Cast in Time Book 1: Baron
Ed & Carol Nelson
Cast in Time
Book 1: Baron
By Ed Nelson
Other books by Ed Nelson
The Richard Jackson Saga
Book 1: The Beginning
Book 2: Schooldays
Book 3: Hollywood
Book 4: In the Movies
Book 5: Star to Deckhand
Book 6: Surfing Dude
Book 7: Third Time is a Charm
Book 8: Oxford University
Book 9: Cold War
Book 10: Taking Care of Business
Book 11: Interesting Times
Book 12: Escape from Siberia
Book 13: Regicide
Book 14: What’s Under, Down Under?
Book 15: The Lunar Kingdom
Book 16: First Steps
Stand Alone Stories
Ever and Always
Mary, Mary
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my wife, Carol, for her support and help as my first reader and editor.
With special thanks to Ole Rotorhead for his technical insights on how things really work.
Then there are my beta readers: Ole Rotorhead, Lonelydad, Antti Huotari, and Pat O'Dell.
And never forget the professional editor: Morgan Waddle.
Quotation
According to 'M' theory, ours is not the only universe. Instead, 'M' theory predicts that a great many universes were created out of nothing.
Stephen Hawking
Copyright © 2023
E. E. Nelson
All rights reserved
Eastern Shore Publishing
2331 West Del Webb Blvd.
Sun City Center, FL 33673
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-953395-83-2
Table of Contents
Cast in Time
Other books by Ed Nelson
Dedication
Quotation
Copyright © 2023
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Backmatter
Prologue
"Fire!"
My ten crossbowmen released their bolts upon my command. The hours of training paid off. All six of the charging knights' horses went down. The knights were trapped under their mounts or lay broken on the ground from the sudden deceleration.
My twenty-first-century tactics in this 8th century were saving my adopted people. These were more like fourteenth-century tactics, but who was counting?
What was I, Jim Fletcher, a farm boy from Ohio who had died at the age of ninety-two in 2010, doing in the body of a twenty-four-year-old Baron in 8th-century Cornwall?
I think it is Cornwall, but there are some differences from the Cornwall that Dory and I knew. Not differences in culture, that was to be expected, but geographical differences.
I had no idea why I was here.
The action continued as I mused about what was happening in front of me. Contrary to war leaders of the time, I did not stand on the front lines but commanded from the rear.
It wasn't far from the front, and I was protected from the main charge, able to command the entirety of my small army. Well, band. A small band.
My crossbowmen were trained to aim for the horses. Armor for horses wasn't yet in use.
Heck, this was before stirrups were in use! Even the knights' armor was rudimentary compared to later versions. The real Romans had better armor five hundred years ago.
Chain and plate mail was in the future. This armor was similar to bullet-resistant vests from my time. Flat pieces of metal in leather pockets.
Fifty yards behind the Knights were the attacking Baron's footmen. At the start of the battle, there were forty of them. Now some were running from the field as the Knights went down.
I had only twenty-five men to counter their Army. But at least they weren't running from the field.
Per the plan, the fastest ten of my footmen charged into the fallen Knights and finished the job with war hammers.
Shooting horses and using sledgehammers to beat people to death may not seem sporting, but this didn't pretend to be.
It was war, and I knew war all too well. From World War II to Vietnam I had been there. Now that I'm here, will I change history so much that those events never happen?
Once the horses and Knights were dead, they retreated. The horses were killed to put them out of their pain. The Knights so were no longer a threat and demoralized the remaining footmen.
The action also raised the morale of my soldiers as the 8th-century equivalent of the main battle tank was taken out of the equation.
My footmen followed the crossbowmen who had retreated through the scattered caltrops. Small sticks with cloth marked three safe paths through the field.
If the footmen charged, they would have a nasty surprise with our medieval minefield.
Across the way, an enemy Sergeant, a soldier with a Knight’s skills and tools but without a Knight’s golden spurs, was trying to rally the remaining troops. He wasn't having much luck.
These weren't trained soldiers but conscripted farmers. Baron Wendon had counted on his Knights’ charge breaking my forces. It was well known that my Barony had no Knights, so he was confident he could roll over us.
His so-called Army was armed with poor spears and billhooks. They were clustered as a rabble rather than in a soldierly formation.
My troops were only a step above them, but they were in a formation. Each of my people wore a green armband giving us a uniform appearance.
The enemy Sergeant had rallied his remaining troops and charged. We waited in place. Let them wear themselves out running up the moderate slope in front of us.
The slope could easily be walked, but it was wearing on running troops, especially since they were charged up on adrenalin. The crossbowmen fired once more just before the attackers hit the caltrop field.
Their fire took down five of the enemy by direct hits and another six by men stumbling into them. These men could get back up, but the momentum was broken.
These caltrops were not the six-inch ones for a horse but three inches for men. There were hundreds of them. Without hard-soled boots, the enemy footmen were disabled.
By the time the enemy had troops across the field, the crossbowmen had cranked their bows and shot another flight of bolts.
The crossbowmen retreated behind our footmen and started to crank their bows again. It wasn't needed. Our front line cut down the dozen enemy footmen who made it that far.
Prisoners were taken, and the wounded were treated as well as possible. These were now my people by right of conquest, so they must be cared for.
"Sergeant, detail men to retrieve the caltrops and collect the weapons. And detail two men to accompany me to loot the Knights," I said.
I had to loot the Knights in person, or I would see little of the loot. That was the nature of the beast in these days.
Not that there was much to loot. Baron Wendon had the most, but it was only a few silvers. I had to hope that his fortress had more. I had to act fast if I was going to add his Barony to mine.
My plan wasn't to conquer my neighbors, but if they gave me no choice, they would face the consequences.
I never doubted that my forces would win. It enabled me to march with my crossbowmen and fifteen footmen at once. We had a pack train of supplies ready to follow. Our scouts had marked our path.
Baron Wendon's castle was only ten miles from mine. Ten miles seemed a very short distance to me. But once I remembered that most people in this time never went more than five miles from their place of birth, it made sense.
The early morning battle allowed us to arrive at the Baron's castle in the late afternoon. While not impressive as a castle, it would have been a bear to attack if the gates in the ten-foot-high wall were closed.
Thankfully the gate was wide open. We were able to march right up to the castle and go inside. The Baron was so confident of victory that he hadn't left a guard at the gate.
