Not until the dues had been paid, could the aromatic freight be transferred to another and larger bottom in which, by sail or oar, it would be removed a farther stage on its journey, to one of the seaports of Hindustan. Months would be spent in such successive transhipments, for, in these latitudes, the sailing-boats were often becalmed week after week beneath cloudless skies, or must run before fierce hurricanes and escape from sea-robbers by headlong flight. Not only toilsome but fearfully dangerous was the voyage across two or three tropical seas, where, as a rule, at least one out of five ships was sunk by storm or plundered by pirates. With good luck, however, the Gulf of Cambay would at length be crossed, the southern coast of Arabia rounded, and Aden reached (if the destination should be the Red Sea and Egypt); or (if an earlier landfall were sought) Ormuz at the entrance to the Persian Gulf.

But the phase of land-travel that now followed was no less arduous and no less perilous. By thousands, in these seaports, waited the camels in long rows. Obediently, at a sign from the master, they kneeled for the bales of pepper or nutmeg or what not to be laden on their patient backs. Now the four-legged "ships of the desert" continued the north-westward trail. By the more easterly caravan route, which was the commoner, in journeys that lasted for months, the Arab caravans conveyed the Indian goods by way of Basra, Baghdad, and Damascus to Beirut or Trebizond; or, by the western route, to Jidda and Cairo. Extremely ancient are these paths across the desert, well known to caravan leaders since the times of the Pharaohs and the Bactrians. But if known to the itinerant traders, they were known equally well to the bedouins, the pirates of the desert. One bold raid would often carry off the fruit of laborious months. Besides, what escaped the sandstorms and the bedouins could not escape other robbers who regarded themselves as legitimate. The emirs of El Hejaz, the sultans of Egypt, and the rulers of Syria demanded tribute (and no small one) on every sack that passed through their territories. Egypt alone, it has been estimated, secured an annual revenue of hundreds of thousands of ducats from the transit trade in spices. Suppose that Alexandria had been safely reached, here there would be fresh octopuses awaiting their chance, who would prove neither the last nor the least— the ships of the Venetian fleet. Since its perfidious overthrow of its Byzantine rival, the maritime republic had secured a monopoly of the spice trade across the Mediterranean. The goods, instead of being shipped direct to their destination, had now to be brought to the Rialto, where the German, the Flemish, and the British factors would compete with one another for the wares. Then, in broad-wheeled wagons, through the snow and ice of the Alpine passes, would roil onward the precious goods which had come into existence in the tropics at least two years before. At last, at last, they would reach the Western retailers, who, having exacted a fresh profit, would pass them on to the consumer.

We learn from Martin Behaim's famous Nuremberg globe, constructed by that celebrated navigator and cosmographer when, in 1492, he was revisiting the city of his birth, that Indian spices had to pass through at least twelve hands before they reached the consumer. But, though so many had to share in the gains, each succeeded in squeezing a sufficiency of golden sap out of the India trade. Despite all its perils and hardships, the traffic in spices remained by far the most lucrative of the Middle Ages, because the bulk of the commodity was so small and the margin of profit so large. Even though, out of five vessels, four should go to the bottom, carrying their stored riches into the depths (in the case of Magellan's expedition, only one ship circumnavigated the world), and even though of two hundred and sixty-five men who set sail, more than two hundred should never get home, still it was only sailors and captains who lost their lives, while the trader would harvest his gains just the same. Did but one petty ship out of five reach home, after three years, well freighted with spices, its cargo would bring in a handsome profit. In the fifteenth century, a sack of pepper was worth more than a human life; and since, in those times, as always, there was an ample supply of lives, since lives were cheap and spices were dear, we need not be surprised that the merchants usually made good; that the palaces of Venice and those of the Fuggers and the Welsers were strongly built out of the rewards of the Indian spice traffic.

But as inevitably as iron rusts, does covetousness fester the souls of profiteers. Every trading advantage, every monopoly, is considered unjust by would-be rivals. The Genoese, the French, and the Spaniards looked askance at the success of the Venetians in diverting the golden Gulf Stream into the Grand Canal. With even more rancour did these trade rivals contemplate Egypt and Syria, where Islam interposed an impenetrable barrier between India and Europe. No Christian ship was allowed to sail the Red Sea, nor was any Christian trader allowed to travel by the land routes to the Indies. The use of Turkish and Arabian intermediaries was inexorably enforced upon the giaours. The upshot of this regulation was not merely a needless increase of cost to European consumers, but also a great withdrawal of profit from Christian merchants.