A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

About a hundred yards away on the opposite bank was Sal Village. Of course, given its size, Sal Village could already be called a small town. It was encircled by its unique Frank Dyke and situated at one of the best natural fords on this upper stretch of the river.

Eric still remembered the Abbot from Sal Village who paid his taxes in coin.

Two rows of stones marked the boundaries of the safe ford. The Knights waded across, aware that they made for an impressive sight. Their high-stepping horses sent up splashes of water, and the sunlight catching the droplets added a sheen to the damp Leather and sand-scoured Armor.

When they reached the west bank, they turned right and formed a rough circle around their Lord.

The soldier in the watchtower of Fougeres Castle was dozing. With December approaching, the weather had turned cold, and he squatted inside, enjoying the warmth from a brazier. He only looked up for a glance every now and then. Ever since they learned that Elijah and his cousin had been driven away, the guards had started giving themselves unofficial leave.

However, when Eric’s horn sounded, he scrambled down to open the castle gates.

But before entering the gates, Eric took off his Helmet, turned to the Knights behind him, and said, ”Overall, we’ve had a full year. I believe you and I have both gotten what we wanted. So from now on, enjoy the fruits of your labor.

For the next three months, you are without duties. That’s plenty of time to impress your friends with tales of London, Rouen, and your time in the Tuscan lands.”

His words made the Knights laugh. This year, following him, they had been to the Tuscan region for the first time, to Milan for the first time, and for some, even to London and Rouen for the first time. They had seen the mighty Emperor of the Christ World—though he had appeared before them in a sorry state—and the Pope, who was more or less just as the legends described.

They had also seen Milan, Pisa, and Canossa—cities so vast that they had worried they might get lost and have to spend the rest of their lives on some unfamiliar street.

Most importantly, of course, they had seized great wealth—enough to see them through several Winters, and even enough to buy new, sturdier Armor and gear. Some among them had even been rewarded with land.

This was all a result of their Lord Eric’s leadership. And now, their Lord was thanking them for their company—a customary courtesy at the end of a long journey.

So they responded in kind, ”It has been our honor to ride with you, my lord. We are always at your command.”

Eric nodded, hung his Helmet on the pommel of his saddle, and rode out of the circle.

The Knights then dispersed. Eric had specifically kept this group with him for the return journey, as their manors and fiefs were all nearby. Before Eric had been enfeoffed, they had been Knights of the King’s Territory; now, they were under his command.

Eric rode into the castle. The soldiers on guard duty greeted him, and Eric had his servants give them their well-deserved rewards.

He then noticed that the castle seemed emptier than usual. To his surprise, Eric found the Old Baron in the outer bailey, apparently directing the soldiers’ training.

They stood in two lines, each soldier facing an opponent. The ground was littered with quarterstaves, horse reins, pitchforks, and branding irons—anything a man might grab to defend himself in a surprise attack.

That was the purpose of the training: to grab and strike when the enemy had breached the castle walls, the Arrows were spent, and daggers were broken.

The Old Baron, apparently wanting to personally demonstrate his skills and battlefield experience, was brandishing his cane wildly. The target scarecrow, however, was behind him. Knight Commander Zogo covered his eyes, unable to watch, a small gesture to spare his old superior some face.

”Baron,” one of the training soldiers called out, having spotted Eric.

Zogo hurriedly bowed to Eric while also trying to alert the Old Baron, who was still engrossed in his demonstration.

For his troubles, Zogo got a whack on the forehead with the Old Baron’s cane.

”The essence of attack is to strike the unprepared! A feint to the east, an attack to the west!” the Old Baron roared with laughter, and the other soldiers joined in.

”Father, I’ve returned.” Eric walked up to the Old Baron, knelt before him, and lightly kissed the ring on his hand.

”Alan? Good, good. It’s good you’re back.” The Old Baron patted Eric’s head and helped him up. ”Alright, that’s enough training for today. The Iron Gloves of Mann is reuniting with his son today.

You’re saved, you little whelps!”

The Old Baron’s name was Raoul de Fougeres. In his youth, he was known for his just severity and unyielding will, earning him the nickname ’Iron Gloves’ from the Knights of his early years.

But ever since the death of his eldest son, the Iron Gloves had all but rusted, and he had become just an ordinary old man.

「Inside the castle.」

”You little rascal, I thought you’d forgotten all about this place. Just like that ungrateful father of yours. A full five months. Nearly half a year.”

”My father? Are you not him?” Eric asked, feigning confusion.

”Hahahaha! Yes, yes, my head’s been getting muddled lately.” The Old Baron laughed heartily, tossing his cane aside and clapping Eric on the back. ”Alright now. Go see Eleanor.

If you want to know why I wrote to you, go see your wife. You’ll be so happy you’ll be prancing around the castle like a fawn.”

.....

Eleanor placed a hand on her belly, feeling the child kick and turn within.

Though her waist was still slender, her belly showed a proud curve as she approached six months of pregnancy.

She sat in a chair, paging through a book on herbalism and chewing on mint leaves, trying to find a more effective way to ease the discomforts of her condition.

The initial joy had been eclipsed by the misery of pregnancy.

For the past month, she had been sleeping poorly, unable to find a comfortable position. She didn’t dare move too much at night, afraid of putting pressure on her belly. She woke up most mornings feeling as if she hadn’t slept at all.

The thought of having to endure this for another three-plus months made her feel faint.

’The Church says childbirth is Eve’s curse, but she couldn’t help but wonder why men were exempt from this burden. True, it was Eve who first let herself be tempted by the serpent, but Adam tasted that damned apple too, didn’t he?’

Ejiva had grown accustomed to her mistress’s sharp morning musings. It was all forgivable, though. The pregnancy was causing her so much pain, and Ejiva had often heard that a woman’s moods could become unstable during that time.

She calmly continued braiding Eleanor’s long hair, pointing out that the child might be born on Palm Sunday—a very auspicious beginning, truly befitting a future Baron.

(Palm Sunday, the Sunday before Easter, gets its name from the account in the Gospel Book: when Jesus entered Jerusalem, the crowds held palm fronds and other branches, welcoming him as their King and Messiah.)

Eleanor pressed her hand to her belly. Since becoming pregnant, she had imagined her womb as a calm pond where the baby swam like a little tadpole.

’If this restlessness continued,’ she thought, ’the very first thing I’d do after giving birth is give the little troublemaker a smack.’

Just then, the door to the room was pushed open. It was Eric.

”I was beginning to think you weren’t coming back.” Eleanor looked away and closed her book.

”You should have told me sooner.”

In truth, Eric had more or less guessed. What else could have warranted a special letter?

Eric walked to Eleanor’s side, and her maid, Ejiva, tactfully withdrew. He then knelt and took something from within his tunic.

”I brought you a gift.”

It was a silver Cloak clasp, circular in shape, designed like an exquisite silver thistle with an amethyst set in its head.

Her skin had the glow of late pregnancy.

”Well, thank you for this useless gift.” Eleanor took the Cloak clasp. She looked at Eric, then leaned on the table, tilting her head to look at him. ”Will you be hoping for a boy?”

”This era isn’t kind to women. But if it’s a girl, I’ll do everything I can to give her a good life.

I hope I live long enough. I hope to see her brothers protect her, and I hope to see our child grow up to protect their mother.”

”Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll surely die before you do,” Eleanor said, stretching her arms with a smile.