To Kill the Christ! - Chapter Sixteen: A Long Way to Go

       Rebecca confronted Carl in his manse office. "We've had quite a few of your men in the infirmary each day. Some of them have typhus, I think. I've seen some lice on their bodies."

       Carl was alarmed. "I'll see to it at once. These men aren't used to living in crowded quarters. Damn! I've neglected inspections and camp sanitation. I'll talk with the leaders tomorrow then have an inspection. We'll set it for next Friday, which will give them time to prepare. Can you to lead the inspections?"

       "If it'll help."

       His face was grim. "It will." Typhus was a deadly, easily spread disease.

                                         -------------------------

       The men looked at each other. How can we stop fevers and illnesses? They just are.

       Carl interpreted their glances. "There are reasons for the illnesses, reasons which we can control.

       "Our men aren't used to living together, and they don't practice good personal hygiene and communal hygiene. That's why we have diseases."

       Morius was first to raise a question. "What do you mean by 'hygiene'?"

       His question hit Carl like a blow to the stomach. How far we have to go!

       "I mean personal cleanliness. When men live in close proximity to one another, they must keep clean personally and in shared areas. We have some men sick with typhus. That's a disease caused by lice, usually in the hair, and from unclean facilities that allow rats and other vermin to thrive. We will clean the facilities, but it is important for the men to have shorter hair and keep it clean so they won't suffer from typhus. Now we must fumigate, eh, clean every blanket, sheet, pillow, mattress, and piece of clothing so that they won't infect the other men."

       He surveyed the room. The idea obviously was new to them from the puzzled looks on their faces.

       "Let's start from the beginning," he said. "I'll explain why this is important, what we did in my last army, and then you can suggest ways of making it happen in Long Reach."

       He tried to keep the message short, but they had to see why it was important. "Let me summarize—Gauls have never lived this close together for extended periods. The army I came from had a long history of men who knew why basic sanitation was important. Even then, we had to have weekly inspections to be sure that areas were kept clean because there's always someone who's a slob." Marcus, brought in from the Long Reach site, paused at the English word Carl had tossed into his Latin. Carl chuckled under his breath. "Someone who's 'always unclean and soils an area.' What can we do?"

       A long discussion ensued, which concluded that inspections would affront Gaelic warriors.

       "The army I was in," Carl reiterated, "used punishment—denial of weekend passes, extra latrine duty, and so on to enforce the rules and authority of the barracks non-coms. None of that applies here, yet. What about using positive enforcement along with inspections?"

       They had no idea what he was talking about.

       "Let's reward those units that perform best each week," he explained. "You tell the men we need a clean, sanitary camp, which will help explain why inspections make sure we get clean camps. Make the units competitive so they won't want to lose. The best unit will get a reward. Perhaps wine I've imported from Iberia, or recognition in a special meal. You know what will entice these men. Figure it out and let me know."

       He paused. The next idea might not go over so well. "The least sanitary squad will march at the end of any maneuvers, so all will know who they are and, since they like dirt so much, they can eat the dust of others. The leader of a squad that gets such an award four times in a row will be demoted. You choose leaders because of their courage and skill with weapons. That's still most important, but they can continue as leaders only if they lead, and that includes in camp as well as in battle."

       The men weren't used to disguising their feelings, and he could read anger, surprise, resignation, and indignation. He quickly added: "When we get all of the units to a certain level of cleanliness, we'll drop the last award."

       Catavulcus was the first to speak. "What you are saying offends warriors. Many men will leave the army rather than keep the camp clean. That's for peasants."

       "Yes, thank you Catavulcus. Much of what we are doing goes against the Gaelic warrior code. We reward the bravest warrior, but only when his bravery does not threaten his unit and thus the battle. Ten men working together, much like the Romans, can overcome twenty or more men charging separately, and with fewer casualties. That's our goal, and it's different from what Gaelic warriors have always practiced."

       He closed the conversation. "If you have men who won't follow our sanitary practices, thank them for their time and send them home. A dirty camp, such as we now have will only grow worse. Men won't make the effort to keep it clean because no one else does. A dirty camp becomes our enemy because it makes men sick and unable to fight, just as though they were wounded in battle. When that happens they are worthless to the unit and jeopardize the mission. You haven't seen this because warriors seldom live together for extended periods of time, but I have seen unsanitary camps that keep fighting men from fighting."

       He paused and pointed in the direction of the camp. "Men, right now that's an enemy. Let's tackle it first so we have men well enough to fight enemy armies. I'm asking you to do things you've never done. But they are necessary."

       It took two months, but they nipped the typhus before it became an epidemic and spread throughout the area, decimating warriors and citizens.