There were a few old men with spears who surrendered immediately. They may seem primitive to my modern eyes, but they weren't stupid by any means.
The Baron had left his wife and two small children behind. I was left with a dilemma of what to do with them. The original Baron whose body I inhabited would have killed them with no remorse. It was the sensible thing to do in that day and age.
Letting the wife live was inviting immediate trouble as some of the remaining population would be loyal to her. The two children represented future problems.
The six-year-old boy would grow up thinking he had been robbed of his title. The four-year-old girl could be married to another Baron to secure an ally for the cheated young Baron.
The recent widow didn't seem upset about the death of her husband. She only seemed to care about her children.
I saw an opportunity in her attitude. While my men explored the Keep, she and I talked in their living quarters.
"You don't seem upset by your husband's death."
"He would beat me if I didn't please him."
"Where are you from?"
"My father is a merchant in Saltash. He wanted his grandchildren to be titled, so he paid Baron Wendon to marry me."
She and I talked for a while. I found her to have more education than I expected. When quizzed on this, she confessed that she had been taught to read and write as her father had no other children to follow him.
She ran the family chandler business when he had to go on trading ventures, obtaining tree limbs and trunks for sailing vessels.
The Wendon castle steward was one of those killed in the recent fight. I asked her if she could run the castle.
"I have been performing the Steward's duties for the last two years. He was drunk most of the time. He and my husband were seldom sober enough to keep order in the Keep. I had to order provisions, hear the people's complaints, and try to keep the place together."
She continued, "The former Baron learned you had no Knights, so he thought it would be an easy victory. He had enough brains left to realize that his Barony was falling apart. He thought if he conquered yours, there would be enough loot to continue to support this one."
Her apparent intelligence and lack of loyalty to her dead husband gave me an idea.
"I didn't set out to conquer this Barony. Could you continue to run it for your son if I recognized him as the rightful heir and declared him the Baron?"
I thought she would collapse when I asked this. The brave front she had been putting up dissolved. She thought she and her children were to be killed.
"I would leave one of my men to act as Steward, but you would be your son's regent until he is of age."
I went on, "There are changes I have made in my Barony that would benefit here."
Her eyes lit up as I described our new sanitation systems, education, and improved farming methods. My policy of not letting my people starve in times of famine.
While talking, I notice she is a handsome woman and has all her teeth. Having a full set of teeth was a rarity at the time. While decay from sugar wasn't present, basic gum care was a huge problem. There was nothing about her that a bath wouldn't cure.
It seemed we were at a crossroads about bathing. The Romans had their baths and used them frequently. Most conquered areas adopted the practice. They had influenced this Cornwall but hadn't conquered it to change its customs. At least in this reality. Pity.
"What do you want in return?" She asked.
"You and your son to swear allegiance to me and provide men if needed for war."
She had no reservations that I could see in doing this. It would allow her and her children to live. Not only to live but to remain in power. Expecting death, she now faced life.
My men secured the small fortress and assembled its inhabitants. When the people of the castle and the immediate surrounding area were assembled, I explained the change in their circumstances.
The news was accepted with little reaction. The former Baron hadn't treated the people well, but he wasn’t horrible to them either.
To them, it sounded like business as usual. That would change. The village headman was brought to me. I explained to him that there would be changes, but I wanted him to observe them in my village so he could explain them to his people.
You could tell he wasn't used to this treatment. Confusing him further, I asked that his wife accompany him to bring back a women's perspective on the coming changes.
I knew that when she saw the better lifestyle of my people, she would be our most avid supporter. The headman thought he ran his village, but I knew better.
The old Baron had less than five hundred silver in his treasury. This small amount wouldn't have supported the castle for very long. It explained why he decided to conquer me. I told the mother of the new Baron that I would send one thousand silver to support her son. This amount was to be considered a no-interest loan with no set repayment date.
To say she continued to be amazed would be putting it lightly. I would have taken her as a wife if she had been younger. She was the most attractive and intelligent woman I had met so far. She just needed a bath.
I arranged for ten men and a Sergeant to remain as my representatives. The Sergeant understood that The Lady of the castle was in charge. He was there to report any attempted treason.
I could only trust so far.
While arrangements were being made, I thought about how I had gotten here. Ironically it started on my deathbed.
Chapter 1
I was born James Douglas Fletcher on May 28, 1918, in Logan County, Ohio, to Paul Douglas Fletcher Junior and Janet Elizabeth Fletcher nee Rupert. Math never worked out for the marriage and birth dates, but there was a war.
I was an only child. Complications in childbirth prevented any other children.
Growing up on a small farm in Ohio gave me a taste of hard work and learning to be responsible for my actions. It took several painful trips to the woodshed, but by the time I was fourteen, I understood.
I still don't think it was my fault the explosion was that large when I lit off the methane gas in the pile of cow manure.
Not that I didn't do rebellious things. I just didn't get caught. I smoked an entire cigarette before deciding the taste was terrible and wanted no part of it. When I inhaled deeply, the smoke would tear my lungs apart.
If that were what it took to look older and more worldly, I would be happy to look young and naïve.
Beer was a different story. I loved the taste of it. I also quickly learned the price to be paid for drinking too much. Savoring the taste was better than chugging a bottle and having a hangover. One hangover was enough.
By the time I was sixteen, I had learned my way around a bra strap and other things. But the great mystery of life still evaded me.
My father, Paul, had served in the Great War and returned home a Major. While doing well in the Army, he had no desire to make it a career. Any career would have been limited because he was an ROTC callup.
Still, he had fond memories of the Army, at least when he wasn't in the trenches. Those times weren't talked about.
My grandfather Paul Douglas Fletcher Senior, had been with Colonel Roosevelt and the Rough Riders on Kettle Hill. That day was his only real battle in the war and he would recount the events at the drop of a hat. I could recite the story along with him.
All in all, the experiences of my father and grandfather left me with a desire to be in the Army. I told my parents of my wish when I was in the ninth grade.
Dad told me if I was going to be in the Army, it was best to be an officer. To achieve that, I should go to West Point. To attend West Point, I needed good grades, participation in extracurricular activities, and political backing.
Later I learned my parents, in private conversation, thought this was a phase and that I would never meet all those goals.
In High School, I demonstrated a strength of character that I held for my entire life.
I went out for football and track and field, making both teams. Making the teams wasn't that impressive, considering the size of my rural high school.
