Chapter Three: Roots and Branches (March 10th, 1229-June 18th, 1232)
October 4th, 1229 AD
FINALLY.
Five years. After five long, godforsaken years trudgin’ through wilderness n’ dealin’ with disease, boredom, filth, n’ occasionally an enemy soldier or two, the Doge finally took a single small, unimportant city on the coast of the Black Sea.
Suddenly I feel real tired. Like I wanna take a nap for maybe the rest of the year.
But there ain’t no time f’r that, ‘cause next thing I know I get myself called in to a meetin’ with all the other generals. We’re all hold up in some camp out in Tyrnovo somewheres, lots o’ big ol’ thick trees ‘n such. I can see them mountains out in the distance; I got real familiar with ‘em over the years. Whole place is too cold for me, I say. Oh, the Doge’s here, too. Funny, he looks just about as sick ‘n tired o’ this place as I do. He gets us all around a big ol’ table and everybody starts layin’ out a map or somethin’. Only I recognize the map this time: it’s good ol’ Sardinia n’ Corsica. Couple o’ those other mooks turns to me. The Doge gets up and starts speechifyin’. Talkin’ ‘bout how we fought for such a “noble cause” and the “power of our sacrifice.”
It was for one city, asshole. One. Single. City.
I hope it was worth it. I REALLY do.
No, I don’t say that out loud; I’m a gentleman-type-person. Plus he looks like he’s gonna drop off any moment now; don’t wanna tip ‘im over or nothin’. Typical Genoese bigwig; most he’s ever gotta worry ‘bout is if he’ll trip over all his bags o’ money. Thinks he can boss all us guidici around ‘cause he’s got a pile o’ coins he inherited from his daddy.
So then he gets to askin’ ‘bout what the boys should expect once we make a landin’ on the island. Oh, I see. Doge’s fully commitin’ to repellin’ the Gallurans from Logudoro. I mean...on the one hand, I do hate my uncle Marianu and want to see him get his shit pushed in. On the other hand...er, is there another hand? Oh yeah, givin’ up territory to the pissant Pisans and pissin’ off the Doge somethin’ fierce.
Yeah, ‘n he’s lookin’ right at me now, n’ he don’t look happy. Guess he wants me to talk or somethin’. “Look,” I tells ‘im, “I been livin’ on this island f’r basically my whole life, and I’ll tell you one thing I picked up about it: this place is a bitch to walk through. I mean, look at this!”
“Y’see this here? Mountain, mountain, mountain...er, yep, another mountain. Mountains everywhere! You wonder why my great-grandad settled in Arboréa? It’s the only halfway flat patch o’ land on the goddamn island!”
“Do you have any recommendations?”
“Yeah, I got a recommendation for ya: steer clear o’ the mountains. Can’t hardly march nobody through ‘em worth a damn. Stick to the coastline. Or, if you really gotta go through a mountain, at least make sure you’re higher up than the other guys.”
The rest o’ them guys don’ look to happy. Maybe they was expectin’ somethin’ more?
“Oh! And don’t be tryin’ to get yer galleys anywhere nears the Strait o’ Bonifacio! It’s narrow, it’s shallow, it’s full o’ rocks, it’s just a bad time all around. Smaller kind of fishin’ boat or somethin’, maybe. On a
good day. All your nice big warships’ll get torn apart, though.”
The Doge sorta cuts me off. “Thank you, but my strategists have already advised me about the Strait. If there is anything else? Anything
useful?”
Boy, talk about a tough room. “Er...I don’t...well, that is-”
“Very well then. Everyone ready your divisions and prepare to march to the port at Varna. I am told we’ve already sent word to the Crimean territories and they will ready our fleet here in the Black Sea for transport to Sardinia. We’ll rendezvous with the fleet and set a course through the Aegean and shoot around to take in supplies from the secondary fleet meeting us at the merchant port in Siracusa. From there we reorganize the troops, replenish ammunition, and set sail across the Tyrrhenian and up the eastern Sardinian coast. We make landfall here in the north, near Olbia. From there, we hold off until we can ascertain the Pisan position and their precise troop strength. Is everyone clear?”
Everybody else sort of nods, I guess I better nod too.
“Good. We’ll clear up the Sardinian matter and go home.”
F’r some reason I don’t like the way he said “Sardinian matter.” Made it sound like the whole island’s got a rat problem or somethin’. Everybody sorta starts shufflin’ off, but then he points at me ‘n says:
“Stay a moment, count. I’d like a word with you.”
