Caryl Phillips - The Nature of Blood

As we sped along, I turned my mind to the problem of why this senator had been struck with a particular attraction to myself. I had no doubt that my reputation played some large part in his fascination, but I also imagined that there was something about my knowledge of other parts of the world, of foreign adventures and travels, that appealed to his senses. Yet our first meeting had been as dull as it was short. I had simply sat before him and answered his laboured and uninspired questions as though being interviewed. I had spent much of my time looking around his room, enchanted by the huge oil paintings, impressed by the fabrics and chandeliers, and held spellbound by the long mahogany table that was being polished by a servant. I was unable to believe that this was a room in a private house, rather than a public chamber where matters of national importance might be debated. But why meet with me again? Unless, of course, he was doing so out of some misplaced sense of obligation. In the distance I heard the bells of St Mark's begin to mark the hour, and then around me other, less grand bells began to respond to the call, and then, as I looked at the shoreline, I saw a pair of monks, their invisible feet scurrying beneath their billowing robes as they hurried towards their monastery, with the fear of God coursing through their holy bodies.

The senator's house was, as I remembered it, a grand and imposing structure. To my surprise, I experienced a sense of relaxation on once again viewing its elegant façade. As I scanned the full length of its brooding magnificence, I was struck by the sight of carefully arranged flowers about its balconies which, even at this late time of the year, cast down the perfumed odours of spring. Without saying a word, the gondolier drew the vessel to a standstill and looked down at me as though wondering why I had not already understood that this place was to mark the end of my journey. I had neglected to bring some coin to show my gratitude to this fellow, but his surly manner left me feeling that my omission was no cause for regret. Pulling myself up to full height, which easily dwarfed his own stature, I strode past him and stepped upon the lowest of the steps leading up to the roughly hewn door. Such a feature of this great city I was yet to understand fully. It bewildered me that the doors to even the finest palaces in the city were often constructed of the most weather-beaten wood, a wood clearly in need of treatment and attention. As I approached the door it opened before me, as if by magic, and I stepped boldly into the interior of this great home. Once inside, the door was rudely closed upon the waiting gondolier, which caused me to smile inwardly. I followed the elderly manservant up a dimly lit flight of stairs which had never seen the sun, and along a stone-walled corridor, at the end of which I could see bright lights and hear chattering voices and much joyous laughter. The noise and light burst upon me as I entered the room, and then there was silence as heads turned, and not a few jaws dropped. I am a big man, and I had already noted that a response of some sort upon my joining a room was invariable. In fact, I had come to expect this of my unarmed entrance into any circle. However, quickly rising to his feet and defying his advanced years, the senator moved towards me with his arm outstretched. He announced my name, although I was sure that those present had already been informed of my impending arrival. Clearly, I was to be the chief amusement of this evening.

After greeting me warmly, the senator then introduced me to the members of his family. First, his lady wife, whose first freshness of beauty had long passed, yet her present visage could not totally obscure the fact that, in her earlier years, she must have been a woman of not inconsiderable charm. She smiled gently, and I returned the compliment. I was informed that the elder son, a lank-looking fellow, pursued business interests in the Arsenal in company with his father, and was heir to the family fortune. At this young man's side sat his wife, the senator's daughter-in-law, a ravishing beauty, but one who appeared to be blessed with neither wit nor humour. It appeared that her looks accounted for the greater part of her allure, and she decorated her head, hands and neck with such an abundance of jewels and trinkets that her worth might be accurately calculated in ducats. The senator's younger son could barely bring himself to raise his eyes and face me in a civil manner. He sat somewhat nonchalantly, seemingly determined to appear uninterested in the newly arrived spectacle. His dandyish clothes, which, even to my untutored eye, appeared to lack any real understanding of either fashion or taste, completed his helpless look. The final member of the group, the senator's daughter, sat silently, but with a welcoming smile about both her mouth and, more importantly, her eyes. A stranger soon learns that where the mouth may deceive, the eyes tell nothing but the truth. In common with what I understood to be the practice of a modest Venetian damsel, she showed not more than four fingers of flesh beneath the shoulders. I was placed at the far end of the table, where my closest companions were the younger son and the gentle daughter.

The meal was lavish by my meagre standards. In my own country I had, of course, eaten excessively and well, but since my arrival in Venice my diet had been confined to simple fare. However, on this evening I ate heartily and praised the senator's cook, yet when presented with wine I drank only in moderation, for I was aware that to indulge might result in a loose tongue and unpleasant consequences. And so the evening unfolded, with my person being ever vigilant. Much of the questioning was taken up by the elder son, who seemed eager to prevent any other from interrogating me in order that he might remain the focal point of the evening. Perhaps he imagined that this would somehow please his father. Whenever his dull wife tried to intervene and make a point, he was sharp in his rebuke and clearly he was uninterested in whatever it was that she might have to say on this or any other occasion. He concluded one conversational volley with the observation that, in this city of churches, palaces and canals, Venetian households did, from time to time, use black slaves. I countered with the information that I had once been held as a slave, yet, as unpleasant as this situation had been, I had survived to tell the tale. I watched this boy carefully and, deciding that the victory was already secured, I chose not to mention my royal blood, or the fact that many Romans and Greeks had also been held as slaves, and so the moment passed. Eventually the senator's daughter was permitted to make enquiry as to the customs of my country with regard to food and wine, and I assured her that they were similar to those of her own country, with perhaps fewer spices added to the meat. She nodded, as though approving of my countrymen's manner of cooking food, and then her tiresome brother once more took up his tedious line of questioning.

Some time before the final course made its welcome appearance — for, if truth be told, I was finding the whole procedure somewhat difficult — the senator brought up the thorny subject of war. He heaped praise upon my exploits in the field, referring especially to battles fought and won against the infidel Turk He then announced that my outstanding reputation as a General and leader of men had led him to persuade the doge to dip his hands deep into the coffers of this great republic, in order that they might hire a man of renowned capabilities in the art of war. At this disclosure, it occurred to me that I was to understand from the senator that a failure on my part would be regarded as a failing on his part, too. And then, after the final course had been consumed, our dinner was suddenly at an end. The senator led me carefully but firmly by the arm, back along the dimly lit corridor, and ushered me into his manservant's company. As he did so, he shared with me his knowledge that war with the Turk was imminent. I was not to fail. I looked at this elderly man and understood that my invitation to dine at his home had provided those close to him with an opportunity to judge his prize acquisition. He was, of course, sure that he had not made a mistake in hitching his fortune to mine, but to insure himself against future difficulties he was simply seeking approval from his family. Perhaps this was the Venetian custom.