Chapter Ninety

 

 

New Life… Old Quandary

 

 

“Oho!” shouted Bertucci that next morning as Tristan appeared in the meandering gardens. “Feeling better, I hope?”

“Yes, quite,” Tristan replied. “Not sure what overtook me last evening.’

“No matter, you look better today, I’d say. Come along, Mala is out on the lawn involved in a bocce tournament. I’ve told her about our adventures in North Africa so she wishes to be introduced to you.”

This told Tristan that Bertucci knew nothing of Tristan’s and Mala’s prior relationship, which was just as well, he decided. As they traveled through the length of the gardens they saw endless groups of merchants, seamen, town burghers and politicians engaged in table games, cards, and conversation. It was not the elite gathering he had become accustomed to within the palaces of royals and popes, but these people seemed to be natural in their ease and comfort with each other and also seemed to be lost in the frolic of the moment rather than focused on etiquette and posing. Watching this, it occurred to Tristan he himself had never taken time to enjoy such simple pursuits. Indeed, he had never been afforded the opportunity.

As they caught sight of Mala on the other side of the vast lawn, she had apparently successfully rolled her boule against the jack and was holding her arms high in the air, squealing amidst the throes of victory as onlookers applauded and her opponents moaned with feigned discouragement.

“Is she not absolutely stunning?” said Bertucci with a smile. “She has brought such joy into my life since my return from Tunis.”

Remembering that Bertucci once cursed Vincento Balducci and the woman he married in favor of his own daughter, Marianna, Tristan marveled at the quirk of such a turn in life. That particular quirk paled in comparison to the turn that Mala herself had taken.

“You know,” Bertucci continued, Mala feeds the poor of Genoa and heavily supports the monasteries also as they tend to the ill.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, she shares her wealth… far more than I, I hate to confess. And as you look about, you see the wealthy as well as the working folk here enjoying her grounds for this celebration. Many of these townsmen and sailors work for her or are involved in our joint ventures. She has a generous heart, that one.”

Sensing their approach, Mala stepped forward as Bertucci bowed and kissed the back of her hand. She then curtsied as he introduced Tristan, and the smile that she issued should have told Bertucci that something profound had once existed between the two young people he so adored, but he missed it entirely.

The three spent the remainder of the afternoon together, with Mala hooked on Bertucci’s arm much of the time. By evening he wished to spend time talking up a business transaction with some new arrivals, so he excused himself. As soon as he left, Mala immediately reached over and looped her arm within Tristan’s and continued to walk. She felt a slight hesitancy in Tristan’s step as she did this, and saw that he was gazing about nervously. This caused her to twitter a bit, and she chastised him with a jerk of her arm.

“Be calm, Tristan, I often hold onto my business associates and friends like Bertucci, as well as the monks of Genoa whom I frequent. No one will think it odd,” she snickered a little, “but you, of course!”

“I’m not accustomed to such a casual atmosphere,” Tristan objected defensively. He loosened his grip and looked at her as they walked. “I never thought I would see you again, Mala, he said in a hushed voice.”

“Nor did I think to see you either,” Mala replied. “As I told you last night, God threw us together once long ago, and continues to do so.” Then, lowering her eyes and her voice, she said, “I love you still, smart boy.”

Taken by surprise, Tristan stammered a moment, but before he could actually utter anything intelligible, Mala released her hold on him and ran to greet a woman who was hailing her a few steps away.

Stuck there confused and alone, he looked about quickly to see whether others had been watching them or had sensed anything out of place by the way he and Mala had been strolling together arm in arm. Tristan glanced across the lawn to the steps of the mansion, and there stood Duxia, glaring at him from the distance. She had been scrutinizing them closely, apparently, and despite the distance Tristan could feel the full brunt of her beady eyes. She stared at him a moment longer, her fists planted on her hips, then turned and disappeared.

Festivities continued for two more days. On the last night of the anniversary gathering, Bertucci appeared to Tristan and Mala with unexpected news. “I must leave Genoa first thing in the morning, lad. I apologize profusely for I had intended to spend the entire week taking you about the city, but I learned last night that I’ve had two of my ships go down off the coast of Corsica! It’s a mess and I’m needed there as soon as possible.”

Tristan masked his disappointment saying, “Absolutely, General, I understand. I will depart Genoa for Monte Cassino three days earlier than planned. It will be no bother.”

Mala’s face had also dropped in the unveiling of Bertucci’s dilemma. Recovering, she quickly took Bertucci by the arm and said, “Oh, Bernard, such bad news! Your friend Tristan is welcome to stay here for a few days longer. Besides, I’ve taken a liking to him. He’s so full of stories about the Pope’s affairs and Heinrich’s recent calamities here in Italy.”

“Yes, a wonderful idea!” Bertucci beamed. “Tristan, do you object to such a proposal?”

“Absolutely not,” Tristan replied quickly.

And so it was that Bertucci departed Mala’s property at the same moment that Mala’s guests took their leave. And when the estate was vacated by that next afternoon, Mala and Tristan found themselves alone, except for the guards surrounding the estate… and old Duxia, who slipped about in the shadows, mumbling to herself in Finnish and conjuring ways to distance Tristan from her beloved Mala.

The sudden privacy of the empty estate was awkward at first for Tristan, though Mala seemed to revel in it. She continued to hold onto his arm whenever they walked within the gardens or the long length of seashore that ran along the endless southern boundary of her property. Tristan could not help but feel a tug of guilt pulling at him as she began to hold onto him more closely as the afternoon faded to dusk. By late evening Tristan found himself abandoning any resistance to her touch, and even began to hunger for it.

They dined alone that night and stayed up until the wee hours of morning discussing memories of their early encounters, trading thoughts on the politics of the day, and even touching on their respective trials as a result of their previous relationship. This was a sensitive subject, and each at various moments during this exchange would break with emotion at certain points, causing them to embrace each other from time to time with tender regret. Finally, no longer able to bear the unearthing of such sorrow, they took their leave from each other at dawn and found their ways to their separate bed chambers. Shortly after removing his monk’s robe, Tristan heard someone pacing about outside his room. Slipping to the door, he silently cracked it open, thinking perhaps to see Mala, only to discover that it was Duxia walking the hallway, mumbling to herself and moving her hands about in strange motions as though casting spells around Tristan’s room.