Chapter 14: Fire and Stone, Plots and Pain
The sun beat down on the half-finished fortress at Montgisard, its stone walls rising swiftly under the rhythmic creak of pulleys. Ethan, as King Baldwin IV, stood on a wooden platform overlooking the site, his silver mask glinting in the midday light. His leprosy-ravaged body trembled, a recent fever spike burning through the willow bark tea's relief, and the neem-turmeric-aloe paste struggled to contain a new outbreak of lesions on his legs. Brother Gerard had warned of overexertion, but Ethan pushed on, driven by Baldwin's duty and his own determination. The fortress was a symbol of his vision—a stronger Jerusalem, fortified against Saladin's return.
Anselm, the master of the royal works, approached, his face flushed with pride. "Sire, the pulley system has halved construction time. The Montgisard fortress will be complete in weeks, and Gaza's walls are rising. The trebuchet is ready for its first full-scale test."
Ethan nodded, his bandaged hands gripping a staff for support. The counterweight trebuchet, inspired by his modern knowledge, stood in the courtyard—a towering frame of timber and iron, its long arm poised to hurl a stone the size of a barrel. Below, nobles, knights, and a reluctant contingent of barons gathered, their murmurs a mix of curiosity and skepticism. Balian of Ibelin stood by Ethan's side, his loyalty unwavering, while Sibylla, Raymond, and Joscelin watched from a distance, their expressions unreadable.
"Begin," Ethan commanded, his voice raspy but firm.
Anselm signaled, and workers released the counterweight. The trebuchet's arm swung upward, the sling snapping forward with a crack. A stone soared, arcing over the valley to crash into a wooden target two hundred paces away, splintering it into fragments. The crowd gasped, knights cheering, but Joscelin's scowl deepened, and Raymond's eyes narrowed. Ethan felt a surge of triumph—his modern ingenuity, cloaked as divine inspiration, was reshaping the kingdom.
Back in Jerusalem, Ethan convened a smaller council in his chambers to discuss expanding his reforms. The irrigation channels now watered fields in Jaffa and Acre, and waterwheels turned in both cities, boosting grain production. The militia training had grown to five hundred men across the kingdom, with drills spreading to rural towns. But a scout's report chilled him: Saladin's forces had raided a village near Gaza, testing the new defenses. The militia had repelled them, but the attack signaled Saladin's regrouping, a shadow over Ethan's progress.
His thoughts turned to a new technology, sparked by a half-remembered podcast about the Korean hwacha—a cart-mounted launcher firing volleys of gunpowder arrows. Gunpowder was unknown in 12th-century Europe, but Ethan recalled that saltpeter, sulfur, and charcoal could be combined with effort. Saltpeter might be sourced from dung heaps, sulfur from volcanic regions, and charcoal was plentiful. A simplified hwacha—perhaps a cart with tubes launching fire arrows ignited by oil-soaked rags—could be feasible with Jerusalem's resources. It would terrify enemies, offering a psychological edge in battle.
"Anselm," Ethan said, sketching a rough design of a cart with bamboo or metal tubes. "Can we craft tubes to hold fire arrows, launched by a spark or flame? Mounted on a cart, they could strike from a distance, like a volley of archers."
Anselm frowned, studying the sketch. "Sire, we have no such weapon, but metal tubes could be forged, and oil-soaked arrows might work. It would take time—smiths are stretched with the trebuchets."