“So anything I come up with in the way of armor is fair?”
“Anything at all. But I hope you don’t plan something stupidly heavy. Anything that slows you down will earn you a blade in the eye slit.”
“What I’m going to build is going to be as light as chain mail.”
The blacksmith I’d hired was good enough to handle general repair work, but I needed a real master. The best man I knew was Count Lambert’s blacksmith, Ilya. The man was rude, crude, and obstreperous, but he had the skill.
I left for Okoitz within the hour.
Ilya was willing, indeed eager to come to Three Walls. It seems that he wasn’t getting along well with the wife Count Lambert saddled him with.
“You understand that this is only temporary,” I said. “I won’t be a part of permanently separating a man from his family.”
“You don’t have four kids screaming in the room when you’re trying to relax. Somebody else’s kids at that.”
“If you didn’t want the woman and her children, you shouldn’t have married her.”
“Count Lambert wanted me to. You go argue with him if you want to.”
“It’s not my problem.”
Count Lambert was willing to lend me Ilya providing I found a replacement. The harvest season was in full swing and it was vital to have someone who could repair broken tools.
I loaded Ilya behind me on Anna’s rump, and we made it to Cieszyn before dark. I gave Ilya a sack of money and told him to hire four assistants, plus one more man for Count Lambert.
He was to buy his weight in iron bars and whatever tools he might need, and bring them to Three Walls in two days, along with a ton of charcoal.
I introduced him to the innkeeper and to the Krakowski brothers, and told them to give him every possible assistance.
Then I was back at Three Walls in the early dawn for more fighting practice. After that I limped back to my hut and started cutting out little pieces of parchment.
It took the girls and me three days to get it right, but we made a full suit of articulated plate armor, the kind you’ve seen in museums. We made it out of parchment, with buttons sewn on where the rivets had to go.
By the time Ilya had his forge set up, we had a complete set of patterns for him to work from. He thought it Was crazy, but he thought everything I did was crazy. I let him bitch, just so long as my armor got built.
When you think about it, a blade is an energy-concentrating device. A sword takes all the force in your arm and concentrates it on the tiny area of the sharp edge. That’s why a sharp blade cuts better. It has a smaller area.
And a sword not only concentrates energy in space, it also concentrates it in time. It might take a few seconds to swing a sword, but the whole energy of the swing is delivered in milliseconds at impact, multiplying the instantaneous force by a factor of hundreds. This is why it’s easier to down a tree by swinging the axe, rather than just by pushing it at the tree.
Armor is an energy-distributing device. The padding under the steel compresses, delivering the energy of the blow over a longer period of time. The thicker the padding, the longer the time, the lower the force felt by the wearer.
And armor distributes the energy of a blow in space. If the blade can’t cut the steel, it must push it forward. The bigger the plate of armor, the wider the area, the lower the force felt by the wearer. With chain mail, the area under each link is small and while it’s a big improvement over bare skin, it can’t compare with a solid metal plate.
Of course, there are practical limitations on how thick the padding can be and how big you can make the plates. You have to be able to move in the stuff.
But what I was going to wear would be two hundred years more advanced than what my opponent would have, and that just might make the difference. In combat, high technology means higher than your opponent’s.
And while all the practice and armor-making was going on, work continued at Three Walls. In addition to the wall-apartment house, the church, the inn, the barn, the icehouse, the smokehouse (which was to double as a sauna), and the factory, we now needed a coke oven and a blast furnace.
The blast furnace would have to wait a bit, but I had to know if our coal could be turned into coke. Not all types of coal can be made into coke in an old-style beehive oven. Building a modern coke oven was well beyond our capabilities.
The boys’ cave had to be enlarged and the iron ore extracted using bronze picks and shovels that I was having made up.
And we still hadn’t struck coal yet. The masons finally got sufficiently frustrated that they built a big wood fire and threw on all the limestone rubble that they had been generating in the course of making blocks. They kept adding wood and limestone for a week, and when the fire was out, they had quick lime, calcium oxide. Adding water and sand to it made mortar.
When I asked them why they hadn’t told me that you could make lime with a wood fire, they said I hadn’t asked. That night at supper, I made a speech about how it was important to keep me informed about that sort of thing, but I don’t think that it sank in very deep. One of the men said that they saw me doing so many crazy things that if they told me about every one of them, they wouldn’t have any time left to work.
Someday, I’d make believers out of them.
Soon, foundations were being laid and people could see signs of progress. I think they had been starting to worry about being stuck in the woods for the winter with only our temporary shelters, because the laying of the foundations made them all look more confident.
The Pruthenian children had mostly fit right in. Looking at them, you couldn’t tell the difference between them and the Polish children we had of the same age. Their accents were thick as a millstone, but even there progress was being made. At least we could understand them. To give them religious instruction, the priest had begun staying over until Monday afternoons, and many of them were already baptized. Most of them were starting to learn the trades of their adopted parents. But sometimes, when they thought you weren’t looking at them, you could see written on their faces the horror of all that they had been through. That increased my resolve; those children were not going to go back into slavery.
Then there was Anna. I’d kept my promises to her and made a big sign with all the letters on it so she could spell things out. She was still attending church regularly, and the priest was growing increasingly scandalized. He finally broached the subject.
I’d known that it was coming, and had my response ready. I said that Anna was a full citizen of Three Walls, she was smarter than half my workers, and if she wanted to live a moral, Christian life, I certainly wasn’t going to stop her. I said it in a straight, deadpan way. Father Stanislaw just shook his head and walked away. And Anna continued to go to church.
Vladimir was growing increasingly depressed as winter approached. For one thing, his brother visited him and said that their father was still violently angry with him, and his family meant a lot to Vladimir. I think there was even more to his depression than that, but I couldn’t find out what it was. He wasn’t pleasant company anymore, and I found myself looking forward to my trips alone.
I timed my next visit to Okoitz so that I could see the trial by combat at Bytom before returning to Three Walls.
The harvest was in full swing at Okoitz.
In a medieval farming community, the harvest was the busiest time of the year. They had six or eight weeks to bring in all the food they would eat throughout the year, and everything else done in the year was mere preparation for this event. And despite the cloth factory and other improvements I’d made, Okoitz was still predominately a farming community.
Everyone got up with the first, false dawn and worked almost nonstop until it was too dark to see, often falling asleep still in their work clothes. Working eighteen hours a day, these people consumed a huge amount of food, more than six loaves of broad per capita per diem, plus other food.