Venetians Read online

  VENETIANS

  The First Doge

  LODOVICO PIZZATI

  AuthorHouse™

  1663 Liberty Drive

  Bloomington, IN 47403

  www.authorhouse.com

  Phone: 1 (800) 839-8640

  © 2017 Lodovico Pizzati. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  Published by AuthorHouse 03/10/2017

  ISBN: 978-1-5246-5891-5 (sc)

  ISBN: 978-1-5246-5890-8 (e)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2017900265

  Contents

  Chapter 1 Little House on the Prairie

  Chapter 2 Tragic Kingdom

  Chapter 3 Opterg and Timberland

  Chapter 4 The Gold Medallion

  Chapter 5 The King and the Emperor

  Chapter 6 The Return

  Chapter 7 Brothers Reunite

  Chapter 8 The Wolf Trap

  Chapter 9 The Siege

  Chapter 10 Eggs in Two Baskets

  Chapter 11 Profiting from War

  Chapter 12 The New King

  Chapter 13 The Emperor is Naked

  Chapter 14 Polo and Grimwald

  Chapter 15 Venetians on Spring Break

  Chapter 16 The Betrayal

  Chapter 17 Wolf Hunting

  Chapter 18 Bloodletting

  Chapter 19 The First Doge

  Chapter 20 Slavic Slaves

  Chapter 21 Happy Birthday

  Chapter 22 Mediterranean Breeze

  Chapter 23 Trapped in Tridentum

  Chapter 24 Two Sunsets

  Chapter 25 Hot Waters

  Chapter 26 The Ransom

  Chapter 27 Naval Battle

  Chapter 28 Reopening the Silk Road

  Chapter 29 The Evangelist and Paphlagonia

  Chapter 30 The Mithridatic Witch

  Chapter 31 Ostikan

  Chapter 32 A New Generation

  To my father

  MAPS

  Below: Venetia, seventh century

  Next Page: East Mediterranean, seventh century

  Chapter 1

  LITTLE HOUSE ON THE PRAIRIE

  It must have been a complete shock for the two young brothers to abruptly discover the grave danger they were in. Primo and Polo had been raised in an isolated farm without any formal education, completely oblivious of where they were and, just as importantly, of when they were. They lived in a small hut in the middle of a vast land with no neighbors, and that much they knew. They were also aware that just beyond those reeds there was marshland extending south for several miles, until eventually some long, sandy islands delimited the open sea. They did know there was the Sile River to the west, and that on a clear day they could see snowy mountains to the north. As teenage boys, they were skilled at fishing, and they could also plow the field with a donkey, their only beast of burden. They were also quite good at carpentry, especially considering they had hardly any metal tools. Essentially their known world was limited to that serene countryside, and they were too young to be wary of the horrifying devastation their land had suffered just a couple of decades before. Their only worry, when their dog would bark in the middle of the night, was that an errant fox might eat their chicken or kill their last surviving goat. This was the simple life they knew, and they could not have imagined, that early spring morning, that this would be the last time they would ever hear their rooster crow.

  It was getting brighter, but it was not quite sunrise. Outside the door, the farm dog was lying down with his eyes still shut closed in defiance of the rooster’s insistence, but inside the hut, the family began to awaken. It was a modest dwelling consisting of only one room, with a large hay bed in front of a rudimentary dining nook. Uncle Licio sat up on the right side of the bed and Aunt Fausta did the same on the left side. Finally little Fabia, who shared the bed with her parents, could at once stretch out her little six-year old self and catch a few more minutes of sleep. Grandma instead had been awake for a couple of hours already, but she was still lying down in her sleeping quarters, which were nothing more than the padded bench in the dining nook, next to the fireplace. Above the bed where Fabia was still sleeping, there was a small loft with at most four feet of headspace. Up there in between the hay, two sets of feet were sticking out, as well as an unkempt head of hair right in the middle. The feet belonged to Primo and Polo, sleeping on opposite edges, while the head belonged to their older cousin Tulio, as they shared the narrow space by sleeping in head-to-feet order.

