CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER THREE
Municipium of Sirmium
Province of Pannonia Inferior
February 10th, 170 CE
His guest was looking curiously at the fireplace in the study office of Josephus ben Matthias, in the Pannonian city of Sirmium where he had his domus. Or it was the study of Lucius Maecius Josephus if you went by the libellus that attested his Roman citizenship, which other Jews generally didn’t when they weren’t dealing with the Imperial government or the Army.
If there’s a difference there, Josephus thought whimsically. Artorius says the Empire is an army that has a government, not a government with an army.
The fire on the andirons behind a thin screen of fretted bronze cast flickering light on the scrolls on the shelves and the rows of newfangled codex books, many printed on paper, and some of which had illustrations and maps from engravings. Though that firelight was not nearly as bright as the new glass-chimney lanterns that rested in brass gimbals along the walls in front of silvered-glass mirrors.
Josephus had used pearwood for the blaze, in honor of the fact that this visitor was also his uncle, his dead father’s elder brother, and more-or-less head of the extended family by common consent. Though technically that head was a scholar immured in theology back in Judea, who occasionally sent out a burst of letters explicating the details of the Law.
Though Uncle Stephanus also brought a scholar from the schools in Judea with him, Josephus thought.
That mandated a degree of caution, he thought as they chatted idly.
And he brought four bodyguards. He was traveling in unfamiliar territory, so it’s justified. But I have two . . .
The scholar wasn’t a priest, technically. That tradition had died in blood with the fall of the Second Temple, about a hundred years ago, confirmed by the failure of Bar Kokhba’s revolt a little earlier than the time of Josephus’ own birth. The man was of priestly descent, which enabled him to do certain things. And he’d studied in the ancient homeland; not in Jerusalem, which was a Roman colony named Aelia Capitolina now, and had been since Emperor Hadrian’s time—Jews were forbidden entry to it since Bar Kokhba’s rebellion.
But he’d been at the school in Yavneh founded by Yohanan ben Zakkai after the fall of the Second Temple, which was the center of Jewish scholarship in the old homeland.
And the bodyguards are Jews, too, Josephus thought. Which is significant. Freedmen, yes, and ex-gladiators . . .
Most bodyguards were veterans of the arena; it was a natural occupation for those who’d received the wooden sword of freedom.
. . . but three born Jewish, one may be a convert, from his looks. And my bodyguards say they keep to themselves and always have their weapons to hand. So my uncle either believes . . . or more charitably, fears . . . I am possessed by a devil, or have embraced sorcery. Not altogether surprising given the wild rumors about Artorius and his followers, but . . . inconvenient. I know that it is something far stranger . . . but of course I cannot tell him that.
The burning fruit wood scented the room pleasantly, as well as warming it; he noted it absently, while his mind worked through schemes to avoid a confrontation.
The truth, then, as much of it as I can tell. Truth is a weapon of great power! And I will tell it in a way that reassures him! Nor may I reveal that I know his true purpose here. I shall treat him as if this was just family, and family business.
There were little marble-topped tables beside their chairs on either side of the fire, with winecups and plates of small sweets made from flaky pastry, honey and hazelnuts . . . though the curved tripod legs of the tables weren’t elongated fauns or nymphs, which they would have been in most Roman rooms. The mosaics in the house were abstract patterns, too, and the murals lacked human figures.
Dinner had been quietly sumptuous as well, with a roast lamb as the centerpiece, and the new potatoes and tomatoes . . .
And needless to say Josephus’ wife Deineira had done her usual quietly competent job of ensuring none of it violated Jewish law. That wasn’t easy in Pannonia, where Jews were thin on the ground and only Sirmium even had a minyan’s worth of free adult males. The lamb had been slaughtered by one of their household slaves, a convert, according to the Law, for starters. There weren’t any Jewish butchers in business in Sirmium, not yet, which was a major pain in the backside.
