In this post dedicated entirely to the Ducal Palace or the Palazzo Ducale, which will give you all the information to prepare the visit of the Ducal Palace in Venice: schedules, how to get there, prices, book the ticket online, ...
I also share my advice to enjoy visiting the Doge's palace without the crowds. In fact, as an important historical building in Venice, Doge's Palace attracts many visitors, both on weekdays and on weekends ...
Visit of the Doge's Palace: Practical Information
To start this entry in the Doge's Palace of Venice, we will deal with the practical aspects of the visit of the landmark Palace, Venice Ducal. In Italian, the building is called the Palazzo Ducale. In French, it is also sometimes called the Doge's Palace.And it was that spirit, the essence of a loved one, that mattered. * * * The next night, Sirona pushed aside the hide door of the dwelling she shared with Dysri and went out into the cold stillness. She moved quickly through the camp, stopping only to pat one of the hounds, stretched out, guarding the doorway of a dwelling. She rubbed the huge, fawncolored animal behind its ears, and it gave a shuddering sigh. After giving the dog a final pat, she straightened and moved on. She walked to the edge of the settlement and sought out a herding path that led up into the hills.
The ground crunched with frost as she walked, and overhead the stars hung in the blue black sky like sparkling ice crystals. On the western horizon, the crescent moon gleamed like the blade of a curved ceremonial knife. The going was rough, the trackway rocky and edged with furze. As she picked her way along, a wolf howled in the distance. But her heart didn’t race, nor did she tense with dread. It was a wolf that had led her to this place of sanctuary. The brisk air pierced her clothing. She pulled her mantle more tightly around her body and quickened her pace. The pathway crossed two hills, gleaming faintly in the moonlight, then led down into a ravine thick with thorn and bramble bushes. She pushed her way through the brush and dodged the stones littering the pathway.
At last she came to a clearing where a handful of knee-high, lichen-splashed boulders were arranged in a circle. She took a deep breath and then entered the circle. After pausing a moment to gather her thoughts, she lifted her hands to the sky. “Arianrhod, lady of the moon, the face of the Goddess who rules the sky and shines her bright light upon the land, show me the way. Tell me what I must do.” She waited, but heard nothing except a faint whisper of breeze stirring the leaves of the nearby bushes. A sigh escaped her lips. She understood that she was meant to go to the sacred isle, to share what she’d shared with Cruthin, even if their mating had fallen short of completion.
She was meant to be banished from her tribe and to travel north. But after that, her destiny, her purpose, grew blurry and vague. Bits and pieces of knowledge had come to her, but so much else eluded her. It seemed the answers lay in the future, a future that she could not see, no matter how hard she tried. Please, Great Mother, she begged silently, give me a sign. Once again, she raised her arms to the heavens and repeated her exhortation. But no tingling started along her spine and her inner vision remained empty. Above her the stars shone, cold and brilliant, and the face of the Lady gazed down upon her with silence. She sighed again, thinking she should return to the settlement. There were no answers here. She thought then of Old Ogimos, the ancient, solemn Drui who hadn’t lectured on the movement of the stars, nor made them recite endless tales and genealogies, or demanded that they learn the proper way of performing a ceremony. Instead, Ogimos had taught them things of the spirit, awakening in them a sense of the pattern all around, the way everything was connected.
Now his words came back to her. You must not be impatient with the gods, but let them reveal their purpose for you in their own time. You must remain quiet and still and listen. Listen with your heart and your spirit. The answers will come to you on the whispering wind, or the voice of a stream splashing over the rocks. Secrets await you in the dark shadows of the woods, in the perfection of a flower hidden among the fallen leaves and dried grass. The flower waits for the right moment to bloom, to come forth in all its glory. And so, someday, the answers will be revealed to you and you will understand at last. His words made her look down at the ground. Her gaze fell upon the dried bracken at her feet, the curling mosses that would be green in summer, but which now looked dead and brown. The earth and most of the plants and trees would sleep through the coming season of cold and snow.
They would reawaken in the spring, but for now they were dormant. Perhaps that was what she was meant to do also, here in the land of the north. Perhaps as Dysri had suggested, she wasn’t supposed to take action or to pursue her destiny. Perhaps, like the brown, lifeless vegetation all around her, she was meant to enter a time of waiting, to draw close within herself and absorb the life force all around, to gather it in, so when the time came to act, she could be strong... and powerful... like the Goddess.
The thought made her impatient. She didn’t want to wait. She wanted knowledge and answers. And yet, the earth told her that this was the way of all things. The rhythm of life, of the seasons, couldn’t be rushed. Her own body told her this as well. She was still very young. Her moontimes had begun only a turn of the seasons ago. She had scarcely crossed the threshold of womanhood. Perhaps that was why things had gone wrong with Cruthin. They were both too immature, too unfinished, to complete the ceremony as it should be completed. More children playing a game than adults performing a sacred rite. But someday... She thought of her first vision. That time would come. She knew it, could feel it with every breath she took. But first she would be tested, tested cruelly.
Even as she had the thought, the visions came. She began to shiver violently as her mind was filled with images: Nesta lying dead on the ground. A terrified woman fleeing a warrior with a sword. The red-haired queen, her face a mask of triumphant cruelty. Chariots and warriors. Fire and blood. Death and destruction. She gasped and slumped to her knees, covering her face with her hands. If this was what was to come, then she had no desire to hurry to meet the future. She was not ready yet.
