Chapter 676: Apostle and Pork
"Return it to us! Return it to us! Return it to us! Return it to us!"
As the Senate House erupted into chaos, the air vibrated with the sound of outcry and indignation, reverberating off the ancient stone walls and assailing Abdullah’s ears from every direction.
Yet, amidst this cacophony, Abdullah rose, his posture unyielding, a bastion of calm in the eye of the storm. With a steadfast gaze, he faced the seething senators, his expression resolute and undaunted. This was not his first encounter with tumult; indeed, the political tempests he had weathered before dwarfed this uproar. He understood that beneath their bluster, these senators could not touch him.
Not with the looming presence of his sovereign, Antonius De’Ricci.
The Emperor of the Romans, backing him like an invisible fortress, his unleashed blade.
The Senate’s raucous noise seemed almost a physical wave, crashing against Abdullah’s stoic silence. His mind was clear, his resolve unwavering; he was the emissary of a mighty empire, shielded by its power and armed with its authority. Abdullah met the eyes of the senators one by one, his look piercing and laden with a quiet pity. He saw their anger but sensed their restraint, recognising the invisible lines they dared not cross due to the diplomatic sanctity his position held.
Slowly, the uproar began to ebb as the senators ran out of steam, their initial fervour fading into an uneasy silence. They waited, breath bated, for Abdullah to break his silence, anticipating an outburst that might justify their aggression. Yet, he offered none. He understood their tactics well—this was a test of endurance, a measure of his fortitude. Historically, such confrontations would lead lesser diplomats to denounce the Venetians and depart in a storm of indignation, thus breaking any chance for peace. This outcome served certain factions well, particularly those like the houses of Dandolo, Giustinian, and Sanudo, who thrived on conflict and profited from the continuance of war. Their influence, funded by the spoils of conflict and the commerce of war, sought to manipulate the republic’s policies towards continued aggression.
In the cooling silence that finally settled over the Senate.
Abdullah remained statue-like amid the tempest of voices swirling around him, each senator’s call blending into a cacophony that sought to disrupt his composed silence. Yet, he stood immovable, his expression etched with a wry grin and narrowed eyes that swept across the senate with the precision of an eagle surveying its territory. His gaze alone commanded the room, his silence not empty but laden with the weight of unspoken words.
As seconds stretched into a palpable minute of hush, a senator could no longer bear the tension. He stood abruptly, his voice cutting through the quiet. "Hey, what are you doing there! Ambassador! Are you trying to portray a statue? This is not the place for it!"
Still, Abdullah remained silent, his quiet defiance turning the senate’s expectation on its head. Another senator, his patience frayed, bellowed for the guards. "Guards! Go drag this skeleton out of the room!"
The guards advanced, their movements deliberate, yet they halted as the Serene Doge Cristoforo Moro, who had been watching the scene unfold with veiled interest, opened his eyes and subtly shook his head. His silent command was clear; the guards retreated to their posts, their confusion mirroring that of the senate.
In the front rows, some senators, those who had refrained from joining the earlier uproar, sat with furrowed brows, perplexed by Abdullah’s enigmatic stillness. To them, his silence might have seemed a sign of confusion or defeat, yet they underestimated its power. Indeed, silence, when wielded with precision, can be as potent as the most eloquent speech, creating a space filled with tension and expectation, drawing the listener into a trap of their own uncertainties and fears.
Yes, silence can be a weapon of speech as well, depending on who is using it, when is it being used, and what follows next.
Finally, as the chamber settled into a heavy quiet, Abdullah broke his silence with deliberate slowness, his voice resonant, filling the space as if the silence had been but a deep breath before a storm. He turned deliberately toward the senator who had hurled insults, his finger pointing accusingly.
"Here we have, a friend of the Venetian senate, trying to talk to me about honesty, deceitfulness, and the taking of territories." His voice, though calm, carried a sharpness that echoed off the marble and tapestry, reminding all present that silence is not merely the absence of sound, but a canvas for the speaker’s art.
