Chapter 8

Visitors Arrive at the Fondaccio of Carlo Romi

Carlo Romi was in his office trying to reconcile two tabulating slates. Both slates said he had an equal number of six foot long poles and iron spear tips to go on them. However, the reality, which he counted with his own eyes in his own warehouse, was there were at least a hundred more spear heads than he had shafts to put them on. Carlo Romi was a respectable merchant. He dealt in weapons: shields, armor, crossbows, spears, anything you might care to name he could probably get. His supply came from up the Po, in the pole turners’ workshops and fletchers’ cottages which dotted the villages and lanes of Montferrat. He sold to the Dodge of Venice, to mercenary companies, and to pilgrims heading to the Holy Land. He lived in Venice in a nice house a short stroll from the Rialto.

His brother-in-law, a capable, but shy lad of about seventeen quietly opened the door to the office and slipped inside. Carlo and his wife had no children of their own, so he was introducing his wife’s younger brother to the arms trade. “Antonio, don’t you knock?” Carlo asked him.

“I am sorry, please forgive me, but there is a man up front who says he wants to see you.”

“Well… what of it?” Carlo was still looking out from under his bushy eyebrows at the tablets. What the hell was he going to do with all of these extra spear tips? Had some of the poles failed to arrive?

“He says his name is Pons. He says he is the Marquis of Montferrat’s man.”

Carlo Romi did not drop the slates, but he became rigid as if a chill of ice water raced down his spine. His bowels felt loose.

“He says his name is Pons… and he is the Marquis of Montferrat’s man? Are you sure? Bald? In his fifties? Missing half an ear?” Carlo Romi hissed in a low whisper.

“He wears a leather cap, so I couldn’t see his pate or ear, but they wear the Margrave’s livery.”

“They?”

The young apprentice studied Carlo’s face intently. Was the older man perspiring? “Yes. There is a man-at-arms with him.”

Carlo Romi’s first thought was to wonder when he had last been shriven by a priest and whether or not he had committed any sins between then and now. Today was a Wednesday. He had gone to confession on Sunday. His conscience felt quite clear concerning his behavior over the intervening three days.

His second thought was to wonder what he had done wrong to cause the Margrave to send soldiers - one of them his most vicious brute. Once again his conscience felt clear. The Margrave had the right to be the first to purchase any weapons produced, either for himself or his men, that was perfectly understandable. Romi was allowed to purchase any surplus - provided he did not sell to either the Margrave’s enemies or to brigands. So far as he knew, Romi had done neither. He paid the Margrave a tariff. Lord, merchant, and craftsman all flourished. No, there must be some perfectly reasonable explanations for Margrave’s master-at-arms to be at his warehouse. And here he was - keeping the man waiting. “Well… show him in, show him in.” he said to his brother-in-law.

Romi had encountered Pons a handful of times when he had been in Montferrat meeting with the craftsmen who supplied his stock. He didn’t know the old soldier well, but he knew the Margrave trusted him, andPons had saved his lord’s life near Damascus. He had heard the man’s birth was of no account, but Carlo certainly wasn’t going to bring that up. Most people were afraid of him. He had heard several stories of Pons administering a beating to someone who had gotten out of line, or crossed him, or who had overused their mouth. If the Margrave had wanted someone punished, it would be Pons he would send.

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A few moments later, their heavy boots clomping on the wooden floor of the warehouse, Cyn and Pons entered his office. Carlo Romi noticed Pons looked much the same as he remembered him. Carlo crossed the room and clasped his hand in greeting. “Good to see you Capitani Pons,” he smiled. Pons smiled back, and Carlo felt lighter. Perhaps all would be well. “What brings you all the way to the Serenissima?”

“Well met Master Romi.” Pons replied. “I wish I could say I was visiting to sample the pleasures of the city, but unfortunately I am merely passing through. Sergeant Cyn and I are seeking passage on ship. I was hoping you might be able to help. You know about all things in shipping, don’t you?”

“Um…” Romi stuttered and tried not to let his relief show. Passing through. Thank the Lord. He began again. “Well there is such a lot of shipping in and out of Venice these days I am sure only the harbor masters can keep it straight. But, if I am unable to answer your question, myself, I can send a lad out to find out. But please sit down, you must be tired from your journey. Antonio.” he raised his voice, “Antonio, bring our guests some wine and bread.”

Cyn and Pons made themselves comfortable as Carlo Romi’s young brother-in-law brought forth a loaf with a dish of olive oil and a jug of wine with some cups. “So, you need a ship. Only the two of you as passengers? Any cargo?”

“Just us,” Pons replied.

“Where are you going?”

“Constantinople.”

Carlo Romi grunted, “There are no ships going to Constantinople this season. All the Venetian merchants living there were massacred. All of the fondaccio and warehouses were burned to the ground.” He paused and regarded his visitors. “You know this. Word must have reached Monferrato by now.”

Pons nodded.

Carlo Romi remembered something else. “Ah yes, of course, the Margrave’s son. Surely he was safe in the palace. Oddly there was no word of him. Has there been ill news?”

“Our Marius says he saw the body.”

The merchant crossed himself. “I am so sorry. Such a handsome young man. He will be in my prayers. His poor mother, he was her youngest, wasn’t he? She must be heartsick. Oh those treacherous damned Greeks.”

“It’s the treacherous damned Greeks I’m going to sort out.” Pons said as he took a drink of wine.

What a relief, Carlo Romi thought, I am not the one getting sorted out. Instead he asked, “Where are you staying while you await passage?”

“Haven’t decided yet. We’ve only just arrived.”

“You mean I am the first person in Venice you have called on? I am honored. Please, you and your sergeant must be my guests. My house is but a short boat ride?” Romi heard himself saying it but didn’t know why he did it. Why had he invited Margrave’s ruffian to stay at his house? Why didn’t he offer to put them up at an inn at his expense instead? He paused and let the question hang in the air for a moment. He was about to offer the inn as an option. When Pons spoke.

“Thank you, Ser Romi, you are too kind.”

“It is the least I can do to help Lord Guilhem at this trying time.” Carlo Romi gulped his cup of wine down. His wife and very devout mother-in-law were going to be displeased he would invite such rough men under their roof, retainers of the Margrave or not. He should have kept his mouth shut, or wished them good hunting and sent them on their way. It was the shock of having this man show up unannounced.

“Antonio.” he called, “Send to cook and tell her to get some nice sized fish, and what?” He looked at Cyn and Pons. “A haunch of lamb as well, I think.”

The arms merchant need not have worried. Out of respect Cyn and Pons were on their best behavior. Pons explained under no circumstances was Cyn to go out whoring. Cyn would have preferred to stay at an inn, but this offer of accommodation was free and Pons was cheap.

Carlo was happy to take charge of their horses which would eventually be loaded with goods and returned to the Margrave’s stables on his next trip back to Montferrat. Over dinner, when Pons asked if there was any news from Constantinople, Carlo shrugged his shoulders.

“The man you want to talk to is Enrico Dandalo. He used to be the ambassador to Constantinople. He can’t stand the Greeks now, but he knows how to deal with them. He is an old man - must be near eighty. In good health still, mind you. He is blind but his mind is as sharp as a falcon’s talon. He will know the most about the situation of anyone. Some of his relatives were killed in the massacre. Others fled with only their lives. I might be able to arrange for you to meet him.”

Pons indicated he would indeed like to meet the elderly, blind statesman. He also wanted to know about any ships sailing to any port in Greece, or failing that, any ship going as far as the port of Brundisium on the heel of Italy.