The Other Marco

By Lawrence Moorcroft

A captivating illustrated educational adventure, chronicling the extraordinary experiences and adventures of a boy named Marco. He was small and shy, yet his spirit and courage were dauntless
Marco secretly boards the ship in Venice and stows away (concealing himself from his father who is the carrier of all the important documents and tablets of authority required for the journey) to join the Marco Polo expedition from Venice along the perilous silk route to Cathay, home of the Kublai Khan.
His journey on the perilous silk route takes many forms: camel riding across scorching endless deserts, on horseback through the bitterly cold Himalayas trails; plunging headlong down a wide raging river in a puny barge, and a typhoon-lashed ocean in a trading boat... where he is swept overboard.
Eventually he reaches the shore, but his troubles are far from over. Viewed as an invader, this other Marco is imprisoned and nearly beheaded as he struggles to recognize a man who could stay the execution.
Marco’s physical journey initiates an inner journey of self-discovery, realizations and personal growth.
a wealth of interesting historical and geographical information.
What a thrilling and informative ride it has been, researching, reading, illustrating and discussing the material for this book.
I am extremely happy to have written, ‘The Other Marco’, and trust you will be entertained and enjoy reading it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lawrence Moorcroft
• Release date: Mar 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463926932

Lawrence Moorcroft

By S HarrisLawrence Moorcroft is a recognised South African-born artist and cartoonist brimming with imaginative concepts, dynamic creative abilities and artistic talent.As a young man, then an artist at an advertising agency, he was inspired to join the world of international film animation - rising to become a key animator in a succession of legendary pre-computer, international full-length feature films.His debut into this genre was the London production of the Beatles’ film, ‘Yellow Submarine’ (TV Cartoons in Soho). Rising to the position of key animimator, his skills were applied in numerous other international releases including the hilarious Uderzo/Goscinny creation ‘Asterix and Cleopatra’, ‘The Big Bang’ and Herge’s ‘Tintin and the Temple of the Sun’.While engaged in creating images, he frequently found stories emerging from his subject matter - vividly visualizing and conceptualizing tales and anecdotes associated to them.So, while the visual arts took precedence in his career, his latent writing ability lingered nascently.Yet, Lawrence has always nurtured an underlying compulsion to express these forces narratively.The Other Marco, is the first realization of his heeding to this compulsion to write.He chose to illustrate the story to add another dimension to it. all booklovers, including all the quirkish ‘must-have-pictures’ readers will adequately have been catered for.

Book preview

Invisible

When I was little, I wished that time would pass quickly so that I could grow up and become big. Time did pass, but I did not become much bigger. I stayed small, shorter than all the other boys at school, and I hated it.

I was too small to be picked for the Venice carnival rowing team. I usually came last in the race around the Piazza San Marco. Once, when my school tug-o-war team was pulling against the boys from San Giorgio, the teams were perfectly matched and equally strong. They heaved and pulled and groaned, but neither team could move the other one. I was watching, and became so excited, I grabbed the rope on our side and tugged with all my might - nothing happened. Everyone laughed and I was the joke at school. After that, some of the boys called me Piccolo, which means ‘small’. I hated that too. During the summer most of the boys in our neighborhood played and swam in the lagoon. I loved to swim but, in spite of keeping as far away as possible from others, the bullies always seemed to find me and push my head under. They found it extremely funny to see me coughing and spluttering and gasping for air. To avoid them, I eventually learnt to swim underwater for long distances when I saw them coming. After that, most of the boys ignored me.

I felt sad and lonely because no one took any notice of me.

Then came the day when all that changed! Something happened that made me very, very happy that no one took any notice of me. Let me tell you about it.

Once a year, during carnival, a travelling show comes to Venice. Acrobats and jugglers perform their amazing stunts in a big tent on the square. Anyone wishing to see them, or the man on the tight-rope, or the dancing brown bear, must pay a silver groat entry-fee. The boys from my school usually crept in under the tent and watched the show without paying. I was too afraid to do that, so I stood at the entrance, on tip toe, and tried to catch a glimpse of the clowns and the horses. The ticket collector did not notice me. When the spectators clapped, I edged forward to see what had happened. No one took any notice. Then the spectators jumped up and cheered. I had to see why they had cheered, so I crept right to the front. Still no one stopped me. It was as if I was invisible, so I sat on a bale of hay where the tickets cost three groats, and watched the whole show after that! The next year, when the travelling show came to town again, I walked in through the entrance and no one noticed.

