To Ned that sounded up to Sir Welkin’s expected standard-strip the office of experienced men and sell off the positions. He thanked the blessed saints that right at this moment the kingdom was not actually at hard war, for it appeared that only a handful of men were left to service the needs of defence. “Where can we find them?”
“They’ll be down in the sheds by Flint Tower.” Rob pointed towards the northern set of walls and buildings. Ned gave an appraising glance to the sky. Well they had an hour left before the long twilight of summer, and so it should be safe enough for another tramp across the city before full dark closed in.
Ned was very thankful Rob was with him. Otherwise it could have been hours before he found their quarry in the maze of buildings and equipment. When the men in question were discovered, they were working on the massive wheel of a great bronze gun over twenty foot in length. Ned had learned a little of his friend’s trade over the past few months so he at least recognised the monster gun as being one of the King’s ‘Twelve Apostles’, as his most fearsome engines were christened when His Majesty used them during the campaigns in France some dozen years ago.
As Ned drew closer, the brothers left off their work to turn and stare in curiosity at their visitors. When they stood up both men displayed an impressive breadth and girth. Put a furry skin on them and they would more than serve as bears for the pit baiting. Ned would readily place a purse of coin on those huge hands. Snapping the necks of mastiffs would be an easy accomplishment in comparison after grappling with the heavy timber and iron of a Gonne. In the shafts of late afternoon light the two Gonne artificers were black-grimed and scarred from their trade. A superstitious man would have instantly crossed himself at their uncanny resemblance to some lesser demons in service to the great bronze and iron monsters behind them.
Despite their foreboding appearance Rob Black’s greeting was met with kind and welcoming humour. Though their speech was slurred by a heavy accent, Ned had little trouble understanding and it gave him a boost in pride for his companion. These two experts in the latest mechanical arts appeared to treat Rob as a valued equal. All too commonly he had witnessed older masters of craft beat or abuse their apprentices and journeymen, seeing them as little better than dumb slaves and fools of little value or worth. For all its assumed dignity and learning, the Inns of Court had been the same with cuffs and cursing more common than praise. Occasionally he contemplated whether the roots of ill treatment lay in the fears created by the prospect of younger up and coming rivals.
After the welcoming banter Ned got down to the matter of his visit. He referred his questions to the older brother, Hubrecht, who boasted a forked beard of grey and brown bristles in the manner of the German merchants. He confirmed the timing of Ben Robinson’s disappearance and added that Master Robinson was most unimpressed by the change in leadership. According to Hubrecht he talked frequently of errors and mistakes, asking for their assistance to fix some of the more urgent problems. Since Benjamin Robinson was the senior remaining official under the new regime, just about everyone in the Tower complex came and complained to him about the practices of Sir Welkin. Ned acquired a new appreciation of the many and various ways the new Master of the King’s Ordinances had managed to offend everyone. There was a common saying that in the King’s service you could commit one or two of three sins without being dismissed: Greed, Stupidity and Arrogance. Sir Welkin proved to be the exception-he had committed all three in abundance and only royal grace or the highest favour shielded such imbeciles from the fruits of their actions.
Ned then, heard that Ben Robinson had tried immediately prior to his disappearance, to get the ear of the Governor of the Tower. Both brothers confirmed empathically that the missing clerk was very upset about something he had found, but whatever the problem had kept it close. Hubrecht then recounted the tenor of their last meeting. “JahMiester Robinson said Sir Blackfood was a dolt and an Arsknodle.”
Ned tried to translate that last bit. Mostly the Doutch version of English made reasonable sense but now this term left him confused. Apparently though neither Henryk or Rob were similarly confused and both men doubled up with laughter. In due course a clumsy translation occurred with much grunting and miming gestures that left little to the imagination and had Ned wryly amused. Evidently it was a Doutch term of derision and referred to the dung remnants left clinging to a fellow’s arse fur after the act of ablution. He felt that it was a very apt description of Sir Welkin.
Ned pricked up his ears at the rest of the recalled conversation. “Miester Robinson then said that the list of HoudsleowHedth was wrong and must be dealt with by the Governor forthwith, then he bid us farewell.”
Ned tried to figure that one out but failed. The accent was just too broad and so he asked Rob Black for another translation. All three artificers went into a huddle and a few expansive gestures later an English version via Rob emerged. “I think he means Hounslow Heath along the Great West road.”
Ned scratched his head perplexed at the answer. “What would be out in that God forsaken patch that could interest Master Robinson?”
Rob shrugged but Henryk the younger of the Doutch Gonner’s frowned and waved his hand in a westerly direction giving a slightly less Doutch accented answer. “Ja.Houdsleow, where the Knollenpulverist made”
“What is that?” Ned tried his brain for a translation but only managed to come up with dumpling or bread powder and that really didn’t sound correct.
The brothers pointed to the Great Gonne behind them and made distinctive throwing gestures and booming noises.
“Ahh I understand, powder for the Gonnes and demi cannons!” The light of comprehension sparked behind Ned’s eyes and smiling he lent against the side of the bronze monster. He knew where he was going to be till late twilight. “Please, tell me all about it.”
This certainly widened Ned’s knowledge. The more he heard regarding the great bronze beast that the three of them patted affectionately, the more awestruck and fascinated he became. These modern devices, the basilisks, demi cannons and culverins were the King’s means to smite and lay waste his foes. If, however, they were his arms, then the blood and sinews that powered these weapons was the vital black powder, the success of the alchemists craft, the ‘Fued’Artifice’ or “made fire’. It was the ability to balance the conflicting art, craft, alchemy, and perhaps magic that made these two men so valuable to the King’s service. For when carefully measured and weighed, these charges, if used with skill, would propel missiles that could destroy the greatest walls or alter the fate of nations in battle. Without this blend of skill and the harnessed wrath of the black powder, these great weapons of destruction were just mute, impotent lumps of bronze and iron.
As an example of their impact on the turn of Lady Fortuna’s wheel, Henryk recounted one famous incident, at the battle of Ravenna over twenty years ago between the Spaniards and the Lombard League. A single shot from a culverin ploughed into the Spanish line killing thirty men and wounding many more. The horror and shock of the missile’s devastation caused the Spanish companies of horse to precipitously charge in desperation, losing the battle. Ned could understand why the common soldiers feared and venerated their Gonnes. It was like have a savage demon on a loose tether. If the other side had one so must you. Possession was essential no matter the risks or expense.
The older of the two brothers recounted a story regarding the perils involved in the Gonne’s use. King James II of Scotland was besieging the English held castle of Roxburgh when the barrel of his great siege Gonne exploded, killing him. Ned had looked doubtfully at the culverin he was leaning on until Henryk assured him that the incident had happened years ago and cannon rarely exploded like that now. That had set Ned’s fears at ease. Then Hubrecht gave a low chuckle and added that bronze was still preferred over iron since it tended to bulge before exploding, but…the Doutch Gonner had concluded his reasoning with a sort of shrug and wave of hands in the universal gesture of the uncertainty of Lady Fortuna’s favour and Ned’s reassurance evaporated.