The Prince (IC)

[Sulamalik]

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--Murderers, Thieves, and other Great Statesmen--
"The more sand has escaped from the hourglass of our life, the clearer we should see through it."

A knife in his back had ended the life of Doge Naccherino. The market square seemed to freeze as his body, draped in the finest Eastern silks, tumbled without grace down the marble steps of the civic centre. A crowd hurried around the fallen statesman. Many had looks of disgust, anger, or fear on their faces. Many more stood blank without compassion towards their fallen protector. After a few tense moments the mood was broken by an unceremonious kick. A baker nudged the corpse with his foot, checking to see if the old man still held to life, before dropping to his knees and rifling through his pockets. The crowd followed suit, descending on the man like vultures, tearing at his clothes and purses. A young boy tore the knife from the man’s bloated belly and used it to wedge out his gold teeth. When the mob finally parted, a managed corpse stained the steps, unrecognisable save what scraps of cloth still clung to him. Blood and silk intertwined in the afternoon sun. Blood and silk which built this city.

News of the Doge's fell upon the city first in hushed whispers, then, many days later, in official proclamation. Naccherino, elected ruler of a city whose ballots were bought, had been a victim of terrible yet unavoidable accident. The man, in his advanced age, had lost his footing and broken his neck. An unavoidable act of God without any earthly perpetrator.

Before the former ruler was cold in the ground, the mire of politicians had stirred. The Council of Merchants had been called into session. Representatives from the great Houses of Lucretia had been summoned to appear. Though no words were spoken to the matter, it was painfully obvious to all that a new leader would be decided upon, then and only then, elections would be called.

The Civic Palace, where the meeting was to be convened, was a place of immaculate wealth and decadence. A product of its age, the central amphitheatre had a high domed roof emblazoned with an exquisite mural of the city's history. From a Roman Emperor commanding settlers to make their homes on the bay, to God guiding Venetian merchants to fill the ports with every manner of commodity, to the people of Lucretia throwing of their proverbial mainland shackles off and declaring themselves a free republic.

Francesco Videlessi, a spryly man at the age of sixty led the discussion. He slammed his hand against the hard oak table and boomed out his plea:

"It should be no surprise that our beloved Doge has found himself such an untimely and dishonourable death. Despite all our better efforts, the chaos that has engulfed the mainland, that has perpetrated peasant uprising and atheistic thoughts, has infiltrated our pure and noble island. Lucretia has served itself well, let me be the first to admit it, by opening its harbours to every spectacle on this earth, but our open island cannot afford to stay so open for so long. I propose, in the interest of security, we suspend the Republic. The institution is too tainted by foreign filth to be allowed to continue. Our city needs a more even hand to rule it. Republican Doge's are murdered in the streets, but Princes? Princes command mountains to level, for seas to calm, for armies to tremble and break... if we wish for our island to be great. We should put our faith in a Prince."

[Levekstan]

Kazem Vaziri didn't really care about the death of the Doge. It did little to affect the fishes in the waters off of Lucretia, so it didn't concern him. His mind was focused on his nephew, Mohammad. The young boy had been foolish enough to contaminate an entire barrel of fresh-caught fish with a poisonous liquid. Kazem needed to know how this had happened; and more importantly, whether it was done on purpose.

The Head of the Vaziri household returned to the cellar, where Mohammad was sitting angrily on a wooden bench. The boy wouldn't look at Kazem as he entered the room. Kazem began to yell loudly at the boy in Persian, "An entire barrel! All is gone! What were you doing, holding a vial of poison, boy? More importantly, how did that poison get into the barrel?!" Kazem was furious, and Mohammad realised that he should reply before Kazem killed him. "I was told to deliver the liquid to a man in the market, ammu. I swear to it by the name Vaziri. I did not know that it was poison. I fell and dropped the vial, ammu. I am so sorry." Mohammad looked at Kazem, with tears in his eyes.

Just as Kazem drew his hand back to strike Mohammad, his wife Somaya laid her hand on his shoulder. "Now, shouhar, there is no reason to strike the boy. Give him time to repay you." The soft words of his wife caused Kazem to put his hand down. He did not speak, only motioning for Mohammad to follow him from the house. Somaya watched with slight worry as the two men left.

