Thanks, Sharur and Your Majesty. 
You know what they say, behind every story is ... uh ... the backstory? Er, nevermind.
driftwood
You know what they say, behind every story is ... uh ... the backstory? Er, nevermind.
driftwood
-
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Yes, that was very impressive, and if it's all a lead-in to another situation, as Lord Durham seems to have indicated, I'll be even more impressed
I've been away all weekend so I just returned to read...
WHAT A GREAT SET OF POSTS DRIFTWOOD!!!
I'll introduce you to another family tomorrow.
WHAT A GREAT SET OF POSTS DRIFTWOOD!!!
I'll introduce you to another family tomorrow.
The Apprentice
The next cross reference that Sir Jonathan followed appeared to be a short excerpt from a diary, attributed to an ‘Angelo Boccanegro’. A small footnote indicated that prior to 1419 he had been a junior clerk in the Bank of St. George.
The historian knocked the now-consumed ashes from his pipe, packed a new wad of Drum into the bowl, struck a match and drew heavily until it the sweet taste and comforting aroma pervaded his senses once more. Then he returned his attention to the tome, to read the words of the young banker.
January 1, 1419
I was told to report to the Marchese Romeo Negrone’s office, in the main building on the Piazza Fontana Marose, first thing tomorrow morning. It’s something that fills me with dread and fear. Have I done something wrong? Have I processed a loan incorrectly? Has someone defaulted that I’ve already loaned money to? Is it something I said? Something I did? You don’t get summoned to one of the bank’s senior investors’ office unless it’s big…and it’s usually bad. I hope I don’t have to go and beg papa to get me out of a fix again or he’ll never pass on the family title to me.
January 2, 1419
Oh happy day! My fears turned out to be paranoia!!! I have a new posting!!!!!!!!!!
I arrived at the Banco di San Giorgio this morning and was immediately shown into the Marchese’s office. It was incredible…plush chairs, a large, solid oak desk, its own hearth, and his ink well was this beautiful ivory sculpture of Venus that held several quills in her arms and appeared to be dancing at the edge of a black pool of water – which was, of course, the ink. The office looked out over the Piazza from the top floor – four floors! – and he has a full-time aide to run errands for him and take the minutes of his meetings. (I think his name was Luigi but I’m not certain since he never spoke other than to say “Yes, sir” or “Right away, sir”.)
I got there at about 5 minutes to eight and Negrone was already hard at work. He didn’t even glance up when his aide announced me (though perhaps there was the slightest of nods) and I stood there in abject terror for about ten minutes until he finished whatever it was he had been doing. I didn’t know what to say, and he was so senior that I couldn’t address him without being spoken to first, so I just waited. I only glanced around the room once (in case he looked up and found me idly surveying his office) so all I could do was look at the Venus sculpture and at him.
He’s an older man - maybe even in his early 50’s – and what little hair he has remaining as silvery and a bit unkempt. He’s a little overweight, and his face is lined so deeply it’s almost as though he’s wearing skin that’s a few sizes too large. Later, when we spoke, I noticed that every time he turned his head his jowls would follow a little behind and sort of flop there, back and forth, for a moment before settling down. It was really distracting and I found it hard not to smile or laugh each time that it happened.
He was dressed in the richest robes I have ever seen – even more opulent than papa’s – which were a very deep blue in colour, and he wore only two rings. One was his signet ring which he used to seal whatever it was that he’d been writing when I arrived. The other was a thick band of solid gold with the largest sapphire mounted upon it that I expect I will never witness its like again.
When he finally did finish it was his aide who scattered sand across the parchment to soak up the excess ink, then blew it off again, folded it and dropped the blue-tinted tallow on the seam for his master to seal. Only then did he actually look up and acknowledge my existence.
“You are Angelo Boccanegro?”
“Yes, Marchese.”
“Good,” he said. “I see you have both patience and respect. I know your father quite well, and he suggested that I consider you for the position. He seems to think that it is time for you to learn a new aspect of the business.”
“I am honoured, sir,” I managed to say. My mind was spinning. Here I was, thinking that I was going to get an earful and he was talking about a promotion! I have no idea what papa might have said to him, but I was almost speechless.
“Tell me, what do you know of our bank.”
“Well, sir, I know it was originally called the Societa delle Compere di San Giorgio and was created by the Doge some decade ago for two reasons. The first was that the state was bankrupt due to war debts and needed a way to refinance it in order to avoid another civil war like the ones we had a hundred years ago. By allowing the 35 wealthiest families to invest in the Societa and then assume the state taxation to pay off the debt, they made themselves even wealthier but gave Genoa a chance to survive. I know that both your noble family and my father’s were amongst the founding members.”
He nodded for me to continue.
“The second reason is that almost all of the families were merchant houses and, working together, this gave them a better chance at securing favourable trade rights and presence in foreign countries since it is a state-sanctioned house and was the first Chartered Bank when it was given that privilege a decade ago. That’s when we became the Banco di San Giorgio.”
“Good. And how do we improve the wealth of the bank?”
“Ah…well. Through financing families that are less well off and by administering the public debt?” That’s what I said, anyway. It sounded wrong, but I’d never really thought about it before.
“There, you’re wrong. We guaranteed only a 7% interest on over 3 million Genoese Pounds of debt and the ‘less fortunates’, as you call them, are small enough in number and in needs that they bring in very little by way of revenue. No, the two ways that the bank really makes its money is through sanctioned trading partnerships, and through loans to foreign nations.”
“Even as we speak, Henry the fifth of England fights a war against Charles the sixth of France. Neither had enough money to raise their armies and so each of them came to us for a loan a couple years ago. We settled on terms – though considerably different than the type we would arrange with a citizen of Genoa, and they can fight their war and we can make our money. I know you have spent your first eighteen months at the bank doing personal loans, but you’re not ready yet for this sort of financing.”
“The other method is, in most respects, the most profitable part of the whole bank: the Mercantile Branch. There, we spend small sums of money to set up and support independent merchants operating in the various centres of trade around the world. If the merchant is successful, what we get in return is a share of their profits paid on a monthly basis. Depending on the trade centre, and how dominant our merchants’ presence is, this can generate amazing profits.”
I nodded to him to indicate I was following him.
“Let me give you an example that’s close to home. Right here in Liguria is one of the more active centres of trade. I’ll concede that it might not be quite as rich in terms of the commodities traded as our arch-rivals in Venuto but it is valuable enough. Over the course of several years we have developed a strong merchant presence here – which should come as no surprise – but the addition of only one more merchant trading house would, effectively, give us a monopoly here and we would rake in the lion’s share of the business. It is my intention to finance such a venture this month. It is, further, my intention to give you the task of looking after the details, and of expanding our trade into some of our neighbours’ centres in the coming months and years.”
