An Instance of the Fingerpost (63 page)

As the years have gone by, the parallels have become ever more clear to me, for it is easy, out of greed or generosity, to fall into traps set by others. A few weeks ago, for example, I prevailed in a controversy which, until I pointed out the dangers, seemed the most minor of matters, a question that could excite only the most abstruse minds.
The Secretary of State (no longer Mr Bennet) wrote to me to ask whether this land should join with the rest of the Continent and adopt the Gregorian calendar. I believe my opinion was solicited merely to gain approval for something which had already been agreed: it was surely absurd for this country, alone in Europe, to have a different calendar and be for ever seventeen days behind everyone else.

They changed their minds swiftly when I pointed out the implications of such a seemingly harmless move. For it struck at the heart of Church and state, encouraging papists, and dismaying those who fight to keep foreign dominance at bay. Do our armies contest the arrogant might of France merely for our independence to be given away under more peaceable guise? To accept this calendar is to accept the authority of Rome; not merely (as the unsubtle say) because it was a reform that the Jesuits devised, but because to bow our heads means also to accept the right of the bishop of Rome to determine when our Church celebrates Easter; to say when all major festivals and holy days fall. Once conceded in principle, all else follows naturally; to bow to Rome in one thing will lead to obedience in others as well. It is the obligation of all Englishmen to resist the blandishments of those siren voices who say that such small matters will bring benefits with no disadvantages. It is not true, and if we must stand alone, then so be it. England’s glory has ever been to resist the pretensions of Continental powers, which seduce into slavery and wheedle into subjection. Honouring God is more important than the unity of Christendom. Thus my response, and I am glad that it prevailed; the argument has been settled once and for all.

So it was after the Restoration and the stakes were then even higher. Many men were open or concealed Catholics and had insinuated themselves into places of high influence at court. There were those (I do them credit and say it was for reasons genuinely held) who believed that the best interests of the state lay in binding it closely to France; others wished to obstruct the ambitions of the Bourbons by making common cause with the Spanish.

Week by week, and month by month, the factions contested with each other, and foreign bribes flowed in. Not a minister, nor office holder, failed to enrich himself from this battle, for that is what it was. At one moment the Spanish faction held the upper hand, as Mr
Bennet and others consolidated their positions and took more power into their hands. At another the French struck back, subsiding the dowry paid for the king’s new wife. And the Dutch looked anxiously from one great enemy to another, knowing that if they allied with one, they would be attacked by the other. The interests of justice and religion were lost sight of in their entirety as the battles at court played out in miniature the greater battles that were yet to come on the seas and fields of Europe.

And there were two great enigmas; the king, who would have allied with anyone who paid enough to subsidise his pleasure, and Lord Clarendon, who opposed any foreign entanglements, believing His Majesty’s position at home to be so insecure that the least trembling from abroad would shake his throne irrecoverably. His views prevailed in 1662, but others, such as Lord Bristol, held the opposite view, thinking either that fine victories abroad would strengthen the crown, or secretly hoping for the opportunities that defeat would offer. For many wanted to bring about Clarendon’s fall, and worked tirelessly to accomplish his ruin. A defeat in arms would ruin his career more surely than anything else, and I do not doubt that many loyal servants of the king lay awake at night, hoping that one would come to pass.

For the moment, though, the greatest weapon the opponents of Clarendon had was the scandalous behaviour of his daughter, which had convulsed the court scarcely six months before and severely weakened the Chancellor’s position. For the wretched woman had married the king’s brother, the Duke of York, without troubling to gain permission first. That his daughter was well pregnant by the time of the nuptials, that Clarendon loathed the Duke of York deeply, that he was as deceived as the king, none of this was of any consequence. Royal authority had been held to ridicule, and the king had lost a valuable card in the diplomatic game: the duke’s hand in marriage would have been a fine inducement to seal an alliance. It was said Clarendon himself would not have the subject raised in his presence, and was said to pray daily that the queen would give birth to an heir, so that he could be acquitted of conniving to put his own daughter on the throne, which would surely happen should the king die without legitimate issue. It was not a matter easily forgiven, and his enemies, above all Lord Bristol,
who had the finest wit of them all, made sure it could not be forgotten either.

Such manoeuvrings among the mighty and the puffed up did not attract my attention overmuch; foolishly so, perhaps, as more attention to the details of such petty squabbles would have helped me greatly. I was, as yet, far from understanding that these intrigues were fundamental to my own enquiries, and without them I would have had no grounds for concern over anything. This, however, is a matter which will become clear in its proper place. At that time, I saw myself in all modesty as a servant – one of importance, perhaps – but none the less with no interest in courtly battles nor even with a concern for influencing the policy of the realm. My task was to tell my masters the secret history of the kingdom, so they might reach their decisions with knowledge, if they wished to do so. In this, my importance was crucial, for good intelligence is the mother of prevention, and the measures of suppression being taken were far from complete. Town walls were being razed, but not fast enough; sectaries of all sorts were being arrested and fined, but there were always more, and the more cunning kept themselves in concealment.

