The Nature of Blood (12 page)

I listened, somewhat dumbfounded by the complex details that my woman friend
seemed to be delighting in sharing with me, but to my astonishment there was
yet more to this performance. A day or so after this supper at which the families
meet, it seems that the father of the girl has to organize yet another supper
which the young man must attend, this time bearing a wedding ring, and other
rings, all of which pass into the girl's keeping. Apparently, should she abandon
her suitor at any point after this, she is obliged to hand back the rings.
Should, however, the man find reason to change his mind, then the girl keeps
everything. At this point my woman friend showed me her richly bedecked fingers,
from which I was able to surmise that, on more than one previous occasion,
a young man had found reason to change his mind. Between this day of the rings
and the wedding itself, many further presents are exchanged between would-be
bride and bridegroom. The girl is expected to furnish silk handkerchiefs or
neckties that are traditionally embroidered with her lover's initials, or
his name, and the man is encouraged to give simple gifts such as fruit, raw
mustard seed, cake, and, at Christmas, roast chestnuts. However, on no account
must he give a comb, for this is deemed to be a witch's instrument, and books
or pictures of saints are thought to bring misfortune. And then, my woman
friend announced with a smile, there is only the wedding.

At the conclusion of her story, my friend began to prepare herself for the
main purpose of her visit, but I stopped her, then reassured her that she
would nevertheless be paid in full. She seemed confused and somewhat hurt,
so I let it be known that I would have to explain my situation with her to
my attendant, and, having done so, I imagined that all would be as before.
This seemed to reassure her and she began to repair her clothing. However,
upon her departure I immediately sensed a new tone to my dealings with my
attendant. I gave this matter some thought and decided that, in order to protect
my new and undoubtedly more important relationship, I could happily forgo
the pleasures of the flesh, particularly as I held no real affection for the
woman. However, it soon became clear that in my attendant's eyes I had seriously
transgressed, and it would be difficult, if not impossible, for me to amend
the damage of this woman's unannounced visit. I had no doubt that, had I been
a foreigner of his own complexion, he would have had little difficulty in
accepting my desire to engage a courtesan. I suspected the problem was that
he objected to one such as I coupling with one of his own, even though she
who entertained me was merely acting out the rank and station of her life.

My daily routine developed and involved much exploration on water and foot,
and then private study, as I grew to master this new language. My tutor, a
scholarly Venetian of advanced years, undertook the task of working with me
for purely financial motives. He lived in a particularly desolate part of
the city, in an area whose sluggish canals were choked with refuse and whose
many wharves were busy with boats that were repaired daily in thick clouds
of black smoke. His crumbling house, like those all around, seemed to have
been idly passed from one generation to the next without regard to maintenance.
The grey plaster barely clung to the outside walls, its shutters were made
of ancient rotten wood, and balcony railings had come adrift and now hung
over the canal. In fact, not just this house, but the whole district gave
the impression of having been eaten away by time and inclement weather. To
reach this man's house, I had to carefully cross many tottering bridges, the
flimsy structures of which were carefully balanced on piles of loose stone.
From these edifices, one could clearly see the green line that the stagnant
water of the canal had painted along the side of all the buildings. However,
once I entered this man's book-lined study and began to follow his instructions
carefully, I left behind the mournful atmosphere of his quarter and attended
to the pleasures of the new world which this language opened up for me. He
paid me compliments and claimed that I was a fine pupil, and I believe he
was correct for, after some few weeks, I came to the conclusion that there
was little more that this man could teach me.

Each week, my solitary migrations through the streets and along the canals
of Venice would suddenly achieve a focus as I would journey to the Doge's
Palace and present myself to the senators. My weekly visits to the palace
generally involved my stalking the waiting rooms and ante-chambers until the
grand men were ready to receive me. Once I had been ushered into their presence,
they would again remind me that, as a revered leader of military men, I was
to serve only in a time of crisis, and that I would not be troubled with the
petty affairs of the state. In the meantime, I was to reconcile myself to
the fact that I was a man of leisure, occupying the same status as a cannon
or a breastplate of armour during a time of peace. There was, however, much
rumour abroad which referred to impending conflict with the ever-vengeful
Turk, and although none of the senators ever spoke directly to me of this
matter, I knew that, should this situation deteriorate, I would be immediately
pressed into service.

Spring gave way to summer, and summer, in turn, to a strangely melancholic
autumn, and many times I wondered if I had not chosen gold and self-advancement
above the more important consideration of my own happiness. The great majority
of my days passed off without incident, and a large portion of my time was
taken up observing the customs of these Venetians who, perhaps owing to the
unique isolation of their state, seemed to obey their own special code. My
former language teacher had explained to me how Venice was controlled by a
small hereditary aristocracy, and how, because of the republic's power and
achievements, most foreigners respected her but none would ever choose to
love her. Flamboyant and lavish displays of her wealth stirred hostility and
envy in the hearts of visiting dignitaries, but the Most Serene Republic was
skilled at protecting herself from problems both within and without. My own
position in Venice could be explained by the fact that the republic preferred
to employ the services of great foreign commanders in order that they might
prevent the development of Venetian-born military dictatorships. In fact,
it was common practice to humiliate and break outstanding Venetian soldiers
so they did not rise above their station. When the lion of Venice roared,
all – outside the small circle of the doge and his immediate advisers
– knew that they must bow and acknowledge her power.

