Hoodsman: Popes and Emperors

by Smith, Skye

You have won him time to breath, and his fleet is still intact so now he will make a peace with the Seljuks from a position of strength. Guiscard will soon run out of supplies, and his army will starve or desert him. Then Alexius will relieve his cousin George in the city, and together they will slaughter Normans as we have done today.” With this the captain rolled over and snored.

  Selvo missed the speech, because he was dreaming about how his life would be so wonderful when he returned to a heroes welcome in Venice.

  Raynar crept away. He had heard enough of their plans to know what was going to happen over the next few days. The Byzantine galleys would row south to the Island of Kerkira, and recapture their port at Corfu from the Normans. With that as their base, once more they can patrol these straits. Selvo was leaving three of his big war galleys with the Byzantines. All other ships were to drift back to Venice in their own time. This battle was over and won.

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Hoodsman - Popes and Emperors by Skye Smith

  Chapter 15 - The summer long festival in Venice in 1081

  The only folks in Venice who were not pleased to see the early return of the fleet were the coffin makers. The first ships home had been filled with dead bodies and the injured, so they had gone into a coffin building frenzy, indebting their very souls for materials and labour.

  When those first ships turned out to be the only dead bodies to arrive back, the rest of the city rejoiced, and the rejoicing lasted all summer. Everyone seemed to understand the implications of the victory of the fleet. Not only would they have free trade with Byzantine ports, but they would have more ships with which to ply that trade. The springtime of worry was forgotten in the summer of joy.

  The ruling Council was much too wise to allow all of the prize shares and treasure to flood into the streets and the markets, for that would only serve to raise the prices of everything from turnips to houses. Instead the prize shares became shares in the new ships, and the treasure was used to turn those prize ships into war galleys and trade galleys. Instead of coins raining down on the city all at once, these wise investments would provide extra income for all the shareholders, for their lifetimes.

  The four Englishmen were amazed that this pronouncements did not cause riots, but the citizens of the city seemed to understand that it was better in the long run for everyone. Thus only the deadmen's shares were paid out. There was no complaint from the four either, because now all of them carried the medallion of citizenship in their purses. Of the four, only Raynar was still anxious to finish his business here and return to Flanders. The other three had decided to live in Venice.

  Not that you could blame them, not that summer. Everyday was a saints day, and this summer, every saint's day was a cause for celebration. Wine, women and song was followed by song, women and wine. It was as if every citizen had won big at dice, and indeed every citizen had.

  Without the windfall silver in their purses, everyone went back to work, but now the pace of the workers was a little less frantic. With so much coin being paid out for work at the Arsenal for the refits, there was more work than there were folk to do it, so no one feared for their own future.

  With all of the joy all around them in Venice, Maria was baffled by Raynar's dark moodiness. His own share in the prizes was considerable, the equivalent of one good ship but spread across seventy. If he did nothing else but live off the earnings of his shares, he could live well here in Venice. She thought the darkness would lift, but it didn't, so one morning she asked him about it.

  "I have responsibilities in England, love," he whispered into her hair. Her dark brown hair that always smelled faintly like spring flowers. "I suppose I am feeling the inner guilt because I am living so well here with you, while in England things can only be getting worse for my folk. I am sure that every loss that we inflicted on the Normans in Illyria will be collected back from the fields and churches of England."

  "Have you heard bad news then?" she whispered as she stroked him softly.

  "I haven't heard any news. That is part of the problem. Not knowing. Despite Emperor Henry's assurances that trade would again flow from Venice to the North Sea, there are no messages getting through. Not to me anyway. I have sent one a week telling my friends in Brugge where I am and what is happening, and yet I get nothing back."

  "You do realize that Emperor Henry is retreating south from the Saxon lands?"

  "Ah, good. Then Canute is making a name for himself."

  "Ugh, no. It's because he has learned that Guiscard and his army are stranded in Illyria, so he no longer fears other armies in the Italies. He is moving his armies slowly south so that he can cross the Alps before the passes close for the winter."

