Unicorn Rampant (24 page)

"Glass, aye—and much else. Saltpetre for gunpowder, spices, silks—a wheen mair."

"How did he gain all these? One man?"

"It's easy seen you're new to London, lad. If you're close to my lord Suffolk, your fortune's as good as made!"

"The Lord Treasurer? And this Mansell is?"

"They say he's a by-blow o' one o' the old Howards."

"So! That is how it goes? And this other? Cockayne. William Cockayne—what of him?"

"Guidsakes—Will Cockayne, now! Fegs, young man— but you fly high! Dinna tell me you're recommended to him, forby?"

John coughed. "Well, in a lesser way. Is he another Howard liegeman?"

"He's a sheriff o' this city and like to be Lord Mayor— that's who Will Cockayne is!"

"Ah. But another of the monopolists, I take it?"

"Oh, aye, he's that, right enough. He's head o' the Merchant Venturers Company, just."

"And they are important?"

"Lord save us, lad—for one wi' recommendations to Mansell and Cockayne, you're gey ignorant about this city o' London! The Merchant Venturers hold the biggest monopoly of all—the export o' woven cloths. And the dye franchise."

"What is that?"

"Where do you come frae in Scotland? The farthest Hielants, that you dinna ken about dyeing cloth! The Dutch hold the market for dyestuffs—especially reds. Scarlet, crimson, turkey. They dinna let others ken their secrets. All guid woven cloths have to go to Holland to be dyed—and through the Merchant Venturers, both going and coming. For they hold both the export monopoly and the Dutch dye franchise."

"Lord! For all England? There is nothing like that in Scotland. We dye our own cloths well enough. Consider the tartans. This broadcloth I wear was woven and dyed in Scotland."

"I
ken it. But that's small stuff. Simple dyes made frae lichens and mosses and heathers and the like. You'll be a laird's son, by the looks and sound o' you. Maist o' the Scots folk wear homespun. Dyed, if at all, wi' plant-dyes. Here it is different. There's ten times the numbers. And the Dutch do the dyeing."

John shook his head. "I did not know that there were so many barriers and monopolies. It seems wrong, foolish, making trade difficult. And all goods more costly for most, whilst making fortunes for some."

The other looked at him curiously. "If you're commended to Mansell and Cockayne, I'd reckon you'd be unwise to speak that way!" he advised. "See—there's Elias Woolcombe. He's one o' Will Cockayne's chief men. Yonder, wi' the Jew, Levison. He's your man. He'll tell you what you need to ken. The fat one."

John was a little doubtful about approaching one of Cockayne's people directly and delayed somewhat whilst he thought up some story which would not sound too hollow. When the stout individual parted from the handsome Jew, John moved in.

"Sir—you are Master Woolcombe, I am told? Of the Merchant Venturers. May I have a word with you?"

"To be sure, youngling. One word—or even two! But words are dry goods—and I think to moisten my gullet with a sup of ale. You join me?"

"Here, sir? In the church? If that is possible, then let me play host. My pleasure."

"To be sure, friend. Follow Elias Woolcombe and you'll be apt to find good ales!" A belly-laugh seemed to establish the other as a jovial character, but John was aware of a very shrewd eye upon him.

An inconspicuous stairway off a minor aisle led them down to a crypt, already full of drinkers all seemingly on business bent despite the leaden coffins on which they either sat or placed their beer-mugs. Commerce clearly was thirsty work. Master Woolcombe found them a comer, and a coffin, and ordered two great tankards of strong ale, one of which he drained there and then without so much as a pause. John ordered and paid for another, and sipped tentatively at his own. When the fat man had half-finished his second tankard, he set it down on the dented coffin-lid with a hollow bang, wiped his mouth with the back of a great paw, and declared himself as now fit to discuss business.

"It is scarce that. It is more guidance that I seek," John said carefully. "I am from Scotland, as you will have guessed. I was advised to seek out the Merchant Venturers."

"To what end, friend? What is your interest?"

"Paper," he was told, briefly.

"Paper, heh? Paper. Paper comes from the Hansa, the Germanies."

"Also from Scotland."

"Do you tell me so? That I did not know."

"I think that few know of it, here."

"Ah." The large, red moon-face looked thoughtful. "And what sort of paper? What quality?"

"The best. The sort that the King uses."

The other picked up his tankard but put it down again without drinking, an indication, it seemed to John, that his interest was well aroused.

"The King, heh? Quality paper, from Scotland. Are you in this trade, young master?"

"Say that I know something about it. And who is behind it."

"And you ask for the Merchant Venturers?"

"Yes." He took a chance. "Or, perhaps, Robert Mansell."

Woolcombe frowned. "Ah," he said again, but with a different intonation. "I would not recommend Mansell, sir."

"No? Why?"

The other did not answer that. "What is proposed? As to this paper?"

"I but make enquiries. There could, I think, be a much enlarged market. In England. Who handles paper? Is there a monopoly?"

"No-o-o. Or . . . not yet! Many import it. From the Hansa people. Hamburg, Bremen, Danzig, Lubeck. They have it all in hand, the Germans. Mansell does much trade with them."

"Then perhaps he is the man to speak with? If he already trades in paper?"

"No. Better not Mansell. He has too much to handle already, has Robert."

"You mean, in monopolies? What does he control that paper would be too much for him?"

"Why wines, Rhenish and Portugee. Lace, pillow-lace, from Mechlins in Flanders. Needles, likewise. Whale-oil. Fish-nets and hooks. Soap. Raisins and dates from the Barbary Coast. Cinnamon."

