Meeting the Ancient Sage | Saturday 24th, Afternoon

[Pyotr Fedorovich]

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Royal Mews

The Household Cavalry, the oldest English regiment, consists of The Life Guards and The Blues and The Royal Horse Guards. The regiment consists of two units comprising all three "colors". The mounted regiment, as opposed to the unit commonly known as the Life Guard (despite its broader mix) maintains the Royal Mews.

Here enough stabling is provided for the horses of those who are in residence with the Household Cavalry as well as any visiting dignitaries and nobles. The well covered building is also used to provide shelter for coaches.

A large man arrived a few minutes before the appointed hour. He was tall, over six feet tall, and walked briskly to keep the cold away. He wore black, loose, silk trousers, and a kaftan, an unusual long outer garment, open in front, with very wide short sleeves and a fitted back. The kaftan was made of deep-blue velvet, with carps and waves embroidered in gold thread gold-thread bobbin lace on the sleeves, and a ruby-studded collar. It was wrapped over left-to-right and held in place by gold studs. Pyotr carried no obvious weapons besides a long, curved dagger at his waist, but his Mongol sword master walked behind him, respectfully staying two paces behind. The Mongol wore a sabre on his left side, in a curiously angular scabbard, with the hilt to the back and the edge downward, and a similar dagger to his master's on his right side.

Lord Mountjoy must be old and respected to have the post of the King's Solicitor General, the Ambassador mused. I must treat him with the utmost respect, due to his age and station. It seemed weird to the Russian that such an aging and important personage had business in the mews. Perhaps he is knowledgeable about horse breeding too, and will come to select and oversee a pairing...

[Charles Blount]

Recognizing that meeting an ambassador in a stable, even if it was royal stable, was unorthodox and the Russians were notably orthodox he had his man Padeen waiting at the gate in full Mountjoy livery of yellow and black to emphasize that he meant no disrespect. Padeen tugged his forelock at the ambassador and indicated that he would escort him to his master and led the Ambassador to a small annex of the stables that served as offices for the resident staff. The room was unimpressive but the occupant had the forethought to bring in a pair of upholstered chairs and a tea table that was set set before a functional fireplace where they may discuss subjects in more comfort. There were also a few tapestries draped along the otherwise drab walls. One of the more resourceful stable hands picked a few wild flowers he found growing near the dung heap and put them in a tin pitcher on the mantle to provide a bit of color.

Mountjoy stood when the Ambassador arrived. He was attired in the typically English way of understated elegance. He wore a simple broadcloth tobacco brown justacorps and breeches of simple design but impeccable cut and quality. His waistcoat of fawn suede exhibited just the right amount of gold wirework to hint of wealth and his boots were well fitted and polished to a high sheen. On the desk in the corner was sat a cavalier hat of brown beaver felt with a gold and ivory band and pheasant feather plumes and an ivory headed riding crop. His ensemble exuded wealth and sophistication yet was at home in the stables.  What stood out to Pytor was not Mountjoy’s attire but his age. Although the Marquis carried himself as one of a certain age and solemnity, his physical appearance was that of a man barely in his mid-thirties, and a energetic mid thirties at that. Either Mountjoy had dominion over some Sorceress who blessed him with the vigor of youth or he rose to prominence quite early.  To heighten the incongruity Mountjoy bowed formally in the German fashion.

“Your Excellency Pytor Fredorovich.” He greeted pronouncing his name correctly instead of anglicizing the name to Peter as the English were wont to do. “Thank you for coming to such a place.” He gestured to acknowledge the lack of formality the venue offered. “I apologize for any inconvenience but as I also serve as Her Majesty’s Master of Horse, I found I had some duties that required my attention so here we are. If I were to hazard a presumption of your character and hardiness I would venture to say that you are not a man who would be disturbed by the aroma of horses and hay. I myself find the oder to be wholesome and indicative of pleasant times past.” He gestured again this time at a chair. “Would your Excellency be so inclined to have a seat?”

