Gregory House - The Queen's Oranges

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.

After those tales Ned could understand the recent rants from the friars screaming of the coming destruction. Blood and fire of the Apocalypse! Any city under siege from modern engines of war would witness their own dress rehearsal for St John the Evangelist’s prophetic words. It was no surprise that after the first roar of the Gonnes, most towns surrendered. Casting a more knowledgeable gaze over the iron and bronze instruments, the wonder was that in battle, men didn’t break and run at the first salvo. It must take a special kind of resolve to stand and watch the belching gouts of smoke and flame as they lashed out towards their ranks.

All this was a fascinating insight into the latest arts of war but now they delved further into the arcane craft the black powder. It was then that Ned realised he was being drawn into a very select cadre and it was only the great respect that they held for Rob Black that allowed his presence at this open conversation regarding trade secrets. Despite his lack of experience in these practical matters, he felt that he followed the explanation reasonably well.

From what he gathered, the black powder that provided the motive force was made up of the most irregular components-sulphur, the beloved compound of alchemists, charcoal from burnt timber and the white crystals and residue of manure called saltpetre. When mixed in a certain manner and proportions this created the base black powder. This was then subjected to further processing to create three sorts of powders-Gross corne powder, fine corne powder and serpentine powder. The first was preferred for the large Gonnes due to its manner of conflagration, while the last was used in the smaller hand held harquebus and caliver which were now in common use by soldiers across the channel.

Hubrecht laboured the fact that although it was possible to use the finest powder in the Great Gonnes, the results could be catastrophic if the proportional weights were incorrect. Common practice had it that the charge of powder was half that of the total weight of the shot. However that, as Ned was told, also depended on the quality of the powder and the grain size, since two pounds of coarser grain could equal four or six pounds of the finer powder in force.

But even after this judicious balancing there were more difficulties. The manner of storage and age could dramatically affect the powder’s performance. It had a tendency to spoil due to damp. Henryk reckoned the best way to check was to put your hand in the barrel and test how dry it felt. If it failed that test then it was put aside for reprocessing. It was this part of the explanation that Ned gained his most useful insight into the breadth of Sir Welkin’s changes. Until the last month the two Doutch Gonne artificers had supervised the sorting and storage of the powder. That area of responsibility had been given to two servants of the new Master of the Ordinance-John Edwards and Clem Watkins. As Ned knew, the granting of appointments was within the expected perks of the position. The question was, what would Sir Welkin, even as greedy as he appeared, gain from putting on two more men? His remuneration couldn’t have been much of a return on the inconvenience. Often it was considered appropriate to accept a modest gift from the current staff to maintain their positions.

This lesson in the mechanics of war was overwhelming and if anyone asked Ned, he would have freely admitted he was adrift in the flurry of arcane terms and technology of this warlike profession. However he had a niggling feeling that while it was all relevant to the disappearance of Ben Robinson, somewhere this confusion was hiding a vital clue. Well for a start he had to review the fields of battle that he understood.

Firstly there was the royal official Sir Welkin Blackford. From his attire he was a man who made an effort to dress above his title. As evidence the rings on his fingers were of the best quality. Ned had noted a particularly nice sized ruby that flashed in the light of the office as Sir Welkin had fluttered nervously. At a shrewd estimation, the gems and gold on each hand must have been worth a few hundred angels, so where was the value of the office? It wasn’t possible for Sir Welkin to rely on the demi cannon casting rorts to pay for his every day expenses. There had to be something else more regular.

Then one linking factor struck him and he asked the Doutch artificers a very simple question. “What does it cost for a barrel of powder?”

That produced a fierce discussion with much waving of arms. Whether those gestures defined sizes, measures or what, Ned was unsure but the brothers finally came to an agreement. As before, Rob Black was delegated as spokesman. His friend looking both shocked and surprised as he turned to deliver their deliberation. “Ahh Ned, I’m a bit unclear they…we had to try and translate their usual weights and prices into our equivalents, but they think a barrel of about a hundredweight, based on the price at Ghent last month, is worth eighty English pounds.”