Chapter 528: Confrontation
Chapter 529: Confrontation
While Reffner was struggling internally, the butler arrived with Cabelli, the caravan's manager.
The latter, upon entering the room, straightforwardly tendered his resignation to Reffner, citing ill health. Of course, the real reason was that the Trade Alliance had offered him too much, a sum he simply couldn't refuse.
Reffner immediately pleaded with him to stay. Cabelli was the primary person responsible for the caravan's daily operations; his departure would severely impact the caravan.
But Cabelli's resolve was firm, and he quickly dropped his resignation letter before striding away.
Reffner slammed the table, roaring in frustration for a moment, but soon slumped in defeat. He then turned to his son, shaking his head. "We can't sacrifice the entire caravan for Fould. Tomorrow, you'll go and contact someone from that Trade Alliance. If possible, we'll join them."
"I'll raise some funds. If Viscount Fould remains intent on his own path, then we'll gather the caravan veterans and form a new one."
If you can't beat them, join them. Even 18th-century merchants understood this "principle."
Similar to the situation in Champagne, caravans across France that had participated in the trade suspension soon regretted their decision.
As for the caravans entirely owned by the Tax Farmers, while they were forced to incur losses and lie low under their bosses' strict orders, this didn't stop a large number of their employees from jumping ship.
...
Marseille.
The salty scent of the sea breeze swept across the bustling Port of Marseille. The morning sun pierced through the thin mist, illuminating mountains of stacked goods. Simultaneously, merchant ships of varying sizes continuously docked, ready to unload even more cargo.
Old Fickman pulled the collar of his thin, worn coat tighter to block the chill that kept creeping down his neck. He wasn't worried about freezing, though, because he would soon be busy, and the heavy goods on his shoulders would quickly leave him drenched in sweat.
However, just as he and a few fellow dockworkers reached the outskirts of the docks, their path was blocked by a short man with a wide, flat nose and downturned eyes.
He recognized the man as Hoggart, the steward serving Lord Philippe Antonel. Antonel, for his part, controlled over half of the warehouses on the west side of the docks, making him one of the most powerful figures at the Port of Marseille.
Old Fickman and the others hurried forward, bowing deeply. "Lord Hoggart, is there something you need?"
The latter sneered at them, his voice cold. "Go home, all of you. You won't be needed at the docks today."
The workers immediately looked bewildered. One of them urgently spoke up, "Lord, has something happened? If we don't work, my family won't have anything to eat..."
"Give each of them 15 Sou."
Hoggart disdainfully gestured to a subordinate nearby, who immediately pulled out a handful of copper coins and handed them to Fickman and the others. "Stop chattering and go home."
"Ah, this is for me? Thank you, Lord, thank you, Lord!"
The dockworkers bowed repeatedly. Although 15 Sou was slightly less than what he could earn, he was naturally pleased to receive money without having to work.
Then, Hoggart pointed at them again. "Don't come to the docks for the next half month. Just come here every day to collect your pay."
Fickman and the others thanked him again, and just as they were about to turn and leave, a man in a patched burlap jacket, his shoes covered in mud, squeezed past them from behind. He smiled and whispered, "Why don't we just go around from the south to the docks and keep working?" Then these 15 Sou would be free money, wouldn't they?"
Hoggart's eyes instantly gleamed with menace. For a moment, he couldn't recall who this man was—he'd been at the Port of Marseille for over a decade and rarely encountered a dockworker he didn't know—but judging by his attire, he was definitely a laborer. So Hoggart grabbed the man's collar, snarling, "Are you looking for a beating? Get back home, you don't want to see me angry!"
The man glanced at the copper coins in his hand, appearing unconcerned. "You're interfering with the normal order of the docks."
Hoggart immediately threw a punch at him, but the man deftly dodged it with a slight turn of his head.
"And blatant assault," the man declared, shaking off the hand that held him. He turned to Fickman and the others. "You all saw it."
Hoggart was furious and motioned for his subordinates to teach this troublemaker a lesson. But after only two steps, he froze in terror—the "laborer" opposite him had pulled a pistol from behind his waist.
Immediately afterward, several people rushed over from across the street, pinning Hoggart and his subordinates to the ground and tying them securely.
The man holding the pistol looked at Fickman and the others, smiling faintly. "Now, you can go to work. Oh, and the Gemini Company has a large quantity of goods arriving at the port these next few days, and rumor has it the wages will be at least 20 percent higher than usual."
The dockworkers exchanged glances, then nervously handed over the money Hoggart had given them moments ago. "L-Lord, he insisted on giving us this money."
"I don't know why he gave me the money..."
"Since it was a gift from him, you may as well keep it," the armed man said. "By the way, I've heard that recently some people have been threatening workers at the docks, forbidding them from working. So, the Marseille City Hall is preparing to hire Italians to transport goods."
Upon hearing this, Fickman and the others exchanged nervous glances, then quickly dashed towards the docks.
They all made their living by moving goods at the docks; if Italians took their jobs, they would likely starve.
They had to show the cargo owners that they were more resilient and reliable than the Italians. At this point, anyone who tried to stop them from working would face their desperate resistance.
And according to this lord, they could earn an extra 20 percent in wages these next few days, so they definitely had to work hard!
Similar situations played out all over the Port of Marseille. A large number of police officers, disguised as dockworkers, sprang into action, apprehending over 30 agitators in a single day, while also spreading rumors that Italian workers were coming to Marseille.
This was the plan concocted by Besançon and Volant, the assistant manager of the Gemini Company.
Besançon had initially planned to deploy a large number of police to cordon off the Port of Marseille to prevent a massive strike. However, Volant believed this would only increase chaos and give the hidden agitators an opportunity.
So, he suggested pretending that nothing was amiss, only having a few dozen police officers blend in with the workers. Anyone attempting to incite a strike would inevitably encounter them. Combined with some news about Italian workers, this approach would effectively defuse the crisis.
Indeed, events unfolded just as he predicted. Rumors quickly spread among the Port of Marseille's workers about "extra wages available at the port recently" and "Italians swarming the docks to steal jobs."
All at once, every dockworker rushed frantically towards the docks, united in their determination to drive out the Italians. Even some who usually worked other jobs were lured by the higher wages and came to the docks to try their luck.
Soon, several confidants of the Tax Farmers, including Antonel, were identified by their own subordinates and subsequently arrested by the police on charges of spreading rumors and disrupting Marseille's stability.
The chaos meticulously planned for the Port of Marseille by Fould and his associates was declared over almost before it even began.
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