stranger. They asked him numerous questions as to where he was from and why he was here, until their parents told them that interest was friendly, but to be inquisitive was rude. They apologized and stood in a row, eyes downcast.
"You have not been the least bit rude," Giuliano said quickly in Italian. "One day, when we have time, I will tell you about some of the other places I have been to, and what they were like. And if you will, you can tell me about Constantinople. This is the first time I have been here."
That settled the issue immediately; this was the house in which he would lodge. He accepted with pleasure.
"I am Venetian," Mocenigo explained with a smile. "But I have chosen to make my life here because my wife is Byzantine, and I find a certain freedom of the mind in the Orthodox faith." His tone was half-apologetic because he assumed Giuliano would be of the Roman Church, but his eyes were unflinching. He would not choose an argument, but if one arose, he would be ready to defend his belief.
Giuliano held out his hand. "Then perhaps I shall learn something deeper of Byzantium than the merchants will tell me."
Mocenigo clasped it, and the bargain was made. The financial agreement was far outweighed in importance by the promise of the future.
It was natural that they should ask Giuliano his business, and he was prepared with an answer.
"My family have been merchants for a long time," he said easily. That, at least, was true, if he intended the term to include all those descended from the great doge Enrico Dandolo. "I've come to see more directly what is bought and sold here, and what more we could do to increase our trade. There must be needs unmet, new opportunities." He wanted the freedom to ask as many questions as possible without raising suspicion. "The new union with the Church of Rome should make many things simpler."
Mocenigo shrugged and pulled his face into an expression of doubt. "The paper is signed, but that's a long way from a reality yet."
Giuliano managed to look slightly surprised. "You think the agreement may not be kept? Surely Byzantium wants peace? Constantinople in particular cannot afford war again, and if they are not of one faith with Rome, war is what it will be, in fact, even if they don't call it that."
"Probably." Mocenigo's voice was soft and sad. "Most sane people don't want war, but wars still happen. The only way you change people's religion is by convincing them of something better, not by threatening to destroy them if they refuse."
Giuliano stared at him. "Is that how they see it?"
"Don't you?" Mocenigo countered.
Giuliano realized that Mocenigo identified with Constantinople, not with Rome. "Do you think other Venetians here feel the same?" he asked. Then instantly he wondered if it was too soon to have been so blunt.
Mocenigo shook his head. "I can't answer for others. None of us knows yet what obedience to Rome will mean, apart from months of delay before we get answers to appeals, and money paid out of the country in tithes, instead of it staying here, where we desperately need it. Will our churches still be cared for, mended, filled with beauty? Will our priests still be paid well, and left their consciences and their dignity?"
"Well, there cannot be a crusade before '78 or '79 at the soonest," Giuliano reasoned aloud. "By then we may have reached a more sensible understanding, earned a little latitude, perhaps."
Mocenigo smiled-a sudden radiance in his face. "I love a man with hope," he said, shaking his head. "But find out all you can about trade, by all means. There's profit to be made, even in a short time. See what others think. Many believe the Holy Virgin will protect us."
Giuliano thanked him and let the subject fall for the time being. But the easy way in which Mocenigo, a Venetian, had said "us" when referring to Constantinople remained in his mind. It suggested a sense of belonging that he could neither dismiss nor forget.
In the following days, he explored the shops along Mese Street and the spice market with its rich, aromatic perfumes and bright colors. He talked to the Venetians in the quarter, listened to the jokes and the arguments. At home in Venice most quarrels were about trade; here they were about religion, faith versus pragmatism, conciliation versus loyalty. Sometimes he joined in, more with questions than opinions.