“And where the merchants had their warehouses, of course,” Gar said, “it was only natural that they build their dwellings.”
Gianni nodded, surprised that the man cared enough to reason that out. “Within a few years, all of them were living there.”
“And their clerks and workmen, of course.”
“Of course.” Gianni was beginning to wonder if perhaps this stranger was a bit too quick for comfort. “They built bridges between the islands, those that were close enough, and traveled to the bigger ones in small boats.”
Gar smiled. “Even as a merchant in Renova might ride a horse to work, or haul his goods in wagons.”
“A merchant in Renova wouldn’t be allowed to own a horse,” Antonio said. “He could own a wagon, of course.”
“That was true for the merchants in Tumanola, too,” Gianni pointed out, “but no law said they couldn’t own boats.”
“I begin to see the advantage of living far away from the prince’s eye,” Gar said. “How long was it before he began to realize they had built their own city?”
“When ships began to dock at the larger islands, and fewer docked at his own harbor. Then he levied a tax on all goods imported to Pirogia, but the merchants refused to pay it.”
Gar smiled. “How many times did he demand before he sent his army?”
“Only twice—but when the army came, they discovered the other advantage of a city built on islands.”
“What?” Gar asked. “The ability to see the enemy coming a long way away?”
“No,” said Gianni, “the difficulty of marching on water.”
Gar’s smile widened. “Of course! A natural moat.”
“A moat a quarter of a mile wide and a hundred feet deep.”
“Didn’t the prince send his navy?”
“Of course.” Gianni smiled. “That was when the noblemen discovered what excellent sailors we merchants had become.”
“Surely they fired cannon at your walls!”
“Pirogia has no walls,” Gianni said. “What need would we have of them? Our lagoon is wall enough—that, and our fleet.”
“Had your grandfathers had the foresight to build warships, then?”
“A few. Besides, there were pirates, so every merchantman carried cannon, and all our sailors knew how to fight a ship as well as how to sail one—still do, in fact, though pirates are rare now. The prince’s captains came against us in galleys, but we met them in ships with lateen sails and tacked against the wind until we could turn and sail down upon them with the wind at our backs!” Gianni’s eyes glittered with fierce pride; he spoke as though he had been there himself. “We shot off their oars; the balls ripped the sides of the galleys, and a hundred small boats harried them from all sides—small boats that pulled the enemy sailors out of the water, and we held the prince’s captains to ransom.”
“Surely he couldn’t accept such a defeat!”
“Indeed he couldn’t, and sent to the noblemen of other seacoast cities to bring an armada against Pirogia. Our great-grandfathers were ready, but they quailed inside—what could all their merchantmen do against so huge a fleet of galleys?”
“Outsail them?” Gar guessed.
“Indeed.” Gianni grinned. “Their huge galleys couldn’t move or turn as swiftly as our caravels—but even so, they might have won by sheer numbers had it not been for the tempest that blew their fleet apart. Our captains fell upon them piecemeal, in twos and threes. Most never came in sight of Pirogia, but limped back to land to mend their hulls and sails.”
Gar nodded, gaze never leaving Gianni’s face. “Was the prince content with that?”
“He tried to force the other cities to build a stronger navy and attack us again,” said Antonio, “but Renova began to fight with Slamia over a boundary—a river had shifted its course—and Gramona thought it a good opportunity to seize some of Slamia’s territory, while the conte of Marpa saw a chance to swallow some of Renova’s mainland trading bases—but Borella took alarm at the idea of Gramona growing any stronger, so it attacked in defense of Slamia, and Tumanola itself had no wish to see Marpa gain more of the trade which the prince’s merchant counselors were advising him to seize for himself, so Tumanola attacked Marpa, and …”
“I know the way of it.” Gar nodded with a grim smile. “Soon they were all fighting one another, and forgot their concern about Pirogia in the stir. Had your grandfathers sent agents to foment trouble in Renova?”
“What—could building a mere dam in the hills change the course of a river?” Antonio said airily. “Or even a dozen of them?”
“And Tumanola’s prince has never threatened again?”
“Well,” said Gianni, “he has not moved against us, neither he nor any of his descendants. But they constantly make threats, they harry our ships when they can—and they have never left off demanding a share of our profits.” He looked up at a thought. “Do you suppose it might be the prince himself who has hired the Stilettos?”
“We shall find out before we see our lagoon again,” Antonio said grimly.
“What of the sailors your great-grandfathers captured?” Gar asked.
Gianni couldn’t believe it. The man was deliberately asking for more history! “Most of them decided to stay in Pirogia and look for work—they knew a good thing when they saw one. Our grandfathers would only allow five of them to a crew, of course, and had them watched closely, in case they proved to be spies—but none did.”
“And the rest?”
“When the battle was done, we let them go home. We ferried them to land, where we struck off their chains and let them wander where they chose. Some lurked about as a bandit tribe, but our city guard put an end to that quickly enough—after all, they only had such weapons as they could make from wood and stone. The others went home, so far as we know; in any event, they never came to Pirogia again.”
Gar leaned back, hands on his knees, “A brave battle, signori, and worthy forefathers you had! No doubt you have built well on their foundation.”
“Pirogia is a mighty city now,” Antonio assured him, “though we still have no wall—and the stew is done.”
Gianni ladled out servings into wooden bowls and gave them to Antonio and Gar. All about them, the drivers were eating and talking in low voices, except for the half-dozen on sentry duty. Gianni sat down again, dipping his spoon into his bowl. “What of yourself?” he asked. “Were you raised to sailing ships?”
Antonio looked up, alarmed—it was rude to ask a mercenary where he came from or why he had become a soldier. Rude, and sometimes dangerous—but Gar only smiled and said, “In my homeland, most people fished or farmed.”
Gianni ignored Antonio’s frantic signals. “What is your homeland?”
“A land called Gramarye,” Gar answered and, anticipating his next question, “It’s a very big island very far away, out in the middle of an ocean.”
In his interest Antonio forgot his manners. “Gramarye? I have never heard of it.”
“It’s very far away.”
“The name means ‘magic,’ doesn’t it?”
Gar smiled. “I see you know some languages other than your own—but yes, ‘Gramarye’ means ‘magic,’ or a book of magic, and a magical land it is, full of mystery and intrigue.”
“It sounds like the kind of place that would draw a man,” Gianni said, then bit his tongue in consternation, realizing just how thoroughly he had forgotten his manners.