Read Online 1636: The Cardinal Virtues by Walter H. Hunt, Eric Flint - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Walter H. Hunt, Eric Flint
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intrigues with the crown of a kingdom at stake. Our task is to help stop that.”
“How do you expect me to help?”
“Over the past two and a half years, my lord of Turenne has been slowly retraining a body of troops to use the newer weapons that up-time technology has made possible. It has not been an easy task: skills and habits borne of a lifetime cannot be easily discarded.”
“You did well enough at Wietze,” she snapped. “Your General Turenne seemed to know exactly what the hell he was doing there, and he got what he wanted.”
“Yes, that is true, mademoiselle. Sherrilyn. But a raid is not a military campaign, and a small, fast-moving force is not the same as an army. The Spanish are still exceptionally well-armed and numerous and muskets can kill a soldier just as dead as a Cardinal rifle. We learned a great deal from the Wietze raid, but many of those under arms were not a part of that action.
“We could use someone with your skill and expertise to help train them, to cure their bad habits and teach them good ones. And also to pick out . . . the best of them for particular duties.”
Sherrilyn laughed. “You want me to train down-timer soldiers. That’s rich. You expect a bunch of professional soldiers to listen to me tell them what to do?”
“Monsieur de Valbelle told me that before the Ring of Fire you had been a teacher. Surely there are some aspects of that experience that would be helpful.”
“I taught girls’ P.E. at Grantville High,” Sherrilyn said. “I blew a whistle and got a bunch of girls in line so they could do exercises and play basketball. I hardly think it’s the same.”
“Why?”
“Because . . . because they were teenage girls , Philippe, and they were afraid of me. These men aren’t likely to see me in the same way.”
“You might be surprised.”
Sherrilyn leaned her elbows on her thighs and shook her head so that her hair, tied back in its queue, swung back and forth. “Philippe, I was born in 1965. For the last four years I’ve been in the seventeenth century, and unless the same crazy thing that put me here comes along and puts me back, I’m going to spend the rest of my life here. I get surprised pretty much every day, usually in a bad way, but sometimes . . .”
She gave him an appraising look, from wig to boots. He wasn’t a bad looking man; he was a little younger than she was, and had obviously made an effort to look good for the day—maybe even for this meeting. He smelled less like the average seventeenth-century nobleman than she expected, and other than the Durante nose and a few pox pockmarks—universal, other than for those who had gotten vaccinated in the last few years—he was easy to look at.
“Sometimes,” she said, “the surprise is a good one.”
“So you will accept.”
“I didn’t say that. But I’ll think about it. How much time do I have to decide?”
“I leave Marseilles the day after tomorrow. We can have a spare horse . . . or two, if you require a lady’s maid to travel with you.”
“A lady’s maid? Are you serious?”
He looked serious. In fact, he looked embarrassed at her reaction. “It is a few days’ ride back to Lyon, Mademoiselle Sherrilyn, and you would be in the company of . . . the entourage would be all men, other than you.”
“So?”
“It is only that there is some . . . possible appearance of impropriety.”
“After the Wrecking Crew I don’t think there’s anything more improper that can happen to my appearance. I don’t have a ‘lady’s maid,’ Philippe, and don’t know what I’d do with one. And if you’re worried about someone of your troop making, what, an inappropriate advance . . . if they survive the experience, they’ll survive with two broken arms. Or legs. Whichever is more painful, especially on horseback. Maybe one of each.”
De la Mothe couldn’t help but smile. “I think you mean it.”
“Damn straight.”
“Very well.” He stood and sketched a bow.
“How do you expect me to help?”
“Over the past two and a half years, my lord of Turenne has been slowly retraining a body of troops to use the newer weapons that up-time technology has made possible. It has not been an easy task: skills and habits borne of a lifetime cannot be easily discarded.”
“You did well enough at Wietze,” she snapped. “Your General Turenne seemed to know exactly what the hell he was doing there, and he got what he wanted.”
“Yes, that is true, mademoiselle. Sherrilyn. But a raid is not a military campaign, and a small, fast-moving force is not the same as an army. The Spanish are still exceptionally well-armed and numerous and muskets can kill a soldier just as dead as a Cardinal rifle. We learned a great deal from the Wietze raid, but many of those under arms were not a part of that action.
“We could use someone with your skill and expertise to help train them, to cure their bad habits and teach them good ones. And also to pick out . . . the best of them for particular duties.”
Sherrilyn laughed. “You want me to train down-timer soldiers. That’s rich. You expect a bunch of professional soldiers to listen to me tell them what to do?”
“Monsieur de Valbelle told me that before the Ring of Fire you had been a teacher. Surely there are some aspects of that experience that would be helpful.”
“I taught girls’ P.E. at Grantville High,” Sherrilyn said. “I blew a whistle and got a bunch of girls in line so they could do exercises and play basketball. I hardly think it’s the same.”
“Why?”
“Because . . . because they were teenage girls , Philippe, and they were afraid of me. These men aren’t likely to see me in the same way.”
“You might be surprised.”
Sherrilyn leaned her elbows on her thighs and shook her head so that her hair, tied back in its queue, swung back and forth. “Philippe, I was born in 1965. For the last four years I’ve been in the seventeenth century, and unless the same crazy thing that put me here comes along and puts me back, I’m going to spend the rest of my life here. I get surprised pretty much every day, usually in a bad way, but sometimes . . .”
She gave him an appraising look, from wig to boots. He wasn’t a bad looking man; he was a little younger than she was, and had obviously made an effort to look good for the day—maybe even for this meeting. He smelled less like the average seventeenth-century nobleman than she expected, and other than the Durante nose and a few pox pockmarks—universal, other than for those who had gotten vaccinated in the last few years—he was easy to look at.
“Sometimes,” she said, “the surprise is a good one.”
“So you will accept.”
“I didn’t say that. But I’ll think about it. How much time do I have to decide?”
“I leave Marseilles the day after tomorrow. We can have a spare horse . . . or two, if you require a lady’s maid to travel with you.”
“A lady’s maid? Are you serious?”
He looked serious. In fact, he looked embarrassed at her reaction. “It is a few days’ ride back to Lyon, Mademoiselle Sherrilyn, and you would be in the company of . . . the entourage would be all men, other than you.”
“So?”
“It is only that there is some . . . possible appearance of impropriety.”
“After the Wrecking Crew I don’t think there’s anything more improper that can happen to my appearance. I don’t have a ‘lady’s maid,’ Philippe, and don’t know what I’d do with one. And if you’re worried about someone of your troop making, what, an inappropriate advance . . . if they survive the experience, they’ll survive with two broken arms. Or legs. Whichever is more painful, especially on horseback. Maybe one of each.”
De la Mothe couldn’t help but smile. “I think you mean it.”
“Damn straight.”
“Very well.” He stood and sketched a bow.
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