This was the most Adalulf could do with wooden sticks, and now Grimwald was no longer amused. He was advancing furious as hell. Adalulf was retreating as fast as he could hop, but fell backward. He held the second stick up with two hands as Grimwald swung his sword toward his head. The stick broke, sharply cut in half, but at least it had softened the blow. Grimwald’s sword managed to cut Adalulf in the face, but at least it was not a lethal blow. With his good leg, Adalulf kicked Grimwald in the stomach before he had a chance to finish him off with a second sword strike.
Adalulf crawled away throwing at Grimwald everything he could find on the ground: rocks, sticks, dirt. Anything to prolong for a few more seconds his life. In the meanwhile, Grimwald was beginning to get dizzy. The viper’s venom was taking effect. All the sword swinging had put the poison into blood circulation, and Grimwald was now getting a throbbing headache. He tried to concentrate on Adalulf, but he now saw two Adalulfs, now three…
Adalulf realized that his plan was working. Grimwald was dazed, and he was swinging and hitting trees instead of finishing off his prey, who was struggling to even stand up. Adalulf grabbed a rock and threw it toward Grimwald’s head. It hit him on the side, and Grimwald fell down. Adalulf could not believe it. He was now standing, and the King of Italy was lying down, defeated, below him! He dragged himself and found a larger rock. He fell to his knees on top of Grimwald, and lifted the heavy rock to give one final blow to Grimwald’s life. As he lifted the rock over his head, Adalulf’s thorax was exposed, and an arrow pierced his side. He dropped the rock from the pain and the stone rolled down the slope and splashed into the creek several yards below. It was Bertwalt that shot the arrow. He had finally caught up through the thick woods and had managed to save his king right on time. Adalulf got up and turned around, finding enough energy to try to escape from his executioners. The arrow had not pierced his rib cage as he could still breathe. As he limped away, a second arrow hit Adalulf on his back. This time he fell face forward and tumbled down to the creek below. He was barely conscious, but he felt the warm blood leaving his body. He could not feel any pain, and perhaps the frigid water was numbing everything. Or perhaps he was bleeding to death. All he knew was that he could not move. All that Bertwalt had to do was climb down and stab Adalulf in the heart.
Bertwalt had other concerns. He did not know how, but Grimwald was wounded and inexplicably unconscious. This had never happened. He had personally seen Grimwald surrounded by multiple soldiers and with his own eyes he had seen his king kill them all without suffering a scratch. Grimwald was the fastest, the strongest, and the most experienced. And all this by also being by far the youngest. He was invincible. How could he be lying down unconscious, needing Bertwalt to save him from certain death? Bertwalt ordered the other five warriors, who had finally descended down the steep slope, to carry their king up. He completely forgot about Adalulf. He had taken two arrows to the chest and had tumbled down ten yards and splatted on a rocky creek bed. If he was miraculously not dead yet, he would certainly drown. It was starting to rain, and that creek would soon flood. His main concern was to bring Grimwald back to safety before the sloping ground became too slippery.
Once they reached their horses, Bertwalt created a makeshift cot that he secured between his horse and Grimwald’s horse. Grimwald was lying unconscious on the cot, and Bertwalt was holding the reins of both horses in order to have them advance parallel. He carefully made his way back toward Patavium.
