Medieval 6: Giovanni 5 Search and Rescue, part 1 of 3

December 31, 2024November 24, 2024M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Giovanni felt so tired and the bed looked so inviting. He glanced once again at the lineup. They were to head out in less than five weeks and all he could see was that they were not ready. They were only one month away from having to pack the wagons and head out on the road. He sighed. Theirs would not be the first show that had to work out the kinks on the road.

He heard a knock at the door. He was slow to rise and slower to answer. All he really wanted was sleep.

“Gabriellla.” He spoke through the open door at the back of the wagon, a wagon modeled after the one driven by Rostanzio the Magnificent. Giovanni was practicing sleeping in the wagon, and he thought, Everyone was practicing everything. The setting sun blazed red in the distance. “Maffeo!” He shouted before Gabriella could say anything. “Get those horses up for the night and tell Severas to get Sir Brutus in his cage and away from the fish. No one wants to see a bloated bear sleep through his performance.” The bear had been asleep for most of the winter, but woke now and then, and one time it got awake enough in January to show what he could do. Another act without a boffo ending, Giovanni thought.

“I hear you.” Severas answered with a shout. He was coming up the hill from the outhouse. Giovanni shook his head and wondered who was grumpier, Severas or his bear. The man was frankly a bit of a mean old man. It was a wonder his wife, Berta, puts up with them both.

“Maffeo!” He shouted again.

Maffeo slapped Charles and grabbed Louis by the ear. Giovanni was again reminded of the Three Stooges, but they caught the horse and he did not see any other animals around.

“Don Giovanni,” Gabriella grabbed his attention. “You must eat.” She pushed a bowl of fish and leeks into his hands. He was tired, not hungry, but he smiled.

“Thank you,” he said. “Since you have joined us I believe I’ve put on some weight.” Gabrielle and her husband Bergos were good people who thus far had kept everyone fed and happy; at least he heard no complaints about the cooking.

Gabrielle did not buy the fake smile. “You must keep your strength.” She spoke like a mother hen. “We will be on the road soon enough and there may be slim pickings on the road.” The woman had never been on the road, but she paid attention to the stories she heard.

“Winter in Venice can be rather slim pickings, too, but you seem to manage well,” he said more honestly.

“Umph.” She acknowledged that compliment with a grunt and slight nod of her head. The stern look on her face, however, did not change. “Eat.” She insisted and turned away.

“I will.” Giovanni smiled again, holding tight to the bowl, and he thought to himself that yes, these were good people, and as close to normal as he could get in the Don Giovanni circus. He turned and went back into the wagon. He closed the door and put the bowl on his desk where he had no intention of touching it.

Before bed, as was his habit, he pulled out the lockbox and counted their coins. They had precious little to start the season. He thought back to the day his father died, or the next day. He remembered what his father called his emergency backup stash. He hid it in the wallboards behind the bed and said you can never be too careful with thieves. He also said he never had any intention of using that backup money if he could help it. It was there to give him peace of mind, knowing if they got robbed that would not be the end of the circus.

Giovanni found the place in the wall easily enough. He found three gold pieces, a small bag of silver coins, and a larger bag of coppers. He knew then he could keep the circus going, but as he looked in the lockbox he was not so sure.

His mind turned to all the new acts and paused on Vader the knife thrower’s wife Edwina. Quite the contrast to her angry husband, she was a lovely, gentle woman. That may have been why he had the occasional streak of jealousy. Even so, Giovanni could not help himself thinking about her, but after a few moments of fantasy, he figuratively slapped his own face. He admitted that he had a problem with that sort of thing. The women always seemed willing enough; but he needed to always remember that his circus people were strictly off limits. He did not dare. The circus was like a family. It was important and better to think of family. It was one element that made it all work together. Edwina was, in that sense, something like a sister to him, and to violate her in that way would be like a strange sort of incest. He would never do that. He needed to never even think that way, no matter what.

He looked again at his bed, which he could just see behind the curtain and thought only of sleep. He was dog tired, and he remembered Corriden took the dog act with him. He had horses, and a bear. So maybe he was bear tired.

Giovanni put one hand to his head. He was eighteen, not thirty-eight. He had no business having such a stress headache. He needed sleep. In fact, he got in dive position when there came another knock at the door. He plopped back into his desk chair.

“Come in,” he hollered, too tired to rise. Oberon the dwarf marched in, while Sabelius the strong man removed his hat and came in slowly with his head bent to keep from hitting his head on the ceiling. “Where is Madam Figiori?” Giovanni asked.

“Sleeping, probably.” Oberon spoke and Giovanni sighed with jealousy. “But she said you were going to need help tonight, so here we are.”

“My saviors.” He often referred to them in that way.

“So what’s up, boss?” Oberon asked.

“More Corriden sabotage?” Sabelius suggested. Besides looking like an ugly human, an appearance that seemed to get exaggerated in the firelight at night, he really was too bright for a half troll. They all knew Corriden and the Corriden Circus was out to get them, and maybe shut down their chances to make a fresh beginning. Porto and Berlio had been caught several times trying to steal things, including one attempt to steal the smaller circus show tent. Berlio, the magician, and his wife Priscilla got caught around the chuck wagon. Fortunately, Madam Figiori was able to check with some real magic. If they intended to poison the food in any way, they did not have the chance.

“No,” Giovanni said. “Just guard the door so I can get some sleep.” He pleaded.

“Don’t think so.” Oberon shook his head. “Madam said something about a girl and the night watch. Could have been a girl on the night watch, but I suppose they don’t put girls on that duty. Maybe we are supposed to watch a girl in the night, or the girl might watch us, or something.”

“We’ll keep our eyes and ears open.” Sabelius interrupted and backed carefully from the wagon, reaching in with one enormous hand and hauling Oberon after him. The door closed softly.

“Thank you Lord,” Giovanni breathed with a quick look to the ceiling. He dived into the bed and it was only then that he realized he was too twisted inside to pass out. A moment later it was too late as he heard a sharp, panic-driven knock on the door. He got up and answered it this time, not at all surprised to find himself pushed out of the way by a young woman who immediately shut the door, and then turned and opened it a crack to peek out.

“Don Vincenzo Giovanni, at your service,” he said, adding a little bow to his words.

“Hello.” The girl granted him a quick acknowledgement, barely turning her head before gluing her eye right back to the crack in the doorway. Giovanni dutifully drew the curtains and closed the shutters. Then he could not resist bending over her to peek over her shoulder. She smelled sweet, but then clearly she was a noble lady of the highest quality. Giovanni would have expected no less.

“Search them all.” A man shouted.

“Leave that alone.” Giovanni heard Oberon. “Help! Thieves!”

“Don’t open that!” That sounded like Piccolo, the juggler and practical joker. Giovanni imagined him tempting the night watch. Sure enough, he heard the growl of the bear, a man’s scream, and the sound of crashing like men in flight.

“No.” That voice sounded extremely deep and close. Sabelius stood by the door. “Don Giovanni is resting. You will not disturb him.”

“Orders.” The man spoke with a shaky voice. “Got to look in them all.” Sabelius was showing his more troll and ogre qualities by the torchlight. With his great size, he was not one to bump into after dark.

“No,” Sabelius spoke again.

“Quickly,” Giovanni whispered, grabbed the girl by the shoulders and pulled her into the wagon, closing the door tight in the process. “Can you act?”

“What?” The girl looked more confused than frightened.

“Do you want to be caught?” he asked.

“No, please.” The seriousness of her predicament came over her and she realized this young man was presently her only hope.

“Then I need you to play act,” he said. “Give me a good performance.”

“What?” She looked confused again.

“Take your dress off.” he said, peeling off his shirt in the process.

“What?”

As Giovanni pulled his head from beneath his shirt he felt the slap of her hand across his face. He grabbed her shoulders, stared into her eyes, and carefully enunciated. “It-is-only-pretend.” He spoke in his most directorial voice and saw the light go off in her eyes, as they heard a knock on the door.

“Don Giovanni?” Sabelius spoke softly as if wanting to wake him, but not wanting to wake him to do it.

Medieval 6: Giovanni 4 Old and New, part 2 of 2

December 30, 2024November 24, 2024M G Kizzia Leave a comment

All through November, December, and into the new year, people came. The three men from the fishing village, Maffeo, Louis, and Charles, who watched the desertion of the camp under Corriden agreed to work as roustabouts and clowns for one season to see how they liked it. He had them all sign contracts to that end and tried hard not to call them Moe, Larry, and Curly. Needles dressed them in red, white, and blue clown costumes and told them to get used to wearing them, and don’t mess them up. After that, one of his first volunteers was the fourth man in the group who actually volunteered his wife. Borges was his name. He wore the green clown suit. His wife was Gabriella and his young daughter Rosa was about twelve. Borges explained.

