by Lina Ellina
“An ambassador could perhaps be dispatched to Venice seeking alliance with the Serenissima and asking from the senate the hand of some high-born maid of Venice in marriage to his highness, the King of Cyprus! Brilliant, Marin,” he exclaimed.
“There’s only one catch. How can we be sure they will suggest Caterina be his queen?”
“Yes, I see what you mean.” Andrea rubbed his chin. “It’s feasible,” he said after some thought. “The king will need to instruct the ambassador in all secrecy just how and whom to choose.”
Marin poured some more commandaria and clinked his glass against Andrea’s. “To Queen Caterina,” Marin proposed with a smile, and the two men drank to that.
“Oh, uncle, I almost forgot. I had a request a few days ago, and I’m not sure how to best handle this case.” Marin scratched the back of his head.
“What case?”
“Well, Timotheos, Stephania’s father, serfs on the estates, received a visit by the matchmaker from Colossi. It seems that a serf from the Hospitaller estates saw the girl at some local church festival and has asked for her hand in marriage. Timotheos has requested permission for Stephania to marry and go and live in Colossi.”
“Oh, no, no.” Andrea shook his head negatively with vigor. “You tell Timotheos, if he wants his daughter married to the Colossi lad, the boy needs to come to us. We could always use an extra pair of hands. Not the other way around.”
“What if the Hospitallers refuse to let him come and live here?” Marin asked curiously.
“Well, I’m sure there are plenty of young men on our estates who might be interested in the girl,” Andrea replied indifferently.
Marin looked at him through narrow eyes but kept his thoughts to himself.
[1] A string of almonds dipped in thickened grape juice
[2] An ancient indigenous grape variety
[3] An ancient indigenous grape variety
20 - Rovigo, 2010
Lorenzo took the calendar in his hands making a quick mental calculation. He always closed the restaurant for a couple of weeks after the Christmas holidays. This time, he could combine the search for Marin with a brief vacation, and he had never been to Cyprus before. He could take up on Sofia and leave Paola with her. It would be perhaps wiser. January is not the best of times to travel with a child.
He was determined not to let anything lessen his enthusiasm. Not even the fact that a couple of history professors he tried to contact at the University of Cyprus to help in his search had not responded to his emails yet. They were on vacation, he surmised.
He searched the Internet for flight alternatives and travel agencies. Since he didn’t want to leave Paola behind for a long time, his trip would be short, but he meant to make the most of it. Lorenzo always allowed himself small luxuries when he was on vacation as compensation for his working hard all year round. This time, he opted for private tours.
A few hours and several emails later, he received a list of an agency’s private guides’ brief profiles for his kind consideration. The case of a private guide by the name of Marina Zanettou piqued his curiosity. She had only a few years of experience but an attention-grabbing name - the same as his ancestor’s.
He wondered what the odds were and decided that she might be as good a starting point for his search as any. He browsed through her profile. She seemed to have a special interest in Cyprus’ Frankish and Venetian periods that were important to him. She spoke poor Italian, but that didn’t matter, as he was fluent in English.
The email icon flashed on his screen. The travel agency enquired whether he had any particular interests or dietary or other needs. Would it sound bizarre if he wrote that he was looking for an ancestor who died over five hundred years ago, he wondered?
Before leaving the house to pick up Paola, he booked a flight, a room at the Intercontinental, and replied to the travel agency’s email requesting Ms Zanettou’s services as a private guide, giving the flight details and relevant information.
On the way to Paola’s kindergarten, he speed dialed his sister. “Hey, beautiful.”
“Hey, handsome. What do you want this time?” Sofia scolded her little brother gently, recognizing the line he used whenever he wanted to ask something of her in a roundabout way.
“Whatever do you mean?” he asked in an ostensibly innocent tone of voice and snorted.
“Out with it!” Sofia said with a half smile.
“Remember the family legend about Marin Zanetti?”
“Yes, and?” Sofia wondered what that had to do with anything.
“I’ll try and find out what happened to him,” he said and envisaged his sister’s face at the sound of it.
“You will what?” Hunting a dead ancestor was the last thing she had expected to hear.
“I’m going to Cyprus to see if I can track him down.” Lorenzo snickered.
“Finally! It was about time you took a vacation. You don’t need an excuse to get some rest, you know. How long will you be away?” She had told him time and time again he should get some time off work just to relax and to start dating again – with Barbara preferably.
“I’m leaving on Monday, but I’ll be back Friday.”
“So soon? Why don’t you stay longer? And don’t you worry about Paola. I’m sure she’ll be happy to spend a few days with us and play with Gianfranco all day long… Gianfranco, no more chocolates!”
Lorenzo wondered how his sister always managed to have eyes in the back of her head. She used to do the same with him when they were children. “Thank you, Sofia. I don’t know why, but this is something I just have to do. But I don’t want to miss my weekends with Paola. Before I know it, she’ll be a grown woman. I want to enjoy having her with me as long as it lasts.”
“I’m sure that will take a while. And when you are there, try and have some fun for a change. You don’t have to spend the entire time hunting a dead man,” Sofia suggested with a smile.
