“You might have heard that Perctarit has come back from his exile and has now reclaimed his throne…” Duke Alachis continued.
“I have not heard anything. I have spent the whole winter strapped in bed inside a Cimbrian hut!” Adalulf replied.
“I wanted to go straight to Papia, overthrow Grimwald’s baby and be King myself!” Duke Alachis shouted.
“I told you that you should have departed immediately, and not wait until the end of winter!” Rodelinda scolded her husband.
“I know! I know! But I listened to that idiot, the Duke of Vicetia! He said, ‘no… wait… let’s also find an accord with the Duke of Tarvisium, and the Duke of Ceneda…’ All morons!”
“And they waited,” Rodelinda explained, “…and Perctarit moved before all of them, and now he has consolidated the support of all the Catholic dukes around his crown.”
“Well, he is not my king!” Duke Alachis shouted. “I can tell you that much! He is insistently forcing his religion down everyone’s throat. But, I am not going to bow down to the Roman Pope! For God’s sake we are Arians!”
“Tell me about it,” Adalulf supported his old friend. “I never got this whole obsession that God and Christ are one and the same, but at the same time one is the son of the other! It never made sense to me… Arius’ doctrine is more straight forward…”
“You are more of a theologian than I am, Adalulf! Ha! All I know is what our fathers and grandfathers believed in! It’s part of being Longobards! Perctarit wants to turn us all into spineless Latins! And I say, never!”
Alachis slammed his fists on the table making all cups and cutlery reverberate.
“So you are actually going to confront Perctarit…” Adalulf asked.
“You bet I am! And we are not alone! All the dukes of the northeast are with me, from here all the way to the Duke of Friuli! We have no choice!”
“Lulf, you cannot imagine the insolence of this new king,” Rodelinda explained. “He wrote to all his dukes that, as agreed with the Pope, we must have Catholic bishops settled in each Duchy! Can you believe this man?”
“I am not too surprised…” Adalulf replied. “You see, Alachis, you live up here in the mountains. You are the farthest north Duchy of the Longobard Kingdom of Italy. But as you go down, the weather gets mild and tempered… the wine is sweeter… and then there is olive oil…”
“You know where they can put their olive oil? Ha!” Duke Alachis interrupted.
“What I am saying is that the environment molds men,” Adalulf continued. “We came from the north, but our people have been down here for over a century now. You and I, Alachis, we are the last of a kind. The new generations… the young Longobards are being shaped by the Mediterranean breeze, whether it is the customs, or the religion, or…”
“Mediterranean breeze my ass!” Duke Alachis loudly interrupted again.
The Duke slammed his fist down on the wooden table so forcefully that the wine cup that he had previously set down now jumped and it almost became airborne. He grabbed it in midair, took a sip, and loudly laughed.
Chapter 22
MEDITERRANEAN BREEZE
The six Venetian ships had arrived in Kerkyra. As they were mooring on the docks, Marcello yelled at the other captains:
“Whoever thought to put the slaves to row was genius!”
“Well, I am the one that adjusted the ship to accommodate slave rowers!” Claudio replied, “So, I’ll take the credit!”
“With absolutely no wind like today and yesterday,” Primo added, “…this gave us at least one full day advantage over the Ravenna merchants! They are still to be seen near port!”
“They are not bringing slaves, but just salt…” Polo commented, “…so let’s hurry up and sell salt before buyers see another ship coming down from the Adriatic!”
The Venetians began to sell salt immediately to all the merchants that approached. In the meanwhile, Polo began preparations to have the slaves dismount and line up by the dock. Interested merchants from both Constantinople and Alexandria approached inspecting the blond Slavic men. Justo captained the ship at the very edge, and he yelled toward Polo:
“Polo! How much are we selling them for? I know some Greek, but you better come here and see what these two are saying. They seem interested in buying!”
“Thirty solidi!” Polo replied.