 

[OOC: Apologies for waiting so long to respond. I had to manage some new and ongoing posts first to keep my story progression tidy.]

[Pyotr Fedorovich]

Pyotr followed Padeen to the hastily prepared office, and was in turn followed by the Mongol. Once the Ambassador crossed the door, however, his bodyguard retreated out of earshot, but within sight of his employer. The short and wiry man would be able to cover the distance within seconds if needed, although there would be no need, or so the Russian prince had assured him.

Pyotr quickly surveyed the room for any danger, an old custom borne out of survival instinct. The office was not the epitome of elegance, but it was comfortable enough, and would suit his purpose. Removing his cubit-tall hat, he walked to the desk in the corner and placed it beside the tricorn. No need to show his Muscovite courtly rank by keeping it on. The Ambassador used that time to hide his surprise at his host's age. I thought he was a man of advanced age. I am surprised that he is so young. I do hope he is knowledgeable enough to help me with my inquiry.

At the pronunciation of his name, Pyotr raised an eyebrow slightly, and smiled. His given name was pronounced almost impeccably. In fact, many a Russian peasant would not do as well. His family name, though, had an extra r sound added. No need to remark on that now. I am sure in time he will amend his mistake. Instead, he bowed stiffly but deeply from the waist, in the Russian manner, which was not unlike the German one. "No inconvenience, Lord Mountjoy. As you say, horses and hay are not strangers to me. In fact, they are very dear". His war horse had saved his life more than once, after all. At the Attorney General's invitation, the Russian walked towards the indicated chair and sat.

"You are also the Queen's Master of Horse?" Pyotr was intrigued. "What are the duties of the position?" It was a good way to start the conversation.

[Charles Blount]

Charles took a seat across from his guest. There was a tea service in front of them, he was English after all, and Mountjoy poured out two cups. “Sugar?” He succinctly queried the Ambassador before completing the tea according to Pytor’s preference and personally serving the cup to him. When Mountjoy finished his man Padeen removed the tea pot and replaced it with a small silver trey with two crystal schnapps glasses and a common dark glass bottle. Padeen poured two glasses, Pytor was Russian after all, as Mountjoy explained. “I do not have any vodka but may I offer a glass of poitin? It is an Irish sprit akin to vodka made by the countryfolk with malted and un-malted barley. Traditionally it is home brewed and not sold for money although it can be bartered. My man Padeen’s mother is known throughout her village for the quality of her brew and she provides me a portion of Poitin as rent for her cottage. Some regions of Ireland refer to the drink as Mountian Dew which I think is charmingly poetic.” Mountjoy preferred wine but a measured amount of poitin seemed to keep his Irish servants from fighting. If Pytor were to try it, it would taste much like vodka but with a hint of toffee or earthiness due to the peat used in the distillation process.

As befitted polite society, the Ambassador did not go straight to business but asked a question to break the ice and allow them to get to know one another a bit. Mountjoy was quite willing to oblige.

“Yes, I am indeed the Queen’s Master of Horse. In all honesty, the position is a sinecure really with duties light enough not to interfere with my main responsibilities. Technically I oversee the Queen’s stables, her mounts and carriages along with the the staff required to undertake those tasks. Arrangements and security for her travels also fall under my remit. In actuality, as the Queen habitually travels with His Majesty, it is a more a matter of coordination with the King’s Master of Horse, my cousin Lord Avon, unless the Queen is traveling independently. I have two Equerries, or rather the Queen has two Equerries, that handle the day to day matters which leaves me in a position to choose what regular matters to involve myself in such as the acquisition and training of the horses which I find to be more of a diversion than a chore and some bureaucratic or political maneuverings that are less a diversion but necessary all the same. The position also allows me access to Her Majesty whose company is most convivial.” He paused to see if the Ambassador was satisfied with the details provided before asking a question of his own.