  "Passes close?" he sniffed. "That is months away."

  "Didn't I say that he was moving slowly. He is sorting out problems in his kingdoms as he goes. He is waiting for messages back from Constantinople before he goes to the trouble of crossing the Alps."

  "How do you know all of this?"

  She blushed and looked away from him. "I still have my contacts in Germany."

  "Your weavers may know that the army is moving south, but they wouldn't know that Henry is waiting for word from Alexius. How does a cotton trader like you become involved in the messages between two emperors?"

  "I'm not 'involved'," she replied oh so softly. "I just know that Henry is offering to remove the Pope and gain Apulia back for Alexius for a small consideration in gold."

  "How small?"

  "Well he wants a half a million gold coins, but he will settle for a lot less. Bargaining tactics you know."

  He choked on the number. It was beyond imagination. "Why should Alexius want to be rid of the Pope?"

  "Oh don't be thick. Most of the Christians in this world follow the true church of Constantinople. The biggest exception is the breakaway sect that follows the bishop of Rome. That Romanized sect is causing all sorts of problems for Alexius, not the least of which is the Normans. The Pope has stated that the main enemy of the church is not the Saracens, but Constantinople, and that he would even ally himself with the Saracens if it would assure the destruction of Constantinople."

  "Hmm, you are the second person who has told me this. The last one was an old bishop in the north of England. The one who first taught me Greek about fourteen years ago.” He thought for a while. "Alexius won't pay it. If Henry ever captures the Pope he will just replace him with his own man and for Alexius nothing would change. Doesn't Henry already support another Pope, the one that Rome calls the Anti-Pope."

  "Yes, yes, yes, and the Pope has chosen his own man to replace Henry, and Henry calls him the Anti-Emperor. But what if Henry does hand Alexius control of the southern Italies including Rome? Then what? I'll tell you what. The Pappas of the true church in Constantinople will decide who will be the new bishop of Rome, and that will be the end of the Romanized Christian sect, and this vicious schism within the church will end."

  "So that would be a good thing, right?"

  She looked at him and smiled sweetly. "How should I know? I am just a cotton trader."

  He picked up his pillow and hit her with it, and in defense she tickled him mercilessly, until they were both breathless from laughter. "Look Ray," she whispered, "what I am trying to get through that thick skull of yours is that the world of popes and emperors is so big, that it is out of our hands except for what we do here and now for the folk around us."

  He stopped laughing and ran a finger over her nipple and up to her lips. "So tell me more of what we should do, here and now."

  "The men of my clan are in Egypt by now. Today the women and children of my clan are preparing for the festival of our patron saint. It will go on all day down in the courtyard. Why don't you leave your cares for a day, and go down and be a father to some of our children."

  "What should I wear?" he whispered, now kissing her nipple.

  "Your happy face, oh, and some clothes.

  * * * * *

 
; Ned was puffing hard after an hour of swinging children around by the arms as if they were birds. He sat down beside Maria, and she poured him some of the light white wine that the Venetians drank on hot days. "It's good to see Ray laugh," he said in his clumsy Venetian. The Venetian that the widow Magda was teaching him.

  "Why does this dark mood follow him like, like a storm cloud?" Maria asked.

  "Guilt," was Ned's simple answer.

  "Guilt for what. Oh, the sea battle. The slaughter. But that was war, them or us."

  "Ray has this talent for strategy. He is really good at taking a battle plan and making it better. The problem is, that when he sees the results of his ideas, he is overwhelmed by guilt. When we slaughtered the Norman ships there were children on some of their oars."

  "Children?"

  "Well lads not yet with facial hair. Yes children."

  "But that was Guiscard's doing."

  "Guiscard put them in harm's way, but it was Ray's plan that killed them. Like, don't get me wrong. Ray has killed many men, mostly Normans, but he has always been able to justify the killing. You see, he has sworn to kill rapists, and Normans brag about how many women they have raped. Every Norman in England has raped dozens. Ray will kill such men," Ned snapped his fingers, " just like that. No problem. No guilt.

