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Anno Domini 825, December 17
In the end, it was far better to sell to foreigners than to the Greeks themselves. In a single day I had earned what we had produced over three months of work, and now, with my workshop's productivity increasing every day, once the craftsmen there—many of them apprentices—improved their skills, production would rise even further. The Varangians could very well become a stable market, considering they swindle the locals with narwhal tusks sold as unicorn horns.
All things considered, it had gone well, even though I had suffered quite a scare when I thought my plan had failed and that I would have to improvise along the way.
So, with chests full of gold, I made my way to the imperial shipyards of the harbor. As I had been warned beforehand, security was extensive. The area was semi-fortified, and several units of the city's tagmata could be seen stationed there, ensuring that the shipyards functioned as they should.
I was thoroughly checked for weapons and presented my permit, introducing myself as a mercenary in the service of the thema of Macedonia, seeking to purchase warships to "assist in the defense." In reality, having one or two dromōns to escort my merchant vessels was essential, considering that the sea was reportedly infested with pirates. There were pirates from all corners of the Mediterranean, drawn by the wealth of the great commercial hub that everyone sought to reach.
I entered and began speaking with the shipyard workers, asking who was responsible for placing an order for a dromōn or whether it was possible to buy one already built, even an old one.
"May God protect you," I said, greeting the shipyard master, who was overseeing the construction of several vessels.
"And you as well… tell me, I was told you work for the strategos of Macedonia, but as a mercenary. It seems strange to me that you are trying to buy ships," the shipyard master said, studying me closely.
"The strategos is short on funds, so he chose to rely on me to help with maritime defense. I've purchased some ships to transport goods, but I clearly need a dromōn with oars if I am to catch pirate vessels," I explained, gesturing toward the ships under construction.
"Yes… the sea is not very calm with the Sarakenoi in Crete. Look, if there is permission from the strategos, there is no problem with placing orders, but my schedule is full for the next two years," the shipyard master said honestly.
"Two years… is there any ship from the fleet that is damaged… or very old? I can afford the repairs and the refitting," I suggested.
"Yes… we do," the shipyard master replied, leading me to one of the dry docks where several Byzantine naval dromōns sat battered, half-wrecked, or with broken masts. "This is what we have for now. Those over there I cannot sell to you outright, because they must be repaired no matter what. The hull damage would not allow them to float. You pay for the ships and take them to any shipyard capable of repairing them."
"Fine, I'll take those two… but at what price?" I asked.
"Two thousand nomismata for both, non-negotiable. We will remove the fire siphon, since only the imperial navy is authorized to use it. You pay the two thousand nomismata, I order the siphons dismantled, and you may take the ships to any shipyard you trust. But remember: these ships must be patrolling the seas within six months, or we will reclaim them. Every ship counts—we cannot afford to waste them," the shipyard master concluded.
"Expensive… but aside from the mast and the missing section of the prow, they seem sound. Let's make the contract. I'll take them to a shipyard in the Golden Horn and see how long the repairs take so they can be operational as soon as possible," I said, beginning to count the coins from the chest I was handing over.
"Very well. Just so you know what you're getting: a heavy dromōn, two banks of rowers, an archer tower, a mounted ballista, reinforced with iron bracing. Both ships are identical, so you should be well served," the shipyard master explained.
"Is the ram no longer used?" I asked, examining the bow, which lacked the naval ram meant to split another ship in two during a collision.
"It was abandoned some time ago. It reduces rowing speed, negating the advantage of the two banks of oars," he replied, raising an eyebrow.
"Understood… very well, give me a moment," I said as I finished counting the coins. The shipyard master disappeared and returned with papyri covered in imperial seals and signatures.
We exchanged gold for contracts, and with care—and some difficulty—we hauled the ships out of the dry dock and brought them to a shipyard in the Golden Horn. They agreed to repair them for us. The repairs took one month for the first ship and two months for the second, costing me around seven hundred gold coins. In total, I spent more than half my profits on two military vessels. Factoring in production costs and wages, I had burned through nearly eighty percent of everything I had earned, yet I still ended with a clean thousand gold coins, which was no small sum.
Unwilling to leave the gold idle—since one must spend to earn—I began purchasing goods that could be easily sold back home: cloth, thread, salt, and honey, basic necessities after food. I filled the hold of one of the ships with these goods.
At one point, I passed through the foreign quarters of the Golden Horn again, as there was a great deal of slave trading there, and I wanted to see if I could find anything useful.
This time, looking more carefully, I found large auctions of war-slave lots. Apparently, the most recent shipment was Bulgarian and Saracen—captured in skirmishes with the Bulgarians, seized pirates, and what seemed to be a clash with the Abbasid Caliphate. As a result, many people from those regions were being auctioned off in groups.
I was looking for slaves with experience beyond farming, so I listened closely as each lot was presented. Most were pirates who would only be useful in mines—if one owned any—or in the fields. That was not what I needed. I was looking for blacksmiths, carpenters, potters—anyone who could be used to open or expand a business. These, unfortunately, were of no use to me.