“I was acquainted with Her Majesty when she was a newly arrived German Princess and was fortunate enough to assist her in acclimating to English society so I have some appreciation of the challenges we offer to foreign visitors. Tell me Your Excellency, if it would not be undiplomatic of you, your first impressions of England and how we differ from your countrymen? I know very little of the Russias apart from that they hold to  many Eastern traditions that differ from that of the West.”      

[Pyotr Fedorovich]

“A little, thank you, Lord Mountjoy”, the Ambassador replied to the Englishman’s question. Pyotr’s preference was strawberry preserves but the tea England liked, what the Qing called red tea, did not need much to appreciate its flavour, unlike the stronger, smoky flavour Russia preferred. Then the tea tray was removed and replaced with one with schnapps glasses.

That Lord Mountjoy did not have vodka in his cellar had to be rectified as soon as possible. The Russian prince could charge the expense to the Stroganovs as a business expense. It would not do that such an important courtier could not flaunt the Russian beverage in his social functions.

”Poitin, you say? From Ireland? I must try it, yes”. The tea had been barely touched, but after it was finished the mountain dew would have its turn.

One Master of Horse related to the other one. Not much different from Moscow. Pyotr nodded, satisfied with the answer.

”The East is very different, yes. You use much more stone in your buildings, which must make them last longer. We use wood almost exclusively, which makes our cities fall prey to fires far too often. Besides that, I think the other big factor is religion. The Orthodox Church is steeped in tradition and makes us advance slower than the times, while the Church of England is much more forward-looking”. There were Many things that were similar, though. “Perhaps our newly reestablished diplomatic relations will allow us to learn from each other, Lord Mountjoy”.

Tea had been sipped as he had paused between topic and topic, and the cup was now empty. It was the turn of the spirits. Taking the glass, raising it to his host’s health, and downing it in one gulp, the Ambassador found it to his liking. “I should inquire if there is some Poitin available for sale and export. I happen to like it very much, and some of my fellow Russians might too”. It was stronger than vodka, but the flavour profile was very close.

[Charles Blount]

“I agree completely, no matter the differences in culture and tradition there are always enough similarities that should, in the minds of forward-looking men, allow us to understand one another and make each the stronger for it. I understand that the North of your country is heavily wooded and little settled so no wonder you take advantage of that abundance in your construction. You still have bears and wolves roaming about which I assume provides great sport. We here alas, have driven out our own. I did hear recently about a tiger or some such being taken but I do not think it was native.”

He followed the Ambassador’s example and downed the sprit in one gulp and when interest was expressed offered. “As the distillation is a simple procedure and a license is required for formal production it is customarily produced in small batches to avoid the tax.” He threw up his hands and smiled. Although he was one of the chief law officers of the Crown he bowed to reality. Trying to tax every person who made a few bottles would cost more than it would take in. There are a few in Dungannon that would be capable of producing the volume required to be profitably exported. I am sure any production or export licenses would be easily obtainable by a Gentleman such as yourself and I myself have interests in the region. I can give you a few names and write a letter of introduction on your behalf if you wish as the Irish can be clannish and distrustful of strangers.” A small distillery would be a simple thing to set up and would provide much needed employment for the area.

He leaned over and refilled the glasses but then leaned back in his chair and reached for his cup of tea and took a sip. A bracing shot of poitin was all well and good and he knew enough about the Russian culture to get into a drinking match with a grizzled Boyar. “But I cannot imagine the export of sprits would bring you to seek me out. I do hope you have no complaints about the treatment of your horses?”   

[Pyotr Fedorovich]

"Wood construction is warmer in winter if you build it right, but it has a big disadvantage: fires. You can lose half of a tightly packed town when a fire that goes out of control". Pyotr did not know that it had happened to London too in the recent past. "As for hunting, if you ever visit the Tsardom, I will make it a point that you are treated to hunting and fishing by the Sheremetev family". The Ambassador would probably not be able to host him, sadly.

"I will let the Stroganovs know about this... poitin. They may have a market for it. If they do, they will contact one of your aides about the topic". An unexpected positive coming out of their meeting, one that would be negotiated by others.

