The Powder of Death

by Julian Stockwin

  In a gust of relief Jared blurted, ‘I won’t let you down, mistress! I’ll—’

  ‘With only one, but strict condition.’

  ‘Anything!’

  ‘You may not like it, Master Jared.’

  ‘I shall,’ he replied stoutly.

  ‘If you agree it, then my entire fortune is yours.’

  ‘Your …?’

  ‘You must marry me.’

  He stared at her in shock, thinking he’d misheard. ‘I thought you said …’

  ‘If this is not to your liking you will tell me now.’

  ‘I-I—’

  She held out a hand, which he had the wit to kneel and kiss.

  ‘So it is not altogether distasteful to you?’

  He shook his head in helpless wonder. ‘Mistress—that is, Rosamunde. If you’re jesting I find it not worthy of you, but if true then …’

  ‘May I take that as signifying agreement?’

  He pulled himself together. ‘You’ve taught me much. And one thing is to search out the reasons for an offer of trade – what, then, are yours? I’m a simple blacksmith of no family and you …’

  ‘The chief reason? I will tell you truly. It is that I no longer want to go to a cold bed. The next? As I told you before, I’m a judge of men and by your actions you show yourself as a true man, tempered by trials that would daunt a lesser. And if truth must be revealed, your calling has shaped you as a man as strong and comely as any woman might desire. If I’m to be wed, let it be one like you, Jared!’

  Tears prickled: she reached for him and they kissed. Softly and tenderly.

  CHAPTER 85

  ‘Really, Edward, you’re making complications,’ Rosamunde said crossly to the lawyer. ‘I know the law as well as you. I may choose whomever I will to wed and the world must watch.’

  ‘It is the House of Barnwell that is my concern,’ he went on carefully. ‘As it pertains to the conveying of all goods and chattels to the new husband, which must include your mercantile interests, I’m obliged to remind you.’

  ‘If that is all that ails you, Edward, let me put your mind at rest. Master Jared has interests of his own and desires I might continue in my merchantry as before. If any funds are touched they are accounted for in the usual way and there is no question that there will be any disturbance in the standing of the House.’

  ‘I see you are determined on this union.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Then I can only wish you well of it,’ he said, with a barely concealed expression of reproach.

  ‘Sir, your manner is distasteful to me,’ she flared. ‘You’re a servant of the House and I am its mistress!

  ‘For all your laws and deeds you cannot see that which is so plain to any merchant of wit and acumen. That is, the fortune of a House is one thing, and the getting of it another. If you fear that Master Jared will rule and ruin, know that between tradesfolk it is one’s word that wins the dealing, not the price. Neither he nor any will make trade save I give my word on it.’

  Later, as she and Jared ate together she mentioned the conversation and added, ‘Our marrying is one thing – the other is to bring you to the notice of the men of power and substance. Then you must act the man of acuity and sagacity – but on your own. For this you will need to take in our ways in full measure.’

  ‘Sweeting, I am your pupil and will learn at your knee.’

  It was hard to grasp even now that his days at a forge were over for good. It was not brawn and skill that would realise his vision but quick wit and precise judgement and Rosamunde would be his teacher. He was determined on it, for he was going to venture out into a harsh world armed only with his wits to justify her trust.

  The shape of the future was becoming clearer. He would go back with all the powers and resources of a merchant investor, sustained by the intricate web of agents and factors of the House of Barnwell, and set about making the guild grow.

  And one thing was vital to his standing and success: a second, one who he could not only confide in but trust in the hardest situations.

  He knew one he could turn to. Daw. He’d be in his twenties now and in the strained times he’d known him had proved bright and steady.

  Jared spent a long time pondering the wording of a letter, ending up with a simple desire to see him and enclosing travelling expenses. His son had known him as a returned pilgrim touched by his experiences and indulging in deranged pursuits. Would he want to come to his father – or be repelled?