And the Bulgarians… no chance. I would be insane to buy a Bulgarian and keep him close. He would most likely stab me in the back the moment I turned around.
In other markets I found slaves from the steppes, but for the most part they only knew how to handle horses. It could have been interesting, but I didn't have enough horses to justify buying slaves just to tend and breed them, not to mention the language problem.
Once again, in the Varangian quarter, I went deeper in, closer to the sea, and found that they too were selling slaves. Not the Varangians themselves, but Greeks selling slaves privately rather than in large lots, since there were fewer of them.
The stench was strong… it was obvious they were not in good condition, and many of the slaves bore wounds, clear signs that they had been taken by force. They had probably fought hard to avoid it.
"May God bless you," said the owner of the stall, while a group of guards armed with clubs watched me closely.
"And you as well… from what I see, you have Varangian slaves, don't you?" I said, looking at the many cages filled with captives.
"Yes… though some are Slavs brought to me by the Varangians. When they travel, they tend to raid everything along their route and bring me the fruits of their river journeys from their homelands. Are you looking for something specific? Varangians are known for their strength—they work very well in fields or mines," the slave trader said, pointing at the most robust group.
"I'm looking for a Varangian who speaks Greek… I want to start trading with them, and I'll need an interpreter," I explained.
"Speaks… Greek… I have one… yes, I have one," the slave trader said thoughtfully.
"How much?" I asked, already assuming it would be expensive.
"Ten nomismata," he said, walking deeper into his stall and gesturing for me to follow.
"Why so cheap?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. A normal slave sold for twice that.
"He's old… I don't think he has much time left," the slave trader replied, leading me into a room where more slaves stood in chains. The smell of rot was even stronger there.
We stopped in front of an older man, his beard almost entirely white, though he still had strands of blond hair.
"This one," the trader said, kicking the cage to wake him. "Hákon, wake up."
The Varangian stirred and looked at us sharply.
"Do you speak Greek?" I asked, leaning closer.
"Yes…" he replied.
"Are you an idiot?" I asked.
"No," he answered.
"Good. If he understands what I'm saying, I'll pay," I said, handing over the coins.
"Excellent… I'll prepare the documents immediately, and remember to pay the tax to the collector outside," the slave trader said, opening the cage and handing me the key to the shackles before leaving to draw up the papers.
"Come on, old man… damn, you stink. How long have you been in that cage?" I said, helping him up.
"What do you care, Roman?" the Varangian replied with a thick accent, standing on his own and brushing my hand away.
"Oh… feisty. I suppose you lost a fight and ended up here," I said, noting how easily he towered over me. "You Varangians really are tall."
He merely grunted.
"Look, it's simple. You teach me the basics of your language so I can speak with other Varangians, and I give you your freedom. I'll sign your manumission, and with a bit of effort, in a few months you'll be free."
"What good is freedom if I'm stuck in Miklagarðr, without a ship or a crew to take me home?" the Varangian snapped.
"Raider or merchant?" I asked.
"Both," he replied proudly.
"I see… then you might be interested in another deal I have in mind," I said with a smile.
"What kind?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
"I produce military equipment made of steel," I said, drawing my sword and showing it to him. "I need customers, and the Varangians seem very interested. That's why I'm looking for a Varangian who speaks Greek—to learn your tongue and sell to them directly. Do you consider yourself a man of honor?" I asked.
"Of course. I have never broken an oath, and I never will," he replied, clearly offended.
"Good. You know the trade and the routes. You teach me your language, I grant you your manumission, and I give you a ship so you can return home, sell my goods, and bring me the profits. If you're interested, swear by one of your gods that you'll return, and I will keep my word."
The old Varangian hesitated for a moment, then dropped to one knee and spoke in his own tongue. I only recognized one word: "Óðinn." Scandinavian, then.
When he finished, he rose.
"Now keep your end, Roman… see if any of my crew are here," Hákon said, calmer now.
"Of course," I replied.
"Here are the documents… I just need his name and signature, and everything will be legal," the slave trader said upon returning.
"Change of plans. I want more slaves," I said, crossing my arms.
"Excellent choice… I have some Slavic women who are quite remarkable," the trader said eagerly.
"Hákon, check the stall and take all your crew. We'll search the rest of the market afterward."
We searched the stall and found about fifteen members of Hákon's crew, and elsewhere in the market we found another twenty. Nearly his entire crew was there, though about ten were still missing.
I spent the thousand gold coins I had left on the Varangians, as they sold for thirty gold coins each due to their strength and desirability for physical labor.
But if I could negotiate the sale of arms and armor directly with the Varangians, this investment would repay itself faster than the ships ever could.
So, once the tax on the slaves was paid, we departed immediately. There was work to be done. This journey to earn gold had not truly been profit—it had merely balanced gains against losses.
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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.
Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
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