Chapter 11
Sid sat down on the bench of a table that stood in front of the fireplace. They had just arrived at Weavertown and had selected the Inn to serve as a meeting place. Although Masterson wanted to sleep in the Inn, Sid said that they would sleep in their tents like the men.
He was soon joined by Olaf and Barson. The two young men were smiling as if they had some great secret that they were just dying to tell. He asked, "And what mischief are you two planning?"
Barson laughed at the suggestion that they would do something mischievous. He winked at Olaf and answered, "Well, it's like this. Olaf and I were eating a chicken... I have to mention that it just happened to fall dead at our feet while we were taking a walk through the woods."
"I'm sure that you had nothing to do with its untimely death," Sid said with a smile.
"That's right," Barson said. "So we were eating this poor deceased chicken by our campfire when a strange and twisted thought came to us."
Nodding his head in mock seriousness, Olaf said, "You know how infrequently Barson thinks, so any thought that comes to him is surely strange."
"And we are all waiting for Olaf to have his first thought, but I fear that I will be old and gray before that day," Barson replied nudging his friend in the side.
"But between the pair of us we managed to work out one thought that wasn't too twisted," Olaf said with a grin.
Sid laughed at the pair. He said, "I fear that the suspense is about to kill me. So tell me this strange and not too twisted idea that you have."
"Well, I noticed that this building was once an Inn," Barson said gesturing to the room in which they were seated.
"And you know that Barson once worked in an Inn," Olaf said gesturing to his friend.
"So we thought that perhaps we could open it as an Inn for a few nights and give some of the troops a chance to eat in relative comfort," Barson said.
"But I said that there were too many troops for that," Olaf said with a wink in Barson's direction.
"You don't say," Sid said.
"Tis true, he did say that. So here's where the thought got a little twisted. Somehow, it came to us that we could hold a lottery to determine who can spend the evening at the Inn," Barson said.
Sid was about to make a comment, but Olaf held up a hand. He said, "But then I said that it was not fair to the men for us profit from them like that. So I said that we could let you select the men as a reward for good service."
"That idea is indeed strange and slightly twisted. Pray tell me, who would work in this Inn?" Sid asked getting into the manner of their dialog.
"Alas, this is as far as our thought has gotten. I'm sure that Barson would love to work extra," Olaf said with a grin.
"I'm sure that Olaf wouldn't mind carrying drinks to and fro," Barson said.
Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as if concentrating, Sid said, "My poor brain is having difficulties dealing with so much information."
The other two young men adopted similar poses. Deadpan, Olaf said, "Yes, it does hurt the head to think so much."
"There are beds here in the Inn to consider," Sid said glancing over at Barson.
Breaking out of character, Olaf said, "I thought that you, Masterson, Peterson, and Connor would be staying here."
"Nope. We stay in our tents, just like the rest of the army," Sid answered. He sat back and said, "I like the idea, but I don't like handing out favors to men who've come to my notice. There are others who have done deeds just as worthy, but did them where I could not observe it."
"Oh, well it was just an idea," Barson said.
"It is a good idea. Why don't we hold a lottery for the chance to be here?" Sid asked.
"I thought you would be upset by having them pay for a chance to stay here," Olaf said with a frown.
"Who said that we had to charge?" Sid asked looking first at Olaf and then at Barson.
The two young men pointed at each other and then burst out laughing. Olaf finally answered, "I just assumed."
"Same here," Barson said with a shrug of his shoulders.
"So each man gets one chance in the lottery. Those who win get to eat here. Amongst those who eat here, we hold another lottery to determine who gets to spend the night in a bed," Sid said.
"Don't forget the women, sir," Olaf said. Shaking his head, he said, "It won't be any fun if none of the women have a chance to come."
"Who should set up the lottery?" Sid asked.
Barson and Olaf looked at each other for a second. Olaf winked and said, "There's three of us here, but two of us already have jobs to do."
Fred stepped forward and said, "I will do that."
"No, Fred. I will do it. Olaf is right. It is a job that I should do," Sid said with a nod of his head. It would be good for morale and his involvement would assure the men that the lottery was fair.
Although he had sworn himself to Sid's service four days earlier, Fred had not yet had a chance to perform any kind of service. Each attempt had been derailed. At first, Sid had made sure that the man had treatment for the wounds on his back. Then Sid had trained him by showing him how things were done in camp. Fred asked, "Is there nothing I can do for you?"
Sensing Fred's increasing frustration, Sid said, "Yes. You can run and get Connor for me. I need him to organize the men to participate in the lottery. Once you have found him, I think that you and I should have a bite to eat."
"Yes, Sid," Fred said relieved at having something to do even if it was little more than running simple errands.
Once Fred was gone, Olaf said, "I think that's the first time I've seen him smile."
The men and women of camp were standing about in groups of a hundred talking excitedly about the lottery. One group at a time came forward to where Sid was standing with two urns. One at a time, a person would step up to Sid and draw a bead from the urn. After checking the bead, it would be dropped into the second urn.
