Burdens of the Dead: Chapter Twenty

PART III

November, 1540 A.D.

Venice

    Benito had long since decided that he could deal with almost anything better than goodbyes. This one was far worse than any other. Yet there was no way he could leave without saying goodbye to Maria and Alessia. Life was too short and fragile and precious for that. He knew that the task ahead was fraught and that Maria would be going to Aidoneus’ shadowy kingdom soon. It was almost enough to make him put his daughter on the ship with him. But at least there was Marco here in Venice, and Katerina as well. Marco and the spirit of the lion of St. Mark. And although there were differences between the brothers, there was no-one Benito knew he could trust more, and a child would not be safe on the ship. Not where he was going. And she would be even less safe alone in Corfu. The time was coming.

    The fleet was almost ready. The fast galleys that had sailed out of the gates of Hercules had returned and were in the final stages of refitting. Word was in from Genoa that their vessels were ready to sail within three weeks for the meeting at Corfu, along with the Aragonese. Little did they know that they would not be overwintering there. A winter expedition was madness…but such was the reputation that sailed with the fleets, that there was no shortage of madmen willing to gamble on the weather. The first relief had come to Corfu in winter despite the weather.

    Benito had no intention of gambling. He had instead the intent of gathering some aid. Reluctant aid, maybe. But aid anyway. He went in search of Marco. He expected to find him in the Church of St. Raphaella, which was fine as it was where they needed to go. Instead he ran into him, smiling, on the stairs leading up to the Doge’s palace. “The fleet’s been sighted. The fleet from the Black Sea. Maybe there will be no need of all this.”

    Marco always hoped to avoid war. Well, the part of Marco that was Marco-the-healer did. The part that was Marco-the-lion did not. Benito had decided, when he was still a boy, that if a fight was inevitable anyway, you might as well get over and done with, on your own terms. He doubted if the fleet’s return meant anything good. But there was no sense in dampening Marco’s hopes. He’d bet the news from the fleet would do that anyway.

    And Benito was not disappointed; a wise man had once told him, “a pessimist is never unpleasantly surprised,” and when it came to war, he supposed he must be a pessimist. He was allowed — a rare and doubtful privilege — to sit quietly behind a screen in a discrete private salon in the Doge’s palace while the admiral of the Eastern Fleet reported to the Council of Ten.

    “Monsignors, Doge Petro,” said the admiral. “We have two thirds-empty holds, and we have several vessels barely fit to sail. We abandoned two at the little Arsenal in Corfu — although we have brought home a few prizes from the attack we suffered. They’re not worth much, though. There’s trouble brewing, big trouble, with the eastern trade. Emperor Alexis demanded a high toll for our passage. Half our cargo, and the vessels were less than full anyway.”

    “That’s a direct contravention of the treaty of Tarsus,” said one of the Council members. They were masked, as usual. But Benito had a good idea who it was by the voice and intonation.

    “The Venetian ambassador, Signor Porchelli, made representation to the emperor. He was lucky to get away with his life, Monsignors. The emperor has gone completely mad, we think. He said he did not care. We could pay and go or stay and be sunk. He said that he has no need to fear Venice any more. Constantinople is restive and afraid. They prepare for war. The Venetian quarter is sealed off. Our people there fear a massacre.”

    “They surely would not dare.”

    The Eastern Fleet admiral shook his head. “I think the Byzantine generals are reluctant, Monsignors, but Alexis’s mercenaries…they see the prospect of rich loot. We paid and brought many of the women and children with us. Also some of the reserves of goods and gold our traders there held for their houses.”

    Benito knew what that meant: very, very scared merchants. Without much gold, or stock, their ability to trade would be severely curtailed, and for a Venetian merchant house, death was almost preferable.

    “The fleet is early, and you left Trebizond early. Without full holds, to judge by your statements.” That was Petro. Benito knew the voice too well to be mistaken.

