The Radiant Warrior

by Leo Frankowski

  Then, too, I’d never been to medieval Wroclaw, and I was having a minor case of cabin fever. Over everyone's objections, I went alone.

  Anna can run like the wind, and leaving at earliest dawn she ran all day almost nonstop until we got to Wroclaw at dusk.

  The city had the usual squalid suburbs, but its center was built on an island, Ostrow Tumski, in the middle of the Odra River. This was well fortified with a sturdy brick wall, as much against floodwaters as against any invader. Above it rose the towers of the centuries’ old cathedral and the solider bulk of Piast Castle.

  The guard at the bridge snapped to and saluted as 1 rode up. He had probably never seen plate armor before, but he recognized the wolf skin cloak I wore, since I’d given identical ones to Duke Henryk the Bearded and his son Prince Henryk the Pious. Wroclaw was the center of Henryk's power, and had been the family seat for centuries.

  In a rather thick German accent, the guard gave me directions to the bishop’s residence. The duke had many Germans on his staff, in part because the German laws of primogeniture left a lot of German younger sons landless and thus available for foreign service, and because the duke's wife, mother, and paternal grandmother had all been German. The German princes had as many princesses to dispose of as they did younger sons, and with the concentration of wealth that primogeniture always results in, they could afford whopping big dowries. It was a strange sort of invasion, but an invasion nonetheless.

  The porter at the door of the bishop’s residence let me in and called forth the chamberlain. This worthy heard that it was a legal matter and delivered me to the bishop's clerk. “Ah, the illustrious Sir Conrad Stargard! Please be welcome. The bishop is indisposed, but I can doubtless arrange an audience in a week or two.”

  I had the distinct feeling that an honorarium paid to the clerk could get me in to the bishop immediately, but fortunately I didn’t want to see the old blowhard at all. “That's unfortunate, as I was looking forward to paying my respects to his excellency. Kindly give him I his package. It concerns the death of one of his priests.”

  “it what?”

  “It was a bloody death by violence, done by a member of the man’s own family. But perhaps I shouldn't talk about it, for fear of causing embarrassment to the Church.”

  The man was looking at the seals on the package of documents. Sir Miesko had insisted on sealing it with his own seal, the personal seal ring that I’d had made for myself and my seal as Master of the Hunt, which I'd given to him as token of his authority. If a dozen other seals had been available, he would have used them as well, just to make the thing took more important. He also had written the bishop's full name and titles on the outside, along with “personal” and “confidential” in bold letters under it. I'd suggested “For His Excellency's Eyes Only,” and Sir Miesko had written that too, liking the phrase.

  All this meant that the clerk didn’t dare open it, and he didn't dare delay the matter in the hope of squeezing a little graft out of me.

  “But surely you can tell me! I hold the bishop’s every confidence.”

  “I’m sure you do. It's all written down in these documents. I believe that his excellency will want to see them without delay.”

  “Well, perhaps I could arrange some interview.”

  “No, no. I wouldn’t think of disturbing his excellency when he is indisposed. I shall pray for his speedy return to health.” I got up to leave.

  “But surely-”

  “Not another word. I couldn’t possibly disturb so great a Churchman as your master. Once he is feeling better, if I can serve his excellency, I shall be at Piast Castle.”

  And I left, chuckling to myself. Hit me up for a bribe, would he? Now let him die of curiosity until the bishop felt like informing him of the matter. What’s more, I was sure that clerk would push the package right through just to satisfy his own curiosity.

  Chapter Five

  Dinner was being served at the castle when I arrived. I was ushered to a seat at one of the lower tables, but the duke noticed me and invited me up next to him at the high table, which was quite literally a half yard higher than the others. About the height of a standup bar.

  He had to bump down a baron to do it, who bumped a knight at a lower table, who bumped someone’s squire farther down. Furthermore, each of these worthies took his wife or lady friend down with him, but nobody seemed to mind. Apparently, it happened all the time.

