A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

Just as the two were about to continue their discussion of the plan to march on Milan, Judith returned.

She had taken a moment to compose herself in the garden, ready to offer them her preliminary—and admittedly imperfect, incomplete, and rather informal—words of mediation.

However, the two men who had been at daggers drawn just moments ago were now as close as blood brothers.

Although she didn’t know what had happened between them while she was gone, the argument was over and they had reconciled, which was always a good thing.

Judith did not press the matter.

She then resumed her conversation with Eric, expressing her regret for missing his wedding.

She stressed that his uncle, Roger, despite hearing of the marriage on short notice, had still taken the time to prepare a special wedding gift. She hoped this gift would make up for being late and bring Eric joy.

This piqued Eric’s interest. His uncle Roger never disappointed; if he called something special, then it was bound to be special.

He immediately asked Judith what the gift was.

But Judith said she didn’t know either; Roger had dispatched a separate group of people specifically to protect the ”gift.”

Eric would probably receive it tomorrow.

Eric thought of something. ’If it’s that kind of thing, then it’s special indeed.’

Afterward, Eric held a banquet for Otto and Judith, also hosting their Knights and attendants.

Eric also had a servant go call for Matilda to join them, but the servant reported that the Marchioness was already asleep.

After the banquet, Eric was about to return to his room to rest when he found the door locked.

Two maids were standing at the door. They explained that the Marchioness was sleeping alone tonight. Today was a day for God, and she wished to remain pure and pious. They had prepared another room for the Marquis, and she conveyed her apologies, hoping he would respect her wishes.

Although the maids indicated their willingness to ”accommodate” Eric, he deferred to Matilda’s wishes.

He was exhausted and had drunk a fair amount at the banquet.

He still needed to think carefully about how to handle Milan and Pisa.

Cesare, the Administrative Officer of Pisa, had left yesterday morning. Matilda had also contacted her ”friendly friends” in the Forest. Things were proceeding smoothly; just as Matilda had predicted, Cesare had rushed back to Canossa.

The urban nobility of the Tuscan cities were extremely powerful. They had long possessed the autonomous rights that cities in the Northern Countries were still fighting for.

Now, they desperately wanted more freedom—or even complete autonomy.

It was unclear how many city nobles Cesare of Pisa had won over. The day he made his case, he was defending the nobility of Florence.

’Besides Pisa and Florence, who else...?’

’But one thing is certain: Pisa is leading the charge.’

If he could deal with Pisa quickly, this potential urban rebellion could be quelled, or at least postponed.

If the cities rebelled just as the Emperor was crossing the Alps for an audience with the Pope, it would put them in a very difficult position.

The historical Matilda had spent half her life dealing with two things: the Emperor, and the constant rebellions of the Tuscan cities fighting for greater autonomy.

Guided by a maid, Eric went to the arranged room. After a simple bath with the help of a young maid, he collapsed onto the bed. He intended to ponder these issues, but his thoughts had barely begun to form before he fell asleep.

He didn’t know how long he had slept, but in his dreams, Eric felt someone climb into his bed, lift the covers, and slip in beside him.

A soft body, carrying a strange fragrance Eric had never smelled before. But his consciousness, dulled by sleep, paid it no mind.

Eric simply assumed it was Matilda and pulled her close.

The curtains didn’t seem to be fully drawn. A sliver of light from the window fell across Eric’s face, rousing his drowsy consciousness. He drifted in a state between sleeping and waking.

He turned over instinctively, realizing he was still holding ’Matilda.’ ’Matilda’ sensed his movement and stirred.

The smooth softness of her skin stirred his emotions, and he instinctively kissed her lips.

But the next moment, he froze. He was instantly wide awake.

Because the person pressed against him was not Matilda, but a complete stranger. No, ”girl” was a more fitting term.

The girl’s pink lips were slightly parted as she panted, her hazy gaze fixed on Eric.

She had almond-shaped eyes and skin with a wheat-colored sheen. She wore a beautiful blue glass necklace. Her long, brown hair was neatly combed into a braid that fell to her hips, adorned with gold-threaded ribbons and gold and silver ornaments.

Her eyebrows were trimmed, and her nails were painted pink with an ointment extracted from balsam leaves. She wore gold and silver bracelets on her wrists and ankles, distinctively Saracen in style. Her body was clad in nothing but a sheer, purple veil.

She exuded an exotic fragrance of rose and musk.

The girl was neither Norman nor Lombard. She was perhaps not even a Christian, but a Saracen Infidel.

The girl noticed Eric’s strange reaction. She sat up, then lowered her head, seeming to say something that Eric couldn’t understand.

Just then, the door to the room was pushed open. Eric hastily pulled the quilt over the girl to cover her.

Fortunately, it wasn’t Matilda, but Otto.

”I know what’s going on. This must be the gift from your uncle. A tribute from the Saracens of Sicily, given to your uncle as a sign of submission—pure and beautiful Saracen maidens and youths.”

”Though I don’t know why, among the heretics, the boys are more popular than the girls. It’s truly blasphemous.”

”How do you feel?”

”A change of pace isn’t bad now and then, is it?” Otto chuckled teasingly.

”What kind of wedding gift is this? Maybe I should be grateful my wife’s and my uncle’s ’gifts’ didn’t make it to my wedding.”

Eric got out of bed, threw on his clothes, and glanced at the bewildered Saracen girl lying on the bed.

”We Lombards have a saying: Save your passion for your mistress, and your respect for your wife. The best marriages are built on calm goodwill or benevolent indifference.”

”Maybe he should try telling that to the Marchioness,” Eric said as he continued to put on his shoes. ”I would be quite interested to see what happens.”

Otto laughed and shook his head. ”Your wife is a Marchioness who controls a Marquisate. Not every nobleman gets to marry such a woman. She’s also older than you and has been a noble ruling her own lands for far longer than you have.”

”He’s probably afraid his young nephew will be influenced by her. Take you, for example. Where is your Marchioness right now?”

”There’s nothing wrong with emphasizing equality—I agree with that. But in reality, in our traditional way of thinking, the husband is superior to the wife. Even if there is equality, we instinctively feel uncomfortable with it.”

”Matilda’s status as Marchioness elevates her position even further. Tell me, Eric, do you feel uncomfortable? I’m sure you feel it at least a little. So, isn’t this exotic spice sent by the great Count Roger just what you need?”

”What I’m more concerned about is why you, you rascal, entered my room without my permission,” Eric said, his eyes narrowing slightly.

”Ha! What would you have done if I told you the Marchioness had just been here?”

”I’d take you down with me.” A longsword was pressed against Otto’s neck.

”See? You’re getting worked up again. As your brother, how could I ever set you up?” Otto carefully pushed the blade away with his finger. ”It was just a joke. Why are you taking it so seriously?”

”You...” Just as Eric was about to say something, he heard the sound of hurried footsteps. He quickly scrambled back into bed and shoved the girl’s head under the covers.

The next moment, the door was violently kicked open. The suddenly swinging door slammed into Otto, who was standing right behind it, and sent him crashing against the wall.

It was Matilda.

”It’s terrible, Eric, Cesare is dead—” She stopped short. ”Eric, what are you doing?”

Matilda saw Eric lying prone on the bed, a quilt pulled up over his body.

”I... uh... I’m doing push-ups! Working out! Hah!”

As he spoke, he ostentatiously performed a one-finger push-up for Matilda.