They left Adalulf there, in the creek filling with freezing mountain water. It was dusk, and it was getting even darker in that narrow valley. Adalulf had a smile on his face. His upper lip was sliced open by Grimwald’s sword and a vertical cut had also opened his cheek and eyebrow. His leg was unnaturally twisted. Already broken it was now more severely damaged by the tumble in the creek. An arrow was still sticking out from his side, and while the one in his back had broken off, the tip was still pushing into some vital organ. The cold water was flowing downstream with his blood. If, for a moment, he felt the coldness of the water, he was now feeling warm. The icy mountain water was covering him like a warm cozy blanket. He felt good now. The water level rose enough to cover his ears, and everything went silent. Everything was peaceful. He had defeated the strongest warrior the Longobards had ever seen. And he had done it with a wooden stick and his craftiness. He could not wish for a more glorious death. Trudy would be so proud of him, if they ever told her how it really ended. His eyesight became blurry as darkness slowly veiled the woods. He suddenly saw above him the silhouette of a wolf’s head. He was not afraid. Lord Adalulf, feared by his friends and foes as ‘the wolf’, being mauled by a pack of wolves? An honorable death indeed. To the right of the wolf’s head he saw another one, but… ‘this seems more like a fox’s head’ he thought, ‘that’s strange… wolves and foxes hunting together?’ His sight had to be playing tricks on him, and it was probably another wolf. Then, to the left of the wolf’s head, he saw another silhouette… was it a deer? It had the antlers of a buck… now that’s bizarre… Are all animals from the woods coming together to feast on him? He saw other animals’ heads appearing… ‘I must be hallucinating, or perhaps I am already dead,’ he thought as he serenely closed his eyes.
Patriarch Cristoforo and Saverio were whispering to one another in front of Tribune Stefanos’ residence in Heraclia.
“But Your Eminence…” Saverio was insisting. “If the Exarch finds out about your plan, he can have you executed in the main square!”
“As far as I am concerned, we have no other choice,” the Patriarch replied. “If it does not go as planned and we are caught, I’d rather be executed than be deposed by the Pope or continue in this submissive state under the control of Ravenna.”
“Perhaps it’s only temporary…” Saverio suggested. “Maybe things will return as before…”
“Temporary? Don’t you see?” The Patriarch scoffed. “Before we were just the left overs of conquered land. Nobody cared about the Patriarchate of Grado… Nobody could survive on sandy islands scattered around a marshy swamp! Sure! You have your autonomy! You have your autocephaly! We were given up as dead, Saverio!”
Saverio nodded as he knew all too well that the same was true not only for religious matters, but for taxes as well. When there was nothing left, Ravenna did not bother to collect anything from the lagoon anymore.
“But now they found out that miraculously we did not only survive, but that we are also thriving!” The Patriarch continued. “Last spring our merchants went down to Kerkyra and now the whole Mediterranean talks about the rowdy and jolly Venetians. They must be rich up there, they say! And soon enough, here comes a new tribune and there goes our religious autonomy!”
“Sure, but now…” Saverio was trying to make some sense of all this. “How is it going to help having our own local leader if militarily we are still subject to the Exarch, and for religious matters the Patriarchate is under the Pope?”
“It’s a first step. Once we are recognized…” The Patriarch explained, “…recognized by Constantinople as well, I mean. Then we can make our move. We can de facto regain our independence!”
As the Patriarch whispered that last word so loud that could be heard yards away, the door to Tribune Stefanos opened and a Byzantine guard came out.
“Patriarch Cristoforo! The Tribune is ready to receive you!”
Saverio and the Patriarch entered the hall and they sat around the same table where they had so many meetings with the previous Tribune Gregorios. The new tribune, Stefanos, was already there and greeted them:
“Patriarch Cristoforo! Saverio! Welcome… now, I already know what the purpose of this meeting is, and Polo will be here at any moment, but in the meanwhile, if you could give me some more details…”
“Absolutely!” The Patriarch began. “You see the geography of this lagoon is very particular…”
“There is no other place like it!” Saverio i
nterrupted.
“You are right about that!” Tribune Stefanos agreed with a mocking tone.
“So…” The Patriarch continued. “While many other lands of the Empire are easily controlled into a single town with farmland around, what we have here is a bunch of island villages scattered around in a long narrow lagoon…”
“…there is the island of Grado,” Saverio began, “…there is the island of Heraclia, there is the island of Equilium, there is the island of Torcellum, there is the island of Murano, there is the island of Olivolo, there is the island of Rivo Alto, there is the island of Metamauco, there is the island of Cioza…”
“…and now there is also the island of Canareclo…” Tribune Stefanos added.
