Chapter Eighty-eight

 

 

Genoa

 

 

Genoa was a thriving and independent Italian city-state and one of the great Maritime Republics which also included Venice, Pisa, and Amalphi. Nominally it fell under the authority of the Holy Roman Emperor, King Heinrich, and was governed by the Bishop of Genoa who served as president of the city. True power was wielded by a number of consuls elected annually by popular assembly. Duke-General Bertuccci now sat at the head of this body, and was greatly responsible for much of Genoa’s prosperity through his heavy support and involvement in overseas trade, shipbuilding, and banking. Genoa was also heavily involved in the slave trade, and its powerful navy practically held control over the entire Tyrrhenian Sea, including Sardinia, Corsica, and Nice.

The old general’s face was bright with laughter and delight as he met Tristan at the port of Genoa. He nearly knocked him over as he reached out to embrace and greet him.

“Oh, lad, what a sight for sore old eyes!” he cried. “And one of my favorite people in this entire world!”

Tristan was not expecting such an enthusiastic welcome, and was immediately struck by the new life that had been blown into Bertucci’s once luffing sails. “You look so much younger, General,” Tristan commented, “since I last saw you in Tunis.”

“Oh, that was a dreary time for me, lad. God has seen fit to give me new direction.” Then he laughed and added, “Yes, and he’s given me a scent for money, which has become my latest passion!” Bertucci then loaded Tristan into his sumptuous coach and immediately launched off on a tour of Genoa’s shipyards, manufacturing area, banking district, and mercantile center.

“My partner and I have prospered beyond belief these past years,” he crowed. “I thought I had a nose for business, but my partner is the real genius, not me. She could turn a pile of donkey shit into a mound of gold, you know!”

“She,” said Tristan. “Your partner is a woman?”

“Yes, and such a woman, lad. Here in Genoa they call her la Gran Signorina. You’ll meet her this evening. In fact, we shall be passing the next few days at her estate as she hosts our anniversary celebration. It will be a time of gaiety and frolic for all the high politicians and merchants of the region are spending three days there.”

“Anniversary?” said Tristan. “General… have you married since Tunis?”

Bertucci laughed. “Oh, not at all, lad! We happily celebrate the third year of our partnership. Last year the event was held at my estate, but this year my partner is hosting. I must tell you, what an estate she has built along the waterfront! Tis the envy of every nobleman along the coast.”

It was early evening before Bertucci directed his driver to the estate of la Gran Signorina. As they arrived at the gates of the enormous estate, they were met by a brigade of twenty guards who were lined up in formation along both sides of the entrance. Then, as he gazed down the massive, head-high stone wall that began at the gate and ran down both sides of the gate until out of view, he noticed more guards stationed every hundred feet or so apart.

“A veritable fortress, this place,” Tristan said.

“Yes, la Gran Signorina believes in security. Besides, she holds more wealth here than half the banks of Genoa combined.”

As the coach then proceeded into the heart of the estate, a palatial mansion came into view, and though Tristan was well traveled and had been exposed to many of the finest palaces of Europe, he was awe struck by the opulence of landscaping, architecture, and statuary before him.

The coachman eased the carriage into the circular, granite-paved entry among the many other coaches that had already arrived or were arriving at that same moment, and Bertucci then led Tristan up a majestic, artfully constructed flight of marble stairs that led into the vast mansion itself. The grand foyer and entry area was filled with guests exchanging greetings and engaged in lively chatter, and as Tristan walked further into the house, it opened into an enormous banquet hall surrounded by a second story walk-about from which people could view the proceedings going on below in the main hall. This elevated viewing area ran the entire perimeter of the chamber, and was accented by a great set of marble stairs, highly polished, that gave access to the walk-about. And along the length of these stairs, along both sides, stone-faced military guards stood at attention facing outward.

Then, as Tristan was about to comment on the majesty of the banquet hall, a man appeared at the head of the stairs as a quartet of trumpeters issued a riffle of introductory notes to gain the crowd’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, visitors and guests!” the man cried, “it is my distinct pleasure to introduce you to your host for this evening and the next three days of celebrating the prosperity of Genoa… la Gran Signorina of Genoa!”

A hush fell over the crowd as the trumpets then heralded the appearance of la Gran Signorina as she appeared at the top of the stairs, accompanied by an old woman dressed in black at her side, her head and shoulders covered by a plain black wrap.

“Ah, my lovely business partner,” whispered Bertucci, pointing at the top of the stairs.

Recognizing la Gran Signorina and the woman at her side, Tristan was seized by an attack of heart palpitations that nearly took him to the floor as his body fell limp and his face grew pallid. A thousand emotions seized him then, one flooding over the other until he was unable to stand. Feeling himself dissolving, he grabbed at Bertucci’s shoulder while trying to grasp his arm for support and cried out. Before the sound vacated his throat even, everything turned black as his knees collapsed and he felt himself go down in a heap, his skull crashing against the marble floor.

“Tristan!” cried Bertucci, awkwardly reaching out in an unsuccessful effort to break Tristan’s fall.