Grantville Gazette - Volume X, page 22
part #10 of Grantville Gazette Series
"Why do you suppose it flooded?"
I had no idea. But you do not get a degree from Oxford if you cannot come up with an explanation extempore. "Rivers usually run high in the spring, when the snow melts. But it seems a little early still for that. Perhaps there was a spell of unseasonably warm weather up in the mountains. Or there was a lot of rain."
"But it hasn't been raining that hard."
"What matters isn't necessarily how much it rains here, but how much it rains at the river's source," I explained.
"So what do we do now?"
"We had best retrace our steps, find higher ground."
"And where will we spend the night?"
"If we are fortunate, in a barn."
We found one. After an uncomfortable night spent listening to the farm animals complain about their visitors, we made another attempt to cross the Po, this time by boat. It took some doing to find a native who was willing to chance the waters, which were still high. It didn't help matters that we needed to transport the horses, not just the people. That meant several trips back and forth, but at last we all stood on the far bank of the Po de Ferrara.
We continued north, reaching the ford of the Sa Roma.
"Do we find another ferryman, or do we chance a crossing?" William asked.
I would have preferred to wait. But there were no boats within sight and no shelter, either. And what if the waters rose again? We could be trapped.
At least the extensive traveling I had done—this was my third trip in Europe—had taught me all the tricks of fording a river. I threw a twig in the water, and watched it move downstream.
"The water isn't moving fast here; that's good. Walk the horses and mules across. Keep them on the upstream side; they'll break the current. We'll cross in line abreast. Samuel on the upstream side. Then myself, Lord Devonshire, Patrick, and Geoffrey. Face upstream, and crabwalk across. Keep one hand on your mount. Carry a walking stick in your free hand."
"Shouldn't we rope ourselves together?" William asked.
"No. If you slip, you can get entangled and drowned."
We started across. Geoffrey, of course, had only listened to half of what I said. "Geoffrey, you fool! Shuffle your feet along the bottom. Leave the capering to the Morris dancers!"
We made it to the halfway mark. The water was now at hip level. Samuel yelled "Halt!"
"What's the matter, Samuel?"
"Don't like the way the water be swirling ahead of us." He poked ahead with his walking stick. "I think there is some sort of hole there."
"All right. We'll edge a bit upstream. Samuel will tell us when he thinks we're past the bad spot." We followed this instruction. Soon, the water was just at our knees. At last we clambered up the far bank, and collapsed.
After resting a bit I shook myself, and stood up. "Let's get some distance between us and the water, just in case."
William was shivering. I pondered what could be done to help him. "My Lord, bide a moment. We will get your pack off the horse, hopefully the clothes in there are dry." They weren't, not exactly, but at least they weren't soggy wet.
"I'd rather wait until we've got a fire, Mister Hobbes."
"On your head be it, William. That's the best we can do for now. I have my tinder box, but it doesn't do us any good without something dry to burn." We rode on, and eventually found enough good wood to build a fire.
By this point, William was sneezing violently. We got him changed and situated close to the fire.
"Thang you very much, Mister Ha-a-a-shoo! Hobbes."
Venice
April, 1633
I was delighted. As I expected, this Venetian bookseller had a copy of Galileo's Dialogo Sopra i Due Massimi Sistemi del Mondo. William's Uncle Charles had been most anxious to read it, and it wasn't available in London.
It wasn't surprising that the Dialogue Concerning Two New World Systems was available in Venice, even though the Catholic Church had banned it. The Venetian Republic had a long history of ignoring papal pronouncements—the Interdict of 1606–7, for example. The Venetians were hardly going to be fazed by the Librorum Prohibitorum. If anything, the Venetian printers probably thought of it as a marketing device.
Of course, I wasn't going to risk carrying the book through, say, Milanese territory. I would find an English merchant to ship it back to London. Together with William's Italian souvenirs.
Then I noticed that William, too, had found something of interest to read. A history of Venice, perhaps? I walked up, softly, and looked over his shoulder.
The book William was so engrossed in was The Catalogue of the Chief and Most Renowned Courtesans of Venice, complete with over two hundred miniature portraits. And rates of hire. Presumably a later edition than the one presented to Henry III of Valois in 1574.
I was painfully reminded that William would be sixteen years old in October. Clearly, Cupid was getting ready to tyrannize, right on schedule.