It was not only during carnival when everyone was too busy celebrating, that I remained unnoticed. All year round, I could wander in and out of the guild halls where the tradesmen worked without being stopped. I was invisible, or so it seemed.

One afternoon as I was passing the big doors of the Merchant Guildhall I saw many of the wealthiest merchants hurrying inside. They seemed to be very excited- speaking loudly to each other and waving their arms about. I was curious, of course, and joined a group of men who rushed through the doors. No one noticed me.

Inside the great hall, the Guild master rapped the table with a heavy wooden hammer and the merchants fell silent.

Fellow merchants! his voice boomed, today, a messenger brought us wonderful news. Today we have learnt that two of our brother merchants, whom we thought were lost, have been found!

Everyone cheered and clapped and began to talk at once.

A merchant of Venice

Fellow merchants! the Guild master’s voice again boomed out, silencing the talking. Not only have they been found, but they bring with them gold and silver, and silks and spices from the far away Kingdom of Cathay!

Again, everyone began to talk at once.

The Guild master rapped the table twice and the merchants fell silent once more. Some of you may remember the Polo brothers who left here many, many years ago.

Many of the merchants did indeed remember them, and they nodded their heads.

Tomorrow, continued the Guild master, tomorrow they will arrive back here. Prepare the market place. Tomorrow will be a great trading day!! Everybody cheered.

I rushed out of the Merchant’s Guildhall and ran all the way home.

What is it? my mother gasped as I tumbled into the kitchen.

He’s coming home tomorrow! I panted.

Who is coming home? she asked.

My father! I said, and my mother burst into tears.

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Chapter 2

My Father

My father was a very important man. Senõr Giovanni Solari was the chief baggage carrier for the Polo brothers, Niccolo and Maffeo, who had travelled all the way to Cathay and back.

My father had travelled with them and carried the golden tablets of authority, which had been given to them by the Great Kublai Khan, Lord of the Mongols.

Chief baggage carrier, Senõr Giovanni Solari.

So this is Marco! my father said looking closely at me. He had not seen me since I was two-years old. Do you know why I called you Marco?

No sir, my mother did not tell me, I whispered.

She did not? Well then, I will tell you, said my father. "Niccolo Polo has a son a little older than you, called Marco, so when you were born, I called you Marco as well.

Perhaps it was a tradition to name one’s child after a child of a respected person, that my father named me Marco. I don’t know. What I did know, however, was that my father’s stories of the many strange lands he had visited, and the many strange people he had met there, and his tales of the wild horsemen of the steppes, and the descriptions of golden temples and far-away palaces, kept me spell-bound. I made up my mind that I, too, would go on a journey like that and visit all those places and meet all those people.

One day I saw the Polo brothers talking to some merchants at the market. I walked over to the men, and without them noticing, I overheard them planning another visit to the lands of the Great Khan. I rushed home and told my father.

Oh yes, that I know, my father said. We have been invited by the Kublai Khan to return to the land called Cathay.

Before I could stop myself, I cried out, I must go with! You must take me with you, Father! My father was surprised. My mother was horrified. I was excited. My parents stared at me. No one spoke for a few moments, then my father put his hand on my shoulder. That will not be possible son, he said quietly.

Why not? I pleaded.

The journey is too dangerous. The work is hard and you are still too young.

But Marco Polo will be going with his father! I insisted.

How do you know this? asked my father.

I heard the Polo brothers telling the merchants at the market, I added.

Perhaps, but with you, Marco, it is different …, my father’s voice trailed off.

It is because I am small that you think it is different! I pleaded.

My father looked at me. I could see it was my size that worried him. There was only one way that I could prove to him that I was big and strong enough to go with him to the Kingdom of the Great Khan, and that was, BY GOING! Then and there, I decided two things: I would not mention the new expedition to anyone again, least of all my parents, and secondly, I would secretly join the travelers when they left. Had I not become skilled at not being noticed? Was I not invisible? Well, when my size counted against me I would use this to my advantage again!

Map 1 - First leg of the journey - Venice to Acre

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Chapter 3

Acre

For weeks the wharf hustled and bustled with the preparations for the second great expedition to Cathay. Leather saddlebags were packed and repacked. Wooden chests were crammed with gifts of Venetian glass for the Great Khan. Jars were filled with sweet wine and olive oil and sealed so that nothing would spill during the long journey. Sacks of grain steadied the barrels of salted meat so that they did not roll around in the boat. Pots, pans and kettles were loaded on board. Everyone rushed around fetching and carrying, lifting and shifting, stacking and packing until the day finally arrived that everything was ready. I was ready too.