Josephus was increasingly tempted to manumit the slave, find him a suitable wife, and set him up in the butcher’s trade—there was a shmita year coming soon, and Jewish bondsmen had to be freed then anyway. If he could prevail on some of the others of his faith here to join in, ensuring that the freedman’s trade flourished, all the better. That would be a mitzvah, a divinely favored good deed, and a sign that the scattered Jews in the city were becoming a true community.
And that competence of my beloved . . . and very clever . . . wife is a relief when I am here at home, he thought. What I must do sometimes when away from it . . . well, necessity drives us all, and at least I have avoided pork. The Most High knows my circumstances.
“These are . . . among the innovations your . . . would friend be the right word? That Lucius Triarius Artorius has introduced?” his uncle said.
He moved his left hand, the one not holding his wine cup, indicating the lanterns and the fireplace, not to mention the printed books, before he went on:
“I have heard at home how such are being installed in the Imperial palaces on the Palatine, and many senators are imitating that. And these mirrors of lead glass silvered with the new acid amalgam! Amazing! Like looking at yourself, somehow!”
Josephus nodded.
“Yes, my uncle,” he said. “The lanterns provide better light, as you see, making it comfortable to read after dark.”
“Without straining your eyes,” his uncle said. “Although with the way my sight has closed in . . . it was never keen at a distance, but I am afraid you are a blur now. I must nearly touch my nose to a document to read it these days, or have a secretary read it for me. Ah, old age! It is a shipwreck!”
Josephus smiled and reached into a pocket—which itself was another new thing.
Though most find their gaze lengthens as they grow older. But not all. Still, this will illustrate my point.
He extended the pair of lenses in their wire frames to his kinsman. They should help . . .
“Put those over your eyes, my revered uncle. Hook the curved ends at the sides over your ears.”
The older man did, and then looked around with a wondering expression on his face that turned into a broad grin.
“Marvelous! The blurring is much less!”
Then with a frown, and reaching a hand up to unhook them:
“How is this done?”
“They are yours,” Josephus said, waving a hand. “This is the third set—the first two went to the Emperor. They alter the course of light to the eyes, as a clear glass jug full of water does. But in a calculated way, you see? Depending on how the glass is ground to shape. So that it may remedy both close and long sight.”
He nodded to the fireplace. “And the ignis locus is much less fuel-hungry than a hypocaust. As you can feel, it makes nothing of winter’s cold, even here in Pannonia. The chimney carries away all the smoke and fumes in a way no brazier can do, be the charcoal ever so fine. I bought and freed some of the slaves that my friend Artorius first trained to making such places of fire, and advanced them money to start their own business, installing these innovations here in Sirmium. That has paid handsomely and quickly—everyone in Sirmium who has seen them wants them if they can meet the cost, and in Vindobona and Carnuntum as well, and among the countryside gentry of the two Pannonian provinces as far away as Acquincum on the Danube. And the Emperor has taken it up, which means everyone will in the end, from Britannia to Syria.”
They were speaking Greek, since their family came from Antioch in Syria a few decades ago, where that tongue was common for Jews; they still had plenty of kinfolk there. Josephus spoke Greek and Latin and Aramaic and three other languages well, and several more passably. He knew his uncle outdid him there. For a merchant it was a valuable skill, even if you could get by in Latin and Greek in most of the Empire, in the cities and larger towns at least and as far as bargaining was concerned. He went on:
“One of many new things Artorius has brought to us.”
“Like these lenses!” his kinsman said, beaming now and turning toward the bookcase. “I can read the title there—at twice arm’s length! Yes, I can see how it is the same thing as a glass jar full of water. But as you say, in a calculated way.”
Well, at least he doesn’t think that is sorcery, Josephus thought, noting the slight feeling of relief in his uncle’s voice. A good start at reassuring him!
“And Artorius is my friend indeed, and a good and loyal one, as I strive to be to him. His new treatment saved my son Matthias’ life, as Deineira told you at supper.”
