Everyone started laughing. No matter what, Polo was thinking of the lucrative aspects, whether if it was a war or a party.
“Paulitius Anafesto! The Duke of Venetia! Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Tribune Stefanos.
Chapter 18
BLOODLETTING
It was evening in Patavium, and Primo was walking with his father-in-law Tiberio next to the prison. It was an odd place to discuss business, but oddly enough, that was what they were doing.
“That’s the funny thing about us merchants,” Tiberio confided. “We take away some merchandise from one party, almost as a favor to them, and then we sell it to another party who finds it more invaluable!”
“And it is never more true than in this case!” Primo replied. “The Longobards are regretting taking so many prisoners. They don’t know what to do with them! They don’t want to set them free, and they don’t need them to work the fields…”
“…and it’s becoming expensive to keep them here in jail. Not really because of food – they barely feed them – but because of the manpower needed to handle such a crowded prison! That’s where the cost is. All these soldiers could be employed in so many other ways!”
“So I am not even sure if we should offer a price per slave. I am tempted to ask a commission to get rid of their problem!” Primo joked.
“Don’t be too greedy, but that would be a funny way to start negotiations! I would like to witness that!”
They both laughed, but they tried not to be too obvious about it.
“But tell me, how many slaves can you carry?” Tiberio continued.
“I am not sure… we still have to talk about it. We have four ships ready, and over the winter, we might even build another four! I don’t know if I have enough seamen for them all!”
“Sure you do! Rivo Alto is growing, and you have plenty of young men who cannot wait to join you! But then, let me rephrase it: How many slaves per ship?”
“I am not sure of that either! We can carry one hundred barrels of salt, but that’s stacked on top of each other. I don’t know, perhaps fifty slaves? But then we have no room for salt, and I don’t know if we have made the correct decision, to stick only to one type of item…”
“Fine, so you still have no clue,” Tiberio commented. “But now let’s assume you can take fifty slaves per ship, and you take eight ships… would you be able to sell four hundred slaves?”
“Perhaps not all in Kerkyra, but we can try other ports. I have a feeling if these Arabs keep becoming powerful, they will demand more and more slaves. I am not preoccupied about saturating the market or having to sell off. I don’t think it will a problem with all these blonds from the Baltic Sea.”
“Ok, so for now let’s focus on selecting the best slaves. Just have a pecking order in case you won’t need to take them all…” Tiberio suggested.
Tiberio and Primo walked on through the prison hall, peeking into each cell to observe all the malnourished Slavic men, who had been imprisoned in awful conditions for at least a couple of months.
The two men left the prison and walked on until they reached Tiberio’s house.
“So,” Tiberio continued as they were entering his home, “even though you want to keep the slaves in Patavium’s prison until the day you sail off, I think it would be wise to have them well fed before you present them to the market.”
“It might end up costing me more to feed them properly for several weeks than to purchase them…” Primo commented.
Their conversation was interrupted by Hermetruda’s piercing wails. She had been staying with Lucilla and Tiberio all these days, while visiting Adalulf in prison. Lucilla tried to console the devastated Hermetruda.
“Dear Hermetruda, you must be strong for Aldo…” Lucilla comforted the sobbing guest.
“I don’t know if I can live without my Lulfy!” Hermetruda managed to say between sobs.
Primo was feeling extremely awkward, standing there in front of the widow, when he was the one who had essentially handed her husband to his executioner. He would have liked to say something to comfort her, but it would have been so out of place.
Hermetruda continued sobbing desperately.
“He was… he was the best husband! He treated me always so… so well! I was always his princess since I was fourteen… and after so many decades… he still loved me the same! Why? Lulfy! Why?”