“Yes, ma’am. Will do.”
“Oh, by the way, Barbara was asking about you the other day,” Sofia said cautiously.
“It’s not going to work, Sofia. It’s too early,” he said, loosening the collar of his shirt.
“Lorenzo, a whole year is not early. What’s wrong with Barbara anyway? She’s beautiful, educated, rich, and very fond of you.” There was no doubt in her mind that Barbara was the perfect match.
“I don’t know. She’s intimidating, I guess,” he blurred out the first excuse that crossed his mind.
Sofia bit her lower lip and kept her thoughts to herself. Beth’s death and the responsibility for Paola had changed her kid brother. Before they hung up, Lorenzo invited them all for dinner at the restaurant.
Outside Paola’s kindergarten a few minutes later, Lorenzo went down on his knees for his hugs and kisses in the hullabaloo of hordes of hasty, little creatures passing them by.
He helped her with her seat, got in, shifted into reverse and checked his daughter’s face in the mirror. “How was school?”
“Great! It was Marco’s birthday today, and he brought a birthday cake to class.”
“Nice... Did you learn something new today?”
He turned right at the Due Torri, the two medieval towers that once formed part of the castello which dates back to the eleventh century. Torre Donà, 66m in height, was probably the highest brick tower of its time.
“We learned about farm animals, and next week we’re going to visit a farm,” Paola announced with her face ablaze with excitement.
“That sounds fun… Uh, Paola, about next week. I thought of going on a trip... Remember my ancestor in Cyprus?” Lorenzo saw her nodding in the mirror. “I’d like to find out what happened to him. You can come with me if you like,” he tested her.
“But then I’d miss the farm visit. Can’t I just stay with Gianfranco?”
Lorenzo checked his daughter’s face in the mirror again. “You’re sure about this?”
Paola nodded and sticking her nose to the car wind
ow, she asked, “Where are we going? This is not the way home!”
“I thought you might want to have lunch at the Parco Regionale,” Lorenzo said and saw the smile on his daughter’s face. Parco Regionale Veneto del Delta was one of her favorite places.
21 - Lemesos, 2011
Marina looked out the campus library window and deliberated over her options, given the bleak state of her finances. The temporary job waiting tables she got during the Christmas holidays helped her stay afloat until now, but help was no longer wanted at the nadir of January’s low season that immediately followed the festive days. She counted the money in her wallet. Pathetic, she thought! Renting her own studio and having to pay for all the expenses by herself evolved into a Sisyphean task. She sighed.
So far, she had refused to ponder the ramifications of failing to secure a steady income. Now, the possibility of putting her tail between her legs and moving back to her parents’ house in the remote village of Kato Pyrgos, a dreadful prospect after having spent six years as an independent adult, was staring her in the face. The mere reflection of returning unemployed to her birthplace left the bitter taste of defeat in her mouth.
When Marina finished school, she went to live in Lefkosia with George. She had first enrolled in the one-year Tourist Guides’ School and then in the business administration program at the University of Cyprus while working as a guide, mostly between May and October, an arrangement relatively compatible with her study load. At first, George was drafted in the army for two years and then got a sales job in a telecommunications store. Her parents were unable to understand why the two young people wouldn’t marry as the years went by. Marina had a hard time justifying that even to herself. Eventually, it turned out it was for the better.
She glanced at her watch, picked up her bag and the books from the table, checked them out and walked out of the building. It was drizzling. She put her umbrella up and checked her missed calls. She ignored them all but the one from a travel agency she worked for.
“Marina, I know this comes on a short notice, but the request has just come in. We have an Italian client who has requested your private guide services starting coming Monday until Friday. Are you available?”
Although a very kind man, the head of incentives and private tours department never seemed to have time for pleasantries. Marina feared that he had been on the verge of a stroke or a heart attack lately. Then again, that was probably just a repercussion of the international financial crisis and the worldwide plummeting of the tourism industry.
“Sure. Any details?”
“Forwarding his email as we speak. I’ll keep you posted,” he said and hung up.
“Yes!” Marina exclaimed triumphantly raising her fist it in the air. She ignored Marios’s calls but decided to return Katerina’s call. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Why are you avoiding him?” Katerina cut to the chase in an almost accusing tone of voice.
Marina grinned. “Exactly, whom am I avoiding?” She knew whom she meant. She just liked to irritate Katerina when she became bossy.
“Marios! He’s been trying to get in touch with you since the engagement party, but you never return his calls. Why? He’s such a good catch!” Katerina never really understood Marina when it came to men.
“Because of that.”
“Run this by me one more time!”
“He’s a good catch, right? You know it. I know it. He knows it. Pretty much every chick on campus knows it. Katerina, I’m not going to trade one George for another, so you can tell Marios – if he hasn’t figured it out already - he’s wasting his time waiting for me. Case closed.”
Katerina knew it was pointless to argue further. When Marina made up her mind, it was next to impossible to change it.