       It was early December when Raphael rode out to Long Reach. He had been surveying the land to the south for three weeks and had returned to Nottingham only two days before. There was no fortress yet, but Long Reach was becoming a small village, carefully laid out for future growth, with blacksmiths, wainwrights, carpenters, and stonecutters already in residence. The four Romans had moved to the site, much to the relief of the Nottinghamers. There Gaius of Milpas was assigned to breed horses. Carl had noticed his interest in horses and bought the best he could find from passing horsetraders. It was becoming a sizable stable and horse farm, out in the meadow where the refugees had camped only months before. There the horses could be protected from wolves and brigands. Britons relied on capturing wild horses for stock rather than breeding them.

       Raphael looked around at the developing site, with not a little pride of his own. Carl rode up on Murt, the horse full of energy in a snapping wind, which piled heavy clouds above the Pennines. He had stayed in the fledgling Long Reach for the past three days as the journey to Nottingham through the forest took too long, unless one pushed the horses.

       "Raphael, welcome back! It's good you can see for yourself. Look what your money managing has done." Carl was expansive. There were a million and one things to do before they could start on the fortress itself, and it was hard to know what priority to establish.

       "That's why I'm here," Raphael said. "I've just reviewed the reports. There was a good crop this year and the farmers in the area should provide us with food and supplies for the year, but there isn't enough money to pay for the kind of building you want to do, even with the money from salt. We've dipped deeply into Dumnocoveros' jewels, gold, and silver. The dam itself will cost more than Nottingham makes in a year, and building the conduits and surrounding villages will put us into debt for years to come, assuming anyone will loan us funds. Unless we find a hoard of gold we don't know about, we are going to have to pull back until we can increase salt production, find something else to sell, or increase our taxes."

       "And re-arming and building the army will require even more money." Carl was in full agreement. Nothing came from nothing. Nothing ever will.

       He dismounted and stood in the dirt, noting with satisfaction that Raphael could dismount with ease. With a thin branch he drew a large map of the area in the dust. It was a habit. He loved to use maps to clarify things.

       "Perhaps we will build a garrison fort here," he pointed north of Long Reach about one mile. "That would offer protection for the building of the dam, the fortress, and the village, and it wouldn't cost very much." He gave a sly grin. "It will also keep some of the army toughs out of Nottingham, where they get into trouble."

       Enlarging the circle, Carl pointed farther north and toward the foothills in the west.

       "When we first conceived the idea of Long Reach, I thought we would establish ourselves north of here about forty to fifty miles, which is about where Sheffield one day will be located. That's coal and iron country with enormous deposits that haven't been touched yet."

       He pulled copies he had made of the geology of Great Britain from a leather pouch and showed Raphael the diagrams and maps. "That's where my research comes in handy. The resources the Normans tapped haven't changed, they just haven't been discovered or developed. It's only a matter of going to these areas to develop them for Long Reach.

       "We've already located these ores," he pointed to the map. "While you were gone Rebecca and I, four cavalrymen, and Tartos, traveled into this region," and here he poked west at his dirt map and then moved the stick north along the east edge of the Pennines. "We were able to locate coal deposits and ironstone. Some outcroppings are quite close to us here," and he pointed directly west, "and some much farther north. It'll take time to develop them, but we can start with the accessible coal and iron, and then develop the others."

       He stood, flexed his legs, and surveyed the plains of Long Reach. "I couldn't afford to take anyone from this project so I had Brogitarus send spies to scout the mines west of the Pennines. That's on the edge of Brigante territory. He's supposed to persuade several workers familiar with mining techniques to settle east of the Pennines. If all goes well, we should be producing enough coal in January or February to meet our needs, and begin exporting coal to other regions late in the spring. The iron will take longer, since we'll need to build a smelter, but we can make much more money by sending iron pigs or bars instead of ore."

       He paused and glanced at Raphael. "But we need to develop our markets first."

       He looked away, following the Trent with his eyes until it disappeared behind trees and hills. Then, making up his mind, he placed his hand on Raphael's shoulder.

       "How would you like to make a trip to Camulodunum? Next spring would be a good time to go south to scout the area and see what we can buy and sell. You could take Gaio to interpret, especially for dealing with international traders, and several of your own men, to teach them how trade is arranged. You'll need a squadron of soldiers for protection, which Morius will arrange. Most of the fiefdoms in Britain are too small to need much ore, but exports to the continent are a different matter."

       Raphael reflected. Did I want to leave this area for a long time? Camulodunum's no Twentieth Century London! He chucked inwardly. On the other hand, Nottingham's no Twentieth Century London, either!

       He looked at the map. His own memory of England's layout wasn't very good, but then he hadn't studied the country's economic history as intensively as Carl. He postponed his answer. "I sent those surveyors north and east a month ago, as you suggested," he said. "They should be returning soon. That will at least give us detailed maps of roads and tribes, if they haven't frozen in this winter."

       Carl nodded. "Too bad your comrades didn't hit headquarters instead of the truck with that time machine. That way we would have large detailed maps of the area." He paused, then ruefully stroked his carefully trimmed full beard. "Of course, we also would have several ranking officers with us. That I'm not so sure I would want."