“It’s my wife. She grew up in a big family where cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, parents, and children all lived and ate together. She herself is one of eight children, and the eldest girl. It was rough at first, let me tell you. We been married for thirteen years and she is still cooking for about twenty. Good food too, But, you see, she grew up cooking for about fifty people.”

“Forty-six,” Gabriella corrected her husband.

“Anyway,” He looked at her to keep her quiet. “I’m thinking fishing is hard. I agree with Maffeo, Louis, and Charles. I think we might like to try something different, and I figure you need someone who can keep the circus fed. Well, my wife can do that, easy.”

“And your daughter?”

“She can help,” Borges said, and Giovanni wondered if he might find another place for the girl. He immediately thought acrobat, but he would have to wait and see who showed up.

Giovanni turned to the woman. “What do you think?”

She did not bat an eye. “I think this is the place my whole life has been leading to. I love to cook. It is what I was born to do.”

That settled things very quickly and that was one more worry off Giovanni’s mind. The food was also as good as Borges promised, and better yet, Gabriella made something like cinnamon rolls, and something like funnel cakes. Giovanni very much wanted popcorn, but he knew he would have to wait about five hundred years for the new world to be discovered.

People came into the swamp over those months.

Rugello was a fire eater and sword swallower, and a bit of a pyromaniac so he had to be watched. Umberto was a contortionist who could fit himself into a small box. He was also high strung and tended to panic at the least provocation, far worse than Constantine who was more of a normal scaredy-cat. Umberto needed to be treated with kid gloves or he could not perform. Sadly, the only one to watch both Rugello and Umberto was Piccolo, an excellent juggler who was also a terrible practical joker.

“Not ideal,” he told Oberon, but he had little choice.

At the end of November, Vader the knife thrower came in with his wife and chief victim Edwina. He was good, and even pulled out a crossbow at the end to shoot the proverbial apple off his wife’s head. Unfortunately, he was the angry, jealous type of man who probably should not have been allowed to play with anything sharp.

The first week in December, Leonardo and Marta came riding in on beautiful white horses. Marta could stand on her horse and ride in a circle. They would have to get used to the big tent ring. Leonardo could make his horse walk backwards, and they could get both horses to stand on their hind legs. It was not quite an act and needed polish, but the elements were there. Besides, the horses were magnificent.

Giovanni said, “Yee-haw.”

The third week in December, Severas came barreling into the swamp driving a mule driven wagon that carried a great cage. The wife, Berta, got down with a look like she did not appreciate his driving techniques. Giovanni looked in the cage.

“You have a bear?”

“I do,” the man said. “He is very sleepy right now and that makes him grumpy, but I assure you he is a gentle beast and well trained.”

“What can he do?”

“Sir Brutus can sit, lie down, roll over all on command. He can stand, an imposing sight, and roar, also on command. he can also kick a ball and play catch.”

Giovanni merely nodded, and the sleepy bear got signed up mostly sight unseen.

Right after the new year, Giovanni got his wish. Portence, a middle aged mother showed up with her two sons and explained. “Their father was a great acrobat while he was alive and he taught the boys when they were young.

“We’ve been practicing,” one boy said, but his mother hushed him.

Giovanni crossed his fingers and took them into the barn where he had his ring set up.

Borges and the three stooges were presently practicing with the tents. They took the tents out in the morning and set them up. Getting the big tent set up so it would stay up was imperative. Doing it in a reasonably short time was also important. They had to get all the seats into the big tent and set up the circus show tent, and the smaller tent of wonders as well before lunch. After lunch, they took everything down and packed it for travel. Taking it all down in a reasonable time without tearing anything or straining the lumber was also imperative.

So, Giovanni set up the ring in the barn and watched as the boys did cartwheels, back handsprings, walked on their hands, and one did a back flip. Giovanni immediately called Rosa. He had worked with her a bit when he feared she might be his only choice. She did her cartwheel and three back handsprings in a row, ending with an imperfect landing, though she was pleased with herself.

Giovanni did not have to think twice. “Boys. Rose,” he said and made a point of including their mother, “And Lady Portence. We have a lot of work to do and only two months to do it.” He had a suggestion for Portence. “Why don’t you see what you can do to help Gabriella in the cooking area over there. Growing boys… and girls need to eat to stay strong, and the way this circus family is growing, Gabriella probably needs the help, and everyone works in the circus.”

Portence looked at her boys and nodded. She well understood everyone needing to pitch in. The boys were busy introducing themselves to Rosa. “Nicholi. Gergori,” they said. They looked about fifteen, or maybe Nicholi was sixteen.

“I’m Rosa.” That was all she needed to say, but she added with her smile, “I’m thirteen.” She was not quite thirteen yet.

The very next day, another wagon came into the camp. It was a wooden covered wagon looking a bit like an early Romani wagon where one might expect to find a bed inside. It was painted in bright colors, and the outside said Rostanzio the Magnificent. The man looked like he liked to eat, and his voice, plenty loud, echoed around the swamp.

“Here I am,” he said. “Come to save the day. I am Rostanzio, master of the mystical arts and purveyor of all magic. Allow me to introduce my wife and assistant Marie.” By contrast, Marie was a small woman and very skinny. “Allow me but a half hour of time to set up and I will demonstrate greatness, even as my father, the Great Migliore taught me.”

“Take your time,” Giovanni said, and by the time the man got everything set, he had a whole crowd of watchers. To be honest, he was a second-rate magician. The tricks worked well enough, but they were rather simple. when he finished, Giovanni said, “The circus needs a magician, but you need to work on an ending for the act. You need a boffo ending.”

“What is boffo?” he asked.

“Slam-bang great,” Giovanni answered.

Others came, though not many of them were added to the circus. Eventually, Giovanni found some more men to be his actual roustabouts, and they and their wives were trained to run the booths on the midway. They also practiced carrying things in and out of the circle as the acts changed. Finally, Giovanni appointed Borges, the green clown to be the head man and triple check the equipment and make sure the men changed the sets in record time.

Then he hoped to relax because by the end of January, he was exhausted. Naturally, that was when there was trouble.

Medieval 6: Giovanni 4 Old and New, part 1 of 2

December 25, 2024November 24, 2024M G Kizzia Leave a comment

The next day, the winter camp looked deserted. That day, men came out from the local town and dug a hole under the old oak. They placed Don Vincenzo Giovanni the second in the hole and began to fill it in. Father rested next to Mother. On the other side laid the grave of Don Vincenzo Giovanni the first, his wife, and their daughter, Giovanni’s aunt that he barely remembered.

“The graveyard is filling up,” Constantine said. He was one of the ones who stayed, along with Madigan the musician, Baklovani the wolfman who hated Corriden, and Titania, the bearded fat lady who cried. Madigan got out his horn and played a short and soft funeral piece. Madigan was a concert quality musician, and a good leader of the musical group. Sadly, he no longer had a musical group.

The priest who came out from the church in town along with the grave diggers said all the appropriate words and prayers. He added one note before he returned to town. “Your father was a good man. I am sure he is in a better place.”

Giovanni said nothing. Titania said thank you for him. Constantine echoed the thank you while Madigan looked at his horn and lowered his eyes. Moments later, Constantine pointed and let out a honk, sounding like disturbed goose or a missed note on Madigan’s horn. Everyone looked.

Four people walked across the swamp in an area that was not safe to walk but did not seem to be bothered by the water or the mud. It took a minute for Giovanni to figure it out. The male dwarf had no beard! The female dwarf, however, had some straggling bits of hair on her chin. The man beside them looked nearly seven feet tall and far too broad in the shoulders for an ordinary man. Giovanni feared for one second that it was a half giant, but then he noticed some troll in there, and maybe a small bit of ogre. The woman was clearly an elder elf, pure blood, and a high elf at that. Madigan and Titania both took a giant step back, and Constantine took two steps back, but Giovanni just folded his arms and waited for their guests to arrive.

“And to what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked.

“Lady Alice sent us,” the dwarf said, and both Giovanni and the dwarf wife responded.

“Liar.”

“Okay. Okay,” the dwarf put up his hands like he wanted to start again. “We were in Avalon and saw when your father died. We saw when Corriden the scoundrel deserted you and all the traitors that went with him. We thought you could use some acts and help to keep the Don Giovanni circus up and running.”

“Don’t give up,” the elf said. “Even now there are people on the road coming to audition.”

Giovanni nodded. He understood they had little ones, elves, fairies, and dwarfs scouring the roads, looking for suitable acts and suggesting they come to Venice, but he caught something else in the life of this elf, and he spoke. “I am sorry your troop asked you to leave, but the circus is like a family. We can be your family.”

The elf’s eyes got big before she lowered her head and spoke softly. “I am old now, but my lord is kind to your servant.”

“Madam Figiori,” the dwarf said, pointing to the elf. “She is the best fortune teller in the business. Of course you know the elves frown on soothsaying, and she even sometimes gets glimpses of the future. Sad.” The dwarf shook his head.

