The Powder of Death

by Julian Stockwin

  By the craggy Cornwall coast Jared was performing the ornate Roman bow as a work of art, the removing of his hat and the odd, almost mincing gait of a noble court.

  He was stumbling over common phrases in Italian as Ushant appeared out of the rain squalls and as they passed the wine ports of France some of the traps and snares of polite discourse were revealed; by Lisbon he was ready for the larger picture.

  Italy, he learnt, was far from being a country under one king and nobles owing fealty, with laws that all must obey and a single language. Left with the Pope in Rome without an army and a Holy Roman Emperor with a large one but far away over the Alps in Germany, the people had learnt to rule and defend themselves in the form of walled-town communes.

  Each independent and proud, there was a constant rivalry between them, often erupting into open warfare without any strong central power at hand to mediate.

  There were the magnificent city-states in the north – Florence, Mantua, Milan, Pisa, but only a backward relic of the Vikings and Moors in the south. Rome stood alone but was powerless beside the vanity and puissance of princes, save for churchly influence and increasingly scorned threats of excommunication.

  And these with their traditions of individualism were a ferment of creative enterprise and cruel arrogance, swelling with wealth from the trade that came from Italy’s central position between east and west.

  They had changed, too. From town communes that ruled themselves through public-elected councils they’d been usurped by single rich and powerful families seizing the reins of power and living as princes. The burning desire of their head, the signore, for show and display of their wealth had provided colour and splendour but all lived in a deadly tangle of intrigue and rivalry.

  ‘It is my judgement that we will get the fairest hearing at the court of Guido Malatesta, Conte d’Arezzo,’ Sforza announced as they dined on sole with basil and pine nuts in the warm Mediterranean evening after an afternoon exploring the touchier aspects of honour as it concerned the family.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Arezzo is Tuscan, prosperous above many others and the signore is ambitious to be a prince. In this he has been humiliated by the larger Perugia, which has lately bested him in a contest at arms and he would give much to be revenged.’

  ‘You know this signore?’

  ‘I have been of use to him in matters pertaining to Venetian loans – he will hear me.’ He pulled his cloak tighter around him in an unconscious gesture.

  ‘The city is aligned to the Ghibelline cause, which is to say it favours the Holy Roman Emperor above that of His Holiness in Rome. Perugia is Guelph – they cleave therefore to the papacy. It will, I believe, be sufficient excuse to keep them at each other’s throats for a considerable while yet.’

  Despite the warm night Jared felt a chill of foreboding – but then did not his venture require such a state of affairs?

  CHAPTER 58

  Genoa, Italy

  Set against a buttress of mountain ranges this was a fine place to set foot in Italy.

  While Sforza attended to matters with his broker and deputy, Jared strolled about the ancient city, marvelling at the spacious piazzas set about with great buildings in weathered dusky red, the crowds flooding the open areas in swarms of noise and colour. It was so much more exciting and alive than English market towns with their stolid calm.

  He was taken to a tailor and his sober northern garments were replaced by velvet and brocade, more fitting an Italian merchant. There was no time to lose, however, and their baggage was quickly transferred to a local craft for the voyage south, to Pisa.

  An even more imposing and monumental city, it was the main port of Tuscany and in the River Arno it had a sovereign highway inland to Florence and Arezzo.

  After a cramped boat trip of several days they arrived at their destination. The town was set on a steep hill above the plains of the river.

  They took a carriage through a tall ornamented gateway and progressing up steep streets passed several-storeyed houses of stone, imposing towers with flaring crenellations, markets of striking variety – and on all sides energetic and florid Italians in an exuberant hubbub.

  They were to stay with a merchant acquaintance of Sforza’s, the better to hear the gossip. Jared caught little of what was being said and tried not to be overawed by the urbane sophistication of his surroundings.

  ‘Here we will lodge until we have had audience with the signore. If we are successful be assured I will include in my arrangement your accommodating in some comfort.’

