The sun was just coming up as the tavern keeper Achille Giglio made his way along the so-called smuggler's wharf to where his brother Alfonso kept their small fishing boat. The weather looked good, so he was not concerned about crossing over to the mainland in such a modest little craft. And as the padrone had asked him to exercise extreme discretion in carrying out this assignment, it was going to work out well. No one would think he was going on a journey of any significance. He took no supplies with him, no extra clothing, no pack. It would look as if he was just going out for a while, maybe to catch something for the soup kettle.

In fact, Achille actually was carrying something--but he was carrying it entirely in his head. The Professore had carefully rehearsed him in memorizing the message that was go to la Contessa Foscari, all the way in Venezia. But Achille's part of the asignment would only take him to Caserta, to the old cathedral, where he would pass on the verbal message to his cousin the Sacristan. His cousin would then see that it got to the Professore's old friend at the Abazzia di Monte Cassino. From there, the message would be passed along, moving from one friend or associate to another...always verbal, never written down. Even so, the Padrone could have confidence it would get to its destination in its entirety and absolutely correct. All those who made up the network were men used to memorizing and repeating...actors, clerics, poets, scholars...

As he cast off and raised his sails, Achille thoughtabout how he was soon to be an actor himself. The Professore had asked him to help with the play that a visiting Frenchman was organizing. They wanted him to play some spanish fellow, a servant....Figaro, was the name...apparently he was the hero.

Achille reflected that he had not heard of any plays before in which a servant was the hero. What an interesting idea. Weren't the heroes in stories always supposed to be something like a great king, or maybe a knight? Never a servant...or a barber...

...or a tavern-keeper.

Like this task. Nothing heroic about it...just doing the job that the Padrone asked him to do. In this case, it wasn't even one of those dire situations that the Professore sometimes got himself into. Just trying to straighten out some confusion that probably was created by a business competitor of that silver-haired Venetian Conte who had showed up on the island recently.

Achille was glad that he was not the Conte. The man obviously had a great many concerns and worries weighing him down, and probably seldom was allowed to have any fun. He could tell that from the look in the Conte's eyes. The tavern-keeper could also tell that the Conte Foscari had aged prematurely. The Professore was probably a good ten years older than the Conte, but they looked the same age. No, truth be told, his Padrone actually looked younger than the Conte by a few years.

Must be a damn hard life being the head of a noble mercantile house in Venezia , thought Achille. Sure am glad all I have to do is run a tavern on Melioria and carry messages for the Padrone every now and then.

As he rounded the rocks that sheltered the harbor and headed towards the rising sun over the distant mainland, Achille looked around to make sure no one was paying much attention to him, and then let out his mainsail a bit more to catch the breeze that was running from the west. It filled nicely and pulled the little boat along at a rapidly increasing clip. Achille smiled as he sat up on the gun'l to counterbalance the pull of the sail. With the sunrise washing his face with warmth, the cries of the gulls filling his ears, and the clean smell of the sea pouring over him while the little boat hurried along, he felt absolutely convinced that he had a far better life than any nobleman from Venezia.

A dark thought suddenly flickered through his mind -- perhaps the situation was more serious than it seemed? He hoped that the pretty Contessa was not in some kind of real trouble or danger. Everyone liked the Contessa Foscari and were always glad when she came to visit Melioria. She was very nice -- so good to those apprentices -- and she had the most beautiful hair. Achille thought about the Contessa's hair and sighed.

Oh well , he thought. Everything's probably just fine . Not that big of a deal.

He looked around once more to make sure no one was following him. Nothing.

As he turned his eyes back towards the mainland, another thought crossed his mind. If this is not a serious situation, why is the Professore sending me with this message? The Conte was also sending the same message by carrier pigeon. The verbal message being carried by Achille to the Padrone's network of friends was a back-up, in case something happened to the Conte's pigeons.

Achille mused to himself, The Conte and the Professore...they are so determined to make sure the message gets to the Contessa, one way or the other...

This must be something important...

I will not let the Padrone down...