by Smith, Skye
They had all stared at her in disbelief when Maria asked them to strip the beam from underneath the cart and bring it along. It was Buck who first took her seriously and crawled underneath the cart to have a look see. Buck realized that the beam did not seem to do anything. He went and borrowed some tools from the local smithy and had it off and out from under the cart within minutes.
As his were the first hands on it, he shook it, and tapped it, and balanced it, but it seemed like a solid piece of wood. It was not heavy, as it would be if it hid gold. He decided that the logical answer was that holes had been drilled in the wood, filled with gemstones, and then the holes filled again with a paste made out of the sawdust.
The caorlina did not take them to the closest large island dock to Mestre, the customs dock where they would have been registered as non-Venetian visitors, and where their belongings would have been assayed for import duties. Instead the narrow boat rowed along a wide canal, a main canal and pulled into a private dock in front of a large building where the first two levels were of stone and brick and windowless, and were topped by three more levels made of wood, with windows and balconies. The Venetian version of a fortified manor.
Already the men were noticing the similarities between Venice and Brugge. For instance, you would not be able to dig a hole in the ground without it filling with water. The manor had a water gate, which they assumed opened to a Brugge style boat house or an internal dock underneath the manor. They had noticed that the ground floors of all of the buildings that lined the canals were used for business purposes. A shop, an office, storage, animal pens, whatever. As in Brugge then, the actual living quarters would be above. As in Brugge, the better houses used fired brick for the structural walls.
The two women were known and welcomed at this manor, and the water gate was thrown open for their caorlina. Inside was a covered dock and the entire caorlina fit inside, and the gates were closed behind it to give them privacy from the main canal. There were many helpful hands present to carry their chests up the staircase that was to the rear of the boathouse.
Maria had insisted that her pilgrim saviours be her guests at the house, and they eagerly accepted with one exception. They must run one errand first. Maria was none too pleased that they would leave her so quickly and that they would take all of their pilgrim gear with them, but they promised to return before nightfall.
Pilgrims again, with their shepherds crooks, and their cloaks tied to their bedrolls, they stepped out of the small door beside the water gate and walked along the very narrow brick path that ran in front of the buildings on this island until they came to a narrow canal at the corner of the island. There was no bridge. They looked up the narrow canal. There was no bridge.
This was also much like Brugge. The main routes were the canals, and so the pathways only connected specific buildings to the nearest canal. Only where there were public squares and churches were their actual roads wide enough for a cart. The only sure way of traveling in this city was by boat, and judging by the width of the narrow canal, a very narrow boat without side oars. Boats like the continous procession of narrow boats, each being oared along the main canal by a single oarsman standing on the stern.
Shame faced they made there way back to Maria's manor. Maria was waiting patiently for them to return and grinned at them and told them, "Venice is formed from hundreds of man made islands. Each island belongs to a family. If a canal or a calli is narrow then it will be private, and you should ask permission to use it. Only the wide canals and wide lanes are public, as are the churches and their courtyards.
She knew that they were going as pilgrims to the San Giorgio Monastery, so she smiled at them sweetly and gave an order to the boatmen of the elegant caorlina. Apparently the monastery was built on its own island, San Giorgio Maggiore, so it could be reached only by boat.
They felt a bit conspicuous in their pilgrim clothes, stepping off the elegant caorlina onto the main floating dock of the Maggiore Island, and joining the pilgrims who had come to pray in the abbey. The boatmen did not ask them for coin, so Maria must have paid them already, or perhaps they knew better than to waste their breath asking pilgrims for coins.
They soon found out that though they were welcome to visit the giant thatched-roofed abbey, they could go no further. They looked over a wall at the other, newer monastery buildings with their roofs of fired brick tile. There were gates blocking their way, manned by burly monks who were used to denying entrance to the pilgrims that came from all over Christendom.
This separation of abbey from monastery was understandable. Venice was a busy port from where you could catch a ship to almost anywhere in the Mediterranean, including the Holy Land and Constantinople, so this monastery must be overrun with pilgrims during fair weather.
The burly monks did take the time to look at the bottom of each of their wooden crosses, before they refused entry to each of them in turn. Raynar was busy looking across the main canal of this city, at the main island of this city, from this holy island, so his cross was was the last to be inspected. There were so many boats and so many ships. Ships of styles and with styles of sails that he could never have imagined. Most had the triangular sails of a lateen rig, which were not popular in the North Sea because they were not efficient for tacking.
A thump on his arm made him turn to have the bottom of his own wooden cross inspected by a monk, who had deft small hands for a man of such girth and weight. After the monk showed the cross to another monk, Raynar was allowed through the gate, but only Raynar. He was motioned to go to yet another monk who was sitting at a desk under a brick arch. There, Raynar spoke the only words of Venetian that he knew, which were "Sorry, I do not speak Venetian."
The monk looked him up and down taking in the color of hair and eyes, and his height, and then waved another monk over from the shadows. The new monk asked in Danish, "What do you wish of us?"
