'I am enchanted,
By the light you bring to me
I listen to your ears,
Through your eyes I can see'
By the light you bring to me
I listen to your ears,
Through your eyes I can see'
(Scene 1)
On Tuesday, 27th November AD 1095, Pope Urban II made a speech that would change the course of history. He’d summoned a great Council to Clermont in France to make a major announcement. There was tremendous excitement, the air was buzzing and the cathedral that was to host the event was not nearly big enough. Hence the papal throne had to be moved to a nearby boggy field where atop the pulpit looking every bit the regal viceroy he was, the Pope revealed what was on his mind: He had received an embassy from the emperor of Byzantium seeking help in driving back the Moslems; to protect the righteous Christians from the barbarian Moslem Seljuk Turks who were advancing towards the Bosporus to Byzantium. Thus under the banner of the Cross the Pope’s speech was a call to arms. He summoned all Christian warriors to aid their brothers in the East. This was to fire the imagination of Europe for the next 400 years. Thus the Crusades were born.
But like all such endeavours there was a hidden agenda that the Pope failed to mention that day. Historians today acknowledge that there was another kind of fire burning at the heart of this revolutionary papacy; by summoning an army under the banner of the Cross the Pope was extending the Church’s mantle over the whole of Christendom. Pope Urban’s army would rescue Jerusalem, the physical and spiritual centre of the universe, and the Pope would in turn become ruler of Jerusalem and de-facto Arch Monarch of the World. And what did the Pope offer in return to would be Crusaders? Paradise. Those who took part had all their sins forgiven. Thus a purely political enterprise was cleverly worked into a righteous religious endeavour. For the believers the Crusades were a religious and moral obligation.
That is the official origin of the Crusades believed by many scholars to be true.
But this too is spurious and not totally accurate…
‘There is no greater fear for the Papal elite, then the fear of becoming at one with God’s heaving masses’
(21st century poet)
(Scene 2)
The candle caught a draught and flickered tremulously in the corner. Its halo hemmed in by the walls of the cloistered rectangular side chapel. It was a smallish chamber, situated to the left of the main vessel. It had a domed ribbed-roof decorated with arches of formeret beams that began at shoulder height from semicircular decorative corbels. The tiny opaque windows at the front were set in triangular liernes and foliated motifs. A solitary shape sat scribbling away under the single candle flame. The hunched shadow was wearing the habit and cowl of a monk with a long bony hand that thrust out from it and from whose end dangled a quill. The sound of furious scribbling parted the darkness. The bony hand finally grabbed the wax and christened the note with the papal seal of Pope Urban II. The shadow gestured to the darkness and the darkness responded; a messenger who had been hiding in the shadow all along approached the sinewy hand, and upon receipt of the letter, bowed, stepped backwards and headed out in solemn but assured hurriedness.
The letter he was carrying was bound for Venice, under personnel protection of the Pope’s personal courier system. The couriers were hand picked and amongst the most trusted. They were trained in warfare, deception, hand to hand combat and protected by Papal decree to boot. They travelled alone, under cover of darkness, in disguise and were instructed to do whatever necessary to ensure delivery. Pope Urban II had just dictated the letter.
It read as follows:
From the office of Pope Pious Urban II
To: Father Montezuma Obispo
Venetian Seminary of Priesthood.
Casa Combrecci,
Venice.
Friday 30th, November AD 1095
Dearest brother,
How is Ma? Please convey her my blessings.
These are difficult times. A tempest brews in the East bringing tidings of woe. The Holy lands are besieged by heathen Moslems who dare to desecrate the Holy Chapel in Jerusalem – such insolence! The Temple Mount is stricken by their filthy type. They laugh at us! They jeer at our impotence and celebrate our bickering and quarrelling. And now to add fat to their already ripe bellies they dare to shame us further. Yes, our ears have received tidings that a band of Moslem brigands have conspired to exhume the tomb of Saint Mark, Venice’s patron Saint, who as you know is buried in Alexandria, and are carrying it to the East as we speak! Such daring!
To where?
Who knows? But word has reached us of a possible final resting place beyond Mesopotamia and across the Euphrates in the land of the Dravidians (a brutish people who practice idolatry). But information from these parts being so scarce and poor we have no further tidings. Hence, I come to you my brother for assistance. Can you dispatch one of your most trusted companions on a fact-finding mission? I enclose a Papal Passport that obliges all citizens of our lands to assist the bearer in whatever form necessary – a personnel guarantee from me. And instructions. This must be kept secret. If news of this were leaked I fear the whole of Venice would become a mob baying for blood.
