking too much, but my niece Mala and I would wish to attend the funeral services in the morning. Would that be at all possible?”

Mathilda thought a moment. “Yes, certainly. We could carry you on litters to the cathedral, then on to the gravesite.”

“One final thing, Countess,” Duxia added quickly. “After the funeral, would it be possible for Mala and me to have a private audience with you here in this room?”

“Yes, of course. I shall be happy to speak with you after the funeral.”

“I heard you say that Cardinal Odo de Lagery is present here within the fortress, Countess. Would it be possible for him to attend also?”

Mathilda tilted her head, puzzled, then looked at Handel. “Indeed, I shall inquire,” she replied. “I cannot imagine that he would object.”

The moment Mathilda and Handel left the room, Duxia looked across at Mala and said, “Henceforth I am your aunt, understand?”

“But...”

“No buts, Mala. Being an aunt to those two boys obviously means something to the Countess, so she will understand my auntly relationship to you, which will in turn work in our favor.”

“Duxia, she believes Fernando to be my husband.”

“Yes, probably that man Handel assumed such a thing finding Fernando in the wagon and passed it along to her. We will clarify everything in the morning when we speak to her and the Cardinal in private.”

“I’m a bit confused about this meeting you requested, Duxia. What exactly am I to say?”

“V-e-r-y little, Dear. Allow me to do the talking. I will lay everything out, and if it becomes necessary for you to speak, keep an eye to me. I’ll nod one way or another. Mala, I saw how you reacted to her mention of Tristan. For God’s sake, Girl, I think you still love that bastard despite all the hell he’s dragged us both through! You better think long and hard during the funeral in the morning. And when they throw that frozen earth over Fernando’s body, think back on all he did for you and how faithfully he stuck by you, only to freeze to death in the Alps. And when they close the earth up over your baby boy, Mala, you better think about the life he never had because that infant will be coming back to you for the rest of your existence… in moments of regret and in dreams. That’s what Tristan de Saint-Germain has wrought!”

Mala sat motionless in her bed, numbly listening to Duxia, submitting to her without a word.

Duxia was not finished. “Oh, Girl, I pray you are listening to everything I’m telling you, for if you falter now, we are both lost! I am old and don’t have much further to go, but you, Dear, are so young and what you do these next few days will determine the remainder of your existence! Oh, Mala, swear to me that you will do as old Duxia says!”

Without a word, Mala slowly nodded yes. As she did, a large tear began to form in one eye, then slowly began to roll down her still discolored cheek. Then the floodgates opened and she threw herself down sideways onto the bed, burying her face with an arm; it had all become too much to bear. Everything dropped upon her at once like a crushing weight: the horror of the pass, the frozen ponies, Fernando, and above all her dead baby. “Oh, God, what have you done to me!” she sobbed with abandon. “Oh, God, why have you forsaken me?”

Duxia watched this, her heart about to burst, and even she began to feel the onset of tears, then she tightened her lip and crossed her arms. “Yes, Dear, let it all out now,” she said. “Rid yourself of every tear in that lost, mangled heart of yours because in the morning the well must be dry and you must be strong.”

Mala soon cried herself to sleep. And as Mala had warned, the infant came to her in a dream that very night. It was a pleasant dream where Mala was sitting outside in the warmth of some southern location bouncing the beautiful baby upon her lap as the baby cooed and laughed, its bright grey eyes shimmering in the light of the sun. Tristan was there, smiling lovingly at both of them, then the dream turned, and Tristan’s face turned dark and he rushed at her and the child, pulling an ax from behind his back. “Ah-hg!” she moaned, trying to drag herself and the baby from the sudden nightmare, but she could not come awake and at once Tristan was upon them. Everything turned black, and though she saw nothing, she could hear the methodical thunk of the ax into flesh and bone. Screaming aloud, she bolted upright then and came awake, bathed in sweat as her entire frame trembled and shook. The sensation of the dream was so succinct, so precise, that she thought it real at first, and it took a full minute to shake herself free of it. Then, shivering, she set her head back down and cried softly, afraid to seek sleep for fear that the nightmare would resume.