Not ready... The images vanished and Sirona got slowly to her feet. The Goddess had answered after all, telling her that she should enjoy this time of quiet and peace, this season—or seasons—of her spirit lying fallow. She gazed up again at the sky, silently thanking the lady of the moon for her soft, beneficent light. * * * * * * * * * Lady of the Moon is part one of the historical saga The Silver Wheel. The following is a preview of part 2, The Raven of Death. Please follow me online at http://marygillgannon.com for updates on this saga as well as my other books. Preview The Raven of Death, Part 2 of The Silver Wheel Saga A.D. 61 The settlement was crowded with many wooden buildings, although they didn’t look like the round dwellings of a Pretani settlement. The air was full of the haze of smoke. Ahead of her, Sirona saw a woman with long, reddish gold braids. The woman moved cautiously, a bundle clutched her to her chest. Her eyes darted around, wide with fear and dread. The tall form of a man loomed out of the murk. He wore a long warrior’s mustache and carried a club and a round shield. With his club, he knocked the woman down.
The woman struggled to rise, but her attacker swung the club once more, striking her on the side of the head. As the woman fell, the bundle she carried went flying. The babe inside the wrapping tumbled out and lay squalling on the ground. The warrior crouched over the woman, as if to make certain she was dead, then straightened. He started to move on, and then spied the baby lying there, screaming, tiny fists flailing. With a swift kick, he sent the infant sailing into the wall of a nearby building. Sirona awoke, pulse pounding, stomach churning. She sat up and took a deep breath as she sought to shake off the horror of the dream. Dysri, lying nearby in the leather-walled shelter, also roused. “Sirona, what is it?” “A Seeing, I think.” Sirona swallowed, struggling against a wave of nausea.
“This one was awful.” “Do you want me to brew some mint and thyme to help calm you?” Sirona touched the blue-green stone hanging between her breasts, seeking comfort from the warmth of the object. “I’ll be all right. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” Dysri sat up on her bedplace. “You’ve had several troubling dreams lately. What do you think it means?” Sirona shook her head, unwilling to discuss the matter. “Go back to sleep, and I’ll try to do the same.” Long after Dysri’s breathing had grown deep and even, Sirona lay there, wide awake. She kept seeing the dream in her mind. Both the woman and the warrior had appeared to be Pretani. So, why had the man killed her? And why did these visions come to her now, when she had lived in the north for four untroubled years? Her sense of foreboding grew until it felt like a rock lodged in her belly. She could feel her destiny reaching out for her... a claw-like hand groping in the darkness. Shuddering, she once more shifted position on the bedplace. * * * “Sirona, wake up.” Dysri nudged her. “There’s a visitor in camp.” Sirona’s stomach still felt unsettled from the vision of the night before, and her eyes were gritty from lack of sleep. But once awake, she hurried to dress and comb her hair. She felt certain this visitor and her visions were connected. Although he appeared fairly young, the man talking to Ruadan in the chieftain’s hall wore the garb of a Learned One.
As soon as he saw her, the man’s blue eyes widened. Gradually, she recognized him. It was the young Drui who had come to Mordarach the spring before the gathering on the sacred isle. He smiled and beckoned her near. “It’s a pleasure to find another Learned One here in the north. I am Kellach of the Silure tribe.” Sirona cleared her throat and responded, “And I am—” “Sirona of the Tarisllwyth,” he finished for her. “I remember you from when I visited your home dun.” Sirona stared at him, not knowing what to say. Kellach’s blue eyes focused on her keenly. “I recently went back to Mordarach. When I asked about you, I was told you were dead. They said you went north to find your father’s tribe. When your escort didn’t return, they sent out a search party but found nothing. They thought all of you had been killed by Romans.” “I wasn’t there when the Romans attacked,” Sirona explained. “I had gone off to fetch some water. When I came back, my escort was dead. I attempted to bury the two men, then wandered on my own for days until I made my way here.
Tell me, how did Tarbelinus’s search party know we were attacked by Romans?” “Of course it was Romans,” Kellach responded. He glanced at Ruadan. “Who else would have done such a thing?” He looked back at Sirona. “Apparently, you haven’t been in contact with Tarisllwyth these past years. It would seem I have much news to share with you.” Ruadan, a florid-faced, burly man who got his name from his bright red hair, gestured broadly. “Let us seat ourselves before the fire and you can share your tale with all of us.” Once settled on some furs with a cup of heather beer in his hand, Kellach began, “This is the story of Sirona’s home tribe. Three years ago, Romans came to their settlement.
At first, they demanded tribute and their chieftain, Tarbelinus, gave it to them. But he eventually grew angered by the contempt they showed your people and plotted his revenge. This previous sunseason, when a Roman envoy came to collect the tribute, Tarbelinus had them killed. That brought the wrath of the Romans down upon them. A large force was sent to the settlement.” He shook his sadly. “They tried to fight, but they were easily defeated. There were simply too many of the enemy.
Hours of the Palace of the Doges of Venice
Doge's Palace hours vary depending on the season. These are the visiting times of the Doge's Palace:from 01/11 to 03/31: from 8.30 to 17.30 (last admission: one hour before the closing of the mouth)
from 01/04 to 31/10: from 08:30 to 19:00 (last admission one hour before closing)
Keep in mind, it is possible to visit the Doge's Palace at night, often from spring until late summer.
Palace of these nocturnal Ducal of Venice takes place only on Fridays and Saturdays. Ducal Palace is open until 23pm, with one last possible admission one hour before closing the palace, or 22 hours.
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