A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

”You know? I still remember how pathetic you looked, like a caterpillar on my horse.”

However, Rufus didn’t seem ready to let the matter drop, catching up with Eric.

”I’ve already moved on from that. It seems you haven’t. What is it? Do you feel you didn’t receive the reward you deserved?

I think you deserve far more than Odo. What does he have, besides the fief he received by virtue of being my father’s half-brother?

You are far more capable than he is, Gloucester.

Your proposal was truly astonishing. Forcing the Nobility to concede in the name of the Pope and the Church, pitting the Bishops against the Nobility in a struggle over judicial privileges, and then attempting to turn the citizenry toward the King. And though you never mentioned the King’s rights, the overlapping jurisdictions would have undoubtedly made him the final arbiter.

You’ve certainly earned your reputation for being meticulous, Gloucester.

My fool of a brother, Robert, may enjoy his reputation for generosity and Universal Love, but that’s just a pleasant-sounding turn of phrase. In truth, it’s just a euphemism for his indecisiveness.

I’m sure you’ve noticed the considerable resentment toward you, this Italian upstart, in this Kingdom. Oh, yes, I know, I know—the Outville family has a pitifully small plot of land in Cotentin, Normandy, making you proper Normans.

But I’m afraid that’s how Odo and many of the Barons see you. Your bloodline determines that you can only ever receive such an assessment.

I also know that even in Southern Italy, those Lombards see your father as nothing more than a mercenary chieftain. And not some... Duke?

Now, back to Odo. My dear uncle is cut from the same cloth as my father. He cannot tolerate another man sharing the power he worked so hard to acquire, especially a man with no blood ties to the Royal Family. The bloodline he inherited from my poor grandmother makes him both proud and insecure.

So, what do you say? Need a little of my humble assistance? We could easily form an alliance. After all, Odo is far too conspicuous right now, and he possesses far too much.”

”You know? By comparison, I find Odo much more pleasant. At least he doesn’t stand in front of me, rambling on with such nonsense.” Eric couldn’t be bothered with Rufus and swung himself onto his horse. ”Besides, shouldn’t you be worried that Saxon raiders might cut your head off and kick it around like a ball before you reach York?”

”I love war, Gloucester. It’s a delight to me. I’ll make those unruly Northern People suffer another Harrying of the North.” Rufus laughed with abandon. ”Drinking and sleeping are no fun at all. Real fun is when both sides are screaming ’Kill them!’, when a riderless Warhorse collapses in the shadows, when people are yelling ’Help me! Help me!’, when I see them—no matter who they are—tumble into a weed-choked ditch, when I see men with broken spears and draped in their banners, dead on the ground—that is true joy!”

.....

「Evening. Gloucestershire, Bristol Castle.」

The great lakeside castle was soon echoing with the music of harps, guitars, and flutes. Light from torches and bonfires blazed, illuminating a bustling, overwhelming scene of guests, royal hostages, Knights, men-at-arms, and servants.

The great hall was decked with massive evergreen boughs; holly, laurel, and clusters of mistletoe—the ’kissing bough’—hung in niches by the doors and windowsills, and were draped from the chandeliers.

A massive Yule log was ceremoniously lit, set to burn until the Epiphany.

A popular Shepherd’s play was staged after the multi-course banquet, and now Attendants were circulating with traditional Christmas beverages—elderberry and pear wine; a hot posset of milk, ale, eggs, and nutmeg; and even a drink brewed from Violet petals and claret.

Then came the food: roast goose with Spanish rice, porpoise gruel, stewed apples, venison pie, beef marrow and lamprey pies, sugar plums, crepes, and even a magnificent English subtlety—a sculpture of a small boat capsized by a storm, all crafted from marzipan.

Musicians and Minstrels provided the entertainment: mournful ballads, cheerful carols, and bawdy songs.

Acrobats tumbled over a pig, drunkards threw daggers at a target on the door. Prostitutes seduced Knights, and bakers sang with Sailors.

A few of the Welshmen Eric employed threw darts and sang out of tune to a fiddle.

But for many in the hall, the interactions between the guests were just as captivating.

Barons, and even some wealthy townsmen, were inviting beautiful ladies to dance.

Eric had ultimately satisfied Robert and Arno’s request, hiring a troupe of prostitutes for the evening. This greatly displeased the noblewomen present, who felt it lowered the tone of the entire affair.

”Yes, just like that. You have a wonderful gift for languages,” Eric said, instructing a lady in English.

She was the widow of Baron Lixue; by law, a widow could inherit a third of her husband’s estate. And besides fertile lands and a full treasury, this wealthy young widow possessed other attractions—smoky dark eyes, a lazy, alluring smile, and a voluptuous figure.

”I’ve always had a knack for languages. Besides my native French, I speak my mother’s Spanish, Latin, and I’ve even learned some Breton. It certainly comes in handy at times. Though learning English feels a bit... offensive, especially with that Prince of Wessex here.”