“I…I don’t know how to thank you, Marchese Negrone,” I stammered. “I won’t let you down. I…I…I’m not sure where to begin though.”
He smiled. “Ah, the ignorance of youth. Don’t worry. I’m not just going to give you a sack of the bank’s money to go out and play with. You will apprentice with me, personally, for your first couple of years. Then, when I’m ready to retire to my estates and give up the business, you may just be lucky enough to take over my position. If you’re good, that is.”
“I am honoured, Marchese.”
“As you should be. It is one of the few disappointments in my life that the only son I sired had to go and get himself killed in some petty duel. Your father is a close personal and business friend. It is to his first-born that I will look to uphold Genoa’s honour.”
The rest of the day was a whirlwind of activity. We rode our horses down to the market area and then Negrone just seemed to stroll around. He stopped and looked at things, as though he was going to buy them, but then politely moved on without spending a coin. I, in the meantime, followed just a pace or two behind him, and behind us both came the aide. Every once in a while a man would stop the Marchese and talk to him, and I gradually learned that these were the men that the bank had helped to establish. They were the wealthiest looking men, and the most respectful. Not surprisingly, their wares seemed to be of the highest quality as well.
I came to realize that the bank had already established a network of strong merchants who dealt in international affairs – perhaps five dominant ones – and that our purpose today was to identify the most likely candidate as an additional venture.
By day’s end we had visited one particular place at least four times, and this time the Marchese asked to speak to the owner. The man, when he appeared, seemed to know Negrone – perhaps not personally, but by reputation – and delightedly invited him into the back room of his store house that was a short walk away. He and the banker then talked back and forth for the better part of an hour – far too much for me to write down no, since I’m exhausted, though Luigi seemed to be taking meticulous notes – but the end result was a business arrangement that seemed to suit both men.
They concluded their dealings and then my new master said, “Young Boccanegro will be back tomorrow with the money you need, and some papers to sign. It’s been a pleasure, sir, good evening to you,” and we left.
January 3, 1419
I went to the office this morning and I discovered that a small, plain desk had been added to the Marchese’s room, near the far wall where it would be fairly unobtrusive. I guess when Negrone said “work closely with me” he really meant it! Now I’ll be spending all of my time trailing him around, and I’m supposed to work on my writing and language skills as much as possible. I barely have time or energy enough to be writing this.
We started off the day with Negrone explaining to me how a trade contract was written up and then preparing the one for the merchant we had dealt with yesterday – Como is his name. Then we went downstairs and entered the vault. It was incredible! He just tossed me a bag filled with gold. I’ve never held so much money in my hands at one time in my entire life! £2,000 !!!
I delivered the bag, accompanied by an armed escort (which I was told was courtesy the Doge), and obtained Como’s signature on the document. Then it was back to the office for another round with my mentor.
“This was easy,” he said, “but I admonish you not to get too cocky. It will take him a month or so before we’ll know if he can operate on that level, and even then the competition is tough out there, and likely to get pretty fierce here soon as well. We aren’t the only ones in the business, you know, and our Venetian ‘friends’ are the worst offenders. They’re just as likely to set up someone of their own and try to put one of our people out of business, and it’s money down the drain for us.”
“They could do that?”
“Oh yes. There aren’t many nations that can compete with us on this scale, but they are out there. You can’t trust them any further than you can throw them. It’s not uncommon to have to go back and either find a new man to work with or try to re-establish someone who’s been pushed out of the market. Sometimes you just have to grin and bear it and look elsewhere. Other times there may be a more diplomatic approach.”
I spent the rest of the day reading some books that he had on international trade law and reviewing the contracts that we already had. The money we spend is more of a “start-up” gift than a loan. There is never any talk of repaying the investment other than through a healthy share of the trade revenue, so I can see that I will have to learn to treat such sums as merely drops in the bucket.
I also looked at some of our returns from our existing merchants and what I read made my head spin. We could even recoup our “gift” and then some in a matter of months! I think I will have to work on my maths as well.
I must to bed. I’m exhausted.
These were the only three diary entries included at this point in the cross reference, though Sir Jonathan saw that there were several other inclusions that dealt with the same subject. He was getting hungry again, though, and decided to come back to them in an hour or two. He could see that this entire volume might take some considerable time to chew his way through, so to speak.
The next cross reference that Sir Jonathan followed appeared to be a short excerpt from a diary, attributed to an ‘Angelo Boccanegro’. A small footnote indicated that prior to 1419 he had been a junior clerk in the Bank of St. George.
The historian knocked the now-consumed ashes from his pipe, packed a new wad of Drum into the bowl, struck a match and drew heavily until it the sweet taste and comforting aroma pervaded his senses once more. Then he returned his attention to the tome, to read the words of the young banker.
January 1, 1419
I was told to report to the Marchese Romeo Negrone’s office, in the main building on the Piazza Fontana Marose, first thing tomorrow morning. It’s something that fills me with dread and fear. Have I done something wrong? Have I processed a loan incorrectly? Has someone defaulted that I’ve already loaned money to? Is it something I said? Something I did? You don’t get summoned to one of the bank’s senior investors’ office unless it’s big…and it’s usually bad. I hope I don’t have to go and beg papa to get me out of a fix again or he’ll never pass on the family title to me.
January 2, 1419
Oh happy day! My fears turned out to be paranoia!!! I have a new posting!!!!!!!!!!
I arrived at the Banco di San Giorgio this morning and was immediately shown into the Marchese’s office. It was incredible…plush chairs, a large, solid oak desk, its own hearth, and his ink well was this beautiful ivory sculpture of Venus that held several quills in her arms and appeared to be dancing at the edge of a black pool of water – which was, of course, the ink. The office looked out over the Piazza from the top floor – four floors! – and he has a full-time aide to run errands for him and take the minutes of his meetings. (I think his name was Luigi but I’m not certain since he never spoke other than to say “Yes, sir” or “Right away, sir”.)
I got there at about 5 minutes to eight and Negrone was already hard at work. He didn’t even glance up when his aide announced me (though perhaps there was the slightest of nods) and I stood there in abject terror for about ten minutes until he finished whatever it was he had been doing. I didn’t know what to say, and he was so senior that I couldn’t address him without being spoken to first, so I just waited. I only glanced around the room once (in case he looked up and found me idly surveying his office) so all I could do was look at the Venus sculpture and at him.
He’s an older man - maybe even in his early 50’s – and what little hair he has remaining as silvery and a bit unkempt. He’s a little overweight, and his face is lined so deeply it’s almost as though he’s wearing skin that’s a few sizes too large. Later, when we spoke, I noticed that every time he turned his head his jowls would follow a little behind and sort of flop there, back and forth, for a moment before settling down. It was really distracting and I found it hard not to smile or laugh each time that it happened.