“But what about you?” Giovanni asked. He looked at the giant who stood quietly holding his hat. He glanced at the dwarf wife holding her bundle of cloth before his eyes returned to the dwarf.

“I’m Oberon,” he said.

“Not your real name,” Giovanni said with a smile. Madam Figiori was not her real name either, but he was used to circus people using fake names, so it did not bother him. “What is your story?”

“Can’t grow a beard,” he said in a very flat voice. “I got nary a hair on my chin, cheeks, or lip. I don’t know why.” He paused and looked at who he was talking to. The Kairos was technically his god from ancient days. “You might know why. But anyway, I figure you need a dwarf and a clown at that. Plus, I’m good with figures, so I can keep the accounts straight and pay everyone, and make sure everyone gets a fair share.”

Giovanni turned his eyes back to the dwarf wife.

“Now my wife is Goldiwig, but everyone calls her Needles. She is a fair cook but a genius with needle and thread. I figure she can make all your costumes and keep the tents from leaking besides.” He puffed out his chest like he was proud of her, but she looked down and turned slightly red. “Just look at this.” He held up a pair of shorts and stretched the elastic top. “Genius, I tell you. She calls it dwarf weave, as opposed to fairy weave. Guaranteed to fit.”

“Elastic!” Giovanni named it. “One size doesn’t fit all, though.”

“No,” the dwarf wife agreed. “But it will keep your pants on if you put on a pound or two or take some off.”

“Needles then,” Giovanni agreed and looked at the big fellow.

“This here is Sibelius,” Oberon said and Giovanni interrupted as he remembered.

“Half human. three-eighths troll and one-eighth ogre. I remember your mother, and your brothers Oswald and Edmund. Did they do well and did you live well in your new place?”

“We did,” Sibelius said with a big smile.

“And how is your father, Vortesvin? Still haunting the mountains of Norway?”

“Yes. He is well, but old now.”

“Yes. You must be what, ninety-five or so?” Giovanni was not sure where that number came from, but it sounded about right.

“Something like that.”

“Well, we could certainly use a strong man now that Corriden has left, thank goodness.

Madigan, Baklovani, and Titania had inched back up by then, and even Constantine stepped forward. Giovanni introduced them and said, “I think we have a foundation for a new and better circus.” He would go with this gift and see who showed up before April. He just thought he better get some good acts or it will be a short circus.

Needles broke the ice with a comment to Titania. She touched the straggly bits of hair on her own chin and said, “I like your beard. How did you get it to grow so full?”

After a second, Titania answered in her squeaky, high pitched little voice. “Thank you. It’s natural.”

************************

MONDAY

Don Giovanni slowly builds his new circus as acts come all through the winter to try out. Just when he is exhausted from it all, the trouble shows up. Happy Reading…

Medieval 6: Giovanni 3 Down and Out, part 2 of 2

December 24, 2024November 24, 2024M G Kizzia Leave a comment

In the morning, Giovanni sat on the steps to his house and stared out at the very big barn, the stables, the workhouse, the tents, the wagons, and the animals that covered the property. He did not know if he was ready to run a circus. It was a big undertaking for an eighteen-year-old. He honestly did not know what to do. He feared he might lose the circus to Corriden if the people decided not to take directions from a boy, as he thought of himself. Fortunately, the feeling did not last long as he heard from Lady Alice of Avalon. She spoke directly into his mind from wherever she was, in the universe, out of the universe, in the past, or in the future. She said, “Just do your best. That is all we can ever do.”

Deep inside his heart, Giovanni reached out to the many lives he lived in the past and the future. Perhaps they reached out to him in his time of grieving and need. He remembered becoming the Nameless god to confront the Flesh Eaters in the north. It was an interesting experience, to be a different person for a while, though in a sense it was still him. He lived Nameless’ life a couple of thousand years ago. He died and moved on from him into the next life, and the next life, and the one after that. It was also interesting that Giovanni was able to reach back in time and borrow that life for his need. Up until that point he had no idea he could do that—trade lives with other lives he once lived. He thought maybe Nameless kind of forced himself on the ten-year-old boy. Nameless was a god. He could do that. But just as well, Giovanni thought. He imagined it would not have been safe to face the Flesh Eaters as anything less than a god. Right now, though, he needed someone who knew something about running a circus.

Giovanni reached down to his feet and pulled up a handful of grass that grew there. He easily held the clump of grass in his hand, like it was all grass and all one, but when he opened his hand, the individual strands of grass blew away on the wind, all going in their own direction, all headed back to the ground from whence they came.

Giovanni remembered most of the lifetimes nearest his own time, with only a few gaps in that memory. He remembered Greta, the wise woman of Dacia in the time of Marcus Aurelius. Festuscato Cassius Agitus, who called himself the last senator of Rome, and Gerraint, King of Cornwall, who hung out with King Arthur, Percival, and the rest of the round table. Margueritte, Margravine of the Saxon March actually grew up on the border of Brittany in the time of Charles Martel, and she got followed by Genevieve who became the Margravine of Provence under Charlemagne.

He remembered Genevieve had to deal with space alien Apes, the sworn enemies of the Flesh Eaters. The Apes were a kind and gentle people, and vegetarian. It was in his next life, Elgar the Saxon, where he first had to deal with Flesh Eaters. He could not let them live. They tried to start a colony and would have multiplied at an alarming rate. Anyway, after that, he lived as Kirstie before Yasmina, two girls who only had minor inconveniences with the Apes and Flesh Eaters. And now, Giovanni.

He wondered why he thought through all that. None of them knew anything about running a circus.

Giovanni turned his thoughts to the future… Well, some future and some past. There were six lifetimes in particular that always seemed to be available no matter what life he was living. Lady Alice of Avalon showed up in his lives on a regular basis, and the Captain, her male counterpart showed up often enough. Alice and the Captain were what they called genetic reflections, which was like identical twins of the opposite sex if that made any sense.

He remembered the Princess from the past and the Storyteller from the future. They went together for some reason, kind of like partners in time. Then there were their two genetic reflections. Diogenes of Macedonia went with the Princess. Doctor Mishka who fought in both world wars in the twentieth century went with the Storyteller who was lucky not to have to fight in any war.

Giovanni paused. He thought the good doctor could have come. He could have traded places with her through time and she could have cured his father. He started to get angry again until he heard from Mishka, speaking down through time and into his head.

“Not authorized to do that,” Mishka said. “I am sorry about your father. We all go through that. But anyway, there is no magical-medical cure for being stabbed to death.”

Oh yeah, Giovanni thought rather sheepishly. He wondered if he had a genetic reflection somewhere in time. He imagined she must be in the future somewhere. No idea where or when. Anyway, these lifetimes did not know any more about the circus than the others, though Alice keeping Avalon running was a bit like a circus. She had to deal with all those fairies, elves, goblins, dwarfs, and sprites of the air, water, and fire, and what a confusing mess that could be. He let out a small laugh when Corriden, with Porto and Damien of course, came to face him. He saw some of the others hovering around in the background, in particular Berlio the magician and his wife Priscilla.

“We took a vote,” Corriden began. “We decided we are not going to take orders from a boy. I’m sorry about your father, but we have to think about our future.”

“What do you intend?” Giovanni asked. For some reason, this did not come as a surprise.

Corriden paused to glance back at his supporters. “I will be running the circus. If you are good, you can continue as ringmaster, but all the decisions and money will be mine to control.”

“You understand the big tent, the circus tent, in fact, all of the tents, the booths for the midway, the wagons, the things in the workshop and barn and all of the animals belong to me. I am the Don Giovanni now and as the only son of my father, I own it all. You understand?”

Corriden nodded but his words suggested otherwise. “They all belong to the circus.”

“Wrong.” Giovanni shouted and stood on the step so he looked down on Corriden, Damien, and Porto. “They are my property and all of it stays here with me. And for that matter, this whole swamp, the buildings, the fishing village, and all is my property, and right now you are trespassing.”

Corriden nearly growled. “This was not unanticipated.”

“Nor was this,” Giovanni said. “I’ll tell you what. You can take the two wagons Father said would have to be replaced for the new season, and I’ll be generous. You can have two oxen to haul them. Then I want you and every one that is going with you to pack your personal items and be off my property in two hours.”

“That is not right,” Corriden complained. “That is not nearly enough time.” He pulled a knife.

Giovanni called out and became dressed in the armor of the Kairos, complete with a sword at his back. He pulled the sword, not that he knew exactly how to use it, but pointing it at Corriden’s throat was all he needed to do to make the point. “I am not asking,” he said, doing his best to control the anger in his voice and the tears in his eyes. “Two hours.”

Corriden did growl, but he put his knife away. He turned to walk off and Giovanni yelled. “And if you take any of my things, I will come with the watch and have you arrested as a thief and thrown in jail.”

Corriden waved that he heard before he began to shout. “Get your things, just personal items. We are going to the farm. Porto and Damien. Get two oxen for these wagons and get them ready to go.”