  Within the week Daw was shyly standing at the door of the Barnwell home with his bundle, looking up in wonder at the richly dressed burgher who was his father.

  ‘Daw! Bless you for coming, my son.’ With a manly hug and a squeezed tear Jared drew him indoors.

  ‘Father – w-what’s this that you’re so …?’

  He’d grown taller. A direct gaze, upright and strong, a son to be proud of.

  ‘A long tale, Daw. As will wait. This is my home now and I want you to meet … my wife, your stepmother.’

  Rosamunde came forward with a smile and extended a hand.

  Jared tenderly touched her shoulder. ‘Do forgive us, my dear, we’ve much to talk on.’

  She left them to the two chairs by the fireside.

  ‘Daw … I …’ Where even to begin?

  ‘A long time ago, when you were but a kitling a … bad thing happened.’ It was not going well – this was a grown man, he could take it.

  ‘Your mother …’ He couldn’t go on.

  ‘Yes, Father. She drowned one night in the weir. I know this.’

  ‘No!’ he blurted hoarsely. ‘Never so! Aldith was torn from me by those half-faced hell-spawn in Ravenstock Castle and done to death by … by …’

  Daw went pale. ‘She was taken and—’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes!’

  It was cruel, heartless – but the truth had passed into his son’s soul.

  Daw’s shoulders began shaking, he looked helplessly this way and that – but no tears came …

  ‘I told you this because I want you to understand me,’ Jared whispered.

  The eyes looked up at him, pits of misery.

  ‘I can tell you from the heart, dear Daw, that revenge is useless, empty, because nothing is changed by it.’

  At the intensity of his words the young man choked, ‘You … D’Amory?’

  Jared’s head fell. ‘Yes, son.’

  Daw sat rigid, silently weeping.

  ‘I told you revenge is empty because it changes nothing. This is true. So I went on pilgrimage to find release but instead found quite another thing.’

  He waited patiently for Daw to compose himself then went on, ‘I ask this of you. What must you feel, if gifted to you and you alone, was a great power, one that can and will change things for all of time?’

  At the incomprehension he eased into a bleak smile. ‘I’m speaking of the power to tear down castles into ruin and helplessness. That throws lords and ladies, every one, down to the level of the common folk, never more to tyrannise and oppress from their mighty fortress on high!’

  ‘Father. This is wild talk! I do understand your—’

  ‘Daw. I was given that power and you shall soon see this in all its terror and beauty. I came upon it when enslaved by the Mongols who had the secret, and have never forgotten how to summon it to my bidding. Now I’ve succeeded, here in England. In my own hands I have the means to bring down castles and cities – and I mean to do it! My son, this is not revenge but justice!’ he breathed.

  The wide-eyed youth sat rigid, speechless.

  Jared sat back and went on in quite another tone, ‘All this you will find hard to believe. But if I tell you that a guild is being formed for just this purpose and that Mistress Rosamunde, wise and astute, is hazarding her fortune to support it, can you find it in you to accept that it is both real and true?’

  ‘Father, I hear what you’re saying but cannot conceive what you mean.’

  For the next hour Jared told him all,
his voice breaking at times in emotion. He spoke of gunnes and huo yao, sulphur and saltpetre, iron and bronze. Of the months in Hurnwych grubbing about in chicken coops and tombs seeking answers and finding none at the cost of his wits and reputation. The chance discovery in Coventry of the method of proportions, and then success.

  ‘Now you know of it. The whole of it. And what lies ahead – a chance for putting right the world such as none has had before! Daw, what I’m asking is that you’re there by my side when it’s achieved. To be the one who I trust and confide in, whoever’s against us. Will you do it?’

  CHAPTER 86

  Ghent, Flanders, AD 1320

  ‘I welcome you all, each and every one,’ Jared said warmly, looking about the table. ‘Some have travelled far, and I honour you for it.’