Toward the end of the day, the merchants from Ravenna arrived as well, but it was getting dark already. The Venetians were feeding the slaves, and they began to discuss how the day went, and what to do the next day.
“We sold a good amount of salt, three solidi per barrel…” Primo assessed, “but people stopped buying once they saw the Ravenna flag appear in the horizon…”
“Yes, tomorrow we will have to adjust the price and lower it to stay on top of Ravenna,” Polo agreed, “but that’s not what worries me…”
“What’s the matter?” Marcello asked.
“It’s the slaves’ sale that worries me,” Polo replied. “I thought they would go crazy for all these blonds. Dirty grayish blonds, but still an exotic hair color for the Arabian customers that these merchants will target…”
“How many slaves did we sell?” Primo asked.
“Only eight. They were handpicked, and they really looked for the best. The youngest and strongest. It seems like thirty solidi is the price for a premium slave, but the rest are being ignored at this price…”
“Perhaps they started waiting once Ravenna’s ships showed up,” Claudio suggested. “Maybe they were hoping they had slaves too…”
“Perhaps…” Polo continued. “Let’s see if it picks up tomorrow, when they realize we are the only ones selling Slavic prisoners.”
The next day the Venetian merchants started bustling around very early. They were determined to underprice what Ravenna charged for salt. They also had to test how the slave trade went, being the only ones with Nordic men for sale. They had already dropped the price of salt to two solidi a barrel, and they were giving deals to those who bought barrels by the bulk. However, the slave trade was stagnant. And toward the end of the morning a bearded Egyptian merchant approached Claudio. Judging by this merchant’s clothing he was well off and probably wealthier than average. Claudio, who did not speak Greek nor Egyptian pointed at Polo. The Egyptian merchant, named Simeon, then walked toward Polo and addressed him in Greek.
“Are you Polo? The Venetian who is fluent in Greek?”
“That would be me? How can I help you?”
“Look, I have to return to Alexandria tomorrow, so I do not have time, like all the others, to wait until you are forced to lower your price. I need twenty of these Slavic slaves and I will offer you twenty solidi each…”
“I tell you what…” Polo replied. “I will sell them to you for thirty solidi, and I will give you a complimentary barrel of salt for each slave that you purchase.”
Simeon smiled at Polo. He looked at him with an expression that exuded a lot more knowledge about slave trade, and he could tell Polo did not really know what he was doing.
“Look, Polo, you look like a nice young fellow, so instead of watching you make miserable mistakes, I want to help you out…”
“Any advice is most welcome, my friend… what is your name?”
“My name is Simeon, Simeon of Alexandria.”
“It is nice to meet you, Simeon… I am listening…”
Polo was genuinely interested in hearing what Simeon had to say. He was convinced that this was a haggling tactic by the Egyptian merchant, but he enjoyed haggling quite a lot.
“Look, Polo, your slaves are overpriced. Blond Slavic men are a hot commodity with the new Arabian lords that have recently conquered Egypt, but thirty solidi is just not the right price. I assure you that no merchant will buy here in Kerkyra. And you are starting to understand that too…”
�
��You might be right Simeon, but last year a colleague of yours, also from Alexandria, suggested to me to sell slaves this year and that I will make thirty solidi each. Was he lying?”
“Look, he was probably talking about eunuchs. Now, castrated men are definitely worth thirty solidi, but it does not appear to me that you have any!”
“Are you telling me that you will be willing to pay ten extra solidi for a eunuch and still purchase twenty slaves?”
“Oh, if you had eunuchs I would buy, not twenty but fifty!”
Polo grabbed his belt knife and pulled it out as he turned toward the slaves behind him.
“Very well, if fifty slashes are going to make me… Sabino! Can you come here?”
“Wait, wait, wait, wait!” Simeon stopped. “Please, this is not how you do things!”
