Caryl Phillips - The Nature of Blood

After four days of heated debate, the honourable members of the Grand Council finally decided that the Jews of Portobuffole should submit to a second trial, this time in Venice, beginning on Tuesday 27 June 1480.

SHE SLEEPS peacefully, her dark hair a gown about her neck and shoulders. This young woman can never have imagined that fate would have deposited her into such a predicament. No longer a secure station in life, underscored by the most powerful of traditions. No longer to be gazed upon as desirable, yet unattainable. All will now imagine her easy prey for their lascivious thoughts. Truly, what am I to make of her? She lies here among twists of white linen sheeting. In her chastity, loyalty and honour, she is the most un-Venetian of women, yet is there some sport to this lady's actions? I am familiar with the renowned deceit of the Venetian courtesan, yet I have taken a Venetian for a wife. Has some plot been hatched about me? I am a foreigner. I do not know. My ceiling is high, the tall window shuttered against the moonlight. Out in the world, night has fallen and reduced the city to a succession of wintry reflections and whispered echoes. Beneath my window, I hear the soft plash of an oar as a boatman goes about his chilly business. I hear his laughter, then anonymous footfalls on stone, then water slapping against cold brick. In the distance, a shrill voice cries from a hidden balcony and the icy water gurgles as though in reply. I turn from the shuttered window and, once more, gaze upon my new wife.

I arrived in the spring and was immediately enchanted by this city-state. I approached by water and found myself propelled by the swift tides across the lonely empty spaces of the forbidding lagoon. I stepped out on deck and observed the grey choppy seas, the high arch of the sky, and then looked across the distant low horizons to the monasteries, forts and fishing villages of the surrounding islands. Above me, the sails and flags snapped in the damp Venetian wind, and then, to our side, I spied a boatman hurrying back to the city ahead of the oncoming storm, with swallows flying low and skimming the water to either side of his unsteady vessel. As we neared the city, the air became warm and moist, and its smell somewhat like the breath of an animal. Then the water began to lap less vigorously, and bells began to sound, and I suddenly found myself to be surrounded by the raised voices of gondoliers; and then, as though following strange music, I discovered myself being sucked into the heart of Venice. What ingenuity! Nothing in my native country had prepared me for the splendour of the canals, but it was not only these waterways which seized my attention. The magnificence of the buildings that lined the canals overwhelmed my senses, and upon the grandest of these buildings, proud images of the Venetian lion were carved in wood, chiselled in stone, or wrought in iron. I could barely tear my eyes from the genius of these palaces, for they suggested to me the true extent of my journey into this fabled city. I had moved from the edge of the world to the centre. From the dark margins to a place where even the weakest rays of the evening sun were caught and thrown back in a blaze of glory. I, a man born of royal blood, a mighty warrior, yet a man who, at one time, could view himself only as a poor slave, had been summoned to serve this state; to lead the Venetian army; to stand at the very centre of the empire.

Upon my arrival in fair Venice, a retired merchant — a man somewhat advanced in years, but with considerable experience of trading in different parts of the world — was appointed by the doge and his senators to watch over me. This good fellow was pleased to offer me lodgings within his own modest house, and, by conversing with me, he was soon able to understand the serious nature of the predicament in which I initially found myself. I possessed only a rudimentary grasp of the language that was being spoken all about me, and I lacked fluency in dealing with issues which related to common Venetian practices and matters of custom. Furthermore, I was naturally suspicious of the motives behind the simplest actions on the part of those who professed that they wished to help me, for I knew the world to be full of those who sought to increase their status by strutting beneath the outstretched wings of their superiors. My kindly retired merchant, although keenly aware of the magnitude of the obstacles that littered the path along which I would have to travel in order to gain a more substantial understanding of Venetian society, seemed unable to help me. In fact, he grew somewhat frustrated by the persistence of my questioning and his own inability to supply me with satisfactory answers. Accordingly, after little more than a month, it was decided that I should develop in my own direction and he in his, and in this manner we might one day reap the benefits of the seeds of friendship that we had begun to sow.

With the help of my merchant, I soon obtained new lodgings on the Grand Canal, in a house that had formerly been opulent. Sadly, over the years, the house appeared to have fallen into a state of neglect, but it possessed all the necessary conveniences, and the owner promised faithfully to make good certain deficiencies. From its windows I peered down at the teeming life on the Grand Canal, which caused me great joy, for I had previously been rewarded with little more than a view of a muddy tributary. I quickly learnt to explore the streets of my quarter, passing from alley to alley, crossing bridges that were arched like camels' backs, noticing crumbling houses boarded up by rotting planks, being surprised by abandoned churches, stretching my legs in empty squares, and looking up to windows where ragged clothes hung out to dry. I enjoyed watching the unloading of blunt-nosed ships, their decks piled high with loads of firewood and tangles of cordage, the air redolent with pungent wood-odours; and I learnt to recognize the gondolier's cry, a half-salute, half-warning, which always seemed to be answered from somewhere within the labyrinth that is Venice. I soon came to understand that, behind the gaudy façade, much of Venice was quite different from the pretty city of the watercolours. But this caused me little concern, for whether it be the clumsy little garden perched half-way up a crumbling wall, or the chipped marble steps of a lonely church which descended directly into the canal, or the filthy, narrow street in which wretched-looking children played noisily, each picture of the city occasioned me pleasure, and I learnt to hold these various images close to my dark bosom.

I soon settled into the house, and frequently observed my landlord as he repaired what he had clearly not attended to for years. I surmised that the house must have once belonged to a wealthy Venetian family, for there were traces of splendour about its balconies and the mouldings of its windows. However, among its more problematic imperfections were the shutters, which were beginning to part from their rusty hinges so that, at night, when the wind blew, the combination of the unfortunate woodwork and the squally weather created the most unpleasant ghostly noises. My landlord claimed that, only some few years past, the walls of his 'mansion' had been hung with arras and gilded leather, and sumptuously decorated with armour and portraits of the finest quality. Apparently these items, plus the red velvet armchairs, the mahogany tables and the iron lanterns that adorned each room, had been stolen by a rogue who had secured the place on favourable terms and then fled into the night, once his debts had mounted beyond his control. These furnishings had, of necessity, been replaced with inferior pieces. At first I listened with sympathy to my landlord's many tales of woe, but sadly I soon came to understand this man to be a dishonourable vagabond. I became aware that a great number of the deficiencies that he sought to remedy, and for which he presented me with a hefty demand note, were, in fact, part of his general responsibility and should have been attended to without the 'present' of money from my pocket. This I learnt from my merchant, who, on visiting me, seemed anxious to know why my daily peace was disrupted by this man's tiresome labouring. Together we challenged my landlord, who pleaded ignorance of our charges, but who none the less refunded a sum amounting to a healthy figure. At this juncture, my merchant suggested that I should engage a fellow of his acquaintance who might act as an attendant and help me to avoid such unpleasantness in the future.