22 - 1467
Guglielmo Fontana accepted Andrea Cornaro’s invitation to visit the sugar mill in Episkopi. After a careful inspection of the mill facilities and the current water supply system, the young engineer came up with the ingenious idea to install an overshot water wheel which derived its power from water flowing over the top of the wheel. This new wheel was reliable even during the months of low water flow, thus ameliorating the efficacy of the water supply system and speeding up the production process. With the water power issue settled, Marin now needed to concentrate on a bigger problem – acquiring wood.
It was a beautiful spring Sunday morning when he decided to go for a ride northward of the Cornaro estates and take a look for himself at possible forest areas to be exploited for timber. With the warmth of the sunshine on his face, he rode nonchalantly through the estate vineyards, the orchards with the citrus fruit trees, and the olive groves.
He headed farther north marveling at the cyclamens[1] and the tulips which came in all shades from deep violet and pink to pure white. They grew out of the ochre rocks, a color so much brighter on this sun-washed island than in Venice. No wonder Cypriots have celebrated the beauty of nature in spring, sprinkled so open-handedly on this floral haven, with processions of garlanded men and women in honor of Aphrodite and Adonis.
He drew in the reins on the top of the hill overlooking a secluded cove. He let his gaze rest on the panorama of the playful hide-and-seek of the golden sunbeams with the cotton white clouds in the otherwise clear azure sky that was reflected on the intense blue color of the Mediterranean Sea.
He wished he had brought his sketching material along. He missed having time to sketch almost as much as he had missed the sea and the feeling of absolute freedom when sailing toward the horizon with the salty, sticky sea breeze in his hair and on his face.
He was content with his work at the mill and the estates, but he couldn’t help feeling tied down now and then. Once or twice, he managed to take a boat out along with his fishing gear and be all by himself. Swimming nude, becoming one with the crystal clear blue waters off the shore of the Episkopi bay, felt like returning to his lover’s arms after a long journey. These were perhaps his only unperturbed moments on the island.
Marin had lost track of time in the serenity of the landscape, but he was aware of having left the boundaries of the Cornaro estates behind him. In the distance, he made out a mud-brick country house, half-hidden amidst the golden oaks, the junipers, the carob, and the olive trees, and decided to make the acquaintance of his neighbors. When he came close enough, he dismounted, tied his horse safely to the trunk of a mulberry tree by the porch, and knocked on the door, but there was no answer. The dwellers were probably out, he thought, and took to walking around the house.
He stood still as his eyes came to rest on a young woman sitting on a blanket underneath a lemon tree. The baby in her arms hungrily sucked on her swollen soft white breast. Marin was bowled over the image of the age-old mother-child bond in front of him that lazy, warm spring Sunday, scented with the perfume of the lemon blossoms. He dared not move.
Saturated, the baby let go of the erect nipple, turned her face to the side, still holding on to her mother’s breast with her tiny hand. Satisfied, she closed her eyes in the safety of the familiar arms and surrendered to her lullaby, a tune Marin thought he recognized. He had heard one of his servants sing it to her infant a couple of times.
“Go to sleep, and I’ve ordered your dowry from Polis[2], and from Venice, your clothes and golden jewelry…” the young woman sang while rocking her child to sleep.
She hadn’t yet covered herself up, and Marin did not think it proper to make her aware of his presence just yet. There was something erotic in her voice, he thought, or was that her bare breast exposed to the delight of his eyes?
The ginger half-breed that was dozing off by her feet must have sensed his stare, for he suddenly raised his head, jerked his ears up, and yapped at him. The woman turned her face around to see what the commotion was all about and in a protective motion, she held tighter onto her child. The dog took a few threatening steps toward Marin yelping even louder.
Not meaning to scare her, Marin took a step back stretching his open arms in fr
ont of him looking for the right words, “Fear not, signora. I just…”
[1]The island’s national plant
[2]Constantinople
23 - On board CY433, 2011
Lorenzo looked curiously at the picture-pretty coastal line as the A320 began its descent toward its destination and tried to imagine what Marin’s first impression of this island might have been.
In a way, this vacation felt like turning a leaf. Searching for Marin came as a handy motive, but even if his quest remained fruitless, he intended to enjoy his stay to the fullest. He wondered if the flavors of Cyprus’ cuisine were anything like the flavors Beth and he had discovered on Crete on their last trip together.
He would have to stop that, he thought. Associating everything with Beth was not helpful. He would have to let go, he reminded himself one more time. He stared at the wedding ring on his finger. He meant to take it off, but he had been postponing it for a year. There’s no time like the present, he thought, removed it, kissed it, and kept it safe.
24 - Larnaka, 2011
At the travel agency, Marina waited a few minutes before she was shown in for the briefing session.
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting, but we had this urgent request for a conference with two hundred delegates. They had originally booked in Egypt, but with the current political instability, they thought it safer to move the conference to Cyprus. Anyway, regarding the Italian,” he said, searching his emails and then looked up at Marina again. “I have already forwarded you his latest email.”
“Yes, I got it. VIP package, no special or dietary needs, wants to discover the flavors of Cyprus. I’ve already prepared some itineraries for him to choose from – the focus on culinary tours. It’s all here,” she said, flicking open a folder.
The department head quickly browsed through the proposed outings and nodded. “It looks good. Like always. Check with Costas which car is available. Questions?”