Anybody reading this account may wonder why I was prepared to give such attention to the question of Marco da Cola, since I have as yet described little to justify my effort. In fact, he was still only of passing interest to me, one of those lines of enquiry which are pursued for the sake of thoroughness: there was nothing solid on which I could concentrate, and little more than curiosity to keep my attention focused. I had, it was true, established a possible link between the exiles and the Spanish, and he and his family formed that link. I had an incomprehensible letter and an intriguing connection with another document written three years previously. Finally, I had the enigma of Cola himself, for it struck me as unusual that he could spend many months in the Low Countries without his profession of soldier being commonly known. Nor could I understand why his father, a man of known ability, was prepared to release his older, effective son from his family obligations. Yet, not only was the
younger Cola apparently entirely unengaged in trade, he was not even married.

Such were my thoughts, and I mentioned the puzzle to Mr Williams, my merchant friend, when I met him the day after I arrived in London in early 1663.

‘Let me pose you a problem as an adventurer,’ I said. ‘Let us say that you lose your main markets and trading partners through ports being closed by war. You have three daughters, one of whom is married, and two are rapidly approaching marriageable age. You have only one useful son. What tactics do you adopt to defend and expand your business?’

‘Once I have stopped panicking, and praying for a turn of good fortune?’ he said with a smile. ‘I can think of worse situations to be in, but not many.’

‘Let us say you are a naturally calm man. What do you do?’

‘Let us see. Much depends on the reserves I have at my disposal, and the relations I have with my family, of course. Will they step forward and help? That might fend off an urgent crisis and give me time to recover. But it gains me room to manoeuvre, it does not solve the problem. Obviously, the need is to find new markets, but to break into a new port requires money, as it is often necessary to sell at a loss for some time to establish oneself. Now, the easiest solution is to establish an alliance with another house. You marry a son if you have one and if your position is strong, a daughter if it be weak. The situation you describe indicates the need to marry a son to advantage, for that brings money into the business, rather than putting it out. However, you are also at a disadvantage, of course, for you need markets and that suggests that marrying a daughter will be required.’

‘And where do you find the money for that? Any possible ally will be aware of the problem and drive a hard bargain, will they not?’

Mr Williams nodded in agreement. ‘That is precisely the case. In my position, I think I would have to consider a marriage of the son out of business to a lady of as much fortune as I could find, and immediately use the dowry to marry a daughter to trade. With good fortune my family might end up with a small surplus, without luck I might have to borrow at interest to fund the difference. But that
would be no problem if my trade recovered. It is not a strategy that is guaranteed to bring success, but it offers by far the best chance of it. Why do we have sons except for such purposes?’

‘So if I said this trader not only seemed to have no plans to marry his son, but had even let him go wandering Europe, where he is out of reach and consuming substantial amounts of money?’

‘Then I would be strongly adverse to venturing money in any enterprise with which he is concerned. Am I right in thinking that you are still occupying yourself with the house of Cola?’

I nodded, with great reluctance. I had no desire to take Mr Williams into my confidence in any way, but he was too intelligent to be fooled and an honest admission, I considered, might be enough to bind him to obligations of silence.

‘Do not think that such matters have not come into our minds as well,’ he said.

‘Our?’

‘We traders. We are jealously eager to hear news of our competitors and, sad though it is, rejoice too much to hear of a rival’s downfall. The better of us are always reminded that such a fate can easily befall anyone, of course. It takes very little ill fortune to turn riches into dust. One storm, or a war unforeseen, can be a catastrophe.’

‘You may rest easy on that score,’ I reassured him. ‘I cannot predict the weather, but no war will catch you unawares if I am able to assist you.’

‘I am grateful for that. I have a large cargo bound for Hamburg next week. I would like it to arrive.’

‘As far as I am aware, the prospect of Dutch pirates being allowed free run of the North Sea does not appear imminent. But it would still be wise to guard against the unscrupulous anticipating matters.’

‘Believe me, I have taken every precaution possible. I am proof against the single privateer.’

‘Good. Now, if I may return to Cola, what does the community of traders say?’

‘That the father’s affairs are bad and getting worse, in a word. He has long suffered his eastern markets to be whittled away by the Turks; Crete is now all but lost; he made a brave venture to open up a new business in London, but that has been crippled by the death of his
manager here, and the audacity of his English partner, who has taken the business for his own. And there are rumours he has been selling ships to raise money. Three years ago he had a fleet of more than thirty ships; now it is down to almost twenty. And he has warehouses in Venice full of goods, which is money mouldering to no purpose. If he does not move them he cannot meet his creditors. If he does not do that, he is finished.’

‘He is held in good credit?’

‘Everyone is held in good credit until they stop paying their bills.’

‘So how do you explain the father’s actions? Or the son’s?’

‘I cannot. He has an excellent reputation, so I must assume there is very much more to the situation than is accessible to a coffee-house gossip like myself. But I cannot imagine what that might be. Be assured that if I hear anything I will let you know instantly.’

I thanked him and left. My interpretation of the situation was correct, and for that I was glad; but I was no closer to fathoming the problem than I had been before.