Oh, that tears it! Count?
Count?! I ain’t no “count,” buddy! I’m a
Giudice! That means “judge” in Sardinian (which is like Italian, only better). As in I’m gonna "judge" how much you can "count" after I break all your fingers!
I mean, really.
Count. Yeah, I think
he’s a “count” too. Only without the “o,” if ya know what I mean.
So’s it’s just him an’ me now, plus a couple guards here ‘n there. He’s sittin’ down kinda slumped in his chair like he just got deflated or somethin’. I keep waitin’ f’r him to say somethin’, but he’s gone all quiet-like now. He ain’t even really lookin’ at me, the jerk. Keeps lookin’ off in the distance, at the mountains I think. I mean, they do look kinda nice, what with the snow reflectin’ all the sunlight ‘n everything.
After what seems like an hour Mr. Doge-man decides to speak:
“Ah yes, Count Perdu. I wanted to be the first to tell you about your assignment.”
“My, er...my what?”
“Once we make landfall in Sardinia, I’m passing active command of the army to you with respect to the Galluran conflict. I wanted you to be the first to know.”
“Er...oh. Well that’s...that’s good news, I guess…”
“I know how I came across before, but you really are the only commander with a thorough knowledge of the terrain. And besides that I thought you did reasonably well at the Battle of Drista last year, out on the banks of the Danube. To be frank, Count Perdu, despite the fact that you’re impertinent, headstrong, and disorganized, you have the makings of a decent commander. You could be of great service to the Republic, if you have the temerity to seize opportunities when they arise.”
I nod and pretend like I know what “temerity” means.
“Eight years...eight years since I was elected to the rank of Serene Doge. That title carries with it unimaginable responsibility. Finally I have the opportunity to bring to Genoa stability, profit, and peace. Domination of the Mediterranean itself, a chance to influence the great players on the stage of the world, the Romans, the French, the Aragonese, the Italians, all of them. These wars for expansion, they secure the future interests of all our people.
Our people, do you understand? It must be finished, it cannot be done soon enough.”
I ain’t sure but I think he’s gettin’ a bit teary. I ain’t sure where he’s goin’ with this, and it’s kinda awkward. I think about boltin’ and callin’ it a day, but my feet ain’t listenin’ to me right now. He makes like he’s gonna get up, but then he sorta plops back into his chair.
“I don’t know...I don’t know who knows yet. It’s supposed to be a secret, so I would imagine everyone in Genoa has heard by now. You see Count Perdu...I’m dying.”
“Oh...ohhhh, that’s rough. Yeesh. Er...do they...is it from, er…”
“My physicians have told me it’s being caused by an excess of black bile, which has created a very specific kind of imbalance in my humours.”
“...”
“Cancer. I have cancer.”
“Oh.”
“I’m undergoing various treatments to stave it off, but we all know it’s only a matter of time. I’ve...spent so much time being afraid of death that I think I’ve forgotten how. So I’ve been reflecting on my life as of late. And I thought of you...not because you remind me of myself, oh no. I was far more intelligent when I was your age.”
Can I still yell at ‘im? Even though he’s dyin’? No?
“No, you remind me of what I could have become, if things were only slightly different. You have fire, yes, but nothing to set aflame. You are undirected, subject to the whims of fate, and of your betters. I only want to impart this one piece of advice, young man: always have a dream, have something to grasp at, to strive for. It is in wanting, in unfulfillment, in
hunger that we find out who we truly are. The world does not make sense, young man, and the priests and philosophers and learned men of this world cannot put it into something right for you. You must
make it make sense. You must
force it to have meaning, or you will find no meaning in your own existence. Do you...understand this? At all?”
And just for a second I think ‘bout somethin’ mother used to say to me when I was little. Funny, I didn’t remember it ‘til just now. Used to say it when I got all teary ‘bout...well, ‘bout how things used to be, or if I was feelin’ lonesome. She said:
The world will one day know that it revolves around us.
“Yeah. Yeah, I think I understand.”
“Yes...yes, I see. Well...I think I’ve made my point. So, if there is nothing else to discuss?”
“Nah...I don’t think so. I’ll just be...y’know, now that I think of it, as long as I got your attention ‘n all: have I ever told you ‘bout my Aunt Benedetta? I’m glad yer sittin’ down already…”
March 1st, 1230 AD
After five long, empty months at sea, this here sure is a sight f’r sore eyes:
See that there? That’s Tavolara, an’ it’s the first glimpse o’ home I’ve had for almost a year and a half now. Island just outside the Gulf of Olbia, can see those big ol’ cliffs for miles around. When I was a kid I went climbin’ up there one time, an’ I thought I could see the whole world from the top. I wanted to march out and plant my flag on every foreign shore and yell out “it’s mine, bitches! All mine!” Now that I been away so long though, I think I maybe should start with just makin’ do with my own home, you know? It’s not so bad a place at that...