He was dressed in the richest robes I have ever seen – even more opulent than papa’s – which were a very deep blue in colour, and he wore only two rings. One was his signet ring which he used to seal whatever it was that he’d been writing when I arrived. The other was a thick band of solid gold with the largest sapphire mounted upon it that I expect I will never witness its like again.
When he finally did finish it was his aide who scattered sand across the parchment to soak up the excess ink, then blew it off again, folded it and dropped the blue-tinted tallow on the seam for his master to seal. Only then did he actually look up and acknowledge my existence.
“You are Angelo Boccanegro?”
“Yes, Marchese.”
“Good,” he said. “I see you have both patience and respect. I know your father quite well, and he suggested that I consider you for the position. He seems to think that it is time for you to learn a new aspect of the business.”
“I am honoured, sir,” I managed to say. My mind was spinning. Here I was, thinking that I was going to get an earful and he was talking about a promotion! I have no idea what papa might have said to him, but I was almost speechless.
“Tell me, what do you know of our bank.”
“Well, sir, I know it was originally called the Societa delle Compere di San Giorgio and was created by the Doge some decade ago for two reasons. The first was that the state was bankrupt due to war debts and needed a way to refinance it in order to avoid another civil war like the ones we had a hundred years ago. By allowing the 35 wealthiest families to invest in the Societa and then assume the state taxation to pay off the debt, they made themselves even wealthier but gave Genoa a chance to survive. I know that both your noble family and my father’s were amongst the founding members.”
He nodded for me to continue.
“The second reason is that almost all of the families were merchant houses and, working together, this gave them a better chance at securing favourable trade rights and presence in foreign countries since it is a state-sanctioned house and was the first Chartered Bank when it was given that privilege a decade ago. That’s when we became the Banco di San Giorgio.”
“Good. And how do we improve the wealth of the bank?”
“Ah…well. Through financing families that are less well off and by administering the public debt?” That’s what I said, anyway. It sounded wrong, but I’d never really thought about it before.
“There, you’re wrong. We guaranteed only a 7% interest on over 3 million Genoese Pounds of debt and the ‘less fortunates’, as you call them, are small enough in number and in needs that they bring in very little by way of revenue. No, the two ways that the bank really makes its money is through sanctioned trading partnerships, and through loans to foreign nations.”
“Even as we speak, Henry the fifth of England fights a war against Charles the sixth of France. Neither had enough money to raise their armies and so each of them came to us for a loan a couple years ago. We settled on terms – though considerably different than the type we would arrange with a citizen of Genoa, and they can fight their war and we can make our money. I know you have spent your first eighteen months at the bank doing personal loans, but you’re not ready yet for this sort of financing.”
“The other method is, in most respects, the most profitable part of the whole bank: the Mercantile Branch. There, we spend small sums of money to set up and support independent merchants operating in the various centres of trade around the world. If the merchant is successful, what we get in return is a share of their profits paid on a monthly basis. Depending on the trade centre, and how dominant our merchants’ presence is, this can generate amazing profits.”
I nodded to him to indicate I was following him.
“Let me give you an example that’s close to home. Right here in Liguria is one of the more active centres of trade. I’ll concede that it might not be quite as rich in terms of the commodities traded as our arch-rivals in Venuto but it is valuable enough. Over the course of several years we have developed a strong merchant presence here – which should come as no surprise – but the addition of only one more merchant trading house would, effectively, give us a monopoly here and we would rake in the lion’s share of the business. It is my intention to finance such a venture this month. It is, further, my intention to give you the task of looking after the details, and of expanding our trade into some of our neighbours’ centres in the coming months and years.”
“I…I don’t know how to thank you, Marchese Negrone,” I stammered. “I won’t let you down. I…I…I’m not sure where to begin though.”
He smiled. “Ah, the ignorance of youth. Don’t worry. I’m not just going to give you a sack of the bank’s money to go out and play with. You will apprentice with me, personally, for your first couple of years. Then, when I’m ready to retire to my estates and give up the business, you may just be lucky enough to take over my position. If you’re good, that is.”
“I am honoured, Marchese.”
“As you should be. It is one of the few disappointments in my life that the only son I sired had to go and get himself killed in some petty duel. Your father is a close personal and business friend. It is to his first-born that I will look to uphold Genoa’s honour.”
The rest of the day was a whirlwind of activity. We rode our horses down to the market area and then Negrone just seemed to stroll around. He stopped and looked at things, as though he was going to buy them, but then politely moved on without spending a coin. I, in the meantime, followed just a pace or two behind him, and behind us both came the aide. Every once in a while a man would stop the Marchese and talk to him, and I gradually learned that these were the men that the bank had helped to establish. They were the wealthiest looking men, and the most respectful. Not surprisingly, their wares seemed to be of the highest quality as well.
I came to realize that the bank had already established a network of strong merchants who dealt in international affairs – perhaps five dominant ones – and that our purpose today was to identify the most likely candidate as an additional venture.
By day’s end we had visited one particular place at least four times, and this time the Marchese asked to speak to the owner. The man, when he appeared, seemed to know Negrone – perhaps not personally, but by reputation – and delightedly invited him into the back room of his store house that was a short walk away. He and the banker then talked back and forth for the better part of an hour – far too much for me to write down no, since I’m exhausted, though Luigi seemed to be taking meticulous notes – but the end result was a business arrangement that seemed to suit both men.
They concluded their dealings and then my new master said, “Young Boccanegro will be back tomorrow with the money you need, and some papers to sign. It’s been a pleasure, sir, good evening to you,” and we left.
January 3, 1419
I went to the office this morning and I discovered that a small, plain desk had been added to the Marchese’s room, near the far wall where it would be fairly unobtrusive. I guess when Negrone said “work closely with me” he really meant it! Now I’ll be spending all of my time trailing him around, and I’m supposed to work on my writing and language skills as much as possible. I barely have time or energy enough to be writing this.
We started off the day with Negrone explaining to me how a trade contract was written up and then preparing the one for the merchant we had dealt with yesterday – Como is his name. Then we went downstairs and entered the vault. It was incredible! He just tossed me a bag filled with gold. I’ve never held so much money in my hands at one time in my entire life! £2,000 !!!
I delivered the bag, accompanied by an armed escort (which I was told was courtesy the Doge), and obtained Como’s signature on the document. Then it was back to the office for another round with my mentor.
“This was easy,” he said, “but I admonish you not to get too cocky. It will take him a month or so before we’ll know if he can operate on that level, and even then the competition is tough out there, and likely to get pretty fierce here soon as well. We aren’t the only ones in the business, you know, and our Venetian ‘friends’ are the worst offenders. They’re just as likely to set up someone of their own and try to put one of our people out of business, and it’s money down the drain for us.”
“They could do that?”