I also joined the Chess Club because I truly loved to play, though I never got beyond expert ranking.
I tried out for several school plays but wasn't an actor. My lines came across as wooden at best. When not acting, I was considered a well-spoken young man and viewed as sincere by my peers. At least, that is how I interpreted it.
Academically I had an advantage that began to show in the ninth grade when classes became more difficult. I had a photographic memory. Giving me the advantage of every test being an open-book test.
The disadvantage was that it was like leafing through a textbook to find the answer. It took time. I couldn't take a test of one hundred and fifty questions and look them all up. I still had to pay attention and learn as much as I could.
Then in a test, I would only have to look up a few items. If there was enough time when I finished, I could go back and "look up" the correct answer if I was in doubt.
One would have thought I would have gotten 100% on everything, but human memory is funny. I would be certain I had the right answer and not look it up. Because of this, I only got 98% correct consistently, which still impressed my teachers.
I had to spend time on my work to understand it. Just because I could remember what the book said didn't mean I got it. I was considered an excellent student but not a genius.
It might be because my mind was frequently on the next bra strap.
My American History teacher was a graduate of West Point. He spoke of his experiences occasionally, so I felt free to share my desires. In return, I learned that my local Congressman made the appointments in our area.
Politics became the only bone of contention between Dad and me. Dad was a stanch Wilson Democrat and the Congressman, a Republican.
I signed onto the Congressman's campaigns, knocked on doors, waved signs at street corners, and helped set up rooms for fundraisers. By doing this, I became known to the Congressman.
As with all campaign events, there were fallow periods where I had a chance to explain my desire to attend West Point. While now a political appointment, it made it easy for the Congressman to favor me.
I received an appointment to attend the Military Academy at West Point upon graduation from High School. Assuming I succeeded in school, I would be in the graduating class of 1939.
While not the smartest person in the room, I was probably the hardest worker. The material I had to learn didn't need a genius. It just needed someone willing to do the work.
Work was what I was good at. I was like a bulldog in my studies. I wouldn't let go until I had mastered the material and completed my assignments.
My major was mechanical engineering. These courses started me on my lifelong love of Engineering in all its forms.
But I wasn't a recluse. I made friends with my classmates. When I was made a team leader on projects or field assignments, they followed me willingly.
One report by an instructor stated, "Students follow Cadet Fletcher because they know he will put in the work to complete the mission while taking care of his people."
I graduated seventh in my class of 456 cadets. That was out of over 700 of us who had started in the summer of 1935. Like many high-ranking students, I chose the Army Corps of Engineers as my first assignment following in the footsteps of such famous graduates as Robert E. Lee.
It would be best if you didn't think I was nothing but a grind in school. I gained fame when I won a bet that I could keep a pet in our barracks for one month without getting caught.
I had noticed a light bulb, enclosed in a globe, burned out in a closet. So I turned the globe into a fish tank. The goldfish lived for six weeks before I had to flush it. I was lucky my nickname didn’t come from that event.
At five foot eleven inches and one hundred and forty pounds, I did came across as skinny and always eating my favorite snack was. So they called me Slim Jim.
After my graduation in 1939, I went on active duty. As a Second Lieutenant, I probably did every dumb thing a Butterbar could do. But by listening to my Sergeants, I survived the experience.
Once I realized that the officer above me would give me an order, I had to tell my Sergeants to make it happen. It was not a Second Lieutenant's job to think!
By the time I was a First Lieutenant, I was in North Africa, building tank traps and fortifications. It was here I received my first Bronze Star and Purple Heart.
By the war's end, I was a Major through battlefield promotions with two Bronze Stars and a Silver Star. I also had three Purple Hearts (none of which were serious wounds), plus various campaign medals, which made me look like a serious soldier. As I put it, I frequently forgot to duck but kept working anyway.
It did stick in my craw that we combat engineers couldn't wear the CIB.
After the war, I met a young lady at Fort Leonard Wood. After dating for a year, I married Dorris Davidson in 1948. It was the beginning of a partnership that lasted over fifty years. Our one regret was that we never had any children.
We considered adoption but didn't want to put our children through the continuous changes being an army brat would require. Instead, my officers and their wives became our children.
After World War II, I continued my engineering education, adding a degree in civil engineering. When Korea came along, I was back on the front lines.
This time I destroyed many bridges and then built them back up. Being a Major, I didn't spend as much time at the front under fire. At least that is what I told my wife in letters home.
It still had its moments. Enough moments to receive a second Silver Star, a Distinguished Service Cross, and another Purple Heart. How was I to know that the units I was supporting bugged out and the only thing holding the North Koreans back was my unit?
It was touch and go, but an artillery barrage saved the day. But it didn't happen until I had my unit dug in. Handy things, those bulldozers. I then proceeded to round up a short battalion of four hundred troops.
I dug them in and created a salient that stopped the North Korean advance long enough for troops to be brought back into line.
I was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for my actions during the bug-out and another battlefield promotion to Lieutenant Colonel.
Unlike Patton, I wasn't observed when I decked the officer leading the bug out. That was later in a bar in Seoul. I chose my moment well when a bar fight had already started.
After Korea, I spent time with the Civil Engineering side of the Corps of Engineers. My units built dams and levees up and down the Mississippi for the most part. I continued my education in Engineering.
Dory, was the perfect military wife. She took the enlisted men's wives under her wing and helped with their problems, mostly by counseling and sometimes by direct intervention. Woe unto the soldier who mistreated his wife.
As I rose in rank, she grew in her poise. Now it was caring for wives of philandering Captains. Those that didn't learn quickly fell by the wayside. She could chew out a Major and have tea with a General's wife equally at ease.
In 1958 I was promoted to full Colonel since I now had enough Time in Grade and Time in Service.
When Vietnam came along, I was given my first star. I was in charge of all engineering projects in Viet Nam. Now I was constructing airstrips, firebases, bridges, digging wells, and anything else the Brass could think of.
I didn't get out into the field very much anymore and didn't care. I was getting too old for that shit. Also, the troops in this war differed from the other two I had been in. Earlier wars had a sense of patriotism about them.
While many in the earlier wars waited to be drafted, it wasn't a cause for resentment. All were in the draft.
These soldiers felt that only the lower classes were being sent to war. These men were unwilling draftees. The level of frustration was high.
