Venetians

by Lodovico Pizzati

  Marcello was standing in front of everyone and yelled at the huts:

  “Mauro! We are going to burn you alive and all your people too!”

  They set the remaining huts on fire and whomever started to run out, they killed indiscriminately, men, women and children. They continued for over an hour until the blaze form the huts ceased. After that, they flattened everything making sure there were no underground hiding places. Metamauco was no more.

  It was evening in Duin, and Primo and Naira arrived at the house of the Ishkhan Grigor. It was a modest house, and nothing like what Primo had seen in Constantinople. Even Tribune Ari’s house in Trebizond was much more upscale. Ishkhan Grigor might have been the Armenian Prince, but his house was just a little better than Primo’s house in Rivo Alto.

  They had arrived with the cart, so they could carry the amphorae. They were greeted with smiles. Naira spoke and Primo could not understand a thing. She gestured toward the amphorae, and the same two men Primo saw earlier in the day came and brought the wine and the olive oil inside.

  “Primo, come inside. Let me introduce you to Grigor,” Naira said.

  They ventured inside and right in front of them there was a tall and heavy middle-aged man. He smiled at them and spoke in Armenian, incomprehensible to Primo’s ears.

  “Primo, this is Ishkhan Grigor, Prince of Armenia,” Naira explained.

  “Tell him that it is an honor to meet him,” Primo replied. “I come from the very north of the Adriatic Sea, at the western edge of the Byzantine Empire. I hope the wine and olive oil I brought from the Mediterranean ports is something he appreciates.”

  Naira translated for Grigor, and Grigor replied in Armenian to Naira.

  “Ishkhan Grigor says that you are welcome and he is grateful for the wine you brought,” Naira translated. “We will compare it with our very own Armenian wine during dinner! Come on in!”

  As they went inside there were several other people. There was already food, and it appeared as if there was no particular dinner ceremony. People were standing and servants were bringing food and wine inside the hall from the kitchen area.

  “Primo, Grigor wants you to meet his family members and the merchants from Persia,” Naira translated.

  As they went around, Naira introduced Primo to several members of the Mamikonian clan, one by one. She finally got to the Persian merchants. Primo was eager to talk to them. He was finally achieving what he had been sent to do: get a direct contact with the Persians, reopen the Silk Road through Trebizond and Armenia, and in this way bypass Syria altogether.

  “Naira, tell them I want to trade with them,” Primo stated.

  Naira talked to them in Armenian and then she translated their reply for Primo.

  “They say they are happy to trade with you too. They want to know if you have anything else besides oil and wine.”

  “Tell them this is just the first exploratory mission. I bring wine and oil as a sign of good intentions. It’s basically a gift. Whatever else they want me to bring to them, I can.”

  Naira translated, listened to what the two Persians had to say in reply, and then related back to Primo:

  “They say they can bring silk or anything else that comes from the markets of the Far East. They want to know if you plan to meet here in Duin next time.”

  “Tell them no, that I can arrive all the way to Trebizond,” Primo replied. “They can either venture to Trebizond or have you Armenians be the middle men for the mountain route.”

  The evening continued with plenty of drinking and eating. Primo felt drunk, but everyone else around him was just as drunk. They were laughing, and Primo attempted to speak as well. He was sort of mimicking Naira and this made everyone laugh even harder. Something he said, or the way he said it, must have been really amusing.

  They were being loud and jolly, but all of a sudden, the whole mood completely shifted. Primo heard screaming coming from the entrance, and everyone turned silent. Arab soldiers stormed the dining hall. They even killed the two men that had brought in the amphorae, and the Arabs were now pointing the sword at Grigor’s neck.

  Grigor fell to his knees and pleaded with them, speaking fast in Armenian. The soldiers then turned and stared at Primo. Naira whispered to Primo:

  “Primo, do as I do. Get to your knees and bow down!”

  They both bowed down. Primo did not know what to think. He was still very drunk and he was staring down at the dirt. He heard squabbling. The Arabs screaming. Grigor pleading. Naira talking. All of a sudden, the Arab soldiers picked Primo up by the arms and started carrying him outside. Naira was screaming behind. She kept screaming until they let her come as well.

  “Primo, you are being arrested!” Naira yelled.

  “What did I do?” Primo replied.

  “Primo don’t talk, just listen. They allowed me to come as your translator. Do not speak until the Ostikan is questioning you. Just listen to me and don’t reply back!”

  Primo remained silent. The Arab soldiers carried him to the other part of town toward a much nicer palace. Instead of going into the main entrance, he was brought to the side and put inside what must have been a prison cell. It was very dark still. They let Naira enter as well. They locked the cell up and left the two inside in total darkness. There was some hay on the ground, but the place smelled like urine.

  “Primo, you can talk now,” Naira attempted to be reassuring. “The Ostikan will interrogate you tomorrow. I am sorry…”

  “Don’t be sorry, what have you done?” Primo replied.

  “I brought you to this hostile place…”

  “You did not bring me. I decided to come. This is what my mission was. I am sure it is just a misunderstanding. Tomorrow we will clear everything up with the Ostikan.”

