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 to 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 chil
dren 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. -1 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.
My actions caused more problems than I had intended. At Okoitz, the "share the spoon, share the cup" thing was reserved for holidays. In the castle at Cieszyn, apparently, it was for every meal. Adding one more person meant that everyone downstream of us suddenly had to change partners and that the woman at the end was all alone.
Oh, well. To hell with them! If they could be rude, so could 1. It was all very well to give people fancy titles, but that's no excuse for snubbing a perfectly decent fourteen-year-old girl, especially one who happened to be my date.
"Sir Conrad," my hostess eventually said, trying to smooth things over, "please tell us of your adventures."
"Adventures? Well, I'd be happy to tell you about what I've been working on lately." I launched into a discourse on the finer points of animal breeding. I must have rattled on for ten minutes and was stressing the importance of counting eggs when I felt my hostess's hand on my arm.
"That's most educational, Sir Conrad. Was it really you who defeated the renegade Black Eagle, Sir Rheinburg?"
"I killed the lunatic if that's what you mean."
"Was he really insane?"
"I suppose so. People who go around attacking armed men in public generally aren't too sensible."
"And you felled him with a single blow, cutting his head in two, though he wore a helmet?"
"Look, there wasn't much time. I gather you like gory stories. I'll tell you how Mikhail Malinski lost his foot." And I told them, every bloody bit of it. Slewing and slaying on a battlefield were great fun to them, but tying off an artery was entirely too graphic. More than one person excused herself before I was done.
My hostess was a little green below the ears. "And he died in a bed in Count Lambert's castle?"
"It was easier to take care of him there. Krystyana and her friends are great nurses. Oh, did I tell you about our looms and spinning wheels? Krystyana and seven of her friends can take wool and turn it into twenty of your yards of cloth in a single day."
"Seven of her friends. Oh, dear."
The only upshot of this was that one of the guest rooms at Okoitz became "the bed where the peasant died," with something stupid and supernatural attached to it. In a way, it was — beneficial because when higher-ranking guests arrived, none of them were eager to take that room. I wasn't bumped to the blockhouses as otherwise would have happened. Anyway, if Mikhail Malinski ever had a ghost, it would have been a good ghost.
Much later, our hostess suggested that Krystyana would be much more comfortable in the servants' quarters. The bitch still hadn't learned, and I was out of teaching techniques.
"Madame, that is hardly necessary. I have delivered my liege lord's letters, and we have enjoyed an excellent Lenten supper. Regretfully, duty calls and we must be Off."
"But I had hoped-"
"As I said, it's regrettable, but I have my duty." I led Krystyana off to the stables.
"Page, I want our horses saddled and our personal effects gathered. Now."
The page made quick finger motions, and four men scurried off. In minutes we were riding to the postern gate, led by the page with a torch.
"But Sir Conrad, it's so dark out now," he said.
"Then I shall need the loan of your torch." I took it.
"There are thieves out there! It's dangerous."
"You're right, kid. Go tell the thieves to be careful."
Krystyana had been holding her feelings in all afternoon and evening. Once outside the gate, she bawled like the schoolgirl she should have been. There wasn't much I could do but squeeze her hand and mumble about things getting better.
I asked at a few taverns and was eventually directed to a decent inn, the Battle Axe. The room was big and clean, and ten pence a day for food, lodging, and care of the horses didn't seem all that bad. The innkeeper was overjoyed. I had forgotten to haggle.
"You understand that I will expect excellent service, food, and drink. See that our horses are well taken care of and send a large pot of good wine to our room."
"Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord." I later discovered that we were his only guests. Business was not booming in Cieszyn, and many who were willing could not find work. That people in Okoitz should be working
sixteen hours a day and people in Cieszyn should be idleand ill fed-offended my socialist morality. This place needed organization.
As soon as we were alone in our room, Krystyana threw her arms around my neck and started crying again. "Sir Conrad, I love you!"
"I hope not, pretty girl. I'm not the marrying kind."
"No, I mean, you don't have to but, I mean, leaving all those countesses and baronesses and ladies because of me."
"Hold it. I didn't leave because of you. I left because I was offended by their rudeness. Also, I had no intention of bedding any one of those overaged, overweight, and profoundly married women. And certainly not when there is somebody as sexy as you around. Now have some wine and settle down."
Sometime later, she said, "I love you anyway, Sir Conrad."
The next morning I sent Krystyana out shopping with one of the innkeeper's servants to keep her safe and see that she didn't get gypped. I tipped the woman a penny a day, and she was overjoyed. I gave Krystyana a hundred pence and told her to buy presents for her family and friends. Also a wedding gift from me to Mrs. Malinski and something for the carpenter and the count.
"But what could Count Lambert possibly want?"
"Dye. Dye for cloth. And if you can find a good dyer out of work, the count would like that, too."
I was pleased to discover that the bell casters I had come to Cieszyn to see lived directly across from the inn.
The bell foundry was owned and operated by the three Krakowski brothers-Thom, Mikhail, and Wladyslaw. It had been their father's business and had been a thriving concern until a year before, when the bishop's nephew, a German, had opened up a bell foundry in Cracow. New orders to the Krakowski brothers had stopped, and their melting furnace had been cold for six months. But the information came out slowly, and I got some of it from the innkeeper. The brothers were trying to keep up appearances.
The Krakowski brothers and I spent the morning talking. I talked about the huge bushings I would need-the bore was to be a full yard, and the outside flange diameter of the blade-end bushing was to be two yards. They were each to be a yard long. Modem roller bearings would have been a tenth that size, but I had no illusions about the quality the Krakowskis could give me. In working with inferior materials, you must make things big.
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