After a long summer of isolation, I found it difficult to reconcile myself
to this new emotion of loneliness, and, for the first time in my life, I found
myself battling bouts of despondency that could persist for weeks. One late
autumn afternoon, I was forced to confront my fears and insecurities in a
most dramatic fashion. I engaged a gondola and rode, with a light and pleasant
breeze born of the vessel's progress stirring my face, down towards the cluster
of islands that populated the lagoon. It was my intention to find some location
in the mouth of the lagoon from which I might observe the passing sails of
the ships of the world, and, in this manner, while away the afternoon hours
in a pleasant reverie. At first all was bright sunshine, and my colourfully
clad gondolier posed gracefully against the blue sky and rowed with easy strokes.
However, we had passed only a small part of our journey into the heart of
the lagoon before the wind turned against us and we laboured to a jetty, where
our boat was so violently rocked that it made it difficult to land. The rains
began to fall, at first only a delicate lace curtain, and then the noisy whirring
of seagulls overhead signalled the imminent opening of the heavens. The sky
blackened and shrugged off the day, and suddenly there was an ominous silence.
Moments later, the silence was broken by a distant roar, then a shrill whine
of wind stung my ears, and soon after the inevitable lashing and blinding
rain began to cascade, and presently the lagoon was a tempest of sound and
movement. My gondolier, a frail-looking fellow with the prematurely puckered
throat of an old man, took some comfort in the shadows of the monastery upon
whose steps we had alighted. I drew into my lungs the faintly rotten smell
of swamp that rose from the lagoon and watched as, before my eyes, nature
quickly erased vain beauty.

Suddenly the world was muffled in mist, and from many different towers, both
distant and near, came the various notes of the bells: alarmed, angry and
finally arrogant city bells. I realized that this city was betraying me, and
I was betraying myself. Only so much strength slept in the arms of a warrior,
and I had wasted near two-thirds of a year in the rapture of foolish enchantment.
I pulled my General's cloak tight about my shoulders and watched as grey fog
began to march in from the sea. And then my attention was seized by the loud
slapping of water against my moored gondola, and I noticed that small waves
were now breaking over the sides and filling the vessel with water. I looked
around in search of my gondolier, but my eyes were greeted by the wet masonry
of the monastery's outer walls, and the sight of a miserable dog slinking
away from me and around the corner. I had made no friends among these people,
and my standing in society rested solely upon my reputation in the field.
My reputation. It was to be hoped that this one small word might lay to rest
any hostility that my natural appearance might provoke. My reputation. Some
among these people, both high and low, were teaching me to think of myself
as a man less worthy than the person I knew myself to be. My own people, although
degraded and without the sophistication and manners of these Venetians, at
least regarded me with respect and dignity, and among them I had many friends,
and some few enemies, all of whom were easily identifiable. Among the Venetians,
all was confusion as I attempted to distinguish those who beheld my person
with scorn and contempt, from those who simply looked upon me with the curiosity
that one would associate with a child. The storm raged for many hours until,
watered to the bone and distraught in mind, I finally decided to join my oarsman
and seek shelter among the smoking candles and soft light of the monastery.
Thereafter, all memory was lost to fatigue until I awoke some hours later
as the faint light of morning touched a distant wall and the Venetian bells
began a silver chant. Through the high windows I was able to see a bright
and clear sky, by which I judged the peril to have passed and a new day to
be spread before me.

And then, only some few weeks past, one among the doge's most trusted senators eventually rescued me from this dull routine of isolation. He was a senior man who was rumoured to be held in high esteem by his peers, and I imagined that he must have often observed me on the many occasions when I visited the Doge's Palace in search of an audience. I suspect that, on this particular occasion, the trusted senator must have taken pity on me because, before I was able to engage a boat for my return journey, his messenger sought me out and delivered his master's request that I might, that same afternoon, visit his residence. This would be my début inside a grand Venetian home and I immediately determined to present my person with a dignity and charm which might befit the occasion. Sadly, I judged myself to have failed, for, although I endeavoured to behave in a manner which might endear me to my generous host, the look of boredom which marked his face, from the moment I crossed his threshold to the moment I left, caused me to feel certain that this invitation was one that would never again be repeated. When, a few days later, his messenger called upon me with another invitation, this time to dine and meet his good lady wife and children, my first thought was to wonder whether some prank was being played at my expense.

I had taken care of how to dress and hold myself on my first visit, but clearly this second visit would require special attention to every detail. I therefore decided to spend a good portion of what money I had accrued on acquiring a new costume in order that I might dress myself according to the Venetian fashion, as opposed to that of my native country. A great number of strangers from various exotic corners of the known world had, over the years, chosen to reside in Venice. However, the Venetian aristocrat remained confident about the superiority of his traditions over those of any other, and, while exterior display of a different culture was tolerated, I was learning that such stubbornness was unlikely to aid one's passage through society. This second invitation from the senator afforded me the opportunity to make a larger statement about the manner in which I might henceforth conduct myself in this great republic. In my quieter moments, I had often wondered if a marriage of the finest of my own customs with their Venetian refinement might not, in due course, produce a more sophisticated man. Or, if not this, perhaps such a conjunction of traditions might at least subdue a portion of the ill-feeling to which my natural state seemed to give rise.

I woke early on the morning of my second invitation to the senator's home with
my mind in a state of disarray. I soon found myself paring the floor of my
chamber, but I remained unable to locate the source of my anxiety. There were
many reasons why I might feel concerned about the uncomfortable predicament
that ensnared my present life, but I found this particular visitation of melancholy
intensely troubling. As I looked out over the moonlit Grand Canal, which lapped
pleasingly against my wall, I realized that my best course of action would
be to dress and wander the cold, dark streets in an attempt to calm my nerves.
It had, after all, long been my custom to explore the strange regions of this
enchanted city, often mistaking the way, probing the network of back streets
and the complex labyrinths of alleyways in search of both new and familiar
landmarks. At night, when abandoned to serenity, her breathing light and regular,
Venice presented herself as a sleeping babe upon whom one might spy with proprietorial
glee.