Unicorn Rampant (36 page)

The King now seemed to be heading approximately back on their tracks, towards Theobalds; but at a sort of crossroads of woodland-rides, in the depths of Enfield Chase, he drew rein. There he sent off the falconers and the dogs, left-handed, for the palace, whilst he turned to the right, beckoning John up to ride at his side.

"There's a bit place I ken, no' far frae here, where we can get a sup o' quite fair ale," he disclosed, in confidential fashion now. "You'll can do wi' a sup, Johnnie? And we dinna want crowds, thirsty crowds. I aim to hear what you've been at, up in Scotland. And nae long ears to listen to us, mind."

"There was nothing very secret, Sire
..."

"That's a'
you
ken, laddie! Yon Frankie Bacon, who's too clever by half, is making a great stramash o' this o' the monopolies, a right campaign. He's gathered a great faction in the Commons against the monopolies, envious, aye envious o' their wealth. I made him a peer to get him oot o' the Commons, but he's still at it. Mind, I've no love for the monopolists my ain self, especially as so muckle o' the siller goes to the Howards. But I wouldna like our bit paper monopoly to go doon wi' the rest. That's why I wanted it a' shifted to Scotland. Bacon's no' going to be content until the parliament here maks monopolies illegal, just. But they canna legislate for Scotland, Johnnie—no' for Scotland. So we'll keep the paper-making there, see you—and mak a bit honest siller for oorsels oot o' it, as well as paper!"

"But, Sire, if the monopolies are to be put down here, then
anybody
can make and sell paper in England. Who will want the Scots paper?"

"Och, it will be a gey long whilie before that, man. There's naebody in England who kens how to mak paper, for a start. Why I wanted yon Vandervyk man awa' north. They'd have to bring in men frae the Low Countries and the Germanies—and that's something I can maybe discourage, eh? Forby, setting up mills is no sae easy, as you ken—aye, and wi' pure water less plentiful here than in Scotland— och, the rivers in this flat land are little better than stanks, just. Na, na, there'll be nae English paper-making in my lifetime. And after that, God help them, wi' our Charlie king! Noo—this o' Scotland . . . ?"

So John gave his account of activities and progress on the Water of Leith and the River North Esk, the which appeared to find approximate royal favour. He was moving on to the more serious matter of Dumbarton Castle, over which James appeared to be supremely uninterest
e
d, when they rode out of the woodland into an open area where were three houses, one most evidently an inn. The King led the way to this, dismounted, and tottered inside, leaving John to see to the horses.

When he followed indoors it was to find the King already drinking from a tankard and eyeing the only other customer, a small, bright-eyed and bewhiskered character, roughly dressed, with a sack and leather tool-bag at his feet, also drinking deep and considering James with equal interest. John was ignored, so ordered ale from the serving-wench for himself.

Presently the King, noting how the other man smacked his lips after each mouthful with such obvious relish, spoke.

"See you, honest fellow—you mak a great splutter and splash! What's in yon jug o' yours that's so much better than in mine,
eh? This I've got is gey thin stuff. Thinner than last time, I vow."

The other grinned. "By the Mass, Master, 'tis the house's best brown nappy. Have they given you the less?"

"I declare they have, a plague on it! You, wench—where is she? John—find her
..."

Their fellow customer beat him to it, however. He emptied his tankard in a great gulp and then banged it on the table to such effect that it brought the buxom serving-girl from the back premises, all but running, her ample breasts bouncing.

"Three pints more of the special brown nappy, lass—and make them as full as your paps!" the fellow cried. "These friends will drink with me. See to it. The best brown."

"Na, na, man," James began. "This shall be
my
pleasure
..."

"Quiet, you!" he was interrupted. "'Tis mine. Your doublets, friends, may look finer than mine—if not so much cleaner! But I swear my two pence is as good as yours, or any man's!"

"On my soul, there's truth in that!" The King whinnied a laugh, and went to sit down at the other's table. After a brief hesitation, John did likewise.

The girl brought them three brimming tankards slopping on a tray, and was rewarded with six pennies and a pinched bottom—for which she delivered a playful slap as change.

"My, oh my,"
James said, rolling his great eyes. "You're nane sae blate, man. You ken what's what, I can see that."

"A tinker learns what's what wi' his mother's milk, or don't survive! Here's to you, friend—Scotchman by your voice or none!"

James shot a warning glance at John. "And to you, honest man," and raised his tankard in turn. "A tinkler, eh? Yon'll be a rough trade?"

"None so rough, I'll thank you to allow. There's many rougher, by the Mass. It's honester than some! And yours, my masters?"

"Ah." Another glance at John. "Ah, paper. Paper, aye. This young friend o' mine is consairned wi' the making and selling o' paper. Isna that so, Johnnie?"

John nodded, unspeaking.

"Paper, is it? You will not sell much paper in Enfield town, friend, I think. You'd do better mending pots!"

"Aye, maybe." The King raised his tankard again. "Here's to the tinkler's trade."

"And to the paper-trade—though I'd say God help it!"

They drank to that. Then James looked at John. "Your turn," he said.

John eyed his ale for a moment, then raised it. "To King James!" he said solemnly.

The monarch pursed slack lips. But their companion nodded.

"I'll drink to that. They do say that he's none so far away—a-hunting the deer in Enficld-town Chase this day. He's an odd gudgeon, they tell me, this King. Fonder o' the deer than some o' his lords, they do say. Not that I'd blame him for that. You can have all the lords in this kingdom, for me!

"The deer are out o' season,"
James reproved. Then, in a different voice. "So you prefer your King—gudgeon was it?—though he may be, to your English lords?"

