by Aidan Harte
‘The Grimani were rich enough by then to overthrow the monarchy and “liberate” Veii. Every few decades the republic elects the latest Grimani as dictator-for-life. Sustained by the sweat of other men’s brows, without reason to risk and without risk to vitiate, Veii’s merchant class have become lazy living off rent.’
‘And the Small People?’
‘Keep them fed and they’ll reserve their passion for games. Life is simple here. Why not turn your back on Etruria and its ceaseless wars.’
‘So why are we here?’ Pedro said despondently.
‘Etruria’s trade routes don’t matter to Veii. While Duke Grimani thought Concord just wanted to control those routes, he wasn’t bothered; that’s why he wanted nothing to do with the League. I think the fate of Ariminum’s Consilium made him realise his fate is bound up with the rest of Etruria, whether he likes it or not. Now he understands that Concord seeks a more lasting empire, one in which every Etrurian is a bondsman.’
‘Just like the Cagligarians.’
‘Aye, like the Cagligarians. Well, life’s no fairy-tale. We can’t choose our allies for their virtues.’
They completed their circuit and made their way back to the summit. The horseshoe-shaped piazza was Veii’s exposed heart. It was dominated by Castello Grimani on one side and an old Etruscan temple on the other. The temple had been converted into a Marian cathedral centuries ago, but the leering gorgon on the pediment suggested that the Veians like to hedge their bets.
Ferruccio looked sideways at his companion. ‘You’re jumpy as a colt, Maestro. What’s picking at you?’
‘A riddle,’ said Pedro. ‘Why couldn’t the southern states come to agreement in Ariminum? It was clearly in the interests of every party.’
Ferruccio chuckled. ‘Seeking Reason in men’s actions is a quick way to drive yourself pazzo.’ He pointed to the cathedral’s pediment. ‘Look at the perpetually warring pantheon sculpted in yonder stone. Of course we are all Marian now, but I often think the gods of the pagans suit this fractious land a whole lot better. Domineering Concordians, turbulent Rasenneisi, perfidious Ariminumese – such varied terrain contains all the hues of humanity, lacking nothing but common ground. The League’s hour was not yet ripe, Maestro, simple as that.’
‘But why does it always have to come to crises? If we had presented a strong front in Ariminum – but General Spinther threw an apple of discord amongst us and that was all it took. If any ambassador had made a deal, it would have given his city a privileged position in the new order, so it became a race to betray each other.’
‘You losing hope?’
‘No, I think Etruria is. We need Veii to prove resistance is possible.’
‘You’re looking for a miracle, in other words.’ The doctor looked at him. ‘You had best go on without me,’ he said, gesturing at the cathedral. ‘Looks like I’ve some candles to light before dinner.’
Pedro could see he wished to minimise time spent with the duke. ‘You don’t trust him, do you?’
‘I trust men to look after their own interests. All I know is that if Veii surrenders to Spinther and is well treated, it’ll be devilish hard to make the case for fighting on.’
‘You’d best light a candle and pray that they don’t, then.’
*
Back in the duke’s cave-like court, Pedro complimented Veii’s natural defences. The duke could not have been prouder if he himself had laid out the city alongside the Tarquins. ‘These walls have not failed yet. Concordians may make rivers dance uphill, but with the sea behind us, there’s no danger of us being out-flanked.’
‘Past performance is no indicator of future earnings,’ interrupted a booming voice.
Duke Grimani’s genial mask slipped momentarily. ‘Ah – I was about to send for you to help me welcome your paesano, but I needn’t have worried. Nothing south of Concord escapes Salvatore Bombelli.’ He turned back to Pedro. ‘His power is something uncanny. We may not have haruspices to interpret sheep entrails in my court but I fear we will always need men who can commune with Mammon.’
It had been some time since Pedro had seen any of Fabbro’s sons. The three of them here – Salvatore, the heir apparent, Costanzo the youngest and Guido, one of the twins – represented the richest financial institution in Etruria after Ariminum’s Basilica. None of them looked like bankers; Salvatore looked and sounded like a sailor, Costanzo still looked the dandy, and Guido – Guido was a positive monk.
‘Are the rest of you here too, Salvatore?’
