The Venetians: A New History: from Marco Polo to Casanova (10 page)

Despite this early advantage, guaranteeing Venice an important source of income from the Orient, which should have enabled it to compete with Genoa, it proved of little avail, as the Republic now found itself under severe threat at home. Hungary remained in possession of much of Dalmatia, and Francesco da Carrara appeared to be marshalling troops in Padua. With Venice all but surrounded on the mainland side, it was likely that Genoa – allied to the Hungarians – would attempt to mount a direct attack on Venice from the sea, much as Paganino Doria had done in the previous war, only this time they would bring the full might of their fleet. Consequently Pisani was ordered to use his fleet to protect the Adriatic and its approaches against any direct Genoese threat, whilst Zeno was given a more general brief to patrol the Mediterranean, attacking Genoese colonies and any enemy convoys that he came across on the trade routes.

The extent to which Venice remained economically and militarily depleted can be seen from the fact that Pisani had command of just fourteen galleys, and even these were undermanned. The loss of Dalmatia had cut off not only an important source of grain, but also a recruiting ground for galley oarsmen. Several of Pisani’s galleys were manned by Cretans, and a few were even reduced to skeleton crews, with just one man to some oarsmen’s benches. As a result, these galleys were almost totally reliant upon sails for propulsion, and could not manoeuvre at close quarters – the one great military advantage of rowed galleys.

The first serious naval encounter of the war took place in late May 1378, when Pisani spotted a convoy of ten Genoese galleys moving down the south-western coast of Italy near the mouth of the Tiber. Pisani set off in pursuit, catching up with the Genoese off the cape at Anzio on 30 May. By this stage a storm had blown up, with heavy seas and darkened skies, but Pisani ordered his galleys to attack nonetheless. As a result of the weather, and undermanning, four of Pisani’s galleys were unable to engage with the enemy, and while the others closed in on the Genoese, grappling proved extremely hazardous. Despite this, only four of the Genoese galleys managed to escape, one was driven onto the rocks and the other five were captured, together with the Genoese commander, Luigi de’ Fieschi.
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Pisani had hardly won a great naval victory, but its effect would prove as such. At the time the citizens of Genoa were much in need of reassurance with regard to this latest war with Venice. Encouraged by Venice, Genoa’s neighbour, Francesco, Marchese dal Carretto, had risen up and seized Albenga just forty miles west along the coast, laying waste to Genoese territory in the process. Now, with Genoa’s naval defences down to a minimum, came news of a threatening Venetian victory, quickly followed by rumours that the enemy fleet was assembling in the Bay of Spezia, just over a day’s sailing distance to the east. Overcome with fear, the population of Genoa rose up on 17 June and stormed the palace of the aged, long-serving doge, Domenico di Campofregoso, causing him to be deposed. When order was restored, the younger and more popular Niccolò Guarco was elected in his place.

In fact, the victorious but undermanned Venetian galleys were nowhere near Spezia. Pisani realised that he had insufficient strength to take Genoa, no matter how ill-defended it might have been. Instead, he sailed east to keep a rendezvous off the south-western Peloponnese with six galleys from Crete. After a fruitless search for Genoese shipping he set off back for the
Adriatic, where he attacked the strategic Hungarian-held ports of Cattaro (modern Kotor) and Sebenico (Šibenik), returning them to Venetian control. He then set sail for Venice, intending to winter his ships in the lagoon, where they could be refurbished at the Arsenale, and many of the sailors could spend some well-earned time with their families.

To Pisani’s surprise, his request to enter Venice was denied by the authorities. He was instead expected to winter almost 100 miles to the south at Pola, in readiness to escort and protect an expected convoy of grain ships from Apulia in the heel of Italy. This decision by the Venetian authorities has been called ‘a serious error of judgement’, resulting as it did in an unnecessary collapse of morale amongst the crews, who would spend the winter in damp, cramped conditions aboard ship, rather than at home where they felt they deserved to be after six months of risking their lives and fighting for their country. Likewise, this decision also affected the readiness and seaworthiness of the ships, which could not be so easily overhauled with the lesser facilities available at Pola. On the other hand, what Pisani could not have realised was that by now the city of Venice was down to its last supplies, with virtually all its sources of food cut off.

