"1777," she admitted, "and then based on seeds a pharmacist got from the Russians in 1762."
"Hah! You see what I mean? Over a century to go from academic curiosity to commercial crop. But I don't doubt it will happen faster in this new time line. Just not in weeks or even months."
Christine pondered this. "Still, it doesn't look likely that there'll be much of an export market for Icelandic rhubarb, even if I can get it there safely. The English are ahead of us. And if they don't move forward with commercial production now, they can do so soon so pretty quickly once they hear what the Icelanders are doing. And the herb will grow pretty much anywhere in northern Europe, even here in Germany."
Reardon reassured her. "It may not be the solution to the ransom problem, but I am sure that the Icelanders would appreciate some more variety in their diet. I wouldn't imagine that fruit trees grow among all that ice and snow, and rhubarb makes a good fruit substitute. So it's progress, of a sort."
Hamburg, Germany
The ex-militiaman gestured toward a large pile of rubble. "That's what used to be the Wallanlagen. The main river fortress of Hamburg."
Cornelis Janszoon studied the ruins. There were multiple overlapping craters. A dozen? Two dozen? Cornelis lost count after a while. And the craters were deep, perhaps one or two fathoms. Some kind of mortar bomb? he wondered.
"How did they get a fleet down the river?"
"Fleet?" The German spat. "Just four ships engaged us. What they call 'ironclads.'"
'What range did they fire at?"
"A bit over a hundred yards." He pointed with the hook he now had in place of a hand. "That's where the lead demon-ship anchored."
Cornelis thought about this. That was point blank range even for a swivel gun. It wouldn't even be necessary to elevate the gun. A twenty-four pounder could shoot straight up to 300 yards, and had a maximum range of perhaps 4,500 yards. The ironclads should have been under fire from the fort for a long time.
"How many did you sink?"
"Sink! We barely scuffed the paint off them." It was an exaggeration, but not much of one; the Constitution , the lead ironclad, had picked up just a few dents. "After shooting at them for half an hour or more."
"Antonelli, when we get into Hamburg proper, I want you to commission some starving artist or another to sketch this scene for me. And another of the ironclads in action. I'll need something to show my father."
"Yes, sir. Interesting that the Swede hasn't rebuilt the Wallanlagen for his own use, now that he controls Hamburg."
The militiaman shrugged. "Perhaps it isn't worth rebuilding. Not if it would have to fend off ironclads, at least."
"I can think of another reason," said Cornelis. "To remind everyone that passes up or down the Elbe of just what his ironclads can do."
Cornelis couldn't help but imagine what those same ironclads would do to his home, the pirate town of Sallee. Or even to the more heavily fortified Algiers or Tunis.
The Barbary pirates had seen punitive fleets come and go. In 1620, Mansel had taken an English fleet massing almost five hundred cannon to Algiers, but all it accomplished was the release of the crews of two recently captured English ships. The same year, six Spanish warships exchanged fire with the Algerian harbor batteries; there was no damage on either side. The French didn't have a Mediterranean fleet that could seriously threaten Algiers until 1636, and its attack of 1637 was completely ineffectual, according to the histories.
The Dutch had better luck. In 1624, a Dutch squadron commanded by Admiral Lambert had appeared before Algiers. Lambert didn't threaten to lay siege to the city; he had captured some corsair vessels en route and threatened to hang the Algerians if the Dutch slaves weren't released. The pasha, agha and divan of Algiers conferred, and declined; Lambert made good his threat and promptly went off to collect more hostages. On his second appearance, the Algerians capitulated to his demand.
The treaty of 1626 provided that the corsairs could stop a Dutch ship and seize "enemy"-typically, Spanish-goods and passengers, but could not molest the crew, or seize other goods and passengers. It also provided that the Dutch were free to come to Algiers to trade, save that they couldn't export certain "forbidden items" of military value. The Dutch brought in herring, cheese, butter, and even beer and gunpowder, and took away wheat, hides, wax, and horses.
Still, in his time studying history and military technology at the Grantville Public Library, Cornelis had seen the handwriting on the wall. The encyclopedias revealed that the Barbary states had been protected as much by rivalry among the European powers-which saw the corsairs as tools to be used against their foes-as by the cannon and scimitars of their corsairs and the walls and batteries of their strongholds.
While for two centuries, most punitive expeditions, even the most successful, had ended with the Europeans paying ransom or tribute, once there was a general European peace, an Anglo-Dutch squadron had mercilessly bombarded Algiers, causing (and experiencing) much damage, and cowed Algiers and Tunis into temporary submission. And eventually the French invaded.
It was clear to Cornelis that military technology was going to develop at an accelerated rate, thanks to the appearance of Grantville, and it was only a matter of time before a single power dominated Europe.
And it was also clear that if that power were the USE, it would then act aggressively to suppress the slave trade, that of the Barbary Coast as well as the New World.
But in al-Maghrib, to make peace with all of the European powers would be suicide. Literally, not just politically.
Grantville
"Watcha' up to?"
Christine Onofrio, sitting on the bench eating her bag lunch, looked up. Her boyfriend was smiling down at her.
She smiled in return. "GRC stuff. I may have promised more than I can deliver."
"That Iceland project?"
'That's right. I'm still trying to figure out a way they can pay that ransom money."
"You know what I think? They should use the money to build a fleet and blast the pirates to smithereens!"
"That's your solution for every problem. Blow it up or ignore it. Very male."
He shrugged. "Why make things complicated?"
Christine wiped her mouth with a napkin. "I thought that perhaps, in the last four centuries, the Icelanders found something valuable on their island. I mean, look at Alaska. It used to be called 'Seward's Folly,' but then they found gold and later oil."
She took a deep breath. "Unfortunately, I was wrong. They don't have any minerals. No coal, no iron, and certainly no gold. No exotic animals or plants, either.
"So that leaves, as Iceland's fabulous resources, fish and sheep. And, of course, lava and ice. That's it. This project is 'Christine's Folly', I'm afraid."
"Talking about ice, would you like to go out for ice cream? I think you need cheering up."
Christine rose. "Twist my arm."
****
In-between licks, Christine said, "We're lucky to be in Grantville, you know. Plenty of electricity to run freezers, plenty of freezers to make ice. If we were off in Amsterdam, or Rome, we'd be out of luck. No ice in the summer. Ergo, no ice cream."
"Ugh," her boyfriend commented. "What did they do in the States, before there were refrigerators?"
"Don't know. Why'd you stop eating?"
He gave her a slightly sheepish look. "I was slurping it up too quickly, got an ice cream headache."
Christine snickered. "You weren't slurping it, you were inhaling it. Like a human vacuum cleaner."
****
Egilsson froze. That man. He had seen that man before. Where?