  The acquaintance was not to be troubled with knowledge of what they were about and Jared’s precious gunne and supplies remained locked in a chest.

  In two days Sforza announced with satisfaction, ‘I have gained audience three days hence. If it goes well you should stand ready to display your wares to best advantage.’

  ‘To make demonstration?’

  ‘Just so. Is there anything that you require to …?’

  Jared had done all he could before they left. The gunne was strengthened with iron bands around it and he had considered the question of the ‘pea’ carefully. Clay balls were useless and pebbles of the right dimensions hard to find, but he’d come up with an easier way: making a mould of the ball that would best fit the bore and filling it with molten lead. With this its accuracy was also noticeably better. And he had prepared the constituents of the gunne-powder separately, sealed in jars, and these would be mixed together when the time came.

  CHAPTER 59

  Arezzo, Italy

  ‘You will leave all to me.’ Sforza was uncharacteristically short with him as they waited in an outer room of the Palazzo del Podestà, the palace of the signoria, and home of the tyrant Conte di Arezzo, Guido Malatesta. ‘Any question His Grace raises concerning costs or revenue you will not answer under any circumstances. Do you understand?’

  Jared nodded but was uneasy. Sforza was obviously perturbed. The sight of so many armed men in gaudy costume standing watching them, easily outnumbering the servants, didn’t help. The palace was grand and richly appointed, plainly meant to intimidate.

  ‘Do remember, I beg, all I told you of the dignities and civilities of this court. You are a foreigner but will not be forgiven slights.’

  An official strode through the doors and barked something at Sforza, who stretched his mouth to a smile and bowed.

  ‘Come. We are bid.’

  They followed along a colonnade, across a manicured garden and into much grander surroundings. Then it was down a corridor lined with banners and portraits to a massive door flanked with ceremonial guards.

  ‘This is the signore now,’ Sforza said tightly. ‘Do not forget it.’

  The doors were flung wide and they entered.

  Sforza fell to one knee with head bowed and Jared followed his lead.

  ‘Come forward, Sforza, you villain,’ a lazy voice commanded in Italian. ‘You’ve something for me, I’ve heard.’

  ‘Highness, I most certainly have,’ Sforza replied with an oily confidence, rising and moving forward to stand before the dais, on which in a grossly ornamented chair, sat the most terrifying man Jared had ever seen. An iron jaw, deeply incised lines in his face and with dark eyes filled with menace he radiated lethal power.

  ‘Then who is this you’ve dragged before me?’ Malatesta cast a disinterested glance at Jared, who bowed as low as he could.

  He bit into a pomegranate, tearing the skin and spitting the result to one side.

  ‘Sire, he is the reason I sought audience,’ Sforza said importantly. ‘A gentleman alchemist but recently returned from studies in the land of the Saracens.’

  ‘Oh?’ The gaze was unnerving.

  ‘I met him quite by chance in England, Your Excellency, while he was engaged in the most remarkable and dramatic of experiments.’

  ‘What is that to me, Sforza?’

  ‘As soon as I perceived its nature, I immediately realised that it would have the most lively application
in your service were you to be insulted again by the vile Perugian Guelphs, and I naturally hurried here as quickly as possible and … here we are, sire.’

  Malatesta stopped eating and leant forward, alert and dangerous.

  ‘Tell!’

  ‘Your Highness, Messer Jared is able to conjure heaven’s thunder and lightning at his command. Not only that, but in the same act he may invisibly reach out in the blink of an eye to strike dead any he chooses.’

  ‘You should know better than to bring tales of such dog-vomit to me, Sforza! If you—’

  ‘Sire. With my own eyes I saw his powers and do vouch upon my honour for its truth.’

  The deadly eyes swivelled to Jared again, speculative, rapacious.

  Not understanding a word, Jared gave a weak smile.

  ‘What is it you’re offering, you rogue?’

  ‘My friend here is able to create an apparatus that will allow any man to do likewise. A number of these, operated by your very own soldiers and set in the face of the Perugian mercenaries, will clear the field with terror and death and leave you master of the battlefield.’