Yeah, but enough o’ me gettin’ all misty-eyed. The Genoese galleys round up ‘n make landfall at a beach near Olbia, n’ I can see the men carryin’ their rows o’ pikes straight up, like it was a movin’ forest or somethin’. So here we are. I’m in command now.
Real command, even. Feels kinda nice havin’ these old farts needin’ to listen to what
I gotta say f’r a change!
I take in a nice, deep breath. I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout science or natural philosophy or any o’ that shit, but I swear the air in Sardinia just feels cleaner or somethin’.
So I get my field report, n’ I ain’t so sure why everybody’s got their petticoats stuffed down their pants. “C’mon,” I tells ‘em, “we got the pants-pissin’ Pisans outnumbered two-to-one! I say we’re good to go, we’ll march ‘em through the lowlands here, cross the Coginhas here, then we come up to ‘em and kick their asses right off the island! Men! We’re leavin’ immediately!”
One o’ these little schoolboy aides o’ mine pipes up: “Uh, sir? Isn’t it unwise to march the troops out immediately, before we’ve fully recovered from the sea voyage? And the Pisans are already pretty firmly entrenched in the siege of Logudoro, no doubt they will have established a defensive position on the surrounding mountains from which to-”
“Hey! Who’s the commander here, you or me? Now I don’t care if the boys are tired, either they march out or I push ‘em out myself! Let’s go, people!”
That’ll learn ‘em. No respect, the lot of ‘em, I tell ya.
April 9th, 1230 AD
So...I learned somethin’ today. Three things, actually.
Number one: faster ain’t always better.
Number two: havin’ more troops than the other guy don’t amount to much if the other guy’s waitin’ behind a narrow mountain pass. Like even if you just had maybe a few hundred guys you could hold off thousands o’ other guys if they can’t get all
their guys to engage all o’
your guys all at once. I wonder why nobody ever thought o’ that before?
We might be able to break through in a few more days, but it’s real slow going, and the boys might just up n’ break off before we get the job done. Maybe I shoulda listened to that guy what was tryin’ to tell me to hold off, instead o’ stealin’ his rations n’ pissin’ in his wineskin.
Now the third thing I learned, though, is a real pick-me-up.
So we’s sittin’ in camp after another day tryin’ to break the Pisan defense, when up walks a few ragged-lookin’ guys who says they’s been runnin’ around all day on account o’ they escaped one o’ the Pisan siege forces at Logudoro, n’ they wanna join up with us to take ‘em down. I say they can, no big thing, but then one o’ them starts tellin’ me these wild stories about Uncle Marianu. See, this guy (I forget his name, or maybe he didn’t tell me) was in his confidence or whatever, and he’s sayin’ that Marianu’s been gettin’ up to some wild business while I been gone.
See, this guy first he started gettin’ worried that someone was gonna off ‘im so’s they could move in on Logudoro (wasn’t me, I looked into it but it was gonna be too tough to get in his tower). So he gets all antsy n’ he starts drinkin’ to relax, but then he starts drinkin’ too much n’ turns into like a big party guy or somethin’. But he’s still lookin’ over his shoulder all the time, so he’s both piss-drunk all the time
and thinks he can’t trust nobody. Or at least, nobody
human, ‘cause then he starts talkin’ to the birds roostin’ on top his tower, and this guy says that Marianu was so into doin’ this that he kinda stopped talkin’ to people altogether most o’ the time.
But that ain’t even the end of it, ‘cause then Marianu took things a step further n’ started collectin’ bird feathers to make some kinda suit outa them. Then he starts wearin’ it n’ chirpin’ n’ squawkin’ like he’s a bird or somethin’. Ain’t that nuts? But wait!
That’s not even the end! I couldn’t even believe this last part: this guy says that Marianu got so crazy about his birds that while he’s all dressed up in the suit he tries to...ulgh, this part makes me hurl...he tries to, like, be with them. As in
be with the birds. In a way that’s illegal, immoral, and...just plain disgustin’, really.