Stephanus nodded; he’d been pleased by that too.
“The boy seems to flourish now. A likely lad! Clever, quick-witted and well-mannered, and already well-read. Your grandfather would be proud of him. May HaShem bless you with many such fine sons, as he has me. Blessed be the Name!”
Josephus carefully didn’t mention that the new treatment for bowel infections—rest, plentiful doses of boiled water amended with honey and sea salt, and a diet of nothing but broth and then soup and then dishes boiled to softness for several weeks—wasn’t all that Artorius had provided. Though that treatment now saved many lives. Especially of children here in the city; youngsters were prone to stomach illness, particularly in the warm season, even more than others.
Artorius had also given him pills, made of what he called antibiotics, which had brought his Matthias back from the edge, with the shadow of Azrael’s wings—the Death Angel’s wings—plain on his thin pallid face.
Those pills slew the miniscule parasites that he now knew caused much disease, like unseen tiny fleas or lice in your very blood and bowels.
Now I understand that, now that I have read the book on medicine from the new book-stamping press, and looked through the microscope. My household does not, apart from my wife . . . but they have already noticed that my commands make everyone under this roof less likely to fall ill. Everyone knows cities are unhealthy; now I know why they are so.
And the pills were irreplaceable, made by means that could not be duplicated in this age, nor for generations yet to come even with the knowledge brought from the future. The Americans would be plagued beyond belief, quite possibly attacked and killed and robbed, if others knew what those medicines could do. Bodyguards and Imperial favor or no, given sufficient desperation.
It would be hard even to blame some such attackers, who only wanted to save their loved ones and families!
Absolute secrecy was the only real shield from such peril. And Artorius had trusted him with that knowledge, the instant he learned of Matthias’ illness, without Josephus asking . . . he hadn’t known about the medicine, even, at the time, though he already knew from where . . . from when . . . the strangers had really come.
And I need not . . . must not, for many reasons . . . tell my uncle of such. I will be worthy of Artorius’ trust! My son’s life . . . could any man make me a greater gift? Could any man be a better friend, then and now? We are close as brothers, like David and Jonathan. Together we will move mountains and reshape the world itself with peace and plenty!
He went on aloud:
“For that, I will owe him more than I could pay all my life. And speaking of paying, he has also increased my wealth in the things of this world . . . very considerably. Both directly and indirectly, through our partnerships, and by providing me large sums of capital on reasonable terms because he has confidence in my knowledge and my judgment.”
“Reasonable?” his uncle said.
“Five parts in a hundred interest per year, or two parts in ten of the profit from a venture, usually, whichever is greater.”
“That is reasonable! Very! Confidence in your judgment indeed! And in your honesty.”
“Artorius is reasonable, and a good judge of men. Baruch HaShem—”
Which literally meant blessed be the Name in Hebrew, the old tongue of their people, preserved because it was sacred; the phrase was an expression of thanks to the Most High. Though most Jews now spoke Aramaic or Greek in the east, or Latin in Rome and the other northern and western provinces.
“—that He brought me to meet Artorius on the road!”
He’d actually met Artorius and his four companions and their large wagonload of baggage off the road, but that was confidential. He first saw them after weird lights and noises, lying unconscious beside their gear in a forest clearing . . . and no slightest trace of the pack beasts or wagons or porters which would have been needful to move so large a weight of baggage.
With a dying man—a corpse, within instants—a little distance away. Wounded unto death from something that severed his legs at the thigh as a flick of a razor blade might an overboiled carrot.
It had all puzzled him then, like an itch in his head that he’d only been able to scratch when Artorius told him the truth of it. No other would ever learn it from him, not even the wife of his bosom, from whom he’d kept nothing until now and who’d given him shrewd advice all their years together.
