No matter how I rack my poor brain, I cannot think what I’ve done to deserve all these rewards. For all his faults, Bfll Collier really did much more for Arthur and England than have I—he was the true architect of Arthur’s earliest victories, you know, with his deep knowledge of strategy, formation of the Royal Army into manageable units, standardization of ranks arid instruction in the proper use of artillery.
Pete Fairley’s contributions will soon reach to every corner of the kingdom, if not the world. His latest martial innovation is a battery of six thirty-pounder breech-loading rifled cannon. Breech-loading cannon are nothing new here, of course—the port-pieces, sling-pieces and murderer-pieces are common on ships and fortifications, but they are damned near as dangerous to men behind as to the men in front, much of the time. Pete’s cannon are, however, not only much heavier than usual breechloaders, they are safer to fire, lighter in weight than any other gun of their bore, have a greater range than anything anyone here has ever seen, and have unbelievable penetrating power, thanks of course to pointed, cylindrical shells and rifling. Three of them, served by Fair-ley-trained crews, are on three of our ships on Fairley-designed and -installed swivel mounts that allow them to be used as chasers in pursuit or as a most effective addition to the broadside battery in close actions. The King has been amusing himself with the other three guns, firing time-fused, explosive shells over London’s walls into various parts of the city as a terror tactic, and pleased as punch at the extreme range and close accuracy of the new cannon.
As I mentioned in my last letter, Webster too has done tremendous things with his stock-breeding enterprises on one of Hal’s estates. At Hal’s request, Wolf had several aurochs calves shipped in from Bohemia, Slovakia, or Poland—I still cannot get the maps of this world’s Europe straight in my mind—and Buddy is trying to breed so as to combine the size, strength, and vitality of the wild ox with the tractability and milk-producing qualities of the various domestic breeds; furthermore, he seems to be having a fair measure of success, for when I was at the estate with Pete in the spring, Buddy had a pair of gigantic—almost six feet at the withers!—young half-aurochs bulls that trailed him about like hounds and would even have followed him into the hall, if he’d let them.
Now he is talking about domesticating deer, since they can thrive in areas wherein even a goat would starve to death. King James of Scotland seems very interested in Buddy’s experiments and has sent down an observer, Sir Lachlan Mac-Queen, with whom Buddy gets along famously, or so Pete says.
I, on the other hand, have done nothing for this world except kill good men and horses, give the orders that caused the deaths or maimnings or disfigurements of God knows how many more, burn manors and villages, and condone—if not actually performed—rape, torture, murder, and pillage. And I can’t help but feel that I am unjustly enjoying the honors and rewards that should rightly go to men whose deeds are and have been more worthwhile than have been those of the red-handed professional killer I am become.
This letter will come to you by the hand of Sir AH ibn Hossain, a younger-son mercenary type who seems tickled to death to style himself “Herald to His Grace, Sir Sebastian, Duke of Norfolk, Earl of Rutland, Markgraf von Velegrad, Baron of Strathtyne, Knight of the Garter, and Noble Fellow of the Order of the Red Eagle.” I would have sent Nugai, but Sir Ali can perform a mission for me that Nugai cannot: he will knight Geoff Musgrave in my name, and it will be well that those two get to know each other, as I mean to take Sir Ali’s oaths of fealty for Heron Hall and its lands—since poor Squire Heron’s heirs died with him in defense of his hall from King Alexander’s army and those lands are too rich to leave long fallow.
You see, I’m even beginning to think like a feudal lord . . . which is, I suppose, just as well, since Hal has assured me that there exists no possible way for me or any of us to reverse the process, to get back to our own time and world.