The Ringed Castle - Dorothy Dunnett [111]
The Tsar’s answer came promptly enough: if they would draw up a list of desired privileges, he would consider it. And that was already half done: they had discussed it long enough, God knew, among themselves. Permission to buy a house and build a warehouse at Kholmogory, where they could keep their books and store their goods prior to shipping. Permission to do the same at Vologda, where living was also cheaper than Moscow, and the opportunities for trade probably better, if the Novgorod merchants would come to them. Permission to set up a house in Moscow, where they must have the Tsar’s goodwill and representation at Court.
Nothing, at this stage, could be said of the Tsar’s monopolies, imposed at will on wax, silk or lead, cloth or pearls. No one might sell furs, corn or timber, fish or hay, sheep or poultry or wild fowl until the Tsar’s warehouses were empty of all these goods, sent him as tribute. No one might sell anything if the Tsar wished to dispose of his stock—even spoiled stock he wished to sell cheaply. Permission …
Ivan Mikhailovich Viscovatu said, ‘You make no mention of monopolies?’
The Russian merchants by now had left the discussion. George Killingworth said, ‘We understand the Tsar reserves to himself certain items of trade. We have no wish to displease his highness.’
‘His highness,’ said the Chief Secretary, ‘is sensible of your restraint. He wished me to tell you however that he is willing to reserve for your company his whole purchase of wax, which is usually sold to the merchants of Riga, Revel and Poland, Danzig, Lübeck and Hamburg. He will in due course inform you of the price.’
Diccon Chancellor bowed, and expressed his infinite pleasure, and so did Lane and Price and Killingworth and Best, preserving at all costs the decencies. But later that afternoon, in the privacy of their own serge-hung premises, George Killingworth swung Christopher off his feet, to his smiling astonishment, and dropping him, hurled his cap into a corner. ‘The wax monopoly. It doesn’t matter what price he charges. We can fix the selling-price at anything we choose. And who knows what else he will sell us! Perhaps the whole market. Perhaps the Hanseatic League will have to buy masts and pitch and cordage through us in future.…’
‘Perhaps,’ said Diccon Chancellor.
Ned Lane looked at him shrewdly. ‘You think his merchants might object. The ones that matter. The monasteries. The Council members.’
Diccon Chancellor said, ‘I think the Dutch and Polish and Flemish and German merchants would object, to no uncertain tune, and that if he pushes them too far, he might well find himself at war with the west before he is ready for it. I think there is no chance at all that the Tsar will do all his trading through us.… Not at present, at least. In fact, I ask myself why he has risked the surprising concessions he has so far allowed us. What does he want?’
George Killingworth had got hold of the vodka and was pouring it, expertly, into five wooden firkins. ‘Trade,’ he said. ‘A route for imports and exports which none of the Baltic countries can interfere with. My God, he can hardly expect us to do it without some special sweetening. The sea’s frozen half the year round: we can only get one fleet in and one fleet out at the best every year. And no one can say it’s a convenient journey. We’ve lost two ships’ crews already. We only arrived here safely both times because you and Cabot both know what you’re doing.’
‘Thank you,’ said Chancellor. ‘I still think he wants more than trade.’
George Killingworth put down the jug and picked up the firkin. He said, ‘Maybe he does. But he hasn’t said so. And even if he does, it’s no business of ours. We are here to negotiate a trading agreement, that’s all. If he wants anything else, the Privy Council will have to handle it.’
Ned Price said, ‘But Diccon has called himself an ambassador, and is being received as an ambassador.