  “I don’t know, Primo… these are unreasonable people,” Naira was genuinely scared. “I lost my whole family to their cruelty…”

  Naira started crying, and Primo hugged her as they found a place to lie down next to each other.

  “Don’t worry, Naira. We better sleep now. We need to be well rested for tomorrow.”

  Despite the scare, they were both exhausted from the trip and from the heavy night of drinking. They both immediately fell asleep.

  Early the next morning, an Arab soldier, barging in and screaming, awakened Primo and Naira.

  “Primo, get up, we need to follow the guard!” Naira told Primo. “The Ostikan is ready to see us.”

  They exited and they were escorted outside to the courtyard by guards. From the courtyard, they entered the main palace and they were brought toward a hall where the Ostikan was waiting.

  The Ostikan interrogated them, and Naira began to reply. The Ostikan said a few more words and then Naira asked Primo:

  “Primo, the Ostikan has accepted me as your translator. You are being accused of smuggling goods into Duin without the Ostikan’s permission.”

  “Tell him that I offer my deepest apologies,” Primo replied. “We had just arrived, and this is a foreign land to me. We just went to dinner last night, and today I was ready to meet with the Ostikan and present myself formally.”

  Naira translated what Primo had said to the Ostikan, and then the Ostikan spoke back to Naira.

  “The Ostikan wants to know where you come from and what your purpose is…” Naira translated. “I began to tell him, but he wanted to hear it from you.”

  “Tell him that I come from the north of the Adriatic Sea, from near Patavium and Heraclia, in case he has heard of those places. Tell him it as the western edges of the Byzantine Empire. My purpose is to trade.”

  Naira translated what Primo had said to the Ostikan. The Ostikan just replied with a few words.

  “The Ostikan believes that you are a Byzantine spy,” Naira translated.

  “No, no, no. Tell him absolutely no. I am not a military man. I am a t
rader. All I do is commerce and I would be happy to exchange goods and presents with the Ostikan.”

  “He is not a trader Primo… he is a military man…” Naira explained to Primo.

  The screaming Ostikan interrupted Naira. Primo was taken away again and brought back to the prison cell. As he left, he heard Naira say:

  “Primo! I will plead to have visiting rights! I will not abandon you!”

  Weeks went by and Primo was still kept in the same malodorous cell. At least there was enough light, but he really felt like a constrained farm animal. He had not spoken to anyone. He heard the Arab soldiers speak in the courtyard, and he felt like he had learned more Arabic than Armenian. The doors opened and he expected to receive his daily ration of food. Instead, it was Naira.

  “Naira! You have come back!” Primo exclaimed.

  “Primo! I told you I was not going to abandon you!”

  “What is going on? I have lost track of time… what is happening?”

  “You are still indefinitely under arrest. But I have pleaded for house arrest, to keep you at my house.”

  “And they bought it?” Primo incredulously asked.

  “I pledged my life as a collateral. If you escape, I will be executed…”

  Primo hugged and kissed Naira. They had not known each other for very long, but they had bonded. Primo stopped hugging her as he imagined how badly he must have been stinking. They were let out of the cell, and they returned to Naira’s house, where Primo could wash and rest.

  This was the beginning of Primo’s long stay in Duin. He was free to roam around town, but if he left, Naira would personally pay the price. One day, when they were sitting outside, Primo asked Naira:

  “Naira, what if we both escape? Then they will not be able to execute you…”

  “If I escape they will go after my family,” Naira quickly replied.

  “But does that mean that you cannot leave Duin anymore?”

  “Until they decide to free you.”

  “Are they really going to decide? It seems like they are enjoying having me enslaved here.”

  “They would have killed you already, but because you are such an exotic prisoner, they are probably waiting to hear back from Damascus.”

  “Where is that?” Primo asked.

  “That’s in Syria. Chances are that they will want to sell you as a slave over there. You would probably be useful as an informant.”

  “If I am going to be sold as a slave in Syria, I think I would want to learn a few tricks from you…”

  “What do you mean?” Naira asked.

  “Give me the power to survive poisons!” Primo demanded.

  “Primo… it will take several months if not years, and you will get seriously ill in the process. Are you sure you want to?”

  “I have nothing else to do. I don’t mind getting violently sick.”

  “Very well…” Naira complied.

  Naira got up and went to take out some potions. She brought them back and said:

  “I really hope you will survive all this. I would hate to lose you…”

  She prepared a potion and handed it to Primo to drink. Primo took the cup and before drinking it, he looked at Naira and said:

  “Naira… I don’t know if I will be hallucinating or if I will be completely unconscious. Before that happens, can you tell your uncle and your cousins that next time they go to Trebizond to tell Father Leontio that I am being held prisoner here in Duin?”

  “They won’t go back to Trebizond until next spring,” Naira explained.

  “Fine, but when they go back, they must tell Father Leontio to go back to Venetia and tell my brother. He will free me, I know…”

  “Fine, now drink…”

  Primo drank the potion and immediately felt the effect. He passed out wondering if he was about to die.