Most of the most important people of Venice came to the wharf to bid the expedition farewell. The Chief Doge arrived with members of the Great Council. They looked very serious and did not smile, although someone did say that they were in fact, very happy. The Master of the Merchant’s Guild made a long speech, and shook hands with the Polo brothers and hugged Marco. My father could not shake hands with anyone, as he was carrying the casket containing all the signed and sealed documents, the letters of introduction and all the money that would be needed for the journey. My mother did not come down to see the boat set off. I helped carry the last of the baggage onto the ship and stayed on board. No one noticed.

Men with long poles pushed the boat away from the wharf so that the oarsmen could row into the lagoon. People were shouting their goodbyes as the trumpeters sounded a fanfare across the waters. Then the sailors heaved up the two big sails and, as the sun set in the west, our boat quickly began to move away from the land.

Finding a gap between two leather bags on the deck I lay down and watched the masts and sails swaying through the stars. Except for a lantern swinging near the back of the boat it was very dark. Although I stayed put in this hiding place during the day, at night I helped myself to the left over food in the pots and drank water from the barrel tied to the mast.

Sometimes the Polo brothers came up on deck and looked across the water. Marco came up only once. My father never appeared on deck. I think he was too busy looking after the papers and the money. I eventually began to explore the boat and talk to the crew. No one asked me why I was on board the boat. I think the sailors thought I was with the Polo expedition, and the people of the expedition thought I was one of the sailors. Things were going well. When the wind blew, we sailed. When the wind died down, the oarsmen rowed.

One morning early, the lookout in the basket high up on the mast shouted, Land-ho! Immediately, the people rushed on deck and peered in the direction he was pointing at. Sure enough, low on the horizon I could see a dark strip. Then I saw something else and hastily retreated to my spot between the leather bags. There on the deck, holding the precious casket, stood my father. It was the first time I’d seen him since leaving Venice. Luckily he had not noticed me. I once again found that not being noticed was not such a bad thing. I decided to remain out of my father’s sight until we were well on our way overland so that he could not send me home again.

The port of Acre was fascinating. Everything was different to home. The language was strange, the houses odd, the way the people dressed, unusual, but it was the countless exotic smells in the market place that I loved. The perfume of the flowers, the exotic scents of the spices and the many unfamiliar aromas of cooking all excited me.

Just then I saw something that made me stare open-mouthed in disbelief. One strange-looking big animal came plodding into the market place, followed by another, and then another and another, until the whole square was filled with them. Their handlers shouted and whistled and called out to each other as they pushed and shoved to make space for their animals to kneel down in. As each one of these strange creatures flopped onto the ground with their heavy loads, they brayed loudly and harshly. I continued to stare until a voice next to me said, Funny looking animals, aren’t they?

I turned, and there, standing next to me, was Marco Polo.

Yes, they are, I stammered.

Are you one of the expedition? Marco Polo asked, I saw you offloading our boat at the harbour.

I did sail from Venice on your boat, but I am not one of those chosen to go with you, I replied, then quickly added, I would very much like to go with you, though. I am sure I could be useful.

Marco Polo eyed me and declared, I am sure you could be, too. I watched as you carried crates almost twice as big as you down the gang plank. My father, Niccolo Polo also noticed you and remarked that he could use the strength of that little man.

I smiled, although I did not like being called a little man.

What is your name? Marco Polo asked.

Same as yours, ‘Marco’. I replied.

I see you know who I am. So, you are Marco as well. What work can you do to be useful on the journey, Marco? the merchant’s son asked me.

Anything! I answered straightaway.

Can you ride a camel?

What is a camel? I asked sheepishly.

One of these, Marco Polo replied, pointing to the strange beasts.

Not today I can’t, but I will be able to by tomorrow evening!

Marco Polo looked intently at me. He must have been able to see that I was determined to ride a camel so that I could go on the expedition.

OK Marco, if you can indeed ride a camel by tomorrow evening, I’ll tell Giovanni Solari to include your name on the list of travelers going to the land of the Great Khan. I’ll come back here an hour before sunset tomorrow, to watch you ride on this funny looking animal!