Taking the refilled glass, he followed Lord Blount's example and reclined back into the comfort of his chair, taking a sip. "You are correct, I did not seek you to arrange the export of spirits, although it is a welcome possibility. And no, my horses have not been mistreated..." The Russian had had to purchase local beasts, as bringing equines from Russia would have been extremely complicated. "I need your expertise at law. I have been told that a Scottish Barony is tied to the land. That is a thought that intrigues me. Would a foreigner be allowed to purchase such land and acquire the Barony?"

Although his smile remained, Pyotr's tone had turned serious, businesslike.

[Charles Blount]

He nodded sympathetically as Pytor explained about the risk of fire. “And it is not just wooden buildings that risk catastrophic conflagration. Fire will spread rapidly even in brick buildings if they have wooden rooftops and beams so when fired will send a plume of sparks that will travel blocks and set other structures alight. Why it was only a few years past that, despite our use of bricks and stone a fire broke out here in London lasting days and destroying the greater part of old London. We are still rebuilding and can only trust in the providence of the All Mighty to spare us a repetition of the disaster.”

He accepted readily the offer of hospitality and the prospect of a hunt. Even if it was unlikely he would ever travel so far east he appreciated the gesture. “I am sure your country would offer up such beasts and bounty to make the experience unforgettable. Perhaps I would even be able to see the…” He paused as he searched for the right word which he unfortunately mispronounced. “…Cosucks who are reputed to be wild and accomplished horsemen from your southern plains that ride about on sturdy ponies using strange little whips.” He clearly had some knowledge of Russia but like most westerners his knowledge was not very deep.

Heretofore Blount had been quite sociable displaying the social ease and congenial mannerisms expected of the English aristocracy yet, when the Ambassador got down to the actual business of his visit Mountjoy steepled his fingers and thought for a moment. When he spoke next his tone was much more professional and direct. Pytor was able to see that when it came down to questions of law and legalities, Mountjoy had the gravatas of one greater years which showed upon his brow.

 “Firstly, I would wish to make it clear that I have no authority in such matters as such a request would fall under the Court of the Lord Lyon which is under the Crown of Scotland and I serve in England and Wales. Obviously, influence can accomplish a great deal but in matters such as this it is important that the intricacies and limitations be understood.    

Secondly, you are correct that a Scottish Barony is unlike an English or Irish barony as it is not part of the peerage of the Realm and thus has differing inheritance rules. They are the only titles which can be legally alienated from the bloodline. True this often is enumerated by entailing the honor to an estate or piece of land but technically Scottish baronies by their nature are erected in crown charters as free baronies and are thus freely assignable.  ‘Heirs and assignees’’  is the proforma terminology so it is not specifically required that the vehicle of conveyance be land. Why there is a particularly old Scottish Barony whose vehicle of conveyance is an ancient stick. Thus, whomever is in possession of the stick is the possessor of the barony. But I digress.” While interesting, the outlying peculiarities of Scottish law was not immediately germane to the Ambassadors question.

“So… the most accurate answer to your question is… it depends.” He smiled and looked the Russian in the eyes. I pay you the compliment Your Excellency that being a skilled diplomat and courtier that you realize that with bureaucracy, be it Russian or English, there is seldom a simple answer.” He moved on. “The simplest way I may adequately reply is that yes, it is legally possible for a foreigner to acquire such a title and a foreigner may be allowed to do so. Notwithstanding the influence that may be expended to alter the issue, the Scots are a notoriously prickly race and would not be inclined to indulge foreign nationals… unless they are French… for reasons passing casual explanation they seem more amenable to the French but that is neither here nor there. The Lyon Court will even  bristle at an English Lords application so bestowing the honor of a foreigner would be exponentially more complicated. If you have already identified a title, have the tacit agreement of the clan nominally in possession of the honor and/or, perhaps most importantly, are purchasing the title on behalf of a Scot, or at least an English, Welsh or Irish gentleman, the process would be much simplified and more likely to be successful.”

“If you are willing or able to provide some additional information I would be able to offer more detailed counsel.”