    “Yes Monsignors. We had little choice. The Venetian podesta there made the decision, and it was a wise one, as events proved.”

    Peering from behind the screen in the dimly-lit room — the Council preferred it so to preserve their anonymity, which kept them from undue influence and of course, assassination — Benito could see the admiral of the Eastern Fleet tugging his beard nervously. The council did not like rash admirals. They liked over-cautious ones even less. Lemnossa was a wily old bird by all reports, but the Council could be judgmental and vindictive. And the Venetian Republic had lost money.

    “We have had trouble in Trebizond, Monsignors. The Baitini have moved against the local satrap. So far the Ilkhan has done nothing.”

    “Baitini?”

    “A sect of the worshippers of Mahomet, considered by many of their co-religionists to be heretical. A dangerous sect the Ilkhan all but crushed nearly a century ago. They were the last major force to stand against the Mongol in Damascus and their other secretive great fortress, Alamut. They ruled by fear and assassination, rather than by overt power. They were the power behind the throne. They believe they have a special relationship with God.”

    “Don’t all sects?” said someone.

    “These are very fanatical, Monsignors. They were suppressed, but lately the Venetian merchants in Trebizond say that they have become more open in their extortion and murder. The city is in ferment. The Venetian quarter is an armed camp. Trade is severely curtailed, with caravans from Hind reported as going to other ports. A small fleet left early, as some do every year. They never returned.”

    “What?”

    “It appears they were attacked by another fleet, Monsignors. A fleet of galleys coming from Odessa, judging by sail-setting and their garb. Two sailors survived, clinging to some flotsam, and made their way overland, back to Trebizond. One of them was murdered, in the streets of Trebizond. The Baitini are working in concert with these raiders. They tried to kill both of the sailors, and it is only by the grace of God that one escaped the murderers to tell us his story. But even given that the man who survived was traumatized and just a common sailor, we knew that the size of the rover-fleet was substantial.”

    “It appears that the duke of Genoa will have his pirate problem.”

    “Yes, Monsignors. I had not got there yet, but seven vessels of the State of Genoa — well, we met them several day’s sail from the port of Sinope. They signaled us, and as we outnumbered them and outgunned them, we allowed a small boat to come across to us. They sought to join our fleet, seeking protection as fellow Christians from the pirate fleet that had barred their way. They had been driven out of Theodosia, and lost five vessels, and suffered considerable loss of life. We — out of Christian charity and to swell our numbers — allowed them to join our fleet. We encountered their attackers in some force a day out of Herculea. We were prepared and ready for the conflict, and they were…shall we say, unskilled, Monsignors. Bloodthirsty but unskilled. There were only some thirty galleys, and so with our allies we outnumbered them, and they were tricked into allowing us to fire broadsides at them. Their ships are merely equipped with bow and stern chasers, and they’re poor gunners. The long and the short it is we beat them off with some loss of life and damage on our part, but not a vessel lost. We sank seven of them, and captured four, although we scuttled one as she was in no state to be sailed at any speed.”

 

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    He paused and took a long drink from the goblet of wine that was given to him. “We had no trouble from there to until we entered the Bosphorus, although vessels were sighted. We were a goodly company. And we were glad of it, Monsignors. It’s time the pirates and Byzantines were taught to respect the ships of Venice.”

    “And, by the sounds of it, of Genoa.”

    The fleet admiral laughed. “You should have heard the Genoese senior captain’s reaction when the emperor demanded half of the Genoese vessels’ cargo too. They’re used to Byzantines trying to play them off against us, not being treated like us. Alexis would have it that if they’d sail with our fleet, they could be taxed with us. I hear he was uninterested in their suggestion that he deploy his navy — not that it’s up to much — against the pirates in the Black sea. They’re too organized, Monsignor, just to be a rabble fleet. We need to take steps to see to our trade.”

    “We plan to, Admiral. We plan to return to Constantinople long before spring with a sharp rebuke for a little emperor for breaching the terms of our treaty. It’s a pity that the rebellion in Opiskon appears to have fizzled out.”