  The morning routine began as usual. Aunt Fausta was already outside hauling a bucket of fresh water from the nearby well. Grandma was squatting down, out in the open field, doing her morning business while a solitary heron was staring at her with curiosity. The boys were still half-asleep as they were getting dressed, which boiled down to putting on some shoddy dull-colored tunics made of some coarse material. Uncle Licio was adding some wood to revive the embers from the previous night’s fire, while his daughter Fabia was still sound asleep, enjoying the uncrowded bed all to herself. They finally all sat around the fireplace, the boys eating homemade dark bread, and Uncle Licio pouring heated water over his roasted barley.

  “Today boys, we are going to the ruins to get some more stone. I want to replace the door’s wooden frame with some nice Roman stone… strong, straight, and it won’t rot and fall on our heads!”

  Uncle Licio sipped his hot beverage, looking forward to the short trip to the ruins of the ancient Roman city of Altinum, located just a few miles from their farm.

  “But I thought we were going to the market in Opterg today… to sell some crops!” interjected Polo, with a clear desire to finally interact with other people.

  “Or to see some girls! We are trapped in the most remote farm of the Empire!” added eighteen-year old Primo, in support of his younger brother’s complaint.

  Though the farmland was vast, it was becoming confining for Primo and Polo. They knew nothing about the outside world, and they craved adventure. They were aware that the nearest town was Opterg, several miles to the east, but they never ventured there. They understood that they were part of ‘The Empire’, and they never needed to specify it was the Byzantine Empire, because they knew no other kingdom to compare it to. And actually, they did not even know much about this Byzantine Empire, because they were in such a remote land, so distant from the capital of Constantinople, that they had never even seen a company of Greek soldiers pass by.

  All absorbed with his hot beverage, Uncle Licio was ignoring Primo and Polo, so his son Tulio decided to reply to his two younger cousins.

  “You know there is a war out there, Primo… Papa is right to be prudent.”

  “When isn’t there a war!?” replied Primo all frustrated.

  The contrast between the two brothers compared to the relatives they lived with was always noticeable. Primo was strikingly courageous and bold, while Polo, just two years younger, was especially inquisitive and curious. Tulio instead, like his parents, was a simple person, and he was more preoccupied about survival rather than about living life to the fullest. The physical appearance was also different. Tulio and his parents were hunched and skinny, while Primo and Polo were wide shouldered, tall and straight, as if not related at all to the rest. This contrast in point of views was even more emphasized when Aunt Fausta also intervened.

  “Even without a war, going to Opterg just gets you noticed, boys. If they forget that we are here… that would be for the best!”

  “Oh, have no fear, m
y dear! No master forgets when it’s time to collect the tax!” said Grandma, jumping into the conversation and chuckling at her own joke, which was mixed with common wisdom. But no one seemed to be amused, especially Uncle Licio, who was ignoring them all. Then he spoke again just to give out orders.

  “Enough chit chat! We first have to take care of the field and the animals. C’mon, we have a long day ahead, if we also want to go to Altinum and get some stones for the house.”

  Uncle Licio and the boys left the makeshift dining nook and headed out. Aunt Fausta added some more wood to heat up the cold morning, and young Fabia finally woke up and went to hug her mom first, and then sat on Grandma’s lap trying to warm up.

  “Good morning my precious! Do you want the last bit of goat milk from yesterday? We all saved it for you…” Grandma greeted Fabia, her beloved little granddaughter who brightened every single morning of Grandma’s last days on earth.

