Monopoly Secured
“We didn't quite secure the exclusive trading rights we originally aimed for, but it turned out well enough.”
The immense gain from meeting the emperor. It was enough to completely bury the merchant guild's schemes.
“I was prepared to crush them with the power of the Uranus house if needed, but I'm glad it didn't come to that.”
Honestly, even without involving the emperor, we could have pushed out a family like the Mavrozomis. Still, there was a reason for deliberately bringing His Majesty into it.
“Here you are.”
Zoi approached, greeting me. I responded with proper courtesy.
“As Your Excellency suggested, His Majesty seems positively inclined toward exclusive sales.”
“Heh. That's a relief.”
Exclusive sales. It meant monopolizing the right to sell a product. Having eliminated competitors and cornered the market on olive oil circulating in the city, aiming for exclusive rights was only natural.
Because it brought far greater profits than selling to individuals one by one.
The state was always preparing for war, so it had no choice but to stockpile oil constantly. Even supplying at less than half the market price yielded massive quantities, allowing enormous profits through economies of scale.
It might not be the perfect analogy, but if monopoly was like walking on dry land, exclusive sales was like reaping rewards without lifting a finger.
Moreover, in East Rome, olive oil was a staple necessity. Monopolizing such a commodity and securing exclusive sales left nothing but staggering revenues ahead.
“But you must keep the promise we discussed last time.”
I nodded at Zoi's words.
Basil II had granted me those exclusive rights entirely due to Zoi's advocacy.
And Zoi had spoken up for me not just because I was to be her future husband, but for another reason as well.
Ten percent of the oil revenues to be surrendered to the Macedonian house.
That promise had prompted her plea to the emperor, and His Majesty had approved the deal knowing of it, thus permitting my exclusive rights.
A modest demand, surprisingly. Ten percent was generous before such vast profits, but considering the Macedonians' contributions, even thirty percent wouldn't have been unreasonable.
Aware of this, I couldn't bear to hide it from my future wife and posed the question.
“Are you truly satisfied with ten percent?”
“Around thirty percent. I did consider that much.”
As expected of the imperial treasurer—sharp when it came to money.
As that thought crossed my mind, Zoi smiled up at me.
“But if we took that much, the other noble houses would criticize His Majesty.”
“A valid point.”
It would be ideal if the emperor could reign indefinitely, but East Roman imperial houses changed with each era. Families that had once produced emperors often faded into obscurity.
By that logic, even the Macedonian house's influence held no guarantee of eternity.
Well aware of this, Zoi sought to avoid drawing excessive noble scrutiny.
“Though their eyes are already upon us…”
Zoi smiled slyly. I nodded in agreement.
“The more profits we claim, the more attention we must draw.”
“Precisely.”
The clash with the Mavrozomis house to monopolize olive oil had thrust me into a flashy political debut against my will.
Now that it had, cowering wouldn't do. It was time to seize big and strut boldly.
“The Moselaph and Komnenos houses will lend their aid.”
Pro-emperor families. Their support rang like a heavenly host.
“I am grateful for your consideration. However…”
“However?”
“They are military houses, so their influence may fall short against bureaucratic nobles.”
Zoi neither affirmed nor denied my words. She pondered briefly, then turned the question on me.
“What would you have us do?”
“Your Majesty has likely informed you already, but the Mavrozomis house was behind the grape blight.”
“Indeed. Uncle was furious.”
Basil II, with his fiery temper. Emotionless at most times, he could not tolerate obstacles to his designs.
“We can't fully eliminate the Mavrozomis this time, but soon enough, we can remove them.”
“Intriguing. Their vast vineyards will lose their master.”
Zoi grasped my meaning at once. With such rapport, I cut straight to the point.
“What if we place the Moselaph or Komnenos house in charge?”
* * *
Mountains of olives piled high. Too vast to press all with the machines deployed at the Uranus estate.
Yet we had bought heaps of them. The servants stared at the olive mounds in bewilderment.
“Feels like every olive in Rome is gathered here.”