“Oh yes. There aren’t many nations that can compete with us on this scale, but they are out there. You can’t trust them any further than you can throw them. It’s not uncommon to have to go back and either find a new man to work with or try to re-establish someone who’s been pushed out of the market. Sometimes you just have to grin and bear it and look elsewhere. Other times there may be a more diplomatic approach.”
I spent the rest of the day reading some books that he had on international trade law and reviewing the contracts that we already had. The money we spend is more of a “start-up” gift than a loan. There is never any talk of repaying the investment other than through a healthy share of the trade revenue, so I can see that I will have to learn to treat such sums as merely drops in the bucket.
I also looked at some of our returns from our existing merchants and what I read made my head spin. We could even recoup our “gift” and then some in a matter of months! I think I will have to work on my maths as well.
I must to bed. I’m exhausted.
These were the only three diary entries included at this point in the cross reference, though Sir Jonathan saw that there were several other inclusions that dealt with the same subject. He was getting hungry again, though, and decided to come back to them in an hour or two. He could see that this entire volume might take some considerable time to chew his way through, so to speak.
The Merchant Banker
When Sir Jonathan returned to the volume, he was intrigued to find that the next cross reference was a transcript of annual report from none other than the Marchese himself!
Report to the Shareholders of the Banco di San Giorgio, December 30, 1419
By the hand of Luigi de Piazzio, as delivered by Marchese Romeo Negrone
Gentlemen, Nobles,
I am pleased to present to you the activities of the Merchant Branch of our bank for the year 1419.
As many of you are aware, I am growing old and must seriously consider retirement within the next few years. I have, therefore, taken under my wing the son of our dear friend and cousin, Marchese Boccanegro. His Christian name is Angelo and I believe that he shows some promise to replace me in the future.
Through a series of investments, we have expanded our trading activities over the course of the past year. I negotiated a respectable return for the bank by establishing Como as a merchant here in Liguria. Effectively this gave us a monopoly on trade in the region that stood us in very good stead for two of the quarters of this year.
Unfortunately, we have come under intense international pressure here during the last two quarters. Our old enemy Venice is funding people left, right and centre; and there are also representatives of Suzdal, Tunisia, Modena, and Savoy – to name but a few – who are actively recruiting merchants to relieve us of our trade advantage. This has changed the conditions in Liguria to such an extent that our venture with Como was fairly short-lived and he withdrew from the marketplace at the beginning of last month.
Of course we have engaged in a similar practice elsewhere. Our aggressive campaign in Veneto in March bore considerable fruit, with agreements signed with five merchants there that effectively raised our profits for the last three quarters – though this in turn may have sparked some retributive activities from them in our own centre of trade. I have it on good authority that our efforts in their market has resulted in bankruptcy of one of their merchants (and their loss of monopoly) as well as one from Mantua. Venice was, however, able to establish other new opportunities there and succeeded in regaining their monopoly in early August. This was not at the expense of our own people, though, thus this market is considered to be our most profitable at the moment.
I understand from some conversations that I have had with Marchese Spinola that the Doge is considering diplomatic means to resolving the issues of trade competition with our strongest competition and that he is expected to travel to Venice in the spring to sound them out on the possibilities of some sort of mutual trade agreement.
In the early fourth quarter we met with mixed results in our efforts in the Portugal. A share of the Tago market is eagerly sought after by many and only two of our three investment opportunities met with success.
Quite frankly, without some considerable effort we will be hard pressed enough merely to maintain a strong representation in our own market while seeking modest gains elsewhere, though this may be aided considerably through persistence and careful negotiations.
I might also suggest that the various states of war that have swept through Europe have done little to assist the strength of the markets in general. With our peninsular neighbours, Naples and the Papacy, embroiled in a conflict with one another, it is unlikely that they will present much by way of revenue until they have resolved their differences.
I have heard rumblings in the northern markets that the conflict may soon subside – or a temporary truce be signed – between France and England; though I would stress that this be taken with a grain of salt and I would not hesitate to point out that any recent agreements between the two nations have rarely lasted more than a handful of years.
And this concludes my report to the shareholders.
Are there any questions?
Here ends the formal report.
The HRE inclusion was allowed after official sanctioning by the HRE (Phillip IIRC of Austria) in the early-mid 1300's. Incidentally, I've found two spellings of the name. Negrone seems to be more prevalent, in spite of the caption attached to the above coat of arms.
Sir Jonathan turned the page to the final reference indexed to the trade and mercantile situation at the time period and then realised that he had forgotten to put the kettle on for another pot of coffee. It seemed as though it would be a long, long night of reading.
When Sir Jonathan returned to the volume, he was intrigued to find that the next cross reference was a transcript of annual report from none other than the Marchese himself!
Report to the Shareholders of the Banco di San Giorgio, December 30, 1419
By the hand of Luigi de Piazzio, as delivered by Marchese Romeo Negrone
Gentlemen, Nobles,
I am pleased to present to you the activities of the Merchant Branch of our bank for the year 1419.
As many of you are aware, I am growing old and must seriously consider retirement within the next few years. I have, therefore, taken under my wing the son of our dear friend and cousin, Marchese Boccanegro. His Christian name is Angelo and I believe that he shows some promise to replace me in the future.
Through a series of investments, we have expanded our trading activities over the course of the past year. I negotiated a respectable return for the bank by establishing Como as a merchant here in Liguria. Effectively this gave us a monopoly on trade in the region that stood us in very good stead for two of the quarters of this year.
Unfortunately, we have come under intense international pressure here during the last two quarters. Our old enemy Venice is funding people left, right and centre; and there are also representatives of Suzdal, Tunisia, Modena, and Savoy – to name but a few – who are actively recruiting merchants to relieve us of our trade advantage. This has changed the conditions in Liguria to such an extent that our venture with Como was fairly short-lived and he withdrew from the marketplace at the beginning of last month.
Of course we have engaged in a similar practice elsewhere. Our aggressive campaign in Veneto in March bore considerable fruit, with agreements signed with five merchants there that effectively raised our profits for the last three quarters – though this in turn may have sparked some retributive activities from them in our own centre of trade. I have it on good authority that our efforts in their market has resulted in bankruptcy of one of their merchants (and their loss of monopoly) as well as one from Mantua. Venice was, however, able to establish other new opportunities there and succeeded in regaining their monopoly in early August. This was not at the expense of our own people, though, thus this market is considered to be our most profitable at the moment.
I understand from some conversations that I have had with Marchese Spinola that the Doge is considering diplomatic means to resolving the issues of trade competition with our strongest competition and that he is expected to travel to Venice in the spring to sound them out on the possibilities of some sort of mutual trade agreement.
In the early fourth quarter we met with mixed results in our efforts in the Portugal. A share of the Tago market is eagerly sought after by many and only two of our three investment opportunities met with success.