  Later on that morning everyone was busy, each focusing on completing their chores. Grandma was farther away, bent in half gathering berries, herbs and roots from the nearby bushes. She was periodically placing them in the sack hanging from her shoulder. Aunt Fausta was washing some clothes at the well. Her daughter Fabia was helping by wringing and squeezing the water out before they hung the laundry on a clothesline to dry in the sun. Uncle Licio was attaching the two-wheel cart to the donkey by fastening some ropes around the beast of burden. The poor animal snorted, appearing to understand that a heavy load had to be carried through the uneven and unpaved road that led away from the farm. Inside the small barn attached to the hut, Tulio was tending the other animals, but most importantly, he was counting sacks of food supply. Primo and Polo were outside in front of the barn, doing some carpentry on what appeared to be the hull of an upside down canoe-like boat.

  It was just another peaceful morning in that forgotten farm at the edges of the marshy lagoon, until in the distance a four-wheel cart, slowly being pulled by a mule, started to approach. A man was sitting in front while the cargo was half-full of sacks, and a young man was walking along holding the mule’s rope. As Aunt Fausta was hanging a large sheet made out of wool, in between a large gaping hole she saw the two people advancing toward the farm.

  “Liciooo!” Aunt Fausta shouted with no particular emotion: no fear nor excitement. If anything, with a little annoyance. “The taxman from Grado is here!”

  The cart was first greeted by the barking dog. Then all family members came out in front to welcome the two visitors. Except for Grandma, oblivious and hard of hearing, who continued to gather berries and herbs by the nearby bushes. Uncle Licio stepped forward to meet the newcomers:

  “Saverio, my old friend! I haven’t seen you in ages! I hope you bring us some joyful news from the Patriarch!”

  Uncle Licio approached as Saverio dismounted from what appeared to have been an uncomfortable ride. The two men did not shake hands, but they genuinely smiled at each other.

  “Good to see the farm is still standing, Licio! This time I have brought along my son Sabino with me…”

  The young man, about Polo’s age, nodded at the farmer’s family as his father introduced him.

  “One day he will have to take over his old man’s dirty work!” Saverio chuckled, hoping Uncle Licio would laugh along with him.

  “Oh, Saverio, you have no idea what a terrible winter this has been. One of the goats died, the water level rose and partly flooded the field with salt water…”

  “Licio, Licio, Licio…” Saverio interrupted gently, “…you do not have to make excuses with me… I mostly came to make sure you were doing well… Do you know that this is now the most distant farm at the very edge of the Empire?”

  “I thought the communities west of the Sile River were the frontier,” replied Licio pointing west, past Grandma’s hunched silhouette.

  “Licio, Licio, Licio…” Saverio interrupted again, now condescending. “We lost those farmers to the Longobards a couple of years ago, you know that! Half have been killed, and half now pay their dues to their new Germanic lords.”

  Uncle Licio lowered his head, in respect for those unfortunate people so similar to him. They lived not too far away, despite being separated by a wide river. In his forty-five years of existence, he had met those neighboring farmers once or twice, but he felt close to them. They were no different from him in customs and in misfortunes brought by a dire and dismal life. All the local peasants were considered Latins, descendants of the once great Roman Empire. After having endured the invasion of Alaric’s Goths, then the raids of Attila’s Huns, the populace now plodded through the devastated ruins of what used to be the great Venetia Regio, the tenth region of the Roman Empire. The latest barbarians to come through northeastern Italy were the Longobards, but unlike the Goths and the Huns, this latest Germanic tribe decided to stay. Uncle Licio’s farm was at the very edge of territories still held by the Byzantine Empire. The Longobards were encroaching, and Saverio tried to delicately explain this to Uncle Licio.

  “You know, Licio, the Byzantine soldiers are most preoccupied in protecting the coastal ports, so… I worry about you people, all alone here in the inland farms… Just give me what you can, and I will make up some excuses for you to the Tribune in Heraclia.”

  Saverio handed to Uncle Licio a brown empty sack he took from the cart, and Uncle Licio passed it on to his son Tulio. Uncle Licio motioned to his son to go in the barn and fill it with provisions. Once inside the barn, Tulio filled the taxman’s sack only halfway, although in the background there was a healthy stack of reserve provisions. Outside, the conversation continued, everyone unaware that they were being spied upon from a distance. To the west, a Longobard outpost soldier was lurking suspiciously behind the branches of an old oak tree.