    Peering around the screen again Benito saw the Eastern Fleet admiral nod approvingly. “Not a moment too soon, Monsignors. You’ll find our crews keen enough to join the expedition. Emperor Alexis hurt our pride, and worse, our profits. Many’s the colleganza that’ll be cursing him tonight. Give the men a week ashore…”

    That was what Benito needed to hear: The admiral’s assessment of the response of the men. Benito realized he should have guessed how far astray Emperor Alexius would let his greed lead him. It was not just the wealthy of Venice who traded Outremer. Even the lowliest seaman had a small share in a colleganza — a trading collective. A canny man could make himself a good profit — five times his investment — if he chose his goods and traders well. Those ordinary seamen would have lost money. Their retirement money for the older men, their weddings for the younger. The populi minuta would be angry and ready to put to sea again, despite the fact that it would be cold and wet at this season. He made a mental note to see what he could do to improve conditions on board. Half-frozen rowers on the galleys would not help their need for speed at all. Petro would complain about the money for oilskins and woolen hats, but not too much. Swords, powder and ball, arrows…no one quibbled about the need for those. But Benito had already heard Admiral Douro in the Arsenal, who skimped nothing for his own comfort, attempting to cut corners on the well-being of his crews. That would not stand, not on Benito’s watch.

    The interview with the admiral of the Eastern Fleet continued for some time, refining details and clearing up points. Benito listened. And began to calculate on how many ships Venice could put at sea. He was pretty sure the lists in the Piazza San Marco would filling up within the next few days. Men would be signing up to join Venice on a punitive expedition to Constantinople. Benito had his name at the head of those lists. That would be popular. He also — and this would be a lot less popular — did not want to cripple and loot Constantinople. By the sounds of it they might need a bulwark against the east if these Baitini succeeded in their plans to subvert the Ilkhan’s empire from within. That sort of thinking was not likely to appeal to men who had just lost the little they had.

    Later he set off in search of Marco. One look at his brother’s face told him that the admiral of the Eastern Fleet’s news was being carried along by hundreds of lesser channels. He also had that impatient, almost fevered Marcus-the-healer look. So the ships had brought more than just bad news.

    “What is it, Benito? I need to get down to Fondamenta Zattere Ponto Lungo. There are some sick children. They have been very crowded on the Eastern Fleet vessels, with everyone trying to get out of Constantinople and Trebizond. They left some at Negroponte and at Corfu, but they were still crowded.”

    Benito came straight to the point. “I need you and Brother Mascoli to take me down to the water chapel. Where you took me to meet the water-people.”

    Marco nodded, quite as if he had expected this. Perhaps he had; who knew what the Lion whispered in his thoughts? “This evening? I really must go right now. I’d rather treat sick children immediately than let them scatter into the city and spread diseases around far and wide. Bring your daughter with you. Her godmother should see her.”

    That, Benito had not expected. “I want to ask them for aid — again — in getting a fleet to Constantinople. Do you really think I should bring Alessia?”

    Marco nodded. “It will do no harm to remind them of the bond between you.”

    Benito pulled a face. “I don’t think they take very well to blackmail.”

    But none-the-less he had her and Maria with him that evening when they made their way down to the consecrated water-chapel below the chapel of St. Raphaella. The undine Juliette and the triton Androcles came, as they waited. Benito saw the raised eyebrows of Juliette the undine, as she saw him holding Alessia “I see she has found her father. We’d heard about that.” Then she saw Maria, who had stayed back a little. She bowed with profound respect, disturbing the hair that cloaked her ample bare breasts. “I could wish we met again in better times, Lady of the Dead.”

 

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    Maria had wanted to properly thank the mer-woman who had stood in for Umberto’s sister at the christening of her daughter. She still had some of the canal-woman’s fear of the below-water dwellers, but her time as an acolyte of the Mother Goddess had broadened her perspectives a little.

