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 were 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 there 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 purp
oses, 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.
Meanwhile, Ludovick and Mary were enabled to be alone together much more than they had hoped for.
James told John that he wanted a final report, with recommendations, two evenings before the day he opened parliament, for there would be no time thereafter to go into the matter. John therefore produced a list of possible sites, mainly where tributaries joined the main North Esk, from Lasswade and Pol ton up to Auchendinny and Penicuik. The next day, the 16th of the month, he conducted the King, with a very small party, which included the Earl of Morton who owned most of the ground concerned, on a tour of inspection. James saw, weighed up, commented acutely and expressed himself as pleased, commending John and declaring that he thought that they might set up the first Esk mill possibly at Polton—and only in passing mentioned that this was a good augury for the work he would have for John to do in London.
As the significance of this remark dawned on the young man, he grew the more perturbed. Did this mean that the King expected him to go back to England with him? And, if James expected it, that was as good as a royal command. The thought took him aback. How could he leave Methven and his mother? So much there depended on him. Besides, he had no wish to go to London—even though it would be good to see more of his father.
Greatly daring, he put it to the monarch. "Sire, you said London? If I heard aright? I, I would not think that I would go there. I have Methven to see to, so much to be done there. I. . ."
"Hech, lad—to be sure you must return with me to London. You have proved useful and proficuous, aye right proficuous. In mair ways than the one. You will be a right convenience at my court—a deal mair so than maist there, I jalouse! I can do fine wi' the likes o' you in yon London."
"But, Your Majesty—Methven! And my mother. She needs me there. And I have great matters afoot. I cannot just leave all.. ."
"Greater matters than your sovereign-lord's service, Johnnie Stewart? Na, na—sic volo, sic jubeo! Methven will no' run awa', man. It managed fine before you were born, I mind! As for yon Mary Gray, she can look after hersel' good and well—has done a' her days. Or she wouldna be Patrick Gray's daughter!"
"But, Sire..."
"Say nae mair about it, man. I can use you at Whitehall. Now, awa' wi' you—I'm for my bed. You'll attend me to the parliament the morn. We ride early for Holyrood, mind—so no biding in your bed the way your faither does . . .!"
And that was that.
The Riding of Parliament was a traditional prologue to the first sitting of any new parliamentary session, designed to emphasise the importance of the occasion for the people as well as the participants. Normally all representatives of the Three Estates of Parliament, lords, commissioners of the shires and the burghs—these last having at the Reformation replaced the Estate of Holy Church—assembled at
Holyroodhouse and rode in procession up the almost-mile-long Canongate and High Street to the Parliament Hall beside St Giles High Kirk. But on this occasion there were two innovations, by royal command. One was a religious service for the members, some two hundred of them, held in the palace chapel, which had been formed out of an aisle of the burned and ruinous Abbey of the Holy Rood—and this set the cat amongst the pigeons straight away, since the service was conducted by William Cowper, Bishop of Galloway, with the English Bishop of Ely making an admittedly brief address. Moreover the chapel proved to be decked with sculptured figures of the twelve apostles and the four evangelists, specially sent up from London by the King; and, worse still, an organ, or kist o'whistles, as it was called, defiled the worship. Worst of all, the Communion was administered to the recipients kneeling, the King leading the way, anathema to the Presbyterians, who proclaimed the custom as the worship of material idols and a supporting of the abhorred doctrine of transubstantiation. So quite a number of the commissioners, having entered the chapel, promptly marched out again, others stood about looking severe, refusing either to sit or kneel, and some partook of the bread and wine, but standing not kneeling. Altogether it made for awkward worship, however blessedly curtailed. It was, of course, the Scots who displayed protest; the English, being all Episcopalians of one sort or another, anyway, accepted all as normal.