  “Well, boy. What brings you to Wroclaw in this weather?”

  “Two matters, your grace. There was a priest killed on my land, and the bishop had to be informed.”

  The duke wanted to hear more, so I gave him a brief synopsis of the death of Father John.

  “Ha! That’ll set the bishop down a peg. Now tell me the whole story the long way, and tell it loud enough for everyone to hear!”

  One didn’t argue with the duke. Direct orders are direct orders, and Lady Francine was going back to France soon, so she wouldn't be embarrassed by the publicity.

  The crowd was suddenly quiet, so I said in a loud voice, “You know, your grace, that Lady Francine was the granddaughter of a bishop in France. She was brought up in a proper household and had every expectation of making a good marriage, being one of the most stunningly beautiful women I’ve ever seen. But when the Church's Gregorian reforms were put into effect there, forbidding the marriage of the clergy, the barbarous laws of that foreign land decreed that she was suddenly illegitimate! The best that she could do was to marry a poor young priest from Poland, where the Gregorian reforms have not been approved. If there was a dowry, I've never heard of it.”

  “That is to say, they went through the legal and holy ceremonies of marriage, but whether it was truly a marriage or not remains to be seen. Lady Francine and Father John came to Poland and lived for several years as man and wife as far as anyone could see, but there was a problem.”

  “To put it as simply as possible, Father John was not physically capable of making proper love to a woman. He, ah, couldn’t get it up.”

  “They lived with this horrible situation for years, but eventually they quarreled. She knew that she wasn’t really married, for a marriage must be consummated to exist. She left him and came to work at my inn at Three Walls to earn passage money back to France. Many of you know that a woman must be a true intact virgin to work there as a waitress. I operate inns, not houses of prostitution. The innkeeper's wife physically checks for the presence of a hymen. Lady Francine qualified.”

  “Father John found her, tried to drag her back to Okoitz, and pulled a knife when she refused. She hit him with a stool in defense, for the uniform she wore was nearly nothing at all and she carried no weapon with which to defend herself.”

  “To the surprise of all, this blow killed him. I came to Wroclaw to deliver proof of all that I’ve said to the bishop.”

  The crowd’s reaction was mixed. Some, headed by Prince Henryk, were shocked and more were feeling sorry for Lady Francine, but half of them shared the duke's contempt for the clergy and thought the tale hilarious.

  “That’s rich, boy! So now the priest's wife is tending commoners at an inn, and doing it near naked besides!”

  “That was her choice, your grace. Are you familiar with the Pink Dragon Inns?”

  “Yeah, stopped at the one in Cracow. Had to pull rank just to get in, it was so crowded’ When are you going to build one for us here at Wroclaw?”

  “This spring, your grace, with your permission.”

  “Permission? Boy, you have orders! Just pick a site and I’ll see that you get it. What sort of taxes are you paying at Cracow?”

  “Between the town council and the Bishop of Cracow, about one-sixth of profits, your grace.”

  “Well, I run this city, and that’s what you'll pay to me. If the bishop's men give you any trouble, you send them to me.”

  “Yes, your grace.”

  “You going to send us Lady Francine when you get this inn built?”

  “If you wish
-, your grace, I’ll tell her that you requested her presence here. You understand that she's not sworn to me and I can hardly order her to come. But until the legal matter is solved, I've forbidden her to leave Three Walls.”

  “Well, don’t worry about that, boy. I'll be responsible for her. The bishop can hardly object if you follow my orders. Was this inn the second matter you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “No, your grace. The second matter concerns something far more profitable. But I think it’s best talked about in private.”

  “As you wish, boy. See me tonight after the festivities.”