Standing tall there before these overfed officious monks, he suddenly had the urge to be stubborn. He replied in perfect Danish. "Sorry, I do not speak Danish, do you speak English?"
"But of course," replied the monk in English tainted with Danish. "What do you wish of us?"
"I have brought a scroll from your sister house in Brugge, Flanders. It is to be placed into the hands of the abbot here, and into the hands of no other until after the abbot has seen it."
The monk leaned forward and politely indicated that he wished to see Raynar's cross, and then he showed it to the monk at the desk. They discussed the situation for some time, before Raynar was told, "The abbot is with the Doxe. You are welcome to wait for him. Are you hungry or thirsty?"
"Who is the Doxe?"
"Still Lord Domenico Selvo."
"I meant what is the Doxe."
The monks looked at him as if he had two heads. "In English the equivalent word would be 'warlord' but our Doxe is also the Chief Justice who presides over the highest court."
"Umm, so appointed by the king then?"
"There is no king. Venice is a republic. The Doxe is elected by the aristocracy, similar to how in England the spokesman of a town moot is elected by the elders."
"You speak of the old England that no longer exists," Raynar informed him. "Our Norman King has destroyed any concept of voting, or of decisions made by elders and peers."
"And how is that working, then?"
"It doesn't. Not at all. There is no justice, for there are only masters and slaves, and the English are the slaves. Yes, I am hungry, and thirsty, and so are my pilgrim companions. Those over there beyond the gate."
"Do they wear crosses such as yours?" asked the monk, and he pressed his hands together as if in prayer.
"Same crosses, different markings on the bottom."
"But there are markings?" the monk asked. When Raynar nodded in confirmation, the monk clapped his hands to get the attention of the gate keeper and then he used pantomime signs to authorize the entry of the other men carrying the short shepherds crooks. The translator led the
four of them through a maze of covered corridors that were open to the weather at each end, and into an empty dining hall. He clapped his hands again, and a face appeared through a door way, and words were exchanged.
The translator did not eat with them but he watched them eat and he listened. They enjoyed eating fish again. As seamen they would never trust to eat fish more than a half day's walk from the sea. An hour passed. "Good brother," Flint got his attention. "We have come a long way and quickly. Is there a place here where we can bathe and wash the worst of the stink from our clothes?"
The monk said nothing as he led them through some more corridors and to the chapter's bath house. Again they were the only people there. Bathing there was actually quite pleasant compared to bathing at home. Though this was still spring the air temperature was warmer than most summer days along the North Sea.
From somewhere near by, the translator produced clean, almost new, robes for them to wear while they waited for their own clothes to dry under the mid day sun. A monk who served as the barber arrived and trimmed their hair to shoulder length, and their beards to where they were almost non existent and shaped in a V.
After about four hours their clothes, except for their winter cloaks, were dry enough to wear. They were just about to ask if they could eat more fish, when a monk arrived and whispered urgently to their translator, who then turned to Raynar and said. "The abbot will see you now. Just you. Without you here, your men must return to the public area. Give your staff and your knife to them to hold for you."
The monk interpreter lead his English ward back through the maze of corridors and into a large stone building and up some stone stairs and into a small room where they both sat, and waited some more. Since the monk never offered any information about himself, Raynar did not ask, and did not speak about himself as they waited. Finally the door opened and they were ushered into a grand room with arched windows looking out over the main canal and towards the main island of Venice.
The man behind the big desk did not look much like an abbot. Raynar had only met two types of abbots. Those who were elected by the monks and lived like monks, and those who were forced on the monks and lived like nobles. This man was neither. His clothes bore no resemblance to those of a noble, or a monk, or of a priest for that matter. He looked more like a rich merchant. Very rich.
The interpreter asked Raynar for his scroll from Brugge, and he pulled it out of his pipe, and placed it on the desk. The abbot did not even look up at him, he just stopped reading whatever he was engrossed in and reached for the scroll and unrolled it. Within a moment he gave an order to the interpreter. The interpreter argued, which was cut short by a wave of the abbot's hand.
The interpreter looked at Raynar and said. "I must go and fetch our treasurer. Wait here and do not disturb the abbot.” With that he left them and closed the door a little too firmly, but well short of a slam.
The abbot set the scroll aside and went back to his reading. After a moment he looked up and said, "Scusa, no English."
In his most polite Greek, Raynar replied, "Perhaps you speak Greek."
The abbot stared at him and his eyes widened and he smiled, and once again unrolled the scroll from Brugge. In Greek he replied, "Good, then we don't need the good brother to translate. The fewer that know the contents of this scroll, the better. It has many political implications."
"Please speak more slowly and more simply, sir. My own Greek is not nearly so good as yours. I am most impressed that you trust strangers off the street enough to welcome them into your inner sanctum without a guard."
"A man who brings me such a document is not just any stranger off the street. Are you the Raynar mentioned in the introduction to the scroll? One of the trustees who feeds the payments to the monks in Brugge?"
"I am he."