Kazem led Mohammad down the narrow alleyway that led to the seaport. Once they reached the Vaziri Company boat, Kazem told Mohammad to wait. He entered the boat, remaining there for several minutes. When he returned to Mohammad, he brought a large, rough looking man. The man was Persian, by the look of him, but he reeked of Lucretian wine. Kazem spoke with a stern tone, "Mohammad, this is Nâkhodâ Narjahni. You will go with him tomorrow morning and you will repay to me the fish that you destroyed. Do not return until you have caught one-hundred and fifty fish."

[Ceannairceach]

The docks in the city of Lucretia, capital of the titular island republic, were by far amongst the busiest districts in the famed city. Men from as far as the Holy Lands and England could be found with enough searching, and languages from the Mediterranean pidgin to old Latin were found easily, flooding the air like a pollution. Warehouses lined these docks, filled with goods ranging from Vaziri-caught fish, to silver produced in Lucretia's own mines, to silks from the East and weapons from the West. All of these things, of course, were owned by one family, a family that wasn't extravagantly rich, but feared across the island and beyond; the Bianchi merchant family.

The Bianchi were as old as the island of Lucretia itself, the old saying went, and twice as historied. The modern Bianchi claimed relation to medieval mercenaries, silver miners, fishermen, bankers, and a plethora of other craftsmen and merchant variety, in the same manner that a dog claimed relation to a wolf. Some might consider that sort of comparison an insult; the Bianchi saw it as a compliment, for though a wolf was stronger, perhaps faster, the dog was more intelligent, better tempered, and most of all, civilized. This went so far that the coat of arms of the Bianchi was gules a guard dog argent, a white guard dog over a red field.

The Bianchi household made its home in the Palazzo Bianchi, one of the oldest buildings in the capital--the foundation laid by the first Councilor in the Bianchi family--and also one of the most illustrious, with the occupants often being compared with the Medici's, if to a smaller scale as to how widespread they were. Though they didn't quite own a city as the Medici did, they were on their way.

The current head of the Bianchi family was Adriano Bianchi, a man of forty around and much wealth, the man to lead the job-floating Bianchi to prominence and success. It was he that maneuvered the family into its current position as lords of the docks, and he who followed up this conquest with the purchasing of the warehouses. With this, he effectively controlled the flow of trade into and around Lucretia; He couldn't shut down any single family's or group's shipping forever, but he could keep it up long enough to make it hurt, such to the point that people tended to leave the already seclusive Bianchi family alone.

But with the death of the Doge of the Lucretian Republic, the time for seclusion ended, and the old families that dominated the Republic were no longer willing to let the Bianchi alone. They were accosted every night with demands and requests for meetings, dinners, even outright alliances. It was almost too much. Thus, when the Council of Merchants was called to the Civic Palace to decide upon the new candidate for the Doge, Adriano was amongst the first to arrive. He hoped to toss his hat into the ring to become Doge, and though he was likely to be eliminated from the running early, whoever he threw his hat behind would need to pay through the nose to retain his powerful vote.

When the floor fell quiet of its greetings and formalities, Francesco Videlessi stood to make a speech. It was surprisingly anti-republican for a family that found its roots in plebeian men, and by its conclusion, Councilor Videlessi had called for an abandonment of the institution of the Republic in favor of a principality. Undoubtedly, this principality would have Councilor Videlessi as its head. Understanding this to be a shared thought amongst those next to him, Adriano joked, "The carpenters babe seeks to be a prince? I've heard better fairytales." The jest received a few chuckles, but the majority of the Councilors stayed silent.

When it came time for the man to speak, Adriano stood, lean in shape but large enough to appear well fed and housed, his face wrinkled and hair grayed in a distinguished manner rather than an elderly one. Adriano's voice was slightly gruff, but smooth enough to find its ways into the ears of the listeners. "Councilor Videlessi, it begs the question who would take this illustrious title of prince? Or, rather, who you would have be Prince of a Lucretian Principality? I can think of no one you could gain from wearing a crown more than yourself, or perhaps a son, cousin, nephew, or what have you.

