Marco Zeno had been a busy man since word of the treaties ratification reached him at Windsor. Since then he had been at Portsmouth he worked with the local magistrate and after much haggling and the use of some well placed coins a choice location for the colony was arranged. It was a ways from the center of the town itself but sat on an advantageous area of water, and comprised an area to hold more than what the Venetians would need here. Contracts were out for lumber, and the small bit of stone that would be needed for the construction, and already hired hands were filing in. The convoy from Venice was expected anyday and on board would be the architects, masons, clerks, and other servants of the Republic. The operation at Portsmouth was different from any other Venetian colony because here the trade was a monopoly solely of the state and all would be in direct employ of the Republic.
It was a tired, bleary eyed Zeno that made his way down to the shore one sunday afternoon and spotted cresting over the horizon the gently blowing flag of La Serenissima. Ecstatic, Zeno ran down to the cities harbor to wait, and it filled hiim with great price as the fleet of galleys rowed ever closer in gallant array towards the shore. Finally the flag ship was nearby and taking the duty of the dockhands upon himself he began to help in tying the ship up. It was quite a spectacle to watch the other ships of the fleet begin to maneuver their way into harbor, but Marco was soon distracted as the plank fell from the flagship and men began to make their way overboard a few passengers first, from where Zeno could not tell, but they were soon followed by the shipshands bearing crates. They gave Marco a knowing glance and he answered by pointing towards a group of horse carts at the docks end that would be their destination. As more and more goods came off the ships the Venetian ambassador heard the loud rumblings of the Captain aboard the ship which was quickly followed by his gruff bearded face looming over the side of the galley.
He spat into the water and eyed Marco judgmentally, "You Zeno?" he barked in the general direction of the docks.
"That is I," Marco responded dryly, feeling rather less respected than he deserved to be. The captain said no more and turned away to be replaced by an older man, who now looked down at Marco with experienced eyes.
The old man, who wore merchants clothes, spoke to Zeno in his rough fatherly voice, "Marco Zeno, I am Pietro Morosini, you should know me from my letters." With a nimbleness unexpected form a man Pietro's age he hopped over and dashed down the plank onto the dock and quickly grabbed Marco's hand. "I trust all that I requested has been seen to?" He vigorously squezzed Zeno's hand and jerked it up and down rapidly.
"Indeed I have sir, all that we lack is the expertise of yourself and the men you bring, should you like to see the site now?" Marco spoke deferentially to this man whose reputation was well known in Venice. Some said he was the kindest soul, while others claimed he was in communion with the Devil. From what Marco had seen so far he was only reminded of his stern father who had died miserably in the last plague. Morosini had let loose of Marco's hand now and in answer to his question had begun to make his way down the dock towards the city.
"Come now Zeno," he called out cheerfully, "There is much to be done and we are only in the way here on the docks. Sanuto and Vendilini," he added referring to the architect and mason respectively, "are on the second ship, and shall be along shortly."
Marco hurried after the man that would be governing the colony at Portsmouth with an expectant aire. Morosini did not seem a bad soul yet, and that was as much as Zeno could ask for. They were headed into town and the ambassador finally coming to Pietro's side pointed off towards the east and stated happily,
"Oh this way Sir, the sites about a five minutes walk."