The lucky ones, those who drew a black bead, headed over to the Inn while the others stayed behind. The winners usually did a little victory dance before dropping their bead into the second urn. The losers just shook their heads and took comfort in the fact that they would have another chance the next night.
Between groups, Sid would pour the contents of his urn into the second urn. Fred would hand him the second urn and call forth the next group. Sid was sure to let each loser know that maybe their luck would be better the next night. He congratulated each winner.
Standing to the side, Connor was watching the proceedings with the other advisors. He looked over at Masterson and asked, "Can you believe it?"
"Yes I can," Masterson answered in a grumpy voice. "He gives our rooms to them."
Peterson said, "It was Olaf and Barson who came up with the idea."
"It figures," Masterson said. He was tired of camping and wanted nothing more than one night's rest in a soft bed.
"Do you see how the people are responding to him?" Connor asked thinking that Masterson missed the point.
"Yes, I do. They will follow him anywhere," Masterson said.
Peterson said, "The men will think better of all of us when they see that we are eating around our campfires and sleeping in our tents."
"There is that," Masterson said. Turning away, he said, "I really wanted to sleep in a bed for a change."
"We've got four thousand men and women that feel the same way," Connor said. He looked over at Masterson and said, "Of course, they don't feel that they can demand it like some of us can."
"And some of us who thought we could demand it, have discovered that we can't," Masterson said. He realized that the men would be highly motivated to fight for Sid. That difference in motivation could mean the difference between winning and losing. He added, "At least some good is going to come out of it."
"What's that?"
"We're going to have the best army in this war," Masterson answered.
"Where are you going?" Peterson asked when Masterson started walking off.
Smiling back at Connor, Masterson answered, "I've got to figure out how we're going to fight the army that the slavers will send out to put down the rebellion. The best army still needs the best plans to win the battle."
It had taken hours, but Sid finally finished running the lottery. After handing the urns to Fred, a young woman approached Sid. He recognized her as one of the women who had started back in the Jones Citadel. She was a very popular young woman around camp. It took him a moment to recall her name. Turning to her, he asked, "Hello Mandy Harrisdaughter. What can I do for you?"
Flustered by the fact that Sid remembered her name, Mandy stuttered for a moment trying to recover her composure. After several false starts, she managed to say, "I was wondering, sir, if the men would like entertainment at the Inn?"
Remembering the few times that he had heard her sing, Sid said, "I'm sure that they would love to hear you sing. Why don't you go over there and let Barson know that you are the entertainment for the evening? I'm sure that he can squeeze you in a table there."
"Thank you, sir," she said. She'd sing her heart out for the chance to eat at a table for a change.
"I'll let Connor know that you are going to be there for the next few nights," Sid said.
With Olaf serving food and watered wine in the Inn, the atmosphere inside quickly turned into a party. The young man joked and told stories that held his fellow soldiers laughing in tears and spellbound. When Mandy arrived, the mood became very festive indeed. The young woman sang three songs at a time and then rested while the others talked. When there were lulls in the conversation, she would get up and sing three more songs.
Rather than disturb the flow of the party, Sid sent Fred to check out what was going on inside the Inn. Fred returned with a glowing report that all were having a good time. He had observed one toast to Sid given by one of the attendees and was sure that there had been others.
Morning found Sid seated beside Connor and Masterson with Fred seated behind Sid. The men were finishing breakfast. Once they had finished with the food, Sid said, "Gentlemen, we have a problem. This uprising has thrown our plans into the trash pile."
"You can say that again," Masterson said. He'd been thinking about what to do and had come to the conclusion that they just didn't have enough men to fight this war. If the enemy brought ten thousand troops into the area, they would be out numbered five to one on the battlefield.
"So far, we've been liberating slaves and growing our army in the hope that it would become large enough to engage the slavers directly. Their army will be seeking us out and will want to engage us in direct battles," Sid said. He looked around the campfire and saw that the others were nodding their heads in agreement with his assessment. Turning to Masterson, Sid said, "Tell me how a head- on battle usually occurs."
Masterson frowned at the question. It was almost too basic to answer, but figured that Sid had a point to make. He answered, "It depends on whether it is a horde or a disciplined fighting force."
"Let's assume that our enemy is a disciplined fighting force," Sid said. He suspected that it was going to be a lot more disciplined than Masterson could imagine. Over the next few months, he was going to have to turn his army into a very effective fighting force.
"Well, the soldiers will line up on opposite sides of a field. First archers will send forth volleys of arrows at the other side. Then one side or the other will charge the other side. Cavalry will be brought in using a flanking maneuver," Masterson said painting the battlefield with a very coarse brush.
"We don't have archers," Sid said.
"That's true," Masterson replied.
Reaching behind him, Sid grabbed a standard leather shield. It was round and about two feet in diameter. Holding up the shield, he said, "This won't do much to protect the men from arrows."
