Chapter Sixty-nine

 

 

Duxia’s Web

 

 

One day during Balducci’s first absence from the manor, Mala happened upon Duxia as she was carrying several items to her room. “What have you there, Duxia?” she said.

“A gold goblet and two silver candlesticks,” Duxia replied, looking about to ensure that no one was listening. Then she gathered the items closer to her bosom and covered them with her shawl.

Mala had noticed that the items were a tad tarnished, and laughed. “Oh, Duxia, we have servants now! There’s no need for you to shine the metal ware.”

“Oh, nay,” Duxia, replied in a low voice, “I have no intention of shining them. I’m hoarding them beneath my bed, Dear.”

“What?” asked Mala.

“Yes, each week I collect an article or two and slip them into the saddlebags I have concealed beneath my bed.”

“Duxia! You are stealing?”

Duxia nodded. “Yes, of course, only for your future. Just as you tumbled unexpectedly into abject poverty, then tumbled into sudden wealth, you may yet again lose every-thing in the blink of an eye! Such is the hammer of God, so I will continue to gather precious articles from this manor. If we’re ever driven from this place, you will at least have a start.”

“Duxia, I insist that you put everything you’ve taken back in place. Besides, I hardly think you need to worry about me. Rather, it is me who worries about you. You’ve endured such hardship and heartbreak over the years that I want you to finally be happy.”

This touched the old woman. Cradling the items in her possession over to one arm and reaching out with the other, she raised a hand out and squeezed Mala’s hand. Then her head quavered in that involuntary bobble of the elderly as her eyes began to moisten.

“Oh, Mala, that means everything to this old wretch,” she whispered. “And that is all I wish for you, Dear, yet I fear you have not yet shaken the memory of Tristan de Saint-Germain from your soul.”

Mala was not expecting to hear Tristan’s name; the very sound of which gave her a start. She’d not heard it spoken by another since arriving within Balducci’s territories. She began to mumble a reply but then fell silent.

“Ah, you see,” said Duxia, disheartened, “you can’t even bear to hear his name without sinking. That breaks my heart. You are in such a good place now, yet don’t see it. Beautiful as you are, if you don’t give more of yourself to Balducci I fear he may eventually tire of you. Yes, my entire life has been a struggle, and a losing one at that. With what I’ve come to see in you and with all that we’ve suffered through together, I’ve come to love you as I once loved the Lady Asta many years ago before being driven from her household. And as I look back over my years of misery and begging, I vow that I’ll never allow you to squander your one lifetime on this earth as I have mine. Therefore, don’t force me to replace these things I collect. They’re baubles to Balducci. While it’s true that you may never need them, the other is also true. Trust the instincts of an old defeated woman, my Dear, I beg you.”

The supplication within Duxia’s expression at that moment struck Mala to the soul, and she could not summon the will to deny her old friend’s effort to help.

“Very well then,” said Mala, gently kissing Duxia upon the forehead. Then she looked at Duxia and smiled. “We are a pitiful pair, we two, eh?”

“Yes, I suppose,” Duxia whimpered, as tiny tears began to roll down the crests of her cheekbones, “but we have each other at least. I was certain that I was destined to die alone on some unfamiliar road to nowhere, but you took me in and have given me reason to live, my Dearest.” Then she dried her eyes and shuffled into her room, content that she was doing what was best for Mala.

 

***

 

The hoarding of precious household goods was one part of Duxia’s overall strategy to fulfill Mala’s needs. She had from the very beginning upon meeting Balducci at Countess Mathilda’s Canossa fortress done everything possible to draw his attention toward Mala, and these efforts had succeeded beyond expectation. Then, securing an engagement and marriage, Duxia had then dedicated herself to keeping Mala in line with Balducci’s aspirations. Clever as she was, Duxia also soon perceived that he appeared to resent her for some reason. Rather than allow this to continue, she decided to take matters into her own hands and approached him in private one day.

“My Lord Balducci,” she said with a bow, “it seems that I have displeased you in some way, and that troubles me to the point of desolation. What may I do to correct any misdeeds I may have unwittingly committed?”

Balducci sneered at Duxia a moment, surprised at being confronted so directly. Nevertheless, since Mala had so bluntly dismissed his concerns about the old woman, he decided to jump on this opportunity to unleash his resentment. “Quite simply,” he snapped, “I tire of you being constantly in our presence. You’re like a goddamn shadow!”

“I see,” nodded Duxia, showing no offense.

“Furthermore, dammit, I don’t approve of the way you’re constantly whispering things to my wife about me.”

Duxia reflected on this comment a moment, then said, “Lord Balducci, please know that when I whisper to my niece in your presence, it is only to make her aware of your wishes and needs.”

“Huh?” said Balducci.

“Yes, my Lord, for you see, Mala is in a new environment and is not familiar with the etiquette of aristocracy. I on the other hand was once closely attached to a noble family in France and try to keep her apprised of your expectations without embarrassing her or yourself. So you see, it is never you that I whisper about, merely about maintaining the dignity of your household.” Then she drew nearer. “Let’s be honest. There are many here in Italy who don’t approve of my dear Mala, and mock her common roots. I am primarily protecting her and also defending your own interests.”

This had never occurred to Balducci, and as he listened to Duxia last comments, he begrudgingly shook his head in agreement. “Yes… she has received a chilly reception from certain quarters though she does not deserve it.”

Sensing at once that she had probed into an area of sensitivity, Duxia then decided to strike against Balducci’s mother and sisters. “The Lady Alda and your sisters, Celia and Cosima,” said Duxia with gentleness, “I fear they too disapprove of Mala.”

Balducci said nothing at first; the look in his eyes confirmed Duxia’s claim. Then Balducci’s brows drew together and he said, “Nevertheless, they had best keep such things to themselves. They’ve not been impolite to her during my absence, have they?”

“They have said nothing, my Lord, but silence speaks volumes, does it not? They shun her, and my poor niece grows so lonely here in your absence with only me to comfort her; though she would never distress you with such a confession.”

Mala, of course, had no interest whatsoever in the company of Lady Alda or the two sisters, and found them to be affective and pretentious. Balducci was not aware of this, so he immediately fell into Duxia’s web.

“Dammit,” he exclaimed, “to think my poor wife is being mistreated by my own flesh and blood! Hunh! I will tend to that matter myself, then.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

Balducci looked down at the stooped Duxia and seemed to regard her in a different light. “You may call me Lord Vincento,” he said without smiling. “After all, we are family of sorts, I suppose.”

At this Duxia bowed and took her leave. Lord Vincento indeed, she thought, satisfied that she had driven yet another wedge on behalf of Mala between Balducci and his bitchy relations. Yes, and I must allow Balducci more privacy with Mala it seems.