It took six hours for everyone to leave but by then, Giovanni had gotten four men from the fishing village to watch and make sure the deserters did not take anything more than their personal items. Many appeared to be having second thoughts, but the thrust of the crowd was to follow Corriden, so they left. The cook was the last to leave, around sundown. She cooked for the circus for ten years, and cried a little, though some of those tears may have been for what Giovanni now called the chuck wagon. She had to leave her wagon and portable oven behind, and all the food with it.

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Medieval 6: Giovanni 3 Down and Out, part 1 of 2

December 23, 2024November 24, 2024M G Kizzia Leave a comment

In October of 997, in Verona, when the circus was on its way home, Giovanni turned eighteen. For one moment he felt all grown up, but then his father got sick and he felt lost.

Corriden stepped up to take the ringmaster’s place. Giovanni did not think that was a good idea. Corriden was the strongman and as stubborn, some would say as strong in his mind as he was with his muscles. He had no flexibility. If Berlio the Magician and his wife-assistant Priscilla were not ready, he would announce the man anyway if he was next. Then everyone would have to wait until Berlio got ready. It would drag the show. In fact, the whole show dragged because Corriden did not understand that the ringmaster had to be quick on his feet. Sometimes a joke would be enough. Sometimes the harlequin, who was sort of the chief clown, was an integral part of keeping the momentum flowing. He might come and do some handsprings, or maybe tell the joke. Sometimes all the clowns could help out. They had a couple of short routines they could use as filler. Sometimes, the ringmaster could skip the magician for Constantine, the tightrope walker and then after Constantine have Berlio perform. But no. Corriden had his set order and his little papers with the written introductions that he read like a true hack actor and that was that. Worst of all, he thought it all went well.

After Verona, even the ones who supported Corriden, and initially that seemed like most of the circus, thought it best to let the younger Giovanni give it a try. Giovanni stole another line from the future to go with the Greatest Show on Earth line. He said into the megaphone, “Ladies and gentlemen, and children of all ages. Welcome to the Don Giovanni Circus, the Greatest Show on Earth. We begin with the traditional and magnificent circus parade.” The music began. Everyone in the circus paraded except the cooks who had to watch the fires. Everyone walked decked out in their fanciest, frilliest, most colorful outfits including the horses and the dogs. That day, the people had confidence and put on their best performances. They said the younger Giovanni was a natural.

Corriden griped and yelled a lot, but the only thing Giovanni cared about was his father. Don Giovanni senior did not get better. In fact he got worse.

When they got back to Venice, they got the best doctor in town to come and look at him, but the doctor was as stumped as the doctor in Verona, and the doctor in Padua. He said, “Maybe it is due to something he ate.”

Giovanni did not buy that explanation. “It has been too long. If it was something he ate it would have passed through his system by now.”

“Perhaps,” the doctor said. “But I don’t know what else it might be.”

“It seems more like slow poison,” Giovanni voiced his suspicion. “Do you know any drugs that could be used that way?”

The doctor paused and looked at his patient. “Some drugs. Some natural things, too, like certain flowers and such. The problem is we have no way of identifying what it might be, so we have no idea what the cure might be.”

Giovanni thanked the doctor when the cook came in with some broth and said he must eat so he can to keep up his strength. Giovanni also thanked the cook before he pulled up a chair. He spoon fed his father what his father was willing to slurp down, but Father finally waved off more. He spoke. His voice sounded weak. This was not the father who yelled at ten-year-old Vincenzo to clean the stables.

“You go,” he said. “You need to live your life and not worry about me. I think I will sleep for a while.”

Giovanni nodded in general agreement, but he worried. “Titania has been by a hundred times and says she wants to sit by your door in case you need anything.”

Father smiled, almost chuckled, and mumbled, “The bearded fat lady.”

“And Baklovani the wolfman has been by almost as much.”

Father nodded a little. “They are good people. Never forget that. Deep down they are good people.”

Giovanni knew that. “I’ll go and let you rest.” He walked out the door and saw Titania hovering around the cooking tent. He called to her. “Titania. I’m going out to stretch my legs a bit. Would you mind keeping one eye open in case Father needs something.”

“Yes I will,” she said in the sweetest little voice which no one would ever guess would come out of such a big woman, especially one with a beard.

“Did he eat the broth?” the cook asked.

“Some of it,” Giovanni said, and turned away. He decided he needed some comfort at the moment. Madam Delfin lived in the first town up the road, the one with the docks where the ships from Venice came in. She was twice his age, but her husband died and she inherited it all, having no children. She was always good for a tussle, but she had a motherly streak about her at times which made it a shame that she had no children. The thought crossed Giovanni’s mind that maybe he needed Madam Delfin to mother him a bit and tell him everything would be all right.

Roughly four in the morning, he heard Damien, one of Corriden’s hangers-on yelling his name in the streets. He got up, and though Madam Delfin tried to hold on to him, he made it to the window.

“Damien,” he yelled. The man rode to beneath the window.

“It is your father,” Damien shouted. “Someone broke into the house and your father got stabbed. They ransacked the house. Hurry.”

Giovanni turned but got grabbed. Madam Delfin got in one last kiss before she let him go. He threw on his clothes, ran down and saddled his horse in no time. He rode like a wild man, even when he turned off the road and into the swamp.

The house was a wreck. They would not let him see his father at first. He was dead, stabbed several times, and Giovanni cried before he got angry. He went to the desk and opened the bottom drawer. The money was gone. He looked up at Baklovani and Constantine the tightrope walker before he shrugged. He removed the false back to the drawer and saw the money was gone from there as well.

“Unless Father took the money out from there for some reason,” he mumbled.

After he put the desk back together, he cried some more, maybe until sunrise.

Medieval 6: Giovanni 2 Women and Questions, part 1 of 1

December 18, 2024November 23, 2024M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Giovanni discovered girls as early as twelve. Being Don Giovanni III, master of the circus got them curious. By thirteen, his smooth and confident manner got them interested. He was not much older before they started rolling in the hay.

The circus wintered in the swampland on the mainland of Venice granted to Don Giovanni the first, along with his knighthood. The Doge said he would rather have those strange circus people in the swamps than an enemy army. Around April something, the Circus began its season. They had what young Giovanni called dress rehearsals in Padua before they hit some small towns in the Po River Valley. They practiced in the small towns and villages in both the circus tent and the smaller tent they called the tent of wonders that Giovanni secretly called the freak show. Then they crossed the river to Modena where they set up the big tent. It was the last chance to practice the big show before they got to Bologna, the first city since Padua. From there they went to Ravena, and all the way down the east coast of Italy to Fermo where they crossed the hills to Spoleto. They were in fine form when somewhere near the first week of July they crossed over to Rome. They stayed in Rome for a week and gave as many as five performances in the big tent, but mostly people rested up for the second half of the season. They did not perform on Sunday, of course, though they often traveled on Sunday.

The first half of the season took about three months. They rested and performed about forty-five days and they traveled about forty-five days leaving early in the morning and traveling until two, or sometimes three, unless of course it was pouring rain. They tried to make up to fifteen miles in a day, about two and a half miles per hour, though it seemed for every day they made fifteen, there was another day where they barely made five so they averaged about ten. In the villages and small towns they tried to open the tent of wonders at four and put on the smaller show in the circus tent at five. If warranted, on those summer days when the sun stayed up late, they might put on a second show in the tent of wonders where they might include some small acts, like the juggler, fire eater, or clowns that the people might have missed in the circus tent. Then the circus people got up and had an early breakfast, packed everything, and left an hour or maybe two after sunup. In the big towns and cities they often stayed three or four days. The big tent went up and they might perform two or three shows in the big tent at five. On those days, the tent of wonders would open at two and give a second showing at four, and the circus tent would have a show at three where the people got a taste of what would be in the big show, and they were encouraged not to miss it.

The second half of the season, the big half with sixty days of travel and sixty days in the towns and cities brought them up the west coast. They went to Pisa, Genoa, Turin if there was time, and Milan. From Milan they followed a familiar path that made everyone think of home. It was Milan, Brescia, Verona, Vicenza, Padua again, and back to Venice. They usually got home at the end of October or the first week in November and performed one last week, two or three performances for the people of Venice before the cold weather kicked in.

From young Giovanni’s perspective, he learned to take advantage of all that moving about. To be sure, he imagined himself as worse than a sailor. He had a girl or two in every city, and some in the countryside as well. Most of them were peasants but some of them were quite wealthy and well-to-do ladies who could not resist him and the chance to be naughty.

On one bright and crisp winter day in Venice, he was just coming back from just such a rendezvous with a fine lady when he ran into the last person he expected. He got up on some steps because the young man rode in the streets, an unusual thing in Venice. The young man looked surrounded by soldiers and some men who looked like they served the Doge. Giovanni halfheartedly waved, but it was enough to catch the young man’s eye. The man smiled broadly and yelled.

“Don Giovanni.”

