stand side by side like boats moored closely in a port.’
‘I’ve never seen anything like it. How will the horses get about?’ Freize asked.
‘The boatman will take them a little out of the city, after he has set us down,’ Brother Peter told him. ‘When we need them, we’ll take a boat to get to them. There are no horses in Venice, everyone goes everywhere by boat.’
‘The goods for market?’ Freize asked.
‘Come in by boat and are loaded and unloaded at the quayside.’
‘The inns?’
‘Take travellers who leave and arrive by boat. They have no stable yards.’
‘The priests who attend the churches?’
‘Come and go by boat. Every church has its own stone quayside.’
‘Aha, and so how do they get the stone for building?’ Freize demanded, as if he was finally about to catch Brother Peter in a travellers’ tale.
‘They have great barges that bring in the stone,’ Brother Peter replied. ‘Everything comes by boat, I tell you. They even have great barges that bring in the drinking water.’
This was too much for Freize. ‘Now I know you are deceiving me,’ he said. ‘The one thing this city does not lack is water! They must be born with webbed feet, these Venetians.’
‘They are a strange and unique people,’ Brother Peter conceded. ‘They govern themselves without a king, they have no roads, no highways, they are the wealthiest city in Christendom, they live on the sea and by the sea. They are expanding constantly, and their only god is trade; but they have built the most beautiful churches on every canal and decorated them with the most inspiring holy pictures. Every church is a treasure house of sacred art. Yet they act as if they are as far from God as they are from the mainland and there is no way to get to Him but a voyage.’
Now they were approaching the heart of the city. The broad canal on either side was walled with white Istrian stone to make a continuous quay, occasionally pierced by a tributary canal winding deeper inside the city. Many of the smaller inner canals were crossed by little wooden bridges, a few were crossed by steeply stepped bridges of white stone. The ferry was losing the cold breeze and so the boatman took down the sails and set to row, he took an oar on one side, and his lad heaved on the other. They wound their way through the constant river traffic of gondolas going swiftly through the water with loud warning cries from the gondoliers in the sterns of ‘Gondola! Gondola! Gondola!’
The canal was crowded with fishing ships, the flat-bottomed barges for carrying heavy goods, the ferry boats heaving with poorer people, and criss-crossing through the traffic going from one side to the other were public gondolas for hire. To the two young women who had been raised in a small country castle it was impossibly busy and glamorous, they looked from right to left and could not believe what they were seeing. Every gondola carried passengers, heavily cloaked with their faces hidden by carnival masks. The women wore masks adorned with dyed plumes of feathers, the eyeholes slit like the eyes of a cat, a brightly coloured hood covering their hair, a bejewelled fan hiding their smiling lips. Even more intriguing were the gondolas where the little cabin in the middle of the slim ship had the doors resolutely shut on hidden lovers, and the gondolier was rowing slowly, impassive in the stern. Sometimes a second gondola followed the first with musicians playing lingering love songs, for the entertainment of the secret couple.
‘Sin, everywhere,’ Brother Peter said, averting his gaze.
‘There’s only one bridge across the Grand Canal,’ the boatman told them. ‘Everywhere else you have to take a boat to cross. It’s a good city to be a ferryman. And this is it, the only bridge: the Rialto.’
It was a high wooden bridge, many feet above the canal, arching up so steeply that even masted ships could pass easily beneath it, rising up from both sides of the canal
‘I’ve never seen anything like it. How will the horses get about?’ Freize asked.
‘The boatman will take them a little out of the city, after he has set us down,’ Brother Peter told him. ‘When we need them, we’ll take a boat to get to them. There are no horses in Venice, everyone goes everywhere by boat.’
‘The goods for market?’ Freize asked.
‘Come in by boat and are loaded and unloaded at the quayside.’
‘The inns?’
‘Take travellers who leave and arrive by boat. They have no stable yards.’
‘The priests who attend the churches?’
‘Come and go by boat. Every church has its own stone quayside.’
‘Aha, and so how do they get the stone for building?’ Freize demanded, as if he was finally about to catch Brother Peter in a travellers’ tale.
‘They have great barges that bring in the stone,’ Brother Peter replied. ‘Everything comes by boat, I tell you. They even have great barges that bring in the drinking water.’
This was too much for Freize. ‘Now I know you are deceiving me,’ he said. ‘The one thing this city does not lack is water! They must be born with webbed feet, these Venetians.’
‘They are a strange and unique people,’ Brother Peter conceded. ‘They govern themselves without a king, they have no roads, no highways, they are the wealthiest city in Christendom, they live on the sea and by the sea. They are expanding constantly, and their only god is trade; but they have built the most beautiful churches on every canal and decorated them with the most inspiring holy pictures. Every church is a treasure house of sacred art. Yet they act as if they are as far from God as they are from the mainland and there is no way to get to Him but a voyage.’
Now they were approaching the heart of the city. The broad canal on either side was walled with white Istrian stone to make a continuous quay, occasionally pierced by a tributary canal winding deeper inside the city. Many of the smaller inner canals were crossed by little wooden bridges, a few were crossed by steeply stepped bridges of white stone. The ferry was losing the cold breeze and so the boatman took down the sails and set to row, he took an oar on one side, and his lad heaved on the other. They wound their way through the constant river traffic of gondolas going swiftly through the water with loud warning cries from the gondoliers in the sterns of ‘Gondola! Gondola! Gondola!’
The canal was crowded with fishing ships, the flat-bottomed barges for carrying heavy goods, the ferry boats heaving with poorer people, and criss-crossing through the traffic going from one side to the other were public gondolas for hire. To the two young women who had been raised in a small country castle it was impossibly busy and glamorous, they looked from right to left and could not believe what they were seeing. Every gondola carried passengers, heavily cloaked with their faces hidden by carnival masks. The women wore masks adorned with dyed plumes of feathers, the eyeholes slit like the eyes of a cat, a brightly coloured hood covering their hair, a bejewelled fan hiding their smiling lips. Even more intriguing were the gondolas where the little cabin in the middle of the slim ship had the doors resolutely shut on hidden lovers, and the gondolier was rowing slowly, impassive in the stern. Sometimes a second gondola followed the first with musicians playing lingering love songs, for the entertainment of the secret couple.
‘Sin, everywhere,’ Brother Peter said, averting his gaze.
‘There’s only one bridge across the Grand Canal,’ the boatman told them. ‘Everywhere else you have to take a boat to cross. It’s a good city to be a ferryman. And this is it, the only bridge: the Rialto.’
It was a high wooden bridge, many feet above the canal, arching up so steeply that even masted ships could pass easily beneath it, rising up from both sides of the canal
Similar Books
Weight Loss Box Set: More Than 70 Delicious Cookie and Fast Making Recipes for Weight Loss + Good Gut Diet for Improving Your Health (5 2 Diet, Slow Cooker Meals, Slow Cooker Recipes)
Sara Hughes, Heather Klein, Eunice Hines, Una Soto
Intimate Seduction
Brenda Jackson
My Notorious Highlander (Highland Adventure 5)
Vonda Sinclair
Mad Addiction (Crazy Beautiful #2)
Jessica Huizenga
The Valentine Legacy
Catherine Coulter
Read To Me
Nona Raines
Brie’s Russian Treat (Submissive in Love, #5)
Red Phoenix
Earth's Survivors Apocalypse
Unknown
On a Snowy Christmas Night
Debbi Rawlins
Drink of Me
Jacquelyn Frank