    But she still had not expected this non-human, so far away from little Corfu to know that much, or to call her by a title she did not really relish. “What? How –”

    “He follows you,” said Juliette. “We can see. He longs for you, and for your strength. He comes. Soon.”

    Maria felt the tears prick her eyelids, and fear gnaw at her belly. Fear of leaving her daughter. Fear of leaving the man she loved. Not fear for herself…but also fear because the last time she’d felt this sick she’d been pregnant. And she was just a little late. She hadn’t told Benito this small fact yet. He had enough to contend with.

    She looked at Benito. He was studying the merpeople in a way that she’d learned meant he was looking for an angle to use with them. And plainly not finding it as easy as he usually did. “I need help,” he finally said.

    A direct admission from Benito? He must be more worried than he’d let on.

    The mer-folks’ eyes narrowed, but not with dislike, more in the manner of a shrewd merchant about to bargain. The triton spoke, “Not something we give easily or for no reason. Or for free, fire-spirit.”

    Benito nodded. “I thought that would be the case. You remember the magical creature that tried to kill Marco. That attacked the ships.”

    “Lamprey. Magical. Something we’d rather stay away from,” said Androcles, sinking back down into the water.

    Benito spoke quickly, before he could move too far away. “I think more are coming. Or at least the monster’s master comes. He likes using the water for his servants.” That arrested the two merpeople, who had plainly been about to depart.

    Now their eyes narrowed again, but with slow anger. Not for Benito but…yes. He had them. “What do you want?” Juliette asked.

 

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    “To destroy it for ever so that I can have a better world for my daughter,” said Benito, lightly. “That’s what I want, but it is not what I’ll get.”

    Androcles was amused now. “And what do you hope to get?

    “I need to take a fleet all the way to Constantinople. In the teeth of winter. That is neither wise nor easy. But I believe it must be done. So we will do it. But I could use some help with the weather.”

    Juliette snorted delicately. “Try gods.”

    Benito ignored the comment. “You are more weather wise than we humans are. And I have heard tell you can communicate over long distances.”

    Androcles wagged his head a bit. “It would be hard to be less weather wise than humans. And sound travels well underwater. We can hear sounds ten or twelve leagues away.”

    “There are ports along the way, or at least sheltered anchorages we can use — if we are not caught too far from them. What I want is some kind of advance warning.”

    “It’s not wise to cheat the sea of its prey,” said Androcles, with the air of someone testing waters.

    Benito shrugged. “Please. This is me you are talking to. I’m not wise.”

    “He even cheated the Lord of the Dead of his bride,” Juliette reminded all of them. With cautious admiration.

    Benito squeezed Maria’s shoulder. “As much as I was able.”

    “More than most humans,” said Androcles, but he nodded. “Very well. Something can be arranged. But there is a price.”

    “If we can afford it, it is yours,” said Benito, sounding as if he was one of the best bargainers on the canals. He probably was, thought Maria, with an inward smile to herself. He’d started hard and young, no matter where he’d risen to.

    “Ah. Nothing you cannot afford. A drop of your blood on the water when you wish to call us, and a little something that Venice can afford. Besides the fact that we owe the healer, it seems wise to be on the right side of you,” said Androcles disarmingly.

    “And he is my god-daughter’s father,” said Juliette, coming forward to touch Alessia.

    “What is it that you want?” asked Benito.

    “A piece of water to call our own. A place where no-one fouls and no one fishes. A couple of acres here, within the Lion’s shelter, that we can call our own. If ill times are coming, we’ll need it.” By the sudden sober look on the triton’s face, this had been something the mer-folk had long desired. Maria understood. Sanctuary, under the shadow of the Lion…valuable. Worth, to them, more than pearls. If they could not be safe with the Lion to guard, they could not be safe anywhere.

