Unicorn Rampant (16 page)

Judas had sooner found a tree of repentance, Than a tree to hang himself on . . .

John found his father at his elbow, in the uproar. "Time we were out of here," the Duke said. "Better to know nothing about it, in the morning, when James gets to hear."

As they made their way out, with fisticuffs breaking out all over the courtyard, it was to be noted that not a few of the guests, English as well as Scots, were like-minded. The hotheads were being left to fight it out.

Lady Tippermuir's lodging seemed a good place to be in.

On the morrow, when the Stewarts presented themselves at the palace again, at a respectable hour, it was to find matters already well advanced. The King, up with the sun, had announced that he was going to visit St Mary's College, seat of learning and enlightenment at St Leonards, and to take the wretched Aberdeen schoolmaster with him to perhaps improve his Latin. But first he had had business to attend to at the palace, where his royal bed-going had been shamefully disturbed by
Satanic
noise and wicked bedlam from the central courtyard. Displeasure had been pronounced, and investigation made. Anthony Weldon had been promptly sent packing back to Kent, with one or two of his friends— apparently they were gone already. It was gathered that a new Clerk of the Green Cloth would be appointed, soon.

The Duke, who had anticipated something of the sort and timed their present arrival accordingly, set off with John for the university.

Thirty-four years before, in 1583, Edinburgh had decided that, as now the accepted capital city, it could no longer give place to St Andrews, Aberdeen and even Glasgow in matters academic, and must have a university. This had been started in a modest way, using the old Romish church of St Mary's in the Fields and its grounds, near where James's reputed father had been blown up, and no longer required, between the Cowgate and St Leonards. With a bequest of 8,000 merks from Robert Reid, Bishop of Orkney, they had begun with one professor and five lecturers. James himself had been a supporter of the project. Now it had grown considerably and required larger premises, the King's aid being called for.

They found James, typically, lecturing the lecturers, and on the subject of meteorology allied to astrology, with asides on Egyptology, Assyrian and Babylonian culture and other matters little more obviously related. Most of his hearers were looking dazed, Master Wedderburn from Aberdeen lost.

At sight of the newcomers, the monarch broke off his discourse, censoriously to accuse them of the sin of sloth, of lying like hogs in their beds when more well-doing folk were up and about God's work. They had missed much enlightenment on the sciences, of which he had small doubt they were in considerable need, and would be well advised to bestir themselves betimes in future—especially a young man with his way to make in life. Having delivered himself of this rebuke, James returned to his theme. Ludovick murmured that they had got off lightly and that it was well worth this to have escaped the morning's upheavals at Holyroodhouse.

The dissertation had reached the first manufacture of papyrus in the valley of the Euphrates and the probability that its inventors would speak the Gaelic, this being undoubtedly the site of the Garden of Eden and Gaelic the language of Heaven when—this appearing to remind the Lord's Anointed—he announced that he had expended enough rime on them already, he hoped to good effect, and he must be off to inspect the paper-mills of the Water of Leith. When the Principal of St Mary's pointed out, in some distress, that a special meal awaited the royal visitor and his company, he was informed that the last thing that dedicated academics should be concerned with was the stomach—besides which, some of those present could only recently have finished breaking their fast. With which thrust he headed for the door, only pausing therein for a moment to call back that, in future, the establishment would be called King James's College instead of St Mary's—and let all make fell sure that they did credit to the name, and put yon so-called university at Aberdeen in its place.

No one could say that the monarch's interests and concerns were not catholic, all-embracing. Paper-manufacture was now the theme. James had, in 1590, introduced paper-making into Scotland, importing two German experts, and had established mills at Dairy, a village a mile or two to the west of the city, near the Water of Leith. To these he had given the contract—at a price—for the supply of paper for his many books, indeed providing them with a monopoly which was very profitable, and in which he made sure of sharing. He even had his own personal watermark. Finding paper-making almost non-existent in England, when he went south, he had not been slow to perceive the opportunities of the Scots' monopoly, and ordered extension of the Dairy mills. This was to be inspection-day.