"Then I welcome you to Venice. If there is anything that you need, a change of clothes perhaps, then you need but ask. Though the Doxe generously feeds pilgrims, he is not in the habit of meeting with them. You will need to be dressed properly for his court."
"And am I to meet with the Doxe?"
"As soon as it can be arranged." replied the abbot, now completely ignoring the scroll.
"Then I will need clothes, for those that I wear are all that I have."
"Where do you stay tonight. In our pilgrim hall?"
With a smile and a thanks to Maria's forethought, Raynar reached into his inside pocket and found the stiff card that she had given to each of them. Her instructions were that whenever they were lost and needed to be found, they could show it to any boatman and be taken to her. He handed the card to the abbot, and he read it in a glance.
"Ahhh," the abbot whispered, "of course you would be staying with one of the council families. Remarkable that you, an agent of Flanders, would be staying with an agent of Emperor Henry. Very unusual. I would have expected you to be staying with a family that traded with Flanders."
"Ugh," Raynar was lost for words and looked down at his lap so that the abbot would not read his surprise from his face. "We have an invitation to stay there, but we have not yet seen our beds. We traveled with members of that family across the Alps. Do you suggest that I find somewhere else to stay?"
"Not at all," replied the abbot. "A few nights while you find your feet in Venice will do no harm. I think it a good thing. You will be dressed far better by them for your audience with the Doxe, than we could dress you here at the monastery."
On old, white haired monk arrived with the translator. Much to his annoyance, the translator was immediately asked to leave. When the abbot passed the scroll to the old monk, he told him in Greek, "So it is true then. The Varangians are planning on marching towards the Adriatic. The Emperor must be taking the threats to Illyria seriously."
The treasurer scanned the scroll as he sat. Raynar reached out a strong hand to steady the old man who would otherwise have tipped the stool over. He looked at Raynar with an expression that seemed almost holy, and thanked him, and then asked him in Greek. "So you have just arrived from Constantinople?"
"From Flanders, sir, over the Alps."
"But these names are all of English lords from Constantinople, yes?"
"We had many requests from English lords in Constantinople to set up drawing rights in Venice. The messages were slow in reaching Brugge, so we decided to set them up for all, rather than risk missing a request."
The abbot added, "This is Raynar the Trustee, as mentioned in the first paragraph."
"Ahhh, then for all, that is wise," replied the old monk, "So not all of these men plan on visiting Venice."
"That is so. In truth, perhaps none of those men will visit Venice. When I envision standing in their boots, I see this as insurance, in case they are separated from the group and must make their own way. Where better to have drawing rights on their wealth, than in the city that has the most trading ships in the Mediterranean."
The abbot told them both, "The names on this scroll and the value of the drawing rights are a clerical issue for the treasury. The existence of this scroll, however, must be kept secret from the enemies of the new emperor Alexius of Constantinople. Currently every power in Christendom has spies in Venice, who would be well paid for telling of the existence of this scroll. Beware. Never speak of it to those who do not already know of it. For the time being, I think it better that even our own treasury clerks do not know of it."
"I agree," replied the old monk. "I will keep it with my private papers until it is needed for it's true purpose, should any of these Varangians come to Venice. By that time, every spy will already know what we now suspect."
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The Hoodsman - Popes and Emperors by Skye Smith
Chapter 8 - With Maria in Venice in April 1081
Magda was dressed in widow's black, though the plain cut of the gown was accented in black silk. It was she, not Maria, who summoned the family's tailors to dress Raynar for an audience with the Doxe. His finery was a priority,
but at the same time the other men were trying on clothes more fitting for the company of wealthy Venetians than were their pilgrim homespun.
The men kept smiling at Magda, who had stayed in the room to watch and to instruct the tailors, who were all women. They could see nothing of her pretty face except the shadows behind the dark veil. They knew of her beauty well enough after traveling with her in close quarters for a week, and after having seen her popping out of her shredded clothing when they first met. Now it was her turn to watch them pop out of their clothing. Fair enough.
Maria had still not returned to the fortified manor, which the Venetians called a palacio, by the time that the caorlina arrived to take Raynar to the Doxe's palace. Magda, still dressed as a widow, and the lads in their new togs, refused to be left at home. Even if they were not admitted to the inner palace with Ray, Magda could still show them the public squares and churches and markets that surrounded the Doxe's palace. They had been warned that the carrying of weapons was forbidden of foreigners, so all they carried were their Valkyrie knives, and even those they hid in their boots.
It was most pleasant that no one used horses to get around in Venice. Unlike every other town and city they knew, the ways were not fouled with shit and piss, and no one was forced to leap away from a horse in a hurry. In truth, the city was very clean and did not smell any worse than any port, despite its size. The canals were all tidal, unlike those of Brugge, and tidal enough to be flushed with clean water twice a day.
The Doxe's palace was a construction site. It was being transformed from the Venetian version of a fortified manor, into something more open and gracious, as befitted a busy public building. The inner palace, however, was still a stronghold. Only Raynar was allowed through that gate, and he was allowed through as soon as he identified himself to the guard, as if they were expecting him.