Now even I’m a little suspicious o’ this. I mean,
really? The guy wears a bird suit n’ tries to Sodom n’ Gomorrah a flock o’ geese? That sounds pretty over-the-top, if you ask me. “Listen,” I says to ‘im, “this all sounds
seriously out there. I mean, is this really all true?”
“That depends,” he says to me. “How true do you want it to be?”
It takes me ‘til the middle o’ the night to realize what this guy meant by that. I sleep pretty good, ‘cause I know that next time I sees the Doge, I got a hell of a story to tell ‘im…
May 8th, 1230 AD
So after a month o’ just hammerin’ the Pisans, we finally got ‘em to retreat. The “Battle o’ Valledoria” they’re callin’ it, though I don’t think we was anywhere near there at the time. Oh, an’ it only cost about 400 of our guys! I ain’t sure why they so shook up ‘bout it; dead bodies build character. Honest!
So while we’re all pickin’ up the pieces an’ tryin’ to regroup ‘n all, one o’ the sergeants gets up in my face and he’s all: “Commander, you have a visitor. I believe it’s of a somewhat urgent nature.”
“The hell does that mean?”
From outside I hear a bit of a ruckus, and suddenly the tent flap opens up ‘n in walks Maria. She got this look on her face, I don’t even understand it. Looks like a mix between anger, surprise, and slight constipation. She’s got Constanza in tow, sorta pullin’ her alongside ‘er. But in ‘er other hand’s a bundle, and...wait…
“Seventeen months! Seventeen months I wait for you to come back, and then nothing! No messengers, no correspondence! I find out you’re fighting in Logudoro, nobody tells me! Constanza here asks where her daddy is, and I don’t have a good answer for her, now do I? Well? What have you got to say for yourself?!”
“Maria...what’s that in your hand?”
“If you must know...he’s yours. I thought perhaps you might want to say hello to him.”
“To ‘him?’ You mean I...I have a...a…”
“Yes, yes you do. He’s yours. Yours and mine.”
“...”
“Well? What have you got to say for yourself?”
“I’m just...I’m so shocked…”
“You shouldn’t be: he was born in August, and your last visit home was the December before that, so-”
“No...I mean I’m shocked that you didn’t cheat on me or nothin’…”
“What? Really? Why would I do that? Nobody else is as easy to tie down as you are, you know.”
Then she smiles. That’s what does it f’r me. I have a son, and I saw my wife smile for the first time in years. I’ll never doubt it again: Sardinia’s the greatest place on earth. She passes off the little bundle to me, n’ despite all the yellin’ he’s sleepin’; little guy’s quiet as a dormouse. I pull back the cover n’ take a look at his face. Boy, is it a beaut. Such a tiny little guy, like one o’ those little dogs or somethin’. He sorta glances up for just a moment before goin’ back to sleep; wouldn’t ya know it, the little guy’s got my eyes too, just like Constanza. Don’t he look precious asleep like that; you just wanna hold ‘im n’ never let ‘im go. My very own son.
But suddenly there’s somethin’ botherin’ me: “I...I wasn’t even around to name ‘im...oh my God, did you name him ‘Pedro?’ If you named him ‘Pedro’ I swear to God I’ll rip out your eyes n’ jam the sockets full of-”
“Relax, my ‘liege’...”
“...I spelled it right this time.”
I wish I could marry ‘er all over again right then n’ there.
July 6th, 1230 AD
So now that we’s done regroupin’, we’re about to chase those Pisan bastards all the way to Corsica to press the attack. I been so thankful for Maria comin’ round with the kids; it’s just what I needed after all that time away. The broad’s really grown on me, I’ll tell ya. I don’t know, maybe it’s ‘cause we’re both older now n’ we got more o’ our shit sorted out. Or maybe it’s that she’s still constantly gettin’ all randy with me (I’m still debatin’ over whether this is a good thing or not). So’s I go’s to tell ‘er that the soldiers is movin’ out again.
“...’n so it might get kinda hairy for ya out here. Might wanna think about-”
“Heading home? Great idea. It’ll give me a chance to prepare.”
“Prepare? Prepare for what?”
“Ah, well...let’s just say that I hope this next one has
my eyes for a change.”
“Wait...you don’t mean…”
“Tell me Perdu, how do you say ‘third time’s the charm’ in Latin?”
“Um…”
“Right. I forgot who I was talking to for a moment.”