His uncle Stephanus nodded. He was a man of twice Josephus’ own age of thirty-two, but still hale; hale enough to travel here from Rome, which wasn’t easy even for a wealthy man in this season. And he had most of his teeth, though they were yellowed and spotted. His white beard brushed his chest, and he was dressed in a long, striped woolen robe of fine cloth, longer than Josephus’ calf-length bleached tunic with the narrow purple equestrian stripes. He added a silk skullcap, being more of a stickler for the finer points of the Law than his nephew.
Apart from age they had a strong family resemblance, olive-skinned, lean and long faced and bold nosed, with eyes a very dark hazel and hair equally black before age lightened the older man’s and sent it receding far back from his forehead.
“And those jewels of his you sent to be sold on commission!” his uncle said, and kissed his fingertips in delighted awe. “Ah, so wonderful! So beautiful, the way they are cut in facets! We have all made good profits from them, and so has your friend. The only problem there was remitting so much money to the little bankers here in this . . . remote province!”
Josephus nodded in his turn, accepting the frontier backwater that was what his uncle had really meant.
Though Pannonia Inferior and its neighbors were making rapid progress now . . . and it was no longer on the frontier by several hundred miles, with the entirely new province of Transdanubia now stretching far north and Dacia much enlarged to the northeast. The war with the Germanii had pumped a good deal of Imperial expenditure into trade here too.
The new northern mines were doing even more. Directly in the vast expenditures required to get them going, and indirectly because the people they employed or enriched bought more, and it would be years before their needs could all be locally supplied. The precious metals they produced would grease the wheels of trade as well; an Imperial mint was under construction in Carnuntum.
The little bankers have gotten bigger. And there are more societās, more joint banks. And bankers . . . or their sons . . . have started to flock here from the southland cities.
Stephanus lived in Rome, and there was no better market for gemstones in all the world. But Josephus had also sent some of the jewels by trusted courier to more distant relatives in Athens, Antioch-in-Syria, and Alexandria-in-Egypt; not even Rome could absorb all that many of the huge, flawless and cunningly faceted stones Artorius had brought with him—
Brought from his own time. Remember, no hint of that!
“The jewels have profited us all, but that has been the least of it, Uncle. There has been the Ronsonius . . . ”
Which was a cunning arrangement of a brass receptacle just the right size to be gripped firmly in one hand, holding distilled naptha or the new double-refined superwine, combined with a hinged cover, a wick, and a clever little wheel mechanism for striking a spark with steel against flint. The soaked wick nearly always caught immediately, and with it you could light a lantern or a torch or a cooking fire.
They were wildly popular, being so much easier and quicker than ordinary flint and steel, and were making his whole family a goodly sum in half a dozen cities, with artisans producing them in bulk on commission. Though soon they’d be copied by others, and the price would fall.
The Imperial army had also adopted them to light the new fuses for thunderpowder weapons . . . and every soldier faced with field service wanted one very badly to light plain and simple fires when the alternative was cold food and cold sleep in the cold and wet. Even getting the doubled superwine or distilled naptha for them would be a profit source, in the long run.
“And those new mirrors,” his uncle said, waving at the lanterns and their backing. “As good as a pool of still water, or better, and there any time you want them. Hei-hei, what rich ladies in Rome will pay for that! Especially in frames beautified with precious metals well worked. Jewelers of our people in Rome are making the settings now.”
Josephus nodded agreement and went on:
“And much else; for instance, the new methods of accounting, which have simplified my business greatly. Also through Artorius I have had the Emperor’s favor . . . not least, that the Imperator paid Sextus Hirrius Trogus’ debts, including his debt to me, immediately, in full and in cash. Which made me eligible for the Equestrian Order,” he added, tapping the purple stripes on his tunic. “To which he elevated me himself!”
His uncle grinned. “Rewarding two men richly but with the same money! Clever!”
Josephus acknowledged that with a smile of his own. “So I was able to repay you for your gracious loan ahead of schedule.”