Pope Pious Urban II
Official Seal
[Encl]
(Scene 3)
‘Has the letter been dispatched?’
‘It has your most Holiness’
‘Good, Good’
‘And your brother your Holiness?’
‘Montezuma has always been faithful. He is too trusting and that is his weakness. I dare he will not raise suspicion. As God’s vessel on earth one is entitled to take liberties, for His exaltation. If this means lying to my own brother then He understands. We must protect His authority. Without His guidance there will be nothing but chaos and infirmary’
‘Yes, of course your Holiness’
‘Any further news from the prisoner?’
‘No your Holiness. I fear we have squeezed this one dry’
‘I see. I think it is time we prayed for his soul departed’
‘Yes – your Holiness’
‘And what of the rumours you’re Holiness?’
‘If they do bare fruit then dark times lay ahead. But pray we will be prepared’
‘How so your Holiness?’
‘As we speak thousands of good Christians have dropped their hoes and are marching towards the Holy Land. The sacking of Jerusalem from the Moslems is a mere pretext for what is to come. The Lord works in mysterious ways’
‘Yes your holiness. The Lords omniscience knows no bounds’
‘Indeed. The Lord is all knowing and all powerful’
And so the two retired to their chambers, one bowing as he left.
‘Has the letter been dispatched?’
‘It has your most Holiness’
‘Good, Good’
‘And your brother your Holiness?’
‘Montezuma has always been faithful. He is too trusting and that is his weakness. I dare he will not raise suspicion. As God’s vessel on earth one is entitled to take liberties, for His exaltation. If this means lying to my own brother then He understands. We must protect His authority. Without His guidance there will be nothing but chaos and infirmary’
‘Yes, of course your Holiness’
‘Any further news from the prisoner?’
‘No your Holiness. I fear we have squeezed this one dry’
‘I see. I think it is time we prayed for his soul departed’
‘Yes – your Holiness’
‘And what of the rumours you’re Holiness?’
‘If they do bare fruit then dark times lay ahead. But pray we will be prepared’
‘How so your Holiness?’
‘As we speak thousands of good Christians have dropped their hoes and are marching towards the Holy Land. The sacking of Jerusalem from the Moslems is a mere pretext for what is to come. The Lord works in mysterious ways’
‘Yes your holiness. The Lords omniscience knows no bounds’
‘Indeed. The Lord is all knowing and all powerful’
And so the two retired to their chambers, one bowing as he left.
(Scene 4)
There were two loves in the life of Eduardo Conspiratorez:
The Holy Church and the Madonna Countessa – languorous eyes, sensuous smile. Seductively alluring. He still hadn’t decided which one he’d choose. They’d meet in secret. Venice seemed perfect for such amorous adventures. Damp, dark, cloistered, and crowded Venice perched. She was secretive, opaque and rife with superstitions and blind alleys and sinister inhabitants. The narrow streets barely wide enough for a person were twisted with bewildering turns. You’d crawl though one of these only at the end to be greeted by the expanse of the Grand Canal, and beyond the Adriatic Sea – enchanting you. Cobwebs of mist rose from the canals, veiling the lanterns. Rats were in abundance – disembarking off the ships, scurrying along the wharves, gnawing off the wood-beams, and bringing with them the dreaded plague.
Throughout Europe travel was supremely hazardous and not to be taken lightly. But in Venice, small in size, compact, with a merchant aristocracy, fiercely independent, commercial, with a global outlook; travel was the norm. Everyone in Venice was either a traveller or a merchant. The variety of goods that poured in from the ports where a veritable feast for the senses. Minerals, sandalwood, cinnamon, nutmeg, figs, pomegranates, hides, ostrich feathers, pearls, ivory, copper, silk, gums and Asian slaves. But underneath this cupola of a global bazaar, Venice could be cruel. Women were treated as chattel. Slavery was common and abuse rampant. A popular piece of advice to prospective Venetian husbands urged:
‘The wife, who has not sound judgement, must not guide the husband. Her weak constitution borne by the excess of bile humours propensities her to capricious rumbustiousness’
Yet, amidst this chauvinism Father Eduardo Conspiratorez was more enlightened then most. Blessed with a strong mother he had developed a deep respect for the female kind. Which was why the beautiful Madonna Countessa loved him so.