“To press all this, we'd need to buy every press in Constantinople.”
As the servants marveled at the sight, their leader, Alberto, appeared behind them.
“What are you all doing here?”
“H-Hiiik!”
“W-We finished... all the documents you assigned. P-Please, no more papers…”
Reports on olive production sites, varieties, prices, and more—an avalanche of data they had sorted.
Alberto had been delegated authority by Rogerius, leaving the servants terrified at the mere sight of his shadow.
“What of the report from last time?”
“W-We organized it using the t-template you provided in advance.”
“Well done.”
Alberto's simple praise drew sighs of relief.
“The master has assigned new tasks.”
“H-Haha... we h-have to do it.”
“Y-Yes. For the young master of the lofty Uranus house…”
“You all show fine resolve. Then, I'll relay the master's commands.”
Before the servants stood Alberto. He pointed to the olive piles and continued.
“The master bids you seek out all olive oil presses in Constantinople and secure contracts.”
“Contracts, sir?”
“What sort of contracts?”
Instead of answering, Alberto handed them the contracts Rogerius had prepared.
“Partnership agreements?”
“What are partnerships?”
A term nonexistent in the Middle Ages. Outsourcing fit perfectly, but lacking a precise Greek equivalent, Rogerius had settled for the familiar word collaboration.
Collaborative partner (synergazomenos). Familiar to East Romans as meaning cooperation, it allowed even newcomers to grasp the gist.
“Simply put, since we can't manage everything ourselves, the Uranus house plans it, and other producers execute.”
We couldn't produce all the olive oil in the Uranus house alone. Hence, contracts with press owners to supply us with their output.
“Won't that create competitors again, like before?”
A servant's question. Alberto nodded approvingly before replying.
“The master says that, having monopolized supply, they won't profit much selling independently.”
Rogerius's oil had driven down prices across the board. Independent production and sales would yield margins barely above our supply rates.
Some profit, perhaps, but not enough to sway revenues even if a few buyers emerged.
In contrast, partnering with Uranus ensured vast volumes and stable raw materials. Steady income.
For factory owners with machines, reliable revenue was irresistible—they could hardly refuse.
“And quality control?”
“Right. I heard we even placed presses on the estate because managing quality was tough.”
“No need to worry.”
Alberto produced a hefty tome. The servants shuddered instinctively at the thick stack that could fell a man.
“After securing contracts, you'll oversee quality as inspectors on-site. But first, memorize this manual cover to cover.”
Literate servants. Rogerius planned to dispatch them as quality supervisors.
It meant more work for them, and Rogerius knew it. He had instructed Alberto accordingly.
“The master said no one likes more duties for the same pay.”
The servants murmured. None contradicted him.
“Thus, the master offers two percent of each partnered factory's revenue as performance bonus.”
Two percent. Seemingly modest, but a successful contract meant roughly sixty solidus in payments.
Sixty solidus equaled fifteen hundred tremissis silver coins; two percent was thirty tremissis.
Low-end mercenaries earned twenty to thirty tremissis monthly for odd jobs—a handsome sum.
“If two percent doesn't click, think of it as doubling your current Uranus wages.”
Their eyes widened at Alberto's explanation.
“The more capable you are, the more contracts you secure... and factories you manage.”
Two percent per factory. More sites meant exponentially growing earnings.
“Of course, quality lapses mean no bonus.”
The servants swallowed dryly. With explanations done, Alberto stacked the manuals.
“Those interested, step forward, pay one solidus, and take one.”
“N-Not free?”
Alberto eyed the servant as if he'd spouted nonsense.
“It's a rental fee. Leaks would be trouble.”
“Even so…”
“Thirty tremissis a month. Thirty shiny silvers monthly—does one gold coin's investment sting? And since it's rental, return it on time for another.”
The servants nodded.
“True... thirty tremissis beats one solidus plus five.”
“Profitable deal.”
“Rental means borrow, earn, repay.”
Unwittingly, they had fallen into Alberto's trap.