all. Lots of interesting things in the papers—you should know, you spend most of your time keeping the best stories out of ‘em. But still lots of interesting things. Some of ‘em very nearly true, too.”
“Like a ton of gold? Can that be on the level, Matthew?”
“Why not, David? Ton of gold weighs the same as a ton of wheat. It’s just worth more—and easier to move, that’s all.”
“Did they ship that sort of cargo from America?”
“In the seventeenth century? Dear man, that was the main cargo from the Spanish American colonies for years—gold and silver, plus gems and spices. I know for a fact that California was producing up to eighty tons a year in the 1850s, and Australia even more. If you think of all the gold-producing areas in the Americas— well, Francis Drake picked up tons of the stuff, gold and silver, in that one raid of his in the 1570s. And that must have been all from the current year’s ore, they wouldn’t have left the previous year’s production just lying around, would they now?”
“But in one shipment, Matthew?”
“You mean all their eggs in one basket? Yes, I see. …”
“And with pirates and bad weather—“
“Ah—now you’re being deceived by your own historical propaganda. The English—and the French and the Dutch too—always dreamed of Spanish treasure ships, but they very rarely captured one. They travelled in convoy, for a start. And there were very few men of Drake’s calibre … which was of course why the Spaniards made such a fuss about him. Besides, this shipment of yours was much later—in the 1620s or 30s, if I remember right, wasn’t it? That is the one we’re talking about, I presume?”
The mixture of disinterested interest and casual helpfulness was almost perfectly compounded, thought Audley.
“You wouldn’t have a personal interest in Charlie Ratcliffe’s credit, would you, Matthew?”
“Hah! Now who knows too much for his own good, eh?” Matthew chuckled briefly. “But as it happens—no. I’m not a crude money-lender. And if I was … there are some people I wouldn’t lend money to.”
“But there are people who might?”
“If they thought the profit and the risk matched up—I know of one such.” There was an edge to Matthew’s tone. “Though now you’re showing such a laudable interest in Spanish-American economic history, am I entitled to hope that he’s going to be in trouble?”
“You’re not entitled to hope for anything, Matthew.”
“Pity. But what you really need is an expert historian, my friend.”
“I know. I suppose you don’t happen to have one in your counting-house, do you?”
“Not bloody likely. But I can give you a name.” Matthew chuckled again. “You won’t like it though, I tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Why not? Hah—well you remember that long streak of wind-and-piss on our staircase at Cambridge—the one who got a First despite everything his tutor could do? The one who read The Times aloud at breakfast?”
“Nayler?”
“Professor Stephen Nayler to you, you hireling. He’s transmogrified himself into a Fellow of St. Martin’s, and he’s also by way of being a television pundit on matters historical for the BBC. But I expect you’ve seen him on the box, haven’t you? Or do you just watch the rugger and Tom and Jerry ?”
“What’s Nayler got to do with Charlie Ratcliffe’s gold, Matthew?”
“Why—everything, dear man. The blighter’s going to do a programme of some sort on it. A sort of on-the-spot re-enactment, complete with young Charlie dressed up as his revolting ancestor. … So if you go crawling cap in hand to the great man himself he’ll surely help you.”
“I should very much doubt it. We never got on with each other.”
“Got on? Dear man, he hated your guts —you were the ghastly rugger-playing hearty who nearly pipped him for the senior scholarship. And that’s precisely why he’ll help you, if you abase yourself suitably. Where’s your
“Like a ton of gold? Can that be on the level, Matthew?”
“Why not, David? Ton of gold weighs the same as a ton of wheat. It’s just worth more—and easier to move, that’s all.”
“Did they ship that sort of cargo from America?”
“In the seventeenth century? Dear man, that was the main cargo from the Spanish American colonies for years—gold and silver, plus gems and spices. I know for a fact that California was producing up to eighty tons a year in the 1850s, and Australia even more. If you think of all the gold-producing areas in the Americas— well, Francis Drake picked up tons of the stuff, gold and silver, in that one raid of his in the 1570s. And that must have been all from the current year’s ore, they wouldn’t have left the previous year’s production just lying around, would they now?”
“But in one shipment, Matthew?”
“You mean all their eggs in one basket? Yes, I see. …”
“And with pirates and bad weather—“
“Ah—now you’re being deceived by your own historical propaganda. The English—and the French and the Dutch too—always dreamed of Spanish treasure ships, but they very rarely captured one. They travelled in convoy, for a start. And there were very few men of Drake’s calibre … which was of course why the Spaniards made such a fuss about him. Besides, this shipment of yours was much later—in the 1620s or 30s, if I remember right, wasn’t it? That is the one we’re talking about, I presume?”
The mixture of disinterested interest and casual helpfulness was almost perfectly compounded, thought Audley.
“You wouldn’t have a personal interest in Charlie Ratcliffe’s credit, would you, Matthew?”
“Hah! Now who knows too much for his own good, eh?” Matthew chuckled briefly. “But as it happens—no. I’m not a crude money-lender. And if I was … there are some people I wouldn’t lend money to.”
“But there are people who might?”
“If they thought the profit and the risk matched up—I know of one such.” There was an edge to Matthew’s tone. “Though now you’re showing such a laudable interest in Spanish-American economic history, am I entitled to hope that he’s going to be in trouble?”
“You’re not entitled to hope for anything, Matthew.”
“Pity. But what you really need is an expert historian, my friend.”
“I know. I suppose you don’t happen to have one in your counting-house, do you?”
“Not bloody likely. But I can give you a name.” Matthew chuckled again. “You won’t like it though, I tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Why not? Hah—well you remember that long streak of wind-and-piss on our staircase at Cambridge—the one who got a First despite everything his tutor could do? The one who read The Times aloud at breakfast?”
“Nayler?”
“Professor Stephen Nayler to you, you hireling. He’s transmogrified himself into a Fellow of St. Martin’s, and he’s also by way of being a television pundit on matters historical for the BBC. But I expect you’ve seen him on the box, haven’t you? Or do you just watch the rugger and Tom and Jerry ?”
“What’s Nayler got to do with Charlie Ratcliffe’s gold, Matthew?”
“Why—everything, dear man. The blighter’s going to do a programme of some sort on it. A sort of on-the-spot re-enactment, complete with young Charlie dressed up as his revolting ancestor. … So if you go crawling cap in hand to the great man himself he’ll surely help you.”
“I should very much doubt it. We never got on with each other.”
“Got on? Dear man, he hated your guts —you were the ghastly rugger-playing hearty who nearly pipped him for the senior scholarship. And that’s precisely why he’ll help you, if you abase yourself suitably. Where’s your
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