Quite frankly, without some considerable effort we will be hard pressed enough merely to maintain a strong representation in our own market while seeking modest gains elsewhere, though this may be aided considerably through persistence and careful negotiations.
I might also suggest that the various states of war that have swept through Europe have done little to assist the strength of the markets in general. With our peninsular neighbours, Naples and the Papacy, embroiled in a conflict with one another, it is unlikely that they will present much by way of revenue until they have resolved their differences.
I have heard rumblings in the northern markets that the conflict may soon subside – or a temporary truce be signed – between France and England; though I would stress that this be taken with a grain of salt and I would not hesitate to point out that any recent agreements between the two nations have rarely lasted more than a handful of years.
And this concludes my report to the shareholders.
Are there any questions?
Here ends the formal report.
The HRE inclusion was allowed after official sanctioning by the HRE (Phillip IIRC of Austria) in the early-mid 1300's. Incidentally, I've found two spellings of the name. Negrone seems to be more prevalent, in spite of the caption attached to the above coat of arms.
Sir Jonathan turned the page to the final reference indexed to the trade and mercantile situation at the time period and then realised that he had forgotten to put the kettle on for another pot of coffee. It seemed as though it would be a long, long night of reading.
Last edited:
A Letter
It appeared, Sir Jonathan noted from the next reference, that Romeo Negrone did not always keep the young Angelo by his side.
To: The Marchese Romeo Negrone
December 4th, 1421
Sir.
As you asked me to report to you on the results of my labours in the past month of your absence, I have sent this to you at the Ducal Palace where I hope it may find you with all due haste and in good health. I eagerly await your return and the news you may bring.
I must say that the past month has been made much easier by the trade agreement that was signed between our Doge and the filth of Venice a year and a half ago. At least they seem to be abiding by it as far as the terms go, if not entirely the spirit. Both the Venetian merchant banker and I have been aggressively pursuing opportunities, much to the dismay of our Modenan counterparts.
I am not sure if the news will have reached you yet but Modena has gotten involved in yet another war – though to be fair to them it is hardly their fault. It’s those damn cock-sure Byzantines that’s at the heart of the problem. They had the audacity to declare war on the Duchy of Athens and they must have know that this would bring Tusacany, the Papal States, and Modena into the conflict. Apparently Trebizond will back the efforts of the aggressor, though I must confess that the grumbling I’ve heard from several of the merchants makes me think both of their days are numbered. Rumour has it that the Sultan is considering some rather barbaric expansionism and you know that he can’t be happy about having the empire of his Ottomans cut in half by Byzantium’s control of the Dardanelle Straits and surrounding land areas. Wjile Thrace may be heavily fortified, I doubt it could withstand the onslaught when it comes.
After the seesaw of luck last year, I was able to cement several critical deals to strength our Ligirian interests to the point that this month I am confident that we will be able to regain our monopoly. I trust that this meets with your approval – as opposed to spending my time and the bank’s resources in Veneto or Tago - and will be glad to hear that I was able to stay within our budgetary requirements.
As per your latest request, I went to your estates last week and asked your servant to prepare additional clothing to be forwarded to you as soon as possible. I hope that you will not find it necessary to travel much longer, but I know that your mission is important. I was most delightfully entertained by your young daughter Ophelia who certainly knows her duty to your noble and honoured name. I have taken the liberty, if you will excuse me the audacity, of inviting her to a dance that will be held at my father’s estate Friday next. It will, dare I say, be one of the social events of the Yuletide season.
Trusting all goes well with your negotiations, and that this reaches you before year's end.
Your humble apprentice.
Angelo Boccanegro
Having satisfied much of his curiousity about Genoa's merchant bank, Sir Jonathan turned back to look up the next set of personal accounts.
It appeared, Sir Jonathan noted from the next reference, that Romeo Negrone did not always keep the young Angelo by his side.
To: The Marchese Romeo Negrone
December 4th, 1421
Sir.
As you asked me to report to you on the results of my labours in the past month of your absence, I have sent this to you at the Ducal Palace where I hope it may find you with all due haste and in good health. I eagerly await your return and the news you may bring.
I must say that the past month has been made much easier by the trade agreement that was signed between our Doge and the filth of Venice a year and a half ago. At least they seem to be abiding by it as far as the terms go, if not entirely the spirit. Both the Venetian merchant banker and I have been aggressively pursuing opportunities, much to the dismay of our Modenan counterparts.
I am not sure if the news will have reached you yet but Modena has gotten involved in yet another war – though to be fair to them it is hardly their fault. It’s those damn cock-sure Byzantines that’s at the heart of the problem. They had the audacity to declare war on the Duchy of Athens and they must have know that this would bring Tusacany, the Papal States, and Modena into the conflict. Apparently Trebizond will back the efforts of the aggressor, though I must confess that the grumbling I’ve heard from several of the merchants makes me think both of their days are numbered. Rumour has it that the Sultan is considering some rather barbaric expansionism and you know that he can’t be happy about having the empire of his Ottomans cut in half by Byzantium’s control of the Dardanelle Straits and surrounding land areas. Wjile Thrace may be heavily fortified, I doubt it could withstand the onslaught when it comes.
After the seesaw of luck last year, I was able to cement several critical deals to strength our Ligirian interests to the point that this month I am confident that we will be able to regain our monopoly. I trust that this meets with your approval – as opposed to spending my time and the bank’s resources in Veneto or Tago - and will be glad to hear that I was able to stay within our budgetary requirements.
As per your latest request, I went to your estates last week and asked your servant to prepare additional clothing to be forwarded to you as soon as possible. I hope that you will not find it necessary to travel much longer, but I know that your mission is important. I was most delightfully entertained by your young daughter Ophelia who certainly knows her duty to your noble and honoured name. I have taken the liberty, if you will excuse me the audacity, of inviting her to a dance that will be held at my father’s estate Friday next. It will, dare I say, be one of the social events of the Yuletide season.
Trusting all goes well with your negotiations, and that this reaches you before year's end.
Your humble apprentice.
Angelo Boccanegro
Having satisfied much of his curiousity about Genoa's merchant bank, Sir Jonathan turned back to look up the next set of personal accounts.
Wow.
Do you all realize that it literally will take until 2037 to finish this aar
And I'll be reading it the whole way...
Do you all realize that it literally will take until 2037 to finish this aar
And I'll be reading it the whole way...
Originally posted by Sharur
Wow.
Do you all realize that it literally will take until 2037 to finish this aar
And I'll be reading it the whole way...
You mean we have to speed it up?! No way we'll be done by 2037.There's still a full set of HG posting to come (at least...LD's waffling about doing a "IC" set himself...prod him everyone
) before the clock ticks forward.Edit: BTW...added a couple pix above.
Medical science
I'm placing my trust (what little there is) in medical science. Unless there are major breakthroughs, I'll probably die of old age before this story is done However, it will make days in the care centre fly by!