Tiberio also did not know what to say. At least while Adalulf was in jail, Hermetruda stayed strong. She did not accept how the Venetians had betrayed the hospitality they offered, but at least she could understand their shrewd decision. But now that her husband was actually gone, she was inconsolable. All Lucilla could offer were some hugs, but she looked searchingly at Tiberio, as if imploring him to do something. If only there could be an unexpected event distracting everybody, Tiberio hoped. And just then there was a knock at the door. It was actually more of a loud bang. Primo was the closest to the door, so he opened it. It was a Longobard guard:
“Tiberio! We need a doctor right now! Come to the headquarters!”
Tiberio left in a hurry without saying a word. At least now he could escape without having to offer condolences to Hermetruda. Primo instead looked puzzled and asked Lucilla:
“I thought he was a merchant. I did not know he was a doctor!”
“A medicine man… Everyone thinks that people from Patavium are all doctors…”
Primo barged out the door and yelled at the guard who was running away.
“Who is sick?”
“Grimwald!” The Longobard guard replied.
The guard’s yell could barely be heard inside the house, but Hermetruda heard it and immediately stopped crying.
“Did he say ‘Grimwald’? Grimwald is hurt?” Hermetruda asked.
Primo returned inside and closed the door.
“Yes, he definitely said ‘Grimwald’ and judging by the urgency he must be wounded very badly…”
Primo had finally found something comforting to say to Hermetruda.
“Did anyone ever injure Grimwald before?” Hermetruda asked again.
“Not that I know of…” Lucilla replied.
“Among Longobards he was seriously considered invincible.” Hermetruda continued. “Basically a demigod that could not be even wounded!”
“Well, he never had to face Adalulf before!” Primo added.
Primo was trying to praise Adalulf as much as possible, hoping to impress Hermetruda.
“That’s right! My Adalulf must have banged him up hard. Him and all of his guards! If it was a one on one battle my Adalulf would have killed him!”
Hermetruda began crying again. She imagined that even if Adalulf managed to injure Grimwald, he could not have survived a pack of Longobards.
Tiberio was brought inside a hall where he found Grimwald lying on a table, and a very concerned Bertwalt pacing back and forth in front of him. Grimwald was unconscious and moaning, and the guards had already taken off his clothes so that Tiberio could clearly see a badly infected wound on Grimwald’s shoulder.
“Well, obviously that wound is the source of the infection!” Tiberio stated with authority. “That looks bad. Do you have any vinegar?”
A guard immediately left to go find some vinegar, but in the meanwhile, Grimwald became agitated and tried to say something. Both Tiberio and Bertwalt moved close to Grimwald’s mouth to try to understand what he was mumbling.
“What is he saying?” Tiberio whispered.
“I want to say he just said ‘viper’ but I am not sure…” Bertwalt guessed.
“Did you see a viper where he was wounded?”
“I was still distant, and the woods were very thick, but I am certain I saw Adalulf poke Grimwald with a stick. It was still sticking up right on the wound when I saw it clearly.”
Grimwald became more agitated. He was dazed and c
ould not speak clearly, but apparently he could hear, and he repeated what sounded to the men like ‘viper’. Tiberio replied to Grimwald speaking loudly to make sure he could understand.
“My King! I am perfectly aware you are not supposed to pour vinegar or wine on snake bites! But I am telling you, this is an infection from a wooden spear! Snake bites do not look like this at all.”
The guard entered with a flask of vinegar and handed it to Tiberio. Tiberio looked at Bertwalt and concluded:
“He is probably hallucinating and he is seeing vipers…”
He then poured vinegar on the wound, and with a gauze he pressed on the wound to make sure the vinegar would enter deep into the wound. They waited a while, but, to their surprise, Grimwald’s condition worsened. His fever was now much higher. His infection looked far worse now, and Grimwald had become completely unconscious. One did not need to be a doctor to notice that something went wrong after the vinegar was used, and Bertwalt definitely took notice.
Tiberio realized Bertwalt’ suspicious frown, and he was now seriously preoccupied.
“We need to lower his fever. It got much worse!” Tiberio stated, hiding his trepidation.