They’d meet secretly under the roof of the Casa Barone, a building belonging to one of Eduardo’s merchant uncles who was away. His heart would soar like a bird in anticipation. His joy knew no bounds. A little bird would start flitting in his heart and would not stop until he’d held her tightly in his arms and nibbled on her ears and devoured her lips. Those were frivolous times. But more then anything it was the way she looked at him that did it. A look of brilliant, radiant and carefree happiness – a look that said anything is possible with you darling.
But Eduardo also wanted to love Him. A women’s love was for now but God’s love was forever and what better way to show that love then to give up this frail carnal love, a love of the flesh, for an immutable love of the infinite soul.
For the love of God is something real to the 11th century mind. In-fact, there is no question of its existence; it is taken as real, has form as substantial as the things you see with your own eyes.
Thus the tempest raged in Eduardo’s heart. But for the meantime as he lay in Madonna Countessa’s arms, it was becalmed. Bestricken by shame:
‘I love you’
‘I know’
‘But what do you know of my love?’
‘I know it exists’
‘Exists. What a funny word that is eh? Exists. My love exists. But it says nothing of what it means to exist. What it involves. What it feels like. Does it say anything of the knots in my stomach? The joy of the heart? The dissolving away of my troubles. How it feels when I touch your skin. To feel your sweet breath on my breastbone. The smell of your hair. The warmth of your body. Exists. Hah! What an impoverished word it is!’
‘What would you have me say then darling?’
‘It breathes. It soars and it swoops. It gets angry and it gets jealous. It rages. It belittles. It hates. It…
‘Exists?’
‘Ha ha ha!’ and so they kissed
There were two loves in the life of Eduardo Conspiratorez:
The Holy Church and the Madonna Countessa – languorous eyes, sensuous smile. Seductively alluring. He still hadn’t decided which one he’d choose. They’d meet in secret. Venice seemed perfect for such amorous adventures. Damp, dark, cloistered, and crowded Venice perched. She was secretive, opaque and rife with superstitions and blind alleys and sinister inhabitants. The narrow streets barely wide enough for a person were twisted with bewildering turns. You’d crawl though one of these only at the end to be greeted by the expanse of the Grand Canal, and beyond the Adriatic Sea – enchanting you. Cobwebs of mist rose from the canals, veiling the lanterns. Rats were in abundance – disembarking off the ships, scurrying along the wharves, gnawing off the wood-beams, and bringing with them the dreaded plague.
Throughout Europe travel was supremely hazardous and not to be taken lightly. But in Venice, small in size, compact, with a merchant aristocracy, fiercely independent, commercial, with a global outlook; travel was the norm. Everyone in Venice was either a traveller or a merchant. The variety of goods that poured in from the ports where a veritable feast for the senses. Minerals, sandalwood, cinnamon, nutmeg, figs, pomegranates, hides, ostrich feathers, pearls, ivory, copper, silk, gums and Asian slaves. But underneath this cupola of a global bazaar, Venice could be cruel. Women were treated as chattel. Slavery was common and abuse rampant. A popular piece of advice to prospective Venetian husbands urged:
‘The wife, who has not sound judgement, must not guide the husband. Her weak constitution borne by the excess of bile humours propensities her to capricious rumbustiousness’
Yet, amidst this chauvinism Father Eduardo Conspiratorez was more enlightened then most. Blessed with a strong mother he had developed a deep respect for the female kind. Which was why the beautiful Madonna Countessa loved him so.
They’d meet secretly under the roof of the Casa Barone, a building belonging to one of Eduardo’s merchant uncles who was away. His heart would soar like a bird in anticipation. His joy knew no bounds. A little bird would start flitting in his heart and would not stop until he’d held her tightly in his arms and nibbled on her ears and devoured her lips. Those were frivolous times. But more then anything it was the way she looked at him that did it. A look of brilliant, radiant and carefree happiness – a look that said anything is possible with you darling.
But Eduardo also wanted to love Him. A women’s love was for now but God’s love was forever and what better way to show that love then to give up this frail carnal love, a love of the flesh, for an immutable love of the infinite soul.
For the love of God is something real to the 11th century mind. In-fact, there is no question of its existence; it is taken as real, has form as substantial as the things you see with your own eyes.
Thus the tempest raged in Eduardo’s heart. But for the meantime as he lay in Madonna Countessa’s arms, it was becalmed. Bestricken by shame:
‘I love you’
‘I know’
‘But what do you know of my love?’