Which favor from his uncle was what had let him buy up Sextus’ much-depreciated debt in the first place, four years ago. That had been a long-term investment, the largest he’d made to that point—he’d renegotiated it with Sextus and given him a grace period on the compounding of the interest, rather than pressing for payment and taking property from him in court. That had started to pay off before Artorius and his countrymen arrived, and then had given him a massive sum much more quickly than he’d anticipated, since he’d bought the debt for less than half its face value.
“And that money gave me the capital I needed to bid . . . successfully . . . for orders from the Imperial Army since. Nor did the Emperor’s public favor hurt me in the bargaining! Bulk purchases of grain, livestock, leather and cloth. Very valuable contracts.”
“Artorius is a friend indeed, in more ways than one!” Josephus’ uncle said. “I would like to meet this man! Profit seems to follow in his train like flowers after rain in a desert. Mutual profit, the best and most lasting kind.”
“You shall meet him, Uncle, if you stay with me until the spring. And you are very welcome beneath my roof for as long as you please to honor me and mine with your company.”
Which was possible, because Stephanus had able grown sons to mind his business in Rome. He could afford to let them handle the daily routine, while he sniffed out opportunities . . . and perils. That would also spare him more cold-season travel.
“These . . . Americi, is that the word?”
“Americans, in their tongue.”
Which only five people in all the world speak, he thought, with a slight shiver. Exiles indeed!
“These Americans must be very wise!”
“Artorius certainly is, and none of the others are slow-witted. One of the four followers who arrived with him is a Jew by ancestry, a brilliant scholar. Though fallen from the observation of the Law, alas.”
“Yes, Marcus Triarius Findlemanius. He is working with the Greek doctor Galenos on the new Medical Institute. Already they have saved lives. In the Imperial family, too, by the rumors.”
“Yes, those rumors are true; I get news from court now. And they will save many more. And as Marcus shows, Artorius regards our people highly. He has said to me that one good measure of a realm’s success and sound governance is the number of its Jewish inhabitants and their fair treatment before its laws! And I have heard him intercede for us with the Emperor himself, more than once.”
“And the Emperor listened?”
“The Emperor listened with respect.”
“A righteous gentile, then, this Artorius!”
“Righteous indeed. And one of very keen wit, I warn you again of this in advance. One who sees through pretense as if it were a dancing-girl’s dress of eastern silk. Do not underestimate him, or you will be sorry.”
Stephanus hesitated very slightly, then spoke:
“There is wisdom, and then again there is wisdom . . . You know that more than one of our family’s heads of household has asked me to report fully on this matter of Artorius . . . it is so strange. The rumors of sorcery . . . they are disturbing.”
Of course, my uncle, Josephus thought. Otherwise you would not be here—not at this time of year, at least! And not with a man learned in the Law, and four bodyguards! With my father gone, you are the closest of the elder generation to me, so naturally you would be the one sent to see if I have been beguiled by sorcery or bound by spells.
Aloud he laughed and made a waving gesture with one hand, shocking his uncle.
Which is necessary, as preparation for quieting his fears.
“Oh, that! Mere superstition, the babbling of peasants and fools.”
Jews were forbidden anything that smacked of spellcraft; even taking auguries, which was nearly universal among other folk. His family would cut him off if they thought that he had broken the Law so, regardless of profit and loss. They might take . . . more drastic measures, too.
And be quite right to do so, if Artorius were a sorcerer, he thought, and went on aloud:
“No, no, merely a better grasp on the mechanic arts and natural philosophy. Like the new bookkeeping methods I mentioned.”
“Those have been very useful, and will be more so. But . . . these thunderballs? Throwing lightning, to kill many men with a clap of thunder indeed—is that not magical?”
“No, Uncle, I have beheld them at every stage of their construction, and no spellcraft is involved, any more than with the mirrors or the Ronsonius.”
“Hmmmm,” Stephanus mused. “You have a point there. Those are mundane enough, once you understand them.”
