Arriving at a wayside inn, we found the courtyard filled with packhorses and mules. Standing wide-legged at one side of the court was a man the like of whom I had never seen. “We will have the packs off. Check your beasts for scratches, wounds, or abrasions. We will have no animals unfit to bear burdens here.”
He ignored our arrival and looked at no one. He spoke strongly and clearly. “Look to their hocks, check their hooves for stones. Brush down the hair upon their backs, a lump of twisted hair can cause chafing. No man will see to himself until his beasts are cared for.”
Obviously, we had encountered a merchant caravan, and this huge man was the Hansgraf or captain of the train. Such caravans took merchandise up and down and across Europe, traveling by age-old trade routes dating from ancient times, long before the Romans. Some followed the old Amber road that led from the Baltic to the Mediterranean over which amber had been taken to the pharaohs of Egypt, to Solomon himself, and to Hiram of Tyre.
These parties of merchants, bound together by an oath of fidelity, were well-armed, prepared to resist attack by brigands, or Raubritter. There were barons who charged down from their castles hoping to plunder a caravan. Many a castle was lookout for such as these.
The Hansgraf’s caravan of the White Company of traders was a rich one, and immediately I realized this could be our salvation. Our route led eastward through mountain passes where danger lurked, yet with such a caravan we might travel safely.
Choosing an empty corner of the yard, I unsaddled and tended my horses, and no horse in the yard could compare to ours.
Several times I saw the eyes of the Hansgraf upon me, or glancing from me to Safia, who stood nearby. When my animals were cared for, I gathered my weapons and went inside.
A dozen men were seated about the table, eating and drinking, several of them already drunk. They stared at Safia as she entered, and one spoke aloud in the Frankish tongue, an insulting phrase that Safia did not understand. Reaching across the table, I took him by the beard, the worst of insults in a Moslem country, and dragged him across the table. Jerking down on his beard, I shoved a handful of grease and suet into his opened mouth.
“Keep your filthy mouth shut,” I said, “or next time I’ll force a sheep down your throat.” Wiping the grease from my hand on his shirtfront, I released him and shoved hard, toppling him back over the bench choking and gagging.
Two of the others, flushed with drink, half started to rise. “The lady,” I told them, “will be treated as such. If you wish to take issue with me, I shall split your skulls like melons.”
We chose a table at the far side of the room, and I saw the loud-mouthed one stagger to the door, gagging. It would be a while before he wagged his tongue over another woman.
Glancing up, I saw the Hansgraf looking across the room at me.
We ordered up a bottle of wine and a chunk of roast beef and settled down to eat. Safia had recovered except for her too tender feet, and the cool air had given her a fine appetite.
A shadow loomed beside our table. It was the Hansgraf. “Nobly done! That swine was well served. Do you travel far?”
Gesturing to the bottle, I said, “A noble wine, Hansgraf, will you join us?”
“A moment, at least.” He seated himself, and again I was amazed at the size of him. He must have weighed half again my own weight. He was clad in black: black hose and black tall boots, a black cloak over all.
“You are a soldier?”
“Of fortune,” I said, “a fighting man, if necessary, but something of a scholar as well. I travel eastward,” I added, “and the lady Safia travels to her home in Shiraz.”
“It is a far place.” He measured me again with appraising eyes. “Do you have capital to invest? Ours is a merchant company, our goods bought and sold in common, profits shared. If you would like to join us, we can use strong men.”
“Would I share with the company?”
“You would be one of us. Your sword must be ours, also. We will have need of swords, I believe.”
“And your route?”
“By way of Pamplona to Pau and Avignon. We go eastward but by way of the fairs.”
So it was that I, who had been a scholar, a geographer, and perhaps a physician, became a merchant.
A merchant with a sword.
25
The tawny hills lay like sleeping lions along the narrow track. Far ahead, leading the convoy, was the schildrake, or standard-bearer. Behind him rode six armed men, selected for their skill with weapons, and then the Hansgraf himself.
The caravan was made up of nearly five hundred pack animals, mostly horses and mules but cattle also. These last would be eaten when their packs were sold or shifted to mules. They walked in pairs because the track was narrow, with armed guards along the flanks of the column.
Four women accompanied them, and there were sixty-two men, hardened by constant travel and intermittent warfare. All were shareholders in the venture, and in von Gilderstern they had a very superior commander who maintained sharp discipline. If any failed to live up to standard, he was dropped at once. His goods were purchased, and he was left wherever they happened to be.
That morning Gilderstern had stood with his feet planted upon the earth and stared at me, hands on hips. The stance was typical, I was to learn. “You are a Celt?”
“From Armorica, in Brittany, near the sands of Brignogan.”
“I know the place. And the woman? She is not your wife?”
“She is a lady to whom I am indebted. And she is a lady.”
“I assumed as much. Tell me, and no offense intended. Is she well-behaved?”
“As man to man, yes. We are friends. Good friends, but no more than friends. Also,” I added, “she may be of much value. She is a lady who deals in information. She was at the center of things in Córdoba until enemies caught up with her. I helped her escape as she had once helped me.”
The Hansgraf nodded. “We go north to Montauban, then to the fairs of Flanders, back to those of the Champagne. It could be a year before we reach the sea.” He glanced at me sharply. “You were ready to fight. Are you a quarrelsome man?”
“I am not.”
“For your information, we are like a family here, in loyalty, in cooperation. All quarrels or disagreements are settled by me. At any time you are not satisfied or prove less than you need to be, we will buy you out, and you go your way.
“The company protects all its members, and all trading companies stand ready to aid each other.”
Under gray skies we moved forward. The great fairs of Flanders and the Champagne attracted merchants from all the countries of Europe. The honor of being the oldest fair was believed to belong to St. Denis, but there were fairs at Ypres, Lille, and Bruges almost as old as St. Denis. The greatest of the Flanders fairs was at Ghent.
By the earliest years of the twelfth century the fairs at Bar and Troyes as well as those at Lagny and Provins were long established, and those in Champagne had become the money marts of Europe, clearinghouses for debts contracted in all Christian and many Moslem lands.
Fairs lasted from three to six weeks, and it was customary for merchant caravans to travel from one fair to the next. Large fairs operated at Cambrai, Chateau-Thierry, and Chalons-sur-Marne.
The laws of the lands had given many unique privileges to the fairs and the merchants who attended them, all with a view toward attracting trade. Merchants doing business at the fairs operated under a special conduit, under protection of the ruler of the land through which they traveled. A special group of armed men, the “guards of the fairs,” maintained order, and a letter bearing their seal assured safety to all who bore them.
No merchant traveling to or from a fair could be held for any debt contracted outside the fair, and all were free from fear of arrest for any crime dating from an earlier period. The right to play cards or roll dice on saints’ days was also permitted to the people of the caravans.
The greatest route was that which we were about to follow, from Provence to the coast of Flanders, to Champagne, to Cologne, Frankfort, Leipzig and Lubeck in Germany, and then perhaps on to Kiev or Novgorod, ending our trade in Constantinople.
The company, the word taken from corn-pants, meaning bread-sharer, had come into being to share perils of travel at a time when the roads were beset with brigands, robber barons, and armies of warlike monks who left their monasteries to attack and pillage caravans.