Venetians

It must have been a complete shock for the two young brothers to discover so abruptly the grave danger they were in. Primo and Polo had been raised in an isolated farm without any formal education, completely oblivious of where they were and, just as importantly, of when they were. They lived in a small hut in the middle of a vast land with no neighbors, and that much they knew. They were also aware that just beyond those reeds there was marshland extending south for several miles, until eventually some long, sandy islands delimited the open sea. They did know there was the Sile River to the west, and that on a clear day they could see snowy mountains to the north. As teenage boys they were skilled at fishing, and they could also plow the field with a donkey, their only beast of burden. They were also quite good at carpentry, especially considering they had hardly any metal tools. Essentially their known world was limited to that serene countryside, and they were too young to be wary of the horrifying devastation that land had suffered just a couple of decades before. Their only worry, when their dog would bark in the middle of the night, was that an errant fox might eat their chicken or kill their last surviving goat. This was the simple life they knew, and they could not have imagined, that early spring morning, that this would be the last time they would ever hear their rooster crow. It was getting brighter, but it was not quite sunrise. Outside the door, the farm dog was lying down with his eyes still shut closed in defiance of the rooster’s insistence, but inside the hut the family began to awaken. It was a modest dwelling consisting of only one room, with a large hay bed in front of a rudimentary dining nook. Uncle Licio sat up on the right side of the bed and Aunt Fausta did the same on the left side. Finally, little Fabia, who shared the bed with her parents, could at once stretch out her little six-year old self and catch a few more minutes of sleep. Grandma instead had been awake for a couple of hours already, but she was still lying down in her sleeping quarters, which was nothing more than the padded bench in the dining nook, next to the fireplace. Above the bed where Fabia was still sleeping, there was a small loft with at most four feet of head space. Up there in between the hay, two sets of feet were sticking out, as well as an unkempt head of hair right in the middle. The feet belonged to Primo and Polo, sleeping on opposite edges, while the head belonged to their older cousin Tulio, as they shared the narrow space by sleeping in head-to-feet order. The morning routine began as usual. Aunt Fausta was already outside hauling a bucket of fresh water from the nearby well. The boys were still half asleep as they were getting dressed, which boiled down to putting on some shoddy dull-colored tunics made of some coarse material. Uncle Licio was adding some wood to revive the embers from the previous night’s fire, while his daughter Fabia was still sound asleep, enjoying the uncrowded bed all to herself. They finally all sat around the fireplace, the boys eating homemade dark bread, and Uncle Licio pouring heated water over his roasted barley. “Today boys, we are going to the ruins to get some more stone. I want to replace the door’s wooden frame…” Uncle Licio sipped his hot beverage, looking forward to the short trip to the ruins of the ancient Roman city of Altinum, located just a few miles from their farm. “But I thought we were going to the market in Opterg today… to sell some crops!” interjected Polo, with a clear desire to finally interact with other people. “Or to see some girls! We are trapped in the most remote farm of the Empire!” added eighteen-year old Primo, in support of his younger brother’s complaint. Though the farmland was vast, it was becoming confining for Primo and Polo. They knew nothing about the outside world, and they craved adventure. They were aware that the nearest town was Opterg, several miles to the east, but they never ventured there. They understood that they were part of ‘The Empire’, and they never needed to specify it was the Byzantine Empire, because they knew no other kingdom to compare it to. And actually, they did not even know much about this Byzantine Empire, because they were in such a remote land, so distant from the capital of Constantinople, that they had never even seen a company of Greek soldiers pass by. All absorbed with his hot beverage, Uncle Licio was ignoring Primo and Polo, so his son Tulio decided to reply to his two younger cousins. “You know there is a war out there, Primo… Papa is right to be prudent.” “When isn’t there a war!?” replied Primo all frustrated. The contrast between the two brothers compared to the relatives they lived with was always noticeable. Primo was strikingly courageous and bold, while Polo, just two years younger, was especially inquisitive and curious. Tulio instead, like his parents, was a simple person, and he was more preoccupied about survival rather than about living life to the fullest. This contrast in point of views was even more emphasized when Aunt Fausta also intervened. “Even without a war, going to Opterg just gets you noticed, boys. If they forget that we are here… that would be for the best!” “Oh, have no fear, my dear! No master forgets when it’s time to collect the tax!” said Grandma, jumping into the conversation. Uncle Licio, who was ignoring them all. Then he spoke again just to give out orders. “Enough chit chat! We first have to take care of the field and the animals. C’mon, we have a long day ahead, if we also want to go to Altinum and get some stones for the house.” Uncle Licio and the boys left the makeshift dining nook and headed out. Later on that morning everyone was busy, each focusing on completing their chores. It was just another peaceful morning in that forgotten farm at the edges of the marshy lagoon, until in the distance a four-wheel cart, slowly being pulled by a mule, started to approach. A man was sitting in front while the cargo was half full of sacks, and a young man was walking in front holding the mule’s rope. As Aunt Fausta was hanging a large sheet made out of wool, in between a large gaping hole she saw the two people advancing toward the farm. “Liciooo!” Aunt Fausta shouted with no particular emotion: no fear nor excitement. If anything, with a little annoyance. “The tax man from Grado is here!”