Chapter 9
Sailing (part way) to Byzantium
As it turned out they were in luck. Within two days Pons and Cyn were on a galley heading to Brundisium in the company of the blind ambassador himself. He offered them free passage as he was sympathetic to the Margrave’s cause. They were rowing out of the lagoon and a sweet breeze out of the north-west was helping them along. Pons had volunteered Cyn to help pull an oar.
“Strong young buck like you wouldn’t mind puttin’ in an honest morning’s work.” Pons announced aloud in front of crew and officers. Cyn scowled at Pons and muttered as he made his way down to the benches of oars to help the men at the sweeps. The men sang a cadence as they pulled. After a few minutes Cyn had caught on to the words and the rhythm and joined in.
Pons stood in the aft of the ship with the ancient Enrico Dandalo and watched the Lido of Venice slide by the starboard side. Enrico Dandalo felt the wind on his face, and smelled the open sea. At the railing stood a young priest, the patriarch of Grado’s secretary, along to provide ecclesiastical backing to Enrico Dondalo’s embassy. Beside them at the tiller, stood the ship’s captain, a gruff powerfully built man in his middle years.
“I admire your master Margrave Guilhem.” Dandalo said. “He has ambitions, but fate has been unkind to him. He fights the Emperor Barbarossa’s wars against Milan and Alessandria. Then, later, when there is peace, he is left to mend fences with hostile neighbors. His oldest son would have been King of Jerusalem if he hadn’t died, may the Holy Father rest his soul. And now this… another son… dead before his time. God is testing the Margrave with hardship and travail. He is being tested like Job. I know of these things. The Greeks took my sight. They imprisoned me and beat my head until the light faded from my eyes forever. But God did not let me die. No, he has plans for me yet.”
“Revenge, Ser Dandalo, is not a Christian emotion.” Pons replied.
“No, but that is why we have men like you, and my cousin Marco here.” He indicated to the hulking helmsman. “Marco has recently come from Constantinople.”
Pons turned to the captain, “I guess you’re the man I want to talk to then. How did things stand in the city when you left?”
Marco shrugged his shoulders. “The last time I saw the city was three months ago. The Latin Quarter was burning. When rumors started going around Andronikos was moving on the city with a heathen army the mood in the city began to change. The Verangian guards were withdrawn to the palace, and the city watch, the Viglas… disappeared. Then the Greeks swarmed in and started looting us. They have always hated us, so after a day or two… when they saw there was no law around, they decided to take what we had. A mob assembled and started to ransack our warehouses. A group of us got together and fought back. We had them beat too. But then Andronikos entered the city unopposed and he turned his mercenaries loose on us. By then our warehouses and fondaccio were in flames, so I figured there was no point in staying. There was nothing worth fighting to save anymore. We had a running street battle down the Grand Colonnade to the Neorian Harbor. We barely had time to gather up what refugees we could. The great chain which blocked the entrance to the Bosporus was down, thanks be to Almighty God, and we were able to put to sea before anyone could try to raise it.”
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Marco paused to spit over the ship’s railing before he continued, “The few ships that made it out gathered by the Prince’s Islands offshore from Constantinople. We waited to see if any others from the Genoese or Pisan merchants had escaped to join us. While we were waiting, some of us put ashore to sack the heretic monasteries on the islands and avenge ourselves. After we sailed back to our home ports, raiding along the coast as we went. God curse those faithless Greeks. I lost everything I owned, down to my last iron nail, because of those bastards.”
“Which is why I am sailing to Brundisium,” said Enrico. “The Republic simply does not have enough men outfitted and ready to fight, nor do we have enough ships with oars in the water at this time. Venice was banned from trading in Constantinople - on Emperor Manuel’s whim alone - for seven years. Three years ago we began trading again, only now we are quite wiped out by this massacre. None of the great trading families will see a profit this year. None. Nor the next year either most likely. We do more trade with Constantinople than all our other trade in Flanders, Germany, England, Alexandria, Spain… everything combined. However, good King William of Sicily, has plenty of idle Norman knights. He has plenty of money. He is twenty-six years old and in need of a campaign. His father and his father’s father fought wars against the Greeks. Perhaps God will work for us through him.”
“And while my uncle is in Brundisium. I’ll skip across the sea and drop you two gentlemen off in Dyrrachium,” said Marco.
“Thank you again Ser Dondalo,” Pons tugged his leather cap. “For your kindness in this hour of the house of Montferrat’s trouble. I am sure if the Marquis were here he would be overcome.”
“Not at all, Captain Pons,” Enrico Dandalo’s vacant eyes gleamed. “I am only too happy to provide free passage to someone who is going to kill some Greeks.”