The way these fortifications had been built meant that anyone on the inside attempting to escape would fall into the staked moat. Thus, it didn’t matter how frightened they got; cowering in the trenches behind the dirt walls would always seem like a better option than falling into the moat and meeting a grisly end. Our people would be completely trapped inside.
I did feel guilty toward the laborers who’d built their own prison—they were only common citizens, after all—but with this, we’d achieved our goal of being able to forcibly conscript them when the battle broke out.
Additionally, a gun platform had been erected on the ridgeline, and the carver and flock cannons—types of bombards—had already been moved into place. Also complete were storage areas for the stone ammunition and gunpower, rest areas for the soldiers, wells for water, and depots for our food stores. All in all, everything was perfect.
The problem was that all this construction had only been completed for Byner Hill.
You see, the work schedule had been staggered in sequences, since we hadn’t known when the enemy would be coming. The first stage was the work on the eastern slope, since that would be the direction the enemy would approach from. The bare minimum of defenses had needed to be established in order to defend against any possible surprise attacks.
The second stage was the work on Byner Hill. It was the largest area, as well as the most vital for the purposes of our strategy. Since it was where our main encampment would be situated—as well as where I would be based—it needed to be as defensively sound as we could make it.
Stage three was the work on Ginaugh Hill, while stage four was the work on Mifeux Hill. That is to say, the construction was currently partway through stage three—slower than what we’d scheduled.
To elaborate on why this was a problem: Our biggest objective was to create an encampment that would prevent our people from deserting. While this had been completed for Byner Hill, it hadn’t been completed for the others, meaning we couldn’t station our soldiers there.
Well, no, we could still station them there if we wanted. It was just that they’d be able to cut and run any time they wanted. In other words, our northern defenses were exceedingly vulnerable. More importantly, our trump card was positioned on the southern side, which meant we needed to lure the enemy there, else there would be no point.
Regarding the delay, Deflotte had already informed me prior to our arrival; he’d come to me personally after our war council on the first day of our march. Apparently, he’d stopped by Chelán Hill first on his journey back from Gotiroir territory to avoid missing me.
“No apology I can offer can suffice, Your Majesty,” Fabio de Ramitead-Denouet said as he prostrated before me.
Fabio had been in my service since long before my coronation. He might have failed me in this instance, but quite honestly, I didn’t want to punish him if I could manage it. Besides, this wasn’t entirely his fault—there were a number of other factors at play.
The first was that the construction wasn’t all that behind schedule. It only seemed that way because the enemy had made their move faster than we’d anticipated, with far greater decisiveness than we’d anticipated. As a result, they’d be arriving earlier than our scheduled date for the construction’s completion.
Next—and this was in part an oversight of mine too—it had been a poor call for us to draft up the construction plans in the imperial capital. To explain why in a single phrase: weights and measures.
Measurements such as length, volume, and weight needed standards to serve as a basis for comparison, such as meters, liters, and grams. These standards were referred to as weights and measures, and the problem in this case was that our plans had used anthropometric units.
Anthropometric units were units of measurement based on human body parts, and had been the mainstream method used on Earth before the invention of the meter. Inches, feet, and yards were a good example. If I recalled correctly, the standard length of an inch had originally been based on the width of an adult male’s thumb. I couldn’t remember what the others were based off of, but I was pretty sure that they were all anthropometric.
Now, anthropometric units were indeed convenient. They meant that you could measure anything on the spot with nothing more than your own body, if you were so inclined. The problem, though, was that humans came in different sizes—sometimes drastically different sizes. For every person you found with fat thumbs, there was someone else out there with thin ones.
In this world, anthropometric units were still the common method of measurement. In fact, they were the only method of measurement. The meter standard just didn’t exist, unfortunately.
Length was primarily measured with either of two units: telts or pesculs. One telt was equal to the width of a middle finger, while one pescul was the length of a foot from heel to toe. Generally speaking, one pescul was also treated as twelve telts. Up to here, things were actually fine. The problem was when it came to measuring height.
You see, the First Faith had designated the unit of one eizn as a standard unit of measurement, that being the actual height of Ein when he’d been alive. Worse, this had become the common standard. What were we supposed to do when we wanted to measure the height of something, then, damn it? Ask the church to produce his mummified body to double-check? To begin with, a height-specific unit of measurement didn’t even make sense!
Naturally, it was obvious to everyone that anthropometric units could be highly inconvenient; hence, countries throughout history had created their own standards and measuring devices to compensate—often by using the finger and foot measurements of their kings and emperors as a basis. As you’d expect, this had resulted in the length of telts and pesculs changing drastically depending on the country and era.
If that wasn’t bad enough, the standards they had created hadn’t maintained their consistency over time. Wood expanded or contracted depending on humidity, iron would do the same depending on temperature, and stone would gradually wear away. The more accurate one tried to make a measuring device, the more expensive it would be.