‘What, all us Bombelli together in a town about to be surrounded?’ Costanzo wagged his finger. ‘You know our papa taught us better than that. Like Etruria’s rivers, we Bombelli are everywhere.’ The brothers were scattered through Europa, in Byzant, Francia and Aragon, now Guido and his twin Gasparo had left Ariminum. Fabbro’s death had left Salvatore head of the family, with the twins next in line; Costanzo was the youngest and the nearest in age to Pedro. He was the only son who had initially resisted becoming a merchant, and as Fabbro wasn’t the type to stop his children doing what they loved – in inconstant times, diversification made sense – Costanzo was indulged. Alas, his vices were expensive ones, and when poetry failed to pay, the siren call of coin-counting drew him back to the fold. He retained the long hair, fine clothes and louche habits of the bon vivant, but his youthful experiences proved a surprisingly prudent investment, for a facility with fine phrases is always useful to a salesman, and his contacts soon led to lucrative contracts with Etruria’s leading families, that upper tier his rough-hewn father never quite managed to breach.
‘We’ve been eager to see this young fellow for quite a while,’ Salvatore announced. ‘Pedro – or I should say, Maestro Vanzetti – is our last hope of returning to Rasenna and of avenging our father.’ He caught Pedro in a bearhug. ‘What did you do with the little Pedro then – eat him?’
Salvatore was sociable as his father, if not nearly as diplomatic. Where Fabbro had cajoled and bargained with the world, Salvatore barged through. Fabbro’s death confirmed Salvatore’s position as head of the family firm; after Rasenna was lost, the Bombelli Family banco became a truly rootless venture – and a whole world of profits opened to it.
Guido was always pale and hollow-cheeked, but he looked even more gaunt, Pedro thought. He had never before seen him without his twin, but some instinct prompted him not to remark on it now. Neither had ever flirted with other trades; banking had been their sole obsession since they were boys. Guido might be less effusive in his greeting than Salvatore and Costanzo, but he was never very warm; all that mattered was that the Bombelli were here. Pedro’s great fear had been that they would find some accommodation with the Concordians – they were businessmen, after all, and for all their swagger they were conservative risk-averse investors.
When Pedro finished telling them about the situation in the city of towers, Guido cleared his throat solemnly and said, ‘Things have moved on in Ariminum too. The revolution—’
‘—that’s what they’re calling it,’ said Costanzo. ‘Sounds better than coup, I suppose.’
‘Whatever they’re calling it,’ Guido continued calmly, ‘it was soon settled. When the Consilium barricaded themselves in the Basilica, the Moor took the harbour and the arsenal – God knows how.’
‘I know,’ Pedro said quietly. ‘The arsenalotti gave it to him.’
‘Look at the dark horse,’ Costanzo said.
Guido nodded slowly. ‘That explains it. The arsenal is Ariminum’s real heart.’
‘I suppose the Consilium tripped over themselves to betray each other?’
Guido regarded Pedro carefully. ‘I see you’ve dealt with them before. The Moor said yes to everyone, and when the Basilica’s doors were opened – well, they learned what his word was worth.’
‘In the Basilica!’ the duke exclaimed, then reflectively, ‘I suppose that temple was long defiled by moneylenders. No offence, Signore—’
‘None taken,’ said Salvatore gracio
usly. ‘Our work’s not holy, only necessary.’
‘In any case,’ Guido continued, ‘I escaped, but Gasparo didn’t. He was strung up with the rest of the Consilium.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Pedro exclaimed.
‘We’ve all suffered,’ said Salvatore stoutly.
This was the time to reveal what he’d discovered at the summit. ‘The Moor’s made a deal with Concord,’ he announced.
Salvatore didn’t look remotely surprised. ‘Of course. Akka’s far away. He wears the corna as long as Concord allows it. But we can discuss this over dinner. Come back to my apartment and we’ll make you presentable. You can’t dine with a duke dressed like a brick mason.’
*
Back in Salvatore’s apartment, Costanzo sheepishly presented a purple velvet suit. ‘Byzantine. I’m terribly sorry about the cut. It’s two years old.’