  After a seven-course meal that was a little overspiced for my taste, a company of clowns and jugglers entertained us for an hour, but the routines were a bit too coarse for me. The highlight of their act was a two-man “horse” routine which ended with the horse shitting on the polished stone floor in front of the duke’s table. He thought it was marvelous, and tipped them well. The man who had to clean up the real horse turds looked less amused. The clowns were followed by some dancing, mostly waltzes and mazurkas, a craze which I had inadvertently started myself. At least it was better than the half punker-style stuff they were doing before. I was demonstrating a polka, still in my plate armor, when I saw the duke leave. I bowed out shortly after that and was directed to the duke's chamber.

  I stayed at the doorway and said, “Your grace, were you serious last time about not wanting formal courtesies in private?”

  “What? Of course not! I want you to grovel so that I can act magnanimous and tell you not to. Now bow and get it over with!”

  “Yes, your grace.” I gave him my deepest bow.

  “Smart-aleck kid. What’s this you wanted to talk to me about, and sit down, dammit.”

  “Yes, your grace.” I sat and he pushed his gold wine cup toward me. It was the same one that he was drinking out of. In offering it he was doing me a considerable honor, local customs being what they were. I took a long pull from it. To not do so would be an insult to the duke. I just hoped that he hadn’t spit in it.

  “Now, what’s this you wanted to talk about?”

  “You know that I come from the future, your grace.”

  “Of course. I told you that I worked that out of your priest. So?”

  “So in the twentieth century, Poland is one of the world’s largest copper exporters, whereas right now, what with all the copper my brass works has been buying out of Hungary, We might be one of the world's largest copper importers. A lot of Polish money is going into Hungary, and making King Andrew rich.”

  “Huh. Andrew has been less than polite to me lately. So where is this ore at?”

  “Maybe fifteen miles outside of Legnica. I’ll have to find the exact location and find out who owns the land.”

  “You’ve already done the second, boy. The lands for forty miles around Legnica have been in my family for centuries. So I own copper. What do you want out of it?”

  “Well, if I could lease the land, your grace, what if I paid you a sixth of the profits in taxes?”

  “A sixth, hell! I should get only one-sixth of what I already own? I’ll give you a third for finding it and getting a smelting operation going.”

  “But your grace, the cost of setting up an efficient mine, factories, and other buildings will be very large. It will take hundreds of thousands of pence. If I’m to pay that…”

  “So who says that you are? We’ll do it on my lands and they'll be my factories and mines. I just want you to run them for me, the way you built those clothmills for Count Lambert. He's making a fortune off them, or he would if his Hungarian wife didn't get half the cash he rakes in.”

  “Interesting, your grace. I’d often wondered why Count Lambert was always so eager to bargain or bet with cloth, but not with money.”

  “Well, now you know. Well, do we have a deal?”

  “Do I have complete control of the whole operation?”

  “Hell, yes. Do you think I’d want to dirty my hands with commerce? You do things your way, and I'll leave you alone, just so you turn in a good profit after the first year.”

  “The workers would be as well taken care of as those at Three Walls? And they would all be sworn to me?”

  “It’s a waste of money, but yes to the first question. And you wouldn't get much out of them if they were sworn to somebody else, so yes to the second. Anything else you want to steal from an old man?”

  “Tariffs, your grace. There will be a lot of transportation going on. We’ll be taking coke from Three Walls, hauling it by mule and barge and mule again to the mine, smelting the copper there, then hauling the copper back to Cieszyn. There are eleven toll booths along that route. Can anything be done about it?”

  “Plenty. That’ll be my coke and my copper. You tell that to any petty baron who tries to tax them. If he gives you any trouble after that, bring me his head! You can throw away the rest. I wouldn't want anybody that dumb in my service.”

  “Thank you, your grace. I believe we have an agreement.”

  “Done. You write this up and bring it to me tomorrow. I won’t be around all that much longer, and I want this binding on both sides. Of course, the way you keep getting into fights, I just might outlive you. That was some of your judo stuff you used to break that Crossman's arm at your trial, wasn't it?”

