kingdom of nations

Chapter 323 The Lobbier (Part 2)

The next day, the "Knight of Adelaide" and his entourage did not rush to leave the village.

His territory also had villages of all sizes, which he would inspect every year. This was to prevent his stewards and the castle stewards from colluding to enrich themselves, and also to prevent them from using their names to levy exorbitant taxes on the poor peasants. Sometimes he would also set up lord's courts in the villages, which was a responsibility that a lord of a land had to fulfill. However, most of the time, these were just trivial matters.

He had also traveled along the Arazares, venturing boldly into villages and towns, whether Christian, Byzantine, or Saracen, meticulously recording every minute detail with his own eyes and making comparisons in his mind.

So what was different about the village he was seeing now? He found it hard to describe. Apart from the busy soldiers and tax collectors, it seemed no different from any other village: dense forests, rivers, gray houses, chapels, and a square in the very center, with a well standing exactly like the others.

By the way, the difference is that the people here—he's not talking about the soldiers, officials, or priests—are distinct from the general public because they hold power; their expressions and even the volume of their voices are clearly different.

But the farmers here could speak loudly, and moreover, they did not flinch when walking among priests, tax collectors, and soldiers. Such a timid posture is common elsewhere, like a dog that has been beaten frequently, which will quickly run away when it sees someone raise their hand.

Any dog ​​that can't react like that will be beaten to death.

To say they weren't afraid of these men? Yes, they were, but the fear wasn't so strong anymore. They even dared to greet the men first, offer them water, or ask or request something.

The "Knight of Adelaide" requested a room upstairs and a room downstairs for his attendants.

The room upstairs was occupied only by him, his personal attendant, and his monks. The straw mat on the bed was thick, and the sheets were clean. Although there were no curtains, the headboard, the wooden chest for clothes, and the chairs were all spotless. There were even several brass coat hooks behind the door, and a corner cabinet displayed a portrait of the patron saint of pilgrims, James.

A strange shelf caught his attention—what was this? It looked like it was meant to hold something, but it was currently empty.

The answer soon came to him automatically. The village steward, who was also the owner of the inn, brought them a copper kettle and a copper basin with a servant. He poured hot water into the copper basin, which was placed on a shelf, and then draped a linen towel over it for the guests to wash themselves.

He told the Adelaide Knights that there would be a pot of hot water tomorrow morning, which would be provided free of charge.

“That’s wonderful,” praised the “Knight of Adelaide,” who had never received such treatment in his Parisian inns. “Cleanliness, cleanliness is very important.” The steward was overjoyed, but feigned humility, saying, “That’s what our little saint instructed us; uncleanliness brings disease.”

“Oh, you believe in him that much?” The “Sir Adelaide” glanced down at the cross hanging on the steward’s chest. “You are a member of the orthodox church, but he was indeed excommunicated by his own church. Aren’t you afraid he really is a devil?”

“Hey, our patriarch was excommunicated by the Pope, and the Pope was excommunicated by our patriarch. If someone who is excommunicated is the devil, then I really can’t tell which is the human world and which is hell. We don’t believe it. How many people in Bethlehem have been saved because of him? If he is the devil, shouldn’t he take this opportunity to drag all these people into hell?”

“Or perhaps he’s using this opportunity to demand their souls.” The “Knight of Adelaide” wiped his face with a cloth, the hot water and soft cloth making him sigh with relief.

This provocative question displeased the steward, but for the sake of the one silver coin a day, he restrained himself and patiently explained, "Didn't the Pope and his cardinals say that all those who come to the Holy Land on pilgrimage will be freed from all sins and will surely ascend to Heaven in the future?"

If they had died in that plague, they might have gone to heaven. But since they are still alive, if they return to Bethlehem or walk the path of Alaska, their souls can be saved, and their sins can be forgiven. Isn't the outcome the same?

This sophistry made the "Knight of Adelaide" chuckle. He tossed the linen cloth into the copper basin and had his servant take it away. "Like master, like people."

He smiled, his demeanor perfectly natural. Even the steward, after careful observation, couldn't detect any displeasure or anger in him for the previous offense. Well, even if he was a pilgrim, he wasn't the kind who was short-sighted, narrow-minded, and deaf to any opinions. On the contrary, he was a gentleman with grand ideas.

The person in charge didn't say anything more, lest they reveal more secrets that shouldn't be known to outsiders.

The Knight of Adelaide and his monks and attendants went to sleep fully clothed. Apart from the monks beside him snoring loudly as always, making it difficult for him to fall asleep in the middle of the night, he had a very pleasant and peaceful night.

When he woke up in the morning, he opened his eyes and thought about it carefully, only to find that he hadn't been bothered by too many insects.

Fleas, lice, bedbugs... these were parasites that followed people everywhere at that time. Even kings had to pick lice out of their hair, and the same was true for queens, whose magnificent robes were often infested with bedbugs. The only way to avoid this was to frequently change mattresses, curtains, carpets, and even the living quarters.

But last night, apart from a few fleas that were already on his body, no new tenants came to settle on him. The "Adelaide Knight" sat up, curiously picked up a pillow (yes, although it was very simple, there was indeed a pillow here), examined it for a moment, then put the pillow to his nose and sniffed it, clearly smelling the scent of herbs.

After a pause, he tossed the pillow to the cultivator, who caught it, sniffed it, and then skillfully pried open a crack, pulling out some of its contents: "Chrysanthemum artemisia."