"That I do. I'm told he's a middlin' honest man, wi' some care for the poor folk. Have you heard that?"

"Precisely! Exactly!" the King exclaimed approvingly. "Or, that is, so it is purported."

"I wish that I could set eyes on him, the while he's in this Enfield Chase. Think you there is any chance? I've travelled the land, and other lands too, but I've never seen a king in all my born days."

James cackled. " 'Deed, aye! 'Deed, aye! Can you bestride a horse, my fine tinkl
er? Then you'll mount behind my
Johnnie here, and I'll bring you into the presence o' your sovereign-lord Jamie! I ken where he is. How say you?"

The other stared. "How can
you
know? The Chase is big. They could be anywhere
..."

"Och, I hae a right good notion where they will be. There's no' that many bits o' this wood that's clear enough for hawking—and that's what the King will be at. They'll be down yon Bush Hill way, tak my word for it. Come— drink up, and we'll be on our way."

Doubtfully as to two-thirds of the party, they moved outside, and John was peremptorily ordered to help the tinker with his clanking sack and leather tool-bag—which the other protested he could manage perfectly well on his own. At the horses, John was further told to mount and take up the sack of pots before him on the saddle, as there would be no room for it when the tinker was up behind.

If John could not actually protest, however sour he looked, their new friend was under no such compulsion. He declared that he had not really meant that he was all that keen to see the King, that he had no wish to put their young friend out, that he was not used to sitting on horses' rumps, and that it was time that he was on his road to Barnet anyway.

But James, once launched on a project, was no easy man to counter, king or none. "Up, you!" he commanded, more regally than suited a paper-merchant.

"But, Master—he'll be surrounded by all his lords. We'll not get near him. Besides, how shall we tell him from them? They'll all be fine as peacocks."

"You'll see, man," he was told. "The King will have his head covered, the lords will all bare theirs." And, tapping his hat on more firmly, James trotted off.

John had no option but to help up the tinker, tools on his back, and balancing the pots and pans before him as best he might, rode after his monarch.

James, as before, seemed to know where he was going, south-by-west through the greenwood, by rides and bridlepaths. It was his own property, of course and he had hunted here for years. Beyond an initial grumble or two, the tinker, jolting about behind, held his peace.

After some twenty minutes, the land, although still tree-covered, began to rise slightly but steadily, and soon the trees were thinning out to a fairly bare, down
-
like ridge. It was not much of an eminence by John's standards but apparently this was Bush Hill. Beyond, the land sank again to a level area dotted with small ponds. And down there, sure enough, horsemen could be seen, and dogs.

They trotted down, and were soon spotted. The King's unmistakable posture in the saddle identified him while they were still some distance off, and hunting-horns started to sound. So there was quite a group of courtiers assembled when the odd little party came up, and promptly all hats were doffed. John had to pull off his own flat velvet cap dutifully.

The tinker behind him scanned the richly-clad throng looking for a man still wearing a hat, and could see none.

"He is not here," he said. "The King,"

"Oh, but he is that," James assured.

"Then where is he? They are all dressed so fine."

"That's only their bodies, man. 'Tis their heads that signify. I told you, did I no'—he who's covered."

"But they are all uncovered."

"On my soul—so they are! Then . . . then it must be you or me, eh? You, or me. We are the only two wearing our hats."

The tinker stared, appalled, as it dawned. "Is
...
is it true?" he whispered, at John's ear.

"True, yes. This is the King. I would have told you, but he signed me not to."

The man groaned and slipped to the ground, tool-bag and all, and made a grab at his sack. Clearly he was going to bolt.

"Na, na, my mannie—wait you!" James said. "Come here, tinkler."

In a panic now, the other hesitated, and then ran forward to fall down on his knees beside the King's horse. "Mercy, lord . . . !" he gasped.

"Tush, fellow—what's to do?" the monarch asked, innocently. "Up wi' you. Or
..
. na, na, bide there. You'll do fine there, on your knees. Aye. Johnnie—here to me. Gie's yon bit dirk. It's no' a sword, but it'll hae to serve. Forby, he's only
a
tink, the mannie." The kneeling man let out
a
wail.

John handed over his dagger, all that any of them might carry in the royal presence, save Ludovick with his sword. Seeing it, the tinker cowered back, hands up beseechingly.

"Still, man—still!" James exclaimed. "Or you could get hurt. Bide where you are. What do they ca' you? Your name, man?"

"John, lord," the other got out. "John o' the Dale, lord. Spare me. I'm an honest man, I swear, lord. But
a
mender of pots and kettles. Never harmed any . . ."

"Wheesht, you—wheesht! Come closer, John o' the Dale—I canna reach doon to you, there, can you no' see?" With
a
sudden swoop down with the dagger, bending low from the saddle, the King made
a
pass at the kneeling man's shoulder, barely managing to touch it as the other shrank
away.

"Och, you're
a
right fearty sumph!" Majesty declared. 'But it'll hae to serve. Like the dirk. Guid enough for the likes o' you!
Exitus acta probat,
eh? Arise, Sir John o' the Dale—and be as guid
a
knight as you ken how! As guid as any o' these, I'll be bound!" And he scanned the astonished company of courtiers critically. "Guidsakes, yes! On your feet, man—did you no' hear?
Tak
up your pack. Aye, we
a'
hae to tak up oor packs and paiks in this life, mysel' as well as you, mind, even though it's
a
different pack! Go you to my house o' Tibbalds, and tell them that you're Sir John o' the Dale, new-knighted. And they'll gie you royal pots to mend for the rest o' your days! You're the first man ever bought me
a
pint o' brown nappy!"