Venetians

by Lodovico Pizzati

  The whole ritual was a much soberer event than when Polo was elected Duke. Perhaps it was because it was organized the day after the funeral of their much beloved Polo. Perhaps because there was so much uncertainty about their future. Regardless, Marcello was up to the task and immediately announced what he intended to do:

  “My fellow Venetians. Polo’s murder has caught all of us by surprise. We have avenged his death, but the threatening force that organized his murder is still lurking and menacing to us all.”

  The crowd was silent. They were not in the mood for cheering. Possibly Marcello was lacking the charisma of Polo, who was able to cheer and motivate his people by giving them enthusiasm toward what was to come.

  “My main prerogative is assuring our safety,” Marcello continued. “And because of this, the capital cannot be Heraclia anymore. We are too exposed. Our new capital shall be Rivo Alto… And I urge you, Patriarch Cristoforo, to come and live with us in Rivo Alto as well.”

  “Thank you, Marcello, I will take that into consideration,” the Patriarch replied.

  “Polo had plans to make a beautiful cathedral in Olivolo. It could be your church…” Marcello tried to further persuade the Patriarch.

  “Let’s build it regardless of whether I move or not!” Patriarch Cristoforo replied.

  “Great! Now, in addition to securing Rivo Alto, my pledge is to never again suffer an incursion, not from the Longobards, not from Ravenna or the Byzantines, if, God forbid, they turn against us as well…” Marcello continued.

  No one was cheering. Marcello was the right person to provide safety. No one was more appropriate for the task, but it was also a speech of fending off fear, and completely different in style from Polo. They had grown accustomed to Polo’s storytelling, his dreams, his trades, his conquering the Mediterranean with commerce rather than sword. And he backed it up every summer when he returned with ships full of gold.

  “And next spring we will of course return to our trades and prosper even more!” Marcello ended on a positive note, but still received a tepid response. Everyone missed Polo.

  Primo’s imprisonment in Armenia turned from weeks into months, and eventually into years. At least his Arab jailors had let him roam free around the town of Duin. Escaping was out of the question, as this would have been a death sentence for Naira, who offered herself as collateral in order to obtain house arrest for Primo. Capital punishment aside, Primo would not have left Naira anyhow, as the two had grown fond of each other. The potions Naira had Primo drinking in order to fortify his immunity to poison also had different additional effects. Primo would get violently ill, and Naira would take loving care of him during his convalescence. This practice went on and on, as seasons passed. Summers turned into winters, and winters into summers. Eventually five years had passed, and the signs of time were showing on Primo’s face and greying hair, despite being still in his early thirties.

  Primo had been thinking of what could have gone wrong. He knew that Naira’s uncle had made it back to Trebizond during Primo’s second year of captivity. When the uncle returned to Duin, he confirmed that he had alerted Father Leontio, who was still waiting in Trebizond. Father Leontio should have made it back to Venetia by now. Perhaps Father Leontio died during the long journey, Primo was thinking. In that case, Polo would have never had a chance to find out about his brother’s captivity. Maybe Polo thought his brother continued adventuring east, past Persia and toward India. This is what Primo was wondering in order to justify why no one had come to rescue him. By now Primo had figured that something must have gone wrong, but the possibility of his younger brother’s death never crossed his mind. Being so distant from the sea was more torturous than the potions Naira had him drinking. Sometimes Primo was even hoping to be sent to Damascus as a slave. At least it would have been a change of scenery. But he also did not want to leave Naira, who had essentially become his wife. They never had a ceremony, but they lived together and they slept together. She had succeeded in making Primo immune to poison, and in the process, she also captivated his heart.

  Finally, one day, as Primo was recovering from one of the last poison potions he had ingested, Naira walked in and said:

  “Primo! My uncle has come back from Trebizond, and guess what?”

  “I haven’t seen your uncle come back…” A perplexed Primo replied.

  “That’s because he went straight to the Ostikan!” Naira reassured.

  “Why?”