Simeon blocked Polo before he did anything crazy, and the commotion had Primo come closer, who approached with Aldo by his side. None could understand Polo and Simeon speaking in Greek, nevertheless they closed in to give Polo some support, in case he needed it.
“This is not how you do it!” Simeon continued. “No one would buy a bleeding slave! They could have an infection, they could die, and besides, you usually do it when they are young and they haven’t developed yet!’
Polo put away his knife and observed Simeon as he was now staring at Aldo.
“Now look, for instance, this boy is the perfect age. And with this golden blond hair… not that sandy grayish blond of your slaves over there… he would be worth for sure even fifty solidi!”
Polo asked Aldo to come closer, took him under his arm and then placed him forward for Simeon to have a closer look.
“So how long would a boy that has not developed yet, how long would he take to heal?” Polo asked Simeon.
“Well not too long, but when they are still this young you can sell them for a discount, say forty-five solidi, and then the slashing can be done in Alexandria…”
While Simeon put his hands on Aldo’s shoulder and had him turn around to observe him better, Primo approached Polo and asked:
“Polo! What is this merchant saying? Why did you ask Aldo to come forward?”
“He wants to buy Aldo for forty-five solidi! Shall I insist for fifty?”
Primo walked forward, grabbed Aldo and dragged him back, giving Simeon a dirty look. Then he addressed Polo again:
“Polo! What is the matter with you! Aldo is one of us!”
“I am just testing the market! I am researching prices!”
“Sometimes I don’t know when you are joking and when you are serious!”
“Oh, please. He would love it down in Alexandria! The weather is warm, the palm dates are sweet, and besides those balls are just going to get in his way in life! He could become the advisor to some powerful caliph!”
Primo just gave Polo a dirty look. As he carried Aldo away, he told the young boy:
“Listen, Aldo, you stay very close to me at all times. Perhaps you were a little too young to bring down to Kerkyra. Be alert and stay always by my side!”
Polo instead just smirked and turned back to Simeon who insisted:
“So, do we have a deal? Twenty slaves for twenty solidi each?”
Polo sighed and then replied:
“… we have a deal… go ahead and pick, in the meanwhile let me find Sabino for the accounting… Sabino!”
As Simeon’s men were taking away twenty slaves and Sabino was counting the gold solidi the Egyptian merchant gave him, Polo announced to everyone else:
“Everyone! New market price for a blond slave! Only twenty solidi! And just for today, you get a complimentary barrel of salt, so don’t bother purchasing it from those Ravenna merchants over there!”
As he was about to walk away, Simeon turned around and smiled at Polo. He admired his willingness to understand the market and to adjust without feeling proud about his initial assessment. He walked back toward Polo and said:
“Look Venetian, I am a wealthy merchant and at my age I hate traveling, but I have to, in order to make the best deals…”
Polo was listening. He could sense that some other opportunity was coming his way.
“So the reason why you are selling for only twenty solidi per slave…” Simeon continued, “…the reason is because everyone has to travel over here to Kerkyra, to the mouth of the Adriatic, to see if there are any Nordic slaves in the market… Now, do you think you can fill six ships of slaves next year as well?”
“Absolutely! Where I am from, we just go a little inland and we pick them like berries!”
Polo had no idea how he would be able to secure slaves again. This was a one-time deal, due to Grimwald’s war against the Avars, but he would not know how to obtain slaves on a regular basis. Simeon did not doubt him, so he continued:
“Very well! So listen, you seem to be a young and adventurous merchant. Next year, come directly to Alexandria, and you can sell them directly to the new Arab lords for twenty-five solidi… thirty-five if you manage to have eunuchs!”
“It makes sense…” Polo replied. “It costs more for both of us to take a trip and meet half way. For us, traveling to Kerkyra or going all the way to Alexandria, it just adds a week of navigation but it would be totally worth it if this means making five solidi extra per slave… Overall, it means it is a total of… Sabino!”