There was no real sense of purpose. On the occasions I got out in the field and talked to the people on the sharp end, it seemed like the Brass back in Saigon had no idea what was happening.
It was good that the Army had sent me to General Officer training, or as they called it, "Charm School." Its purpose was to teach me how to deal diplomatically with foreign governments, especially their military. Also, our congress and high-ranking officers of sister services.
I privately thought it taught me how to say nothing, lie my ass off, and smile while doing it.
In 1970 I was promoted to Lieutenant General and Commanding Officer of the US Army Corps of Engineers and given the traditional set of "Gold Castle" insignia passed down from General Douglas MacArthur.
I surrendered them in turn when I reached the forced retirement age of fifty-five in 1973.
Since I was in a specialized branch of the Army, I was never under consideration for a fourth star. That was fine by me. Getting my third took more political posturing than I had the stomach for.
The only regret I had about all the awards I had been given was that I wasn't eligible for the Combat Infantry Badge. I had been under direct fire for days in three different wars. If they were shooting at you and you were shooting back, that should be enough to earn the award.
During my tenure in the Army, I never quit my schooling. I have a Ph. D. in Mechanical Engineering and a Master's in Civil Engineering. I had so many minors I had to make a list.
I was now about to start another phase of my life.
A life-changing phase.
Chapter 2
Upon retirement, we moved to Florida and started the retirement lifestyle. Golf outings, fishing, movies, and dinner with new friends.
That lasted about six months. Dory and I hated it. We were used to keeping busy. Doing nothing wasn't for us. We weren't being fair in our thinking to those who were happy with that life, but it just wasn't us.
Finances weren't a problem. My Army retirement, plus our savings, and stock investments left us comfortable.
I had bought stock in technology companies like IBM and AT&T. My wife likes what she calls people companies such as Coca-Cola and the new hamburger chain, McDonald's.
We hemmed and hawed around for months, checking things out. Then eventually decided to join the Peace Corps.
The initial training was interesting. It covered technical areas such as linguistics, cross-cultural, health, safety, and security.
As far as technical, health, and safety plus security, they immediately wanted me to stay in the US as an instructor.
But we wanted to go out into the field, so I declined. Linguistic training was a slog, but I got through it. Dory flew through it. What surprised me the most was the cross-cultural training.
It wasn't the African culture that gave me a problem. The program was based on comparing African ways with American ways.
I didn't have a problem with the African ways. After serving on three continents and many countries, I expected them to be different. It was what I learned about American culture that was amazing.
The culture of the American military is different than that of mainstream America.
It turned out that I had visited America but hadn't lived in it. First of all, the Army is a male culture. Yes, there are women in the Army, but don't kid yourself, it is a male culture. It is a physically fit culture. We cull the weaklings.
A culture of order and slow change. As an Officer, I was used to giving orders and not having to coax people.
When I needed resources for a job, I requisitioned them. In the Army, I decided how or if entire programs would be supported at my retirement rank.
Now I was expected to beg, borrow, or steal what was needed.
When we finally got in-country after our three-month training, we had more lessons to learn. The Peace Corps expected us to live with host families. In some cases, this meant sleeping on the couch.
Since we had private funds, we rented a grass shack of our own. We would eat meals with our hosts or even invite them to our place for dinner.
There were other Peace Corps Volunteers (PCV) in our area. We were by far the oldest. Most were in their early twenties.
Dory soon became the den-mother. I was treated as a senior officer, like in our old life.
The locals that drove me nuts.
I would work on a project to improve their farming methods, and they would sit under a tree all day. They knew that free food would be shipped to them by the many Non-Governmental Organizations (NGOs), so why bother to work?
I couldn't convince them that the NGOs might not be around forever or that PCV people like me would not be available to teach in the future.
Dory and her cadre of female PCV workers were more successful with cleanliness and sanitation. The idea of not losing so many babies appealed to the local women. The men didn't seem to care. They could always make more.
So instead of improving farming methods, we worked on a clean water supply and a sanitation system.
I'm not talking about running water in the house or an indoor privy. We ran PVC pipe from a fast-running stream to a filtration bed, then pumped it to a water tank by hand. From the tank, water could be obtained from one of several water faucets installed below the tank.
This setup gave a reliable water supply to the small village. Before installing this setup, the village women would haul buckets of water from the nearest stream.
The easiest place at the stream was downstream from where their few cattle grazed. The cows would go into the stream to cool off and, of course, poop in the water.
I even saw a couple of the boys herding the cows do it the same way.
It worked fine until the water tank was empty. No one wanted to spend time or energy pumping it.
We also built a communal privy with separate men's and women's sides.
It required a lot of digging by the PCV and pipe laying, but we had water from above the water supply running through the privy and returning it to the fast-running stream far below the water supply.
It worked fine until it stopped up. It seemed the privy was a good place to dump any unwanted items.
We had made it possible through a small door to go down and unblock it. After my third trip, I refused to go anymore. Other PCV felt the same.
To obtain the building materials, we had to trade and barter. The Peace Corps only lent people. The local government and NGOs had to come up with money or the materials needed.
The NGOs were mostly church groups, and I finally got tired of having to attend their services in trade for the materials. Near the end, they even required me to bring so many locals to their events so they could try to convert them.
The few locals I could convince to come were teenage boys who only wanted to ogle the white girls there. I didn't care about the race issue. It was the cultural differences that could cause problems.
I finally just started paying for the materials out of pocket. After two years of backbreaking labor, we had a water system that wasn't used because no one wanted to pump water and a blocked-up sewer system.
Despite requests and even a little pressure, Dory and I decided the Peace Corps wasn't for us. When we got home, I made another discovery.
The Peace Corps would occasionally send camera crews around to film our work-in-progress. Most pictures were staged with other volunteers directing smiling natives.
The natives were smiling because the Peace Corps paid them an extortionate rate to work that day.
I saw the result one evening of a PSA being run on late-night TV. They were recruiting for the Peace Corps and using retired Lt. General James Fletcher as a role model.
To say I was upset would be putting it mildly.
When interviewed on a local TV station, I was asked about my African experience.
"When I was young, I learned the saying, ‘You can lead a horse to water, but can't make him drink,’ They proved it is true.
"If you are disillusioned with your Peace Corps work, why are you allowing them to use you in their ads?" The interviewer asked.
"I was never asked. I hadn't read my contract close enough to know the Corp didn't need my permission."
"So, will you and your wife be going back?"