Please keep up the good work
One last thing, that book must weigh a ton!
I'm placing my trust (what little there is) in medical science. Unless there are major breakthroughs, I'll probably die of old age before this story is done
However, it will make days in the care centre fly by!Please keep up the good work
One last thing, that book must weigh a ton!
Sir Jonathan's drooping lids gradually made their creeping way to his brows, only to fall dejectedly as a lazy hand scratched the stubble on a puffy, ruddy cheek. He stretched mightily in the dark green Windsor that was as uncomfortable a bed as it was comfortable a chair, and glanced sleepily at the gaping book in his lap.
The house was still in the candlelit gloom, and he could see shadows creeping over the sandy floor, the elegantly carved furniture, the tasteful tapestry. Creeping, he knew, from a certain angle, over him, for though it was light enough to read there was an unobtrusively perceptible darkness shrouding the area about his eyes. He couldn't tell shape or source, but he knew the shadow crossed and enveloped him, hardly discernible but effecting a mood, guiding his thoughts. Much like history. Much like the pages below him.
Tired of musing, he flipped through the index of great and noble families, and found a passage so prominently emboldened that he was surprised by its contents and utterly flabbergasted by its tone. It was a satire. It was an insulting satire. It was an insulting satire of a noblesse and a Duke. It was about politics and royalty, about ugly lace and uglier dress, about slavery both real and imagined. It was about farse. It was about terribly meaningful farse that shouldn't be.
It was about a wedding.
OOC: Sorry folks, got caught up with work... Full installments tomorrow.
Great posts you three... I'm striving for adequacy.
The house was still in the candlelit gloom, and he could see shadows creeping over the sandy floor, the elegantly carved furniture, the tasteful tapestry. Creeping, he knew, from a certain angle, over him, for though it was light enough to read there was an unobtrusively perceptible darkness shrouding the area about his eyes. He couldn't tell shape or source, but he knew the shadow crossed and enveloped him, hardly discernible but effecting a mood, guiding his thoughts. Much like history. Much like the pages below him.
Tired of musing, he flipped through the index of great and noble families, and found a passage so prominently emboldened that he was surprised by its contents and utterly flabbergasted by its tone. It was a satire. It was an insulting satire. It was an insulting satire of a noblesse and a Duke. It was about politics and royalty, about ugly lace and uglier dress, about slavery both real and imagined. It was about farse. It was about terribly meaningful farse that shouldn't be.
It was about a wedding.
OOC: Sorry folks, got caught up with work... Full installments tomorrow.
Great posts you three... I'm striving for adequacy.
Very nicely written and well developed characters.
I did sometimes wonder how your friendly tax collector could ever have managed to enrage the local population in such a way as to increase annual revolt risk by 30%
I did sometimes wonder how your friendly tax collector could ever have managed to enrage the local population in such a way as to increase annual revolt risk by 30%
Hi all,
I am sending this for to reasons:
first to express my greatest admiration for this AAR and the writers it's really unbelivable the work and the quality and I don't care if it takes til 2037 to finish it. I'll read it.
Second to be subscribed to the thread as I don't want to loose not a single detail of it.
I am sending this for to reasons:
first to express my greatest admiration for this AAR and the writers it's really unbelivable the work and the quality and I don't care if it takes til 2037 to finish it. I'll read it.
Second to be subscribed to the thread as I don't want to loose not a single detail of it.
Mimir: A ton or a tonne? Contrary to popular belief, we won't be advancing this at a snail's pace. We'll pick highlights from each reign(s) and write up something that we hope you'll find interesting.
Lionheart: Welcome back, old friend. I noticed that you're still on your way to Dijon. You better divert to St.Malo Glad you like this so far.
HJ Tulp: I couldn't agree more.
Sharur: I'm working on something. Unfortunately source material is really scarce. I've already had to edit my second post to change the fact the first Doge didn't 'pass away'. I'll post after HG.
alvaro: Welcome aboard. It's always nice to hear from new blood. It lets us know that others out there are enjoying this. Thanks for your thanks.
Lionheart: Welcome back, old friend. I noticed that you're still on your way to Dijon. You better divert to St.Malo
Glad you like this so far.HJ Tulp: I couldn't agree more.
Sharur: I'm working on something. Unfortunately source material is really scarce. I've already had to edit my second post to change the fact the first Doge didn't 'pass away'. I'll post after HG.
alvaro: Welcome aboard. It's always nice to hear from new blood. It lets us know that others out there are enjoying this. Thanks for your thanks.
While we're waiting...
Scroll down a bit and start with Barkdreg's post:
Ok, while we're all waiting for H'G-d here, I recommend that you folks check out a real wedding. Not a farce, but dead serious. They still talk about it in Palermo, to this day. It was Barkdreg's Wedding...Originally posted by HolisticGod
...
Tired of musing, he flipped through the index of great and noble families, and found a passage so prominently emboldened that he was surprised by its contents and utterly flabbergasted by its tone. It was a satire. It was an insulting satire. It was an insulting satire of a noblesse and a Duke. It was about politics and royalty, about ugly lace and uglier dress, about slavery both real and imagined. It was about farse. It was about terribly meaningful farse that shouldn't be.
It was about a wedding.
OOC: Sorry folks, got caught up with work... Full installments tomorrow.
Great posts you three... I'm striving for adequacy.
Scroll down a bit and start with Barkdreg's post:
Especially if you don't know Lord Durham's earlier work, you have to read this.
Great stuff! Fascinating work, with an insight rarely seen. I don't think we'll see the old,
Lovin' It!
barkers wedding, eh? Happy memories of passing out for no apparant reason
Lovin' It!
barkers wedding, eh? Happy memories of passing out for no apparant reason
Being the Personal Memoirs of Angelo Facca, Courtier to Paolo Spinola, House Spinola
Know this, gentle reader, that it is the 30th day of October, in the Year of Our Lord 1421. My name is Angelo Facca, and I serve the House Spinola. I am condottieri by trade, and a Courtier by profession.
I have undertaken these memoirs not for my own edification, but to aid the reader, and attempt an explanation of the troubled times in which we live.
My past is somewhat storied. I have served as a mercenary for well on seven years now. I saw my first action at a place near Maisoncelles, though the English prefer to use the village name of Agincourt. That was in the year 1415, and our side was thoroughly crushed by the upstart English and their child King. From there I had the misfortune of siding with the French at the Battle of Janville in 1419, and as a consequence was hired, along with my brethren, by a mercenary company under service to the self-same King Harry. After a couple of years of service, and a stay in St. Malo, I took my leave and returned to the place of my birth.
Now I serve three masters, as unusual as that may appear. When I am at home in Genova, I arrange entertainment for the Spinolas, entertainment in the form of the foremost poets, scholars, dancers, painters and architects of the day. It is a part of my life that I enjoy with boundless passion.
