by Laura Rahme
“The contratta d’assento was drawn and Gaspar embarked upon his duties, revealing much of the Genoese weaknesses to the Venetian admiral, Carlo Zeno. As you know, Carlo Zeno’s arrival at a key point in the battle ensured the Venetian victory of 1380. But I wonder if our hero could have achieved what he did without men like Gaspar Rivera.
“The two became friends yet they were unlike each other. When he was not commanding his eighteen galleys and raiding Mediterranean ports, Carlo Zeno was a womanizer and an inveterate drunk.
“Gaspar was Carlo’s complete opposite. When not fulfilling his mercenary duties and waging battles at sea, he delighted in poetry, philosophy reading in Arabic and writing to his beloved Aragonese wife.
“But I come to the turn of his life. For some reason, the immense wealth and rewards that his contract promised were to be fully honored at his old age, not earlier. This arrangement was deemed necessary, since in that time, he would have been too old to defect again.
“For a few years following Chiogga, Gaspar did well for himself. He returned to Bologna and lived there with his wife, taking up arms at intervals to hunt defectors, according to the terms of his contract. But in 1400, when the plague struck once more, work was lacking and he soon found himself penniless. He decided to return to Barcelona, his birth city, in search of a more stable source of income.
“I must digress here, Antonio, and tell you of another side to Gaspar. Because men like him, often, are so much more than what they seem.
“While in Bologna in 1386, he had met another Catalan like himself, a Franciscan friar of the name Anselm Turmeda. Anselm was a theologian, well versed in physics and astrology. They became friends and met regularly over the span of a year, until Anselm suddenly became reclusive and Gaspar did not see him for months. Worried by his friend’s silence, Gaspar made enquiries. Imagine, then, his surprise upon hearing that Anselm had not only left Bologna to settle in Tunis, but that he had deserted his Franciscan frock and converted to the Saracen faith.”
“Anselm Turmeda became a Mohammedan!” I said, nearly choking on my wine.
“Aye, he did. He converted. I see that this displeases you.”
“I know nothing of the Mohammedan faith. But fickleness in one’s chosen religion is a sign of a feeble mind.”
“Tis not fickleness, Antonio, when one learns of what he is and is awakened by that notion. Gaspar described it as being born anew.”
“Continue your tale,” I said, dismissing our opposing views.
“So where was I? Before he arrived in Barcelona, Gaspar visited Anselm in Tunis. Again, he was stupefied. Not only did he find his old friend in good health and living among four beautiful women, but he learned that Anselm had been made vizier of Tunis. Gaspar was struck by what he saw there. He felt as though he had long been sleeping and that the world were much larger and more fascinating than he’d ever imagined. This gave him an exciting idea, one that would pave the way for how he would live for the rest of his life. The only problem was that he had no funds to execute this idea.
“You can see, now, how he found me. I would provide him with the funds he lacked.
“And now, Antonio, before I bore you to tears, you may like to sip again at your wine and slowly draw your mind out of the souks and mosques of Tunis—which I can see, you struggle to fathom—and transport yourself into the port of Barcelona. Ah, this, this, you must try to imagine! How I miss it, even now.
“For a hundred years, Barcelona’s Drassanes Reials, what you would call Royal Shipyards, has had a distinct reputation. They say it can build forty galleys at once, and if you doubt, then you are a fool. It sits proudly at the foot of Montjuic, besides the city walls. A grand view indeed, especially arising from the sea. One would have to be soulless to remain impassive before its Gothic arches and its majestic stone pillars. What a sight!
“I am fond of Venezia’s Arsenalotti and the pride they take in their own shipyard in Castello, but whenever I pine for Barcelona, I say to them, ‘You have your Arsenale, people of Venezia, and I have my Drasssanes.’
“And I was there, on that day, making a living on the decks, toiling as hard as I could in the construction of galleys. I told you of the notaries, Antonio, but there were others, those who sense the fortune of others and who do not hesitate to apply cunning to appropriate themselves of what is not theirs. For months already, before I turned fifteen, they prowled around me with their unsound venture offers. Uneducated and uncertain of my own judgment, I was at risk for losing my rightful inheritance. And that is when Gaspar found me.