"But what I find strangest and perhaps most unbecoming is that you claim that the institution of which we hold power in is tainted by foreign interests. It is agreeable a point; The Vaziri are Arab or whatever branch of Muslim they claim to be, and the Volk are German. Many others from many other nations. But you are not exempt, Councilor Videlessi. If I recall my history, your family came from the mainland, and your ancestors carpenters in Florence who stole their power. If we are to extradite the disease, you would go along with it.

"The only great family in position to be monarchs, who are simultaneously native, are the Bianchi, and princely power does not suit me. I have not the head to wear a crown. Ovular where it mus be circular, you understand."

Pausing to let the joke find a few laughs, Adriano continued, "But I will give you a chance to redeem yourself, Francesco. Tell us, who shall be Prince? And I swear before God almighty, if you say anyone who is a Videlessi or in relation to them, I will cut the cock off your favorite horse."

[Sulamalik]

Francesco was rustled by the Bianchi's words. This was not the first time his family's origin had been leveled as an insult against him. The Videlessi had rose from modest means, from the dirty slums of Florence, to greatness. They had always been looked down upon by more established Houses, seen as crass upstarts with reaches comically far beyond their grasps. They had used that to their advantage, propagating their reputation until it was the time to strike, and then they were merciless and absolute in their cruelty. Within sixty years of their ascension they were poised to usurp control of Florence from the Medici. Hopes were dashed when the untimely death of their patriarch tore the family in two. With the brothers Luca and Emile fighting over who should succeed.

The Lucretian Videlessi's were descendants of Luca and his supporters, exiled by order of the Medici's. Ironically their defeat was their salvation. A mere two years after the schism the mainland family was put to the gallows in grounds of treason.

Francesco's ancestor's had come to the city beaten and bloodied, but not broken. They were quick to integrate and win themselves friends on the island. Their expertise in finances had won them control of the banks and accounting offices. Francesco had lived by their family's old adage: Be lenient in regards to your loans, and merciless when pursing your debts. It was no wonder then, why the Videlessi emblazoned their coat of arms with a Bull and Sheep surrendering to a coin purse.

His face reddened in indignation and launched forward with an attack. "With all respect given, councillor Adriano, I object to your bare threats. Why, I would never be so bold as to propose that the family who has lead the train of prosperity and riches to our island be elevated to royalty. Such thoughts are simply ludicrous, better left to lesser men than myself. Though with the current mainland situation, what with the Spanish dogs holding good Italy their hostage, to surrender this island into the hands of the Mahometan Vaziri or Germanic Volk would be criminal. I propose, among the good Italian families that stand in this hallow hall, we alone hold the right to choose who to raise as ruler for life. "

[Ceannairceach]

Smiling at the return volley, Adriano responded with fire, "No, indeed you would not give the title to the person who is economically superior. As I said, you would never suggest the crown go to anyone who wasn't a Videlessi." A few chuckles, a few from himself. It would be a falsehood to say that the Videlessi and the Bianchi were rivals or adversaries, what with their different lines of business and little contact. But a base dislike and desire existed between all families, regardless of their other relations and agreements, due to the simple nature of the game they played, a game in which the power to shape the world was the end goal.

Continuing his boyish smile, Adriano declared aloud, confident in his words and the message he intended to put forward, "It is obvious that you seek to name yourself prince of us, Francesco, and perhaps there are those amongst us that would agree to that. But there are more that would disagree, or even desire it for themselves. You should consider yourself lucky, Councilor Videlessi, that I do not consider myself a contender for any hypothetical throne; I believe you would find me more than a match for some carpenter's son."

His smile was ear to ear.

"I offer a counter proposal, Videlessi," the words rolling off his tongue like water on glass. "Give me complete control of the Videlessi banks, and you may have the crown for all I care. I will stand atop the Cathedral of Saint Jude the Apostle and declare you my sovereign. But your banks and all that entails must be in my hands first." When the silence filled the room, he continued if only to break it and explain his point, "If my offer sounds harsh or, God helping, unfair, this is what a princedom would be. One man, gaining total and uncompromising control, through a few under the table deals.

"I say we retain the Republic. Its served me, and perhaps one day one of mine own may serve it."