Monopoly (3): After the Merchants' Raid
After the assault on the merchants, nearly all the traders who had been selling olive oil in Constantinople vanished. This naturally created a void in the olive oil market, allowing us to seize complete control.
"Master! Here's the revenue report for the incoming olive oil shipment!"
Alberto approached, his arms laden with documents. Instead of replying, I gestured toward the desk. Spotting this, he smoothly added yet another stack of papers to the mountain already piled there before slipping away.
The teetering height of those documents made my head spin even though I hadn't felt dizzy before.
"Hah... Maximizing profits is great and all, but..."
With the monopoly, every profit from the olive oil market now flowed straight to the Uranus family. That meant my workload had exploded.
"Procuring raw olives is one job, processing inventory is another, quality checks are yet more work."
In the modern world, computers could handle all this. But here, with no computers, everything had to be done by hand, one entry at a time.
"They say one computer can do the work of dozens of people—it's true."
As I marveled once more at modern technology's wonders, a sudden idea struck me.
"Wait... If a computer replaces dozens of people..."
Why not just hire dozens of people to handle this? The moment the thought hit, I summoned Alberto.
"You called for me, Master?"
"Yes. Do you know how many in the household can read and write?"
"Roughly ten... no, er... nine."
He glanced at me nervously, shaving off one. He'd clearly guessed what I had in mind. But since I planned to groom Alberto as my right-hand man, I had no intention of indulging his little tricks.
"That makes ten, including you."
"Ha... haha. Y-yes... you're right."
Alberto's face fell. Smiling, I laid out the task.
"No need to worry. It's just simple document sorting."
"Last time, too..."
He was recalling the time Basil II had ordered us to sort timber inventories into what amounted to an Excel sheet. That memory made him grimace.
"This time, your job isn't sorting documents by item."
Alberto let out a sigh of relief.
"Of course, if you want to sort them yourself, be my guest."
"N-no! Absolutely not."
He'd witnessed Angelos's subordinates being torn apart for their failures. Just mentioning document sorting made him tremble.
"Good. Then you remember what I used to do?"
Delegating to others. Hearing it wasn't hands-on sorting, Alberto nodded eagerly.
"Sort by olive grove. And..."
"Production date, unit cost, and by item type—I'll report back sorted that way."
Give him one hint, and he grasped two more. Raising a sharp kid like this made things so much easier.
With the task assigned to Alberto, I turned to the next report in my hand.
This one detailed the vineyards previously managed by the merchants' guild—information we'd extracted when dismantling them. We'd demanded every scrap of knowledge to crush the guild, and they'd spilled details on grapes too.
"Low yields. Some crop failures, but..."
I spotted evidence that the guild had exploited those failures for massive profits.
That was why I couldn't stay buried in paperwork any longer. I had to meet the emperor right away.
* * *
"Haha! Who do we have here? If it isn't my brilliant strategist, Lord Rogerius!"
The emperor spread his arms wide in welcome. Ever since Rogerius submitted the timber report, he'd held him in high regard. Add to that his virtual annihilation of Nestoric, the Bulgarian supreme commander, and even this near-emotionless emperor couldn't help but grin at the sight of him.
Rogerius's request for a private audience had prompted the emperor to set aside prior duties and come here immediately.
"My thanks for your warm welcome, Your Majesty."
"Good, good. I heard you've been adopted as Nikephoros's ward—no issues there?"
"None."
"Splendid. Then you'll have no trouble aiding in state affairs... Though perhaps frontline deployment to build military experience would be best first..."
The emperor's words carried a chilling edge. Seeing his future assigned without consultation, Rogerius hurried to explain his visit.
"Forgive me for interrupting, Your Majesty. But first, I have something to report."
"Something to tell me? From you, Lord Rogerius, I'll hear it out."
He was the man to succeed the retiring Nikephoros, young enough to serve a lifetime. A mere moment's delay was no issue.
Sensing the emperor's calculations, Rogerius shivered faintly. After this effusive welcome, he handed over the report from his robes.
Basil II read it slowly. It detailed how the merchants had hired mercenaries for treason.
"The merchants bought olive oil to burn down the palace..."
An absurd claim. Merchants had little reason to hate the emperor. Recent Bulgarian war requisitions had bred some discontent, true—but not enough for arson on that scale. Something felt off.
"Indeed, Your Majesty."
Rogerius's confirmation drew a silent stare from the emperor. As if waiting, Rogerius produced another document.
"Testimonies from the cooperating merchants. They'd testify in court if held."
The emperor took the testimonies but questioned Rogerius instead of reading.
"You came to me with this for a reason, surely?"
Get to the point. Rogerius bowed and did so.
"The merchants' guild is backed by the Mavrozomis family. They sponsor the guild and manipulate markets."
"I see. You're not asking me to help you crush the Mavrozomis, are you?"
It bordered on the ridiculous—dragging the emperor into noble power struggles. For lesser men, it might earn a charge of lèse-majesté. But from someone worthy of a private audience, it was overlooked.
"It would benefit Your Majesty as well."
"Benefit me..."
"Do you recall the vinegar shortage in the Bulgarian campaign?"
"Yes. That's why I had the protovestiarios support you."
Last year's and this year's low grape yields had strained vinegar supplies. Rogerius and Zoi had resolved it by pickling apricots in honey. Imperfect, but sufficient for war— the emperor remembered.
"Precisely. Investigating those low yields..."
The emperor read Rogerius's report, his rising fury plain.
"The gall! To do such a thing!"
Justified rage—the guild had deliberately curtailed grape supplies amid crop failures, hiking prices. Manipulating supply and demand for profit was standard, but ill-timed. With Bulgaria at war and vinegar essential, and the emperor's personal grudge against them, merchants meddling in his plans was intolerable.
"I'll seize the entire guild and gouge out their eyes at once."
Rogerius calmly offered his view amid the wrath.
"I fully understand your anger, Your Majesty. But that would make us miss something bigger."
"Bigger? The Mavrozomis family?"
"Yes. They've used war profiteering to fund other noble houses."
"'Seem to have' means evidence is thin."
"Correct, Your Majesty. So first, we'll handle the merchants as arsonists."
To topple the Mavrozomis, they needed ironclad proof. Lacking it, Rogerius proposed striking the merchants alone—for now.
A prudent, political suggestion. The emperor sensed this wasn't just a clever barbarian mercenary. He had vision for the long game, knowing when to advance or hold—like a seasoned statesman.
And...
"You need time to amass capital from the olive oil monopoly to eradicate the noble faction?"
"...Yes."
The emperor knew of Rogerius's olive oil wealth. Before this, he'd approached Angelos, Manuel, and Zoi—all imperial loyalists. He grasped the situation dimly.
"Of course, the monopoly isn't solely for that."
"I know. That's why you sought exclusive sales rights from the protovestiarios."
Rogerius now controlled most oil in the East Roman Empire. His prices set the market. Monopolies had long been problematic from ancient Egypt to now—but they ensured stable supply, a key advantage.
With marriage talks to Zoi underway, the emperor saw Rogerius's moves as beneficial to the imperial house.