Pedro assured Costanzo that he’d never worn anything as fine; his father would have greatly admired the exquisite tailoring. As he dressed, he remarked to Salvatore that his relations with the duke seemed somewhat strained.
‘You picked up on that?’ said Costanzo dryly.
‘It’s the stress,’ said Salvatore. ‘Grimani is a man used to solving his money problems by fiat.’
Pedro looked around the lavish surrounding, ‘Money problems?’
‘Yes. One would think a people with a cornucopia like the Cagligarian Isles would have few, but prudence is like any muscle. It atrophies if it’s not used. The duke’s appetites and the indolence of his subjects have both grown over time. When he discovered there was a limit to the amount he could levy and remain popular, he debased the coinage. Then he began to confiscate the estates of wealthier citizens. Of course he distributed a fraction to the Small People so no one protested, but now that he has to pay for things that have been neglected, trivialities like defence, all the fat sheep are gone.’
‘And so he has to deal with you. How indebted is he?’
‘He’s the most ostentatious pauper you’re ever likely to meet. Twenty thousand soldi.’
‘Merda. Where did you even get that kind of money to lend?’
‘My dear boy, that is the simplest thing in the world. A rich man’s stool reeks like ours, but every man considers his debt perfume. I sold it on to investors in the form of five-hundred-soldi bonds, thus raising the cash and pocketing a substantial commission. We want the League to succeed, but it’s profit that makes our chimney smoke.’
‘Don’t try to explain that to Grimani,’ said Costanzo gleefully. ‘He thinks it immoral that we make him pay interest.’
‘If it’s high, I’m sure you have reason,’ said Pedro. ‘What is your opinion of Veii’s prospects?’
‘Oh, it’s not like that at all. I just have to cover my arse,’ Salvatore laughed. ‘The duke gives me a hard time, but as you see, he knows how to treat his guests.’
Pedro reflected how far the Bombelli had come from Rasenna, and the contrast between these extravagant apartments and the joyous anarchy of Tower Bombelli. He remembered tripping over bolts of cloth, hitting his head on the camphor pomades that hung from the counting room’s ceiling. He remembered Fabbro fretting over his scales and rapping orders to his sons while Maddalena offered advice on everything. Sweet memories. At last, Pedro ventured onto the subject that had been on his mind since they met. ‘Salvatore, your father and I didn’t always agree, especially towards the end, but above all else he cared about family. He would rather have seen the Bombelli beggared and united than the richest family in Etruria and hating each other.’
Warmth drained from the banker’s smile. ‘And I would rather he was alive. That woman is dead to me,’ he said simply.
‘We would have looked after her,’ Costanzo said, ‘but she connived with a foreign dog to kill our father.’
‘You don’t know that—’
‘We know she stole our patrimony,’ said Guido, ‘and for that alone, she deserves a traitor’s death.’
Salvatore’s face darkened further. ‘You find that funny, Pedro?’
‘No, I was laughing at myself. When you declared against Concord, I took it as a sign that our chances were decent. Now I realise it’s just your Rasenneisi blood that makes you willing to back a loser.’
‘Our motivations don’t matter any more,’ said Guido. ‘Only money matters from here on. Without credit, no city eats and no army marches.’
*
The long table was carpeted with a menagerie of meats and fresh fruit, and there was enough wine to dizzy an army. A new set of candles burned their hearts out as servants danced around the guests and fiddlers clawed the silence away. The four elders who represented Veii’s four lower hills sat with Doctor Ferruccio, Pedro and the Bombelli brothers, but they ate and drank little. Their silent presence was required whenever Duke Grimani wanted to impress upon foreigners that his reign was stable. In spite of all the effort, there was a strained quality to the air. It takes practise to make guests at ease, and being a tyrant – aside from the moral implications – can make one an awkward host.
Grimani began with a toast. ‘My deepest condolences for the loss of your brother.’ He tipped his glass towards Guido. ‘You must feel the loss most keenly.’
Guido solemnly raised his glass. ‘To Gasparo Bombelli!’
‘I’m just surprised that he couldn’t buy his way out,’ Grimani remarked as he sat down.
The talk moved swiftly on to developments north and south, and the inevitable discussion of that great mystery that even the most penetrating couldn’t unravel – how things had come to this pass.
