Reborn in The Most Serene Republic of Venice – Rise of a Doge

The Cretan countryside was chill at that hour, the vineyards lying dark beneath the hills and the night carrying the smell of earth, vines, and the faint smoke of distant hearths. The cold had blanket over the fields, sharp enough to find its way through wool and leather, while above them the sky was crowded with stars and there was hardly a light to be seen anywhere.

Orso’s horse blew hard through its nose, sending a thick white breath into the cold night air. The big man took this as one more personal insult from the world, which had already given him plenty.

”Madonna santa, Barozzi, do you fancy spending the night killing chickens with a damned warhammer?”

He said it as if the words themselves had done him some injury. ”After all that, you’ve got me riding the damned night through some nameless vineyard to frighten a priest whose greatest experience of violence is dropping a chalice on his own foot.”

As if that wasn’t enough, he gestured to his broad size. ”Look at me, Barozzi, built to break shields, sent sneaking through vineyards to terrorize a little priest. My arm’s going soft just thinking about it.”

Toffolo’s horse pressed in close on Vito’s other side, as if the hour meant nothing to him. ”Maybe this one fights back, Ser Barozzi. Maybe there’s some great brute of a sexton we haven’t heard about yet, hiding behind the altar.”

Somewhere in the rear, old Ruggiero spoke up. He rode with his shoulders hunched against the cold, his helmet hanging from the saddle and his beard full of silver despite the fact that he was not yet old enough to admit to having any.

”If some sexton kills me, just burn what’s left and tell the priest to piss on the ashes. I won’t have some Cretan cunt carving ’Here lies Ruggiero, slain in glorious battle by a churchman with a broom up his arse.’”

A rough laugh went down the company. It was short enough not to travel far, but Vito heard every bit of it.

”Worry not, amico mio! I’ll carve the stone myself and make sure everyone knows how you parried his broom with your sword, only for the heavens themselves to take notice and strike you down with a holy candlestick.”

The laugh spread out, while by then the road became packed with dirt cut full of cart ruts and vineyard rows crowding dark and heavy on both sides. The cold had worked its way so far into the company that multiple men had given up the pretension they were not shivering.

Vito raised one closed fist.

The company slowed behind him and came to a halt.

Peza finally appeared ahead of them, its low walls washed pale in the darkness. Every shutter Vito could see was closed and not a single lamp burned anywhere among the houses.

”Nobody’s stirring.” Vito kept his voice low. ”No point waking the whole village over a little visit.”

Orso grunted what might have been agreement, though he seemed far more concerned with coaxing some feeling back into his numb hands.

The company dismounted at the outskirts, leaving the horses with a handful of men while everyone else set formation behind Vito on foot. Their boots found the packed earth with hardly any noise.

Just beyond the first row of houses stood the chapel of Agios Georgios, small and whitewashed like everything else in the village. Above its door was a little sun-faded icon of the saint, spear raised over a pale, half-worn dragon that nobody had bothered repainting for years.

One narrow window let off a weak yellow glow against the darkness, the only light burning anywhere in the whole village.

Vito pulled the glove tighter over his hand as they covered the last stretch of ground.

His voice just far enough to reach the men behind him.

”Stay here, don’t follow unless I call.”

”’Course, I love to stand watch in the cold, counting stars and freezing my balls off.”

The soldiers grunted more out cheekiness than defiance. Naturally, they act as bid, taking position around the chapel.

Vito, Orso, and Toffolo crossed the remaining distance to the building together.

Voices came spilling through the door, quick and frightened all tangled together. Nobody inside was having a particularly good evening.

Vito shoved the door open hard. It struck the inside wall with a crack, and the lamp flame jumped sideways.

Four men were already on their feet. A gray-bearded priest stood in the middle of them, his robe only half fastened, as if he had dressed in a hurry and expected that to be the worst part of his night.

It was not.

The youngest of the other three snatched a wooden broom from the wall and gripped it so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

”Ποιοι είστε! Τι θέλετε εδώ!”1

The priest’s voice cracked with genuine fear. He threw one hand toward the door, as if a raised palm might somehow keep three soldiers from walking through it.

One of the men behind him piled on with his own shout, higher and faster.

”Φύγετε! Φύγετε τώρα, όλοι σας!”1

The chapel had somehow managed to contain considerably more panic than it did furniture.

Vito clicked his tongue at the racket, more amused than bothered by it. He turned halfway toward his two men, leaving the frightened room to shout behind him.

”Fine. We’ll manage without words.” He shrugged. ”Simple job boys, don’t kill any of them.”

He returned his eyes on the priest, speaking in an easy voice. ”This is nothing but an invitation, one they have to accept whether they like it or not. Some nice long weeks at the cathedral, courtesy of the Republic.”

Orso grinned, showing plenty of teeth. ”I see. In this case, I very much like inviting people. Cheerfully, even, with enough ’weight’ in my offer they cannot refuse.”

His knuckles cracked with the word, enough to even surpass the language barrier in meaning.

Toffolo nodded repeatedly like a rooster, as if one wasn’t enough to show he understood the job at hand. He reached for one man’s sleeve as intimately as if the two of them were sworn brothers.

That was enough to spark the fuse.

The broom snapped through the distance and caught Orso across his raised forearm, the wood cracking against the mail with enough force to make the lamp flame jump.

Orso barked out a laugh, delighted.

”Now that’s more like it!”

Some stool crashed onto the floor as the other man tried to escape Toffolo’s hands.

Then the whole little chapel came apart in a storm of curses and noise.

”Who are you! What do you want here!””Leave! Leave now, all of you!”