This is not what Giovanni wanted. The whole crowd turned to look at him, especially the women who certainly thought something. Giovanni quickly pushed through the crowd before he could be grabbed by any of the women or stabbed by any of the men. He did not mind hugging the young man who had gotten down from his horse, and he named him.

“Otto. Good to see you again.”

He took a step back and they both remembered the secret circus handshake, and Otto laughed and spouted. “You were right. The Greatest Show on Earth. It was incredible. When can I come again?”

“Winter quarters right now,” Giovanni admitted. “The season starts in April and runs through the first week or so in November. Then everyone rests about four months, and comes up with new acts, new ideas, new tricks, and such for the next season. We start again in April.”

Otto nodded, like it was a serious discussion. It was a practiced look, no doubt, when he got surrounded by older men who were presumably wiser men. “I have only three questions… make that four. First, how did your father ever come up with the idea of a circus?”

“It was my grandfather. The Doge, a couple of Doges back, was so impressed, he knighted my grandfather in perpetuity and gave him the swampland on the mainland. Better than an enemy army in the swamp, he said. We have a house, big barn and stables, workshop, tents, and wagons everywhere, plenty of farm animals, and a small fishing village on the coast that keeps us all fed. Not much to speak of, all things considered, and certainly not land that anyone else would want.”

“But the circus?”

“Ah,” Giovanni drew out the word. “The circus, like the old Roman circus which was a place of entertainment. There are people everywhere that have talents. Some are peculiar talents. Some are peculiar people. They have traveled around like beggars since Roman times, performing in towns and villages for the few pennies that get thrown their way. It is a hard way to make a living, especially since the road is a dangerous place to be. My grandfather got the idea of gathering many of these performers together and putting on a great show. They could actually charge money to see the show, a more certain and regular income for everyone, and a whole train of people to travel, so less likely to run afoul of the typical thieves and robbers most travelers have to watch out for.”

“Brilliant,” Otto said. “I imagined something like that.” He looked around. The soldiers were keeping back and keeping the crowd back, but one old man came up to listen in. Two oddly familiar looking men, one short and one big, followed but kept back a couple of extra steps. The old gentleman kindly did not interrupt at first, so Otto continued.

“So, second. Have you seen any more ships flying around in the sky?”

“Shh…” Giovanni hushed Otto and quieted his voice. “That is something that is best not made public. I went and spoke to the Flesh Eaters, and did not get eaten, thank God. There are twelve of them. That was what they call a shuttle, like the longboat on a sailing ship men use to escape when the ship is sunk in battle. Their ship got destroyed in a battle and they escaped on the shuttle. They just needed a place to hide for a while, though it has been seven years now and that should be long enough. They promised to not eat any people while they are hiding, so that is a good thing, but they don’t exactly pay for the cows, horses, pigs, and sheep they take.” Giovanni shrugged.

Otto nodded and hushed himself. “So, I hear you are getting quite a reputation with the ladies.” He grinned like he was talking about something risqué, which he was.

“The younger Giovanni is a scoundrel of the worst sort,” the older man finally interrupted. “Makes me want to put a guard around my daughter.”

“But what are you doing here?” Giovanni changed the subject.

“Most of the army is around Rome, but I wanted to renew the Empire’s friendship and trade agreements with Pietro II Orseolo. Part of the agreement involves me marrying Petro II’s niece, Lord Stephano’s daughter.”

“That’s me,” the older man said. “Lord Stephano.” He gave Giovanni his hardest practiced stare, but Giovanni was not fazed by it as his focus stayed on what Otto just said. Giovanni even raised his voice a little.

“Otto. You are sixteen. I’m seventeen but nowhere near ready to marry. What are you thinking?”

“It is the way alliances are made,” he said with just the right touch of sadness.

“It isn’t right, especially for the girl who has no say in the matter.”

“It is the way it is done,” Lord Stephano said.

“Doesn’t make it right,” Giovanni responded with a sharp look at Lord Stephano who did not appear to disagree with him entirely. “Fathers want their daughters to be happy, not stuck in a situation they might not like. At least with you, I know you will make the effort, but still… Did you at least get a look at her.”

“We looked at each other from a distance. I did not seem to impress her.”

“She is but fourteen years old. The marriage will not happen at this time,” Lord Stephano interrupted.

“How about you?” Giovanni asked.

Otto wrinkled his lips like he had to be careful with his words. “I am not sure she is my type, but maybe when we get to know each other…”

Giovanni nodded before he shook his head and smiled. “All women seem to be my type.”

“So we have heard.” Lord Stephano said and suggested with his hands that Otto needed to get back to his horse and on to his destination. The short man and big man brought up their four horses.

Giovanni interrupted. “But wait. The circus. The ship.” He pointed to the sky. “And the women. You said there were four things.”

Otto turned toward his horse but spoke over his shoulder. “Did you get your elephant?”

“Not yet, but I am working on it,” Giovanni answered. “When I get one, I’ll bring it to you so you can see it for yourself.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Otto said as he mounted and the troop of horses moved carefully through the streets and headed for the palace, or maybe to the shipyard where they could take the horses aboard for transport back to the mainland.

************************

MONDAY

There is a death in the family and Corriden wants to take over the circus. Corriden takes most of the circus with him, but the Kairos has friends. Until then, Happy Reading

Medieval 6: Giovanni 1 Friends and Strangers part 2 of 2

December 17, 2024November 23, 2024M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Early that evening, Giovanni hid around the food wagon which he decided should be called a chuck wagon. Along with all the food, the wagon carried a big portable oven to cook bread and pastries, a double sized grill to cook fish, chicken, and sausages, plenty of pots and pans for soups, stews, and other fried foods, and plenty of wood for the fire. The chuck wagon got hauled by a pair of oxen that were young and strong enough to pull all that weight.

The cook and her assistants cooked and grilled in plain sight of their visitors, which is what the circus called the people who came to be entertained and paid with coppers, and sometimes silver coins. The cooks sat at one end of the midway, next to the big tent. The small tent they called the tent of wonders sat across the midway from the food. Those two framed the entrance to the big tent when the big tent got set up in the bigger towns and cities. The so-called circus tent sat at the other end of the midway. It was a tent about the size of the center ring in the Big tent so big enough to give a very short version of the show. It was the only show they gave in the small towns and villages where they did not even put up the big tent, but it got designed as both a show in itself and also a taste of what the people might see in the big show, in the big tent. Between the tent of wonders and the food at one end, and the circus tent at the far end, the midway ran full of glitter, flags, banners, bright colors, and games on both sides as well as some special tents, like the tent for the fortune teller. Everything cost a penny or two, but nothing was very expensive.

The circus, as Giovanni’s father explained, was supposed to be for the common people, the ones who did not have many, if any coins to spare. “It is a way for the ordinary people to get a break from their dreary, ordinary lives. A bit of exciting, exotic, different entertainment that they can talk about and remember in the many months ahead, and especially through the long winter months.” Father said, “I like to think of it as a way to help make their lives worth living.”

Giovanni paused to wonder if he liked to hang out near the food because he was becoming a teenager, or at least a preteen at ten years old. He smiled and nodded. He liked food.

He paused again and thought about Otto, and changed it to his friend, Otto. As can happen with young people, in the moment they met they became friends and would remain friends in all the years to come no matter what time or distance separated them. He hoped Otto liked the show. He imagined Otto was a count or baron of some sort. That would not matter to them. He also imagined Otto would have important things to do, and especially when he got older. But at least he should not have to clean the stables. Giovanni grinned but stopped abruptly when he heard a voice.

“And you also have important things to do.” It was a man’s voice. Giovanni quickly looked around, thinking his hiding spot got discovered. No one was there.

“Who are you?” he asked, but softly so as not to reveal where he was.

“You,” the man said. “I am Nameless, but that does not matter. What matters is you cannot let a Flesh Eater ship fly off to the north without checking it out. This is a genesis planet, and they have no business even being here. If they need sanctuary for a time or need to make repairs, they might visit, but there are rules they must follow. They must be told. Best if they are not even seen by the human population. And for these Flesh Eaters, they must be told and underlined that they are certainly not allowed to eat any people.”

Giovanni paused again before he answered in his whisper. “I understood most of that.”

He heard Nameless sigh in his mind before Nameless spoke again. “As happens far too often, you really are too young for this. Your personality, or I should say your personhood is not yet fully formed. The last thing you need is a bunch of other persons messing up your future and the way you see yourself and the world. I will try to make this like a dream experience that might fade for a time. When you are of age, it will come back to you, but in the meanwhile…”

Nameless stopped speaking and appeared in that spot in place of Giovanni. Where Giovanni went was a question, but for the moment, the Nameless god the grandson of the Alfader Odin, had work to do. He vanished from that place having got an instant reading on where the Flesh Eaters came down. He reappeared in a forest of Bavaria, near the Danube, between Augsburg and Ulm.