‘I know it exists’
‘Exists. What a funny word that is eh? Exists. My love exists. But it says nothing of what it means to exist. What it involves. What it feels like. Does it say anything of the knots in my stomach? The joy of the heart? The dissolving away of my troubles. How it feels when I touch your skin. To feel your sweet breath on my breastbone. The smell of your hair. The warmth of your body. Exists. Hah! What an impoverished word it is!’
‘What would you have me say then darling?’
‘It breathes. It soars and it swoops. It gets angry and it gets jealous. It rages. It belittles. It hates. It…
‘Exists?’
‘Ha ha ha!’ and so they kissed
(Scene 5)
The Venetian Seminary of Priesthood is situated on the eastern flanks of Venice. It is the oldest and most respected seminary in the land and specialises in the training of priests. Many of its members would one day be ordained as cardinals, acolytes in the courts of the Holy Roman Emperor and ambassadors to countless others. It was like a modern day university and taught many subjects that nowadays would be called scientific disciplines all under the guise of ‘Natural Philosophies’. One of its many trainees was Eduardo Conspiratorez.
‘Eduardo we must talk’ said Montezuma
‘As you wish’
‘Perhaps you’d care to come to my chamber?’ Montezuma said holding out his hand gesturing the way in. This gesture was more an acknowledgment of the rarity of this event. For none of the trainees had ever seen Father Montezuma’s office before. Eduardo senses this was a portent for what was to come.
The chamber was large and smelled of sandalwood mingled with incense. It had a high ceiling with a cornice but was otherwise, in keeping with tradition, rather austere. The shelves were lined with little niches that held scrolls and on one side the entire wall was devoted to books. The look was finished off with a large painting of Pope Urban II with the Papal emblem affixed to the wall above it. He was after all his brother. This was another reason why this was such a good seminary; it had connections right to the top. Montezuma gestured towards a chair but he himself remained standing with his back towards Eduardo staring at his brothers portrait.
‘Eduardo, allow me to be frank. But none of this leaves this room. I feel comfortable that I can speak to you like this, with candidness. We’re a training college. We, as you are aware, train priests who will one day be awarded desirable positions in the greatest cities and monasteries throughout Christendom. But lets be clear on one thing: We may preach the word of God but as people of flesh and blood we are subject to the vagaries of the flesh. Look, many here are here because of who they are. We are a coterie. That is the way the world works and one must be pragmatic about such matters. We require funding, and as you know, the fees we get from the Venetian treasury are trifling. It is the alumni, our powerful alumni that really support us. But that is another matter. My point is, and I will make it in the form of a rhetorical question – how many of your colleagues are here for the right reasons?’
Eduardo sat silently not wanting to answer
‘I’d hazard a guess and say not many. Look I’m sure they will make great priests and cardinals but, but what is in the deepest recesses of their hearts – who knows. Apart from Him. But your heart Eduardo! Your heart Eduardo I can see. You wear your heart on your face, not hide it like the others. Look, the Pope has sought my help in a certain matter of utmost exigency. Take a look at this letter. Take your time. Read it here. There is no hurry. But remember everything you have heard and are about to read stays in these four walls.
The Venetian Seminary of Priesthood is situated on the eastern flanks of Venice. It is the oldest and most respected seminary in the land and specialises in the training of priests. Many of its members would one day be ordained as cardinals, acolytes in the courts of the Holy Roman Emperor and ambassadors to countless others. It was like a modern day university and taught many subjects that nowadays would be called scientific disciplines all under the guise of ‘Natural Philosophies’. One of its many trainees was Eduardo Conspiratorez.
‘Eduardo we must talk’ said Montezuma
‘As you wish’
‘Perhaps you’d care to come to my chamber?’ Montezuma said holding out his hand gesturing the way in. This gesture was more an acknowledgment of the rarity of this event. For none of the trainees had ever seen Father Montezuma’s office before. Eduardo senses this was a portent for what was to come.
The chamber was large and smelled of sandalwood mingled with incense. It had a high ceiling with a cornice but was otherwise, in keeping with tradition, rather austere. The shelves were lined with little niches that held scrolls and on one side the entire wall was devoted to books. The look was finished off with a large painting of Pope Urban II with the Papal emblem affixed to the wall above it. He was after all his brother. This was another reason why this was such a good seminary; it had connections right to the top. Montezuma gestured towards a chair but he himself remained standing with his back towards Eduardo staring at his brothers portrait.
