weaknesses. Then go to Sicily and do the same. Look for the poverty, the discontent, the love and hate beneath the surface."
Giuliano should have realized what Tiepolo wanted of him. He was the ideal man for the job, a skilled sailor who could command his own ship, the son of a merchant father who knew the trade of the whole Mediterranean, and above all a man who had inherited the blood and the name of one of the greatest of all Venetian families, even if not their wealth. It was his great-grandfather Doge Enrico Dandolo who had led the crusade that had taken Constantinople in 1204, and when Venice was cheated of its just payment for the ships and supplies, he had brought the greatest of its treasures home in recompense.
Tiepolo was smiling openly now, the wineglass glinting in his hand. "And from Sicily go to Constantinople," he went on. "See if they are repairing their defenses, but more than that, stay in the Venetian Quarter down by the Golden Horn. See how strong it is, how prosperous. If Charles attacks in Venetian ships, judge what they will do. Where are their loyalties, their interests? They are Venetian, and by now part Byzantine. How deep are their roots? I need to know, Giuliano. I give you no more than four months. I cannot afford longer."
"Of course," Giuliano agreed.
"Good." Tiepolo nodded. "I will see that you have all you need: money, a good ship, cargo to give you excuse and reason, and men who will obey you, and to whom you can trust your trade while you are ashore. You will leave the day after tomorrow. Now drink your wine. It's excellent." He lifted his own glass higher as if to demonstrate and put it to his lips.
In the evening of the following day, Giuliano met his closest friend, Pietro Contarini, and they dined together. Giuliano savored the tastes of wine and food as if he might be hungry for months to come. They laughed over old jokes and sang songs they had known for years. They had grown up together, learned the same lessons, discovered the pleasures of wine and women and the misfortunes as well.
They had fallen in love for the first time in the same month, each confiding to the other the doubts and the pains, the triumphs, and then the agony of rejection. When they had discovered that it was the same girl, they had fought like wild dogs until first blood was drawn, Giuliano's. Then instantly friendship was more important, and they had ended laughing at themselves. No woman had come between them since.
Pietro had married several years ago and had a son of whom he was immensely proud, and then two daughters. However, domestic responsibility had not dulled his eye for a pretty woman or robbed him of his joy in adventure.
Now they sat in the tavern facing the long sweep of the Grand Canal amid the laughter and clink of glasses, the smells of wine and salt water, food and leather, and smoke from cooling fires.
"Here's to adventure..." Pietro raised his glass of rather good red wine to which Giuliano had treated them both, in honor of the occasion.
They touched glasses and drank.
"Here's to Venice, and everything Venetian," Giuliano added. "May her glory never grow dim." He emptied his glass. "What time is it, do you think?"
"No idea. Why?"
"Going to say good-bye to Lucrezia," Giuliano replied. "Won't see her for a while."
"Will you miss her?" Pietro asked curiously.
"Not much," Giuliano said. Pietro had been nagging him to marry for some time. Even the thought of it made him feel trapped. Lucrezia was fun, warm, and generous, at least physically-but she was also cloying at times. The thought of committing himself to her was like locking a door that trapped him inside.
He put his empty glass on the table and stood up. He would enjoy being with Lucrezia. He had bought a gold filigree necklace to take her as a gift. He had chosen it with care, and he knew she would love it. He would miss her, her quiet laughter, the softness of her touch. But it still would not be hard to leave in the morning.
* * *
Giuliano found Naples a frightening and disturbingly beautiful place, full of unexpected impressions. The city had a vitality that excited him, as if the people tasted both the joy and the tragedy of life with a wholehearted intensity greater than that of others.
It had been founded