Venice
Ascension Day (Thursday, May 5, 1633, Gregorian)
Venice. The Most Serene One. The Queen of the Adriatic. The Bride of the Sea. The last epithet was particularly apt today, because it was Ascension Day, the day that Venice, with great pomp and circumstance, renewed its marriage to the sea.
The Grand Canal was filled with thousands of boats: private gondolas like our own; fantastically decorated barges hired by the guilds of the city; war galleys from the famous Arsenal of Venice. So many boats were present, and so closely were they packed together, that you could walk from one to the other.
Some of the gondolas carried families; others, loud parties of young blades from the noble houses, and here and there one could see an especially ornate one. These usually carried one of the great courtesans of Venice, dressed to the hilt. The infamous wantons knew that the young noblemen, as well as distinguished foreigners, would be attracted by these displays, like moths to a flame. I think the up-time term is "advertising."
Like many of the people of Venice, we wore carnival dress. In William's case, it was a bauta, a white mask and a black cape. His blond curls stubbornly thrust out beyond the mask, like flowers seeking the sunlight.
"Ah, we are ready to get underway," I said. The doge's ceremonial galley, the bucintoro, had taken its place at the head of the aquatic parade. "Study the bucintoro; there is much symbolism in its construction." I passed the telescope to William.
The bucintoro was double-decked, with the rowers on the lower deck, and the doge and his entourage on the upper one. The flanks of the upper deck bore depictions of sirens riding seahorses, leaping dolphins, and the like. The prow of the bucintoro carried a golden woman, with a sword in one hand, and scales in another.
"The sword and scales are symbols of justice, I assume."
"Yes, and the woman, Justitia, is a maiden, a virgin. She implies that the government of Venice has not been taken by force."
The prow had a decorative double beak. The upper beak showed waves. The lower beak featured bushes and stones. "And the two beaks, they represent the sea and the earth," said William.
"That's right."
"Where is the doge? He isn't on his throne."
"Look for a golden parasol, near the front."
"Ah, I see him now."
The nautical procession reached the convent of Sant' Elena, and waited there expectantly. After some minutes of suspense, the murmur of the crowd rose in volume. Through the telescope, I could see the flat boat of the patriarch of Castello. It approached the bucintoro and halted. I passed the instrument to William, who took a long look.
"What's happening now?" he asked.
"The benedictio," I answered. "The patriarch says three times, 'We beseech Thee, O Lord, to grant that these waters be calm for our men and all others who sail upon it.' Now watch."
The patriarchal piatto was in motion again, circling the bucintoro. The patriarch touched the doge's ship with an olive branch.
"What's that all about?"
"He dipped the branch in holy water. He has blessed the doge."
Pilot boats leapt ahead of the bucintoro, to guide it, and the bucintoro and the patriarchal piatto followed. The rest of the procession crowded behind them.
"Now what?"
"Not much until we reach the Lido."
William looked disappointed, and looked back the way the way we had come. "I want a better view of the war galleys. I am heading back."
William walked to the stern of our gondola, had a look about, and then turned to look forward. He stayed where he was, however. I smiled; it appeared that the young lord was tired of tutoring. For that matter, I was content to just watch the spectacle myself.
I didn't know it at the time, but he was under observation.
* * *
The procession finally reached the Lido. The patriarch poured water into the sea from a large ampulla. The doge raised his arm above the waves.
"What's going on, Mister Hobbes?" asked William. "Isn't there enough water in the ocean already?"
"The patriarch just blessed the Adriatic with holy water. The doge holds a golden ring in his hands. He will say, 'Desponsamus te mare, in signum veri perpetuique dominii.'"
William's Latin was equal to this challenge. "We marry you, oh sea, as a symbol of perpetual domination."
"Yes. Venice rules the sea even as a husband rules his wife," I said. "In theory, at least." I didn't explain which proposition was true only in theory.
The crowd roared as the doge dropped a golden ring into the Adriatic.
"How long has this ceremony been performed, Mister Hobbes?"
"There has been a Sensa celebration for over six centuries; it honors a naval victory on the Ascension Day of 997. It used to just be the blessing of the waters. But in 1177 Pope Alexander III gave a ring to the doge, and said that it was a symbol of Venetian naval supremacy. The ring which is cast into the sea each year is modeled on that original."
"Is this the original bucintoro?"
"I don't think so." I conferred with the gondolier. "No, there have been several of them, over the years. This bucintoro first sailed in 1606. It cost seventy thousand ducats."