  “Because there is a Venetian merchant in Trebizond ready to buy your freedom!” Naira exclaimed.

  “I knew it! I knew he would not abandon me!” Primo rejoiced. “But… is the Ostikan accepting? After all, he is not a trader…”

  “The Ostikan accepted!” Naira confirmed. “This must be a very rich merchant, because he is paying much more than the price of a slave!”

  Primo rose and hugged Naira. After kissing her, he said:

  “Naira, you are coming with me, right?”

  “You bet I am coming. What do you think? Remember that I have been stuck in Duin for five years as well! I cannot wait to leave!”

  The next day, a convoy left Duin for Trebizond. It was the same caravan that had brought Primo to Armenia five years earlier. This time Arab soldiers were also escorting them. They were venturing to the edge of what was still Byzantine territory in order to collect the ransom for Primo.

  The caravan first ventured uphill along the river Araxes, and after the mountain pass they began descending toward the port of Trebizond. They arrived at the edge of town and the Arab soldiers signaled to stop. They sent Naira’s uncle ahead by himself.

  Half an hour later he returned accompanied by Ari and by a young fellow who looked somewhat familiar to Primo. He reminded Primo of someone, but he did not recognize the young man. The merchant was about eighteen years old and he was built like a Longobard, but dressed like a Venetian… Primo finally recognized him: it was Aldo!

  Aldo exchanged with one of the Arab soldiers two heavy pouches filled with gold solidi. The Arab then returned to the convoy and signaled to release the prisoner. Primo started walking toward Aldo, at first slowly, and then, with a wide grin on his face, he started to run. He reached Aldo and hugged him.

  “Aldo! You came for me!”

  “Father Leontio told us you were being held prisoner in Armenia…” Aldo replied. “As soon as I was old enough… and rich enough, I came to rescue you!”

  Primo started to cry. For so many years he looked after Aldo, essentially raising him while his father Adalulf was first in prison in Patavium, then ill up in Sleghe, and finally in battle in Tridentum. Now the boy he protected in Kerkyra had come back a man to save him. It had been such a long time that he had lost hope. Primo now smiled while his eyes were still watery, and asked:

  “How much did you have to pay for me?”

  “Two hundred gold solidi,” Aldo replied.

  “Ha! No wonder Polo did not come for me! Ha, ha, ha!”

  Aldo stopped smiling just realizing that Primo had been away for so long, and that he had not heard any news at all. Aldo hugged Primo again, mostly to hide his face and not have Primo read his expression that might give away the sad news. Primo had endured enough, and Aldo decided to wait to tell him about Polo’s death. First, he wanted Primo safe on his ship, together with his new beautiful companion that decided to follow him back to Venetia. They started walking toward Trebizond, straight toward the Venetian ship that was moored at the port. The smell of the sea… Primo did not realize how much he missed it.

  It was a warm early summer day on the hills south of Patavium. Everything was blossoming and birds and insects were busy buzzing around. A grapevine was providing some shade, and the large leaves were covering small grapes that were still very green that early in the season. Nevertheless, a hand was touching the still unripe grapes, appreciating their growth and anticipating the wine that they
would one day produce.

  The hand belonged to an older man, his hair and beard mostly white. He needed a stick to slowly walk through his garden. His sight was quite blurry and the grapes just appeared as fuzzy green balls. Nonetheless, he was enjoying the warm day and the shade. Nearby there was a small brick house. It was small but well kept. It was a summer residence up the hill to escape the heat in Patavium. From inside the house a woman’s voice began to call:

  “Lulfy! Lulfy, come inside! He has arrived! He is back!”

  Adalulf turned around. His scar, that vertically cut from the eyebrow, down the cheek and to his upper lip, was still visible. Grimwald had left a permanent mark that reminded everyone that Adalulf was the one who defeated one of the greatest Longobard kings. Adalulf started to limp toward the house, but he was very slow. From the house a young man appeared. It was his son, Aldo. He had come back safely from another long journey.