One of the Flesh Eaters saw him right away and pulled his gun. As Nameless walked to the edge of the camp, the Flesh Eater fired. The weapon did not even slow Nameless down, and as he raised his hand, the Flesh Eater handgun appeared to hover just beyond that hand. Nameless closed his hand, making a fist, and the handgun crumpled into a little ball of metal before it dropped to the ground.

The Flesh Eaters came in a twelve-person shuttle that parked in the clearing; its engines shut down. Nameless felt it best to speak to all the Flesh Eaters at once so later they could not say they did not hear or were not told or did not know. He waved his hand and they all appeared in front of him. Several shrieked, and Nameless nodded. Twelve humans instantly transported that way would make a similar sound.

“This planet is marked do not go in your navigation system. You do not belong here. You cannot park here.” Nameless smiled at that last phrase. He had been saying that for more than five thousand years.

“We have no choice,” the Flesh Eater chief found the courage to speak when Nameless toned down his awesome nature to almost nothing. “We are survivors. Our ship was destroyed in a great battle. Our shuttle is badly damaged. We noted this world is also marked as a sanctuary planet. We came here to hide in case the enemy tries to follow us. We have sent out a distress call, but we do not know if there are any of our kind left alive to rescue us.”

Nameless noted that the twelve were all males. At least he should not have to worry about them multiplying. “I cannot say about the possibility of rescue or not, but I can say there are rules you must follow in this place. If you break the rules, I will know. You came here to hide in hope of rescue. Very well, then you must also hide from the people of this world. It would be best if you and your ship are not ever seen by the people. Also, you must not eat the people.” He paused and waved his hand over the group to make it so before he told them. “If you eat a person, it will be poison to you and you will die. You may eat of the animals of this world, but never the people. Is that clear?”

Several Flesh Eaters quickly jutted out their tongues and ground their teeth which Nameless understood as something like a human nod of agreement.

He finished. “Killing or interfering with the natural course of development of the people is not allowed. Do not abuse your time of sanctuary, and you may live. Better yet, repair your craft and find another world to hide. Is that clear?”

This time, most of the tongues came out and most of the teeth showed.

“Good,” Nameless vanished. He reappeared in Giovanni’s place by the cooking wagon where he traded places with a different life, Amun Junior, the son of Amun and Ishtar from Egypt and the Middle East. He let his consciousness travel all the way to India where he found a man and his son who performed some tricks with an elephant. Not at this time, he thought. But maybe if the son got older and got a baby elephant he could train from birth. He put that thought in the boy’s head and stood behind the chuck wagon in time for Giovanni’s father to come around the corner looking for him.

“Vincenzo,” the man called before he stopped and stared at the stranger. “Who are you, and what are you doing by the food wagon.”

“I am your son,” he said. “I just borrowed his time and place to run an errand. Listen.” The elder Giovanni found he could not do anything but listen. “Your son is still too young and impressionable for this. It would be best if you did not talk about me. I will be like a dream to him. You can talk when he is eighteen, but not before. Is that clear?” He said is that clear because that was the phrase Nameless used. He really was the same person after all, no matter how many different people he might be throughout time.

Junior nodded and vanished. Giovanni appeared right where he had been sitting. He sat up suddenly and rubbed his eyes. “I must have fallen asleep,” he said, before he added, “What is that great smell?”

Giovanni Senior stared at the spot where Junior vanished before he shook himself and turned to his son. “Cook is baking some honey cakes for supper. Aren’t you supposed to be feeding the oxen?”

“Oh yeah,” Giovanni said. “I’ll get right to it.” He would have run off, but the elder Giovanni slipped his arm around his boy and walked him to the animal pen. The elder thought about what he just saw and had no idea what that was or how to interpret it. The younger one thought about the elephant and smiled.

Medieval 6: Giovanni 1 Friends and Strangers part 1 of 2

December 16, 2024November 23, 2024M G Kizzia Leave a comment

After 979 A. D. Venice, Italy, and the Holy Roman Empire

Kairos 106 Don Vincenzo Giovanni, Ringmaster

“Hey, kid. Over here.” Giovanni hid between a wagon and the back of the Circus tent. The kid came quickly and ducked down. He said something Giovanni did not understand, like he was speaking a foreign language. Giovanni simply nodded and pushed the back of the boy’s head to keep it down as the acrobats went by shouting for Otto, whoever that was.

Giovanni dressed in his Sunday best, though his clothes were not the best. He got forced into a bath and made to dress. They were giving a command performance that afternoon. Giovanni was not sure who it was for unless the pope or some cardinals or archbishops got some time off from their prayers. Rome was full of self-important people with big egos who liked to be in charge.

He looked at his companion. The boy was dressed in fancy, expensive clothes. Real Fancy. Maybe he was part of the group for the command performance. “Otto?” he guessed and asked the boy. To his surprise he understood what the boy said in response. It came as a bit of a shock to Giovanni because up until that point he had no idea how to speak German.

“Mother wants us to go in and sit and wait for the show to start, but I want to see the mermaid, and the wolfman, and the lion. My god, there is a lion.”

“You will see them in the show,” Giovanni said. “Well, not the mermaid, but all the others. I’m Don Giovanni. This is my circus.”

“No. You are too young, like me. I’m nine.”

Giovanni lifted his chin. “I’m ten. But, okay. It is my father’s circus, but someday it will be mine. The Don Giovanni Circus will be the greatest show on earth. Someday, I am going to get an elephant.”

“What’s an elephant?”

Giovanni considered describing the beast, but he concluded with, “You’ll see when I get one.”

Otto nodded and had another thought. “I would like another one of those hot cakes.”

“Honey cakes. Full of sweets. Bad for the teeth.”

Otto stuck his head up to look, but Giovanni quickly pulled him back down. A big man stepped around the corner of the tent and looked toward the wagon but did not see the boys. They were well hidden but might be caught if they did not keep quiet. Giovanni whispered.

“That’s Corriden, the strongman. He is mean and greedy. He has a big mouth and likes to be in charge.”

Even as Giovanni whispered, Corriden opened his big mouth while two more men came running up. “Porto, check the midway again. Damien, check around the animal pens. I’ll try the circus tent.” The men split up and went off in different directions and Otto spoke again, completely changing the subject.

“We came here to see my father. He died in Italy. We went to the grave, to churches, said prayers and went to masses, and talked to all kinds of important grownups.”

“Sorry about your dad.”

Otto shrugged. “I was three. I hardly remember him.” The boys looked at each other and Giovanni decided Otto needed cheering up.

“My mom died when I was about three,” Giovanni said. “It was hard for a while.”

“Sorry about your mom.”

“You know, everyone in the circus has faced some terrible tragedy or other. Some people run away to the circus to grieve, or to hide from people who want to harm them, or something. What people share at the circus stays at the circus. But in your case, I believe you qualify to learn the secret circus handshake.” They shook hands. They cupped their fingers and shook. Giovanni fist bumped the top of Otto’s fist and had to wait a second for Otto to fist bump the top of his fist. They slapped hands and pointed at each other, and Giovanni wiggled his fingers.

Otto smiled and went through the motions again on his own. Giovanni heard a voice. His father called.

“Vincenzo.”

He did not sound mad, just perturbed.

A woman said, “What is that? In the sky.”

Otto and Giovanni both looked, and Giovanni stood and yelled. “No. Elgar already did that,” he complained. “Every time I think it is over between you two, you come back. Just stop it!” He picked up a pebble and threw it at the Flesh Eater ship that hovered over Rome before it shot off to the north. Of course, the ship was twenty-thousand feet up, way beyond where his pitiful little pebbles could reach.

“What was that?” Otto asked as he stood.

“Flesh Eaters,” Giovanni spit. “They are people who are exactly like they are called. They eat people.”

“How do they fly like that? What kind of a ship was that? Is that part of the circus?”

“No. Not part of the circus. It’s complicated. Maybe if we had an hour, I could explain the basic ideas.”

“Otto. Come here.” The old woman with the cane spoke sharply. Giovanni’s dad stood beside her with a mix between a frown and a smile on his face and his fists on his hips.

“Vincenzo,” he called and then turned to the old woman. “If Otto was with my son he was in the safest place in the world he could be, though my son does tend to misbehave.” He turned to Giovanni. “Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning out the horse stalls?”

Giovanni found his tongue automatically slip back into his native Venetian. “I was just taking a break. My friend Otto and I needed a rest from all the grownups.” He looked. The old woman evidently spoke the language and understood. He turned to Otto and spoke German again. “Your mother?” He asked because mother did not sound right.

“Grandmother,” Otto said. “Adelaide of Italy.”

“Otto,” the woman spoke and leaned heavily on her cane. “Your mother is very worried. You should not run off like that. Come. The circus is about to start.” She slipped her arm around the boy as if to say he was not going to escape again. He looked sad at being caught, but he perked up when Giovanni spoke.

