It was a small but clean room next to the kitchen and out of the way. With its dresser and jug of water, a room better by far than he’d stayed in since Tabriz, he acknowledged with a twinge. He ate with the servants who seemed satisfied that he was some sort of distant relation and told him with relish just what he’d landed into.
The lady Rosamunde came from a good family and had married the fast-rising merchant Barnwell after he had made venture into wool and from there the cloth industry. She was quick and intelligent and rapidly made herself indispensable in his affairs.
When he’d been suddenly carried away of a fever three years ago she’d refused to be put aside, and as his widow, had grasped the reins as femme sole, in her own right. She had succeeded well, taking her cloth interests to the Continent, trading with the Hansa ports in English dunster broadcloth for Dutch and German linen and was now a respected and moneyed Coventry merchant.
No, she’d shown no interest in remarrying, even if in her position she could command attention from knights and aldermen both. And no, she had no issue and lived essentially alone in this mansion, running a tight and no-nonsense household.
How long could he expect to …?
A brisk pace in finding a situation would, it seemed, be advisable.
He lost no time in setting out the next day for the Guildhall where he found the name and place of business of the Prime Warden of the Worshipful Company of Blacksmiths. This was not far and soon he was making himself known.
‘Hurnwych Green? Never heard of it,’ the corpulent official said over his ale, bought for him by Jared. ‘Not as if it’ll get you anywhere.’
He drained his pot and held it out significantly.
‘All I want is a start, a pitch with a forge and—’
‘Can’t be done. We’re a close crew here in Coventry, don’t hold with outsiders rushing in and taking our bread. And how do we know you’re even proper apprenticed? We’d be sad loons to let a shyster set up under our name!’
Jared burnt but this was not the time to argue. Guilds controlled the right to trade in a city, their word alone allowing a tradesman to set out his wares. In a way it was reasonable, for bad workmanship would bring the reputation of the whole city into question, and more importantly, direct jurisdiction ensured that none would dare undercut the going working rate for all.
‘Then how do I get started?’ he asked bitterly.
He’d noticed that the smithies were all set back from the market proper, feeding their products directly into the mass of shops and stalls. Here there’d be for a certainty a cosy arrangement in place that he could never get around without the right connections.
‘Well now, and this is your problem. We can see you as a forge-hand straight off, even a journeyman if the company agrees on it, but setting up on your own, well, needs you to be a master blacksmith with a masterpiece accepted by us and such. Can’t see that happening quick, can you?’
He knew what was going on and seethed. A fat bribe would devour his start-up money and leave him worse off than before.
Jared sat in dejection in his room, only a guttering rush light for company.
Start from the bottom and see it through? He was not young and most his age had settled down well before and this would take years. Yet he had to do something.
Not even a jobbing blacksmith was going to be possible – what else was?
His thoughts were interrupted by a page. ‘Mistress wants to see you,’ he piped.
Rosamunde was in her chair in the upper room and smiled to see him enter. ‘May I know how the day went for you, Master Jared?’
He pulled himself together. ‘Today, not so well m’ lady,’ he said off-handedly.
‘Oh? I’m grieved to hear it.’
‘The guilds. They won’t have an outsider lay out for a smithy.’
‘I feared as much.’
‘That swag-bellied tosspot of a warden, he knew the others wouldn’t take me on without they have his say,’ he added bitterly.
She said nothing so he ended baldly, ‘I’ll not be able to set up a forge as I wanted, so must think again about coming to town.’
‘You’re a bright sort of man, I should think you’ll soon find a way to better yourself here in Coventry. Meanwhile, do feel able to remain in your lodgings as you need to.’
‘I thank you, m’ lady,’ he said sincerely.
‘And as we’re kin of a sort, Rosamunde would be pleasing to me.’
Her widening smile added a soft beauty to her appearance that startled him.
‘As you desire, um, Rosamunde.’
‘If you are at liberty tonight, I would take it kindly should you sup with me, Jared.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘I’d like to know more of you, your travels and adventures. And to be truthful, it would be pleasant to have company that isn’t concerned with trade and books of account.’
He came at the appointed hour to see the table set for two.
She entered at the same time, her wimple removed, her auburn hair fetchingly plaited and doubled over her ears.
‘Wine? I think you’d like this Rhenish, new landed.’ It was a pale wine, quite unlike the previous and no less appealing.
She put the jug down and looked at him with a clear interest. ‘Now do tell me. To be a slave of the Moors, what must you have suffered?’
Under the influence of the wine and her insistence he opened up. Instead of the bare facts of before he went into details he knew would intrigue – the foods, exotic clothing, veiled faces, singular religious rituals.
As the dishes were brought he told of the hard desert landscapes, walled cities, the ruthless efficiency and merciless behaviour in battle of the Mongols. He spoke too of the beauty and remoteness of Tabriz; rose-petal salve after bathing, a pomegranate sherbet in the heat of the day, the savour of roast goat and herbs, but tactfully leaving out any mention of Kadrİye.
She was entranced, listening dreamily as with more wine he grew bolder, weaving a spell of the oriental world that she would never know.
The dishes were cleared away but Rosamunde showed no signs of wanting him to leave. Instead she said, ‘You’ve been to lands far beyond those seen by the common pilgrim and now you’ve come back to England. Are you not unsettled, restless with your lot? Mayhap this is what drove you out of Hurnwych.’
He smiled sadly. ‘It did, I do confess it.’
‘And I think there’s more to it than that,’ she said shrewdly, eyeing him. ‘There’s something that’s inside you, driving you on. I can tell, I know much of men from my daily affairs.’