He was not, of course, going to have a lot of Englishry, nor Scots either indeed, ferreting out the processes of this valuable trade. So he forthwith dismissed such courtiers as had attended him to the college, with the wretched Aberdonian, back to Holyroodhouse or wherever they liked to go, taking with him only Steenie, Fyvie, the Duke and John—with whom presumably he considered the paper-making secrets safe.

As they rode westwards through the city for the West Port, unrecognised, James held forth on the uses of paper, not only to write and print upon but for an endless variety of purposes, ever increasing. In the Low Counties they were even making boats of a sort out of paper; and the Moors were said to be using it to make cannon, scarcely to be believed as this was, as it did not overheat as did iron. In Florence, he was assured, they painted it and hung it on palace-walls instead of tapestry and arras. He had a notion that paper would be used instead of siller and gold coins in due course, not just as notes-of-hand of the sort Geordie Heriot used to accept, but as a kind of currency, if backed by signatures of true worth and wealth—although the danger of forgery could not be overlooked. It would require much thought but he believed that it could be effective and was a notable thought to think. Other uses he envisaged. He foresaw the day when paper would be as commonplace as woven cloth. And Scotland, this Edinburgh, could be the great supplier, sending paper all over his kingdoms, and other kingdoms forby. Think of it, money to be made in a bit mill
...

If three of his four companions were not greatly interested, having sufficient money for their needs from more conventional sources, John
was
interested, being himself concerned with the creation of wealth in a small way and local prosperity. James, approving, went into details of manufacture and production, having the young man to ride alongside and banishing the others to the rear.

From the West Port they rode down to the village of Dean, deep in the valley of the Water of Leith. The King had recollected that there were tanneries and flour-mills here, some of them decayed, which he wondered whether might be converted into a new paper-making complex. The quality of the water was of the utmost importance in the process. They must inspect and consider.

So, down at the riverside, amidst the tannery stinks, the monarch and his new knight got down from their horses to paddle and puddle about in the river. James, who asserted that water was harmful to the human skin and to be avoided, waded in in his boots, although John took his off to go barefoot—whilst the others sat their mounts and looked elsewhere, as though to disassociate themselves from the entire undignified proceeding.

The King, splashing about on slippery stones, peered into pools and runnels, sniffed and muttered, exclaimed over a drowned cat, concerned lest he wet even his fingers, kept urging John to taste the water to try its freshness, to smell it for purity, and so on. A number of the villagers drifted down to stare at the unchancy sight of gentry paddling in their river, children to hoot and cheer, dogs to bark.

James ignored all, but sadly came to the conclusion that the water was insufficiently pure, fouled by these filthy folk, and they would need to go further upstream.

They rode on, three-fifths of the company thankfully, and presently turned off up a side-stream southwards, called the Rose Burn, eventually to reach the milling hamlet of Dairy. There were five mills here, only two of them making paper, and James was quick to suggest that these corn-grinders and flour-makers should be switched to more important and profitable work. However, this proposal was soon negatived, when the papermakers themselves informed the royal visitor that the quality of the last consignment of paper sent down to Whitehall Palace, and apparently complained about, was due to the deteriorating state of the water here, which each year became more polluted, as more houses were built further upstream. Indeed they wer
e seriously considering leaving
Dairy and seeking new sites for their mills much further up-river, perhaps at Hailes or Currie.

This much concerned the King and he promptly began to suggest other locations—which, considering that it was fourteen years since he had left Scotland, revealed a remarkable memory for places and scenes. His enthusiasm mounting, he dwelt on the possibilities of the Lothian Esk, on which Dalkeith was situated, the only other major river near Edinburgh, pointing out that, although it rose in the same Pentland Hills, its fall was swifter than that of the Water of Leith and its tributaries, and therefore the water ought to be fresher. He declared that he would explore the Esk for possible mill-sites whilst he was bedding at Dalkeith, immediately enrolling John in this project.

