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§ 6

Charles Alard stood with John Douce in his field. Close to them were Jack Pyper and other artificers and craftsmen from the furnace, cleaning out the demy-cannon that had just been fired. Over them hung a cloud and reek of gunpowder and all their eyes were smarting. Conster Forge had just turned out six pieces of ordnance which were to go to Ireland for the wars. Two teams had dragged them up the hill to the field by La Petite Douce where the testing was usually done.

They were fine-looking pieces, florid and important with their scrolled hoops—two demy-cannon, a maske, two culverin and a great basiliske. They were mounted on iron carriages embellished with more scroll work and calculated to withstand the violence of their discharge. Already little knots of people were beginning to collect, straying from the farms: soon all the village would be there, for the sound of the first gun would tell them that ordnance was being tried, and everyone would flock to that.

Charles saw the Harmans arrive, but he was too busy to notice the struggle among them, and as for their whooping it was, he knew, part of the fun. He went up to the demy-cannon that had been fired and looked at it closely. The iron was almost red-hot.