July 24th, 1230 AD
Today we catch up with the Pisans; this time they’ve got themselves camped out on the hills outside of Ajaccio. The whole place is crawlin’ with hills n’ cliffs n’ junk, just like every other place in Sardinia n’ Corsica. I see all them mooks formin’ up on the hill, but I been thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’ the whole way up. Usually I just sorta charge in an’ hope more o’ my guys take out more o’ the other guys. But after the incident at Valledoria, I got to thinkin’ that maybe I can do to them what I did to myself when I fought ‘em the last time. Yeah, I figure if I just park my ass on the hill across the way n’ wait ‘em out, they’ll get all steamed up n’ make the first move, n’ then we can use our position on the hill to beat ‘em back the way they almost did to us.
Well would ya look at that, it worked! Honestly, I was just shootin’ in the dark on that one. I oughta do this tactical-type shit more often. I guess in a fight, it don’t take much waitin’ around before the other guys screw themselves over so’s you don’t have to.
February 6th, 1231 AD
Well, the war’s been sorta slowin’ down lately. We got those Pisan bastards on the run pretty good now; just a few more skirmishes here n’ there and we should have ‘em licked for good. ‘Course what I’d
really like is to haul my troops over to Logudoro and have ‘em beat on Marianu the Pigeon-Molester ‘til he gives me all his shit, but he’s reinforced his territory pretty good now, and plus he’s still technically allied with Aunt Benedetta. I could
maybe beat one of ‘em, but I definitely can’t take
both of ‘em on at once. Gotta wait for it, I guess.
Eh, not really a problem with me, I got all the time in the world. Plus, I got more important things to pay attention to right now.
And unlike last time, I’m around when this one pops out. Little Benilde, she’s a real treasure (and she’s got my eyes again! Three for three, baby!). Y’know, I think this is the first time I’ve really thought about what it means f’r me to be a dad. I ain’t never really...known what it’s like to
have one, y’know? I just...I feel like I gotta do somethin’ more for the kids. Gotta teach ‘em to be tough n’ hard so no one tries to take advantage of ‘em (‘cept me, of course).
March 15th, 1231 AD
And there it is. Peace for the first time in a long-ass time. Six, no...is it seven? Seven years. Practically since I got rulership of the guidicato.
I sit around in my castle now, and I...what, exactly? What do I do now? I start thinkin’, and what I’m thinkin’ is that all I really knows how to do is fight guys and get other people to fight guys. I been with the troops f’r so long I...I don’t really know how to have somethin’ like a normal-ass conversation. Not even with little Constanza...God, she ain’t so little anymore, she’s seven.
When did that happen? When did Constanza turn seven, f’r God’s sake? Keeps askin’ me questions, too, never stops. Worse than I was when I was that age. N’ little Perdu Junior keeps blowin’ spit bubbles n’ laughin’ about ‘em. I mean, it
is pretty funny, if gross. Me, I can’t get enough o’ baby Benilde. I feel like a giant with her in my arms.
“Funny, you almost look paternal.” Maria sits under a tree in the courtyard to get outta the sun. The winter’s on its way out n’ we’re in f’r another warm spring. Been a while since I got a chance to just to enjoy the weather, really. She kinda sits with little Perdu Jr. while Constanza’s over runnin’ ‘round in the field n’ gettin’ her dress all mucked up with grass stains. I sorta shrug n’ go back to lookin’ at little Benilde sleepin’ in my arms.
“Yeah, well don’t get too used to it. Soon as all the kids can walk n’ talk, we’re gonna come down hard on ‘em. I don’t want nothin’ to be too easy for ‘em.”
“Yes, yes, there’ll be plenty of time for that. For now, just let them...let them think the world’s on their side. Just for a short time.”
“Well...whatever you say. But if I catch ‘em doin’ anythin’ bad, the official story’s that you had ‘em with some other guy while I was out on campaign, got it? See
my kids ain’t allowed to disappoint me.”
Maria lets out a laugh. I think she’s been doin’ that more since I got back. Some of it’s her makin’ fun of me as usual. But maybe a little of it could be real, who knows? Is this what bein’ married is supposed to be like? Just bein’...I dunno,
relaxed once in a while?
We’re sorta quiet for a while. Just listenin’ to the birds. Eventually Maria pipes up:
“Perdu, these aren’t the only children who need us around here. There’s still the matter of the de Genève boys. The older one, Rodolphe, he’s just about full-grown by now.”
“Yeah? So?”
“So he’s been causing trouble around the court. He keeps pestering the churchmen and skipping out on masses.”
“So how’s this my problem?”