The other innovation followed, and may have had something to do with the first's reception. For although this was the Riding of Parliament, James announced that he alone would ride and everybody else would walk, all horses to be left at Holy rood. This aroused further consternation on all hands—not so much that the distance of less than a mile was too much but that it would look undignified, especially as many there were dressed unsuitably for walking, the lords in their full ermine-trimmed robes, the great officers-of-state more decoratively-garbed still in wigs and brocaded gowns. Even the bishops, James's favourites, were upset, for they were the most elaborately turned-out of all, in full canonical fig, highly impracticable for walking Edinburgh's refuse-strewn streets. But the monarch was adamant, he himself, as always over-dressed but in the same clothing he had worn for all occasions, hunting, feasting or inspecting paper-mills, and now distinctly soiled to say the least. And the same old high hat. No doubt if anyone had dared to suggest that he might be differently clad for this occasion, he would have answered, as he had done more than once before, that fine dressing was for the increase of ordinary men's dignity; whereas he had no need for dignity, being the Lord's Anointed.
So a move was made, amidst much grumbling, already late—but then the parliament could not start without them—Steenie walking at the King's stirrup, clad all in white satin and gold. The English, of course, were not robed, save for Bishop Andrews of Ely and Dean Laud, having no part to play in a Scots parliament—although there were one or two rather unsure of their status, to whom James had given Scots peerages.
After the King came the great officers-of-state, High Constable, Lord Lyon King of Arms, Chancellor Fyvie and the rest. Then the judges, Lords of Session and the Provost and magistrates of the city. The Duke of Lennox then led the lords of parliament, one marquis, earls, viscounts and barons. The Scots bishops joined this group for the occasion, their position delicate. Since the Church was reformed, bishops and priors and the like had lost their seats in parliament; but James had insisted that, since the English bishops were Lords Spiritual and had seats in the House of Lords, their new Scottish episcopal counterparts were entitled to a similar status. This was hotly contested, and undoubtedly a majority of the parliament would refuse such the right to vote. However, James had the ultimate sanction of being able to create lords of parliament, and could, if driven to it, make all the bishops such lords and none could say them nay. So there was a sort of uneasy truce in the matter.
Behind this colourful and lordly company came the ranks of the county lairds and then the chosen representatives of the towns, these certainly the best clad for Edinburgh's cobblestones. There followed a great straggle of English notables, sauntering and laughing, with sundry mere privileged spectators such as John Stewart. A detachment of the royal guard went before and after all, mounted on fine horses, to the resentment of the pacing parliamentarians.
The citizens were out in force to cheer them on, with frankest commentary. Mary Gray waved from Lady Tippermuir's window.
At Parliament Hall much time was taken in arranging the seating, with precedence very much to the fore—and nowhere more particularly insisted upon than amongst the burgh representatives, with royal burghs, however small, consigning others ten times as large to
lesser placings, and the dates and seniority of burgh charters being vehemently emphasised and demanded. The spectators, from their various perches, were able to consider all, and marvel.
The Scots parliament was unlike the English one in many ways. First and foremost, its true title was The King in His Estates, and the monarch sat in and took part in the proceedings. Indeed, if the King or his appointed High Commissioner was not present, any assembly of the members, however validly called, was not a parliament but only a convention, and incapable of law-making. Secondly, all members, lords, lairds and townsmen, sat together in one assembly, with no Houses of Commons or Lords. There was no Speaker, the business of the session being conducted by the Chancellor, with due deference to the Throne, which could always intervene, advise, or call an adjournment. Many rules were different. It could be argued that it was more democratic than the English model in that every man, from duke to small town representative, had an equal voice and vote. But the Crown remained very much in command, so that there could be no continuing battle between King and Commons as had prevailed for so long in England.
On this occasion James took very personal charge right away, being able to dispense with all the formalities of the last fourteen years, of the High Commissioner reading out his credentials, delivering the royal injunctions, announcing details of agenda and procedure, and the like. The King plunged straight in, although he spoke with unusually careful enunciation, at first at any rate.
"My lord Chancellor, my lords spiritual, temporal, my good and leal friends and subjects all," he said, patting his hat more firmly on his over-large head. "We do rejoice, aye rejoice, to preside over this our parliament and assembly of our ancient realm once again. Would to God Almighty that we could do the same over our English parliament, to the better government of that realm!" And he glowered from his throne at such English subjects as he could place about the hall. "Aye. But we are right pleased to be here. We admit our natural and salmon-like affection and earnest desire to visit again our native land. Aye, salmon-like. Amicus humani generis!"
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