After a winter of storms, and disease amongst his crews, in February 1379 Pisani duly despatched a flotilla to escort the grain fleet up the Adriatic to Venice. In the course of this two of his ships were driven ashore and lost at Ancona. Then, on the morning of 7 May, the Venetians in the harbour at Pola were shocked when they awoke to the sight of a large Genoese fleet hove-to in the nearby waters. The Genoese admiral, Luciano Doria, had wintered his twenty-five ships 100 miles down the coast at the Hungarian-held port of Zara (Zadar). Intelligence from local travellers and fishermen had led him to suspect that Pisani was at Pola, and his hunch had paid off.

The Genoese now challenged the Venetians in the traditional manner by hauling aloft their battle ensigns depicting a raised sword; but Pisani realised that his ill-readied ships were in no fit state to take on such superior numbers, even though his depleted crews had now been supplemented by a large number of locally recruited Slavs. Pisani refused to allow his ships to put to sea, ordering them to remain within the safety of Pola’s protected harbour in the Well-founded hope that Carlo Zeno and his fleet would
soon return. But Pisani’s captains were dissatisfied at such orders, seeing them as cowardice; after much wrangling Pisani caved in, against his better judgement. Gathering his ships together, he delivered a rousing speech to the assembled crews: ‘Brave men, now is the time to prove your valour …’ He then ordered the trumpets to sound the call to attack and led his ships into battle. Pisani was no coward, and could not tolerate the fact that his men might see him as one. Indeed, his initial sortie resulted in such success that he personally was responsible for the death of Luciano Doria. However, although the Genoese were initially surprised by the speed of Pisani’s sudden attack, they quickly regrouped, proceeding to inflict a heavy defeat on the Venetians, capturing fifteen galleys and no fewer than 2,407 prisoners, described by the chronicler Daniele di Chinazzo as ‘the flower of seamen of Venice’. Pisani decided to cut his losses and managed to flee, along with six heavily damaged galleys, which limped up the coast to the safety of the port of Parenza (Poreč). From here he was eventually summoned to Venice, where he suffered the fate of any Venetian commander defeated in battle – he was put on trial. Regardless of his bravery, it was charged that he ‘led the fleet into battle in disorderly fashion’ and that ‘he had quit the fight while the battle was still going on’. The guilty verdict left him disgraced, sentenced to six months in prison and banned from all public office for five years. Had he not been so popular, he might well have suffered a more severe punishment (an admiral on such charges was liable to suffer execution).

Venice now faced extreme danger. Its fleet was destroyed, the Hungarians had cut off the trade routes to the north, while the Paduans held the mainland to the west. And the Genoese fleet was evidently poised to attack from the sea. All the authorities could do was strengthen the defences of their wall-less city. The fortifications in San Nicolò di Lido at the main entrance to the lagoon were reinforced with artillery, and a chain-boom with two hulks was strung across the channel. In case the invaders broke through this defence, the posts marking the navigable channels through the treacherous shallow waters of the lagoon to the city itself were uprooted. Meanwhile the citizens gathered in the churches praying for a miracle – the return of Carlo Zeno and his fleet. But no word of him was forthcoming: throughout the Adriatic, from Pola to the Peloponnese, no report of his
whereabouts in the Mediterranean had been received. He could have been anywhere from Cyprus to Constantinople, from Crete to Sardinia.

Meanwhile a relative of the slain Luciano Doria, Pietro Doria, had now taken command of the Genoese fleet and was awaiting reinforcements. In view of the situation, Pietro Doria decided against the customary exchange of the many Venetian and mercenary prisoners taken at the Battle of Pola, and instead 800 of them were summarily beheaded, their bodies thrown into the sea. Having signalled his intentions, he then set off to liberate the Dalmatian ports of Cattaro and Sebenico, before joining up with his reinforcements and burning to the ground various Venetian ports at the head of the Adriatic.

At the same time, reports were coming in that Francesco da Carrara’s Paduan forces had been joined by 5,000 militia despatched by the Hungarians; these were now said to be ranged along the mainland shore of the Venetian lagoon. During the first days of August a flotilla of small Genoese ships appeared some way off the Lido. Pisani’s replacement as naval commander, Taddeo Giustinian, had just six serviceable ships at his disposal in the Arsenale, but decided to embark and investigate nonetheless. Voyaging out into open sea off the Lido, he came across a lone man swimming. This turned out to be a Venetian who had been captured by the Genoese at the Battle of Pola and had dived overboard as soon as he saw the approaching Venetian ships; he now informed Giustinian that a large Genoese fleet was waiting just over the horizon. Giustinian rapidly returned to the safety of the lagoon.