  That day in the mountain pass, what decided Ray to risk our mission and rescue you, was seeing Magda being raped. Something snapped in his mind, and the mission suddenly came second. Even if he had been alone, he would have killed those four footpads. He is just that good at killing with a bow. Sometimes it's like he doesn't even aim. He just shoots the arrows out into the air, and they find the killing spot all by themselves."

  "But the boys on the Norman oars had no facial hair," sighed Maria, now understanding.

  "Exactly. Too young to be rapists. In his own eyes he is now a murderer of children. He is grieving."

  "Then he needs confession."

  "You mean the priest thingy," Ned laughed, and then laughed again and went back out into the courtyard to join a ring dance with Raynar and five little children.

  She watched her man cavort with the children as if he too were a child. "Fine," she promised herself. "From now on he will spend as much time amongst children as possible."

  * * * * *

  Raynar pulled the straw hat down snug to his ears so the sudden gust would not blow it off his head and into the canal. He was stroking the oar in place, which was what boatmen did in Venice while they were waiting for someone at a dock, so that they would not take up valuable dock space. The tide was running so it took a little more effort to hold his place than usual.

  Never in his life, before coming to Venice, had he needed a straw hat, but in this city, and everywhere south of here, a brimmed hat was a necessity for fair folk. The sun could be fierce, especially at midday. He felt a bit foolish wearing it today, however, because there was no sun, just the threatening clouds of October. Was it really almost October? How the summer had flown by. Flown by so pleasantly by. Oh so pleasantly.

  He was brought out of his dreaminess by the yapping of a tiny dog on the balcony high above him. Venetians did not keep large dogs because there was no where to run them and nothing for them to hunt, but every house had a yappy little mutt to warn the residents of strangers. This dog was yapping at the cat that was hunting for rats directly beneath the balcony.

  There used to be cats in England, too, before the Normans had taken over. Not anymore. To hungry folk, cats tasted too much like rabbit. Venice was overrun with cats, all half wild, and all vicious with other animals, although they would pretend meekness around people. He distrusted them like he distrusted foxes. Both animals killed for sport. They were the only two animals he knew of that killed for sport. Cats were worse than foxes, because they would tease their captives before they executed them.

  Maria had told him that the cats had long ago been imported to Venice from Egypt. He doubted they were purposefully imported. More likely the ships took them aboard in Egypt to kill all the rats that would invade the ship in southern ports. Cats were not the only beings imported from Egypt. The men dredging the next side canal were also imported from Egypt. They were also brought by ships, as extra crew.

  The Egyptian men, the locals called them Gypties, were allowed to stay in Venice for two years at a time, but were forbidden from bringing wives or taking wives. They were here to do the wettest, filthiest of work, and nothing more. No Mussulmen Gypties were allowed, however, only Christian Gypties.

  The women who did the worst women's jobs in Venice, such as the washer women, were also foreigners, but not from Egypt. Mostly they came from Romagna, the impoverished duchy along the coast just south of Venice. The Romagny women could come here to work, but not their men. The pretty ones came in hopes of catching a Venetian citizen as a husband.

  The citizens were always complaining that there were too many Gypties and Romagnies in the city, and yet they were quick to hire them to do the worst work. The other boatmen had told him that they feared that the Romagnies would breed with the Gypties and fill the city with dark babies, but Raynar viewed this as nonsense.

  The Romagny women would never willingly have dark babies. They all dreamed of having lighter skin, like the skin of the Lombardy women. Whenever they worked in the hot sun they would cover their faces and necks with a mixture of thin olive oil and chalk dust, just to block the sun from turning their own skin darker.

  With another pull on the single oar he kept his position. Back in '67 just after he had fought in the Battle for Hastings road, he had lived for a while in the town of Wallingford on the Thames and had become a boatman, a Thames ferryman. Those months were some of his fondest memories. He had enjoyed the lazy pace of a boatman's life, and the gossip of his passengers and the other boatmen.

