“How did you manage to provoke the Guild?”
Cooper and Sartre stood in the annex office of Hvorof Cathedral, being questioned by Bishop Olov.
“Bishop, we truly don’t know how we offended anyone from the Guild. Besançon lacks southern goods. The southern goods we bought at low prices from various southern counties and transported to Besançon were only sold to the city’s southern goods shops. We didn’t sell them at low prices directly on the market. This shouldn’t have caused any loss to the local Guild, right? Local merchants could buy wartime scarce southern goods at lower prices, so they shouldn’t have any reason to object!” Sartre answered softly, his tone tinged with helplessness and confusion.
“Hmm, although I don’t understand trade matters, I know that Besançon and even all of the northern regions are severely lacking in southern goods right now. Merchants in Besançon would welcome southern goods brought in at low prices; they shouldn’t be suppressing you. However, since the Guild has come forward to make things difficult for you, there must be a reason.” Bishop Olov couldn't figure out the reason either.
Bishop Olov picked up the letter in his hand and read it again, then asked, “How much are your goods worth?”
Sartre glanced at Cooper, who nodded. “Bishop, these thirteen carts of southern goods could be exchanged for nearly sixty thousand fenny in Besançon.”
Bishop Olov was surprised. “Your merchant fleet has grown so large?”
“I do remember Art once telling me he wanted to make money through trade. At the time, I thought he just wanted to form a caravan of three to five carriages to transport goods for other merchants. I never imagined he would dare to set up such a large operation all at once. I had also promised him then that he could conduct some trade under the guise of Hvorof Cathedral’s procurement, but now the quantity of your southern goods is too immense; that excuse clearly won’t work.”
Bishop Olov pondered for a moment, then put away Art’s private letter and said to the two men standing before him, “John George, the head of the Besançon Trade Guild, is a thorough merchant. He is by nature greedy and cunning, and he has deep roots in the Court, with connections to many powerful figures. He is not an easy person to deal with.”
Cooper and Sartre’s hearts sank.
“However, he has contracted several church mines in the Lusesen Diocese, so we do have some dealings. I will write him a private letter immediately. You can deliver the letter to him and also bring some valuables, saying it’s from me.”
Upon hearing this, Cooper and Sartre’s faces brightened with smiles again.
“Don’t rejoice too soon. The Guild is not something he alone can control. Since the Guild has entangled with you, you will certainly have to pay some price, and they will continue to keep an eye on you in the future. Go back and tell Art that if he truly wants to engage in southern goods trade, he must consider a foolproof plan. But you must also remind him that for a Knight, indulging in the path of a merchant is not a glorious thing. Let him think it through carefully.”
Sartre listened with a serious expression, then devoutly replied, “The Bishop speaks truly. My Lord has also told us that he will faithfully fulfill a Knight’s duty—to guard justice in the human world for God. In the future, he will not personally handle trade matters, and my Lord has said more than once that after the merchant fleet makes money, he will donate a fixed portion to the Church as a holy offering for building churches and benefiting the faithful, so that God’s light may shine upon every inch of the world.”
Bishop Olov’s face broke into a smile, and he said kindly, “He is indeed a saint who has fought for my Lord. I am very pleased that he has such thoughts. You may go. If the Guild continues to make things difficult for you, I will personally go to them.”
Cooper and Sartre made the sign of the Holy Cross as they exited the annex office of the church, hurrying back to Besançon.
In the Besançon Trade Guild office, Guild Head John George looked at Bishop Olov’s private letter, a surge of anger rising in his heart. He softly chided his attendant, “That scoundrel Dean, didn’t he say the owner of that merchant fleet was a homeless stray dog? Then what’s with this private letter from Bishop Olov? Go quickly and find Dean for me.”
“Master, but those goods are worth tens of thousands of fenny. Are we just letting them go?”
“Tens of thousands of fenny? Use your pig brain! My income from the three church mines in Lucerne in one month is more than that! How can I offend the Diocese Bishop?”
“What are you still standing here for? Get out and find Dean!” John roared.
The attendant quickly turned to search for Dean in the city.
“Stop!”
The Guild Head called out to the attendant again and instructed, “Have the servants lead those three guests to the side hall to wait, and bring them some wine and refreshments. Entertain them well, do not neglect them. We’ll talk after Dean clarifies the situation.”