Away from home I campaign under the renowned condottieri leader Francesco Bussone Carmagnola, who for several years has been devoted to Francesco Maria Visconti, the Duke of Milan. And it is this same Duke Visconti that has most recently come to rule my beloved Genoa, forcing the powerful Campofregosa family out of power and out of favour.
It has been my fortune that my patrons, House Spinola, have seen fit to detach themselves from the bitter feud between the Campofregoso and the Adorno families, and otherwise spend their time strengthening trade ties and exploring business opportunities. They may frown upon my service to Carmagnola, and his attachment to Visconti, but they have left me to my own devices.
Francesco Maria Visconti was born in 1392, the younger of two sons. His father was the famous Giovanni Galeazzo Visconti, a warrior and diplomat who raised the Duchy of Milan to the heights of glory. When he died in 1402, control of Milan passed to his eldest son, Giovanni Maria.
Unhappily, it was soon to become apparent that Giovanni had no gift for rule, and his decade in power was marred with disaster, political chaos, and the disappointing loss of the gains their father had spent so many years to create. For you see, Giovanni was a wicked soul, a low-based man who had little time for governing, but much time for debauchery and cruelty.
Finally, in 1412 he was assassinated, and Francesco Maria assumed the Dukedom. It has been said that Giovanni was poisoned, and in a show of extreme retribution Francesco captured the alleged perpetrators and had them slowly tortured to death. In some quarters rumors persist, even to this day, that Francesco himself was the man behind the heinous deed.
Nevertheless in 1412, Francesco Maria Visconti ascended to power, and with the tireless aid of Carmagnola set about to reunite Milan, as his father had accomplished before, and absorbed the myriad patchwork of surrounding territories and cities, whether by conquest, diplomacy or guile.
So as it happened, the majority of Visconti's years were consumed in various wars with Florence and Venice, and it was during early 1421 that I entered the service of Carmagnola.
* * *
As for my homeland of Genoa, the critical point in her history came April 2nd of 1421. The Doge Tomasso Campofregoso agreed to an alliance with Savoy and Milan. While it was a popular treaty with the people, many of whom longed for secure borders, my patron dryly observed that the Duke of Milan now had a foot-in-the-door, so to speak. Not surprisingly, it was not long until the first rumours surfaced that Visconti was believed plotting with the exiled Adorno family.
The Adornos were one of the other great political Houses of Genoa, and the feud between they and the Campofregosos dated at least a generation. Their enmity was such that Genoa was often nothing more than a pawn in their efforts to discredit and do damage to each other.
And so it came to pass that in October of 1421, Carmagnola ordered us to march on Genova, on the pretense of repressing a possible rebellion. This was met by some consternation, as many of the condottieri were Genoese by birth.
Having no desire to war against fellow countrymen, even if we were in reality mercenaries, we petitioned Francesco Maria Visconti in the hope he would abandon any intentioned hostile action against our brethren.
We in turn were assured that all steps possible would be taken to prevent bloodshed, and if it came to blows, we would be allowed to retire from the field with a stern promise of no future reprisals.
But as it was to happen, there would be no war. When we approached the walls of Genova, and their army was drawn up before us, the Duke presented the exiled head of the Adorno family.
Gabriele Adorno promptly appealed to the public and spoke in favour of supporting Visconti. As the people wavered, Adorno collaborators, who must have been aware of the guile, threw open the gates of the city. The Genoese army stood by and allowed Visconti to enter. To this day I have no idea what it cost the Duke in terms of bribes and titles to secure such a stunning diplomatic victory.
Totally betrayed, the male members of House Campofregoso had no recourse but to flee for their lives. So on the 26th of October, in the year of our Lord 1421, the popular Tomasso Campofregoso was forced into exile, and Francesco Maria Visconti became Doge of Genoa.
Though he would rule for many years, Visconti would spend very little time in our land. Matters of state and further conquests in mainland Italy would occupy his hand. Placing Gabriele Adorno in an advisory position, and appointing Carmagnola as Governor, the Duke of Milan departed, and for the next 14 years Genoa lived in uneasy peace.
As for your humble servant, rest assured I would be witness to many interesting events over that span of time.
Know this, gentle reader, that it is the 30th day of October, in the Year of Our Lord 1421. My name is Angelo Facca, and I serve the House Spinola. I am condottieri by trade, and a Courtier by profession.
I have undertaken these memoirs not for my own edification, but to aid the reader, and attempt an explanation of the troubled times in which we live.
My past is somewhat storied. I have served as a mercenary for well on seven years now. I saw my first action at a place near Maisoncelles, though the English prefer to use the village name of Agincourt. That was in the year 1415, and our side was thoroughly crushed by the upstart English and their child King. From there I had the misfortune of siding with the French at the Battle of Janville in 1419, and as a consequence was hired, along with my brethren, by a mercenary company under service to the self-same King Harry. After a couple of years of service, and a stay in St. Malo, I took my leave and returned to the place of my birth.
Now I serve three masters, as unusual as that may appear. When I am at home in Genova, I arrange entertainment for the Spinolas, entertainment in the form of the foremost poets, scholars, dancers, painters and architects of the day. It is a part of my life that I enjoy with boundless passion.
Away from home I campaign under the renowned condottieri leader Francesco Bussone Carmagnola, who for several years has been devoted to Francesco Maria Visconti, the Duke of Milan. And it is this same Duke Visconti that has most recently come to rule my beloved Genoa, forcing the powerful Campofregosa family out of power and out of favour.
It has been my fortune that my patrons, House Spinola, have seen fit to detach themselves from the bitter feud between the Campofregoso and the Adorno families, and otherwise spend their time strengthening trade ties and exploring business opportunities. They may frown upon my service to Carmagnola, and his attachment to Visconti, but they have left me to my own devices.
Francesco Maria Visconti was born in 1392, the younger of two sons. His father was the famous Giovanni Galeazzo Visconti, a warrior and diplomat who raised the Duchy of Milan to the heights of glory. When he died in 1402, control of Milan passed to his eldest son, Giovanni Maria.
Unhappily, it was soon to become apparent that Giovanni had no gift for rule, and his decade in power was marred with disaster, political chaos, and the disappointing loss of the gains their father had spent so many years to create. For you see, Giovanni was a wicked soul, a low-based man who had little time for governing, but much time for debauchery and cruelty.
Finally, in 1412 he was assassinated, and Francesco Maria assumed the Dukedom. It has been said that Giovanni was poisoned, and in a show of extreme retribution Francesco captured the alleged perpetrators and had them slowly tortured to death. In some quarters rumors persist, even to this day, that Francesco himself was the man behind the heinous deed.