  He wondered whether in the future he would look back on these times spent playing the part of a canal boatman, and remember them as fond memories. He smiled to himself and smirked, thinking about what a rich life he led for a canal boatman, and all of it due to Maria. Again he was brought back from dreamy thoughts by a yapping, but this time it was a small voice calling his name.

  "Zio Ray, Zio Ray," called the voice of a boy, "venire a prenderci! Le nostre lezioni sono finite."

  Raynar switched to thinking into Venetian and called back. "You are as impatient as a fish wife. Can't you see that the other boats are in my way.” The boatmen of the caorlina ahead of him at the dock looked around at him, and waved, and pushed their boat forward a few paces to give him room to nose his own small boat in. His boat was fitted for carrying passengers, not fish or cargo, and therefore was the Venetian equivalent of a Cambridge punt, rather than a Fen's punt.

  The two boys he had been waiting for, both nephews of Maria, were with an old monk, their Greek tutor. Some days he would sit in on their lessons and improve his own Greek, but not today. Today he had instead met with this monk's abbot. The Abbot of San Giorgio, the monastery reached from this dock. The abbot had spared him but a few moments, but it was enough.

  The boys leaped into the small, narrow boat with all of the fearlessness of those born on these canals. So balanced were their leaps that the boat barely rocked. Now that they were in the boat, they were ignoring Ray, as they yelled to other boys from their tutor group who were still waiting on the dock for their own rides. The monk raised his hand and blessed all in this small boat, and then went to stand beside his other charges.

  A man on the caorlina gave the little boat a push backwards, and Raynar did a twist and a flip of the almost vertical oar at the stern, to turn it away from the other boats that were waiting. That is all he had time for before the eldest of the boys was pulling at him and asking for a turn. He got the boat facing the right way before he handed the boy the oar.

  "What did you learn today?" he asked of the other, smaller boy.

  "Verb conjugations," the boy replied and then put a finger in his mouth and pretended to gag himself.

 
A fancy gondola overtook them at speed, and came closer than he should have, and the boy on the oar yelled out some of his own conjugations of gutter Venetian. Phrases that would have turned crimson the ears of their monk-tutor. "Softly, softy," Raynar scolded him. "There are ladies in that boat."

  "Ladies, hah," replied the boy. "They are courtesans of the Doxe's court. The Doxe must have wealthy guests for them to be in such a hurry. Ah, but you will already know that because you have been with the abbot. Tell us who has arrived."

  "A Byzantine galley," answered him. "with an envoy from the Emperor."

  "Will there be another war?" asked the other boy. "Our clansmen are still across the Alps delivering our cotton. My father is with them. Everyone's fathers are away. It is still trading season. We have not enough men for war, just for defending."

  "Don't be stupid," said the oarsboy with distain, "the Doxe knows all these things better than you. He will stall for time until our men return."

  "Don't call your cousin stupid," Raynar scolded. "He is wise to worry about war because war is an evil thing that spawns other evils. Let us hope that this envoy brings us good news. Venice is allied to both Empires through trade, so any good news will be good for us."

  It was a slow trip back to Maria's island, what with the boy on the oar and the tide against him, but Raynar let him struggle and do the work. Good healthy work to make his shoulders wide and strong. Besides he was in no hurry to see Maria. She would not take his news well.

  * * * * *

  He reached up and caught the water jug she had flung at him, and got splashed by the water that was still in it. If he had ducked it would have smashed against the wall, and then Maria would have really lost her temper because she had painted the decorations on the jug herself. Before she could pick up anything else to throw he skipped towards her and wrapped his arms around her.

  "We knew this day would come," he said softly, hoping that his soft voice would cause her to soften hers. The news from the abbot had been that the Varangians with Emperor Alexius's army were in Salonika, where the highway from Constantinople turned inland and crossed the mountain ranges towards Dyrrhachium. He felt her relax in his arms. "The envoy is here to ask the Doxe to send galleys of food and supplies to meet the army in Dyrrhachium, because the Normans have already picked the harvest clean all around that city."