Anarchy

by Stewart Binns

  Enrico Selvo had roused himself sufficiently to speak. The Captain was anxious about his crew.

  ‘How many survivors?’

  ‘Just us, Captain. I’m sorry.’

  ‘The Domenico Contarini and her cargo?’

  ‘Gone to the bottom, sir.’

  ‘Do you know where we are?’

  ‘We should be drifting towards Vis. The wind is still to the south-west.’

  ‘You had better leave me there. There is no future for me in Venice, now that I’ve lost one of the navy’s finest galleys. I should have died on board with my men. Or gone down with my ship.’

  Selvo, looking distraught, then turned to peer in the direction of his sunken vessel. Only a few hours earlier he had been resolute and strong, now he looked like a broken man.

  After a while, we all fell asleep, to be woken an hour or so later by the rolling of a rising swell and the whistle of an ever stronger wind. Where Captain Selvo had lain was just an empty space. He must have slid off the raft while we were sleeping, unable to face the shame of having lost his crew, his ship and his cargo. I felt stricken by his demise. He was a noble man and had shown me great kindness.

  The elements did not allow me to contemplate his passing for long. There was the rumble of thunder in the distance and flashes of lightning beyond the clouds on the horizon. Carried on the wind, another storm was coming our way. I was already beginning to feel very cold, and I could see that Wulfric was shaking uncontrollably. We needed to make landfall as soon as possible.

  Within thirty minutes, our makeshift raft was lashed by torrents of rain and tossed by a rolling sea and howling wind. Eadmer and Alric held on to Wulfric while Toste and I held each other tightly, all desperately trying to stay on the raft. For several long minutes, I found it impossible to see beyond a hand in front of my face, until the storm slowly began to abate. It was then that I realized that Alric and one of the Venetian marines were no longer with us.

  We scoured the sea as far as we could see and shouted incessantly in every direction, but we saw and heard nothing. They had been washed away.

  Eadmer was distraught. I had never before seen him shed a tear, but now he struggled to speak.

  ‘I thought he was still there … I was holding Wulfric as tight as I could, concentrating on him … Alric was on the other side … he must have let go.’

  The black sky of the storm was replaced by a clear night, sparkling with stars. But the temperature dropped significantly and the wind still blew. Wulfric shook even more; I was very cold, shivering, my teeth chattering. I just wanted to close my eyes, and drift off to sleep, but Eadmer forced me to stay awake and shouted at all of us.

  ‘Everyone get close together! We must keep one another warm, otherwise the cold will draw the life out of us. I’ve seen it happen. Men go to sleep and never wake up!’

  We then spent what was left of the night curled up together like pups in a litter. We recited prayers, sang songs, repeated old tales and legends and counted the stars to stay awake. Although we were far from safe, and faced an uncomfortable night, at least we would see the sunrise in the morning – unlike our illfated companions whose remains would serve only to feed the creatures of the deep.

  By morning, when the first rays of the sun began to warm us, there were only seven survivors of the Domenico Contarini – and two of those were not in good condition.

  With the low sun behind it, we then got the first glimpse of the small island of Bisevo that would offer us salvation. Just three miles west of Vis, the strong south-westerly wind had propelled us within touching distance of its shore. Despite my fragile condition, I roused myself sufficiently to get Eadmer and the men to use their hands as oars to get us on to the beach.

  It was like arriving in paradise: the beach glistened with golden sand, the hillsides were swathed in abundant pine trees, and a gentle breeze moderated the heat of the hot sun. Home to a colony of Benedictine monks, the island’s twelve resident brothers rushed to help us within minutes of spotting our raft on the beach. Realizing that we were not the pirates who infest their shore, but rather their hapless victims, they soon fed and watered us, dressed our wounds and placed us in the shade to sleep and recover from our ordeal.

  Over the ensuing weeks, we learned a good deal about the pastoral charms and exacting rigours of being a Benedictine monk, especially when scratching a self-sufficient existence on a remote Adriatic island surrounded by ruthless pirates. We also discovered a good deal about the pirates who had ambushed us. Paganians by name, a Slavic tribe, they had lived on the islands off the coast of Dalmatia for centuries, supplementing with piracy the meagre agricultural existence offered by the harsh limestone islands. They would trade their loot with any passing merchants who dared to enter their waters. Any rich prisoners they snared were ransomed, while the less valuable ones were sold into slavery.

  The monks had to buy their trouble-free life with butts of olive oil, which the pirates came to collect twice a year. The Benedictines had few other visitors and kept only a small skiff for rowing to Vis in an emergency. They helped us build a good shelter and fed us until we were able to fend for ourselves. The island of Bisevo had fresh water, a little game in the interior and plenty of fresh fish teeming in its waters. Within a few weeks, we were all recovered from our various injuries and fit and eager to return to Venice.

  As leader of our small band, I took the decision not to use the monks’ skiff to row us to Vis, as the island was controlled by the Paganians. However, that meant that we had to wait for sight of a friendly trader – a rare occurrence that had not happened since the turn of the year. It was a long wait, and I questioned the wisdom of my decision more than once.