  “Similar to that, your grace. It’s called karate. I didn't have any choice. He was really a better fighter than I was. My sword was stuck in his shield and I couldn't get it out. I had nothing but my bare hands to fight with!”

  “Haw! Here I thought you were just playing with him! Then why did you throw away your shield?”

  “Again, your grace, I had to. That first blow to the head he gave me would have killed me without this new plate armor. As it was, it twisted the helmet around and jammed it. I could only look over my right shoulder. I couldn’t use my shield at all. I couldn't even see it! Fortunately, I once learned a style of sword-fighting that doesn't use a shield, but only a sword. It's a sport in my era called fencing, because in the interests of safety, the combatants originally fought on different sides of a fence. I used that on him.”

  “Hah! And you beat him with new tactics!”

  “Not really, your grace. He was still better than me. I beat him mainly because his ten or twelve killing blows didn’t hurt me. This armor I'm wearing defeated Sir Adolf.”

  “Interesting. Could you make similar armor for my men?”

  “I intend to, your grace. But this armor cost me eleven thousand pence, a dozen times what chain mail would cost. In a few years, I’ll have machines such that I can sell it for five hundred pence, and I'll be making suits by the thousand.”

  “Good. I’d like a suit of it myself, and one for my son.”

  “Well, your grace, there’s no reason why we can't make a few more suits by hand. I'll have two suits made for you and the prince, as a gift, but please understand that they must be exactly fitted to your body. Plate doesn't stretch the way chain mail does. You'd each have to spend some time at Three Walls while they were being made.”

  “I wanted to visit you anyway, as much to see what new wonders you’d come up with as to get a good look at Lady Francine's tits! I'll be there in the spring.”

  “Wonderful, your grace. We’ll all be looking forward to your visit. Be sure to bring your armorer along so that we can show him how to maintain it properly.”

  I left his chambers glowing. If I was right, Lady Francine had a near royal protector, so she needn’t worry about any legal problems. The duke was the law. If he liked her, she was safe, Church court or no Church court. An old man is the ideal protector for a young woman. He has the wealth and power to keep her well, and lacks the ability to get her pregnant. Not many modem girls realize this, but their ancestors were wiser.

  More importantly to me, the duke was going to finance the whole copper works! Oh, I’d have to make sure that he got a fair return on his -money, but if things got tight, the duke had no idea what a modern e
ngineer can do with creative accounting. After all, I trained my accountant myself!

  I went to the pleasant room assigned to me by the castellan and told the servant they gave me that I wanted a table, four lamps, parchment, ink, and pens. Once that was delivered, I told him that I wanted a pretty young girl for the night and after that he was free to go away.

  It seemed that a lady would cost extra, unless I wanted one of the noblewomen who had bribed him to suggest themselves to me. He was completely open about it, and on questioning him I found that he had heard that I was a wizard who knew everything, anyway. He knew he couldn’t get away with a lie, so he figured that his best chance of survival was to tell the absolute barefaced truth. There are certain advantages to having a strange reputation.

  There hadn’t been anyone at dinner that I found attractive enough to be worth the hassle, and none of the ladies mentioned was single. The last thing I needed was an irate husband challenging me to a duel. On inquiring about other ladies available, I was told that the cost was a penny or two. I gave him four and told him that I wanted someone young, pretty, enthusiastic, and obedient. I wanted her in an hour, and if she wasn't up to snuff, I'd take it out of his hide. I guess I was in sort of a manic mood. Ordinarily, I wouldn't say things like that, but when everything is going right, you get sort of wild.

  He said that he would do what he could, and what did I want told to the ladies who had bribed him?

  “Just say that I have killed sixteen men in the last year, and I don’t want any jealous husbands on my soul. ”

  “That should do nicely, my lord.” And he left.

  I was close to completing the duke’s contract when the servant returned with two young ladies.

  “I wasn’t sure of your tastes, my lord.”