Nevertheless in 1412, Francesco Maria Visconti ascended to power, and with the tireless aid of Carmagnola set about to reunite Milan, as his father had accomplished before, and absorbed the myriad patchwork of surrounding territories and cities, whether by conquest, diplomacy or guile.
So as it happened, the majority of Visconti's years were consumed in various wars with Florence and Venice, and it was during early 1421 that I entered the service of Carmagnola.
* * *
As for my homeland of Genoa, the critical point in her history came April 2nd of 1421. The Doge Tomasso Campofregoso agreed to an alliance with Savoy and Milan. While it was a popular treaty with the people, many of whom longed for secure borders, my patron dryly observed that the Duke of Milan now had a foot-in-the-door, so to speak. Not surprisingly, it was not long until the first rumours surfaced that Visconti was believed plotting with the exiled Adorno family.
The Adornos were one of the other great political Houses of Genoa, and the feud between they and the Campofregosos dated at least a generation. Their enmity was such that Genoa was often nothing more than a pawn in their efforts to discredit and do damage to each other.
And so it came to pass that in October of 1421, Carmagnola ordered us to march on Genova, on the pretense of repressing a possible rebellion. This was met by some consternation, as many of the condottieri were Genoese by birth.
Having no desire to war against fellow countrymen, even if we were in reality mercenaries, we petitioned Francesco Maria Visconti in the hope he would abandon any intentioned hostile action against our brethren.
We in turn were assured that all steps possible would be taken to prevent bloodshed, and if it came to blows, we would be allowed to retire from the field with a stern promise of no future reprisals.
But as it was to happen, there would be no war. When we approached the walls of Genova, and their army was drawn up before us, the Duke presented the exiled head of the Adorno family.
Gabriele Adorno promptly appealed to the public and spoke in favour of supporting Visconti. As the people wavered, Adorno collaborators, who must have been aware of the guile, threw open the gates of the city. The Genoese army stood by and allowed Visconti to enter. To this day I have no idea what it cost the Duke in terms of bribes and titles to secure such a stunning diplomatic victory.
Totally betrayed, the male members of House Campofregoso had no recourse but to flee for their lives. So on the 26th of October, in the year of our Lord 1421, the popular Tomasso Campofregoso was forced into exile, and Francesco Maria Visconti became Doge of Genoa.
Though he would rule for many years, Visconti would spend very little time in our land. Matters of state and further conquests in mainland Italy would occupy his hand. Placing Gabriele Adorno in an advisory position, and appointing Carmagnola as Governor, the Duke of Milan departed, and for the next 14 years Genoa lived in uneasy peace.
As for your humble servant, rest assured I would be witness to many interesting events over that span of time.
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Guiseppe Buffani writes.
Genova, 21 October 1421
The first I knew that something was wrong was when I heard my father's voice. He sounded nervous and frightend. He was calling me.
I rushed down to the public room of Il Barba Rossa, my father's tavern near the Eastern city gate. He was standing in the middle of the room gesturing and calling after someone: "Bring him back here, quick! Don't let him speak to anyone!" When he saw me, he gave me a worried but determined look. Then I saw the strange men.
There were five of them, in the shadow of the far corner. They were not the kind of men who came into Il Barba Rossa. Two of them were speaking to a tall man in a dark cloak, treating him with obvious solicitude. One was tying up a large leather saddle bag. And one was staring at me.
I swallowed as he came forward. The mood in the tavern was hushed and tense. I could hear the yells and laughter in the streets, but the rabble would not come into Genova's east end. No one came here who had no business to. My father was wringing his apron in his hand.
"Is that the lad?" the man asked, after he had regarded me cooly. He was high-born, his fashionable beard trimmed, his fine clothes hidden under a riding cloak. I looked up at my father, who just nodded his assent.
"Come on then, lad," said the stranger and turned back to the group in the corner.
"Go on, Guiseppe," said my father, "it's all right. Do as they say. And good luck, my son!" He gripped my shoulder and pressed it for a moment. His Italian sounded so coarse and harsh after the nobleman's words.
Again I swallowed and then followed the strange nobleman into the corner. The other man were whispering to each other, listing names I had never heard.
But they stopped when I approached. The man who was their obvious leader, a tall man of proud bearing, with clear, searching eyes, looked at me.
"This is the innkeeper's son. He knows the alleys, and the gates, and the way over the hills to the south road," said the stranger who had first spoken to me.
Slowly the leader nodded. Then he addressed me in a clear, deep voice.
"Who is your Duke and Doge?" he asked.
"Tomasso Campofregoso," I replied without hesitation.
The man nodded.
"And now," he said, "you must lead your Duke from Genova in secrecy."
He turned to the other men. "We can no longer wait for Romeo. What is keeping my son?"
"Everything is ready, Signore."
[To be continued...]
Genova, 21 October 1421
The first I knew that something was wrong was when I heard my father's voice. He sounded nervous and frightend. He was calling me.
I rushed down to the public room of Il Barba Rossa, my father's tavern near the Eastern city gate. He was standing in the middle of the room gesturing and calling after someone: "Bring him back here, quick! Don't let him speak to anyone!" When he saw me, he gave me a worried but determined look. Then I saw the strange men.
There were five of them, in the shadow of the far corner. They were not the kind of men who came into Il Barba Rossa. Two of them were speaking to a tall man in a dark cloak, treating him with obvious solicitude. One was tying up a large leather saddle bag. And one was staring at me.
I swallowed as he came forward. The mood in the tavern was hushed and tense. I could hear the yells and laughter in the streets, but the rabble would not come into Genova's east end. No one came here who had no business to. My father was wringing his apron in his hand.
"Is that the lad?" the man asked, after he had regarded me cooly. He was high-born, his fashionable beard trimmed, his fine clothes hidden under a riding cloak. I looked up at my father, who just nodded his assent.
"Come on then, lad," said the stranger and turned back to the group in the corner.
"Go on, Guiseppe," said my father, "it's all right. Do as they say. And good luck, my son!" He gripped my shoulder and pressed it for a moment. His Italian sounded so coarse and harsh after the nobleman's words.
Again I swallowed and then followed the strange nobleman into the corner. The other man were whispering to each other, listing names I had never heard.
But they stopped when I approached. The man who was their obvious leader, a tall man of proud bearing, with clear, searching eyes, looked at me.
"This is the innkeeper's son. He knows the alleys, and the gates, and the way over the hills to the south road," said the stranger who had first spoken to me.
Slowly the leader nodded. Then he addressed me in a clear, deep voice.
"Who is your Duke and Doge?" he asked.
"Tomasso Campofregoso," I replied without hesitation.
The man nodded.
"And now," he said, "you must lead your Duke from Genova in secrecy."
He turned to the other men. "We can no longer wait for Romeo. What is keeping my son?"
"Everything is ready, Signore."
[To be continued...]