"We are done. It isn't the Peace Corps people who are the problem. It is those that won't help themselves."
The Peace Corps had been trying to get me to sign for another two years. After that interview, they quit calling.
Dory and I were now back to where we had started. We were both fifty-eight years old and had to figure out what to do.
While waiting for something to come up, I took more Engineering courses at a local college. I was halfway through my first semester when it hit me.
I would become a professional student. Why not spend my time doing something I love? I applied to several of the major engineering schools. All of them accepted me.
I chose MIT, where I would be a student for the next thirty years. We bought a house within walking distance of campus. Dory joined several women's groups and was always on the go.
I earned PhDs in Mechanical, Civil, and Geo-Technical and a Master's in Chemical and Electrical Engineering.
I majored in manufacturing, material science, transport, optical, and mining-metallurgical.
I had minors in aerospace, thermal, paper, agricultural processes, structural, water resources, architecture, power, electrical, petroleum, geological, and ceramics.
It sounds like a lot, but I didn't have to repeat the prerequisite courses. So, it wasn't a heavy load, just consistent year after year.
I was written up in many journals as the most educated engineer in the world. I tried to remind everyone that I had practical experience in the Army, but I should be considered a new grad for everything else. Full of book learning but no use until I gained field experience.
I enjoyed learning for the sake of learning. It was much better than having some son of a bitch trying to kill you. The young reporters didn't get that either.
By the time I was eighty-eight, I had enough trouble getting around that I had to quit school. MIT surprised me by throwing a going-away party. They also presented me with an honorary degree as a Ph.D. in professional studenting.
All in good fun. I was sad as I knew this was my last run in life.
Dory's health had deteriorated, and she had to be put in a nursing home. I visited her every day for two years until I showed up one morning, and they told me she had passed an hour before I got there.
Soon after, my health went downhill; I blamed it on a broken heart. I was admitted to a facility and lived there for my last two years.
One evening I relived my life almost scene by scene and realized it was time.
My wife and I were never religious. That said, I had formed an idea of death. Not heaven or hell, or even a limbo. A fade to black and you were gone, never to wake again.
I knew I was dying, my body had started shutting down. The one symptom that I didn't exhibit was confusion. I knew what was happening up to the end.
There was no pain, I didn't have cancer or other problems. My body was just plain worn out. I slept more and ate less, which were classic symptoms. My Dory had died two years earlier, and I missed her terribly.
As I lay dying, I didn't think I would be joining her in some afterlife. We both would be gone. That was fine. I didn't want to go on in this decrepit body without her at my side.
I wasn't Dylan. I wanted to go gently into that dark night.
That evening tunnel vision set in as I faded away. I don't know if there was a smile on my face, but there should have been.
Chapter 3
I awoke to voices. Was there an afterlife after all? They weren't in English as I knew them, but they had a familiar sound and cadence.
I lay there with my eyes closed, afraid to look at what was happening. As the voices continued, I began to make out words. It was as though a foreign language was being translated as I listened.
Pretty soon, I was able to track the conversation. These people seemed concerned for the life of their young Baron who had been thrown from a horse.
He had hit his head and had a large bump form. It didn't bleed, but they expected death from the injury as they had seen similar ones many times.
I wondered why they didn't understand that it was a hematoma and that death would ensue if the swelling wasn't reduced.
A harsh voice said, "He needs liquid, or he will surely die."
That made sense. The next thing I knew, a bitter liquid was dripping on my lips. I involuntarily licked what I identified as a bad, weak beer and opened my eyes.
"He's awake!"
What is going on? Where is this young Baron?
Somehow I recognized the man as John Steward, the Steward of my castle.
How did I know this man and understand the language he was speaking? As I had these thoughts, he felt the back of my head.
"Abbot, the swelling has gone down. He will live," John said.
"Praise the lord the fount of all that is good."
I don't know who this guy is, but I better keep my nonreligious beliefs to myself.
To say I was confused would be putting it mildly. Why did these people think I was the Baron?
"My Lord, can you speak?"
I tried to speak up, but I could only mumble unintelligible words. As I tried to put my thoughts together, I heard another person in my head. They were raging about being shoved aside.
"At least he understands us. Let's hope the damage hasn't ruined his mind."
"Water," I managed to say.
John Steward raised my head and let me sip what I now identified as small beer. Wherever I was, the water was not considered drinkable. And that didn't bode well.
The small beer cleared my throat enough that I could talk.
"What happened?" I asked.
"That new war horse threw you, My Lord," John answered.
"How long ago?"
"Three days, we thought we had lost you."
"I need to relieve myself."
"You will be too weak to stand. Let me help you."
"I don't need help."
Steward didn't argue with me. He just caught me when I started to fall.
He laughed. "As stubborn as ever, I see."
"John, I knew you would catch me if I fell."
Abbot stepped into the conversation.
"What year is it, my Lord?"
"Do you want to know the year and wear my piss, or will you wait?"
"I think I will wait."
At that, John led me to a garderobe.
I whispered to him.
"What is the year?"
"The year of our Lord seven hundred and fifteen," he replied.
"Thanks."
"As I thought, your wits are not all there yet. The Abbot doesn't like you. He thinks you want to destroy his order."
"Why would I destroy them?"
"The church is claiming your best land. They claim your father left it to them to buy his way into heaven."
"Do they have it in writing?"
"No, they claim he did it in his last confession."
"Who took his confession."
"The Abbot with no one else to hear."
"I see."
I did see. Attempted theft, pure, plain, and simple. I had many things to learn about my situation, but here was something I could take care of at once.
My strength was coming back as John helped me. I wondered if he was real or a hallucination.
" John, was the horse that threw me examined?"
"Yes, a sharp stone was found under his saddle."
In 2010 it wouldn't be enough evidence for a prosecutor to take to a jury. Here I was Judge, Jury, and Executioner.
These thoughts weren't mine but of that unseen occupant in the back of my mind.
"I need the Abbot to show me the lands I'm giving up. Have him meet me on the top of the tower."
How I knew that we were on the top floor of the Keep, I didn't know. But I knew the steps along the far wall led to the top of the building.
I made my way up to the top as John went across the room to summon the Abbot to ascend the tower as I had summoned him. John waited below. It was heavy going, but I made it up the steps.
As I pictured, the top had a surrounding wall with crenelations to allow archers to fire. I looked over the edge and saw it was clear below.