“Our little one is quite stubborn,” the knight said. Anyone else, having been branded a devil by the church for using herbs, would have been terrified and would never dare touch anything that might bring disaster again. But he didn’t care at all. It was as if the Great Punishment decree was just a piece of waste paper to him.

The Knight of Adelaide didn't believe the local farmers had used the herbs without permission. The farmers were quite cunning—they knew, of course, that if they couldn't raise the money the priests demanded, they could beg the village witch for herbs, and they knew these herbs could cure their illnesses, or at least alleviate their suffering. But they would never dare admit to using the herbs or hoarding them. They knew very well that if the priests found out, their fate would be worse than dying. When the steward brought hot water again, the Knight of Adelaide deliberately brought up the matter, and the steward's expression told him his guess was correct. The steward wasn't afraid. "This is chrysanthemum, the flower of St. Philidis Weed, don't you know? We dry this fragrant holy relic and hide it in our bedding and pillows; it will drive away plague and demons," the steward said matter-of-factly. "Didn't you sleep well last night?"

The "Knight of Adelaide" glanced at it, thinking that if he answered that he was indeed not feeling well, he would probably be accused of being possessed or crazy. Otherwise, how could he be tossing and turning in bed blessed by a saint?
“I slept very well,” he said, staring at the steward. “Better than ever before.”

Sure enough, the manager pursed his lips and shrugged. "You want breakfast, right?"

"Yes, give me and every servant a breakfast, porridge, and an egg."

"If you'd like to add another copper coin, I'll give you another spoonful of sugar."

"Sugar? Rock candy?"

“How could that be? Rock sugar costs at least one silver coin, and it’s black honey,” the steward said. The so-called black honey was actually the product of reprocessing the residue left after sugar extraction, but he cunningly covered it up with a new word: “It’s a bit rough, but it’s definitely sweet.”

“Alright, add a spoonful of sugar to everyone’s porridge.” The “Knight of Adelaide” nodded, and his generosity finally brought a genuine smile to the steward’s face. “When are you leaving, noon or tomorrow? If you’d like to dine here, take a look at my chickens, gentlemen. You can choose for yourself, or cook them yourself. Choose whichever you like. Roosters are twenty, hens are thirty. Fair prices, and the taste is excellent.”

The "Knight of Adelaide" was almost amused by him. He followed the steward downstairs. In fact, he already knew that the steward kept chickens, because the chicken coop was right below his room. The rooster crowed and the hens clucked, creating a lively scene.

“That one is quite good.” The monk behind the knight’s eyes lit up, his interest was high, and he rubbed his hands together repeatedly. “Then go and catch one.” “Knight Adelaide” paused for a moment. “One for you, one for me, and one for the servants.”

“You are a very generous man,” the priest immediately praised, then lifted his robe, barefoot, and ran towards the flock of chickens. Amidst the flying feathers and the shouts of the chickens, the “Knight of Adelaide” saw the white plaster painted on the stone circle. “What is this? You are actually doing this to your livestock…” He couldn’t find the word for a moment. After all, in Frankish society, farmers were not usually so extravagant. Their livestock were usually free-range, and their nests and sheds were the farmers’ mud houses.

"The tax official said that refreshing the mortar can reduce the chances of livestock getting sick, especially chickens and ducks." The steward thought about it. Anyway, it wasn't a secret, and mortaring houses was common in the Mediterranean region. It was something people were familiar with, and it couldn't be attributed to witchcraft.

"But you raise so many chickens, don't you need to pay livestock tax?"

“We won’t pay, at least not for the next three years. This is a reward from our lord,” the steward said proudly. “We don’t need to pay for chickens, ducks, sheep, cattle, or horses.”

"How did you manage to get so much feed to feed them?"

“You probably don’t know this,” the steward said, leading the “Knight of Adelaide” toward the dining area. After all, the next step was to slaughter a chicken, and he wondered if the master would be displeased by the unpleasant smell and chaotic scene.

It was called a restaurant, but it was really just an empty room downstairs with a wooden table and a few chairs. The "Knight of Adelaide" sat down there. "You still haven't told me what your chickens, sheep, and cows eat?"

“Our lord is very generous. For the next three years, we will not only be exempt from taxes, but his woodlands, rivers, hills, and wastelands will all be open to us.”

"open?"

"That means we can herd sheep to graze, herd chickens and ducks to catch insects, herd pigs to eat fallen fruit, and gather firewood, all for free."

"It's all free?"

"Apart from cutting down trees, which requires the lord's permission, fishing with nets also requires his permission. But if we are just picking up some branches, or if we see a dead tree, we can take it home after the tax officials have inspected it."

Taking it home—that's debatable.

"But there aren't as many people collecting firewood these days..."

The "Adelaide Knight" remembered the steward's promise of hot water twice a day before he went to bed last night. "Why did you say you didn't need firewood?" Although winter in Cyprus is not very cold, it is still an island, and the sea breeze brings moisture from the sea surface. In terms of physical sensation, winter on the island is sometimes more dangerous than winter inland.

"This..." The steward hesitated, and a silver coin was thrown on the table. "You probably know that the territory that originally belonged to Prince Murai of Armenia was called Mersin—hey, that Murai was a real beast. When he was still around, no one dared to go there, just because if he caught you, it was like a lamb falling into the lion's mouth, with almost no chance of escape. You would either be killed or sold into slavery—we always thought he made his fortune through plunder and extortion—who knew... that there was actually a considerable coal and iron mine hidden there."

"Sir, you know about coal, right?"

(End of this chapter)