Unicorn Rampant (28 page)

Lady Mar however knew nothing about the paper-trade, nor any other, and said so with some vehemence.

The next day he rode out westwards to the Dairy mills where, after some little difficulty in getting the two Germans to take him seriously, despite assuring them that he came direct from King James, whom they had seen him with previously, at length got them down to details. And, when they recognised that he was visualising a great and protected trade with England and a vast expansion of their industry, they became prepared to sit down and answer questions.

He had come well armed with these, of course, and by dint of putting his points in careful sequence and being ready with supplementaries, he was able to amass practically all the information required in a remarkably short space of time, ridiculously so considering the distance he had come to glean it. He learned that although paper was sold by the ream and quire to ordinary buyers, to large traders it went by pounds and tons. The standard unit of such sales was 1,000 sheets, sheets being the pieces which emerged from the manufacturing process, after drying, and usually measuring about six feet by four, although different types and qualities tended to have their own sizes. The number of sheets per pound or ton varied with quality and weight, naturally, as did the price.

As to the export situation, he was told that these
two
Water of Leith mills produced at present very little low-quality paper, concentrating mainly on three high grades, selling at 39, 36 and 33 merks per 1,000 sheets, that is £26, £24 and £22 Scots respectively. Output depended upon demand, and at present ran at about 300, 1,200 and 2,000 packets of the three grades, annually. In addition they made the special extra-fine linen weave for His Majesty, with his own water-mark, this not being available for others. As to production, they could, if the demand justified it, more than double, perhaps even treble their output in these two mills without too great difficulty.

John, taking hurried note of all this, enquired about less expensive paper and was told that, yes, they could produce it if there was sufficient market, as was not the case at present. In the Germanic states much low-quality paper was produced, printing-pa
per in especial, but there
was infinitely greater demand. Indeed they would be quite happy to extend their premises and installations for this purpose, since it would allow them to use up much of the rags and material brought in by their collectors, unfit for the highest quality papers; and also could make use of water which was insufficiently pure for the best grades.

On the subject of new mills in the North Esk valley, they could not be so specific, of course. How long it might take to establish such would depend on many factors. If existing meal-mills could be taken over and converted, much time would be saved, needless to say; but there was the matter of trained and skilled labour. Paper-makers were not to be produced over-night, and, since these two Water of Leith mills were the only source of skilled men in Scotland at present, no manning of new mills could be arranged without affecting the production here. Any expansion to the Esk would have to be a very gradual process.

With this John had to be satisfied. Indeed he was more than satisfied, grateful that he had got all that he needed so swiftly. He had ascertained that the export of paper to England was quite possible and would be welcomed. It might not be very large, in English monopoly terms, but could be increased and adjusted in time. He did not tell the Germans anything about sharing any special English surcharges—that was no part of his present fact-finding mission—and the others did not raise the point, the assumption being that they would charge the same prices as they were doing to Scots buyers.

In no more than a couple of hours, then, John had learned as much as he required to know, at present, and took his departure. This speedy result meant that he could proceed on to Methven with a clear conscience. He had determined to do this anyway—but now he could go in less haste. The King had not commanded him to be back in London by any given date, but he knew his monarch well enough by now to be sure that any undue delay would be frowned upon.

His mother was as delighted as she was surprised to see him, having assumed that she would be deprived of the company of her son until the winter was over, at least. Mary Gray was a self-sufficient creature, but those whom she loved she loved dearly. Mother and son were very close.

It grieved her, therefore, to tell John that Janet Drummond was already married—although sooner or later made little difference, did it? Her parents had hastened matters, undoubtedly, occasioning the usual talk. She was now living with her husband, David Drummond, at Dalpatrick. No, nobody suggested that she was particularly happy.

John tried not to show his feelings.

His mother had other news which affected him. There was trouble connected with Dumbarton Castle. The Deputy-Keeper, William Middlemas, was apparently behaving badly, and there were complaints being made, even to the Privy Council, of oppression. As the new Governor, some responsibility inevitably lay with John. This Middlemas had never been really satisfactory, but Ludovick, at hundreds of miles distance, had been insufficiently firm with him. Now, it seemed, matters had come to a head.

John agreed to pay a visit to Dumbarton.

For the rest, all went on at Methven more or less as before. The work of draining the Moss proceeded, the good summer aiding. The wood-felling had been halted meantime but would resume soon. The farming activities had also benefited from the good weather and both the hay and the corn harvests had been good. And so on. It seemed to John almost as though Methven could get on quite well without him.

Nevertheless, he spent three days, dressed in old clothing, playing the country laird again, inspecting, directing, planning and using his muscles—and finding it all a deal more to his taste than the life of a courtier. But he was haunted by the thought that Janet was only a few miles away and yet to visit her was quite out of the question.

Three days, then, and he bade farewell to his mother and set off south-westwards. He made an early start, for it was all of sixty miles to Dumbarton. He rode by Gask to the Earn, across it and down Strathallan to Dunblane, then through Menteith and up the Forth valley to Aberfoyle, MacGregor country where it behoved a man to gang warily, even though the Children of the Mist were now proscribed in law and deprived even of their name. However he suffered no interference, and continued, skirting the head of the great Flanders Moss, and so to the Drymen area—from which the Drummonds had taken their name. After that it was a fairly straightforward ride down through Lennox and the Vale of Leven to Dumbarton town. He had made good time.

