Lombardy, summer, 1324
THEY SOON DISCOVERED that travel in Europe was nothing like travel in Cathay, or in Persia for that matter. The Road was marked by steles built by the Great Khan. Each of the cities along its many routes had clean, well-maintained caravansaries for travelers and their livestock, or at the very least campsites, all of which came under the protection of the cities who built them and, not coincidentally, charged fees for their usage.
Here there were few roads worthy of the name, even fewer of which were signposted and of those few almost none were reliable. Lodging was a free-for-all of inns, all of them independent businesses and most of them verminous. There was no oversight from the various cities next to whose walls they were built, and there was no oversight from the city fathers, which left travelers prey to assault, robbery, and sometimes even murder.
Verona boasted forty-eight towers and a ruler of martial temperament who was constantly at war with his neighbors. But he was also vitally interested in his fellow man and no sooner had word arrived in his court of visitors from storied Cathay than members of Wu Company one and all were summoned before him. They washed off the dust of the road and arrayed themselves in their finest clothes and sallied off to entertain as best they could the honorable Cangrande della Scala, ruler of Verona and various surrounding subjugated cities as well. He had a lantern jaw, intelligent eyes and was of medium height, with the broad shoulders and muscled arms of a man more comfortable with a sword in his hand than a scepter. They had been required to leave their weapons in the outer chamber but one of his aides whispered in della Scala’s ear and his eyes lit up. “Let us see these swords of yours, my friends.”
These were sent for forthwith and a great deal of time was spent examining and discussing the weapons. Della Scala was a little disappointed in Jaufre’s smiling insistence that he was a trader first and a warrior only at necessity. Della Scala and Alaric got on much better, especially after he sent for wine and other refreshments for his guests. He did have a few questions about Cathay and even more about Ogodei when they let fall that they knew the Mongol warrior. He stroked his beard as he listened to Johanna describe in flat, unemotional terms the siege and ultimately the utter destruction of Talikan as she had witnessed it the year before.
“A man to be reckoned with,” della Scala said, some moments after she had finished.
“My lord,” Johanna said, and hesitated.
“Speak freely, and without fear,” he said. “You are my guests.”
Having been steeped in the history of the eternally treacherous battles of the court of Everything Under the Heavens from birth, she doubted that meant much.
Dana sez–
And right she is to do so, although this time, oddly, she can.
As you may or may not know, I’m currently writing a series set in Alexandria in the time of Cleopatra, just before Rome turns the Middle Sea into their own personal lake and Europe into their backyard. I’ve traveled some in that neck of the woods, including a trip to Turkey in 2011, where Roman ruins are everywhere, so many that many are unsupervised. On the way to Fethiye our wonderful guide, Serra, took us off itinerary and off the beaten path to this aqueduct.
It was 20 kilometers long, the unburied half of one that stretched 40 kilometers between source and town. Top left is the acqueduct, top center one of its supporting arches, top right the top (yes, we climbed all over it as no one was there to stop us), and bottom is one of the individual pieces of “pipe” you can see top right. The hole facing is what the water flowed through, and the top hole is where some poor slave was tasked in scraping out the accumulated calcium that clogged up the pipe.
I came away from that trip to Turkey understanding why the Romans ruled that part of the world for as long as they did. They built roads, and they brought water to places where before the women walked miles to the nearest spring and brought it back to the village by the bucket.
By the time of Silk and Song, of course, the city fathers of everywhere had allowed the infrastructure to go to hell. It’d be a while before they got it built back up again. Didn’t stop Johanna and Jaufre, though, or anyone else for that matter. Traders travel. They always have.
Chatter Silk and Song historical romance Lombardy marco polo Venice