“More like eighty years. My great-great-grandparents moved there from Oklahoma in a covered wagon pulled by oxen.”
“Really?” He tried not to sound like he was laughing at her. “A covered wagon.”
“Yeah. How did your people get to Monagasquay?”
“I hadn’t thought about it, but I suppose they didn’t drive Maseratis. Horses, I would think, and ships for the sea.”
“Ooo,horses.Fancy.”
He laughed. “They moved from Genoa to the coast of France a few centuries ago or so.”
“So, were they French?”
“Italian.”
“Are your people farmers, too?”
“More like pirates.”
“Huh. Exciting. My other great-grandfather was a cattle rustler who went straight and became the sheriff of a little town in Southern Arizona because he knew where all the cattle thieves kept their stolen herds. So, he cleaned them out and gave everybody their cattle back, and they kept electing him sheriff after that.”
Maxence summoned information and stories he’d heard all his life. “A thousand years ago, my indirect ancestor was a lord of the Italian city-state of Genoa. At the time, there was a civil war raging across Italy between factions who supported the Pope and other people who supported the Holy Roman Emperor, because those two men were fighting for control of all of Europe. This wasn’t politics like we think of it today. Politics back then meant that noble lords raised armies by paying peasants and mercenaries and fought each other for control of the cities of Italy, which meant the right to tax citizens and the trade that went through those cities. Controlling a city meant you and your family and your descendants would be extremely wealthy for generations, especially if that city was a seaport on the Mediterranean Sea.”
There was a sound of shuffling, of fabric on fabric. Maxence thought Dree had turned to face him but couldn’t tell in the absolute blackness.
He said, “Genoa is on the coast of Italy, south of France. Today, the airport there is directly on the coast. The airstrips are right beside the harbor where yachts and other ships dock. Back then, of course, it was more important that it had a natural harbor for the trading ships of the Mediterranean.”
“But that’s not Monagasquay,” she said, her voice still husky from crying.
“Monagasquay is north of Genoa and south of Nice, France. It was much less prosperous than Genoa and had many fewer people and rich people, so it wasn’t a prize unto itself. Monagasquay has an amazing natural harbor, though, and a stone headland that was ideal for building a fortress to guard that harbor. We call it ‘The Rock of Monagasquay.’ By holding that fortress and harbor, one could use the small city-state to launch attacks at Genoa.”
“Ah, it was tactically important,” Dree said.
Maxence nodded in the dark. “Exactly. Whoever controlled the fortress and harbor of Monagasquay could attack Genoa until they controlled it, too. So, if you controlled Genoa, it was important that you also controlled Monagasquay, or you would eventually lose Genoa.”
Another small rustle issued from the other side of the tent.
Maxence went on, “On January eighth in the year 1279, Francisco Grimaldi was the leader of the political factions who supported the Pope and wanted to control Genoa. However, their enemies controlled Monagasquay and continued to launch attacks which would have eventually succeeded in taking over Genoa. So, they knew they needed to capture the fortress and the harbor of Monagasquay.”
“Is this where the action movie happens?” she asked, and her voice sounded a little stronger and cheerier.
Maxence smiled. “Not so much of an action movie. More like a thriller and maybe a horror movie. My indirect ancestor, Francesco Grimaldi, the Lord of Genoa and leader of the Guelph forces, led the assault on Monagasquay personally, which was as stupid as the captain of a spaceship going with the away team to a dangerous planet, or a king riding a white stallion at the front of his troops and leading the charge. It was honorable and noble, but we lost a lot of relatives that way. It does sound more like a movie plot than history, full of plot holes.”
“But you’re making this up, right?” she asked him, sounding puzzled.
“Of course. That’s why I keep stopping and having to think about what happened, because I’m making it up, not because I can’t remember what year or names of the cities and stuff. Anyway, the Guelph Army commanded by my ancestor Francesco Grimaldi and his cousin, Rainier the First, the Lord of Cagnes—”
“Wait, Rainier? Where have I heard of him?”
“The current sovereign prince of Monagasquay, Prince Rainier IV, is named after him. I might have mentioned him earlier.”
“Oh, right. Okay.”
“Anyway, Francesco Grimaldi and Rainier I, Lord of Cagnes, assaulted the fortress on the headland above the harbor for weeks, but it was a really strong fortress. They couldn’t fight their way in, and they just kept losing soldiers. So Francesco Grimaldi came up with a plan.”
“Ooooo, a plan.” Dree’s voice sounded perkier still.
“His plan was treachery. Francesco Grimaldi’s nickname wasil Malizia,which means ‘The Malicious.’”