  ‘Your words are those of a pedlar, Sforza,’ Malatesta said dismissively. ‘And I won’t have it! You’ll next be asking me for a sack of florins for this foreigner to fritter away on his magic with nothing at all at the end of it, isn’t that so?’

  ‘Sire!’ Sforza said in a shocked tone. ‘I have a reputation that I hold dear. If you so desire, I shall ask Messer Jared if he will be so good as to demonstrate his powers before you, that there can be no doubt.’

  A flicker of surprise was quickly followed by a crisp, ‘Do so.’

  With a studied dignity he turned to Jared and spoke in English. ‘He asks for a demonstration. Look confident and smile as you give words of assent, if you please.’

  Sforza bowed to Malatesta. ‘Messer Jared agrees to your request.’

  ‘Here and now!’

  ‘Oh, sire, that would not be a good idea. The sulphurous exhalations would spoil your priceless tapestries. Can we not …?’

  ‘Tomorrow. At the Villa d’Arezzo. Do not fail me, Sforza, or you will rue it!’

  CHAPTER 60

  The next day they arrived with the chest at the countryside villa.

  ‘All I can say is that if you do not succeed, it will go hard with us,’ Sforza said in a low voice.

  ‘It will,’ Jared answered, a serene confidence from somewhere bearing him on.

  They were welcomed by a double file of halberdiers who flanked them and the servants sent to carry the chest, and marched off towards a spacious courtyard.

  ‘They ask us to prepare the demonstration and the signore will then be summoned.’

  A quick glance around showed a suitable open distance ending in a stone wall.

  The chest was unlocked, curious eyes following every move.

  The gunne was new-painted in smart black, the wood block on which it lay well varnished, an impressive display.

  On a portable table Jared got to work with the mortar and pestle and produced enough gunne-powder for several performances.

  An oil lamp was lit and the tapers laid by. The target they’d cunningly brought along was a flag bearing the griffin of Perugia on red, which was hung on a frame before the wall.

  Finally the gunne was made ready with a modicum of powder and an orb of lead.

  ‘Messer Jared states he is ready to manifest his powers.’

  Malatesta appeared at the doorway and descended the steps to the sunscorched dusty arena. An elaborately carved chair was placed close to the gunne.

  ‘I don’t think it a wise idea to have him so close,’ Jared muttered to Sforza.

  ‘He wants a good view, I believe.’

  It suddenly came to him that Sforza had never been at a trial. ‘You’ve not heard the gunne speak, have you?’

  ‘Well, no.’

  ‘Set him up halfway between the gunne and target, then.’

  Dozens of spectators craned to see the spectacle and faces appeared at the windows of the villa. An expectant hush fell.

  ‘At your command, Your Highness,’ Sforza invited.

  A grim-faced Malatesta acknowledged and raised a hand, then chopped it down.

  Jared lowered the taper – and with a hideous bang the gunne gave tongue and flame, briefly enshrouding him in smoke.

  The effect was all that could be wished for.

  A wave of fright and hysteria gripped the spectators; some, including Sforza, fell to their knees, others ran, still more stood transfixed.

  Sforza picked himself up, mortified, while the acrid smoke drifted down on those who stood their ground. They hesitated until they caught the dry brimstone reek and they too broke and ran.

  The signore still sat but his face was pale and he gripped the armrests with both hands, staring at the smoke-wreathed gunne.

  A sudden cry sounded. Someone had gone to the target and was holding it up; there was an ugly tear, not far from its centre.

  All eyes turned to Malatesta.

  ‘Another!’ he demanded hoarsely.

  Those who remained fell back as Jared readied the gunne.

  The hand fell and the spiteful fury crashed out once again producing another rent in the cloth.

  This time there was such a hubbub with men crowding about to see the magic apparatus that Jared felt it expedient to begin packing it away.

  An irritated bellow came from the signore and the men fell back.

  An official hurried over towards Jared with a message.