“Because, idiot, he’s been here for a few years now; his behavior reflects on the integrity of the court, and ultimately on your ability to govern the realm. Straighten him out and you remind everyone of your authority. And apart from all that, I’ve gotten to know him a bit while you were away, and he really is a sweet boy, even though he doesn’t like to show it. I just think he needs persuasion in...er,
your particular vein.”
“You want I should tie ‘im up to the prow of a ship n’ see how long it takes ‘im to-”
“No! Not
that kind. Just something a bit forceful, more ‘direct’ than what I’d be capable of.”
“Direct. I can do direct.”
April 13th, 1231 AD
Takes me a bit, but I eventually find the kid, this “Rodolphe” guy. Spends most o’ his days hangin’ ‘round the parish at Santa Giusta causin’ trouble n’ flippin’ off priests. Funny as that is, Maria’s right: it makes me look bad. I find ‘im leanin’ against an old wall, maybe one o’ them old Roman-type deals. He’s lookin’ out across the ocean, but it’s real late in the evenin’, so there ain’t much to see.
“Ain’t no sea monsters out there. I checked.”
“Please go away.” His voice is kinda soft, it ain’t what I was expectin’. “I don’t want any trouble, my lord.”
“Huh. That’s interestin’, ‘cause you keep messin’ around with people n’ mouthin’ off to preachers; sounds like that’s you wantin’ trouble or somethin’ like that.”
He sort of shrugs. The little bastard hasn’t even turned around to look at me. Who does he think he is? I run this place, damnit!
“You listenin’ to me, boy? The hell do you think you see out there, anyway?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothin’, eh?”
I got a hunch ‘bout the kid: I think he’s lookin’ north, and his dad brought him an’ his brother here from France originally. So’s I put two n’ two together.
“Yeah, that’s a lotta starin’ to do just for nothin’. Y’know what
I think? I think you’re lookin’ for a dad who ain’t never comin’ back for you or your little brother.”
He turns around and he’s all hurt n’ angry-lookin’. But I ain’t backin’ down; I been wantin’ to try this speech out on someone for a while now, so I’m on a roll with this one.
“Everybody leaves sometime, Rodolphe. Parents, friends, brothers, everybody. Sometimes it’s ‘cause they ain’t alive no more, so they don’t got a choice. Sometimes they
do got a choice n’ choose to leave, ‘cause they think they got a better deal on life somewheres else. And you know what? Sometimes they leave for no reason at all. I think that’s the reason why anybody gets close with anybody else, so they can figure out what they’re gonna do with themselves once they leave.”
I can’t tell whether the kid’s gonna cry, yell, throw up, or somethin’ in between.
“So what are you gonna do with yourself? Huh? Somebody told me a while ago that everybody’s gotta have a dream to keep ‘em goin’ when they ain’t got nothin’ else. And boy,
you ain’t got nothin’ else right now.”
Then I punch ‘im right in the face. Heh, sucker never saw that comin’. He stumbles around n’ checks f’r blood.
“Ah! What was that for?”
“To see if you’s fast enough, bitch-man. Let me know if I shoulda gone full-strength on that one.”
“I’m not afraid of you!”
Suddenly he’s on me, tryin’ to tackle me down n’ take out my legs. I shake ‘im off n’ pin ‘im up against the wall, but only just barely. Good, the plan’s workin’.
“Y’know, ordinarily I’d just knock ya out n’ fry yer ass on a bed o’ hot coals, but I tell you what I’m gonna do. See, you ain’t got much o’ a dream yet, but you got moxie, kid, n’ I like that. We can work with that. So I’m enlistin’ you in the army.”
“You’re...you’re what?”
“Yeah, I know. It ain’t gonna be easy. F’r one thing, you gotta learn how to take a punch. Sometimes life just happens to you f’r no real reason. Just like your daddy up an’ leavin’. It’s a punch to the face. So you got two choices: you can let yourself get beat up, or you can punch back. I’m startin’ you off as a raw recruit, you ain’t gonna get no special treatment or nothin’. You want to advance up the ranks? Get in there n’ make somethin’ of yourself.
Punch back, little man. If you work at it, everythin’ll even out in the end, believe me.”
I don’t know, I thought I put on a good show for the kid. At least he ain’t botherin’ nobody no more.
August 19th, 1231 AD
“Wake up! My lord, you must wake up at once!”
I sorta half-open my eye n’ see Bartolomeo standin’ over me. I say somethin’ (I ain’t sure what it is, exactly) n’ roll outta bed. No really, I literally
roll out, n’ now I’m sorta sprawled out on the floor. Well this is embarrasin’. I’d like to throttle Bart f’r gettin’ me up so early, but I won’t on account o’ I ain’t seen ‘im in forever. I try to sorta stumble my way up.