“In truth, he was not a complete stranger. I’d had glimpses of him times before, on the port. I had seen him stand back while men spoke with me of their splendid ideas for enterprise and joint ventures. When they had retired, Gaspar would casually stand in their way and all but threaten them, with one hand on his sword. I could not hear what was said but it was always the same. Before long, the men would gesture loudly, meet his words with what appeared to be denial, then anger, and then at last, with fear. They would shrivel back and raise their hands in supplication as though to appease the seasoned captain and I wondered what Gaspar must be telling them. I saw by their distressed countenance that Gaspar had hit a nerve with each of these men, and soon, one by one, they stopped bothering me.
“I observed all this with great curiosity, pausing from my chores to wipe my brow and stare at him in the distance, when I thought he was not looking. I knew Gaspar bided his time and wanted, just like the others, to speak with me.
“And then that day came. On this instance, he strode along on the dock. He wasted no time. Before I could blink, he had laid out his idea to me. Dumbstruck as I was, I listened. Gaspar’s charisma took my breath away. At first, I resisted his power, not because his words displeased me, but because Gaspar’s confidence, his unflinching gait, his allure on the port, everything about him reminded me of my own shortcomings.
“I remember how I stared at him. He was dressed entirely in red. He had much presence with his tall red hat. I was awed by the dignity of his high collar and finely pleated cioppa. Fitted round his hose and reaching up to his enormous knees, were the largest, pointiest boots I had ever seen. Oh Antonio, I wondered how an armor could contain such a man.
“And he went on. For all his bravado, I can still remember the fragile glimmer of hope in his eyes. I think he must have practiced his little speech many times before confronting me. He spoke with verve, telling me of things that sounded unimaginable; that we should become partners, that he would take me away to Venezia where he would manage my affairs for the growth of our enterprise, and that he would provide me with an education to make me the man I was destined to be. Antonio, I dared not imagine that destiny held anything in store for me.
“I replied in the foolish manner of an orphaned boy. Firstly, I said, I did not partner with any stranger and secondly, I had no need for an education, seeing as I lived next to the greatest naval force in the world.
“There was a moment of silence. I remember that Gaspar Rivera’s jaw dropped a little. Suddenly he raised his hands to his hips and rocked back just as a loud laugh resounded from his belly. ‘You shall come with me to Venice and see for yourself,’ he roared, ‘what the greatest naval power in the world really looks like! Gaspar is a man of his word.’ Somewhat vexed, I told him that I would think over it.
“You must understand, Antonio, what it was like to have lived among white men, men who differed from me. After the loss of my mother, I had no sense of myself. I was not even convinced of my own truth. The real reason for my reticence in the face of Gaspar’s proposition was that I was afraid of everything I had not known.
“And it turned out, as I realized later, that what frightened me most was the immense kindness of this stranger. Kindness, Antonio, is like a dagger for those who doubt in themselves.
“I stood in the distance, sizing up the powerful man before me. As he laughed again, his white beard protruded forth and his thick eyebrows bec
ame alive. He was like a giant among men. He stood straight, one hand upon the hilt of his rapier, with the commanding presence of a real captain, which he was. He had lost his Catalan accent and his voice was a pleasant blend of the tongues he knew. I could tell from the soft waves in his gray hair that he was in his early fifties.
“I recovered promptly. I told him that I had no intention of leaving Barcelona. I added, a little unconvincingly, that I, Esteban del Valle, was a free man and that if he sought to make me his slave and use me to his ends, he was barking at the wrong tree.
“I could see that he was hurt by my words. He ceased laughing. His smile faded as he inclined his head to the side, caressing his beard in silence. For a moment, he merely looked at me in dismay, perhaps wondering what I had seen in my life to engender such thoughts.
