IV
The sergeant stopped the small company about a quarter of a mile from the city of Bari. His detachment numbered only ten but they were well armed with swords and blunderbusses and wore mail and iron helmets. On the face of it, they would have been a match for ten times this number of merchants.
It was hardly noon, but the sergeant had already been at his wine flask. He leered at them. “And where do you think you go?”
The merchant who led the rest was a thin little man but he was richly robed and astride a heavy black mule. He said, “To Bari, soldier.”
He drew a paper from a pouch. “I hold this permission from Baron Mannerheim to pass through his lands with my people.”
The leer turned mercenary. “Unfortunately, city man, I can’t read. What do you carry on the mules and asses?”
“Personal property which, I repeat, I have permission to transport through Baron Mannerheim’s lands free of charge and worry from his followers.” He added in irritation, “The Baron is a friend of mine, fond of the gifts I give him. Only last week, we supped together.”
One of the soldiers grunted his skepticism, checked the flint on the lock of his piece, then looked at the sergeant suggestively.
The sergeant said, “As you say, merchant, my lord the baron is fond of gifts. But aren’t we all? Unfortunately, I have received no word of your passage. My instructions are to stop all intruders upon the baron’s lands and, if there is resistance, to slay them and confiscate such properties as they may be carrying.”
The merchant sighed and reached into his pouch again. The eyes of the sergeant dropped in greed. The hand emerged with two small coins. “As you say,” the merchant muttered bitterly, “we are all fond of gifts. Will you accept this and do me the honor to drink my health at the tavern tonight?”
The sergeant’s mouth slackened and he fondled the hilt of his sword.
“Do you insult me by offering me a bribe, merchant?” He cleared his throat suggestively. “Such a small bribe, at that?”
The merchant sighed again and dipped into the pouch. This time his hand emerged with half a dozen bits of silver. He handed them down to the other, complaining, “How can a man profit in his affairs if every few miles he must pass another outstretched hand?”
The sergeant growled. “You do not seem to starve, city man. Now, on your way. You are fortunate I am too lazy today to bother going through your things. Besides,” and he grinned widely, “the baron gave me personal instructions not to bother you.”
The merchant snorted, kicked his heels into his beast’s sides and led his half dozen followers toward the city. The soldiers looked after them and howled their amusement. The money was enough to keep them drunk for days.
When they were out of earshot, Amschel Mayer grinned his amusement back over his shoulder at Jerome Kennedy. “How’d that come off, Jerry?”
The other sniffed in mock deprecation. “You’re beginning to fit into the local merchant pattern better than the real thing. However, just for the record, I had this, ah, grease gun, trained on them all the time.”
Amschel Mayer said, “Only in extreme emergency, my dear Jerry. The baron would be up in arms if he found a dozen of his men massacred on the outskirts of Bari, and we don’t want a showdown at this stage. It’s taken nearly a year to build this part we act.”
At this time of day the gates of the port city of Bari were open and the guards lounged idly. Their captain recognized Amschel Mayer and did no more than nod respectfully. The merchant and his party proceeded through the heavy stone gate, with its grill of iron, now lifted, its ultra-thick, iron-studded doors open behind.
Jerry Kennedy said from the side of his mouth, “A couple of sticks of dynamite and you’d have a hole you could march a regiment through.”
And Mayer answered placidly, “Which is one of the reasons we have not as yet introduced dynamite, my dear Jerry.” He kicked his heels into his mount’s sides.
They wended their way through narrow, cobblestoned streets, avoiding the crowds in the central market area. They pulled up eventually before a house both larger and more ornate than its neighbors. Mayer and Kennedy dismounted from the horses and left their care to the others.
Amschel Mayer beat the heavy knocker on the door and a slot opened for a quick check of his identity. The door opened wide and technician Martin Gunther let them in.
“The others are here already?” Mayer asked him.
Gunther nodded. “Since breakfast. Baron Leonar, in particular, is impatient.”
Mayer was proceeding down the tapestry-hung, still grim, hall. He said over his shoulder, “All right, Jerry, get the servants to bring that stuff in. This is where we put it to them. Or, as the old expression had it, lay it on the line.”
Followed by Martin Gunther, he entered the long conference room. A full score of men sat around the heavy wooden table. Most of them were as richly garbed as their host. Most of them were in their middle years. All of them were alert of eye. All of them confidently at ease. They were men of strength, no matter their physical make-up, which varied considerably.
Amschel Mayer took his place at the table’s end, and took the time to speak to each of his guests individually. By the termination of that, Jerome Kennedy had entered the room and sank into the chair next to him.
Mayer leaned back and took in the gathering as a whole. He said, “You probably realize that this group consists of the twenty most powerful merchants on the continent.”
The one he had greeted earlier as Olderman, nodded. “We have been discussing your purpose in bringing us together, Honorable Mayer. All of us are not friends.” He twisted his face in amusement. “In fact, very few of us are friends. Competition, when one reaches our level, does not bring with it personal regard.”
“There is no need for you to be,” Mayer said. “But all are going to realize the need for cooperation. Honorables, I have just come from the city of Ronda, where I needed the help of some of the artisans there to complete my preparations for this meeting. Although I had paid heavily in advance to the three barons whose lands I crossed, I had to bribe myself through a dozen roadblocks, had to pay fabulous rates to cross three ferries, and once had to fight off supposed bandits.”
One of his guests grumbled, “Who were actually probably soldiers of the local baron who decided that although you paid him transit fee, it still might be profitable to go through your goods.”
Mayer nodded. “Exactly, my dear Honorable, and that is why we’ve gathered.”
Olderman had evidently assumed spokesmanship for the others. Now he said warily, “I don’t believe I quite understand, Honorable Mayer. Your urgent invitation that I attend this conference suggested that it would be greatly to my profit. It is for this reason I am here.”
Mayer suppressed his characteristic impatience. “Genoa, if you’ll pardon the use of this name to signify the world upon which we reside, will never advance until trade has been freed from these bandits who call themselves lords and barons.”
Eyebrows reached for hairlines.
Olderman’s eyes went quickly about the room, went to the doors. “Please,” he said. “The servants.”
“My servants are safe,” Mayer said.
However, several of his guests stirred in their chairs unhappily.
One of them was smiling without humor. “You seem to forget, Honorable Mayer, that I carry the title of baron.”
Amschel Mayer shook his head. “No, Baron Leonar. But neither do you disagree basically with what I say. The businessman, the merchant, the manufacturer on Genoa today, is only tolerated. He is a second-rate citizen of middle class. Were it not for the fact that the barons have no desire to eliminate such a profitable source of income, they would milk us dry overnight.”