Cooper, Sartre, and Lawrence sat anxiously in the Guild’s side hall. They had already delivered Bishop Olov’s private letter and a box of jewels worth a thousand fenny to Guild Head John George’s office. Although John had not yet met with them, the treatment they received this time was noticeably better. Last time they came to see John, they were left waiting for a whole morning before a servant finally came out and simply chased them away, without even a word.
“Old Butler, do you think there’s hope this time?” Lawrence asked.
Cooper was also a bit uneasy, so he remained silent.
It was Sartre, experienced in business, who picked up a glass of fruit wine and said to Lawrence with confidence, “Let’s wait patiently. This matter will succeed.”
“We’ve been left waiting for half the morning again. How do I still feel there’s no hope?” Lawrence still looked worried.
Sartre took a sip of fruit wine and smiled at the two of them, saying, “Although we are still being kept waiting, at least this time we have a place to sit and there’s wine and refreshments. If things weren’t looking up, we would have been kicked out long ago. This time, Bishop Olov has intervened. The Guild might dare to bully an unknown merchant fleet, but they would absolutely not dare to provoke people from the Church. Besides, Bishop Olov is the Bishop of the Lusesen Diocese, and John even has several mines in Lucerne.”
Indeed, after only the time it takes for a meal, John’s attendant pushed open the side hall door and walked in, smiling as he said to the men, “Gentlemen, my master invites you to his office.”
Cooper and Lawrence looked surprised and delighted, but Sartre showed no surprise at all.
“Old Butler, may I speak with John later?” Sartre asked Cooper beside him for permission.
“Of course, you are the true expert in this area,” Cooper replied readily.
So, the men followed the attendant out of the side hall door.
As the men left the side hall and entered the main hall, they saw a figure hurrying out of the main hall door. As the figure disappeared through the door, he turned back and cast a venomous glance at the three men who were about to enter the office.
“Isn’t that Young Master Dean? What is he doing here?” Lawrence, with the best eyesight, recognized the figure and stopped, turning his head to look.
“You must be mistaken! Come on, we have important business,” Sartre pulled Lawrence, and the men walked into John’s office.
The moment he stepped into the office, even the well-traveled Sartre couldn’t help but praise the owner’s wealth and luxury—the floor was covered with wool felt carpets, the walls hung with famous portraits, a silver-plated candelabra hung from the ceiling, the window frames were inlaid with colored glass, the room was filled with sculptures and porcelain, all the furniture was made of yew wood, and even the guest chairs were upholstered in soft leather.
Seeing the three men enter the room, John politely stood up to greet them: “Presumably, you are Sir Art’s merchant fleet managers. Please, have a seat.”
The three men sat on the leather-upholstered chairs opposite John’s desk.
“I have already read Bishop Olov’s letter, gentlemen. If you had explained your relationship with the Bishop earlier, these misunderstandings between us would not have occurred,” John said with a smile.
“Master John, my Lord did not wish to trouble the Bishop with such minor matters. It’s just that the Bishop heard, from who knows where, that we had some misunderstandings with the Besançon Trade Guild, and he was concerned that we might rashly offend the esteemed gentlemen of the Guild, which is why he took the initiative to inquire about this matter,” Sartre began to fabricate, but such half-truths make people unwilling to fully believe yet dare not disbelieve entirely.
Upon hearing this, John’s eyebrows indeed furrowed slightly, then he quickly resumed his smile and said, “Of course, Sir Art is the son of the Bishop’s religious guard. The merciful and benevolent Bishop would naturally not allow Sir Art to fall into unnecessary trouble.” John didn't believe Bishop Olov would personally help these people, but who could say for sure he wouldn't…
“Master John, then what about our goods…?” Sartre probed.
John stopped pondering, looked up, and replied with a smile, “There’s no problem with the southern goods you brought. It was all a misunderstanding by the people handling the matter. I will have them return your merchant fleet’s goods. However…”
“However what?” Sartre knew that this fellow’s heart was not as bright as his smiling, chubby face.
“However, these southern goods of yours must be sold to several designated shops of the Guild. These shops belong to the Guild heads. Anyway, it’s a fair trade, and it’s the same no matter who you sell to, isn’t it?” John put forward the first condition: the merchant fleet’s cheap southern goods must be sold to several designated shops in Besançon, most of which, of course, belonged to John himself.
“Master John, I can agree to this matter, as long as you can guarantee us sufficient fairness,” Sartre replied readily.
“Hmm, of course, of course~ Hmm~” John replied.