“Finally he spoke and I remember his words to this day. ‘Esteban, I am a man of honor. I will free you from the vultures that call themselves your lawyers and you and I will live well. I ask only that you become my partner in trade. What I offer you is a great life of adventure and an opportunity to learn much more than you ever will in Barcelona. You will fund our enterprise, and in return, I will take you to lands you have never seen, I will split our profits equally and you shall inherit everything I possess upon my death. I believe that is fair. And that is not all. A free man must have a sword to protect his wealth and honor, lest he become a pawn for the less scrupulous to prey on. Help me to realize the dream I have cherished and I will make you the finest swordsman in Venezia. With or without a sword, I will teach you to foil the plans of those that would dupe you.’
“I looked askance at the condottiere’s fine sword and licked my lips. I had seen mercenaries at the port in my childhood and while I shuddered at the thought of war, I longed to seize one of these beautiful weapons and learn their secret arts. But I was still hesitant. ‘You seem a little old to speak with such temerity,’ I said.
“‘Aha! But you are wrong, my young friend. I am a pupil of Dardi. One of the greatest masters in Bologna. His knowledge of the martial arts is a privilege to possess. Age is no hindrance to my swordsmanship.’
“I squirmed and rubbed my cheek nervously. ‘Why me?’ I was convinced that Gaspar Rivera could not possibly want an inexperienced boy as his trade partner. ‘I do not belong in Venice,’ I added. It was a lie. I knew from a young age that, in truth, I did not belong anywhere. Barcelona was my home but I had long felt a sense of my own difference. Only in the arms of my mother, whose gentle humming of Arabic tunes had soothed my cries for more nights than I could remember, did I feel a belonging, one that had since eluded me.
“Gaspar warmed to my fears. He gave me a friendly tap on the shoulder. ‘In Venezia Esteban, masks are worn almost every day. If it is your face that haunts you, and yet, I cannot see why it would, then rest assured that you may conceal it as you please. But money, Esteban,’ he said, resting his eyes firmly upon me. ‘Money is everything in Venezia. Understand, that in the Republic, a man’s worth in the eyes of others is governed by only one thing. And that, Esteban, in our age, is the Veneziano ducat. Mark my words. Your fate shall be glorious.’
“Now you may wonder what he saw in me and how he chanced upon the knowledge of my wealth. That is not the purpose of my tale. But at this point in his life and ever since his extraordinary voyage to Tunis, Gaspar Rivera had acquired an unparalleled desire to see the world as far as the Levant. It was as though he were impelled by a great force of the universe and no one could stop him.
“But I’ve not told you, Antonio, of the venture we set out to build for the next fifteen years. Fifteen years, during which we submitted to Venezia’s taxes and at last, became rightful citizens. Gaspar had the idea to hire a brig and set up a small merchant enterprise that would, in time, double as a tour guide for escorting pilgrims. Until we became citizens, we would be unprotected by the muda and at the mercy of pirate attacks. The success of our endeavor hinged on funds, but Gaspar had nothing to his name. He had spoken to the compagnia who held his contract. They had agreed to his usage of a brig that would eventually become his, but protection and maintenance of the crew and the creation of his merchant enterprise required more ducats than he could afford. That is where my wealth was a blessing.
“And that is how I sailed along the pilgrim routes, as far as Candia, Corfu, Cyprus, Ragusa and then on to Jaffa and Egypt. Once in Jaffa, the pilgrims could take a mule onto Jerusalem.
“Once, I asked Gaspar about the nature of his desires. ‘What do you feel when you shore up on another land?’
“He replied this. ‘In truth, I have lived too long in an armor. To be defenseless, to let oneself be vulnerable to other men’s beliefs and mores, this is a joy. Esteban, when we are not at sea, I see that you have developed a taste for the masks of Venezia. Every day, I note your ever growing love for the parody of silks and velvets. We have been, now, twelve years together. I have seen you grow into the man you are and still, you elude me. Who are you really behind your masks? Perhaps in the little life I have left, I will discover it. But it matters little. One day, no doubt, you shall find yourself. That is what matters. You shall recognize yourself as an entity that exists beyond the fabrics and costumes that you use unsparingly, beyond the endless painted faces that have shielded your own. And when you find yourself, it will be possible for you to lose yourself. At the present, for me, it is the same. In losing myself to another’s land, I experience a delicious self-effacement, over and over again, and ultimately I rejoice in a sense that we, all of us in this world, share an essence that transcends beyond our diverse ways. I find this human essence immensely comforting. Do you understand, Esteban?’
