In the winter, nothing could be done in the fields. There was often less than six hours of daylight, and that was useful only to those who worked outside or next to an open window. Oil lamps burning animal fat were hard to work by, smelly and expensive. The animals of the thirteenth century were skinny, and fat was scarce. In Cieszyn, a kilo of fat sold for twice the price of a kilo of lean meat.
Farming occupied six months out of the year. Two months in the late spring were available for other work, but without a good source of light the four winter months were largely useless.
Although electric lights were out of the question, kerosene lamps were possible. The world's first oil wells were drilled in Poland by Ignacy Lukasiewicz, who built the first petrochemical plant and invented the kerosene lamp. But I saw no possibility of getting our technology to that level in the next five years.
Beeswax candles? It would take thirty candles to light the factory poorly. I estimated that it would take six hundred beehives to produce enough wax to keep them burning all winter.
In short, I was designing a factory that could be operational only two months out of the year.
When I explained the problem to the count, he solved it in moments in his own typical way. He simply told each of his 140 knights to send him a peasant girl or two from just after Easter to just before Christmas. The girls were paid in cloth, and everybody was happy. But I get ahead of myself.
Chapter Twenty
Count Lambert returned on the morning of May 1, which was yet another holiday. With him were about thirty knights and a number of dignitaries, one of whom was Sir Stefan's father. I thought it best to leave Lambert with his guests until I was summoned.
In the early afternoon I was watching an archery competition; the peasants were shooting at targets about fifty yards away with a skill that was about equal to that of modern archers.
Suddenly, Count Lambert was standing beside me. "Well, Sir Conrad, are you going to teach us the proper way to shoot arrows?"
"Not I, my lord. But I know a man who could."
"Indeed? And who is this man?"
I told him the story of how Tadaos the boatman had shot the deer.
"A single arrow into a deer's head at two hundred yards from a moving boat? You saw this yourself?"
"Yes, my lord, and helped him eat the venison."
"Hmm. I could use such an archer to train others. Could you get him here?"
"I could write Father Ignacy and ask him to tell the boatman of your needs. Perhaps he will come."
"Do so. I will affix my seal to the letter. Now then, I have talked to this Florentine cloth worker you sent me. Does he really know his trade?"
"I think so, my lord, but we won't know until we see his cloth."
"Hmm. You swore him to yourself. Would you transfer his allegiance to me?"
"Gladly, my lord. I engaged him for you. But could I ask a favor in return?"
"Name it."
"There's a boy here, Piotr Kulczynski. I would like him to swear to me."
"Certainly, Sir Conrad, if the boy and his father are willing. In fact, as long as someone is not sworn to me, you really don't need my permission. Even sworn, a man always has a right of departure, provided his debts are paid. What do you want with him?"
"He's a bright kid, my lord, and has picked up accounting very quickly. I want him to keep an eye on some commercial interests I have in Cieszyn."
"Do these commercial interests include ownership of the Pink Dragon Inn?"
"Yes, my lord. Do you object?"
"Not in the least. It's just that some remarkable rumors have been circulating about your adventures in Cieszyn. Did you really seat one of my peasant girls at the head table in my brother's castle?"
"Yes, my lord. I'm sorry if I've offended you, but-"
"Sir Conrad, my only objection is that I wasn't able to see the expression on his wife's face." He laughed. "That bitch has always hated me."
"Well, come along. I want to introduce you to my liege lord, and I want you to explain your mills and the new cloth factory."
As we entered the castle, Sir Stefan was talking heatedly with his father. I couldn't hear them, but twice he pointed at me. As my American friends would have put it, the shit was about to hit the fan.
Duke Henryk the Bearded was one of the most remarkable men I had ever met. He was almost seventy years old, and his face was cracked and wrinkled like old timber, yet his back was straight and strong. His thick white hair brushed his shoulders, and his thick white beard was huge. It was wider than his chest and extended below his sword belt.
But more important than his appearance was his-I don't want to say aura, because that implies something mystical, and this was an immensely practical man-but a feeling of power was almost tangible about him, as if, had he decided to walk through a wall, the wall would have apologized and scrambled out of his way.
Even more impressive, though in a totally different way, was his son, who would eventually be called Henryk the Pious. Young Henryk was just over forty and approaching the height of his powers. He could read and write and did a lot of both-rare among the nobility. Whereas the father was a tough politician, the son was a prince, every centimeter of him. His bearing and his look and his tone of voice were a chant that said, "Duty, justice, order, and restraint; honor, vigor, and discipline."
We looked each other in the eye, and I knew that this was a man I would follow into hell, fully confident that he could lead me out again. I had found Poland's king and my own.
Henryk the Bearded looked at me and said, "So, you are Sir Conrad the Giant. I have heard much about you."
"I hope nothing too bad, my lord."
"Mixed. But all of it is impossible, so most of it is lies. Your loom works faster than anything the Walloons own. They brought nothing like your spinning wheels. Now, tell me about these mills you're building."
The mill tower was now up, the tank floors were in, and the circular shed was completed. Work was under way on the turret. With the five-story-tall structure and my two-meter models, I was able to explain what I was doing, yet their questions kept me hopping. Our two visitors might be statesmen and warriors by profession, but they were not stupid when it came to technical matters. They went over things point by point. almost as thoroughly as Vitold did.
After the mills, we started on the cloth factory. The looms and spinning wheels were already understood, and I referred them to Angelo the Florentine when they asked about the dyeing vats and the combing and carding equipment. They jumped on me when it came to the washing fine. After all, everybody understood washing.
"Why twelve tubs? Why not one big one?"
"A single big tub would have to be brass, with a fire under it. Using a dozen small tubs, only two tubs need to be heated. The rest can be of wood. Also, wool needs not only to be washed but to be rinsed several times. With a single tub, we would not only have to heat three tubs of water for each batch of wool, we would have to throw away a lot of cleanser with the rinse water."
"Explain that."
"We call this the reverse-flow system. The wool moves from north to south along the line of tubs. The water moves from south to north, overflowing from one tub to the next. The water comes in cold and clean and goes out cold and dirty. The wool comes in cold and dirty and goes out cold and clean."
I could see that I wasn't getting through.
"Let's follow some wool as it goes through the tubs. Dirty wool is dumped into the first wooden tub, and a worker stirs it with a wooden fork. The water is only warm, and it's dirty. Most of the cleanser has been consumed, but some dirt is easily removed. Excess water goes out this drain, and fresher water flows in through this pipe from the second tank."
"The wool is scooped up and into the second tub, and more raw wool is dumped into the first. In the second tub, the water is hotter and cleaner."