Abdullah’s gaze swept over the assembled senators, his voice calm yet resonant, ensuring each word hung heavily in the air. "And I understand, some here expect me to retaliate with a fiery speech condemning these accusations, or perhaps to storm out, reducing myself to mere spectacle for your amusement," he began, his tone dipping into a register of solemnity that demanded attention. "I believe many of you are well-versed in Latin, so let me remind you of a principle that seems forgotten today..."
He paused, letting the silence sculpt his next words for maximum impact: "Omnia quæ vindicaris in altero, tibi ipsi vehementer fugienda sunt."
"I sincerely hope that before any gentleman here rushes to condemn another, he might first ensure he is not guilty of the same."
Turning his sharp gaze back to the senator who had sparked the outcry, Abdullah’s voice softened but his words cut deeper. "Honourable Senator, you spoke of islands, lands, territories—how my people have taken what was once under Ottoman rule. You imply that our gains are solely because the Venetians graciously did not interfere."
With a measured pause, Abdullah continued, "I will not trivialise the decades of efforts by the people of Rome by giving you credit merely for your non-interference, as if your silence was a gift wrapped in ... self-importance and confidence."
He then leaned slightly forward, locking eyes with those across him, his tone laced with a sharp irony. "But if we are indeed to speak of rightful ownership of lands, should not the Venetians return this very city to the Veneti? And should we Romans relinquish our lands back to the Mycenaeans, the original settlers? Since, after all, they were the first known inhabitants of these regions?"
"And, talking about honesty and things..." Abdullah took a deep breath.
Under the watchful gaze of Saint Mark’s Basilica, with its imposing dome dominating the skyline, Abdullah stood firm in the Senate House, casting his eyes towards the Piazza San Marco. This enchanting square, alive with the echoes of history, was draped in the grandeur of Venice’s storied past. Here stood the heart of Venetian civic and spiritual life, surrounded by ancient antiquities and framed by the majestic palace of the Serene Doge. The Basilica itself, a beacon of Roman architecture, was reputed to be the most magnificent church in Italy—a claim frequently boasted by Venetians themselves.
"The Venetians hold their patron saint in such high esteem that his likeness, a winged lion, graces the city at every turn," Abdullah continued, his voice steady but loaded with implication. "During the Festa del boccolo, vows are made to uphold his values. Yet, there remains a disconcerting irony in all this veneration."
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in before delivering his next pointed question. "You claim to be disciples of Saint Mark, advocating for the return of possessions to their rightful owners. Would Saint Mark himself commend his followers if he knew they had acquired his relics and remains through deceit, smuggling his sacred remains out of Alexandria under layers of pork in barrels to evade Muslim guards? Is this not daylight robbery cloaked in piety?"
"Blasphemy!"
"Liar!"
The chamber erupted into chaos. Accusations of blasphemy and cries of denial bounced off the ornate walls, as senators stood vehemently defending their history or decrying Abdullah’s assertions. The senator who had been particularly aggressive towards Abdullah earlier advanced towards him with a threatening gesture, as if ready to strike right onto the latter’s face. Yet Abdullah remained unmoved, his gaze fixed on the senator with calm defiance, treating the aggression as nothing more than a pitiful display.
Amidst the tumult, the Serene Doge finally intervened, his voice cutting through the uproar. "Honourable Ambassador," he began solemnly, "as the Serene Doge, I cannot ignore such statements. I must ask you to issue an apology to the Senate for these accusations."
Abdullah turned towards the Doge, his posture respectful yet firm. After a brief bow, he responded, "I am sorry, Your Excellency, for the disturbance."
"But I cannot comply with that."
"This gentleman here initially raised questions of justice, honesty, and integrity," Abdullah declared, gesturing towards the man behind him still poised with a clenched fist. "He has challenged me to a debate. In the scholarly traditions of the academies of Alexandria and Constantinople, which I hold dear, a challenge of this nature demands an acceptance. One must engage and persuade through reasoned argument and substantiated truths, not baseless accusations."