“And that was Gaspar Rivera. A man like you have never met,” said Esteban as he sighed.
“How then, did he find the time to fulfil his contract if he was taken by pilgrim tours and trade,” I remarked, fascinated by his story.
Esteban looked grim.
“I come to it. For years, I noted that Gaspar often absented himself for days on various ports. I never questioned him until much later when I discovered that he had planned his itinerary for a dual purpose. It soon became clearer to me to what intent he set out on foot in those foreign ports, alone, without a word, only to return days later, broken, his eyes haggard behind a veil of terror. He would sit listless at the bridge, looking out to sea, his hands still trembling. I never asked questions because every time he saw me, he broke into a smile and nodded. If in that smile, there was love, I did not know of it but, Antonio, I always felt reassured when I saw it. Gaspar’s spirit was the spirit of our brig. And when we sailed, we may as well have flown.
“But Gaspar’s spirits were to be broken. First in Corfu, then in Candia, I saw him return on the ship with blood upon his shirt and sword. And I learned of why. I learned of his secret. The navy, it seemed, had always had good use of him, even as he set sail with the pilgrims. The Venetian navy had even sent him as far as the Levant. Why, you ask? To hunt down and assassinate those men they could no longer trust. He was their henchman. On occasion, the compagnia even carried out the evil designs of the Consiglio dei Dieci. The arms of the Consiglio dei Dieci reach out further than Venezia, Antonio. The enemies of the Republic cannot hide. Run, exile yourself, they will find you. You look surprised. Don’t be.”
“Why did Gaspar not break his bond with the compagnia, if it tormented him so?”
Esteban reflected for a moment. A veil of sadness passed across his face. I watched him down the last of his wine before he responded.
“They owned him. All of him. If he abided to this cruel contrata d’assento, it was not for greed. Gaspar survived, marrying what he loved with a duty he had soon learned to hate. And he did it because if he were to rescind the contrata, he would have lost everything and failed his financial promise to me. Had he not fulfilled his duty, the young urchin from Barcelona would have found himself penniless, preyed upon by just another vulture. Now you see, don’t you? Gaspar honored his
duty because he owed me, Antonio. And again, I understood this only too late.
“But there is more. Three years before his death, there was a lightness to him. He told me how happy he was. He said that he had secretly declined to murder a man suspected of spying on the Republic. He had warned him and helped his escape. He told me he had never once felt so pleased with himself. Alas, the compagnia learned of it. They did not act upon it, but they bided their time. When Gaspar died, he never received what was due to him. They are claiming ignorance of the contrata d’assento. It is like the document never existed. They have refused to cede the brig and the ducats they owe him. His fight has become my fight. My only recourse, now, is the copy lodged within the palace chancellery. Antonio, will you find it for me?”
I bit my lips.
“I could not. If I did, I would be in breach of my services to the Signoria.”
“You need not fear for your life, Antonia da Parma. But would you be prepared to do this?”
I chose to ignore his question. At the present, it was I who felt betrayed by the Consiglio. I was prey to a growing doubt and a fear that it was certainly they who had dispatched the assassin from the gardens.
“I cannot give what you want, Esteban,” I replied firmly.
Esteban seemed taken aback, but as always, I could not read his masked face. And yet, I had a sense that he was staring right at my neck where the pendant lay and which, at this very moment, felt hot on my skin.
“It is late,” he said at last. “Perhaps we should speak of pilgrims and faith the next time we meet.” He handed me a card with the name of a restaurant in the Piazza, finished his ale and then walked out without uttering another word.
I glimpsed by his silence that Esteban was still thinking of the chancellery and of my refusal. I also saw that he would not give up until I had accepted to help him.