Daughters of the Doge (12 page)

Behind us, down the barren road, two little boys appeared, leading a mule and small cart. They greeted us in amusement, clearly realizing that we were wondering what to do. They began to remove small flat wooden boxes from their cart and stack them beside the road. We watched, bemused. Aware that they were the centre of attention, the boys continued without explanation until the cart was empty. Then the younger one, who had been looking at our foreign clothing and listening to our accents, spoke:

‘You cannot use horses. They will slip and panic. Horses are no good.’

We asked what the alternative was.

‘Oxen.You must unhitch the horses and let the oxen take the cart. You can lead the horses across by hand, following the carts. That’s the only way you will get them to walk out on the ice – by following the carts.’

We nodded, and the boy, all of six years old, swelled with pride at his superior knowledge.

‘Where will we find oxen?’ asked Thomas, in his kindly voice.

The other boy now joined in, anxious not to let the younger one steal our attention. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘They are coming, look.’

Sure enough, a dozen ox-drawn carts were trundling towards us, followed by another dozen or so loose oxen. They ground towards us and stopped.

‘These gentlemen require oxen,’ shouted the younger boy, full of importance. The man sitting on the leading cart shrugged, as if that news was of no significance to him. ‘And
chopines
,’ called the older boy, and they both burst into giggles.

‘Why do we need
chopines?’
I asked. I had seen Lady Jane made to wear these platform-soled cork shoes at her investiture, to make her look taller.

‘For the horses,’ replied the younger boy. ‘They must wear them to prevent their hooves from slipping. Look, I will show you.’ He ran to one of the waiting carts and removed a sack, which he carried back to us on his shoulder. Although it was huge, he carried it easily and it was clear that the contents, although bulky, were light. He tipped it out on to the roadway in front of us. They were like boots, made of sacking, large enough to cover a horse’s hoof, with a drawstring to hold them in place. It was simple but ingenious.

The boy counted our horses and began to count out the shoes. When the pile was sufficient, he put the remainder back in the sack. He counted our carts – five in total. ‘That’s twenty cart horses and seven riding horses, needing one hundred and eight
chopines.
Ten cartwheels, each requiring hire of one sled box, and you will need to hire ten oxen. That will come to . . .’ He counted on his fingers and looked at us carefully, ‘ . . .twenty-two
grossi
.’

Just for an instant I saw the look of surprise on the other boy’s face and knew we were being cheated. Using my best Venetian accent I countered, ‘That’s robbery, we will pay fifteen.’

The boy slapped my hand twice. ‘Done. And we will want two ducats’ deposit for damage.’

I slapped his hand back. ‘One ducat deposit only, and I expect it back if there’s no damage.’ He shook my hand. ‘Agreed. Hand over the money, and I will fetch the oxen.’

‘How much does he want?’ shouted the earl.

‘Fifteen
grossi’,
I replied, irritated, since, right or wrong, I had already come to an agreement.

‘How much is that worth?’ asked the earl.

Thomas came to the rescue. ‘It may have changed since I lived in Padua but in those days there were thirty-two
piccolo
to one
grosso
and twelve
grossi
to a
soldo.
After that there were twenty
soldi
to a
lira.
It’s effectively the same as at home; just think of
grossi
as pence,
soldi
as shillings and
lire
as pounds.’

The earl remained confused and shook his head. ‘What about ducats?’ he responded, his irritation growing.

‘A ducat is two
soldi
or one-tenth of a
lira.
They use it for legal transactions such as wills and dowries.’

‘Like our florins?’ I suggested. Thomas winked at me and nodded.

‘What is it worth, though?’ Courtenay was still confused.

‘It’s hard to compare. Last time I was here, I seem to remember that wages and prices were four times those in England.’

Courtenay called to the boy, waving at him rudely. ‘We will not pay. The amount you ask is exorbitant.’

The boy shrugged his shoulders and stuck out his bottom lip. ‘Suit yourself. You have no alternative, unless you want to walk back to Padua, or wait three weeks for the thaw.’

Courtenay mounted his horse as if to return to Padua, but the rest of us stood our ground. He glared, then dismounted again, annoyed that we had not automatically followed his example. ‘Very well, I agree, but only because you have already shaken hands on the bargain, Richard. I still believe you have been robbed, and so have I.’

I nodded sagely, trying to hide my irritation. If he could come to a better arrangement, perhaps he should do the bargaining. The boy looked at me and I nodded. He grinned and went to fetch the oxen. We unhitched the horses from the carts and replaced them with the oxen which took it all very calmly; it was clear they knew the routine and were used to the winter ice. Our horses were much less happy and we had great difficulty in tying the
chopines
on to their hooves.

It must have taken an hour before we were ready, by which time the local carts had ventured on to the ice and were almost across. We could see carts coming towards us from the other side, too, and our route across the ice was becoming much more clearly defined. The oxen drew the carts to the edge of the ice, where the half-boxes were placed in readiness. As the wheels rolled into them, the boxes acted as skids, spreading the weight of the wheels and sliding easily across the ice.

