The Crosstime Engineer Read online

Forever after, I used yards instead of meters rather than offend my liege lord. I soon knew the ratio of yards to meters and that was enough to save my data.

  My fourth endeavor was engineering the mills.

  Understand that I had no reference books, no instruments, and no measuring devices. I had no drawing equipment and darned little parchment. These last two wouldn’t have done me much good anyway, because I didn't have anyone who could read a blueprint.

  For the comparatively small items I’d had to build thus far, it was possible to give instructions like “We need a piece of wood that's this long, and it's got to have holes in it so it can fit into this thing and that thing.”

  This technique was not suitable for building a mill, and we needed two of them; I built one-twelfth scale working models, because the people had to see how things moved in order to understand them.

  Okoitz didn’t have a stream suitable for damming, so that left wind power. The problem with wind power is that it works only when the wind is blowing. This is not a great complication on something like a flour mill, because only one operator is required and he can work strange hours if the situation requires it. But a lot of processesbeating flax and sawing wood-are both energy- and laborintensive. If a crew is working and the wind stops, twenty people are left standing around, which is blatantly inefficient. An intermediate energy shortage device is needed, and we had water.

  The first windmill was a water pump and some storage tanks. Actually, it was two sets of water pumps. One set of four pumps pumped water from a new well to a tank near the top of the mill. We needed a new well anyway because the old well was entirely too close to the latrines. The top tank provided fresh water to the community and supplied the lower, working tanks. I used four small pumps because I did not know how much power the mill would produce. If we only had enough torque to operate two pumps, the other two could be disconnected and used as spares. Also, if one pump malfunctioned, it could be repaired while the others continued in operation.

  This is called contingency planning, or in the colorful language of my American friends, “keeping your ass covered.”

  Four larger pumps operated between the lowest tank and the middle tank. These provided water power to several machines in a circular shed that ringed the base of the windmill.

  The sawmill, for example, had a straight saw blade operating vertically between two ropes. These ropes were connected by a pulley system to two short, fat barrels mounted at the ends of long pivot arms. A barrel, reaching the top of its stroke, pushed open a weighted door that allowed water from the middle tank to fill it. Filled, it descended, pulling the saw blade and raising the other barrel. Reaching the bottom, a fixed peg pushed up another weighted door on the bottom of the barrel, which drained the water into the lowest tank. At the same time, the second barrel was filling and the process reversed itself.

  This “wet mill” was a fairly big thing. The body of it was a truncated cone twenty-four yards across at the bottom and twelve at the turret. The walls were vertical logs flattened on two sides. The cone shape resulted from the natural taper of the logs. I was learning.

  The foundations went a full story into the ground, and from the ground to the top of the highest blade the thing was as tall as a ninestory building.

  A windmill must be kept facing the wind, so the turret has to rotate. Ours did this on ninety-six wooden ball bearings, each as big as a man’s head. One of my college professors had shown us a device to accomplish this automatically. A second, much smaller windmill was built on the back of the large turret, with the blades at right angles to the main blades. This was geared down to rotate the turret if the small windmill wasn't parallel to the wind. He claimed it was the world's first negative feedback device.

  I could have made the turret manually rotatable, but I wanted the mill to operate unattended at night.

  One of the engineering problems I faced was that the weight of the water tanks, besides pushing downward, also pushed outward. Some crude calculations indicated that a wrought-iron band strong enough to hold the middle tank together would have weighed eight tons. I wasn’t sure that there was that much iron available on the market, and in any event the cost would have been fabulous.

  My solution was exactly the same as that used by my contemporaries, the Gothic cathedral builders. These cathedrals have purely decorative internal stone arches that produce an outward thrust. I say purely decorative because the cathedrals were topped by wooden truss roofs that kept the rain out and didn’t touch the arches. They actually built the outer walls and wooden roof first and then built those magnificent arches later, working indoors out of the rain.

  I used the circular work shed as a flying buttress, leaning into the tower and squeezing it together.