  Sforza tensed, swallowing hard. ‘Um, the signore is demanding a final trial. Messer Jared – if we do it we’ll be able to name our own price.’

  His nervousness and inability to meet Jared’s eyes sent a shaft of unease through him.

  ‘I can do it, never fear.’

  ‘He wishes … that is to say, he will be providing his own target this time.’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘Simply to prove the effectiveness of your gunne.’

  ‘Yes. No difficulty. Why do you—’

  ‘The new target will be a condemned criminal, to suffer death by your gunne.’

  ‘No!’ Jared gasped. ‘Never! I just … can’t do it!’ He recoiled, appalled.

  Sforza rounded on him, gripping his tunic savagely with both hands. ‘Listen to me, you fool!’ he grated in a low voice. ‘This is our big opportunity! Not just with this tyrant, but all – they’ll each and every one pant after it when they hear what that gunne can do!’

  ‘B-but it’s not—’

  ‘Imbecile! Then think on this: you walk away now and you’re a dead man. Malatesta dare not let you go while his enemies can seize you for themselves!’

  Jared stood petrified.

  ‘And, dare I say it, what did you conceive your gunne was for, if not this?’

  A group appeared from a small doorway at the opposite side of the courtyard, one man was in chains, shuffling and blinking in the bright sunshine.

  Excited chatter fell away as the man was led to where the remains of the Perugian flag were being taken down.

  He was turned to face the gunne, not understanding, waiting meekly in his fetters.

  All eyes turned on Jared. In that moment he knew that there could be no backing down.

  This was the logical outcome and he should have seen it. Theoretical talk of working to scale a gunne up to a point where it could bloodlessly bring ruin to a castle’s walls must inevitably give way to its immediate application as a war weapon.

  In a wash of desolation he turned back to the gunne.

  He concentrated fiercely, forcing his racing thoughts to focus on what had to be done. Powder and lead. And then line it up on the target, not more than fifty feet away – a living, breathing human.

  ‘Take no mind of that scum,’ Sforza said harshly. ‘A criminal only and we’ve saved the hangman a job.’

  It steadied Jared. Not that the man was a felon but that as an alternative to choking his life away
at the end of a rope for up to fifteen minutes, this would be merciful and swift.

  Or would it? The skewered victims of an archer often suffered in agony for hours. Would a pill of lead be quicker?

  ‘Highness?’ called Sforza.

  The signore looked their way briefly, his expression implacable.

  He raised his hand in a fist, his gaze now fixed on the victim who still stood uncertainly, apprehensive at the many faces turned towards him.

  Malatesta’s fist slashed down and with a trembling hand Jared applied the flame.

  There was a harsh crash of the gunne, smoke writhing, then the man doubled over and fell. Shrieking and threshing on the ground, his bowels torn and bloody, he flopped helplessly about.

  Jared wrenched from the sight and vomited helplessly beside the gunne, missing Malatesta’s cruel smile and slow nodding of satisfaction, the spreading cries of delighted horror, the soldier sent to finish it all.

  The demonstration was over.

  CHAPTER 61

  ‘And I do declare it a famous success,’ Sforza purred, topping up Jared’s wine, which he’d hardly touched. ‘I’m bidden with all urgency to attend on the signore on the morrow with a view to discussing terms. I can tell you, these will not be made easy for him.’

  ‘You’re happy with it all, then,’ Jared muttered, still shaken.

  ‘Why so dolorous? I can see how this will lead to a bright future for the House, can’t you? Provided we take suitable precautions.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘You will want to keep your trade secrets safe. Should others learn of the processes we lose our monopoly and our usefulness.’

  ‘Yes, I see.’

  ‘And therefore any who join with us, work for us, we do not in any circumstances trust. At all times they are under our eye and suspicion. And as well, after today’s events, from this time forward there will be spies, assassins and those with honeyed words all about, which you should guard against the whole while.’

  ‘Anything else you’d recommend?’ Jared asked caustically. ‘Perhaps a daily escort?’