“You are going to really love the show.” He noticed the soldiers standing in the background, watching the woman and the boy, and Giovanni’s father. “The Greatest Show on Earth!” He spouted, and with a look at his father he softened his voice. “Going,” he said, but he could not resist one shout back as he ran off. “Catch you later.”

Otto looked in Giovanni’s direction and waved. “Later.”

Medieval 6: K and Y 20 End and Beginning, part 2 of 2

December 11, 2024November 23, 2024M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Yasmina

Yasmina wandered through the meadow where the wildflowers grew, and the bees came to collect the pollen to make their honey. It was not exactly the sculpted garden she grew up in, or the imitation garden in Fustat, the Princess garden in Alexandria, or the newly planted and manicured garden she practically lived in when she was held prisoner in the palace in Madhiya, but it would do. In some ways, the meadow was better. It was natural. The flowers, many different kinds, grew wherever they found a place, or more accurately, where the local fairies encouraged them.

The nearest fairy troop live in the hills some distance away, but she spied one every now and then. In exchange for a bit of honey, they kept the flowers growing big and strong for the bees. Of course, the people saw them as little birds, if they even noticed, but Yasmina could see beneath the glamours, and even see the gnomes who mostly worked invisible and insubstantial, if she cared to look.

Aisha fell in love with a local elf and joined a troop that lived in the distant woods where only a few human farms interrupted the verdant wilderness. Of course, Aisha and her husband Castaneis visited once or twice a year, “Just to check up and make sure all was well.” Yasmina was happy for her friend.

Also, once or twice per year, or at least every other year, Norsemen began to come to the port of Amalfi to trade. Amalfi was easier to reach than sailing all the way to Byzantium. The Rus had trade down the rivers blocked to competition, especially since they took Kyiv a couple of years ago. The Normans in particular had to come the long way around, through the so-called Pillars of Hercules. Still, Amalfi was closer and less taxing than Constantinople.

They brought furs like ermine and beaver, and sometimes amber and ivory to trade for silks, fragrances, glassware, and wine that would fetch a fortune back home in the north. It was all due to Captain Frodesson, Oswald the elder, and Edwin the dog. By 945, southern Italy had regular and friendly trade with the north, in particular the Normans, as they came to be called. Yasmina understood the general thrust of history. It would be fifty years before the Normans came to settle southern Italy, piece by piece. She would be gone by then, but her children and grandchildren, and maybe great-grandchildren would be part of that.

Yasmina sometimes got called on to settle things when there was a dispute, since she got credited with setting up the Norse trade in the first place. Those disputes were usually minor and easily resolved. It was a different story when Islamic ships came to the port. Yasmina got called on then, too, and sometimes those disputes were not so minor.

Yasmina herself donned her armor three times over the last ten years to fight off Muslims that tried to establish settlements in southern Italy. She fought alongside Naples, Salerno, Capua, the Byzantines, and plenty of princes, dukes, and counts from here or there. She was instrumental in keeping Italy Muslim free. Al-Rahim taught her well. She knew Islamic ways, weapons, tactics, and what the Muslims in general and in particular the Isma’ili fanatics were capable of. Francesco got knighted after one victory. They did not knight women. She did get a thank you note from the Pope, but that was it.

It was not that she turned away from her faith, but she knew if Italy became divided, her children would never have peace. As Kirstie often said, trade was better, and trade works, or as her Kairos self said in many lifetimes, peace was better than war. And she knew the way Muslims and Christians viewed the world and everything in it was incompatible. There might always be war between the two, sad as that would be for the human race, but at least she could help keep her corner of this world from all that bloodshed.

Yasmina had some pieces of the Koran which she diligently read. She kept her Islamic traditions in Italy, and celebrated all the festivals, at least as well as she could. It was hard to fast on Ramadan when the children came along, and especially when Francesco’s mother cooked a huge meal for the whole family after church on Sunday. Mama Rosita lived in a castle-sized house, but then the woman had eleven children, so the room was needed. Francesco was the third child, the second son.

Interestingly enough, Francesco’s father, uncles, and all the boys, brothers and cousins accepted her right away. A few were jealous of Francesco. Yasmina was very pretty. It took the women longer to get adjusted to this foreign girl. Mama Rosita and Francesco’s older sister, Maria were especially stubborn. They finally softened when Yasmina had sons. Peter was first. Antonio, a well-used family name, came two years later. They did not fully accept her, though, until she had a daughter, Sophia, and she wore a small crucifix around her neck and went faithfully to mass on Sunday besides, and she kept her head and hair covered, even if she rarely wore a veil in Italy. She worked hard to fit in with the family and the people of the town because, quite the contrary to Yasmina’s upbringing where she was ignored by her mother and father as often as not, and she only had the grandfatherly al-Rahim to care for her before Aisha arrived, in Amalfi family was the most important thing. Children mattered, so Yasmina had some adjusting to do, but in the end she decided she liked it that way.

Francesco was not the most faithful husband in the world. He loved Yasmina passionately when he was around, and she was all he wanted. But he traveled. He was part of a family of tradesmen—Italian tradesmen. And when he traveled, he often sought comfort in the arms of a local woman. Yasmina did not feel terrible about that. The women in the family understood that was normal, healthy behavior for the men. If he did not dally, like Don Giovanni, they would have thought something was wrong with him. Then again, Yasmina did not have to worry about Francesco having concubines, or a harem where she might be demoted to second or third wife, so there was that. As long as he came home and loved her when he was home, she would not rock that boat.

“Sophia,” she called to her three-year-old and the girl came up holding some wildflowers she had picked, and she smiled for her mother. Yasmina returned the smile as she took her daughter’s hand and started down the path toward home. She thought about how Kirstie ended the days of Abraxas. She completed her work in the world. In fact, Yasmina smiled for the last three days, and considered visiting Avalon herself and how wonderful that would be, but by the time she got home, Kirstie got home.

Yasmina began to cry and stayed a moment on the front porch of her home. When Kirstie found armed men in the streets, she had to sit down right there in a chair on the porch. She could hardly focus on what was going on around her. She felt as though her whole being was absorbed by events that happened thirty-one years ago in another land—in another world. The boys came out on hearing their mother. Aisha who came for a visit followed. Francesco and Castaneis were just coming up the road.

“Liv!” Yasmina shouted for no reason anyone could see. Even Sophia and the boys could not get her attention.

“Two for two,” she mumbled before she shouted, “My scimitar.” The weapon appeared at her feet. Big Sister Maria who also came for a visit raised her eyebrows at that and looked again at Yasmina like maybe something was wrong with the girl.

“No!” Yasmina banged into the arms of the porch chair she sat upon. The arm of the chair cracked, and Yasmina grabbed her own arm, and then rubbed her side. Her arm was not broken, and her ribs were not crushed, but she felt the blow like the pain was her own.

“Now. Do it now,” Yasmina cried out, and her own hand looked for a second like it was on fire before water came from her mouth, like she filled her mouth with water and then spit it out. Yasmina sighed. The job was done. It was enough.

Yasmina knew as surely as Kirstie knew that the big house in Strindlos would burn to the ground. Chief Kerga was dead. Mother Vrya was dead. Whoever remained in the village would move. The farms in the north would be attached to Varnes. The farms in the west would connect with Nidaross and Strindlos would be no more. In the future, Nidaross would be dedicated. The Jarl of the Trondelag would build there, not a fortress, but a strong house, and Strindlos would become a memory.

Yasmina wanted to cry, but her eyes went wide instead. “Gruden,” she said and practically growled. Kirstie could not twist out of the way. Yasmina tried to twist for her, but she could not. Yasmina pushed with her hand, Kirstie’s hand that still worked. She felt the sting in her belly but felt satisfied that Gruden was a dead man. Then Yasmina slid out of the chair and collapsed to the floor.

Francesco picked her up and carried her inside, to her bed. “Wilam,” she called him. She cried. She wailed, “I died.” Then she felt something she could never explain. She was not nothing. She was not something. She became like the wind, or perhaps like light, and for one brief moment she felt all the warmth and peace of her mother’s womb before the memory stopped.

Yasmina cried all afternoon and into the night. In the morning she felt a wreck, but she got up, hugged her children, gave Francesco a kiss, and began her daily routine. She said only one thing of note that morning. “Kirstie died. Now it is up to me. She did not live beyond my age so what I do from here is all new. I hope it is a good story.” Then she did not want to talk about it.

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MONDAY

The last of the Kairos Medieval stories, the story of Don Vincenzo Giovanni, Ringmaster and his adventures in Venice, Italy, and the Holy Roman Empire just in time for Y1K. Don’t miss it. Happy Reading

Medieval 6: K and Y 20 End and Beginning, part 1 of 2

December 10, 2024November 23, 2024M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Kirstie

Benches and tables had been turned over all around the big house. Chairs were broken and tables were moved every which way. Kirstie thought the big room was empty at first, but she heard a sound in the corner of the dais opposite the door and saw some movement behind a table.