  Adalulf limped toward Aldo and hugged him. He finally had a son that survived. Aldo may not have been a Longobard warrior, but he had become something more. The time of battles belonged to the previous generation: a glorious time of King Rothari, Duke Gisulf, Duke Aretchis, Duke Alachis, and King Grimwald. Adalulf did not regret his past, but he was still remorseful for having lost four sons that attempted to follow in his footsteps. Now his youngest had surpassed him, by becoming something new, something more. Aldo was a Venetian merchant.

  HISTORICAL NOTES

  This historical fiction is built around historical events of the seventh century. In particular, the narration focuses on the clash between the Byzantine Empire and the Longobard Kingdom of Italy. Emperor Constans II was an historical figure who was in fact assassinated by his chamberlain in 668 AD while in his bath in Syracuse, Italy. The Armenian general Mezezius briefly usurped the throne, but was eventually suppressed by Constantinos IV. The new emperor indeed had a more accommodating foreign policy toward Pope Vitaliano.

  The Longobard King Rothari did conquer Genoa and Opitergium. Grimoald was the son of Gisulf, Duke of Friuli, and did become Longobard King. According to legend, he was captured as a child by the Avars and did escape by stabbing the horseman who had kidnapped him. He also had two older brothers, Cacco and Taso, who had their ‘beard shaven’ by Gregorios. Grimoald did become king by assassinating Godepert, and then married Perctarit’s sister. He did beat Emperor Constans II in the Battle of Benevento. He also burned down Byzantine Forum Popilii, and he did raze Opitergium to the ground to avenge his brothers. However, all these events spanned a lifetime period from 610 to 671 AD, when he did die from excessive bloodletting.

  Duke Gisulf was killed by the Avars and succeeded by his brother Grasulf. Their cousin was Duke Aretchis of Benevento, who had a son named Aiulf. Garipald was the Duke of Turin, and Alachis, a fervent anti-Catholic, was the Duke of Trento. He defeated King Perctarit while also being sieged by the Bavarians, but he was eventually beaten by Perctarit’s son Cunipert.

  There was a Patriarch of Grado named Cristoforo, and a Tribune of Heraclia named Stefanos. There was an Exarch of Ravenna named Theodoros, and a physically deformed notary named Ioannicio. The first Doge of Venetia was named Paolicio Anafesto, and after he was killed in Heraclia by an insurgency from Metamauco, he was succeeded by his magister militum, Marcello.

  Every other character and their stories are fictional.

  Historical Name

  Modern Name

  Altinum

  Altino

  Aponus

  Abano Terme

  Aste

  Astico

  Ateste

  Este

  Athesis

  Adige

  Beneventum

  Benevento

  Brint

  Brenta

  Brundisium

  Brindisi

  Canareclo

  Sestier Cannaregio (Venice)

  Ceneda

  Vittorio Veneto

  Cioza

  Chioggia

  Constantinople

  Instanbul

  Duin

  Dvin

  Equilium

  Jesolo

  Forum Popilii

  Forlimpopoli

  Friuli

  Civitade

  Genua

  Genoa

  Heraclia

  Eraclea

  Kerkyra

  Corfu

  Lido Albo

  Sant’Erasmo (Venice)

  Metamauco

  Malamocco

  Midland

  Milan

  Neapolis

  Naples

  Olivolo

  Sestier Castello (Venice)

  Opterg

  Oderzo

  Papia

  Pavia

  Parentium

  Parenzo

  Patavium

  Padua

  Ripa

  Riva del Garda

  Rivo Alto

  Rialto (Venice)

  Ruvinium

  Rovigno

  Sipontum

  Siponto

  Sleghe

  Asiago

  Spoletium

  Spoleto

  Taras

  Taranto

  Tarvisium

  Treviso

  Torcellum

  Torcello (Venice)

  Trebizond

  Trabzon

  Tridentium

  Trento

  Tuscia

  Lucca

  Vicetia

  Vicenza

  Cover Image: Gold Solidus depicting Byzantine Emperor Constans II and his son Constantine IV