  Here were Marco of Florence, Bartolomeo Farnese of Padua, Streuvel of Münster – and they had come to Ghent to found a guild that each believed would change their fortunes and their lives.

  The room was not large but was well appointed – it was the meeting hall of the House of Barnwell in this great trading capital, well chosen for its proximity both to the rich lands of northern Europe and the rising Hansa ports of the Holy Roman Empire.

  And above him was the prime symbol of the guild: a giant blue lightning bolt from the heavens stabbing down to demolish a red castle, the whole surmounted by an angel with a trumpet.

  ‘I first desire to introduce the lady Barnwell – who is my wife,’ Jared said proudly. On his elevation to the ranks of the merchantry he’d taken the name of his cousin as his in addition to his village name and was now known to all as Master Jared Barnwell of Coventry.

  ‘My lady.’ There were wary acknowledgements as they recognised the one who was making it all possible.

  She addressed them respectfully. ‘Good gentlemen, I bid you welcome also but know that it will be my husband who will lead your meeting. My position here is honorary and that of advisor only. I wish that you will conduct your affairs in whatsoever manner you see fit.’

  There was the tiniest pause and then she said firmly, ‘Knowing that should the structure and soundness of your guild be found wanting, the House of Barnwell would find it difficult to increase the scale of its funding.’

  He and Rosamunde had worked hard together, drawing up a plan of action and he now presented it as a working outline under five main headings.

  The purpose of the guild:

  In large, to gather strength from working together instead of separately. To regulate the quality of workmanship and services. To offer mutual support where needed. To share ideas and resources to the benefit of all.

  Its conduct:

  No single authority, but as independent enterprises each in its area, attracting interest and commerce to its own self, calling on others if large orders lay in peril of being unfulfilled. To provide gunnes, powder and, if requested, trained men.

  The structure:

  A Grand Hall to co-ordinate, and others located in convenient lands and trading cities in constant communication.

  Organisation:

  Each hall to govern its own but all on the same basis.

  At the top, the order of Master, one holding to himself all the mysteries of the guild, the secret of gunne-powder, the knowledge of gunne-making, the constantly renewed wisdom regularly exchanged with other Masters.

  Under them, the order of Yeoman Gunner, he who knew as an adept the craft and skills of the gunne and who could take charge of a hired troop of gunnes. And below him the Gunner whose prowess it was in the firing and serving.

  Only a Master could bestow the degree of Yeoman Gunner to deserving initiates and only they to bring forward Gunners.

  Probity and fidelity to the guild:

  All guild members to be sworn in loyalty to it and their brethren. To swear never to divulge its secrets and mysteries. To unfailingly come to the aid of brothers in distress. To be bound by the decisions of the Grand Hall in matters of dispute or conduct.

  ‘And the whole to be named and styled – “The Worshipful Company of Saint Barbara”,’ Jared concluded.

  ‘Why so?’ Farnese wanted to know. ‘Why not “The Guild of Master Gunners”?’

  Rosamunde smiled sweetly. ‘You know that you will have many adversaries, those who would see you as threatening and evil. It were better to trade under such a name, keeping your business discreet always and making your approach quiet and confiding.’

  ‘Saint Barbara?’

  ‘A lady who was cruelly martyred and took revenge on her wrongdoers with a heaven-sent thunderbolt.’

  There were additional matters to consider: the searching out and inducting of new members, the establishing of a feast day, the design of a secret emblem and other such.

  However, as evening was drawing in, general agreement had been reached in the meeting and Jared Barnwell of Coventry was elected as first Grand Master and the chain of office was laid upon him.

  Led by his lady he entered a darkened chamber, a lone candle throwing into relief a richly worked reliquary on a small table.

  ‘Kneel, sire.’

  He did so, and laid both hands on the casket.

  ‘You will make oath on a saint’s bones. Repeat after me …’

  It was the swearing, and at its end the dread words, ‘And if I transgress my sworn oath in any kind may Saint Barbara visit on me the same fate by her hands …’

  One by one the others were led in to take the oath. At the last Jared saw a shadow at the door.