“Hello?” she called.

Wilam went to the door, while Inga and Erik stared at the wreckage. “A battle?” Erik asked, not really knowing. Inga shrugged as if to say she did not know, but she added a thought.

“No bodies.”

Wilam wisely peeked before he opened the door. He saw armed men in the street and marketplace, and there appeared to be bodies outside. He shut the door carefully and returned to report to the others but found Kirstie up on the dais.

“Hello,” Kirstie said, pushing a turned over chair from her path.

“Kirstie?” the word came back, a girl’s voice.

“Hilda?” It sounded like her childhood friend. she helped move the table as Hilda stood from where she hid.” What happened?” Kirstie asked as she took her friend’s hand and helped her come to join the others. Hilda began to weep so her words came out in bits and pieces.

“Liv’s men from Varnes… The king’s men… Other men… Kare.” Hilda tried to sniff and pull her thoughts together when Inga reached out and held her. “They came to the house. Thoren took the boys to your house, to Yrsa and Lyall. He said he would get help, but I think he feared the men might be at your house. He told me to go to the Witcher Women across the way. He said I should be safe there.” She began to weep again in earnest. “The women were all dead… They killed Mother Vrya…”

Kirstie picked up the story for Wilam and Erik as Inga began to cry with Hilda. “I’m guessing they went to the Witcher Women before invading Hilda’s home. She probably ran here looking for a safe shelter when they gathered on the road to attack our house.” She reached out to touch Wilam’s arm while she fought her own tears.

“What about the men in town? Where is Chief Kerga? Where are the village elders and the captains and their crews? There are bodies outside, and armed men I don’t recognize in the streets.”

Kirstie nodded and sniffed herself. “The men are at sea or living in Nidaross. They may be the king’s men, but you know the king did not send them. You, me, and the king were fighting the Swedes just a month ago, and the good men of the Trondelag are probably still there, fighting. Kare probably recruited all around the fjord. Don’t be surprised if Bieger, Lind, and Gruden are around. As for Liv… I don’t know what to think. She was a strange one when we were growing up.”

“Liv,” Hilda interrupted. “Liv is here, and her men.”

Kirstie nodded. “She got more strange as the years went on. I don’t know how she became the owner and captain of her own ship.” Kirstie shook her head.

They heard the noise from the outside. It sounded like it was increasing in volume and intensity. Kirstie and Wilam had to look. The elves and fairies of the woods had arrived and were driving back the so-called king’s men. Kirstie saw that Booturn brought a whole company of dwarfs with him, and they were attacking with hammers and axes. Vortesvin ran at the men and the king’s men scattered and ran away from the big troll.

“In here. Quick,” they heard, and Kirstie shouted as she and Wilam closed and barred the door.

“Liv.” Kirstie spat at the door. “Inga, take Hilda to the storeroom and lock yourselves in. There is one window if you need to get out.”

Inga did not argue, but Hilda kept staring, open mouthed, and was slow to respond. Kirstie called for her armor and weapons and found a couple of additions to her ensemble. Yasmina’s small cavalry-shield and scimitar appeared in her hands. She quickly handed the small shield to Erik who stood beside Wilam. Wilam pulled his sword and grabbed a broken chair to serve as his shield. Erik still had the mace he took from the castle wall in Avalon.

Something banged on the front door, hard. Kirstie looked to be sure Inga and Hilda got out when a dozen men burst out of the storeroom. Kerga, Alm, and Thoren led the way. Then the front door got ripped off the hinges. A twelve-foot hag stepped into the room, ducking her head a bit under the ceiling. Plenty of men followed her.

“How can there be a hag?” Kirstie asked. “And one as big as the one in America which was six girls combined.”

The hag answered. “You killed my father!” It was Liv. Kirstie imagined she should have been more surprised, but somehow, she knew all along. She wondered instead how Liv could be a hag without the power of Abraxas behind her. Then she got too busy to think.

She dragged the scimitar across the throat of the man that came at her. It happened by reflex. She nearly cut the man’s head off. It was Lind. She mumbled, “Two for two,” and let go of the weapon. The scimitar vanished and her battleaxe flew to her hand.

Chief Kerga and two others went at the hag. Kirstie tried to yell, “No.” but it was too late. She tried to run and help, but the Liv-hag caught her with a backhand that sent her across the room. Her shield cracked, her arm broke, and her ribs caved in all from that one blow. She could only lay there and watch.

Wilam killed Bieger. Thoren, Alm, and the others drove the king’s men back outside, but then stayed near the door. They did not want the elves or dwarfs to mistake them for the enemy. Wilam stood out front knowing the little ones would recognize him and he could turn them away. Alm stood with him.

With the room mostly empty, Liv turned on the broken body of Kirstie at her feet. “You killed my father,” Liv repeated, and Kirstie thought with cool dispassion.

Of course. Liv is a demigod, daughter of the evil Abraxas. She thought of what both Grandfather Njord and Father Fryer said when they gave her the gifts of water and fire. It will be enough. She could only try.

Kirstie sat herself up, her back to the wall. She raised her good hand and poured the fire of the sun on the hag. She gave it every ounce of fire she had in her. The hag reveled in the flames and grew to eighteen, maybe twenty feet. Kirstie dispassionately thought this was the last gasp of the titans whose blood still ran in the gods of old.

Liv roared as she busted through the ceiling and roof of the big house. Great timbers came crashing down to the floor, and one wall busted free of the structure. She roared like the sound of a hundred lions. The building caught fire and it spread rapidly, but Kirstie could not help that. She simply opened her mouth.

A fountain of water flowed from her mouth. It quickly became a stream of water, and in the end a roaring river, more than the biggest firehoses combined. It completely covered the burning hag. In the future, Kirstie swore she heard a loud Snap or Crack when the glue that held the hag together busted altogether. Kirstie remembered the Grendel. She fully expected Liv would not melt exactly like the others. She would retain some of her size and shape, but she would surely be dead. It was enough.

Kirstie smiled, knowing that this was definitely the last. She looked around at the building and knew she did not have more water to put out the burning wood. The big house would burn rapidly to the ground with her in it. She did not mind. She felt certain she was dying.

She saw movement. It looked like a man with a sword at the ready. She recognized him when he got close and spat his name, though she could hardly talk. “Gruden.”

“Kairos,” he responded, and grinned. “The Masters have determined that if I can kill you before your time, that will disrupt your rebirths and end them. Then you will not be around to stand in the way of their plans, and they can ruin the world as they please.”

Kirstie shook her head. It did not work that way. The God who knows the end from the beginning would know ahead of time the precise moment of her death. That would be her proper time, no matter what the Masters did.

Gruden stepped up to her, sword in hand, pointed down at her middle. She did this once with Captain Ulf on the field below Lindisfarne, only that time she sat up and turned so Ulf missed her. Now, she could hardly move. Her entire left side felt numb.

Gruden looked ready to strike. Kirstie called for her long knife, Defender. The knife vacated its sheath and flew to her hand, so when Gruden came down with his sword and pierced her in the middle, her knife went up into the man’s chest, cutting him in the heart, using the man’s own motion toward her to make up for her failing strength.

Kirstie knew she would not survive the cut in her belly. She would soon bleed out her life. But Gruden’s eyes went wide with surprise when Defender cut him deeply. He fell and died quickly.

Wilam braved the flames and the collapsing big house. He found her readily enough. The sword fell out from the weight of the handle. It made the cut worse, but that hardly mattered. Wilam lifted her and carried her outside to lay her down gently.

Kirstie wanted to tell him she loved him. She wanted to say, sell the properties if you can, though she imagined the survivors would move to Nidaross and abandon Strindlos. Strindlos, without Chief Kerga and without Mother Vrya and without the meeting hall to designate the center of the village would become a ghost town, like the village never existed. She wanted to tell him to take the children to Northumbria to his family and live there, but she could not breathe. Her lungs were punctured and collapsed, so she opted just to kiss him until she passed out.

Storyteller Tales & Thoughts

Stories and reflections on storytelling

Kairos

Medieval 6: Giovanni 5 Search and Rescue, part 1 of 3

Medieval 6: Giovanni 4 Old and New, part 2 of 2

Medieval 6: Giovanni 4 Old and New, part 1 of 2

Medieval 6: Giovanni 3 Down and Out, part 2 of 2

Medieval 6: Giovanni 3 Down and Out, part 1 of 2

Medieval 6: Giovanni 2 Women and Questions, part 1 of 1

Medieval 6: Giovanni 1 Friends and Strangers part 2 of 2

Medieval 6: Giovanni 1 Friends and Strangers part 1 of 2

After 979 A. D. Venice, Italy, and the Holy Roman Empire

Kairos 106 Don Vincenzo Giovanni, Ringmaster

Medieval 6: K and Y 20 End and Beginning, part 2 of 2

Yasmina

Medieval 6: K and Y 20 End and Beginning, part 1 of 2

Kirstie