Vergil did not admit to noticing. Always, he walked on.
On one side as he walked he saw all manner of iron-work stacked.
On one side as he walked he saw, not all manner of dyed goods, for the delicate stuff was not worked in Averno, but much. Strong sunlight would not affect the iron, but would certainly do no good to the cheap cloth and its equally cheap colors. Here a “Sarcen” muttered as he turned over iron bangles and iron knife- and hatchet-blanks certainly destined for some lone sandbank where the immemorial mute- or dumb- or silent-trade still flourished: Equally the buyers and the sellers had to trust each other, for equally the sellers and the buyers feared each other. Merchandise was set out on a mat and signals made by smoke or drum (why, as he thought of this, did some other drumbeats come full-sudden and full-strong into his mind: and which?), or both; then see the merchants retire to their ships offshore, and well offshore, well out of spear- and arrow-range. Presently the autochthons would come forth from their forest. . desert. . bog. . examine the ware, then set down beside it what they thought its worth in what they themselves had to barter: grains of gold; pearls, perhaps; tortoiseshell. An elephant’s tooth. Then come again the merchants and they assess the proffered goods. If they are content, they take and depart. If not, they return awhile to their ship, and another while they wait, then once return more. Sometimes more has been placed beside the trade goods. Sometimes not.
It would be possible, of course, for one side to cheat the other, simply to take all, and speed away.
But if so, then there is never again that trade on that beach. Only the waiting arrow, the poised spear, and the silent, poisoned point.
Was it the incessant thumping of hammer on forge that brought Vergil to a full stop? Why now? The beat of the pounding mingled in his mind with the, imagined but a moment ago, beat of drums on a distant shore. What? Which? He shook his head impatiently, the image would not come; deep it lay, and it would not rise. With one short sigh he walked on. And up a rough ramp. And up a few rough steps. And up a short, very short wooden ladder. And then in, or on, the platform before the room that was the countinghouse of Rano. Even as he came up he heard the professional mumble from within, such as, with copious variation according to circumstance and situation, he might hear in any countinghouse:
“… fifth day of the month. . of the year of the Reign. . second indiction …”
“… such-and-such a quantity of packing-straw and so many and so many canvas packing-cases …”
“… to hire of six mules for two days at thus-and-so a rate per mule per day, and thus much more for fodder per mule …”
“… and three score plus one-half one score of lance-head blanks made after the fashion of Florence, per accompt of a Saracen merchant of Malaga …”
“… this ink is too thick, my ser …”
“… piss in it, then …”
“… ten sheets of tin from Beritinia, alike beknownst as Tinland, of the quality costing 12 florins per quintal …”
“Where is the bill for the accompt of Mahound? Not yet ready? Why always tell they me, ‘Not yet ready?’ A score I have me, clerks, yet, always, always, ‘Not yet ready: Ready? Not.’ Me Herc! Me Herd!”
“If you would listen, Frog. To me, Frog, if you would listen. The system of numbers and of algorithm, new, new, new! A tithe of the time ‘twould take, O Frog Thy Herd! Thy Herd!”
“Clerks can no learn your new numbers. Talk me not of such. — Who? Is coming, who?”
And there within was Rano.
Vergil entered. “Get out,” Rano said at once. The command was not meant for the visitor, for at once the clerks arose, and left tablet and stylus, abacus and record-rolls, talley-sticks and ledger-books; thus, three men left in that space, not closed but closable. The third remained with pen poised over papyrus as though he had not heard his master speak; any moment Vergil expected the command to be repeated; it did not come. But when this sole servant raised his head and looked, all was clear. All was clear from the deep-seamed skin and hairless cheeks and chin and indeed from the very folds about the very eyes. It was death to make eunuchs in the Empire. But it was not death to buy and own those already made. As such had no families and could have none, they were deemed safest of servants, not alone in regard to women, but in regard to money as well. . and did not both temptations go so often together? This one looked a moment at Vergil and for that moment in that look Vergil had some strong intimation that he was seeing and being seen by something not entirely human; the face and gaze, perhaps, of some ancient and immensely sapient being, but one whose sapience was of a clean different order than those of men and women. Then the eunuch’s look went back to his book, and the pen descended and the voice began again to mutter, voice as high as a woman’s yet as strong as a man’s.
One thousand florins per annum per physician Adserovio, payable quarterly and due the third day instant, videlicet 250 florins plus monies laid out for medications by said physician as follows: for zedoary. . aloes. . liquid of myrrh…. And the voice became as low as the buzzing of bees and perhaps no longer represented so much individual words as a mere sound ancillary to the process of calculation and thought.
Rano was on his feet, facing Vergil, facing him close, “Master Mage,” said Rano, “if you will do something for me that you will don’t do for any other, then I will give you golds.” He made an odd, abrupt gesture. Vergil followed its direction. And indeed he did see “golds,” scores and scores he saw of them; they lay upon the worn and checkered cloth surface of the table where the eunuch sat and wrote, and now and then, with his humming rising to an odd and singular singsong mutter, the eunuch swept some into one column and some into another, swept to one side, one, and to another side, another; he paid them no more especial attention than had they been counters in a game. And why should he? Perhaps they were. What else were they to him? What, for that, was anything? Eunuchs were said to love arithmetic, and it was well they did and could: for what else could they love which asked no more of them than that it be put and kept in order?
“What one thing had you in mind to have done, Magnate — ”
This far had Vergil gotten, and time had had to savor some different scent and odor (fainter, though) than the smoke and stench and the sweet airs, to realize, if only half-realize, it was the papyrus and the parchment and the ink (not, certainly, the golds anymore than the silvers and the coppers; suddenly he understood that pecunia non olet, “money’s got no smell,” was not merely an expression of an economic attitude, it was a statement of physical fact). Thus far had he gotten with question and with thought, when the magnate broke in on both. Rano grimaced, but it was not with anger, not even so much as impatience, as of simple earnestness. “It is not some one thing I have in mind, in my mind, no! Master Mage! Wizard! You see, seen, will see …” Was the man reciting some paradigm or declension? No, he was trying, striving, he was struggling, to bring his own thoughts into order, and an order that would cover all possibilities. “… things I don’t. Can’t. See. I cannot know. You can. Know. And when you will be knowing, if you don’t tell some others, if you tell only me, if you will do this for me, for me: I will, I will give you golds. Not a coin and a robe. Not two coins, two robes. But many, master. Man-y. Many golds — ”