Soon after I woke up this morning I started mulling over a story about Motovun a generation or so from now. “Nobody realized what was going on until it was too late,” the story began. A small band of armed criminals mostly from Bulgaria, Greece, and Serbia took the walled town without a drop of blood. “They plugged up the archway leading to the upper square with one of their two trucks, which turned out to be steel-plated from behind.” All the men found within the walls were immediately locked up as slaves, and everyone else was kicked out without mercy. “A few hysterical women were shot at once, and their bodies were chucked over the walls for everyone to see.” The band’s boss took the hotel for himself, his harem, and his bodyguards. “Apparently well-informed about Motovun’s past, he took to calling himself Baron Polesini.” The medieval town turned into an ideal hideout in increasingly uncertain times, and no-one in or around town even tried to challenge it. “The houses surrounding the walls were demolished within days, and their stone went into improvements to the fortifications.” Other Istrian hill-towns soon fell prey to other bands. “Oprtalj was next, followed by Grožnjan within weeks.” But I scrapped the story long before I finished it. Nowadays, even criminals may stumble upon ill-conceived fiction on the World Wide Web.

Addendum (October 29, 2016)

The first time I came up with a story of this ilk was no less than ten years ago (“A Little Bit of Savvy,” September 8, 2006). And the last time was two years ago (“Motovun’s Defense Strategy,” August 11, 2014). So far, nothing has come out of it. For better or worse, my story still appears a little farfetched. Marauders, what marauders? So be it, though. Let the marauders discover it all by themselves. In the end, it will be their story, anyway. Why spoil it so many years in advance?