  ‘Father. I would be sworn …’

  CHAPTER 87

  ‘Farewell, Grand Master,’ Farnese said slowly. ‘You have taught us well.’

  To Jared’s embarrassment he insisted on kneeling and kissing his ring.

  ‘Go forth, Brother Bartolomeo, and may good fortune always attend you.’

  The members of the guild had spent much time together working out how they might best proceed. Jared had imparted his discovery of the true proportions of gunne-powder and Farnese had taken them all to a bell foundry and pointed out the limitations of bronze casting as well as its opportunities. Others had contributed their knowledge and experience and now they were ready to go out into the world.

  Streuvel recruited three Hollanders who had been venturing with what they called ‘fire-lances’ and were astonished and gratified to now be part of a greater brethren. They were quickly followed by two from Cividale sent by Marco, young men of enterprise who had heard of the mystifying thunder devices fielded by Arezzo and had guessed their nature.

  They were heady times for Jared. For every man that was emerging to join them there must be many more – and it was only the beginning!

  At the same time he had to make a start on his own business. There was a prospective interest that suggested itself in Ghent – the Great Portal and miles of walls that needed defending – and what better than the fearsome roar of gunnes to keep attackers at bay? It was a rich city that could well afford such and would be a good thing for the guild to point to.

  It needed much planning.

  With casting he had more freedom in designing the gunne but there were practical limits. He needed to find a bell-founder to make them and secure a place of testing.

  He decided to start with the size of ‘pea’ and the measure of the gunne would then suggest itself. If it were an ‘orange’ that would imply a size of near six feet long on the basis of the cannones he’d seen.

  Fortunately there were six bell foundries in Ghent.

  Finding a testing place proved troublesome until he hit on the idea of taking an island in the miles-wide Scheldt estuary. This was directly connected to Ghent by the Leie River, which allowed merchant shipping to enter the city itself and what better highway to move the gunnes?

  Low-lying, marshy and uninhabited it didn’t even have a name. It was perfect for the job and Jared set up a workshop and began, leaving Daw in the city with Rosamunde handling correspondence.

  With Farnese’s requiremen
ts listed down he was able to give the Stoverij bell foundry a workmanlike parchment of a device and the bell-metal ratio of copper to tin more for strength in place of musical tone.

  It was a curious order for the foundry but the promise of further work ensured discretion and speed.

  Working up sufficient quantities of gunne-powder was next. He had the charcoal and knew now where the best sulphur was to be had but saltpetre?

  Rosamunde’s business network gave the answer: there was a small but reliable trade in preservative saltpetre already in existence deriving from the rich deposits along the Syrian camel caravan routes. It would need building up, and when the material arrived a further purification and refining would be required. But now at last he had a secure source.

  CHAPTER 88

  ‘Daw. It’s time you were blooded. Our island is ready – you shall hear the gunnes speak!’

  It was gratifying to see his son overcome his fears to revel in the fearsome thunder of the beasts as he saw with his own eyes what his father was achieving.

  Jared’s cast design was performing well with a hen’s egg ‘pea’ and a fivefoot length. The further scaling up could wait – he had a saleable device and needed to attend to the revenue.

  But if no other city had gunnes why should Ghent be singled out? And what were they anyway?

  Only a field demonstration began to change minds among the worthies of the council. The crash of three gunnes firing together, the sulphurous smoke and the demolishing of a ruined hut concentrated minds. Jared knew that the independence of their city from the French forces of Robert of Artois had been bought at great cost in lives only several years previously and with the fear that they could return at any time, what better than to provide an unpleasant and unexpected welcome?

  It resulted in an order for gunnes for the city walls – but the miserly burghers stopped at four, claiming that they wanted to see them in action in battle before any more were considered. No amount of arguing could get them to see that if the French attacked just four were not going to save them.