When the Abbot cleared the steps, I grabbed him by the top of his hooded robe and shoved him off the tower. A sickening thud followed a brief yell.
"No one steals what is mine."
I was horrified by what I had done. Who or what am I?
My unseen companion radiated with satisfaction. He had his revenge and seemed to fade from my mind. His personality was gone, but his knowledge was still there.
I knew the names and jobs of the people I encountered but almost nothing about them. I would have to be careful about how I approached them.
What I had seen so far was familiar and, again, unfamiliar. It was as though I was in an alternate Cornwall. I doubted if I would ever understand what had happened. I couldn't go back. I had died.
My engineering common sense told me to make the best of this world. It is the only one that I have.
At least I wasn't a ninety-two-year-old man facing this strange situation. That without a mirror, it was hard to tell my physical shape.
Looking at my arms, legs, and chest, I was in good shape and probably in my mid-twenties. I didn't have any gross deformities, at least from how the Steward and the Abbot looked at me before his demise.
A commotion came from down below interrupted my thoughts.
The Abbot's body had been found.
My Steward came up to the top of the tower and asked me what had happened.
"The Abbot tried to prove that man can fly like a bird. He was wrong."
"It's a shame that he didn't try some time ago. He has been a pain for the last two years," John said.
"Who will replace him?"
"The Bishop in York appoints them, but it will take a while for word to reach him, a decision to be made, and the replacement to join the monastery. In the meantime, you can make a temporary replacement."
"Do you know a strong candidate locally?"
"Friar Luke, the Senior Monk, would be a good replacement. He is only interested in copying books and illustrating them. He doesn't seem interested in expanding the church's lands."
"Then I will appoint him. I wonder what it would take to make it permanent."
"The going rate for this Abbey has been two hundred silvers."
"Do we have enough in the treasury?"
"You must have taken a harder knock than we thought. We are rich right now. We have over twenty thousand silver on hand."
"Humor me, how did we obtain that?"
"You don't remember that Welsh merchant caravan we raided?"
I held my head and faked it.
"How could I forget! I must have really cracked my head. It is a wonder I am alive."
Oh, if he only knew the wonder of me being alive.
"Have the message about the Abbot's delusion of being able to fly sent accompanied by two hundred and fifty silver with our recommendation that Friar Luke be appointed Abbot."
"I will, My Lord, and there are a couple of other people I suggest be given flying lessons," he said.
"All in good time. If done too often, people might wonder."
"That's a shame."
"Others could try swimming with heavy clay boots."
"What an original idea!"
Thank you, Cosa Nostra. I also had to wonder where these thoughts were coming from. This ruthless streak wasn't part of Jim Fletcher. And it was frightening how calmly my Steward accepted it.
I would have to be careful if this was the norm of the day and age. Do unto others takes a whole new meaning.
Suddenly, I felt weak.
John Steward had to help me down the steps. Once back in bed, a pallet raised above the floor, I was given a bowl of stew.
It was good, which was a surprise. I had expected gruel or some tasteless dish. At least one fear was settled. I wouldn't starve to death.
Starving was far from my worst fear. I was afraid of the monster lurking inside me. Thankfully it seemed to leave me after I threw the Abbot off the tower.
It must have been thought that Abbot was the one who tried to kill him. Once its revenge was accomplished, it moved on. Then why did I bring up concrete boots?
I realized this was a more dangerous age. There were no police. Maybe no laws, at least for the Nobles.
Was it the luck of the draw that I came back as a Noble? Maybe there is a larger plan in effect. If so, whose plan? Maybe I had better go to church.
After eating my stew, I asked John Steward to help me to my room. The pallet I had been laying on was in the main hall. Why there, I didn't know. There was a lot that I didn't know.
The Steward helped me down a hallway to my room. It wasn't far as this castle wasn't big as castles go. It was more like a fortified keep.
I asked why I had been on a pallet in the main hall.
"So, we could watch you. We knew someone was trying to kill you. It would be harder with you in the center of things. I had men detailed to watch any that approached you."
That made sense. I reminded myself that even though these people didn't have my scientific advantages, they weren't stupid. Thinking about it enough times, I might remember.
It was late in the afternoon, and I fell asleep immediately.
Chapter 4
Awake and alone for the first time, I tried to take stock of what I knew.
I had died, or at least I thought I did. No matter what, I wasn't in that body any longer.
The body I was in was younger, much younger, maybe around twenty-four. Not only younger but in excellent shape. It reminded me of when I was in World War II. Lean and mean.
I understood what was being said even though it appeared to be a different language. The language was one I had never heard spoken, and I had been to many different places in my previous life.
Yet the flow and accent seemed familiar. I had been somewhere where this language was spoken, but the words had been changed, while the accent and cadence remained the same.
Then there was the stranger that had been inside my head. The stranger was now gone. They disappeared after taking control of my body to throw the Abbot off the tower.
The only thing that made sense was that the previous Baron knew the Abbot had tried to kill him. Actually, it looked like the Abbot had succeeded, and I had been inserted into the soon-to-be vacant body. That certainly spoke of god-like powers.
I wondered if that question would ever be answered.
There was also a leftover tendency for violence. Even though I had been through three wars, my reactions were harsher than normally warranted.
Was it the new me or a response to this day and age?
Thinking of this day and age made me wonder what the current date was and whether this was my old world or a different one.
Maybe it was some dying dream? Who knew, who cared? Dream or not, it was the hand that had been dealt, and I could play it or let events take over.
I suspect letting events take over wouldn't end well. I would play this hand.
So, I was here. This place reminded me of Cornwall for some reason. Dory and I had visited it several times. We loved the little fishing villages.
The only thing wrong with that thought was that I couldn't smell the ocean. What I did smell was too many humans in too small of a space with little knowledge of good sanitation practices.
I would have to change that. In the meantime, I had to learn more about my circumstances. How could I do this without raising John Steward's suspicion even more?
I thought for a few minutes and came up with a solution. I reflected on myself in the horrible-smelling garderobe. That was something else I had to change. That and inventing toilet paper.
Many things to do and so little time. Heaving a sigh I went looking for breakfast.
I found Steward in the main hall. He was having the same meal I had yesterday. While good, it could get boring. More change.
I didn't know what I called him most of the time. I weaseled and addressed him as, "My friend, I have some questions for you."