Sartre saw that John still seemed to have more to say, and chuckled, “I guess Master John has more conditions?”
John stroked the few whiskers at the corner of his mouth, his face regaining some seriousness, and said, “You are a clear-headed person, and I won’t beat around the bush. I can let you go this time, but in the future, you cannot continue the southern goods trade on this route from Tinietz to Besançon!”
Sartre knew this was the real objective.
Among all the southern goods trade routes in the entire Burgundy County, only the Tinietz to Besançon route is the optimal one. This is because southern goods unloaded from major ports along the Lombardy coast in the south can only be transported along the most convenient route by passing through Vilno, Aosta, and Kitzby in the eastern mountains of Provence, and then entering Tinietz and surrounding provinces and counties through the northern border. Southern goods are not like other commodities; they are mostly precious items such as spices, jewels, raw silk, silk fabrics, dyes, ceramics, and tea. Only in large cities in the northern Earl such as Lucerne and Besançon are there enough merchants and powerful figures to purchase these goods. And the distance from Tinietz to Besançon is the shortest compared to other provinces and counties, making the Tinietz to Besançon line the “Golden Journey” of southern goods trade.
In the past two years, this trade route had been temporarily cut off due to continuous warfare on the southern continent, forcing southern goods merchants to detour hundreds or even thousands of miles via the eastern and western routes to trade in the north. However, the war would eventually end, and once the north-south trade route became unblocked, this line would immediately turn into a “river” flowing with gold and silver.
Sartre, who had been immersed in trade for many years, though he had no opportunity to get involved in the southern goods trade on this route, also knew how high the “mountains” and how deep the “waters” of this “golden river” were.
“How about it, gentlemen?” John broke Sartre’s contemplation.
“What if we don’t agree?” Sartre recalled the words Art had sent back from Talburg through Lawrence, and his attitude suddenly hardened.
John hadn’t expected this fellow’s attitude to suddenly change, and for a moment he was speechless.
“Do you truly believe that relying on Bishop Olov, you can establish a firm foothold on the north-south trade route?” John’s tone was unkind, his smiling face suddenly cold.
Sartre did not answer directly, but instead changed the subject and asked, “Master John, I have already inquired, and you have not been involved in this north-south trade route. Our merchant fleet will not have the slightest impact on your interests. You have no reason to fight with a potential partner over an unrelated trade route.”
“Who says it’s unrelated? Your existence threatens—” John realized he had almost made a slip of the tongue and quickly shut his mouth.
“Who do we threaten?” Sartre pressed.
“You threaten the stability of Besançon’s southern goods trade market,” John corrected himself and replied.
Sartre knew these were all pretexts, but he didn’t press further. “Master John, I don’t care who is backstabbing us, but a successful merchant noble like yourself should be wise. As I just said, you shouldn’t fight with a potential partner, especially one who is also illuminated by the Holy Light.”
“Oh? A potential partner? That’s a fresh idea. I’d like to hear you elaborate,” John regained his composure and asked curiously.
Half an hour later, the three men left John’s office.
John agreed to return the merchant fleet’s impounded goods. He also promised that in the future, the Besançon Trade Guild would give fair treatment to other goods sold by the merchant fleet. However, on the issue of southern goods trade, John remained firm. He even threatened that any southern goods brought into Besançon by the merchant fleet in the future would not be purchased by any shop.
“Old Butler, it seems the person who wants to stab us has a close relationship with Master John. Who could it be?” Sartre mused as he walked out of the Guild’s main hall.
Suddenly, he seemed to remember something and stopped, asking Lawrence beside him, “Lawrence, what did you say the name of that person you saw coming out of John’s office was?”
Faced with the sudden question, Lawrence was a bit confused. “It seems… it seems like Young Master Dean? Hey, I only saw him for a glance, maybe I was mistaken. Young Master Dean should be fighting with the troops on the Western Front.”
Sartre pondered for a moment, then asked again, “This Young Master Dean, he seems to be the son of a wealthy merchant from Tinietz County, right?”
Cooper recalled for a moment and replied, “Yes, I think so. My Lord mentioned it a few times. He was enfeoffed as an apprentice Knight because his family provided a lot of money to the Court for the war. Oh, and Young Master Dean had a conflict with our Lord!”
“His family is a wealthy merchant in Tinietz, and he had a conflict with my Lord…” Sartre muttered to himself.
“Old Butler, I know who is backstabbing us!”