  We did not see a passing trader until the bitterly cold days of November 1117, by which time Bisevo had lost much of its idyllic charm to monotonous boredom. The tranquil life of monks was not for us. When we eventually caught sight of a ship, it turned out to be part of a large flotilla of Venetian traders, guarded by three large war galleys. We said our grateful goodbyes to the monks who had helped us and left for Venice, feeling hugely relieved.

  There was amazement on board our rescue ship that they had stumbled across seven fellow-Venetians and that we had survived the demise of the Domenico Contarini. It had been assumed in Venice that she had gone down and that all had perished with her. Our rescuers’ amazement slowly turned to admiration as the details of the battle circulated across the flotilla.

  Within days of our arrival at the Arsenale, we were lauded for our courage and resolve, especially for our final redoubt on the burning deck, a story that became embellished in the telling as ‘The Domenico’s English Shield Wall’.

  I hoped of course that news of our redoubt and survival might reach the ear of the Doge, and a few days later I received the news I wanted from Raphael Pesaro, Master of the Arsenale.

  ‘You have been summoned to the palace to see Ordelafo Faliero. It is a great honour.’

  ‘Thank you, Magister.’

  ‘Word has gone around the Arsenale about the young Englishman. You did well to get the men home; you won their respect.’

  ‘I appreciate your kind words.’

  ‘But remember, the Doge is a difficult man. Mind what you say. He’s going to war against the Hungarians again, and he may want you to go with him. Be clear in your mind what you want to do if he offers you the option. He won’t like it if you’re indecisive.’

  ‘I thank you for the advice.’

  I then talked to some of the senior knights commanding the Doge’s marines about the campaigns against the Hungarians, and later that evening I discussed the situation with my men.

  ‘Raphael of Pesaro thinks the Doge may ask us to join his campaign against the
Hungarians. Are you happy with that?’

  As usual, Eadmer spoke first.

  ‘Do we have to fight the Hungarians at sea?’

  ‘No, the Doge’s knights have told me that the Hungarian king, Colomon, became ruler of Venice’s rival city, Zadar, a few years ago. But he has just died and the Doge thinks King Stephen, his son, is weak and that it’s a good time to strike at the city. He believes the Hungarians have made a secret pact with the Paganian pirates and he wants to punish them for it. We will embark as a fleet, but make a landing north of Zadar. It is on the Dalmatian coast, not far from our sanctuary on Bisevo, but we will attack by land.’

  ‘As long as we don’t have to fight with fire and water around our ankles, as we did on the Domenico, we’re in.’

  We all smiled ruefully at one another.

  ‘We will fight in the name of Alric.’

  Wulfric bowed his head.

  ‘He died trying to keep me alive. I will never forget that.’

  I reached out and put my hand on Wulfric’s shoulder.

  ‘He got his wish in the end. He always wanted to fight.’

  My gesture towards Wulfric seemed to meet with Eadmer’s approval. He gave me a short nod and a warm smile of endorsement before also putting his hand on our friend’s shoulder. I then reached out to Toste and placed my other hand on his arm.

  ‘We are just four now. Let’s keep it that way.’

  The Doge’s palace was even more remarkable than I had imagined. Built by the side of the Canalazzo, the Grand Canal of the city, it towered over the waterfront as a symbol of the power of Venice. Flying high from its roof was the crimson flag of the Republic, with its golden winged lion emblazoned at its centre.

  Entrance to the palace was gained by gondola through arches at the water’s edge, which opened to a dock beneath a grand staircase leading to the receiving rooms. There plaintiffs and their lawyers waited for hours for an audience with the Grand Council or the Doge himself. I took Eadmer with me for the audience. We had washed ourselves and cleaned our clothes. But as we had lost our weapons and armour at sea, we were unarmed and looked a little impoverished amidst the splendour that surrounded us.

  When we arrived at the Great Council Chamber, it was as big as a city market. Its walls were adorned with frescoes and tapestries, and its floors were covered in carpets the size of a yeoman’s house. My mother had told me many times about the wonders of Constantinople and the splendours of the Emperor’s palace, the Blachernae, but what we saw here made us gawp in wonder.

  As well as being the elected leader of the Most Serene Republic of Venice, the Doge was also a soldier. The present incumbent, Ordelafo Faliero, had personally commanded a Venetian fleet of a hundred ships to assist Baldwin I, King of Jerusalem, and Sigurd I, King of Norway, in capturing the city of Sidon in the Holy Land in 1110.

  The Doge sat on a gilded throne in the middle of the long rear wall of the chamber, from where he could see the Canalazzo crammed full of the trading galleys that brought Venice its vast wealth and power. Beyond it was the open sea, the lifeblood of the city. The Council members sat and stood around him, listening to the pleadings of the wronged, the disgruntled and the distraught. Everyone wanted justice – or perhaps his or her version of it – while many wanted loans or bills paid, and some wanted revenge.

  A pair of Republican Guards dressed in dark-blue tunics flanked him. Tall and standing rigidly to attention, they wore highly polished swords on their belts and carried long pikes, at least the length of two men, at the top of which were tied the Doge’s pennons in red and gold. Their conical helmets were topped by plumes of feathers, which added considerably to their already prodigious height.