From his startled look, I had never called him a friend before. He didn't seem upset, just surprised.
"Who besides us knows about the merchant's silver?"
He got a pensive look.
"As you know, the merchants didn't have much silver, maybe five hundred as travel money. We got the silver when we sold the merchandise in Saltash."
This information gave me something to work with. In my time, Saltash was a small fishing port upstream from Plymouth.
"Then the merchants in Saltash know I have gained much silver," I said.
"True, and that means the Baron of Saltash knows about it."
"When will he attack?"
"It is too late in the season, harvesting is about over, but snow will fly soon. The Baron will wait until spring to attack."
"Then we have that much time to get ready for him."
"My Lord, counting himself, he has six armored Knights. We have none."
"I have an answer for that."
"What?"
"Crossbows."
"Crossbows don't have enough power to penetrate armor and take too long to the wind."
"I know how to make a stronger bow and wind it faster."
He didn't ask me to explain, but his face was easily read. He thought that I must have been brain-damaged by that fall.
"Tell me how many people I currently support in the castle," I said.
Now he knew for certain I had brain damage.
"Counting cooks, maids, arrmsmen, the blacksmith, stablemaster, brewer, bakers, and washerwomen about fifty."
"Take me on a tour of the castle."
"Very well, though we did the fall tour less than a month ago."
"Please humor a knocked in the head, addlepated Baron."
I was attempting to put him at ease by acknowledging my weakness, at least what he perceived as a weakness.
"Follow me."
"I notice the rushes on the floor look fresh."
"Yes, the quarterly replacement just occurred. That is one improvement that you have made that seems to work. Most rushes are only replaced once in the spring.
He continued, "That and banning pigs from the hall. We could train the dogs to go outside, but pigs went where they wanted."
"Maybe I'm not so addlepated."
He laughed. "That was before your fall."
Good, laughter is a sign that he isn't as worried as earlier. At least, I hope so.
We go to the kitchen. It was a small building separated from the main castle. I knew this was to avoid kitchen fires from spreading to the main building. This design would last for over a thousand years.
The danger was caused by cooking with wood which could be unpredictable when burning. Ovens moved up on my list of things to invent.
Before inventing a cook stove, I had to find out how much the local Blacksmith knew about metals and their compositions.
Steward called Cook over. Around thirty, hard to tell with their different lives, she was short and round, just as I imagined a castle cook would look. Her blond hair and strong arms were perfect for the part.
John asked the Cook how many scullery maids she now had.
"Five today, but Sally is about to have a babe, so I will lose her for a few weeks."
I broke in:
"Hire another from the village."
"That wouldn't be fair to the village girl. She would only work for a few weeks and then be let go," Cook said.
"You have my permission to keep her on full-time."
"We won't have enough work to keep the idle hands busy."
I left it as a cryptic:
"We will."
I didn't say that it would take another full-time person to keep this place clean. It is a wonder everyone wasn't dead from food poisoning.
Our next stop was the bakery. I was introduced to Robert Baker. Tall and thin, he didn't match my image of a baker. That was until I remembered that sugar is a rarity.
His area was neat and clean, opposite the kitchen. Note to self. Eat baked goods, not kitchen-prepared. My modern stomach couldn't handle the kitchen foods.
Wait, I don't have a modern stomach anymore. This stomach had been living off the foods. Still, better to be careful.
Our next stop was the blacksmith shop. Predictably the Blacksmith was named Thomas Smith. He was a giant by local standards. Every bit of six foot two inches and two hundred and sixty pounds with almost no fat.
His soot and cinder-stained skin matched his dark brown hair. I doubted if it could ever be cleaned.
"What are you working on today, Master Smith."
He grinned a huge gapped tooth grin at the promotion. I didn't realize it at the time, but I had the privilege of declaring a trade level.
Oops.
"My Lord, the same as on most days I'm repairing broken gear."
"What metals do you work with the most?" I asked.
"Tin, lead, copper, and iron when we get it."
"There's not much iron available. What ore is found is shipped to Saltash for selling."
"Ore or refined metal?"
"Ore, of course, My Lord, we have difficulty achieving the heat from our local woods. Even charcoaled wood doesn't work well."
"Have you tried coal?"
"You mean that black stone that burns."
"Yes, do you have any?"
"A few pieces."
"May I see it, please?"
The Blacksmith went to a back shed to collect a piece of coal. While he was gone, John Steward asked why I was saying "Please," to a commoner.
I smiled as I told John;
"He's a valued member of our community. He has earned the 'Please'."
John Steward shook his head. He didn't know what to make of the changes in his young Baron. They didn't seem bad, just different.
Smith returned with a chunk of black anthracite coal. It should burn clean and hot.
"This doesn't burn well?"
"No, look," he said tossing it on the bed of burning charcoal. The coal slowly started to burn.
"As you can see, it burns slowly and doesn't get hot."
It dawned on me what was different about this setup. There were no bellowss. I leaned over the bed of coals and blew on the coal, which was starting to glow. Where I blew on it, it flared up for a moment.
"Get with a leather worker and make a device to blow air."
"What would it look like," asked the puzzled Smith.
Using a piece of charcoal from his supply, I sketched out a hand-operated bellows.
"This device will provide more oxygen so the coal will burn hotter."
"What is oxygen?"
Thinking quickly, I stated, "Air."
If this was when I was beginning to think it was, the word oxygen hadn't been invented yet. One more thing to be careful about.
From Steward's frown, he was once again wondering about me.
The Smith asked, "This will create enough heat to melt iron ore?"
"Yes."
"If it does, we will become rich."
"Rich is good!" I said.
With that, we left for our next stop, the arrow shop. There I met, wait for it, Mark Fletcher. I wondered if he was a distant ancestor.
Fletcher was turning by hand a small lathe to create arrows.
"Where did you get this machine?" I asked surprised.
Fletcher was a small man and whipcord lean. I later learned he had been a Scout or Ranger before he took an arrow to his knee. What we had called a million-dollar wound in the twentieth century.
Here it might be worth less as he could have died from infection.
“It was made by my grandfather, who learned how from his grandfather. I was told that the ancient Romans invented it. It makes a better arrow than any done by hand,” Fletcher said.
Having a lathe, even a small one, gave me an advantage for future developments.
"Could you make a large lathe to create arrows this big?" I used my hands to demonstrate an arrow about three inches in diameter and three feet long.