  “I see that Tulio is pretty much a grown man…” Saverio attempted to make small talk to break the awkward silence while taxes were being paid. “And these two young men, of course, they must be the two young children you-”

  “My nephews, Saverio, my nephews!” Uncle Licio loudly interrupted the taxman, unsure if Saverio would reveal a secret he kept from Primo and Polo since they were toddlers. Saverio realized Uncle Licio had not told them their real story, so he silently listened with complicity as Uncle Licio continued.

  “This is Primo, and this is Polo! Fine young men, unfortunately a bit too curious about the world, but fine young men, indeed!”

  “Messer Saverio, pardon me…” interjected Polo, “…but how long does it take for a ship sailing from Heraclia to reach Constantinople?”

  In the meantime, Tulio had just emerged from the barn and was handing a meager sack directly to Saverio.

  “Because I am worried that the provisions Tulio is giving you…” Polo continued, “…might rot before they reach the Emperor’s palate!”

  “Polo! How dare you!” Uncle Licio abruptly interrupted, embarrassed by Polo’s impertinence and by Tulio’s stingy selection. His son had handed the taxman even fewer provisions that he himself would have paid. He did not want to insult Saverio, especially since he had made the long journey to the farm.

  “Saverio, forgive my insolent nephew… Let me make it up by personally scraping up some more provisions for the Emperor… And my son Tulio does not know any better… I beg you, pardon him as well.”

  Meanwhile, Primo had distanced himself, but he was still eavesdropping while he resumed working on the boat. He was curious to hear the taxman’s reply, and Saverio did not mind answering the challenging question.

  “It’s quite all right, Licio… it is a legitimate question.” Saverio pretended it was just a naïve inquiry by a curious boy who wondered about shipping voyages, and who was truly worried about an emperor eating rotten crops. But Saverio knew exactly what it was: a sharp comment questioning who would actually consume this tax.

  “You see, Polo, these sacks that I have collected from the nearby farms…”
Saverio pointed at the sacks stacked onto the cart behind him, “…these sacks will never reach Constantinople. The soldiers stationed in Heraclia will eat these provisions. Those same soldiers that are here to protect you and your family from the barbarians who are lurking across the Sile.” Saverio pointed westward, in the general direction of the distant oak tree.

  The Longobard soldier was startled and feared he had been spotted. He hurried down the tree and hopped on his horse that had been grazing among the reeds. ‘Perhaps the farmers saw me… perhaps it’s time to act…’ thought the soldier as he galloped away.

  “But we have never seen Byzantine soldiers over here at our farm…” Now it was Primo jumping into the conversation. “What if the Longobards come tomorrow? How would the Greek soldiers be able to defend us? We would have to surrender…”

  “Primoooo!” Uncle Licio shouted irritated by the audacity of his nephew. He emerged from the barn with a full sack of provisions and immediately handed it to Saverio.

  “It’s quite all right, Licio… It’s another legitimate question,” Saverio reassured Uncle Licio. “You see, Primo, these are rough times for the Empire, and our armies are stretched thin. The capital itself is being constantly threatened by the Avars and the Bulgars from the north. And to the south, we recently lost Egypt and its fertile grain supplies… You see, these western lands are lower priority at the moment, but we must defend every inch of civilization from these barbarians! Remember, Primo, Byzantium is the surviving heir of the Roman Empire, and we must resist if we want it, one day, to return to its full glory.”

  “It’s so fascinating hearing your accounts, Saverio!” Aunt Fausta thought the conversation was becoming a little too intense, and she stepped forward. “Will you and your son join us for lunch? We would love to hear more!”

  “Thank you dear Fausta, but we have two more farms to visit on our way toward Heraclia, and I want to make it to the port before dusk. Last night, on our way here from Grado, we had to sleep out in the open, so we are in a hurry to make it back to comfort.”