‘Eduardo, allow me to be frank. But none of this leaves this room. I feel comfortable that I can speak to you like this, with candidness. We’re a training college. We, as you are aware, train priests who will one day be awarded desirable positions in the greatest cities and monasteries throughout Christendom. But lets be clear on one thing: We may preach the word of God but as people of flesh and blood we are subject to the vagaries of the flesh. Look, many here are here because of who they are. We are a coterie. That is the way the world works and one must be pragmatic about such matters. We require funding, and as you know, the fees we get from the Venetian treasury are trifling. It is the alumni, our powerful alumni that really support us. But that is another matter. My point is, and I will make it in the form of a rhetorical question – how many of your colleagues are here for the right reasons?’
Eduardo sat silently not wanting to answer
‘I’d hazard a guess and say not many. Look I’m sure they will make great priests and cardinals but, but what is in the deepest recesses of their hearts – who knows. Apart from Him. But your heart Eduardo! Your heart Eduardo I can see. You wear your heart on your face, not hide it like the others. Look, the Pope has sought my help in a certain matter of utmost exigency. Take a look at this letter. Take your time. Read it here. There is no hurry. But remember everything you have heard and are about to read stays in these four walls.
(Scene 6)
Father Eduardo Conspiratorez watched from the deck as the ship sailed out from the Venetian morning. It was too-ing and fro-ing from the swell and the wind was lashing at the stern and flecking the sapphire sea with white. He watched this city that had been his home with a curious detachment that gave it an otherworldly spectre. Viewed from a distance, this bustling centre of the universe now looked strangely dethroned and debunked of all its mystery. The spires shrunk until they were no more then rude interruptions in the monotonous horizon. He drew a deep breath and sighed. Not because he needed to but rather to draw a line under a new beginning. This would be an arduous journey. He was heading for the Levant and from there it had been arranged that he would join an overland camel train to take him into the interior of Asia Minor. He’d be travelling under the guise of a lunatic monk, the only Christian in a sea of churning Heathens. Instinctively he felt for the Passport in his inner pocket. There it was snugly resting against his breast. His breast. And then he remembered the Madonna Countessa and began to cry.
Father Eduardo Conspiratorez watched from the deck as the ship sailed out from the Venetian morning. It was too-ing and fro-ing from the swell and the wind was lashing at the stern and flecking the sapphire sea with white. He watched this city that had been his home with a curious detachment that gave it an otherworldly spectre. Viewed from a distance, this bustling centre of the universe now looked strangely dethroned and debunked of all its mystery. The spires shrunk until they were no more then rude interruptions in the monotonous horizon. He drew a deep breath and sighed. Not because he needed to but rather to draw a line under a new beginning. This would be an arduous journey. He was heading for the Levant and from there it had been arranged that he would join an overland camel train to take him into the interior of Asia Minor. He’d be travelling under the guise of a lunatic monk, the only Christian in a sea of churning Heathens. Instinctively he felt for the Passport in his inner pocket. There it was snugly resting against his breast. His breast. And then he remembered the Madonna Countessa and began to cry.
(Scene 7)
‘Have we received tidings from my brother?’
‘Yes, your Holiness’
‘And?’
‘A certain Father Eduardo Conspiratorez has been despatched your Holiness’
‘I see. Is he any good?’
‘My people say he is a good man. Honest. Steady. A rock. The type who would do anything for His holiness’
‘Anything? those are exactly the type I should fear'
‘Anyway, any news from the source?’
‘There is much rumour and speculation your Holiness and if…’
‘Spare me the details. What at least can we be sure of?’
‘The Turks too are getting nervous and jittery - that we are sure of. We’ve intercepted some of their emissaries and they speak of a great power in the East your Holiness’
‘This is a portent. I see dark clouds ahead. We must not let such intrigues beset us. Tread carefully’
‘Yes, your holiness’
‘Have we received tidings from my brother?’
‘Yes, your Holiness’
‘And?’
‘A certain Father Eduardo Conspiratorez has been despatched your Holiness’
‘I see. Is he any good?’
‘My people say he is a good man. Honest. Steady. A rock. The type who would do anything for His holiness’
‘Anything? those are exactly the type I should fear'
‘Anyway, any news from the source?’
‘There is much rumour and speculation your Holiness and if…’
‘Spare me the details. What at least can we be sure of?’
‘The Turks too are getting nervous and jittery - that we are sure of. We’ve intercepted some of their emissaries and they speak of a great power in the East your Holiness’
‘This is a portent. I see dark clouds ahead. We must not let such intrigues beset us. Tread carefully’
‘Yes, your holiness’
And so the master and his acolyte, the latter bowing in deference, retired to their chambers.
