Marco Polo - Laurence Bergreen [1]
On the morning of September 6, 1298, amid gathering heat and humidity, the Venetian fleet suddenly appeared out of the mist: ninety-six galleys under the command of Andrea Dandolo, the scion of a prominent dynasty. The Venetian galleys, renowned for their speed, were slender, elegant affairs resembling giant gondolas, powered by pairs of straining oarsmen. The galleys could plunge into oncoming waves and, with equal confidence, turn to drive a spur projecting from the bow into an opposing ship. The moment this device was in place, Venetian forces rushed across to storm the enemy.
Because oars work most efficiently when they enter the water at a shallow angle, the ships exposed less than three feet of freeboard. (Galleys could also travel under sail, although they were poorly equipped for this technology.) Existence aboard a Venetian galley was misery. Crews of about a hundred men were crowded into narrow spaces; food and water were in short supply. Galleys carried only a week’s worth of supplies; short rations for the exhausted rowers were the norm rather than the exception. To cope with these severe limitations, Venetian galleys put in at night, and kept their missions brief—three or four days, at most. With their shallow drafts, they hugged the shore—deadly but surprisingly vulnerable craft lying in wait to strike.
ONE OF THESE ships was commanded by Marco Polo, a merchant who had returned from China three years earlier. At forty-four, he was among the oldest participants in the battle, and by far the best traveled. Marco headed into battle bearing the title of “noble” of Venice, financing his own ship and relying on experienced pilots to do the actual sailing. A global traveler since the age of seventeen, he felt most at home when abroad. Under siege, Marco Polo was in his element, confident and composed. Fighting in the Battle of Curzola was a way to surround himself with glory in the eyes of his fellow Venetians, who regarded his tales of China with skepticism.
Andrea Dandolo led Marco and the other Venetians to the opposite side of Curzola, where his men disembarked—and promptly went into hiding. During the interlude, Lamba Doria had taken the measure of the enemy fleet, and had reached the erroneous conclusion that the Venetians were simply delaying engagement in battle out of fear. But the next morning—Sunday, September 8—the Venetians charged across Curzola toward the Genoese encampment.
Eager to confront the Venetians at last, Doria led his men into an amphibious battle. On land, arrows darkened the skies; at sea, galleys rammed and set fire to one another.
As Doria surveyed the scene at the height of battle alongside his son Ottavio, a Venetian arrow struck the young man in the chest. Ottavio fell at his father’s feet, suddenly lifeless. Others aboard the ship attempted to commiserate with Doria, but he refused their pity. “Throw my son overboard into the deep sea,” he ordered. “What better resting place can we give him than this spot?”
With the wind at their backs, the Venetians, under Dandolo’s leadership, seized the initiative and captured ten Genoese galleys, but in their enthusiasm they ran their ships aground. After nine hours of combat, the exhausted Venetians found themselves overwhelmed. The Genoese captured eighty-four Venetian galleys, sinking some and burning others to the waterline. Only a handful of the once-proud vessels escaped. The human toll proved even greater. In all, the Genoese forces captured 8,000 men—a breathtaking number at a time