Josephus nodded. “So are the thunderballs. A mere matter of common ingredients—saltpeter, sulfur, common charcoal—ground finely in water, combined in a new way. And thrown by physical devices, not by gestures and words of power: by catapults or the force of the thunderpowder itself for the new tormenta, the cannon.”
“But they burst with a sound like thunder,” Stephanus said, regarding him shrewdly.
“So they do. But I have also . . . privately, you understand . . . ”
His uncle nodded; discretion was something Jews in the Empire learned early, whether they were rich or poor.
“ . . . mixed and lit the thunderpowder myself, after prayer and supplication to the Lord of the Universe over it, and reciting the passages of the Law that concern sorcery. It then behaved exactly as that which Artorius makes, neither more nor less, as no evil spell could. Simply a matter of greater knowledge. As men in the time of Troy knew not the forging of iron but made their tools and weapons of bronze.”
Careful! Josephus thought, as the comparison popped out. Don’t slip like that and drop clues! Stephanus is no fool. No indeed! Even travel through time might occur to him, if his mind was prompted in that direction by enough wonderments.
“I can show you this myself, if you wish, taking you through every step,” Josephus went on.
“That is a relief to me, and will be to others of our kin,” his uncle said, his face clearing. “You may show me tomorrow, but I have full confidence in your judgment now.”
As a shrewd man of business must, he recognized sincerity in the younger man’s tone and bearing.
Then he rose. “I will return—I must visit this new jakes of yours. Ingenious, pulling on a chain to flush away the wastes! And more economical of water than one with a constant flow like a river.”
He rose and left, promising to return soon. Josephus breathed out in relief. Though Stephanus could conceal intent very well . . .
A few minutes later, a knock came at the door, three short raps, a pause, and then another.
“Enter,” he said, keeping the tension out of his voice.
It was the senior of his two bodyguards, a Germanii from the western provinces, tall—even taller than Artorius—but moving like a great yellow-haired cat. He inclined his head and spoke:
“Sir, your uncle came and spoke to the priest, and to his bodyguards. In no language I know or recognize.” They were talking the bodyguard’s birth speech, though he had some command of Latin too, and at least enough Greek to know what it was when he heard it.
Aramaic, then, probably, Josephus thought, tense but calm and clearheaded.
“Afterward, the priest put aside his scroll and sought his bed,” the big man said. “And his guards, they don’t look as if they expect a fight anymore.”
The bodyguard wasn’t particularly intelligent . . . except about anything to do with fighting. He wouldn’t have survived six years in the arena if he didn’t have a good grasp of that, size and reach and stallion strength or no. He went on:
“They stashed their weapons . . . one by one, save for the man on guard outside your uncle’s rooms, making it look casual.”
Josephus let out a long sigh, and relaxed truly for the first time since his uncle had arrived.
It worked, he thought. Praise be to Him!
“You and Hildirīks—” the merchant said.
Who was his other bodyguard. It meant “King of Battle” in the Germanic tongue; as his own meant “God Will Increase.” Curiously, American names seemed to have no meaning that their bearers knew, though some of them were descended from Hebrew.
He had learned to speak the Germanic tongue because of its usefulness in trade here on what had been the border. It would be even more useful now—for a generation or two at least—with so much of the former Barbaricum now inside the Empire. There would be a total turnover in the amber trade, just for one thing, when the Imperial armies reached its source in the German Sea far to the north. Roman traders would be able to go to the source and buy there themselves, rather than be stuck at the end of a chain of transmission that raised the price each time the amber changed hands.
Hmmmm. There will be transport costs . . . but amber is very light in relation to value. And other trades, too . . . bulk timber to the Middle Sea lands, as well, with these improved ships Artorius has told me of . . . opportunities!
“—can go back to your usual schedule,” he went on to the bodyguard. “And you will receive a bonus of, hmmm . . . fifty denarii each for the sleep you have missed.”