"Did the one before it sink?"
"No. It got too dilapidated and leaky, so the Venetians replaced it." I chuckled. "It would be funny if the bucintoro sank with the doge on it. All Europe would say, 'he finally decided to consummate his marriage to the sea.'"
* * *
I settled into a chair and pulled out a book to read. After a while, I closed my eyes. I felt the pleasant, warm caress of the afternoon sun and relaxed. I needed to relax; the Sensa ceremony had been the culmination of two weeks of carousing in Venice and I had to keep constant attendance on William. But now I could relax.
The next thing I knew, it was dark outside and I was hungry.
"Geoffrey? I would like to speak to His Lordship."
"He's out, sir."
"Out? Out where?"
"A gondola came to pick him up."
"Whose gondola?"
"Some lady or another. Very finely dressed. Lots of pearls."
"My God—you let him go without telling me? You didn't find out her name?"
"There was fancy writing on her gondola, sir. Ask our gondolier. He was up and about at the time."
I rushed down to our townhouse's little dock. Our gondolier was napping, inside his boat. I shook him awake.
"His Lordship, where is he?"
"He is in the best of hands, sir. He went off with Lucrezia Cognati."
"Who might that be? Some contessa? A cittadina?"
"Oh no. A cortigiana honesta. Of the first rank."
A courtesan. "We must rescue him at once." The gondolier rolled his eyes but said nothing. "Where does she live?"
"Near the Campo San Cassiano. On the Ponte delle Tette."
* * *
I stormed into the courtesan's house, followed closely by Samuel and Geoffrey. The lady's bodyguard, a muscular Moor, appeared and asked our business. When he refused to let us interrupt Lucrezia and William, I rushed past him and the estimable Samuel clipped the bodyguard when he turned to follow. What a team we were.
The second line of defense was the lady's maid, who was screaming at us like a harpy out of the myths. Even though she was the servant to a bawd, she could not be treated so forcefully.
"Calm yourself, woman. We are here to claim what is ours."
She stopped screaming, and suddenly looked sly. "Oh, what might that be?"
"A young gentleman, entrusted to my care."
"How young? An infant?"
"Certainly not."
"A pity, for every woman yearns to hold an infant in her arms."
"I don't want to strike you, but if you continue—"
"Wait. Does he have blond curls, lovely enough to make a lady's fingers itch?"
"Don't be impertinent. Where is he?"
"Receiving an education yonder." She pointed, languidly, at a closed door. "That is the purpose of his travels, isn't it?" She smiled at Samuel, who smiled right back, damn him.
"Enough!" I burst into the boudoir, surprising Lucrezia and William in the very act of—
Playing a game of chess.
Northern Italy
May, 1633
"I can't eat anymore," said William. "I just can't."
We had taken the canal boat back to Padua and then followed the main caravan route from Venice to the Germanies: west through Padua and Vicenza to Verona, then north up the Adige, to Trento and Bolzano. There, we left the river valley, and headed northeast toward the Brenner Pass.
We took lodging in Bressanone, at the famous Inn at the Sign of the Elephant. The food at the inn was tasty, and the portions were, well, elephantine. In fact, one of the traditions was to bring you a huge platter of meat, and, if you could finish by yourself, it was on the house. No one, not even a fifteen-and-a-half year old boy who had been riding all day, was equal to the task. With a sigh, William pushed his plate away.
On the outside of the inn was a gigantic fresco, with a life-sized rendition of an Indian elephant, complete with a turbaned mahout on its back. I told William the story behind it.
"In 1550, King John III of Portugal gave an Indian elephant to Archduke Maximilian the Second of Austria. Maximilian, at that time, was living in Spain. Maximilian was summoned home, and he took the elephant with him. We are following in its footsteps."
"Watching where we walk," William quipped.
It would have been beneath my dignity to respond. "By the time the beast reached Bressanone its strength had ebbed, and its handlers allowed it to rest at the High Field Inn for two weeks. That's the old name of this inn. Then they rode it across the Brenner Pass, and ultimately made a triumphal entrance into Vienna."
"Well, if an elephant can cross the Alps, we shouldn't have any difficulty," William said. Thereby tempting Fate, I think.
* * *
The next day, we were in Vipiteno, our final stop before the Brenner Pass itself. Knowing that a rough day was ahead of us, I urged William and the servants to retire early that evening.