They toured the mills, examining the entire process of manufacture and having it pointed out to them how vastly important water was and how much was used. Certainly there seemed to be a great deal of washing and boiling and draining in the various stages of production, John counting eleven different occasions in which fresh water had to be fed into the tanks and sinks and boilers and sluices, all pumped in through the action of paddle-wheels in the stream. Since all this water was drained back into the river, milky white now, after use, it did not take much deduction to recognise why the Water of Leith, down at the Dean village, was less than pure. This paper-making process, then, if it was to expand, must demand continued upstream development, which in turn would invalidate the mills further down. He said as much, whereupon James, nodding, commended his perspicacity and pointed out the lesson—that John must look for sites in major side-streams of the Esk, just above their junction with the main river. Ideal would be a forking-place where the river gained three tributaries and so three mills could be sited in some proximity, to their mutual advantage, producing different qualities of paper for different uses. John noted that it was he, it seemed, who was to do the looking.

These Dairy mills were making linen paper, the best, naturally, for the royal use, and required a large and continuing supply of linen rags, which was another preoccupation of the manufacturers. This required the mills to be sited near a city or other large source of the material, with collectors touting for rags. Part of the washing process was thus explained, with bleaching and caustic-soda applications to remove dyes and colour. James waxed eloquent and instructive on all this, and went on to proclaim the disadvantages and relative costs of other materials—different kinds of rags, fibrous grasses, straw and even certain barks from trees.

Steenie yawned aloud at one stage and earned a dressing-down—although presently the monarch was patting his padded shoulder, saying that he forgave him and that his young dog could not be expected to understand all its master's concerns.

Soon thereafter James announced that he was hungry. Had his Germanic papermakers no bit of provender to offer their royal benefactor?

Much put about, their hosts foraged around and produced large swatches of distinctly stale bread and cheese, which the monarch attacked with gusto, his companions with varying degrees of appreciation. Some potent and rough home-brewed ale helped to wash it down.

Then they were on their way. They would skirt Edinburgh, to the south, they were informed, and call at yon limmer Napier's house of Merchiston, who had died as recently as April last. Many was the tulzie Majesty had had with that skellum in his day—too clever by half, mind—on the subject of arithmetics and the science of numbers, and his contrive that he called logarithms. He would pay his respects to the chiel now that he was departed to a realm where he would learn that he was not always right, and his royal master no fool. Also seek to see if he had left behind any papers concerning his claim that th
ere was gold buried at yon Fast
Casde—before his son Archie Napier got at it. They might be a whilie at Merchiston, to be sure—but that need not delay Johnnie Stewart, who should get back to Dalkeith instanter to start his survey of the Esk.

Duke Ludovick smiled gently.

So commenced an odd period in John's career, wholly unexpected and for which he was nowise equipped but which proved interesting and quite pleasurable—more so than hanging about at court, certainly. He was given but cramped quarters to sleep in, little more than a cupboard in the thickness of the walling of Dalkeith Castle, but spent the June days riding around the quite large area between there and the Pentland Hills, assessing, noting, a tract some eight miles long by four wide rising through some 700 feet. He discovered that there were two Esks, or at least that the main river split into the North and South Esks just below Dalkeith itself. He found the north branch much more hopeful than the other for paper-making purposes, at least as far as his own untutored eye could discern, with more water and water-power, steeper flow, more tributaries and more villages for the necessary labour. Each night, whatever the hour of the King's retiral, he was summoned to the royal presence to report and be questioned. And the more he saw of his peculiar liege-lord, the more he came to respect his shrewdness, sagacity and far-sightedness, to say nothing of his knowledge. The wisest fool in Christendom he might be called, but his folly seemed to John to be superficial and his wisdom deep—whatever his personal habits, which could be off-putting to a degree.