The bodyguard grinned and ducked his head; that was most of a month’s pay, but a good investment. Germanii . . . warriors in general, come to that . . . admired a superior who was openhanded.
They’d been in a few fights together—at the first battle with the Marcomanni in the spring three years ago, for one, when they’d brought the new thunderpowder weapons to the field. He knew he had the man’s respect as a fighter, too, not just the deference due an employer. There had been hand-to-hand work there for both of them, as well as catapults throwing bronze balls lined with lead bullets and stuffed with the thunderpowder.
I do not like the feel of steel striking home in bone, he thought. No indeed! But it is . . . necessary, sometimes.
He practiced with the sword with the bodyguards several times a week—wooden practice weapons, of course—and in wrestling and boxing and the all-in pankration. A trader on the frontier needed those skills, and he was teaching his son Matthias too.
“Thank you, sir!” the man said. “We will toast your generosity with the first cup we buy!”
Stephanus returned only a little later; Josephus thought he looked more relaxed, and he did yawn.
“I think I will stay until I can meet our benefactor Artorius, and many thanks for your kindly offer of hospitality. He must be a man it is well to know.”
Josephus went on:
“We visit each other, and our wives and children are friendly too . . . ”
At a raised brow: “His hospitality includes taking care with the food when we guest with him. And he has never complained of the fare here, either.”
“Ah!” his uncle said, obviously impressed.
That was not common. Romans loved pork, for example, and most just didn’t take any law forbidding it seriously. Josephus went on:
“But as you may imagine, he is very busy! Not least with this new ironworks west of here in Noricum province. And believe me, when it is producing . . . no later than this coming spring or early summer, probably . . . it will also be extraordinary. Very.”
His uncle’s eyebrows rose; ironworks were ubiquitous, and only modestly profitable, usually a matter for artisans rather than investors, save for the Imperial ones. And those used the same techniques; they were just bigger, with many more furnace hearths. Though steel from Noricum had a longstanding reputation as the finest in the Empire, sought-after for the best swords and razors and other edge tools.
Josephus pointed at the fireplace.
“It is to ordinary iron smelting as that is to a brazier of charcoal,” he said. “Or as those lanterns are to the usual kind, or the mirrors of silvered glass are to a polished bronze disk. The Emperor has backed it, but I have also bought a portion of it, with this new arrangement for permanent shares in the societās that manages it. I expect that profits will accrue to all who do so within . . . no more than eighteen months or at most two years from the first smelting of metal . . . dividends, they are to be called. Then regularly every year, on an increasing scale.”
“How so?”
“Because the works will be able to sell iron and steel . . . and gear made of them . . . at a much lower price and still make very substantial profits.”
“Much lower? How much?”
“Less than half current prices is the plan—and higher quality than any but the very best. The production costs are that much lower, and some of the product . . . iron cast like bronze, but much cheaper, and even cast steel . . . will be entirely new. The works could sell at half or less what they plan to charge and still make a reasonable return, but it will take a good long while for prices to fall that much.”
Stephanus looked intrigued and skeptical at the same time. Josephus went on:
“Until others catch up with the new methods, but that will take years—ten, at least, I think, given the large initial investment required and the skills needed. The Empire will have first call on those. The plan is to duplicate the new works in many different places, places where there is good ore and fuel. And not too far from navigable rivers . . . or seacoasts . . . for transport.”
“With the Imperial armies having first call?”
“Yes . . . but there will be a large surplus over that demand in the end. And remember that it won’t just be iron; steel too, by new methods that make it much more cheaply. Good steel, cheap enough to be used for many more things; for ordinary tools, even.”
His uncle hesitated and then asked:
“How much in total would you say you have made in profits that you would not have save for Artorius, if you would?”
Josephus told him, straight-faced. His uncle jerked, nearly spilling his wine.
“You jest!” he sputtered, then went on more slowly: “No, you are serious!”
