Plunder of Zadar

A historical flash fiction

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At the bottom of this post, you can find a behind-the-scenes look at this historical flash fiction set in the ancient Croatian city of Zadar.

Photo by Sam Barber on Unsplash

Sharp as fingernails stabbing flesh, my heart clenched with fierce joy at the sight of the red-tiled roofs of Zadar, glowing like blood in the waning sunlight.

My home, my devastated home, sacked and looted. Walls smashed, bricks scattered across the ground to crumble where they’d fallen. But the red roofs, the pearl-white walls, were beautiful still, their grandeur a resistance.

I slipped through the scullery door of the opulent home which the Venetian had claimed as his own. In the bustle of the celebration, no one noticed a me, peasant girl, slipping through the crowded kitchen.

Snatching a tray laden with jeweled goblets, I followed the servants outside to the courtyard, where the Venetian exhibited his plunder.

Guards, their eyes dull but their swords sharp, lined the perimeter of the courtyard, the red sun gleaming on their helmets.

Nausea surged within me. I remembered those helmets, devastatingly bright in the glare of a midday sun, swarming against the city walls, gushing like voracious silver-headed ants through every street, every alley.

What I wouldn’t give to expel these silver skulls and their wealthy masters from my city.

In the purpling twilight, the centerpiece of the Venetian’s thievery stood tall. An enormous tent, flaps billowing in the gentle breeze.

I steeled my shaking breath and reached up one hand to touch the clump of iris tucked behind my ear, its deep indigo blooms poking out from my headdress, and followed the parade of servants into the massive tent, bursting with rich foods and rich wine and rich men.

Torchlight threw leaping, writhing shadows on the walls as over the din came the Venetian’s voice, strong and deep for one so old. He pointed one knobby finger upward.

For a moment, I paused my search through the red-cheeked faces and looked up.

Above me, hanging from the arched cupola of the tent, was the sun.

A wooden sun, fiery gold and glimmering. Around it floated orbs in fantastical colors, hanging above the Venetian’s head in a celestial tableau. And at the center, a blue and green sphere, etched with an intricate map of our Earth, dogged by a small white ball – the moon.

The hot, crowded tent was for me suddenly silent. Were the heavens brought to earth, or was I hovering among the stars?

What wonders, what plunder the Venetian found in our beautiful city. Had the old man seen this marvel in his mind’s eye when he shipped his soldiers across the sea to seize our home?

A heavy shoulder thudded into me, and I stumbled, wine slopping over the sides of the goblets. With a gasp, I continued my search for the man who would see my harmless flower for the signal that it was.

I was not here to wonder at shining orbs.

With my eyes, I traced every face. Other than to snatch up a drink, no one glanced at me, a peasant girl.

The first trembling feathers of disquiet batted my mind. He must be here somewhere.

The skin of my neck prickled. Turning, squinting into the torchlight, I found a pair of eyes, razor-sharp and intent, boring into mine.

I stared back at the pockmarked man across the tent.

Winding my way around tables, I meandered toward him, and his eyes followed me.

If this was the man, he was foolishly brazen. If someone were to see, to notice his stare and follow his gaze, if they were to suspect my purpose –

Then it all would be over, the silver-helmeted soldiers swarming on us in moments.

I stepped past a crowded table, and a sudden weight tugged at my apron. Slowing my step, I reached into my apron pocket, and my fingers met the rough edge of tightly folded parchment.

My eyes darted to the table beside me, and I caught the last hint of movement as a man’s hand slipped back to his side.

This man’s careful eyes did not look my way. His thick-bearded face pointed away from me as he tore a bite of skewered meat from his knife, his conversation with his companions flowing without pause.

My pounding heart drowned out the music and chatter.

The letter.

This small, fragile letter in my pocket, holding a secret that could roust the Venetian and his silver-headed mercenaries.

I turned, wading through the overpowering scent of butter-soaked food, and made for the open air.

The courtyard was cool after the close staleness of the mystical tent with its floating stars. Yet now the helmeted soldiers seemed larger, more numerous. Or perhaps it was a trick of the dying light.

A hand grasped my arm.

I spun around, ice cascading down my body, to face the pockmarked man with the steely eyes. He poured out cajoling words in his strange Venetian tongue, tugging me toward the edge of the courtyard, a shadowy alcove.

Pulling back, I pointed to the kitchen, but his grip on my arm did not loosen.

I turned to the silver-headed guards, who stared steadfastly away. No one noticed the peasant girl, not if it suited the purposes of the rich man.

The man’s arm snaked around my waist. He grinned, laughing, his teeth purpled with wine.

The man yanked me forward. And I let go of the tray.

Wine splashed like blood onto his robes in a blooming scarlet stain, and the man released me, stumbling back in surprise and disgust.

I darted across the flagstones and ran for the kitchen.

Spear-sharp voices rose behind me, heavy footsteps pounding the ground.

I fled through the steaming kitchen. Shouts and toppling pans followed me, but, running as I had never run before, I escaped to the winding streets of my beautiful city.

Without looking back, I dodged through alleys and around corners until the cobblestones of the city turned to hard country earth beneath my feet.

My lungs clawing for air, I slowed at last and drew out the wax-sealed missive.

That I could not read its words mattered little to me. I cared nothing about the code within, but only about what it meant for my city, my people.

The refugees of Zadar, ready at last to take back our city.

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Thank you so much for taking time to read “Plunder of Zadar”! If you enjoyed this story, please feel free to let me know with a like, comment, or restack!

This flash fiction was written as part of a prompt-based writing competition in which I had 1000 words¹ to write a spy story that featured a helmet and was located in a planetarium. I interpreted the prompts a little loosely and decided to incorporate a planetarium tent similar to one stolen in the wake of the Crusades. This story takes place during the years immediately following the Siege of Zara (Zadar) in 1202.

The siege itself was a mess of ulterior motives and petty revenge that led to massive consequences, with Doge Enrico Dandolo² of Venice using the Fourth Crusade as a vehicle for his own political machinations against Zadar, which had declared its independence from Venice twenty years earlier, shortly before Dandolo became Doge. The citizens of Zadar ousted the occupying Venetians in 1204, but the conflict continued back and forth for more than 100 years.

I have never been to Croatia, but reading about its history and seeing beautiful photos has made it one of my dream destinations. Have you ever visited Croatia? What were your favorite places? Please feel free to share in the comments!

1. This version may not be exactly 1000 words, as I edited it before sharing here.

2. The old man referenced in the story. Even though Enrico caused a lot of strife and drama in the 12th and 13th centuries, his audacity makes for very interesting research, so he’s got that going for him.