Unicorn Rampant

by Nigel Tranter

  John swallowed. "Where? Where do I do all this, Highness?"

  "Go you to St Paul's. Geordie Heriot aye said that he could learn half the secrets o' this England at St Paul's!" "You mean the church, Sire? St Paul's Church?"

  "Just that. You start there. This very day." "And, and the Queen?"

  "The Queen? Och, that's your affair, laddie. If you're sufficiently unwise—aye, and if you've any time—to serve my Annie, after you've done my business, you do it, Sir Johnnie Stewart. Be her Gentleman-in-Waiting, if you must. But mind—you're my servant first and foremaist, even though you dinna tell them that at St Paul's. And I expect results. You have it? Aye, well—off wi' you."

  A distinctly bemused young Scot backed out of the royal presence, and the King returned to his hole in the walling.

  Making his way to Somerset House, John found the Queen still confined to bed, allegedly in much pain—although whether this was a genuine or a diplomatic ailment was open to doubt. At any rate, he saw it as adequate excuse for him to presume that he was not required there and then in any capacity, and to be able to go about the King's business without having to make awkward explanations. He did, however, seek out Margaret Hamilton to tell her of his call, in case the Queen asked about him. Directed to her chamber, in a wing of the great house, he found her with a man— from whom she somewhat hurriedly distanced herself, rearranging her neckline—a rather fine-looking man in probably his early forties, sensitive of features, slender and elegant.

  Margaret quickly got over any embarrassment she might have felt, intimated that the attendance of two gentlemen might even be preferable to that of only one, and introduced her companion as Sir William Alexander of Menstrie, one of the Prince's gentlemen, now appointed the King's Master of Requests.

  John was surprised. He had heard of this man. Menstrie, after all, was no more than thirty miles from Methven, near Stirling; and Alexander was moreover a poet of some renown. By his appearance he had assessed him to be one of the many English exquisites with which the court abounded.

  "Ah, the King's new paladin, who rescued him from unknown perils at Edinburgh!" the other greeted, smiling. He had a good Scots voice, at least. "I saw you yesterday at that peculiar wedding!"

  "No doubt. I was forced to appear somewhat kenspeckle. No wish of mine, I promise you."

  "Are you of the King's household, or the Queen's, Sir John?"

  "I wish that you could tell me, sir! The King brought me south. The Queen said that I was to be her Gentleman-in-Waiting. And now the King requires me to serve him. It is . . . difficult."

  "You are bespoke for the Queen," the young woman declared strongly. "You cannot betray her, now!"

  "Our Margaret means, I think, that you are not to disappoint her!" Sir William observed, with a flourish of his hand. "She is a young woman jealous for her men!"

  "I am not one of her men, sir," John said, rather shortly. "I am merely here to inform her that, since the Queen has taken to her bed, I cannot think that she requires my poor services today. So I am off on the King's business, as he commanded. I shall call again tomorrow."

  Margaret eyed him thoughtfully. "We do not know, Sir John, that the Queen does not require you this day. She may have errands for you, messages to deliver."

  "Then I am sure that Her Majesty has a sufficiency of servants to act messenger. After all, she did not know that I existed two days past!"

  "You are not going to Theobalds with the King, then? Since you say that you will come tomorrow," Alexander said.

  "No," John agreed, but did not elaborate.

  "Nor, as it happens, am I," the other informed. "Like you, I share my services. But between King and Prince. Which can have its difficulties, I agree. That is why. I am here, on Prince Charles's behalf, to his mother. He does not go to Theobalds. And the King, I cannot think, requires his

  Master of Requests whilst chasing deer! Where do you proceed on the King's business, Sir John?"

  John was cautious. "Here and there about London," he said.

  "Just so. Well, I have my barge at the steps. Or, I should say, the Prince's barge. If I may convey you anywhere, sir, it will be my pleasure."

  "But, Will—do you not stay?" the young woman protested. "Need you go so soon . . . ?"

  "My dear Meg—I have other errands to run, on the Prince's behalf. Much as I enjoy your excellent company. Most urgently I have to call upon Charles's money-lender, in Carter Lane. Charles is ever needing siller, for the King keeps him very short..."

  So despite Margaret Hamilton's disapproval, the two men took their leave. Alexander was clearly disposed to be friendly, and John, although careful, perceived that the other could be good company and just possibly useful. So far he had made no friends since coming to London.

  Sir William gestured towards the riverside steps and asked which part of London John was making for. He saw no harm in mentioning that it was the St Paul's area, and the other declared that this was entirely convenient, his moneylender's place-of-business being in that vicinity—as indeed were most of the city's trading and financial concerns.

  They went down-river, then, in one of the smaller royal barges, painted with the Prince of Wales' feathers, and conversed amicably enough, both of London and of Scotland. Alexander obviously knew a great deal about England and the English, having come south in 1604, and John was tempted to seek his advice in his present quest; but he decided that he must not risk taking even the King's Master of Requests into his confidence. After all, if James had fully trusted this knowledgeable and experienced individual, why had he not given him the task of enquiring into the monopolies position?

  About a mile down, they landed at Blackfriars and thereafter the older man conducted John through the network of narrow and seemingly mean streets until they could see the spires of St Paul's Church ahead. There the other left him to return to Carter Lane, telling him that they must keep in touch, two fellow-Scots with much in common. He said that he had always admired the Duke of Lennox and wished that the King had more close associates like him.

  Unsure just what he was looking for at the great church, John was astonished at what he found. He had assumed that James meant that its environs, churchyard and even steps were the meeting-place of merchants, dealers and the like; but, although men did stand about talking outside, clearly the great numbers going in and out of the church itself were not all worshippers, by their appearance. When he ventured inside, he was almost shocked to discover that the huge building was full of men, in groups and pairs, walking up and down, sitting in the side-chapels, talking, bargaining, declaiming, even buying and selling. The noise was as bad as in any market-place. John thought of the money-changers in the Temple at Jerusalem. He had never heard of a Scots kirk used thus.

  With no preconceived notions as to how to set about his task, he wandered around the church for some rime just looking and listening. This produced no enlightenment other than that innumerable deals, sales and contracts were being fixed up there and then, these sacred premises used as a centre of exchange. He heard one or two Scots voices, and eventually sought the advice of the owner of one of these.

  "Friend," he said, "your pardon. I hear that you come from Scotland. Can you help me? I look for a man named Mansell. Robert Mansell. Do you know him?"

  "Know him? Na, na, I dinna know him. It's no' for the likes o' Dand Pringle to ken Robert Mansell! But I ken of him. We all ken o' Robert Mansell, laddie."

  "Is that so? Can you tell me, then, where I can find him? Is he here?"

  "He could be—forby I've no' seen him, the day. Hae you tried yon bit chapel, yonder? St Bart's or some such nonsense, they call it. Yon's his favourite howff when he's here."

  Thanking him, John made for the indicated side-chapel, one of many. Only two men sat therein, in earnest converse. When he asked if either of them was Robert Mansell, he was stared at as though witless, and then waved away with head-shakes.

  He went back to the man Pringle, to ask where else he might look
for his quarry.

  "Och, the man has warehouses, booths and chambers all ower London," he was told. "And manufactories, forby. I'd hae jaloused that anyone seeking Robert Mansell would have kent as much! What do you want wi' him, lad?"

  "I am new to London," John admitted. "And am recommended to him. Is he so notable a man?"

  "He is one o' the richest merchants in all England. You must be weel-connected, young man, if you're recommended to Mansell!"

  "He has the glass monopoly, I'm told?"

  "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 Coc
kayne 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?"