The sum he’d just quoted put him very slightly ahead of his uncle in total wealth . . . and Stephanus had been a very shrewd, very successful merchant in the very capital of the Empire for longer than Josephus had been alive.
“By no means do I jest, honored Uncle. That is accurate to the last denarius as of the beginning of this week; I swear it by His Name that we do not utter.”
They both dipped their heads at the mention of the Most High. Stephanus whistled softly, then sipped his wine.
It was a fine white watered three to one, strong and sweet, and was from what the Romans called Syria Palaestina and Jews their ancient homeland of Judea. Specifically from the HašŠəpēlāh, the foothills between Jerusalem and the southern coastal plain of Philistia.
Philistine once, mostly Greek now, Josephus thought.
Jews were not as numerous there as they had been before the disaster and vengeful slaughters and enslavements of Bar Kokhba’s revolt a long generation ago, but some remained and their vineyards were still well regarded. Galilee was the center for their people in that region now, since it had not joined the uprising.
Rome’s hand is heavy on rebels, Josephus thought. Very heavy indeed. Praise to the Most High; let him decree we will not put ourselves in that terrible place again! It was brave, but . . . foolish, very foolish and destruction on a scale such as only an intelligent but wrong-headed man can manage. Bar Kokhba was able, very intelligent . . . and very, very greatly deluded. The voice in his head was not the Most High. Mere madness, or a spirit of wickedness, perhaps, who hated our folk.
Stephanus stroked his beard. “You advise me to place money likewise? It seems this is to be a gold mine, as well as an ironworks!”
“If it pleases you, yes, Uncle. I would advise it. I have yet to suffer loss on any joint venture with my friend Artorius; and with the new law, you are liable for the debts of the societās only to the amount you invest. Safer than a gold mine, in fact—less likely to attract the roving eye of rich senators, and not an Imperial monopoly leased out.”
And used as patronage went without saying.
The Roman world ran on it at the upper levels, whether it was the formal ties of patron and client or more ad hoc.
“A most clever arrangement, these permanent, freely saleable shares and the limitation of debt liability!” Stephanus said. “Clever. Clever indeed! That will free much money from being held in safe but low-paying assets, release it for more productive use . . . by cutting the risks, and making the shares almost as liquid as cash. And it will free money now lying captive and truly sterile in strongboxes! Though it would be wise to keep a close eye on the managers.”
Far too many men thought wealth meant gold and silver right under your thumb, or warehouses full of goods, or land to the horizon. He and his uncle knew that real wealth was money placed shrewdly so that it was out working for you. Coin was just a marker, an entry in a ledger. And stores of goods ate money, until they were sold. You didn’t make money off saleable stuff by sitting on it except in the unfortunate times of dearth.
Money . . . to be true wealth, money has to move constantly. Thus it breeds, breeds wealth for all through whose hands it passes. Unless they are too stupid, and from foolishness there is no protection save the hand of the Most High.
“Indeed, that is the point of the new law, my uncle. I would that all our family should profit from that, as they have already with the sale of the jewels and the Ronsonius and the new mirrors. It is a large investment, so more capital is welcome, and it should pay an excellent return.”
Josephus’ slight smile stayed as he went on:
“When the thunderpowder is more widely known, it will be very useful for other things than war—mining and quarrying, for instance, or building roads in rough country. Properly applied, it can shatter the hardest rock, just as it rends men’s bodies. Indeed, the new ironworks is already using it so, at a great saving in labor! Much rich ore has already been brought to readiness, stockpiled for when these giant new furnaces are complete. There is a whole mountain of good ore there at Colonia Ferramenta—”
Which meant “Colony of Hardware,” or close enough; or possibly “Settlement of Iron Things.”
“—sufficient for countless ages, and splendid forests for charcoal—also enough for ages, if carefully husbanded by pollarding and planting. Which they will be.”
Stephanus stroked his beard, and his eyes were hooded in thought for a time.
“About buying shares in this ironworks—”