"It's not that bad. You typically lose one person per forty arrows in the air," Masterson said. "Four people are wounded per forty arrows."
"That's too many," Sid said. Facing two hundred archers would mean five deaths and twenty wounded per volley. They could expect about four or five volleys before engagement.
"What do you suggest?"
Picking up a stick, Sid drew a rectangle on the ground. As he worked, he said, "I want a rectangular shield. It should be three quarters of a man in height and an arm in width."
"That will be too heavy," Connor said.
"Use boiled leather on a wooden frame," Sid said.
"That would cut down the weight," Connor said thinking about the difference between a wooden shield and a boiled leather shield.
"It will be bulky in the battlefield," Masterson said trying to picture how a shield like that would work. He couldn't imagine running across a battlefield trying to carry such a large shield.
"We give that shield to our spearmen since they are usually the first few lines in a defensive position. We have them stand close enough together so that when the arrows are fired, they can put their shields edge to edge. The second row of spearmen holds their shields over their heads. Our other men tuck in close and use the coverage of the third row of spearmen for protection. With a little practice, they can become a turtle and the arrows won't find a target," Sid said.
"I see what you mean," Masterson said imagining what would be the result. Nodding his head, he said, "When the enemy charges, they will be facing a wall of shields with spears sticking out at them. I like it."
"I thought you would," Sid said.
"We can also advance behind that wall of shields in a controlled march."
"That will only work on a flat battlefield. If the terrain is broken, the men can't advance together," Sid said pointing out one of the known weaknesses of the phalanx.
"You're right," Masterson said thoughtfully.
"That still doesn't help us send arrows at the enemy. We need archers."
Connor shook his head and said, "Untrained archers are pretty much useless. At most they can get off two volleys of arrows during a charge. Once the forces are joined, they have nothing to do except die. It is useless to put bows against swords at close range. They are always the first to break on the battlefield."
"We have an army of four thousand men and women. A little over two thousand of them are fighters. We can't afford to have two hundred of them standing around during a battle," Masterson said.
"Who said that they have to be full-time archers?" Sid asked with a smile. He had watched a television program that had described all of the limitations of archers in ancient armies. The trained English archers were the only truly effective archers in battle. He had thought long and hard about that television program trying to figure out what was the real problem with their use.
"What are you saying?" Masterson asked confused by Sid's question.
"I'm saying that we train everyone to fire one arrow in the direction of the enemy. Once they've fired, they drop their bow and pick up their usual weapon. That gives us over two thousand arrows in the air. Even if only one arrow out of fifty is effective, that gives us a pretty high impact."
"But the training required," Connor said.
"All they have to do is launch the arrow in the right direction," Sid said with a smile.
"That's a lot of weapons that just get dropped on the battlefield," Peterson said.
Masterson shook his head and said, "It won't work. The men will trip over the weapons in the heat of battle."
"I'm sure that you can make it work," Sid said with a smile.
"It takes a lot of skill to build a bow. There's no way that we can produce that many bows in a reasonable time," Connor said.
"Ah, that is a good objection. I suggest that we set up what is called a production line," Sid said.
"What's that?"
"That's how the women prepare the food here every night. One woman has one job that she does over and over. The result of her work is handed off to another woman who does her bit. We do the same with building the bows. One man rough cuts the wood. Another fine cuts the wood. A third glues the wood together. A fourth does the shaping and so forth," Sid answered.
Connor stared at Sid in amazement at his insight. He hadn't thought about how the kitchens functioned in that manner. He didn't know that Sid was only borrowing Henry Ford's idea for the assembly line. Nodding his head, he said, "We can do that."
Masterson said, "We'll have to stay here for a couple of weeks if we are to do everything that you are suggesting."
"Maybe not," Sid said.
"Why?"
"We have another four hundred untrained volunteers waiting for us at the town where they make the dye for clothes. I suggest that we use those people for the production line. That should be enough people to build the bows, arrows, and shields. Our trained troops can make raids while the supplies are being built up. Between raids, we have them train here," Sid answered. They would have to move the men to a location where there was plenty of wood stock.
Thoughts turning to the raids, Masterson said, "We're going to need more horses. We can only field two hundred mounted men at a time."
"That's a perfect number. Divide them up into groups of fifty. When the enemy is moving, we attack from the rear in a lightning strike. One pass through the troops and then they ride on. By the time the enemy has organized pursuit, our men are long gone," Sid said.
"We'll only get five or six enemy at a time," Masterson said. His brow wrinkled in thought while he considered what that would mean. Two or three attacks a day on a unit would whittle it down considerably. They'd have to change tactics when the enemy figured out effective ways to counter the attacks, but that was to be expected. Nodding his head, he said, "We'll do it that way."
"Good," Sid said. He was going to wait to suggest having the men use lances rather than their swords.
The group of men worked out the details over the rest of the day.
The planning session was at times heated as problems were posed and
solutions forged. By the end of the day, each man knew what needed to
be done. They broke in time for Sid to run the lottery once again.