“Yes, Paolo,” Oldo the Maestro sighed. “Have your say.”
“My lord, hurt to any merchant is hurt to all! Even if my goods train had come home intact, I would have wasted the drivers’ pay, the stevedores’ pay, the mules’ time, my son’s time! I have no profit from that trip, and will have no more profit from that town, for old Ludovico is dead, and surely none will dare build where he has fallen! It isn’t his misfortune only, but all of ours!”
Carlo Grepotti looked up with fire in his eyes, but Oldo said, “You have spoken well, Carlo Grepotti, and I thank you—but you have asked for the mercenary’s word, and we shall hear it!” He turned to Gar. “Will you tell us your tale?”
“I shall.” Gar unfolded himself to his full height, squaring his shoulders, and instantly commanded the hall. Everyone had seen him come in, but all now felt they had never seen him before. There was some assurance to his bearing, some commanding presence in his face and his posture, that brought instant respect and attention. Even Gianni stared. He had never seen Gar like this before.
With a measured pace, Gar told his tale, not hurrying, not lagging. His account was considerably shorter than Gianni’s, of course, but it agreed in every particular, save that Gar the mercenary gave more detail of the Stilettos’ armament and tactics—and, when he sat down, he left the impression of a terrible and ferocious force about to fall on Pirogia.
Silence held the hall for a few seconds after he sat. Then Carlo Grepotti shook himself and demanded, “What would you have us to do? Arm, and go out to attack them?”
“The best defense is a good offense.” Gar stood again. “Yes, there is some sense in what you say. But there’s better sense in being sure you can win before you attack, and that’s done by massing overwhelming numbers.”
“Ah, so we’re to employ mercenaries! I might have known you would encourage us to spend more money and more on men of your trade!”
“That would be wise,” Gar agreed, “but it would be even more wise to seek allies. I had thought there were a dozen merchant cities on Talipon, not Pirogia alone.”
The hall was silent for a few minutes, while all the merchants registered the idea with shock and tried to absorb it. Then Oldo the Maestro gave answer.
CHAPTER 6
Oldo said slowly, “Yes, there are other such cities, though Pirogia is the only one in which the merchants have become the government in name as well as fact—the others still have a doge or a conte and, though the merchants are the real power, they dare not move without their nobleman’s agreement. But ally with those with whom we must compete, in order to prosper? Unthinkable!”
“What would happen after the war was done?” Grepotti demanded. “How would we divide the spoils? For surely, in a war of a dozen city-states, all the aristocratic cities would league against us, and the only way to win would be to conquer them!”
“We could not win!” Pietro San Duse cried. “A dozen merchant cities, against fifty governed by noblemen? Impossible!”
“But even if we did,” Di Silva said, “the war would never end! With such an army and navy, no one city would dare disband them, for fear the others would league against it! We would have to use that compound army to conquer more territory and more, and the drain on our purses would never end! No, even I cannot approve such a league.”
Gar stood like a statue, his face flint. “It may be your only chance to stay free and independent.”
Oldo shook his head. “We shall find another way—there must be another way! Arm, perhaps, but league? No!” He looked around at the councillors all cowed and subdued by the mere notion of allying with their business rivals. “We must consider what we have heard, my brother merchants, and discuss the issue again, when our heads have cleared.” He struck the cymbal and announced, “We shall meet tomorrow at the same time! For today, good afternoon to you all!”
They did meet the next day, but Gianni and Gar weren’t invited, having already given their testimony—and more of Gar’s opinion than the Council had wanted. Papa Braccalese went, but he came home looking exasperated, shaking his head and saying, “They argued three hours, and could decide on nothing!”
“Not even to reject my idea of seeking allies?” Gar asked.
“Oh, that they agreed on—agreed on so well that Oldo began the meeting by saying, ‘I think we may safely discard this notion of making compacts with our competitors. Yes?’ and everyone cried, ‘Yes!’ with Grepotti saying, ‘Especially Venoga,’ and there was no more heard of that.”
Gar sighed, shaking his head. “It may be good business, but it’s very poor strategy.”
“What shall we do, then?” Gianni asked, at a loss. “What can we do?”
Papa threw his arms wide. “Business as usual! What else? But if it must be business, let us choose customers and sources as safe as can be found! You, Gianni, will take another goods train out—but you will go north to Navorrica this time, through the mountains, where the only bandits are those who grew up there, and the country is too rough for an army!”
Gar went too, of course—Papa Braccalese wasn’t about to let his son go without protection when there was a professional soldier available, and one who, moreover, refused to accept pay for his last assignment, maintaining that he had failed to bring the goods train safely home. At least, Gianni thought, he isn’t trying to take the blame for letting the Stilettos burn Ludovico’s warehouse!
Gianni was excited at the prospect of the journey, and delighted at the chance to redeem himself. He was also amazed at his father’s faith in him, when he had already lost one goods train. He was bound and determined to prove worthy of Papa’s trust—so the awakening was all the more rude, even though he had fallen asleep when it came.
Gianni, she called, even before he saw her; then it was almost as though he had turned to look behind him in his dream, and there she was, dancing languorously against darkness, swirling veils hiding her face and hinting at her form. She was desire incarnate, she was beauty, she was grace, she was all a man could want.
Gianni, she said, I have warned you against the Stilettos. Why did you not heed me?
I did, maiden. Gianni felt hurt. The Council wouldn’t listen.
Nor would your father, if he sends you a-venturing! It is not westward alone that you must fear to go, but northward too, and southward! I would tell you eastward also, if there were anything there but the sea!
Gianni was appalled. Why is there danger in every direction?
Because the lords are banding together, even as the giant told your merchants to do! They are banding together and bringing the mercenary armies, to take revenge on you insolent commoners who dare defy your natural masters by building and governing your own city! Oh, make no mistake, Gianni—the giant was right, in every respect! But if you cannot persuade your elders to ally with the other merchant cities, at least do not go out to your doom! Her form began to waver as she turned and turned, shrinking, receding. Do not go, Gianni … do not go …
Do not go! he cried, unconsciously echoing her. Don’t go! Stay a while, for I long to come to know you better! Stay, beautiful maiden, stay!
But she receded still, saying, Do not go … do not go … do not go …