The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,110
good money for it.”
“It was Peter’s last wish, remember?” said Johann. He clapped his hands. “Now let’s sell our horse and wagon. We have no use for either of them in Venice. And come springtime, I’m sure we’ll find something better than that old nag.”
He turned to leave, and to his secret relief, the others followed.
The city of Venice welcomed them with fog and rain.
They had boarded a barge at Mestre with all their crates and bags, and, along with numerous pilgrims, they’d set off toward the sea. The river ended in a brackish, foggy lagoon where a lonesome tower rose out of the mist.
“The Torre di Marghera,” said Archibaldus, who had been to Venice as a young man. The old drunkard donned his best clothes for their arrival at the trading post, making him look almost dignified, the red nose and the matted hair aside. “The tower was the first structure the Venetians erected outside their city. And since then, they’ve conquered half the world.”
Gradually, an entire city emerged through the dull, foggy haze. It seemed to hover above the water. Johann made out a maze of houses, palaces, churches, and bridges leading across many small canals. Fishing boats and larger ships were moored just outside the city, and a wider canal led right through town. More and more sounds came through the thick mist: the slapping of oars, the cries of the market women, the chiming of church bells. The saline smell of the water mingled with the scents of the city, and wafts of smoke, food, and filth surrounded them.
The barge was full to the last spot, and the low railing was almost level with the water. Despite the danger of falling overboard, the passengers pushed to the front to get a better view of the magnificent palaces lining the waterfront. Each building had its own dock with colorfully painted posts. Wide arches led into inner courtyards, and elaborately designed balconies adorned the upper stories.
Johann, too, was standing at the front of the boat. Black gondolas slid past him like swift fish. The gondoliers, standing at the rear, steered their boats into the smaller canals using long poles. Their passengers were ladies clad in satin and damask embroidered with gold and men wearing wide berets adorned with pearls and other trinkets. This city was so magnificent that by comparison, thought Johann, Augsburg seemed to live in an earlier era.
“Apparently, all this used to be lots of small islands,” said Archibaldus, gesturing at the foggy waters in front of them, where Johann could make out several larger islands. “Over time, they grew together. The houses and even the lanes are resting on thousands of logs. But almost everything takes place on the water here.”
The large canal took a bend, and then they saw a steep wooden bridge with two cranes in the middle. Both banks of the canal were bustling with people, and the lanes were full of market stalls. Just as they were heading toward the bridge, a loud horn sounded. The barge with the jugglers and pilgrims slid to one side, and Johann watched as the cranes pulled up the center piece of the bridge. A large galley with masts as tall as trees sailed past them. Waves caused the barge to sway from side to side, and some of the pilgrims cried out in fear. The galley passed through the bridge and the center piece was lowered again.
“I think it’s better if we get off here,” said Archibaldus, who was surprisingly sober. “God knows what other ships want to pass through the Rialto Bridge. The Fondaco dei Tedeschi isn’t far from here.”
Some of the pilgrims had also decided to disembark. The troupe gathered their belongings, and Mustafa carried the two heavy crates with the relics. Loaded like mules, they followed Archibaldus through a tangle of lanes and alleyways. It took Johann a few moments before he realized what was so strange about this city: there were hardly any wagons or oxcarts. Everything was transported via the canals. The lanes were so narrow that the troupe struggled to make any progress among all the pedestrians, shouting peddlers, beggars, and colorfully clad patricians. Johann noticed that the buildings’ main entranceways always lay on the side of the water and included a small dock or pier, whereas the doors leading into the lanes were small and plain, more like servants’ entrances. Archibaldus was right: life did take place on the water here, not on the land.