‘Etruria has but one problem and that is the Etrurians. The people of this land of ours are loyal to the flag of their home town and nothing else.’
The duke repeated the cliché as though it was a great profundity, but Ferruccio could not agree. ‘You speak as if your only objection to the First Apprentice’s ambition is that you are not him – have you ever considered that our very disunity is an asset? Etruria is cosmopolitan, and variety is more than the spice of life: it’s a curb to tyranny. Each state’s government and customs exist in close competition with others. Of course there are arguments to the contrary: united, we would be military stronger, less vulnerable to invasion, and yes, yes, all true – but all the same, we would be reduced.’
‘How dull it would be to constantly agree,’ Costanzo laughed.
Salvatore was coolly analytical about the brewing conflict. ‘Say what you will about the Concordians, they know how to plan inter-generationally. Papa always said it’s the only way to get anything done. Our banco didn’t grow in one lifetime, and Papa wouldn’t have been the man he was without his papa’s capital behind him. My bet is Captain Giovanni’s bridge was just one step in a strategy conceived long ago, maybe even as far back as Bernoulli’s day.’
‘They didn’t plan for Rasenna to revolt,’ the duke said pointedly.
‘No, but a plan like this isn’t overthrown by one setback.’
Ferruccio paused in his mastication to remark, ‘They’re as dogged as their bloody machines.’
‘The good doctor has trouble understanding such unity of purpose. Salerno is a democracy.’ The duke looked around brightly. He considered himself rather a wit, but this was more a consequence of being surrounded by terrorised sycophants than any quickness of intellect.
‘Better than a tyranny,’ Ferruccio growled.
The duke’s smile vanished. ‘Veii is a republic, like Rasenna.’
Salvatore had also had enough of Grimani’s patronising attitude. ‘Come, Duke, you may not wear a corna, but Veii is your kingdom.’
The duke was unwilling to concede the point in front of his subjects and temporised, ‘It’s true my family are influential voices – what of it? A select group rule in Ariminum, in Rasenna, in Concord – the only difference is that we do not require foreigners to believe its hypocrisies. Our citizens are content. Ask them.’ He turned to the row of elders. ‘Isn’t that so, Marsuppini?’
‘Entirely contented,’ said the magnate without looking up from his plate.
‘You see! Whilst it is true that they have sacrificed a degree of freedom for stability, they have the maturity to know a republic ruled by the Small People would soon vote itself into ruin. Dictatorship is the best solution in this imperfect world. All revolutionaries say their revolution is the last, but the momentum that brings them about carries them to excess, and that makes reaction inevitable and presently a fresh revolution is necessary. My people have chosen to get off that wearying carousel. I’m surprised that a son of Fabbro Bombelli doesn’t acknowledge their wisdom – but delude yourself, by all means, if it makes you happy.’
‘My father was no tyrant.’
‘But somehow your sister is. I’m not sure I understand the distinction.’
What remained of the meal was a tense affair, as was the week that followed.
*
As Pedro explained his drawings to the Veian masons and blacksmiths, he saw in the tight lips that mouthed thanks and felt in their weak handshakes that it was not just the Concordians who held Rasenneisi engineers in suspicion. He was free with his knowledge, but such profligacy makes the miserly wary and before long certain voices started to whisper to Duke Grimani that Pedro Vanzetti was a new Girolamo Bernoulli come amongst them. Had not the Stupor Mundi been contemptuous of the Guild traditions in his youth? Had not his hand been open before he made a fist?
It wasn’t just guildsmen who showered them with hostile looks. The Small People did their bit. Didn’t they know, Pedro wondered, that he was here to help? This, he realised with a start, was how it must have been for Giovanni when he first came to Rasenna.
*
As Pedro outlined his suggestions to the duke, the notary kept a running total of the costs. The duke agreed to his key suggestions – the earthworks and diverting the Albula – but his other ideas were dismissed out of hand. It was becoming clear that the Bombelli were but one of the bancos to whom Grimani was indebted.
Although he wasn’t prepared to pay for it, the duke still craved assurance. ‘What say you, Maestro Vanzetti – shall we survive the coming storm?’