Sul Campo Del Mare - Vilenica

V2-2010.PM51496/13/100, 12:14 PMRadoslav Petkovićof trouble ahead. Here on the pier – alongside a strip of sand washed upby the sea, where children and the waves now played – in the port of thecity of Corfu, on the island of Corfu itself, capital of the Septinsular Republic,Volkov had come to oversee the final preparations of the SaintNicholas for the next day’s sailing. If the wind remained favourable – PavelVolkov knew all too well how indispensable luck was for success – hewould be docking at Trieste in a matter of days, on the most importantmission he had ever served. Volkov, then, was poised on the brink of whatis conventionally known as “the opportunity of a lifetime”: a delicate undertaking,beset by uncertainty if not outright danger, but also capable, ifsuccessfully carried out, of lifting him to heights he had hitherto onlydreamed of. Indeed, Pavel Volkov could already be considered more thanjust a lieutenant; in one pocket was his advancement – provisional, itshould be noted – to commanding officer, and whether the promotionturned out to be permanent would depend only on Volkov’s sheer ability.And luck, of course. For his part, and not without reason, Volkov had alwaysconsidered himself the sort of person who deals well with challenges.At least until now.Hence his great fright at the thought of how pointless it all was; neverhad Pavel Volkov had such a thought – never, in fact, had it even occurredto him that such thinking was possible. He blinked in bewilderment, lookingfor all the world like what he was indeed: a man who has made anunwelcome discovery. As for everything else – everything else was shipshape:the wind was promising fair sailing, the work on the SaintNicholas was coming along nicely; the last of the bales were just thenbeing loaded on board, ostensibly the cargo to be transported from Istanbulto Trieste. The bundles of cotton were meant to lend the vessel a peacefulaspect; for this same reason most of the guns had been removed fromdeck. Only six cannon remained in sight, hardly an excessive display whenconsidering the value of the cargo and the number of pirates and buccaneersalong the route. The colours under which the ship was to sail toTrieste – the flag of the currently neutral Austrian Empire – would beflying from the flagpole at that very moment if only the wind were strongenough; as it was, the flag merely hung there, occasionally making a feebleattempt to unfurl. The sea, despite the unseasonably warm weather,had the icy sheen of winter waves – but for an officer who had spent hisentire career on the Baltic, the Ionian Sea at any time of year was a sightto gladden the eyes. Volkov himself had received not only orders for hismission, but also full authority; he bore the responsibility, but with it heheld more power than he had ever known. He believed in himself; alwayshe had achieved what he set out to do, and faster and more efficientlythan others at that; there was no reasonable cause to start doubting now.And yet he sat with head hung low, seeing only the strip of dirty waterbetween the dark hull of the ship and the seaweed-covered rocks of theshore; he winced at the stench of tar that hung over the port.Translated by Terence McEneny149