‘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.
What was needed was a clash at arms where before all the world gunnes would save the day – but how could they, in such small numbers that were being placed?
Over the months Jared heard the same story from other halls. Disbelief, reluctance to commit, cautious orders.
At the first anniversary of the guild there was much promise but little pay-off reported and at the round-table meeting it was conceded that there had to be one particular big step forward before gunnes could take their rightful place in war.
Unless the clumsy gunnes could be brought to where they were needed quickly they could never play a crucial part. And in the event that a retreat was ordered, the pieces had to be specifically defended or abandoned to the enemy. There was no easy answer and Jared wrestled with the problem.
Rosamunde was not dismayed and stood by Jared, keeping the Barnwell main commercial interests safe.
Jared’s mind kept straying back to the same alluring prize: if a true wall-smasher finally made the light of day, warfare would be changed for ever.
As he travelled about on the business of the guild the thought stayed with him. It was not out of reach – he could see the path forward but it was going to be a long and expensive journey.
The snows of winter had only recently retreated when a visitor called.
The man introduced himself with a sweeping bow. ‘Peter van Vullaere of Bruges. Do I find myself addressing the Grand Master, perchance?’
A jovial, confident fellow but with an air of shrewd worldliness, he was dressed in a considerably superior manner to most of the members of the guild.
‘You do. Jared Barnwell of Coventry.’
‘Then I dare to say we have business together. I’ve a friend in Bruges, thought I’d be interested in a curiosity. A gunne – a devilish contrivance that attracted me greatly. I’ve a mind to go further with it.’
‘Indeed. Yet I observe that this gunne has a fatal flaw – it is too heavy and lumpish for its purpose. Master Jared, I have an idea that’s set fair to answer this, but I’ve not the mechanicals to make it. Mijnheer Streuvel urges me to seek your guidance. Do you …?’
Instantly alert, Jared answered evenly, ‘I’m sure we can assist. Tell me, this idea of yours to—’
‘Yes, well, shall we to details? You have the craft, I have the idea. How do you think we might proceed?’
‘The Worshipful Company of St Barbara desires nothing greater than that the gunne does take its just position as king of the battlefield. You have our every aid and encouragement … but I’m thinking it were better from within the fellowship of our guild.’
Jared detailed the advantages: mutual exchange of wisdom and ideas to accelerate development, collective support and above all the preservation of the mysteries to maintain quality and pricing.
He had van Vullaere’s undivided attention.
‘Should you desire to enter upon the guild then there’s commercial advantage aplenty.’ He went on to detail the value of the guild in providing gunne foundry services, the hire of ready-trained gunners and, if needed, an extra supply of gunne-powder.
There was a definite quickening of interest but Jared judged it better not to show too eager and left it to Rosamunde to lay out the details.
She came back well satisfied. Peter was known to her through reputation, a well-respected wine merchant who quite saw the merit of standing together to develop the market. He was willing to abide by the precepts and statutes of the guild and stood ready to be initiated. What was more, he had an immediate compelling prospect that in due course he would divulge.
Peter’s idea turned out to be simple enough but had impressive possibilities.
It seemed the armies of the Low Countries used a fiendish device to make up for their lack of numbers. It consisted of a wide platform with wheels to the side and with an upright shield in the front with ports for archers.
Its employment was for one cruel purpose. Fixed immovably along the broad front of the vehicle was every kind of blade, from spear to halberd, pike to spontoon, protruding in a lethal hedge of steel. At the rear of the device was a trailing pole, and in the shelter of the shield soldiers would lift and launch the vehicle forward and ram it bodily at speed into the crowded ranks of the enemy, skewering a dozen or more at a time, before drawing it back for another mass killing.
Peter’s plan was to mount a gunne behind the shield where it would be protected but more to the point, the wheeled platform would give full and instant mobility for rapid deploying.
‘Brother, your idea is masterly!’ Jared told him. ‘I’ve a mind to assist you myself. What’s the name of this engine at all?’
‘Name? Oh, most soldiers would call it a ribaudequin.’
One was acquired and in the privacy of the island workshop Jared inspected it carefully. There was no doubt that it could be done – the gunne block would be made fast to the platform and the gunners need not fear arrow or bolt while they plied their weapon when wheeled close to the foe.
Yet there was a disadvantage. A single gunne with its slow rate of fire was not going to terrify the enemy indefinitely. What was needed were several that could be deployed alternately, keeping up a dismayingly unpredictable succession of firings.
More gunnes? This would make for a heavy, unwieldy apparatus taking away its chief advantage.
‘Make ’em smaller?’ Peter suggested doubtfully.
It was one way, and would have the advantage of increasing the firepower and therefore terror value. What if it were taken to extremes, say a gunne with a ‘pea’ the size of a grape or less? It would be much smaller, lighter and more could be mounted. This was a battlefield weapon!
The design of the gunne suggested itself: one not a long way from his first attempts, but taking advantage of bronze casting. From one mould would be made dozens of identical weapons, pointing to a mounting of anything up to four or six on one ribaudequin. Several of these would make for almost a continual fire and it would be a fearless opponent who could withstand this for hours – and the mercenary armies he’d seen were far from this.