John had been here only once before, as a child with his father, but he well remembered the mighty conical rocky hill which soared above the Clyde, dominating all and guarding the upper estuary. The obvious site for a fortress, it had supported such since Pictish times, and now was festooned with the oddly scattered and individual buildings of the royal castle. It had a different aspect from the other great citadels, less of a piece, inevitably, because of the conical shape of the rock, which disallowed clustered towers and keeps within a lofty curtain-wall, forcing the buildings to cling wherever they could, at various levels, and the enclosing wall to encircle the hill, part-way down and erratic, the defences strongest at the most vulnerable points.

Avoiding the town, John rode over the causeway and up to the first of the fortified gatehouses in this perimeter wall. The drawbridge was down, and the great gates stood open. He rode in, unchallenged.

Some way up the zigzagging climbing track which linked the buildings and levels of the rock, was a second gatehouse, Likewise open and unguarded. Beyond this, John came across a man lying sprawled at the pathside. Presuming that he was sick or in some trouble, he dismounted, only to discover the individual to be in fact blind-drunk. Leaving him, he came to a third gateway, again open and unmanned; and here he had to leave his horse hitched at a row of stabling, for the further ascent was only by steps cut in the naked rock. At a sort of terrace here there was at least a sign of life, a building, some sort of guardroom on the left, from which shouts and skirling emanated. Going to enquire therein, he found five men and two women, in various stages of undress and intoxication, sprawled around a table laden with flagons and beakers and dripping spilled ale. Banging on the open door, he called to ask where might be found William Middlemas, Deputy-Keeper, but was answered only by hiccups, grunts and leers. For a royal fortress, Dumbarton appeared to be in doubtful hands.

Still higher, the steps now only wide enough to take one person at a time, John reached the chasm between the two peaks of the hill, twins which at certain angles appeared to be only one but which from here could be seen to be of rather differing heights. In the gut of this steep-sided saddle was, strangely, a tiny lochan, the castle's water-supply. And on a shelf above this stood a house, part-fortified, of some pretensions considering its difficult approach, if not the Governor's residence at least the most substantial building the visitor had come across so far. However strange its site, the prospects were magnificent, up and down the Firth of Clyde and north and westwards to the Highland mountains, lovely in the late afternoon sunshine.

The door of this, like the rest, stood open, but there was no answer to John's knocking. He moved inside—after all, he
was
Governor here.

The interior was untidy, neglected-seeming, although the room-proportions and furnishings were good. There was no sign of life. He moved upstairs, by a turnpike in a turret—and on the landing heard the murmur of voices. He went over to a closed door from behind which the sounds emanated. He knocked.

This time he got an answer. A volley of oaths assailed his ears and he was instructed to be off unless he wanted a horse-whipping.

John Stewart was no busybody nor yet an intruder on others' privacy but he had been greatly shocked by what he had seen at this royal castle, and recognised that he had a responsibility in the matter. Also, he did not like being sworn at.

"Come here," he called, as authoritatively as he could at the closed door. "Come out. I require speech with you."

That produced an even more virulent outburst.

John opened the door and entered.

A man was sitting up in bed, a woman beside him, both seemingly unclothed. The man was corpulent, red-faced and prominent as to jaw.

At sight of John this character leapt from the bed and came at a run towards the door, stark naked. John took an involuntary step backwards at the sheer ferocity of the man. He fumbled for the dirk which always hung at his side when travelling, seldom as it had ever had to be drawn.

"Out! Out!" the apparition shouted. "Before I break every bone in your body, by God!"

"You are Middlemas?" There was no answer to that, and, with the other almost upon him, John got his dirk out. "Halt you—in the King's name!" he exclaimed.

More likely it was the naked steel than the royal authority which gave the man pause, in his notably unprotected state. But at least he halted, fists clenching and unclenching, features working—clearly an individual of strong emotions.

"Are
you William Middlemas?" John demanded. "I am Sir John Stewart."

"I'm no' caring whether you're the Angel Gabriel! Out o' this house, fool!"

"My
house! Since I am the King's Governor here."

The fat man goggled.

"If you are Middlemas, you must have heard of Sir John Stewart of Methven, son to the Duke of Lennox, now Governor and Keeper of this Dumbarton Castle. I am here on the King's business." And when still there was no reply,

"Now, sir—go and clothe yourself.
I
do not discuss affairs with folk in your state!
I
will await you downstairs—but not for long! Or
I
shall be up again." And, without waiting for reply now, he turned and made for the stairs.

He had less time to wait than he might have anticipated, in the untidy main chamber. Middlemas came down scowling but at least part-clad. What he had done with his doxy—men did not usually entertain their wives in bed in late-afternoon—John did not enquire, or at least not directly.

"I
walked in here through three gates, quite unchallenged," he said, levelly. "And up to your chamber. Is this a royal fortress or a whorehouse, Middlemas?"

The man shrugged heavily. "I am no' expecting an armed invasion!"

"I have seen but six men—and all drunk. You are paid to have a garrison of eighteen men. Where are the rest? All abed?"

"They have duties. No' in the castle. Collecting taxes, dues, casualties. In the port and town."

"Ah—so that is what they are doing? But lacking your supervision, sir! It is
you
who have the commission to so collect, is it not?"

"They'll no' cheat me, young man, never fear!"