"Save us—all these? One man!"

"More, if you make count of other lesser men he controls. Sol Karter has the licence for importing inks. And Stanton Lewis has the monopoly for certain spices."

"And all these Mansell gained through the Howards?"

The fat man looked somewhat disconcerted by this question, which evidently was not appropriate. He reached for his tankard.

"So you think that Master Mansell is not the best man to approach on this matter of paper?" John went on. "With over-much already on his hands. Who, then?"

"Well
, now—the Association might be interested, young sir. In paper."

"The association
....?"

"The Association of Merchant Venturers."

"Ah. Of which you are a member? But, Master Woolcombe—are your association's hands not also already full? What monopolies do
you
hold?"

"Why, we hold some, yes—and great ones, see you. But we
are
an association, with many members. And so may, shall we say, do justice to more commodities than such as Robert Mansell. Many members, sir."

"But all under one man also—Will Cockayne?"

Woolcombe finished his liquor before answering that, but John saw his shrewd litde eyes considering him over the tankard. He beckoned for more ale.

"Will is Master of the Association, yes," he agreed. "But only first amongst many, Master . . . ? I do not have your name, sir?"

"Methven—John Methven. Come from Edinburgh, where it is planned to extend paper-making in the North Esk valley. Master Cockayne is first amongst many? But am I not right that it is through him that these monopolies are . . . acquired?"

"Perhaps, Master Mervyn."

"Methven, sir. And what monopolies does your Association already control? Would paper fit in well with the rest?"

"We hold the export of woven cloths, Master Methven, and the import of dyed cloths and dyestuffs. Also tobacco-leaf from the Western Indies, a growing market. We share the sugar monopoly with the new East India Company, they east, we west. Also indigo. We hold the lead export franchise. We are developing cotton and seek the monopoly for that. And others, of lesser account."

"Cloth, dyestuffs, tobacco, sugar, indigo, cotton. With all these, sir, you still would have the tune and concern to handle paper?"

"To be sure, Master Methven. That is, if we considered it a sufficiently large trade to be worth our while. We should require much information, see you."

"Quite, sir. But if you could sell Scots paper, of all qualities, instead of importing it from Germany and paying their prices, this would interest you?"

"Indeed yes, sir. If the quantity and quality was there, I think that I can say that we would be much interested."

"As to quality, I could bring you some ensamples to consider. On another occasion."

"Good, good. I am here each noontide, sir. Tomorrow, shall we say?"

"I cannot be sure of tomorrow, Master Woolcombe. I have other calls to make, persons to see
..."

"Master Methven—you have spoken of this to none others? As yet? Nor will? Until we have considered the matter more fully?" The stout man sounded all but agitated. "That could be important. None others, I beg of you, meantime."

"You see it as another monopoly, sir?"

"Why, that would probably be best. For all our interests, friend. Why share the proceeds amongst many, when the Association would handle it to best advantage?"

"You are sure, then, of the security of your monopolies, Master Woolcombe? After all, they come from the Crown, do they not? And if the Crown can grant them, the Crown could take them away again, could it not?"

"I think that we need not fear or trouble our heads on that score! Parliament would have some say in the matter, I swear! And we have sufficient votes in parliament to keep us safe, I think!"

"Ah. In the House of Lords? The Howard influence? But what of the Commons?"

"The Commons, also, friend. We keep the honourable members sweetened—why have a sugar monopoly else!" He laughed heartily and finished his third tankard. "Leave the Commons to us."

"Very well, Master Woolcombe," John said, rising. "We shall speak of this again. I bid you good-day."

"Tomorrow?"

"As I say, I cannot promise tomorrow. But shortly, never fear."

John Stewart made his way out of St Paul's Church thoughtful indeed. He was in a hurry now, in haste to get on paper all that he had learned while still he remembered the details. The King had asked for lists, names, goods. Well, he had made a start. Moneys he had not yet discovered but that might come. This was all bigger than anything he had envisaged—perhaps even than James envisaged. He hoped that the monarch would be appreciative.

It occured to him, as he made his way westwards for Whitehall, to wonder what he had let himself in for over this business of the paper, and whether he could handle it, with these sharp London merchants, without it becoming apparent that he was a fraud? Also what King James would say . . . ?

Next morning, John presented himself at Somerset House again, and to a different reception. Summoned to the Queen's bedchamber, he was berated in front of the gallery of females for having neglected his duties and abandoning Anne in the time of need. This was not to occur again. The Queen would not listen to his pleas about the King's service, declaring that he was now part of
her
household, not James's, and as such must hold himself available for her commands at all times. He would occupy quarters here in Denmark House—Anne called it that, although to all others it was still Somerset House—to which Margaret Hamilton would conduct him forthwith. He was dismissed.

Smirking somewhat, Margaret took him again through the corridors and passages of the huge house, to the same wing overlooking the riverside gardens where he had seen her the day before. There he was ushered into the very next room to her own.

"You will be fine and comfortable here, Sir John," she told him, cheerfully. "Better than Whitehall, I swear! And if you require anything, I am just next door!"

He looked at her doubtfully, and then around him. It was certainly a quite handsome apartment, a deal larger than his cramped room in his father's quarters at Whitehall, indeed larger than the Duke's own chamber, and seemingly well-furnished also. The young woman went about straightening and patting things, demonstrating that all was in order, indeed announcing that she herself had seen to all.