On 6 August 1379 Pietro Doria appeared off the Lido with forty-seven galleys and launched an attack on San Nicolò. Unable to breach the main entrance into the lagoon, he proceeded east along the Lido, landing soldiers who burned everything in their path, as well as attacking the towns of Malamocco and Pellestrina. Within a few days Doria’s fleet had reached the fortified island-town of Chioggia at the southernmost entrance to the lagoon. Here, aided by 24,000 Paduan and Hungarian land forces, the Genoese laid siege to the 3,000 Venetian troops in the garrison. On 16 August Chioggia fell in a bloody slaughter, leaving Venice all but surrounded. Never before in its history had it faced such an overwhelming threat.

When news of the fall of Chioggia reached Venice, all semblance of commercial activity on the Rialto petered to a halt. The bells rang out from the Campanile and the citizens flocked, silent and fearful, into the
Piazza
San Marco. Meanwhile Doge Andrea Contarini and the sixty members of the Senate (responsible for foreign affairs) met in emergency session. Seeing no alternative, the Venetians decided to open negotiations with the Genoese. But these came to no avail when Pietro Doria scornfully dismissed the Venetian peace envoy, famously declaring that the Genoese would not cease fighting ‘until after they had bridled the horses of San Marco’ – a fitting metaphor for Venice’s defeat and utter humiliation.

Some members of the Senate now came to the conclusion that all was lost. The most radically innovative action was required: it was time for the Venetians to abandon Venice altogether and shift the capital of their empire to Candia or Constantinople (despite the fact that this was not even Venetian territory). The city had always looked east, where its empire lay. The island-city in the lagoon was merely a historical anomaly, a vulnerable trading port at the western limit of the empire. The heart of the Venetian Empire no longer lay in Europe, in any sense – strategic or commercial. Such arguments held considerable force. Indeed, they had been seriously considered in the past, especially during times of expansionist ambition. One only had to look at the city’s architecture to see this oriental inclination expressed in solid form – the basilica of San Marco, the church of the city’s patron saint, was unmistakably Byzantine, while the famous four horses also came from Constantinople. And the symbol of San Marco, the winged lion on its pedestal overlooking the Molo, originated from even further east – from Syria, Persia or perhaps China. More than a thousand years previously the Roman Empire had divided between East and West, between Rome and Constantinople: Venice now surely belonged with the eastern Empire, not with Italian Rome. Indeed, in what sense was the Venetian Empire really European at all? Such self-questioning had long remained beneath the surface, but arising as it did now, this was nothing less than defeatist talk. Although well into his seventies, Doge Andrea Contarini, along with the majority of his ageing senators, vigorously dismissed any such mutterings. On the contrary, they made it clear that, despite their age, they would be volunteering to fight for their city.

Meanwhile extreme measures were implemented: the salary of all civil servants was withheld, and a forced loan imposed on all nobles and merchants in order to raise the equivalent of 400,000 ducats to finance an emergency programme to defend the city as well as to launch a major programme of refurbishment and ship-building at the Arsenale. However, much of this money would be placed at the disposal of envoys despatched on clandestine missions to the mainland to hire mercenary commanders and all the soldiers they could muster. At the same time, in view of the crippling food shortages, all wealthy houses were ordered to open their doors to provide free meals for the poor.

By this time Contarini had been doge for more than ten years, yet he remained an energetic man and an able politician who quickly sensed the mood of the public. According to the chronicler Chinazzo, the imprisoned Pisani remained disliked by the nobles, but ‘all the people loved him, and were disappointed at his punishment’. Contarini was well aware of this, and in the face of popular agitation ordered Pisani’s release. The result was a wave of popular feeling for the only man whom the people believed could save the city. On his release, Pisani was cheered through the Piazza San Marco by a horde of seamen – and, indeed, ‘half of Venice’ – shouting, ‘Viva Messer Vettoe.’