  Between the high-water level of the lowest tank and the bottom of the middle tank was a space of four yards. This was at ground level, but the area would be dark and wet, and I could think of no good use for it. I didn’t bother putting a floor there.

  This resulted in the lowest tank being used, over my protestations, as a swimming pool.

  By the time I got the model of the wet mill done, the weather had broken. The bitter cold of winter was over, the snow had melted, and the first warm breezes kissed the land.

  A mood of wondrous relief and joviality filled the community. It was so glorious that I had to rip my shirt off and stand in the warm sunshine, soaking up the vitamin D. I wasn’t alone in doing this; Krystyana and Natalia were suddenly standing naked next to me.

  This mood lasted for about a day, and then it was time for spring plowing and planting, an all-out effort for those people, who got up before dawn and performed fifteen or sixteen hours of grueling labor before collapsing exhausted, only to repeat the process the next, day.

  The count kept equal hours supervising, and the carpenter and the smith were kept busy repairing tools. There were only three or four weeks to complete the task, and if the planting didn’t get done, next winter we would starve.

  I seemed to be the only one at loose ends-as a knight, I was not allowed to work- so I wandered about observing things, seeing what improvements could be made. What they needed most was a good steel plow, and I saw no way of providing one.

  Lambert owned more than half the land surrounding Okoitz. Well, actually, he owned two hundred times as much besides, but much of it was farmed out to his knights, most of whom ran manors similar to, but smaller than, his.

  Peasants were expected to work three days a week on his land and had the balance of their time “free” to work their own. Special workers-the bakers, carpenters, etc.had their own separate and often quite complicated arrangements, but in general it amounted to a fifty percent taxation, with the count being the entire government.

  In return, the people got what amounted to police and military protection, much of their clothing, and a fixed number of feasts per year. In addition to the Christmas season, there were twenty-two days of feasting. I estimated that twenty-five percent of the food consumed by the commons was eaten at these feasts.

  Also, and very important, the count made arrangements for the sick and needy. Since Lambert was an intelligent and decent person, it really wasn’t a bad system. Under a stupid or greedy lord, you could see where it could be pure hell.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I wasn’t accomplishing anything at Okoitz. No feast days fell during the planting season, church and state being practical about such matters. By the terms of my punishment, I didn't have to stand guard duty. I was told that right after planting and Easter there would be plenty of manpower available to start work on the mill.

  There were some parts of the mill that we could not produce locally. I wanted the main rotor bearings to have brass or bronze collars riding on lead bushings. The lead we could cast in place, but the heavy collars troubled me until the count mentioned some bell casters at his brother’s city of Cieszyn some thirty “miles” away to the south.

  I was soon riding along the road t
o Cieszyn on a fine spring day. My equipment was much the same as that I had purchased in Cracow last fall, only now I wore conventional padded leather under my chain mail. I had a new scabbard for my sword, and its garish brass hilt had been replaced, a wrought-iron basket guard added. The shield and spear were as before. Anna had a new saddle and bridle of modem design, and she was happy to be traveling.

  Riding a palfrey beside me, Krystyana was even happier. Three hours of her begging and pleading had persuaded Lambert to let her go along to “take care of me.” He didn’t mind her going, but he hated losing another horse during spring plowing.

  She was wearing her best dress, covered with a large traveling cape, and had four others-borrowed-in her saddlebags. She was taking her first trip away from Okoitz since she had moved there with her family when she was ten years old.

  Krystyana was a competent person and actually handled most of the day-to-day management of the castle. But she was trying to remain on top of an unfamiliar sidesaddle-I don’t think I could have stayed on one of the silly things -while trying to play the part of a knight's lady.

  She was ludicrous at it; I decided that much of her problem was that the only “ladies” she had ever seen were seen from a distance, when she was a peasant girl. What she needed was a good role model.

  I carried letters from Lambert to his brother. These he had dictated to Father John because, for all his good qualities, the count was illiterate.

