party tacked at a junction of two lanes and turned to have the bitter wind at their backs: running under full sail they would have said.
As Zweig and his men made their slow way under the oriels and jetties of the ancient city, the crowds and traffic seemed to part in front of them in a kind of unspoken homage. Some that passed them glanced at Zweig with undisguised respect and some others even raised a hesitant hand in greeting. He seemed not to notice. Or if he did, he made no reply.
As they went by, a few looked back and whispered to each other: âThat was Zweig! Did you see him?â Then they would walk on, their heads coming closer together in the universal gesture of gossip, retelling the news of whatever latest coup he was said tohave conjured. Most of the rumours about him were nonsense, of course, but some were more accurate. It was certainly true that he had come from nothing and yet had risen like a meteor to be the youngest captain that anyone could recall in Königsberg. And it was common currency that he had rewarded his early investors tenfold. It was said of him that he would trade in anything and stories of the way heâd secured the lumber contract for the great Winter Palace at St Petersburg and then negotiated a supply deal with the local amber mines, were spoken of with awe. Another masterstroke had seen him somehow manage to buy the rights to an extraordinary new paint that heâd named âPrussian Blueâ â and had then cornered the European market for it.
His strength was that he was both a fleet owner as well as a natural merchant, charming to deal with, fluent in five languages and conversant in several others; subtle, shrewd and remarkably honest. But his greatest achievement had arisen from the way heâd overcome Königsbergâs most notorious shortcoming. The existence of a large sand bar where the lagoon met the city meant that only ships drawing less than ten feet of water could come into its quays. Larger vessels had always been anchored near Pillau at the mouth of the lagoon and merchandise had then been carried out to them from the city in smaller vessels. But Zweig had commissioned the construction of a fleet of large, shallow-draft traders that could moor in town â a market-changing coup that had given him such an advantage that heâd attracted the envy as well as the grudging respect of Königsbergâs merchant elite.
Now, as the three men walked through the city on this bone-chilling morning, Zweigâs great natural presence was further increased by his striking appearance. Under a wide-brimmed hat, edged with pale ostrich feathers, he wore his hair long and braided as if he was more used to the fashions of southern ports. His features were dark and strangely wild, his eyes like bloodstones,widely spaced and generally half closed in his complete self absorption. His dress was richly exotic and glinted with eastern silks, heightened by the occasional flash of pearl buttons and silver buckles. Across his shoulders hung a sumptuous swathe of the fur of a rare Siberian bear, held in place at the shoulder by a heavy gold clasp.
This was all mere surface adornment. It was Zweig himself that was so striking and intriguing and although his gaze was fixed downwards on the street, in the manner of one sunk in deep thought, he strolled with an air of such unhurried confidence that he seemed to exude an absolute belief in himself as well as a complete clarity of purpose. Anyone who even glanced at him was left feeling that they were looking at a man whose will would prevail, and would have to prevail for him to continue to exist - however long that might take.
He now moved through the ancient streets with an easy certainty and such a slow, deliberate step that his two smaller assistants had to break stride every few yards to stay alongside him.
One of them now looked ahead and spoke rapidly to his captain. Zweig looked up and saw their
As Zweig and his men made their slow way under the oriels and jetties of the ancient city, the crowds and traffic seemed to part in front of them in a kind of unspoken homage. Some that passed them glanced at Zweig with undisguised respect and some others even raised a hesitant hand in greeting. He seemed not to notice. Or if he did, he made no reply.
As they went by, a few looked back and whispered to each other: âThat was Zweig! Did you see him?â Then they would walk on, their heads coming closer together in the universal gesture of gossip, retelling the news of whatever latest coup he was said tohave conjured. Most of the rumours about him were nonsense, of course, but some were more accurate. It was certainly true that he had come from nothing and yet had risen like a meteor to be the youngest captain that anyone could recall in Königsberg. And it was common currency that he had rewarded his early investors tenfold. It was said of him that he would trade in anything and stories of the way heâd secured the lumber contract for the great Winter Palace at St Petersburg and then negotiated a supply deal with the local amber mines, were spoken of with awe. Another masterstroke had seen him somehow manage to buy the rights to an extraordinary new paint that heâd named âPrussian Blueâ â and had then cornered the European market for it.
His strength was that he was both a fleet owner as well as a natural merchant, charming to deal with, fluent in five languages and conversant in several others; subtle, shrewd and remarkably honest. But his greatest achievement had arisen from the way heâd overcome Königsbergâs most notorious shortcoming. The existence of a large sand bar where the lagoon met the city meant that only ships drawing less than ten feet of water could come into its quays. Larger vessels had always been anchored near Pillau at the mouth of the lagoon and merchandise had then been carried out to them from the city in smaller vessels. But Zweig had commissioned the construction of a fleet of large, shallow-draft traders that could moor in town â a market-changing coup that had given him such an advantage that heâd attracted the envy as well as the grudging respect of Königsbergâs merchant elite.
Now, as the three men walked through the city on this bone-chilling morning, Zweigâs great natural presence was further increased by his striking appearance. Under a wide-brimmed hat, edged with pale ostrich feathers, he wore his hair long and braided as if he was more used to the fashions of southern ports. His features were dark and strangely wild, his eyes like bloodstones,widely spaced and generally half closed in his complete self absorption. His dress was richly exotic and glinted with eastern silks, heightened by the occasional flash of pearl buttons and silver buckles. Across his shoulders hung a sumptuous swathe of the fur of a rare Siberian bear, held in place at the shoulder by a heavy gold clasp.
This was all mere surface adornment. It was Zweig himself that was so striking and intriguing and although his gaze was fixed downwards on the street, in the manner of one sunk in deep thought, he strolled with an air of such unhurried confidence that he seemed to exude an absolute belief in himself as well as a complete clarity of purpose. Anyone who even glanced at him was left feeling that they were looking at a man whose will would prevail, and would have to prevail for him to continue to exist - however long that might take.
He now moved through the ancient streets with an easy certainty and such a slow, deliberate step that his two smaller assistants had to break stride every few yards to stay alongside him.
One of them now looked ahead and spoke rapidly to his captain. Zweig looked up and saw their
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