The Tribune was diverting the conversation into another subject, which was the fact that Longobards were living in the lagoon, with Primo’s and Polo’s consent. The Exarchate was frowning upon this new settlement, so the Patriarch quickly diverted the conversation back toward his goal.
“The point is, Tribune Stefanos…” The Patriarch continued, “…the point is that all these villages are separate and independent entities. Part of the same community sure, part of the same Patriarchate, of course! But they are independent of one another, and… and they fight!”
“They fight?” Tribune Stefanos asked, truly curious.
“Yes!” Saverio interrupted. “They fight over fishing rights, they fight over women, they fight over…”
Saverio was running out of excuses, and the Patriarch again intervened:
“Tribune Stefanos, is your role to defend us from the Longobards or to protect us from one other?”
“Both!” The Tribune asserted.
“Of course, both, but do you really want to waste your soldiers’ time running around each distant island as a peacemaker over trivial issues? Is this what a great military man like yourself should do?”
“Fine, I see your point, Patriarch Cristoforo. If I were a tribune in a mainland town, everything would rotate around the main center and I could easily control it all, but here… here things are different. I see that, I agree… But so what?”
“We need to work on prevention!” The Patriarch insisted.
“Prevention! Yes!” Saverio seconded that.
“We want to prevent all these rivalries…” The Patriarch continued, “…so there would never be the need for you to intervene with force, over and over again. We need you to fend off the Longobards!”
“I know how we can prevent all these squabbles!” Saverio pretended to have an idea at that very moment.
“Let’s hear it…” answered Tribune Stefanos pointedly.
“We need a central figure!” The Patriarch declared.
“Isn’t that you?” Tribune Stefanos asked the Patriarch.
“I am a religious figure, just like the Patriarch of Ravenna. But Ravenna also has an Exarch…”
“…and Heraclia has me, as the Exarch’s appointed man controlling the lagoon…” Tribune Stefanos rebutted.
“But you are a military man, Tribune Stefanos, just as I am a religious man. The people need a political man. A representative that they can all look up to!”
“This way, before fighting, they will ask this political leader to mediate and be a peacemaker among fishermen!” Saverio explained.
“He can also represent the people on their behalf when talking to me or to you!” The Patriarch added. “This way, if you have to communicate something you only tell it to one representative and he will have to communicate it to all the islands…”
“I see… sounds like a harmless proposal, and perhaps even useful in certain cases… Is that why you asked me to call Polo Licio to this meeting? Is he your candidate?”
Tribune Stefanos grinned at the Patriarch and at Saverio, as if he had figured them out.
“Polo is in a unique position,” Saverio explained. “He lives in Heraclia, he has ties to Equilium through his wife, and he has ties to Torcellum through, ahem… his other wife… I guess?”
Saverio looked at the Patriarch as he was not sure if this de facto bigamy was to be discussed publicly or just ignored as if it was not happening. The Patriarch ignored it, as he was focused on another objective:
“…and he has ties to Rivo Alto because his brother lives there. Overall, he is well liked all over the lagoon, and he is well respected. Everyone else is seen as belonging to a single village. I don’t see any other viable candidate…”
“He is not well liked in Metamauco… Is he?” The Tribune objected.
Tribune Stefanos smirked. He was implying that he was well informed on what went on just before his arrival.
“I have known Polo of Licio since he was just a farm boy. He has a good heart and we cannot hope for a better representative,” Saverio defended Polo’s candidacy. “There might be some disgruntled fishermen here and there, but this is more of a problem with them, not with Polo.”
Saverio sounded very decisive. He knew how Polo was just trying to help Saverio when he approached Mauro of Metamauco. And he also knew how he paid for Metamauco’s taxes. He could not tell the others that, but he wanted everyone to close an eye about how things had degenerated. Water under the bridge. Then the guard interrupted everyone:
“Polo of Licio has arrived!”