  I also had instructions to see if Sir Miesko’s wife and lands were well since his manor was on our route. It was six hours to Sir Miesko's manor, all of it at a walk, because Krystyana could never have stayed on at a gallop. As it was, the poor kid had leg cramps all night.

  I was not looking forward to meeting Lady Richeza, Sir Miesko’s wife. From the events at the Christmas party, where Sir Miesko had declined the favors of Count Lambert's ladies because he feared repercussions from his wife-permitting the king of fools to brand him as henpecked-I had formed an impression of a violent, shrewish woman. I was absolutely mistaken. After meeting Lady Richeza, I decided that Sir Miesko had declined all others simply because he loved his wife. Implying that he was henpecked was simply a ruse to avoid exposing his true feelings.

  In her thirties, she was not a pretty woman. She was tall as the Poles of the thirteenth century went, and overly broad in the hip. Her hair was dark, curly, and shoulder length, and her face long and rectangular, with remarkably bushy eyebrows. She had dark blue eyes, and her features were otherwise unremarkable. Even in her first bloom, I doubt any man, on seeing her from a distance for the first time, could have honestly called her pretty.

  Yet after meeting her and talking with her for a few hours, it dawned on me that I was being honored by the presence of one of the world’s truly beautiful women.

  But I get ahead of myself.

  Sir Miesko’s manor was not a fort. It was a comfortablelooking sixbedroom log house located a few hundred yards from a town of perhaps forty small cottages. A few barns and outbuildings were scattered about nearby, but they were located for convenience, not defense. What fences and walls there were had been built with animals, not enemies, in mind.

  At first the place seemed too peaceful for such a brutal age, but then I noticed that all the peasants in the fields were armed. Some carried spears, others had axes, and a few possessed swords in addition to the ubiquitous belt knives. Half the women had bows. Sir Miesko apparently had his own theories on defense.

  As We approached the manor, two boys who had been working at a kitchen garden laid down their hoes and came to greet us. “Welcome gentles,” the older of the two said. I guessed his age at twelve. Despite the hard work they’d been doing, the boys had a fresh-scrubbed took. “Stash, got tell Mother we have company. I'll take care of the horses.”

  “We thank you for your courtesy.” I dismounted and helped Krystyana down from her sidesaddle. The poor thing could barely stand. I kept an arm around her waist for more reasons than affection.

  The boy looked up at me. “Sir, can it be that I am addressing the hero, Sir Conrad Stargard?”

  I couldn’t help smiling. “I don't think that I qualify as a hero, but I'm Conrad Stargard. This is my friend Krystyana.”

  “You are a hero here, Sir Conrad. Sir Rheinburg killed my best friends’s father and four other men from the village. He stole half my father's cattle. You are the knight who defeated him.”

  I don’t think the boy was intentionally snubbing Krystyana. He was just at an age where heroes are far more important than girls. He'd learn.

  A woman came out to the porch. “We’ll talk later, son. I must greet your mother.”

  “Welcome.” The smiling woman looked at me calmly while drying her hands on a towel.

  “I take it that you are Lady Richeza. I am Sir Conrad Stargard, and this is Krystyana.”

  “Welcome, Sir Conrad.” She took both my hands and squeezed them. I knew she wanted a hug, so I gave her one., Understand that I did not and never have felt any sexual attraction for the woman. She was simply the warm sort of person who automatically steps into the role of a favorite aunt or cousin.

  “And a very warm welcome to you, Krystyana.” As she gave my girl a hug and a kiss, I saw Krystyana. tighten up. She wasn’t used to this sort of thing. Lady Richeza pretended not to notice but took her by the hand and led her inside. I followed.

  The furnishings were sparse by modem standards but very comfortable by those of the Middle Ages. Large chests along the walls served as chairs, and each had a comfortable cushion, a thing lacking at Okoitz. The floor had a carpet of braided rags, the first rug I had seen in the thirteenth century. Most places made do with rushes scattered on the floor. But mostly, everything-including the two small children playing on the rug-was incredibly clean. My own mother’s house was no cleaner, and she vacuumed daily.