    Benito nodded. Maria knew it would not be easy to police, although Doge Petro could make it legally so at the stroke of a pen. She was a canaler. You could hardly be that without knowing that the writ of the law as to fishing rights was often trespassed on, and the offenders were seldom caught. And she had a strong feeling these were not folk you could casually give your word to. So she said so.

    “We’ll tell you who breaks the bargain. There are always some who will go too far for fish.” Juliette looked pointedly at the triton

    He grinned, showing sharp teeth. “It will be up to you landfolk to punish them. We will know if you do not.”

    Benito nodded. “I will talk to Petro about it, but I think I can safely promise it. He knows the value of sanctuary — and allies.”

    Maria planned to take it a step further. She’d talk to the canalers about it. There’d be enough of them heading out with her Benito. It was not a deal to be turned down. The canal people were superstitious enough to keep each other out of the protected water, just in case.

    Marco, who still practiced most of his medicine among the Venice’s poor and probably knew them as well as Maria did, obviously thought likewise. “I will talk to the canalers. Keeping their loved ones safe from the ravages of the sea while on this voyage is a bargain they’ll find hard to refuse, I think. And if they agree…well, their word is good. With all respect to Petro, it would be of more value than any piece of pap…”

    They all felt it then. A cold that had nothing to do with temperature, the shiver down the spine, the touch at the back of the neck. And the power, oh yes, the power. The two merpeople vanished. Slipped away under the water like ghosts. Someone else had entered the water-chapel, although the door was still closed. They could all feel his cold presence behind them. Maria was chilled to the bone, and she held tightly onto Benito and her daughter.

    They turned, slowly, to face Aidoneus, lord of the cold halls of the dead. Once again, Maria was struck by his beauty. How could a thing that ruled the dead be so handsome?

    He inclined his head, unsmiling. “My bride,” he said.

    She had known this was coming. She just had hoped for more time. But he would come when he would come, by his own calendar — and by his calendar, winter was about to begin.

    Maria felt Benito tense. “For four months,” she said calmly, squeezing Benito’s shoulder. “That was our bargain. I honor my bargains. Benito will honor his.”

    Aidoneus nodded. “I will keep her safe. And keep my bargain.”

    Maria took a deep breath. “And him. Now…I need to bid them goodbye.” Her voice cracked slightly. She had meant to keep her self-control. But…four months. Four months of no Benito. No little ‘Lessi…Four months among the dead, four months being the sole living creature in those cold, silent halls…already she ached fiercely for them, and she had not said goodbye.

    “If you don’t want…” Benito began.

    Maria shook her head, fiercely. “A bargain is a bargain. I keep mine. And I’ll be back in the spring. I promise.”

    Benito took a deep breath. “Or I’ll be there to fetch you. And this time…” He left the threat unspoken.

    “I will keep my bargain too,” said Aidoneus to Benito, gravely, and with no sign of insult. “Not because that is my nature, but I would be foolish not to. She is not someone to anger, lightly. And I need her. She brings life to my lands. That is no small thing.”

    Benito grimaced, and being Benito, could not forbear but try for a joke of some kind. She understood why. The cold…it froze a man’s soul. No wonder Aidoneus wanted Maria’s fire. “And she throws plates. And anything else she can get her hands on. And she has a temper and a voice that will probably blow those mists of yours away. Very well. I accept it. But I don’t have to like it.”

    Benito turned to his wife and folded her in his arms, a stocky, short man, with muscles like rope, binding her. She could feel his anger and his sadness. And she could feel that he loved her, that if he could he would take her place, he would go again to the land of the dead to bring her out.

    “I’ve done it once,” he said quietly to her, confirming what she felt. “If need be I’ll do it twice.”

    She hugged him, unable to speak. She kissed and cried a little over her baby. And then she put her child in her father’s arms, and turned away and walked beside Aidoneus into the misty archway that had opened ahead of them. It was quite the hardest thing she’d ever done. If she’d turned back to see him and their daughter standing there beside the greenish water of the water-chapel…she knew she’d fail.

    But she had a bargain to keep.