“Bartolom...whuzz...d’ya know what time-”
“My lord, you must come! It’s...I...you must see for yourself!”
“What? What do I- agh!”
Bart just ups n’ grabs me by my robe sleeve n’ up n’ drags me through the corridor! I got half a mind to deck ‘im then n’ there. He takes me all through the castle, n’ eventually we get to the dinin’ room. The windows ‘r all open to let in the sunlight n’ breeze so’s the place can get cooled off. We got a real warm summer this year, warmer than most.
There I see breakfast already set at the table: it’s a real nice spread, some
pane carasau, some fried eggs, a nice wheel o’
pecorino sardo. Maria n’ the kids are already there n’ eatin’, but they all seem kinda awkward ‘bout it for some reason. There’s someone else at the table too, but their back is turned n’ I can’t see who it is. And hey, there’s some other kid there too, a little one. A new friend of my son’s, maybe?
Maria sees me n’ Bart come in. “Oh, thank you Bartolomeo, but...perhaps you could’ve let him change first.”
“My apologies,” Bart says, all outta breath, “but I thought...I thought it a most urgent matter.”
The person sittin’ at the table what I can’t sees speaks: “Me? Urgent? You flatter me, Bart.”
That voice...suddenly she turns around and it’s…it’s...
It’s mother.
And I ain’t got nothin’. I try to figure out somethin’,
anythin’ to say...it’s like there’s nothin’ and too much all at once. She don’t look any different from when she left, either. Everythin’ just freezes. Somehow I fish a single word outta my stomach, so quiet I can barely hear myself:
“W-why…”
“My second husband met with his end recently. A heart attack, I believe. Not surprising, given his age. Honestly, I was hoping it would’ve come sooner...”
“Having no more reason to attend court in Rosello, I thus arranged for passage back to Arboréa, and I’ve only just arrived. And I’m famished, hence breakfast.”
I look over at Maria and she gives me a big ol’ shrug, like she’s sayin’ “don’t look at me.” Nine years...nine long years without her. I can’t begin to describe how I…
“And so I’ve been dining with the family. Maria has just been so hospitable, haven’t you dear? And you’ve gone and made me a grandmother three times over! I can think of no better welcome for a woman of my...oh where are my manners? I have someone I’d like you to meet.”
She takes the hand o’ that kid I don’t recognize, n’ they stand up together. The little one sorta looks at her own feet for a bit.
“Perdu, I’d like you to meet Estefania. She’s your sister.”
I don’t remember the next part. Apparently I blacked out then n’ there. It was too much to take is all.
May 13th, 1232 AD
The next few months are weird.
I mean, I’m happy to see mother again. I really am. But every time I see ‘er with that...that
child I get this horrible feelin’ in my gut. How could she do this to me? To
us? I thought she was...I mean, I thought mother was better than that. I mean, I was angry when she left. I thought she wasn’t never comin’ back, n’ I made my peace with that. But now that she
is back? I mean...what do you do when the woman who taught you how to be strong seems so...weak?
And especially every time I look at that…
child, that thing she calls my sister. No, I can’t, I can’t talk about it. It makes me sick.
I try to do my usual Giudice schtick, signin’ a document here, listenin’ to grievances there. It’s sorta automatic at this point. Last November I get word that the Genoese are tryin’ to seize Crimean territory from the Treppizondians...the Trupilzindians...er, those guys from Trebizond. Not much else ‘til one mornin’ I’m gettin’ up to meet with my council, and there’s mother standin’ in the doorway. She got that look on her face like when she got somethin’ important to say.
Oh boy.
“Mother?”
“My son. There’s a report your council has waiting for you. The Serene Doge of Pisa has made a bold move, a grab for power more overt than in the past few years. They have declared a holy war for the realm of Tunis in northern Africa. Our scouting vessels just returned from a little expedition Bart organized: the bulk of the Pisan forces are already in the Tunisian capital, settling in for a long desert siege.”
“Okay. So?”
“With Pisa committed, it presents us with opportunities we can exploit.”
“What kinda opportunities?”
Her face changes again. This time she’s got this real distant look in her eyes. Last time I seen it was not too long before she got on that boat, and...well, before that.
“My son...did I ever tell you about your grandfather?”
“Yeah, when I was a kid. Used to tell me ‘bout how he was the best guy ever or somethin’.”