“Very well,” Simeon concluded, “when you arrive to Alexandria, ask for Simeon. Everyone knows me down at the port. You and your men would enjoy Alexandria. Trust me, it’s much more than Kerkyra!”
“Oh, I lived in Constantinople for half a year. I know the beauties of large cities!”
“No… dear Polo, Alexandria is much more! First, Constantinople is not what it used to be… The Arabs are sieging it every spring… Second, Alexandria is the gateway to Africa!”
“I remember when I was in Constantinople, almost ten years ago, all the trade that went on with Alexandria! The back and forth of ships was massive!”
“In addition, for you Christians,” Simeon added, “there are the relics of Markos the Evangelist! It’s a must pilgrimage, don’t you know?”
“I did not know that…”
“Don’t you have priests up north to teach you all this stuff? Do you have to have a Jewish merchant like me to acculturate you?”
Simeon laughed, while Polo smiled, a little embarrassed about his upbringing. He supposedly had Father Leontio assigned to his teaching, but he ended up being raised by uncultured farmers. Polo always had a craving for knowledge and learning, but he had never had a chance. Now, as a grown man, he felt inferior when meeting with other merchants from the civilized world. Simeon sensed Polo’s discomfort, so he tried to cheer him up:
“Don’t you worry, Polo! When you come to Alexandria, I will sell you at a discounted price a nice slave. They are perfect for merchants who do not have time to read, or do not know how to read!”
“Why?”
“They read for you, or tell you all you need to know about the Bible, about history, or whatever you are interested in!”
“I will definitely see you in Alexandria next year, Simeon!”
The two merchants saluted each other, each returning to his respective land. They were so different in many ways, but they were brought close together by that shared body of water, the Mediterranean Sea.
Ioannicio was dipping his pen on ink, as he was getting ready to mark a leather parchment. Behind a desk, working in silence, Ioannicio felt equivalent to other men, if not better than average. His deformities were not noticeable when sitting down, and the unpleasant sound of his voice could not be heard through the written word. His peace and quiet was interrupted when an aide entered:
“Ioannicio, the fisherman from the Venetian lagoon has returned!”
“Let him in…”
As Ioannicio waited behind his desk,
Mauro of Metamauco entered, escorted by the aide.
“Mauro! This will have to be a brief session, because I am about to go to a scheduled meeting with the Exarch Theodoros. What news do you bring me?”
“Sir, the lagoon is on fire. A Longobard army has entered and set fire to the villages of Canareclo, Rivo Alto and Olivolo…”
“Well, that is unexpected!” Ioannicio replied genuinely surprised. “I guess with Tribune Stefanos gone to Constantinople… I imagine their so called new Duke Polo is not providing much of a defense!”
“Polo and most of the men have sailed south to trade, so there are mostly women and children…”
“Gone south to trade, uh? Last year they made a fortune thanks to the misfortunes that occurred to our traders. This year they went down for more…”
“They sailed down with six cargo ships, and in addition to salt, they brought slaves…”
“This might be a bigger problem than I envisioned…” Ioannicio commented. “Now that they left the lagoon completely unattended, I shall personally take a trip there in representation of the Exarch…”
“A more prominent presence of the Exarchate in the Venetian lagoon is of utmost necessity, in my humble opinion…” Mauro replied. “Polo needs to be put in his place!”
“Very well, Mauro! I shall now speak to the Exarch, and I will be planning a trip to Heraclia within the month.”
Ioannicio lifted himself up from the chair, holding his crutch, while the aide escorted Mauro outside.
Ioannicio entered the Exarch’s quarters to find Theodoros pacing up and down. As Ioannicio was still slowly limping toward his seat, Exarch Theodoros immediately asked him:
“Did you finish the letter to the Patriarch of Grado?”
“I was about to, but I was interrupted by an informer coming from the lagoon…”
“I cannot believe he has not replied to a single of our requests,” Exarch Theodoros continued. “He is still acting as if heading an independent church…”
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