       "Nor I." Yes, it would be good to be on my own. "I'll go. It should prove interesting."

       "Good, and you can find us a carriage maker and a good alchemist. We need carriages, and we need someone who can create a table of chemicals. Rebecca will work with him since she's had a lot of chemistry. I'm no use there at all."

       Early in the summer Carl had chosen Lituvi, one of the blacksmith's apprentices and a bright young man, to work in shops at the mansion, there to develop glass for windows. After consulting his book, Carl had developed a two-valve exhaust fan to blow the charcoal to white heat and then explained to Lituvi the process of glassmaking. He suggested ways of experimenting with mixtures of pure sand, limestone, and other minerals until a strong, clear glass resulted. It had been a long, tortuous process, but Lituvi willingly worked long hours, carefully recording in large Latin letters the information Carl required him to write in a vellum book with thick board covers. When Carl and Raphael returned to Nottingham that night, arriving just before rain, Lituvi was waiting for them. His smile was irrepressible.

       "My lord," he said. "Come, see what I've have made."

       The short, slightly frail figure quickly led them into the workshop, where a sheet of glass lay on a cloth covered table. It was the first time he had succeeded in making glass thick enough and tough enough to withstand more than a mild tap with a stick. And it was clear, with only a few ripples. A perfectly clear sheet of glass required facilities Nottingham didn't have. Instead, the glass was first blown into a long cylinder then incised, and flattened. The better window glass would come later.

       Carl swept the frail Lituvi into his arms and gave him a big hug. While still holding him, he spoke over his shoulder. "There you are, Raphael. That's your entry into Camulodunum and the income we'll need for further building. With Lituvi developing a glass manufacturing plant here, for now, we'll be able to turn out glass to sell in Verulamium or Camulodunum. They don't have window glass yet because it hasn't been invented, at least not like this. All of the nobility will want glass windows that stop the wind and cold. And we'll make a mirror before you leave—you'll be a sensation!" Carl carefully lifted the sheet of glass, grinning as though he would never stop.

       "We'll make all of the glass they can use. You should be able to get five or more times the cost of those peeled skin windows. They're virtually opaque and aren't half as attractive as glass."

       He caught himself. "I'm sounding like a salesman. But you should be able to set up effective barter trade arrangements for the antimony, saltpeter, medicines, and metals we need from Gaul or Rome. Be sure to collect partial payment in gold—and check its purity. I don't trust any of these traders."

       Raphael was offended. "I'm not an infant in these matters, Carl. I was trading with people as sharp as these, at least, long before I met you. I'll be sure to protect our interests."

       Carl was chagrined. "Sorry, I know that. I got carried away with our good fortune."

       They hardly noticed that the rain had arrived, despite the heavy sound on the wood roof of the workshop. Raphael looked closely at the glass. It was clear and could be polished. It was cylinder glass, not perfect, but these people weren't used to perfect. He too could see the bonanza this meant to Nottingham and Long Reach. There would be financing, and this would be another source of it.

       Carl interrupted his thoughts. "Have you ever cut glass?"

       "No."

       "Well, we'll find someone to learn glazing to take with you." He didn't emphasize that Raphael's weakened hand probably could not handle a scribe. "Glass without a cutter and a way of scribing it is nearly worthless. I was working on a hard metal scribe while Lituvi was developing glass."

       Carl took pieces of glass that had been rejected as too brittle or foggy and showed Raphael how to cut glass to size. "You don't need to cut it. You need to be free to sell it."

       He held up the small sheet of glass again and smiled through it at Lituvi. "Lituvi," he said, "this isn't as precious as diamonds but it'll be a lot more useful to far more people, including our own. Tomorrow," he squinted at the glass in the flickering light of the lamp, "we start building a larger factory in Long Reach with a shop next door for further experimentation. You'll soon be the master craftsman and will run the shop, teaching everyone else how to make glass."

       He clasped Lituvi's shining face in his hands. "We'll make you head of all experiments dealing with glass. You'll have a great time creating something new back there, day after day, year after year. Nottingham glass will be known worldwide."

       Carl whirled out of the door, racing to the mansion. "Wait 'til Rebecca sees this! What a day!" they heard as he disappeared in the dark, protecting his head from the rain with the glass.

       Raphael's grin matched Lituvi's. He could hear the characteristic ping of glass when hit by large raindrops until Carl got too far away. The discovery of window glass was as exciting as though it had never happened before, because it hadn't, at least not in Britannia. To be first with all that we know. It staggers the imagination!

       Preparation for Raphael's move to Camulodunum were slowed by the need for a supply of window glass and the difficulty of silvering heavier glass to make a mirror, but Carl was adamant. He had changed his mind. The mirror was necessary. It would attract more attention than the window glass, and it would make a superb gift to King Cunobelin's wife. Both glass and mirror would be better than anything Cunobelin could get from the Romans. The mirrors from the Rover and Rebecca's overnight bag served as models, so Raphael continued his preparations.