  Chapter 32

  A NEW GENERATION

  Heraclia had not been as crowded since the day of the Arengo that elected Polo as Duke of Venetia. This time the Venetians were all gathered for his funeral. It was a cloudy day and the long procession was carrying the bodies of Polo, Aurelia, and their two children, Clelia and Manlio.

  The bodies were wrapped in white cloth and carried on top of cots that members of the procession were holding on their shoulders. They arrived at the burial destination, which was a field at the edge of Heraclia. A grave had already been dug earlier in the morning, and Patriarch Cristoforo was waiting there. When the bodies arrived, they were lowered into their final resting place.

  The Patriarch was preaching in liturgical Latin, and no one was fully understanding what he was saying. They were all still in shock at the loss of their beloved leader. Without Polo the lagoon would not have flourished. They would primarily still be fishermen, malnourished and cold. Instead, thanks to the trade routes Polo had opened they were immeasurably wealthy.

  As the bodies were being lowered, Saverio was staring straight ahead still in disbelief. He remembered the time, over ten years before, when he ventured to the farm in Altinum and met Polo for the first time. He could not have imagined how that inquisitive sixteen-year-old boy would have become the first Duke of a reemerging Venetia. Sabino was standing next to his father at the funeral, and he recalled the perils that a young Polo had to survive. Sabino had saved Polo from Zani, by warning him to escape and find temporary refuge in that barn in Opterg. Since then he saw Polo overcome many more challenges. Polo was self-confident and without his assertiveness, they would have never become a dominant trading power. Unfortunately, Polo paid with his life for having dared too much.

  Paulina had also witnessed Polo’s improbable survival. She was there the morning when her cousin Aurelia had spotted an unconscious Polo floating on a log. Paulina was now standing next to her husband Claudio and their children. She was consoling Aurelia’s mother Eleonora, who was sobbing next to her. Instead of crying, Paulina was trying not to smile, as she could not help but recollect the happy memories of Polo fish mongering in Opterg. She was recalling when she used to poke fun at him and his uncontrollable thirst for commerce.

  Another girl present during the fish mongering days was Marcia. She was now standing on the other side of the funeral procession with her eight-year-old son, Orso. Marcia was remembering the day Polo reconnected with Primo. They had camped out that evening, right on the spot where Polo later decided to build the Rivo Alto dwellings. That night under the stars, Marcia had Polo all to herself. She was now remembering Polo’s stories by the campfire. His imagination was perhaps a fundamental ingredient that fueled the inventiveness that made them all so rich.

  Nearby Marcia, there was also Fabia, seventeen by now, who was accompanied by Hermetruda and a thirteen-year-old Aldo. Adalulf instead had not made the trip from Patavium. Perhaps the old warrior was the one who personified best the Longobard threat that prowled beyond the marshland. However, Adalulf’s absence also symbolized how Polo overcame the countless adversities he faced, and how he turned them into opportunities to enrich the lagoon.

  An even more noticeable absence was Primo, and it was even more perceptible by the presence of Primo’s wife Livia, who was there with her mother Lucilla, and her children Licia, Fausto and Tiberia. With Polo, Primo had been the other pillar on which the Venetian community had flourished against all odds. Now Primo was also gone, lost in a distant land. He should have been back by now, and many perceived his absence as equivalent to being dead.

  Finally, there was Marcello, who with his father Justo was among those lowering the bodies into the grave. He had a tremendous responsibility on his shoulders. He had to prove that the incredible achievements of the past years were not just the product of the exceptional skills of two Anafesto brothers. Marcello had to show that the community could thrive regardless, and continue to grow and become even more dominant in commercial trade. However, this day was a time of remembrance, a
s the time for Marcello to shine had to wait until the next day.

  The following morning all the Venetians were gathered again, but for a completely different reason. They had to elect their new Duke. The Arengo, the town hall meeting, was again organized and presided by Patriarch Cristoforo. Everything was set, but a few were still discussing what the outcome of the election should be.

  “I don’t know… I really think the position belongs to Primo…” Sabino said.

  “I agree that because of seniority Primo is the obvious successor,” Justo appeared to agree, “but we cannot wait for his return. We don’t know what Ravenna is up to…”

  “Technically we are not at war with Ravenna…” Saverio corrected Justo.

  “Officially, no. But they just sent an expedition to kill Polo, because they were not able to expunge Rivo Alto!” Marcello intervened.

  “Sabino… Saverio… we don’t know when Primo will return,” Claudio interjected. “We need to elect the new duke today.”

  “Fine, I have nothing against you, Marcello, it’s just that Primo might be back any day,” Sabino conceded.

  “Or he might be back in months, if not years, if not ever!” Justo replied. “You know the perils of traveling…”

  In the meantime, Patriarch Cristoforo was finishing his introduction.

  “Everyone, Marcello is just fine. Let’s get ready to vote,” Saverio concluded the private conversation the few of them were having.

  The Patriarch called Marcello to the front of the hall and asked the attendees to proclaim him the new Duke of Venetia. Everyone raised their hands and nodded in approval. The Patriarch ended the ceremony by calling Marcello the second Duke of Venetia, and placing on his head the skiadion, the same Byzantine head attire that was used for Polo’s Dogal ceremony.