Leonardo Loredan, part 5
When the historians turn to the Hungarian war, they will no doubt speak of it as an example of the art and science of Venetian warfare. It was nothing of the sort. In truth it was a slaughter. Hungary, not having tasted combat for so long, relied still on small, ramshackle fortresses, and weaponry better suited to my grandfather’s wars. I found the glory I sought, but only in the results.
The blow fell on January 2, 1515; earlier than I expected, but the lands along the Danube were for once free of the deep snows which were my only real concern. Hungary called upon an oddly configured alliance consisting of Hannover, Bremen, Mecklenburg, Pommern, and Bosnia. All of these left the war within three months – the Germans via status quo peaces, Bosnia via annexation. With this annoying outpost conquered, the rest of the main armies drove into Hungary itself.
I erred in saying the weather was my only concern. The Hungarian warrior-prince Jan Zapolya was rumored to be a formidable adversary, but he was twice bested in battle by Lucio Malvezzo. As the first Venetian commander of note to rise through the ranks – never a
condotierre – I waited with particular eagerness for word of Malvezzo’s successes. Unfortunately he died in September from infection of a trifling wound; but I am sure others will follow him. In this war, it hardly mattered. The condition of Hungary’s defenses invited the tactic of direct assault, leaving little room for technical brilliance. Zagreb was successfully stormed in April, and from then on cities fell like dominoes, one every second month. By January 20, 1516, the entire country was in Venetian hands, and – with the exception of the capital city – the subsequent peace treaty left it there.
With my bloodlust satisfied, I turned to internal matters. Near the end of the war, our German allies sent word of a religious movement sweeping their nations, with such force as to be considered virtually a new faith. I did not bother to understand the theological distinctions involved, but apparently with the Pope exiled, certain clerics were protesting that his strictures were no longer binding. The movement quickly spread to Hungary, and the already-conquered provinces of Banat and Transylvania immediately adopted this creed. When they became part of Venice, I ordered their new administrators to grant the same rights of worship to these Protestants as those enjoyed by our Catholic and Orthodox citizens. But I also requested the Council to hold back the better part of 1517’s revenues to fund missionary activities in these provinces, as well as the Orthodox strongholds of Ruthenia and, eventually, Thrace itself.
This mission to Constantinople forced me to make the last great choice of my life. And though many of my actions – more, I confess, than I ever believed at the time – still trouble me after these reflections, I have no doubt but that I chose well this time.
For I knew that converting the City – the home of the Orthodox Patriarch himself – would require a man of truly unusual skill. I asked the bishop of Venice if there was not a priest of his acquaintance possessing such skill, enough to singlehandedly undo over a millennia of beliefs. He responded that, yes, there was one. He flatly refused to give his name, and said it would be better were I not to know it. But he sent him to the Palace.
His face gave me a shock of recognition, like seeing in the flesh a figure of a nightmare… yet I felt more at ease the longer we spoke. After discussing the arrangements for funding (over 900,000 ducats!), his opinion as to chances of success, and other trifles, I could resist no longer.
May God bless your work, and know that the Republic is in your debt, I said. And what is your name?
Gasparo Contarini, he said.
… I bade him go. I could not say it to him – my vanity cursed me one last time – but I know he could see in my ancient face, that I was burying the injustice his grandfather did to mine, nearly a century before. The Loredans had suffered at the Contarini’s hands – but no less they at ours. And it was time to end our vendetta, for the good of the Republic. I had achieved what Pietro was denied… leave the dead to bury their own dead.
I died on June 23, 1521, with Venice at peace with the world, and I at peace with my name.
Political map
Colonies
Diplomatic map
Religious map
