The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [127]
His cargo on these occasions was wool. Despite the increasing cloth trade, it was still wool that was the backbone of England’s export trade and her wealth. In order to ensure his treasury profited from it, the king insisted, as his predecessors had done, that the entire trade was funnelled through the great entrepôt, known as the Staple, of Calais. On all Staple wool duty was paid. When the monks of Beaulieu sent their vast clip abroad – mostly through Southampton, a little through Lymington – or when Totton bought wool from Sarum merchants, it all went through the Staple and was duly taxed.
When Alan Seagull made his illicit runs for other, less honourable exporters, he did so at night, slipping across from coast to coast, paying neither duty nor heed, for which he was well paid. Others did the same all along the coast. It was known as owling. It was illegal but every child in every harbour knew that such things took place.
‘It could get someone in trouble,’ Jonathan said carefully. ‘But I don’t think it’s very bad.’
‘Like poaching,’ his father guessed.
‘Like that.’
‘If you gave your word, you should keep it,’ said Totton. ‘No one will ever trust you if you don’t.’
‘Only …’ Still Jonathan was uncertain. ‘What if you wanted to tell someone to help them?’
‘How help them?’
‘If you had a friend and it would save them money.’
‘To break your word and betray a confidence? Certainly not, Jonathan.’
‘Oh.’
‘Does that answer your question?’
‘Yes. I think so.’ Although Jonathan still frowned a little. He wished there were some way of warning his father that he was going to lose his bet.
There were times during the next two weeks when Alan Seagull found it hard not to laugh.
The whole of Lymington was placing bets. Most were small, a few pence usually; but several merchants had a mark or even more on the race. Why were they betting? Often, the mariner guessed, it was just because they didn’t want to be left out. Some reckoned Seagull’s small craft would outsail the bigger ship because of the shortness of the crossing; others made elaborate calculations based on the likely weather. Others again put their trust in the soundness of Totton’s judgement and followed him.
‘The more they talk the less they know,’ Seagull pointed out to his son. ‘And none of ’em really knows anything.’
Then there were the bribes. Hardly a day passed without someone coming to the mariner with an offer. ‘I’ve got half a mark on your boat, Alan. There’ll be a shilling in it for you if you win.’ More interesting were the people who offered him money to lose. ‘I don’t know the Southampton men,’ one merchant told him frankly. ‘And besides, the only way to be sure of the result is if you promise to lose.’
‘It’s funny,’ Seagull remarked to Willie. ‘All these people come at you like waves and you can just sail across them. The way things are now, if I win I get paid and if I lose I get paid.’ He grinned. ‘Makes no difference, see? You remember that, son,’ he added seriously. ‘Let them do the betting. You just say nothing and take the money.’
More impressive was Burrard. At the end of the first week he told Alan: ‘A mark to you if you win.’ At the end of the second: ‘I’m in deeper now. Two marks.’
‘Is he stupid?’ Willie asked.
‘No, son. He ain’t stupid. Just rich.’
Totton, meanwhile, remained as calm and quiet as usual. This Seagull respected. ‘I don’t like him, son,’ he confessed. ‘But he knows when to keep his mouth shut.’
‘So are you going to win, Dad?’ Willie asked. But to this, infuriatingly, his father would only reply by humming a little sea ditty to himself.
Willie did better, however, when he asked his father if he could go with him for the race, for after a pause, and looking at him with amusement, his father, to Willie’s great surprise agreed.
This was a great prize. He shared it with his friends, who were duly envious. Jonathan’s eyes opened wide and every day