We set off, as instructed, one by one, walking behind an ox-drawn cart and leading a string of horses. The earl followed the lead cart closely, holding on to its tailgate for balance. I followed behind the next cart, while Thomas hung back to act as rearguard and to ensure our whole party got across in one piece.

We must have been two-thirds of the way over when the driver of a cart heading in the other direction decided to show off to his passing colleague. He suddenly whipped the oxen into a trot, standing on his platform and shouting noisily. The two oxen became excited and began to slither and stamp their feet for grip. A large crack began to appear in the ice. The skid under the right-hand front wheel cracked and broke and the wheel in turn began to cut its way into the ice, the cart slowly heeling over to the right as it did so.

I could see the load on our leading cart begin to shift, and the box containing most of my treasured possessions, including Bullinger’s
Of Christian Perfection,
began to slide towards the water. If I lost the book, I would be unable to send or receive coded messages from the others, and someone’s life might be put in danger.

The driver of my cart, seeing the developing problem, veered left and kept going, and I ran forward, slipping and slithering, to save my precious code-book. The cart continued to roll over, and as I reached him the earl fell headlong into the icy water. Instinctively, I grabbed his shoulder and was dragged into the water with him. I looked up, willing the cart not to roll on top of us. It didn’t, but came to a stop at a crazy angle. No sooner had I drawn my feet beneath me than they hit the bottom and I found myself standing waist-deep in icy water, pulling the earl to his feet beside me. We were able to step on the spokes of the cartwheel and climb back on to the ice.

The passing driver was helpful, and slewed his empty cart round to a stop beside us. Carefully we offloaded most of the goods from the sunken cart to the empty one, and using spare skids were able to drag the cart back on to the ice and clear of the large hole, which was already beginning to ice over again.

The cold gave us a special sense of urgency and the others made for the shore as I gathered up my string of horses, which were terrified. By the time I caught up with the rest of the party, the carts had been driven up the slipway to the embankment above the canal, and the earl was searching for dry clothes. Although he was cold, he greeted me warmly.

‘Richard. That was brave of you. We could both have drowned or been crushed beneath the cart. I shall not forget it.’

I smiled my thanks and began looking for my own dry clothing. I hadn’t the heart to tell him I had been trying to save my books as I rushed forward, and not him. Still, if he was grateful, that was all right by me.

Once again I found myself dressing in the open air, shamelessly ignoring the passers-by who observed us with undisguised amusement. I did not share their amusement.

By the time we had gathered our senses the oxen had been unhitched and were being led across to other carts for the return journey. The younger boy had crossed behind us and was collecting the
chopines
(I never did find out their real name) and stuffing them into a sack. ‘Hey!’ I called out. ‘Where’s our deposit?’

The boy grinned and shrugged his shoulders as if there was nothing he could do. ‘You lost it. All that damage. It will cost a fortune to put it right. You broke our skids, and you lost five of the
chopines.
Your deposit is forfeit.’

I glared at him. ‘It was your fool driver that caused the accident. Ask him for the money. I want my one ducat deposit back or I shall report you to the magistrates.’

The boy’s grin disappeared but he remained defiant. ‘The
Provveditori
don’t scare me. Besides, we are starving; we need
every piccolo
we can get. Tell you what, I’ll give you half – twelve grossi – and that’s my limit.’

I glared at him but in truth I didn’t have the energy to continue. I was still damp and very cold and we had yet to find somewhere to stay in this strange city. ‘Done.’ I shook his hand and he tipped twelve already-warm coins into my hand. He had been preparing for that all along.

It was hard now to remember just what expectation had been in our minds when, two and a half months ago, Thomas and I had left Lyme Regis on the start of this journey, but I don’t think any of us had expected our eventual arrival in Venice to be quite such a forlorn affair.

We had been tipped on to the shore near the Fondamenta di Cannaregio and had little idea where we were, where to go or where to stay that night.

Unusually, and against all my expectations and prejudices, His Grace came to our rescue, by stopping the first well-dressed merchant we saw and asking him where the best hotel in the city was to be found. We were directed to the Albergo Leon Bianco, the White Lion Inn, and found it to be of the first order.

Bringing our possessions with us was, however, much more difficult, for the city was designed to be accessed by boat and although we could walk along the Fondamenta di Cannaregio, and indeed lead our horses along it, the many small bridges that linked the roadways over the canals were unsuited to carts. In the end we had to resort to leaving our carts. and most of our horses at a stable, and bringing our possessions forward by mule.

If we were inconvenienced, the local inhabitants were downright unhappy. It was as if the life of the city had been frozen. Everyone was bemoaning the problem of the ice and hoping it would soon thaw. But for us, arrival was a satisfaction in itself, and we were happy, for a day or two at least, to bask in the fact of just being here.