“How do we do that?” Bertwalt asked.
“Bloodletting. The reason he has a high fever is that his blood is too hot. We must remove blood to lower his temperature.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I am sure! I am a doctor!” Tiberio snapped back.
Tiberio yelled back at Bertwalt like he had never done before to a Longobard. He was fine being derided as a weak Latin. But the tradition of medicine and curing people that they had in Patavium was something that he was very proud of. After all, he did not invent bloodletting. In fact, it was such a common procedure to lower fever that he was surprised that even an uncultured man like Bertwalt had not heard of it. Tiberio took out his personal belt knife, which looked more like a knife to scale fish, and studied the best vein to slice open. ‘It must be near the shoulder…’ Tiberio thought. ‘Perhaps between the shoulder and the neck…’ He saw something pulsating and decided to cut. He opened an inch long cut, and judging by the pulsation of the gushing blood, he had to have cut an artery. Blood started to pour onto the table, quickly flowing down onto the floor.
“We shall give it a moment and then we will see if the fever has gone down.” Tiberio stated firmly.
They waited a little while, and the fever definitely went down, and Grimwald’s convulsions also stopped. He looked pale, and his pulse was very weak. A very nervous Tiberio then decided to act.
“Good, we can stop the bloodletting now…”
He took a piece gauze and pressed it over the cut. The cloth was quickly soaked with blood.
“Do we have more gauze? More bandages? Any cloth to stop the bleeding?”
A guard brought plenty of cloth, and Tiberio rapidly replaced it, but the new rag immediately became saturated with Grimwald’s blood as well. The blood was not coagulating and blood kept flowing out at a slower and slower pace. Tiberio screamed for more cloth, while he was trying not to slip on the pool of blood below him.
“Can I have more cloth! Can anyone help?”
Bertwalt calmly walked up toward Tiberio. He lifted Grimwald’s arm and let it fall down. Grimwald was completely pale white.
“You drained all his blood… what outflow are you trying to stop? You have killed him. You have killed the King of Italy!”
Tiberio took a step back. The hall was completely silent. The few guards in there were petrified and could not believe what Bertwalt just said. Bertwalt grabbed Tiberio by the neck, he took out his sword and sliced Tiberio’s throat.
“Here! Do some bloodletting. It will do you some good!” Bertwalt hoarsely whispered, as he released Tiberio and let his body fall to the ground.
It was late fall and the snow had already covered the Cimbrian plateau. The town of Sleghe was barely visible under the heavy snow, and the huts could only be spotted because of the smoke coming out of their chimneys. Inside one of these huts, lying on a bed with his eyes closed, was Adalulf. He had bandages around his head, around his abdomen, and around his thorax. Adalulf suddenly opened his eyes wide and let out a loud howling scream, for Lugius was pulling on Adalulf’s leg while Boiorix and Gaesorix held him down.
“Ahhh!” Adalulf shrieked.
“I am sorry, Longobard,” Boiorix explained. “But otherwise your leg would have healed crooked. We have to straighten it up. This way, in a couple of months, you will be able to walk again.”
“Where… where am I?”
“You are in Sleghe, my friend!” Boiorix replied. “Lugius and his friends were deer hunting down in the woods at the bottom of the valley and they spotted you taking a bath in a cold creek! What happened?”
Adalulf was feeling very weak, but he felt well. He was not dead. He was going to be fine. He could tell they had taken good care of him. His wounds were painful still, but he did not have a fever. It would be a slow recovery, but he would survive. He could feel it. As he regained focus, Adalulf stared at Lugius’ furry hood that dangled behind his neck. It was a fox’s head, and Adalulf started to make sense of his visions down by the creek.
“How long was I out?”
“Um… about two weeks?” Gaesorix replied. “We should have straightened your leg before, but we really did not think you were going to make it.”