“Lupus in fabula! Let him in!” The Tribune replied.
Polo entered the residence and found his way through to meet the Tribune, the Patriarch and Saverio.
“Polo Licio Anafesto!” the Tribune greeted Polo.
“Good day to everyone! What is the issue? Is something wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong, my dear Polo!” The Patriarch reassured him. “Everything is good… for once! And that’s why we called you in…”
“To reward you!” Saverio added.
“Am I getting the tax money back? Thank you for coming to your senses…” Polo thought he would try his luck.
“Ha, ha, ha! No, Polo, no!” Tribune Stefanos dismissed the joke. “It has nothing to do with taxes. The Patriarch believes that these lands… or shall I say these marshlands… they need a duke!”
“Very funny! No way.” Polo immediately rejected the idea.
“Why not, Polo?” The Patriarch insisted. “It’s a way to reward you for the leadership you provide to this community anyhow!”
“Your Eminence… I provide leadership as a merchant. I give jobs to people, I make them rich through trade. And I do all this to get rich myself! I need people around me to be happy and prosper in order for me and my family to be happy and prosper…”
“Good! You see? You meet the qualifications!” Saverio was quick to conclude.
“No, Saverio, what you are offering me is a political and/or military position, and I don’t want and don’t need one!”
“Polo…” Tribune Stefanos tried to reason with him. “I see your concern, but this would not be a military position. Nobody is asking you to be an enforcer for paying taxes. All we need is an official representative of the people of the lagoon, and you seemed to be the most liked and qualified…”
“It’s funny because anywhere else people stab each other to death to become Count of this and Duke of that… How come there are no other candidates for this, so called, Duchy?”
“Well, we haven’t looked around!” The Patriarch replied.
“No, Your Eminence, the fact is that nobody wants to, because it’s only problems and no gains. In other places where the gains are more than the problems, people are at each other’s throats to gain a position of power.”
“But Polo…” Saverio tried to be persuasive. “Nobody is asking you to pay up anything… to incur any costs…”
Saverio was concerned that Polo’s big heart was what had got him into trouble with the previous tribune, Gregorios. He offered to pay Metamauco’s taxes in order to keep troubles from brewi
ng. Perhaps Polo feared that he would end up trying to pay off everyone if he was nominated as peacemaker. Instead, Polo gave another answer:
“Saverio, my time is precious. If I am working as a duke, as a representative of the people, I am not working as a merchant. And there is a sea of opportunities out there, and there aren’t enough years in the calendar for me to do everything I want to accomplish. That is my calling, going to distant markets and bringing back tremendous wealth for everyone. I will let someone else help people to get along.”
“Polo… that’s very noble what you are saying,” the Tribune replied. “And we do not want to burden you with anything. How about if it is just an honorary title as a sign of appreciation for everything you have done?”
The Patriarch was remaining silent, since Tribune Stefanos was doing the work for him. He thought the Tribune would be the one hard to convince, not Polo.
“If it is an honorary title as a sign of appreciation only, I am humbled by the thought. But if appreciation it is, it should come from the people, not from the Exarch’s representative. I do not feel myself much different than the other seamen, and I would not be able to survive their teasing if it is something assigned from the top down. I would only accept it if it’s coming from my community.”
“Well, that’s not how dukes are nominated usually…” Tribune Stefanos objected. “It’s a title handed down by the authority on top… by a king, an emperor, an exarch…”
“Why not? We can organize an Arengo!” The Patriarch interrupted. “It will be a meeting of all grown men from the lagoon! For once, they get to meet not to organize a military defense, but to celebrate an election! And they can bring their families as well, and it will be a great festivity to be held in our very own Heraclia!”
There was a moment of silence as everyone looked at Polo. Eventually Saverio spoke:
“What do you think, Polo?”
“Well, if it is an excuse to have a festivity… only a dumb merchant would turn down such an occasion!”
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