I could not help smiling broadly. I’ll see you then, I called after Marco Polo as he walked away laughing.

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Chapter 4

Camel School

As I was desperate to learn to ride a camel, I stayed with the men and their camels in the market place that night. By the light of a hundred burning torches and lanterns, I helped the camel riders offload these bad-tempered beasts of burden and gave them food and water. Each time a camel got up I carefully watched. I saw that, to begin with, the rider needed to lean back quite far because the camel straightened its hind legs first, and then, as the forelegs straightened, the driver needed to lean forward again.

In the morning some of the camelmen mounted their beasts and began to move outside the market walls. There was the usual whistling and shouting and calling to each other. I suddenly realized that they were shouting at me and pointing to a camel that was still lying down. Did they want me to feed it some more, or give it water perhaps? If only I could understand their language. One of the mounted riders rode over to me and signaled that I should lift the camel. Was he instructing me to get it to stand up? I went over to the camel and took hold of the reins. Immediately the animal began to protest loudly, braying at full volume. I tugged at the reins but the camel would not budge. If I went too close it snapped and spat at me. All the other riders laughed and shouted instructions. I looked at them helplessly and then figured out that they wanted me to get up onto the saddle of the beast. This was my chance, and I was going to take it!

I heaved the camel’s head to one side and then, still holding the reins, I dashed around to the back of the huge animal and clambered up and into the saddle. It was not like a horse’s saddle, but rather layers of rough blankets and soft carpets that were tied to smooth wooden posts spanning across the camel’s hump.

The camel protested even louder than before but still did not get up. I knew that I had to make it stand, but how? Pulling on the rein only made the beast bellow louder. A group of camels circled around me, their riders shouting encouragement and whooping with laughter. I tried to dig my heels in, the way a horse is spurred on. Nothing happened. I patted the long hairy neck but only annoyed the animal more. Suddenly the stubborn beast lifted up his hind quarter and started to get up. I was so surprised that I did not have time to lean back and I promptly tipped forward onto its neck. Just then the camel straightened its forelegs and stood upright, flinging me backward so forcefully that I toppled off the hump, over its rump and plunged to the paving stones. The men on their camels around me all laughed and laughed. Some of them clapped and whistled. The merchants nearby joined in the fun. One of them picked me up, patted me on the back and ruffled my hair. I was not hurt, but it felt like it. Perhaps it was because I was being noticed by so many people at once, that it felt all wrong. Never had I more needed to be invisible than at that moment.

Two of the camelmen led me outside the market, away from the laughter, and gave me some hot, sweet tea to drink. At first I could not understand what they were telling me, but eventually their signs and actions revealed that they intended to teach me how to ride a camel properly. I was thrilled. Now I would show Marco Polo that I was ready to leave with the expedition.

All morning I learnt new words like, ‘Koosh’ and ‘Hut-hut’ and other strange grunts, growls and whistles. These commands made the camels get up, walk, turn, stop and then lie down again. Some camels were bad tempered and riding them was difficult. I nearly fell off again a couple of times, but I clung onto the animal’s hump with all my might. This always made the camelmen laugh and clap. Finally, when I was able to stay on the camel, no matter whether it was getting up, walking, or lying down, my teacher gave me a long white cloth. I was not sure what it was for, and thought that I had to wash the camel with it. The camelmen laughed at my foolishness, one of them took the cloth from me and began to wrap it around my head and neck. At first I did not want to be covered up like they were, but then I quickly realized that it would help to make me invisible again.

By midday, with the new head-dress covering my face, I could mount into the saddle, make the camel stand up and then ride around the market, without looking out of place.

I was a camelman.

Marco, the camelman.

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Chapter 5

Camel Test

Marco Polo came down to the market an hour before sunset. He looked around to see if he could see me. He had seen me, but he did not know it. I had my Arab head-dress wrapped around my face and was riding towards him on a camel. He looked at me, and then turned away. I stopped the camel next to Marco Polo and said the word of command I had learnt from the camelmen, Koosh! The animal knelt down on its forelegs. I leant far back. The camel then lowered its rump to the floor and I leant forward. When it had stopped moving, I sat up straight on its hump and greeted Marco Polo.

Good evening, Mr. Polo, I said. Funny animals aren’t they?

Marco Polo looked around to see where I was. I jumped off the camel and stood in front of the puzzled young man. He regarded me intently and