“We were not really concerned about your leg.” Lugius explained. “We figured you would lose that. The arrow in your back… we took the point out, but I think it damaged you quite badly. People don’t usually survive those kinds of wounds… You might have trouble peeing…”
Adalulf tried to get up, and realized he was in no condition to do so. In fact, his leg was not the most painful part. Something felt wrong inside him, when he tried to move. But if he stayed still he was fine. He knew he would get better.
“And by the way,” Boiorix continued. “…apparently you do not need any armor, heh, heh! We were all amused by the arrow to the side of your chest. Those arrows should penetrate throughout any body. You must have broken your ribs multiple times when you were young. Those ribs have healed all attached to each other! At least on that side, no arrow can pierce through! It’s amazing!”
Adalulf was remembering all the battle wounds he had suffered in the past. He remembered breaking his ribs multiple times, taking direct hits by clubs. He remembered how painful those wounds were, and he could not believe that those very wounds had saved his life.
“I need to tell my wife I am alive…”
“No one is leaving Sleghe until early spring!” Gaesorix replied. “There is too much snow already. We delivered the last wood to the lagoon the week before Lugius found you!”
“So you have been down to the lagoon after I was taken prisoner…”
“Yes, Longobard, we know…” Boiorix answered. “What we don’t know is why you are still alive! But that’s fine with us. I know that it is thanks to your permission that we reopened trade with the Latins. So we owed it to you to fix you up and give you a warm place for the winter!”
“Now, Longobard, you haven’t eaten in two weeks,” Gaesorix added, “and by the way, when we found you, it seemed like you hadn’t eaten much in the preceding months either. Now, would you like some cheese?”
Chapter 19
THE FIRST DOGE
Heraclia’s port was crowded with boats. In that late morning of an early spring, there were boats of every size, from the cargo ships recently built in Olivolo, to the fishermen’s sailboats. There were also plenty of lagoon boats as everyone had been called by the Patriarch to elect their very first duke. The docks were now full, so some larger boats had anchored outside the port, while smaller keelless boats ended up docking along the few canals that lined the bustling town.
In the town’s main hall, the Patriarch, Father Leontio, Saver
io and Tribune Stefanos were talking about the logistics of the Arengo that would elect the Duke. On the other side of the hall, Primo, Polo, Marcello and Sabino seemed uninterested about this ceremonial event, and were focused on a completely different subject.
“I am telling you,” Primo insisted, “I have seen with my own eyes those Slavic prisoners in Patavium. It’s exactly what that Egyptian trader was talking about down in Kerkyra. We bring those blonds to Arab buyers, and we get rich fast!”
“I don’t know…” Polo was doubtful. “I mean, I definitely want to bring some, but what kind of people are these? Do we have enough manpower to keep them imprisoned? The only time I had a slave was a twelve-year-old Grimwald, and I could not sleep at night because I did not feel safe!”
“Not only that, but also,” Marcello added, “if we are bringing slaves in the hold of the ship, are we going to forget about bringing salt?”
“We cannot do that,” Polo objected. “We need to diversify and bring different merchandise… Sabino, tell me, how many slaves can we potentially bring? I mean, how many can we fit in the hull of the ship?”
“I would say… fifty? Unless we stack them up, but I would advise against that on a long trip…”
“So, the question is,” Primo insisted, “how many men do we need to keep fifty salves imprisoned? Would ten men be enough? I am not sure… Do we have enough shackles and chains? I am not sure, if we know what we are doing… We never handled prisoners…”
“And then we would need food to feed them all, plus the crew…” Polo continued. “It will cost us more to transport them than to buy them… Primo, how much did you say we can purchase them for?”
“I haven’t talked price with Bertwalt, yet. So far I have only said that I would take care of his problem of a crowded prison, but worst case scenario I don’t see us paying more than one gold solidus per slave.”
“And we can sell each one of them probably for thirty solidi each…” Sabino added, “…for sure no less than twenty solidi each!”
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