The Verge: Reformation, Renaissance, and Forty Years That Shook the World by Patrick Wyman

Author:Patrick Wyman [Wyman, Patrick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B08P1MF813
Publisher: Twelve
Published: 2021-07-19T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 6

John Heritage and Everyday Capitalism

April 17, 1512, Moreton-in-Marsh, England

The weathered gate creaked on its hinges as it shut, the sound merging with the relentless bleating of the hundreds of sheep packed into the adjacent pasture and the occasional bark from a pair of shaggy sheepdogs. Two men chattered good-naturedly back and forth on either side of the gate. The farmer’s daughter was getting married later in the year, after the harvest. Would the wool merchant attend the festivities? Of course; any social gathering was a chance to mingle with the wool producers of this particular corner of Gloucestershire, to pay off ongoing debts and cement relationships with the producers who provided him with a few sacks of wool every year. His competitors would certainly be there, settling their own debts and making the rounds. John Heritage—wool merchant and entrepreneur of Moreton-in-Marsh—could not afford to pass up such an opportunity.

Heritage smiled, thinking of strong ale, a good meal, and productive bargains waiting to be struck. Then his conversation with the farmer turned to the current business, his words taking on a harder edge. The merchant, meanwhile, trained a practiced eye on the nearby flock busily cropping at the pasturage: good quality for the most part, he thought, but not the best the Cotswolds could produce. He offered ten shillings per tod—the twenty-eight-pound unit of measurement of wool in which it was sold. Ten was fair, he thought, but the farmer wanted eleven: That was what a competitor was offering, he said. Fine, Heritage replied, but if the quality was not up to par, he would expect a steep discount upon delivery. The farmer wanted half up front: He had a wedding to pay for, after all. Heritage agreed, but only if the farmer was amenable to a repayment schedule that stretched all the way past Christmas, maybe even to Lent. This farmer was a reliable producer with a sterling reputation, and Heritage could be sure his credit would not be abused.

Back and forth they went, haggling and arguing with the deftness and patience of people who had performed this dance dozens of times, until finally Heritage counted out a few well-worn silver coins from his purse and handed them over the creaking gate. Two pounds six shillings, he thought, making a mental note of the amount.

Heritage hauled himself up onto his horse’s saddle and bade the farmer farewell, then set off down a narrow lane made muddy by a brief rainstorm the previous night. Only the chirping of birds and the distant bleating of sheep disturbed his train of thought, mentally repeating the amounts of the three different transactions he had made that morning so he wouldn’t forget them. The bleating grew louder as the road sank. Sheep grazed amid raised embankments and ruined walls that marked what had once been a prosperous little village, the spire of its abandoned church rising toward the clouds currently hanging low in a steel-gray spring sky. Fields of grain had long since given

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