It stopped him short. She would not have achieved so as a merchant without a very astute and perceptive mastery of human nature. She must have seen something of what his vision had done to his soul, the wrenching abandoning of it and—
‘Rosamunde – how would you feel if you knew you were the only one with a secret, a wonderful and scaresome secret that could shake the world but you can’t do anything with it?’
She looked at him steadily. ‘If you have such a one, you have only two choices. You live with it inside you for ever or … you share it with someone who may be able to understand.’
To share the vision! To share the burden of knowing, of helplessness.
Jared regarded her for a long moment then decided. ‘I will tell you. While with the Mongols on a siege I witnessed such a sight, such a miracle …’
It all came out. Everything – the demoniac flash and thunder that brought down the gates and ruin and slaughter to the city. The extraction from Wang of the secret and its burning on his memory. His deliverance into freedom and return to Hurnwych, then his futile attempts to bring it into existence here in England.
‘If I can make this huo yao, then with it I can tear down every castle wall in the kingdom! All those vain and arrogant lords and ladies will then be made to live among the people they would rule!’
At first he quailed, realising too late that she herself was a proud lady, but then in time remembered that as a merchant whose success was of her own making she might very well sympathise.
‘This huo yao, is …?’
‘The Cathayan name for it.’ He thought for a moment, then recalled the trial and the inquisitor’s term for the powder. It would serve for now. ‘You may call it devil’s dust.’
‘Then with your devil’s dust you will achieve this?’ This was no mocking, only a serious enquiry.
‘Its force is terrible and unlimited and nothing may stand against it. If indeed I could bring it to life then it will be so, but …’
She shook her head slowly in wonder. ‘If any other told me a tale as yours I would make scorn of them, but you have no reason to gull me and I must accept what you say.’
‘You don’t despise my quest?’
‘No, Jared, I do not. It does you honour, but if you were successful I believe it would have a wider purpose.’
‘But I’m not!’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’ve tried everything and—’
‘There may be something. Some years ago our family lawyer died and left his library to my husband. As I must, I read all his volumes to discover anything of value to commerce, and I do well remember one small book with a note in it that this very work frightened no less than the great and worthy Friar Roger Bacon. I was interested and studied it, a curious work brought back from your part of the world, but in the end to me it seemed a fraud, full of superstition. But there was a section on fire that gives a recipe for a thunder weapon. Do you think—?’
‘Do you still have it?’
‘Yes, I’m sure of it.’
‘Please … can I see it – now?’
His intensity took her aback but she agreed and left. In a short while she returned with a small and frayed book.
‘Here.’
Jared took it and devoured it with his eyes, but he could make out nothing of its small, dense script. Thanks to his father he was familiar with the English of accounts and orders but this was like nothing he’d come across before.
‘It’s in Latin,’ she prompted. ‘Shall I read it to you?’
He handed it back defensively.
‘It’s by a Marcus Graecus – Mark the Greek, who I’ve never heard of. A collection of recipes concerning fire,’ she murmured, flicking over the pages. ‘Some are difficult to construe, I don’t know the Moorish names. Others are … well, nonsense, ridiculous. Do you want me to go on?’
‘You said thunder weapons?’
‘I’m trying to remember. They were … ah, here we are. It’s mixed up with the recipe for flying fire. It says, “Take a pound of living sulphur, two pounds of willow charcoal and six pounds of saltpetre. Grind very finely then mix together. For making thunder, place in a stout case bound with iron wire, for the force thereof is very great.”’
The world stood still. In his bones he knew this was the huo yao he’d been unable to create – except for one thing.
‘This salt peter. Does it say anything about—’
‘Yes, salis petrosi it certainly says. Common saltpetre.’
‘C-common?’
‘Of course! We use it in cooking to preserve meats for the winter, but then you’re not to know this, being a man,’ she teased.
‘Have you – could we find some?’ he stammered.
‘Really? Cook has gone home by now, but I’ll see if there is any in her larder.’
She returned with a small handful of something wrapped in a cloth. ‘This is our saltpetre.’
He opened it up on the table and stared at it.
Crystals, white but flecked.
He dipped a wet finger in, and almost afraid to hope, tasted it.
The quite unmistakeable sweet tingle of hsiao!
His thoughts roared. The three ingredients the same, it had to be the formulary for devil’s dust but the proportions were wildly different to what he’d been painfully working through. The hsiao – that is to say the saltpetre – six times that of sulphur? He’d started by equal measures for all, but this was far more skewed, and if it was the real thing it could well explain his failure!
He sat down suddenly. Wang had demonstrated the huo yao before his eyes, knowing that the highest secret was in the proportions, which he’d gone on to cleverly conceal.
Raising his eyes he saw her looking at him in concern. He gave a twisted smile and said with feeling, ‘I can’t rest until I’ve tried this. If it’s true, then …’
‘Then we’d better see if it is,’ she said flatly. ‘There’s no use dreaming until you have something in your hands.’
‘We?’ he asked softly.
‘You’re going to need somewhere to work and another place to try it out. Now let me see … yes. I have a storeroom, which I could get cleared and then let it be known that you’re experimenting with a new dyeing method, which is not to be revealed to my rivals. This has happened before, it will be accepted. You may work there in peace. The other – where to try it out – is more of a question.’
She thought deeply, then smiled. ‘Yes – perfect. Not so far from here the road leaves the river because it comes over a high precipice in a waterfall and it must go around. The waterfall is at the end of a small ravine that no one visits because it ends at the cliff itself. Should your thunder work, then the sound will be well enclosed and people will think it a distant cloudburst.’
‘Rosamunde – why are you doing this?’
‘Because … I think you are a man who deserves something from me … for my husband’s sake. And besides, I believe you in what you say and if you succeed, I wish it that I was the one who made the way smooth for you.’