  One of Lady Richeza’s daughters brought in some beer and bread. “Is beer acceptable? It seemed too warm a day for wine.”

  “A beer would be wonderful, Lady.” I downed the mug. It was flat, of course; no pressure containers in the Middle Ages. One got used to it.

  I had a very pleasant evening. The food was good, the surroundings pleasant, the conversation wonderful. I felt at home. The children-eight of them, five boys and three girlswere exactly what children are supposed to be but never are: inquisitive, bubbling with energy, yet clean and well mannered.

  All of them over six could read and write. Sir Miesko had a library of twenty-two hand-lettered books, most of them copied by himself. That was another side of his personality that I hadn’t seen at Okoitz. He had taught his wife, and she in turn had educated not only her own children but all those in the village as well.

  After the kids were in bed, Lady Richeza and I spent a few hours talking over a school system, one that would spread to every village in Lambert’s county. She had the potential teachers, and I could imagine nothing better to do with my money.

  Throughout the evening Krystyana was unusually stiff and quiet despite our tries at getting her into the conversation. I put it down to feminine moods, augmented by the pain of the sidesaddle.

  When we were in bed in the guest room, I said to Krystyana, “Our hostess is a truly fine lady. If you grew up to be like her, you’d make some very lucky man very happy.”

  “You ogled her all evening long.”

  “Ogled? Nonsense! I was just being polite to a very gracious lady.”

  “She isn’t even a real lady.”

  “Krystyana, you are talking stupid.”

  “She isn’t a lady, and Sir Miesko isn't really a knight. They were both born peasants. Miesko was twenty-five when the duke knighted him on the battlefield. He was a clerk before that.”

  “Remind me tomorrow to give you a spanking. You are saying horrible things. If Sir Miesko raised himself by his own efforts, he’s a better man than if he was just born to the nobility. And Lady Richeza would be a great lady whether the duke said so or not!”

 
“It’s not the same.”

  “No. It’s better.”

  “But-”

  “Shut up and go to sleep.” We stayed celibate for the night, and Krystyana had leg cramps until dawn.

  We got to Cieszyn that afternoon. It was a nice little town if you could ignore the lack of a sewage system. It had perhaps four thousand people, a great city by Krystyana’s standards. At the city gate, a guard saluted us and waved us through. Apparently, a knight and his lady didn't have to bother with tolls. The outer walls were of brick, as were several charming little round brick chapels, two hundred years old.

  The castle was brick as well and was exactly like what the movies told you to expect. Count Lambert had walked away from quite a bit.

  Count Herman was in Cracow, along with most of his household knights, attending his liege lord, Henryk. Somehow, word of my “military” exploits had reached Cieszyn, and the ladies of the court gave me a warm welcome.

  They were noticeably less cordial to Krystyana. Count Lambert’s… uh… chosen life-style was not appreciated by those fine women, and Krystyana was available to take it out on. Conversation was somewhat strained that afternoon. -I kept trying to get Krystyana into the discussion, and they kept cutting her off.

  The situation became worse when we were called to supper. I was to be seated between two spreading middle-aged women, and no chair had been provided for Krystyana.

  “But surely you understand,” my hostess said.

  “Oh, yes. I understand.” I was doing a very good job of containing my temper, but I understood entirely too well. “Mistakes happen all the time, even in the best regulated of households. Page! Someone forgot a chair for Krystyana. Bring one and set it next to mine.”

  “But my lord… ” The rumors that the page had heard spoke of my killing twelve men in a single fight, each with a single blow. Angry with a blacksmith, I supposedly had chopped an anvil entirely in half. He had also heard an exaggerated version of the way Lambert and I had slaughtered pigs.

  “Another chair. Right here.” I pointed. I’m sure that my mouth was smiling, but I don't think my eyes were. A chair rapidly appeared, and after some shuffling, Krystyana sat down.