  The Doge himself wore the famous Corno Ducale, a circular crown made of cloth of gold decorated with precious gems, which sat over the Camauro, a fine linen Phrygian cap with a horn-like peak, a classical symbol of liberty. He had a pure white ermine cape over his shoulders and robes of imperial purple, trimmed at the hems with elaborate gold embroidery. His sword was even shinier than those of his guards. It had intricate scrolls chased on to its blade, and gleaming rubies and emeralds decorated the cross-guard and pommel of its hilt. I was very envious and wondered if it had ever been wielded in earnest.

  Although he was sitting, it was obvious that here was a man of significant dimensions. His long dark beard, streaked with grey, resembled the mane of the winged lion embroidered on to the tapestry above his head. He had a hawk-like nose and piercing amber eyes, as intelligent as any I had seen, which were sharply focused on us as we approached him.

  His chamberlain leaned towards him and read my name from the appointments’ list. The Doge raised his hand slightly from the arm of his throne. Silence reigned immediately, allowing him to speak to me in a deep but soft voice.

  ‘You are younger than I thought you would be.’

  He had the grandest of titles: Serenissimo Principe. But it was one that seemed to match his power and presence.

  ‘Most Serene Prince, I am tender in my years, but I have learned much in your service, for which I am humbly grateful.’

  ‘I have read the account of your courage against the Paganian pirates and how you managed to survive. You did well.’

  ‘Thank you, Serenity. But my sergeant here, Eadmer, was the prop I leaned on.’

  Eadmer looked down at his feet and shuffled a little, embarrassed by the praise.

  ‘You chose him well. He will be granted five pieces of silver, and two pieces each for your men.’

  ‘Serenity, that is very generous.’

  Eadmer shifted again, but this time with a smile on his face, followed by a deep bow to the Doge.

  ‘And how may I reward you, Harold of Hereford?’

  ‘My service to you and to Venice is sufficient recompense for me, Most Serene Prince.’

  The Doge smiled benignly.

  ‘The answer of a worthy knight. I would expect nothing less from a man of your pedigree.’

  ‘Serenity, I am not of the nobility. My grandfather was born to be an English thegn, a minor lord of a small village, but was banished and became an outlaw. My father earned his knighthood as a warrior.’

  ‘You make my point for me, young knight. Your pedigree speaks for itself. Venice is a republic, built by warriors and merchants; like your family, we are all self-made men.’

  It was my turn to smile and look down a little self-consciously. My instincts had told me that it would be worth meeting Ordelafo Faliero. Now I knew my intuition had been right.

  ‘I believe your grandfather was called Hereward Great Axe, when he served with the Guiscard family in Sicily.’

  ‘Indeed, Serenity. He is known as Hereward of Bourne in England and led the English revolt against the Normans after the Conquest. My father was Sweyn of Bourne, who fought with Edgar the Atheling and the English contingent in the Great Crusade.’

  ‘It is a fine lineage. You should be very proud.’

  The Doge then reached out towards his steward. The man handed him a rolled and sealed parchment.

  ‘I would like to offer you a commission as a captain in my service. I am mounting a campaign against the Hungarians, who continue to be a nuisance on the Dalmatian coast. Will you accept?’

  ‘Most Serene Prince, I will, without hesitation.’

  ‘Good. Report for duty in two days. We depart on the neap tide.’

  When I later told Raphael of Pesaro about the commission from the Doge, I reminded him of his words of caution.

  ‘I thought you said the Doge was a difficult man?’

  ‘Wait until you fail him, or raise his ire.’

  6. Burning of Zadar

  We were soon on the Dalmatian coast, anchored in the sheltered port of S
enj, a city under Venetian control for many years, situated about a hundred miles north of Zadar. The Doge had brought over fifty war galleys, all with a full complement of Venetian marines, reinforced by a large contingent of Swiss archers and infantry. He had sent a baggage train overland from Venice, including sappers and catapult and ballista engineers, supported by all the skills and resources necessary to sustain a significant army in the field for an extended period.

  After leaving a small force to guard the ships at anchor, he armed his oarsmen to act as an infantry reserve and we began our march to the stronghold of Zadar. With 1,500 regular marines and almost 3,000 auxiliary infantry, we were a significant army. The Doge meant to put an end to Hungarian interference in the Adriatic and to King Stephen’s support for the Paganian pirates, once and for all.

  As we progressed down the coast, I began to understand why the Doge had developed his reputation for military prowess and firm discipline – and also his notoriety for possessing a fiery and irascible temperament.

  ‘Stay in line!’

  ‘Your men are too slow, get them moving!’

  ‘Tell that sergeant he and his men are to report to me at dusk to learn how to march in step!’

  These were just some of the more moderate orders he would bellow as he rode along the ranks on his huge black Norman destrier.

  I was assigned to Ordelafo’s general staff, as a junior officer, and soon learned to keep my head down and speak only when spoken to – usually in the peremptory style of, ‘Englishman!’ I would be expected to be at his side in moments.