Fletcher grew excited, "My grandfather talked of machines that could fire an arrow like that. We could never figure out how to turn a lathe that big."
"Have you thought of a waterwheel?"
"No, My Lord, what is a waterwheel."
I had stepped into it again. From Steward's look, I had some fast talking to do.
"I will explain later."
"Yes, My Lord."
I noticed that people were glad to have a normal conversation with me, but as soon as I brought up a concept foreign to them, it was, "My Lord."
Our last stop was the Castle armory. The title was more impressive than the reality. It was a locked roomthat had racks of poorly made spears with bronze heads.
There were barrels of arrows, but not enough to fight a real battle, much less a war.
There were a dozen crossbows hanging from hooks. I could see why no one was impressed by them. They looked like kids' toys.
I had seen enough for today. My body was still recovering from the fall and being bedridden.
I also suspected I was in for an intense grilling by John Steward.
Chapter 5
I returned to my room at a glacial pace. I hoped that John Steward would take a hint that I was hurting and out of energy. No such luck. He accompanied me all the way.
"John, you don't have to follow me to my room. I can get there on my own."
"I'm worried about your safety, My Lord. I will be with you all the way."
What can you say to that?
When we got to my room, I staggered to my bed. I was hanging on by a thread.
Steward closed the door and started grilling me.
"Who are you? Are you a demon?"
I sighed. There was no getting out of this.
"No, I'm not a demon nor an angel."
"I know you aren't an angel. They would not have thrown the Abbot off the roof. They would have cast him straight to hell."
I thought to myself, ‘tell us how you really feel about the Abbot.’
"I will tell you my story if you promise not to interrupt until I'm finished."
"All right."
"Over a thousand years from now, I will lay on my death bed at the age of ninety-two. I had a wonderful education in building things. It was a lifelong pursuit, but it was a waste of such a wonderful education.
"Instead of dying, I woke up in this body. I could use your language even though I didn't know what it was. It has gotten much better and now feel like I have used it all my life.
"My original language, American English, has many words that yours doesn't, so there are still some difficulties."
"Why do you have more words?" Stewart asked.
"Because many things change and advance in the next thousand years. We had to create new words for them.
"I see."
I wasn't about to explain airplanes, much less sending men to the moon.
"When I threw the Abbot from the tower, it was as though the other person in my body took control. Once that was done, I felt him leave."
"So, the previous Baron is gone?"
"Yes."
John Steward crossed himself saying, "Thank you, Lord."
I don't think he meant me.
He looked at me. "The man whose body you took was evil and would have destroyed us all. He cared nothing for anyone but himself. He knew we were short of food to make it through this winter and decided to let the peasants die off saying they could always breed more."
"But you have all that silver."
"He was going to buy knights and men-at-arms to conquer the surrounding Baronies.
"He was treacherous. The Welsh caravan was taken by poisoning the guard's food and then killing them in their sleep. It has stained my soul that I was part of such an action."
"John, we must talk much more about moving forward, but now I need rest."
"Rest well, Lord James."
"Wait, what did you call me?"
"By the name of your body, Lord James, Baron James Owen-nap."
The name was too much. I bid him goodnight and fell into bed.
*****
I lay in bed for a while in the morning, hoping it was all a dream. It wasn't. Why wasn't I dead and gone? It would be much easier.
Having the same name in both lives? The same name was God's territory. The problem is that I had never believed in the God of Christianity.
One thing for certain, God's plan or not, I was here and had to do the best I could. But I had absolutely no idea what that was.
On that cheerful note, I got up to start my day.
In my previous life, starting my day consisted of relieving myself, showering, brushing my teeth, and shaving.
Here I had to relieve myself in that terrible smelling garderobe. If nothing else, I would introduce a sanitation system.
Breakfast was being served in the main hall. It was a porridge from oatmeal. Milk and sugar would have made it more palatable. Even grinding the oats finer would have been an improvement. That and a mug of small beer set me up for the day.
Maybe a different diet would beat out sanitation as the first invention.
John Steward joined me as I finished up.
"Baron James, would you like to see the village?"
"I didn't know we had a village."
"It isn't much, but it is ours."
As we spoke, an old woman took my bowl. She wiped it clean with a dirty rag and used it for another man's meal.
Yep, sanitation just moved back to the top of the list.
Outside of the main gate of the Keep was a group of hovels, giving a new meaning to the word squalor.
They were made from wood and clay with thatched roofs. Not a single one had any windows. My list of things to do kept getting longer.
What passed as the main street was a muddy mess. It suited the hogs laying on the road. Several small boys were having a mud fight. They were the most cheerful sight I had seen since waking.
"John Steward, you didn't seem upset about the Abbot's death. Why?"
"He was as evil as the former Baron."
"He wanted the power here by claiming the land for the church so it wouldn't owe taxes and the Baron wouldn't be able to support his Barony. But the Baron inadvertently thwarted his plan by raiding the merchant caravan. That is why the Abbot attempted to murder the Baron."
"Nice people."
"God decided to send you here to save us all."
That stopped me cold. The foundation of my disbelief was shaking. However, this was something that had to be taken on faith, and I had none.
"That may be. What matters is that I'm here and have to make a life. I refuse to live in this squalor, so I will change things."
"What changes?" He looked hopeful.
"You talked earlier about not having enough food for the winter. What is the situation?" I asked.
"As it stands, I guess we will lose half our population if you sell the crops."
"We can't allow that. We will have to keep the food."
"You can't do that. It would be best if you had the silver to hire more men-at-arms to defend your Barony.
“There is no doubt that Baron Saltash will attack in the spring," Steward finished.
"My wealth is not my silver; it is my people. People can earn silver. Silver is a tool that has a fixed value. People make things grow in worth."
"That is a strange way to look at it."
"Look at it this way. If you bury ten silver in the spring and dig it up in the fall, you have ten silver. What will it be worth in the fall if you bought ten silvers worth of seed and planted it in the spring?"
"What if the crop fails?"
"That is part of the risk, reward cycle. The greater the risk, the greater the reward," I said.
"These are strange thoughts. I must think about them."
"In the meantime, where do we store grain."
I was led to a rectangular building on a raised platform that had a slight slope for drainage. With slots near the roof to allow ventilation.
One end was near a ramp. The ramp ended about five feet from the door of the building. Boards would be extended to enter the building. The platform and ramp prevented rodents from getting to the grain.