“An oversimplification, to be sure. Now that you’re older, you’ll understand better. Here, I shall instruct you in history once again: my father, Guglielmo Massa, comes from a proud lineage, one that you are a part of. The line of Massa was a breakaway house from the d’Este dynasty, descended from Adalberto I, who in centuries past was the King of Italy, if only for a short time. The d’Estes exerted great power over these isles and in the rest of Italy, and my father used it to his advantage. In 1160, after the death of Oberto d’Este, he assumed control of Cagliari and Ogliastra, and when he passed in 1202 those realms went to your aunt Benedetta. She was the oldest, after all. Clearly our father was not concerned with the
moral character of his successors, otherwise...but I digress.
At any rate, my father also held territory in Corsica for a time. The area around the town of Corti, comprising the northern segment of the isle, the region known as “Cismonte.” In 1188, authority over Cismonte was ceded back to the d’Este line proper by way of his uncle, also named Guglielmo. Upon his death, it was given to his distant kinsman Andrea, who maintained rule over the region for many years.
Last July, Andrea died and left Cismonte to his young son (
also named Guglielmo, by the way), barely four years of age. The realm is among the territories of this isle claimed by the Pisan Doge. But now the question of Cismonte’s ownership is left into question. I’ve discussed the matter with Bart; we think we can present credible evidence that Cismonte was unjustly ceded to the d’Estes, and that it belongs to my family. With my sister Agnesia too cowed by her husband to act, and Benedetta too busy maintaining her own realm (not to mention being the Whore of Babylon), I am in a unique position to present myself as a rightful claimant to the region. The war in Tunis may occupy the Pisans for some time now, giving us the time needed to muster our forces and-”
“I got a question, mother.” I been listenin’ to all this talk, n’ somethin’s buggin’ me. “So...you said this kid inherited Cismonte last July. So that happens, then one month later...here you are.”
“Here I am.”
“An’ you didn’t have to come back, did you? You coulda stayed in Rosello n’ been livin’ the high life there, eh?”
“Do you have a point, my son?”
“My point is...my
question is, did you come back just because you knew you was gonna do this? ‘Cause you knew there’d be a chance to use Arboréan troops to get your family’s land back?”
“
Our family, my son! How small-minded you’ve become in my absence. Don’t you understand what I’m trying to accomplish here?”
“I really don’t, mother. I don’t understand anythin’ anymore. All I know is that you left us. You left
me. And now you come back and think that-”
“My son, mothers don’t
leave. They don’t. Even from the grave, they watch over their children always.”
“Is that what you told
her?”
“Who do you mean?”
“You know who I mean.”
“Yes, I know who you mean. But do
you? My son, you’ve grown so much since I last saw you, but you have a lot to learn about the meaning of family and of duty.”
“
Duty? Are you tellin’ me that it was your
duty to go an’ have that...that
thing when you were away? Tell me how you make sense out o’ that?”
“We all have duties to perform, my son. Certain motions which are expected of us, like characters in a miracle play. I’ve played my part to the best of my ability, and my feelings on the matter, and your feelings as well, are of little consequence. I had hoped that after all this time you of all people would have understood the heavy price that comes with duty.”
Suddenly mother looks real tired. Like she been runnin’ for a long time n’ just stopped to take a breath. If I wasn’t so mad at her, I think I’d feel bad. I take a moment.
“I need to take some time to think about this.”
“Certainly, take your time. I’m sure the Pisans will be happy to oblige you.”
She walks off, n’ things get real quiet all of a sudden.
June 18th, 1232
“I’ll do it.”
Mother puts down her brush. When I was real little she used to paint all the time, but she started it up again the past few weeks. I don’t want to tell ‘er, but I don’t think she can paint all that good.
“You’ll do it?”
“Cismonte. I’ve decided to muster the troops. Bartolomeo’s with me, couple o’ the other council guys are backin’ us too. Enough to get us stuck in, anyway. They think, n' I think too, that it's time we even things out around here.”
Mother pinches her finger to her thumb; the paint colors kinda mix up together to this brownish color. She rubs her finger back n’ forth.
“You’ve done the right thing, my son.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I do wish you could see the bigger picture about all this. We’re not just doing this for my own sake, it’s-”
“No, you don’t get it. I know that taking Cismonte is the right thing for you, for us. It’s just...I may have had to call in support.”
“Support? Ah, you’ve petitioned the Doge for Genoese troops? Perhaps a division of those famous crossbowmen he-”
“No, mother. I asked...someone else.”
END OF CHAPTER THREE