A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

"At the start of this year, many regions had already begun mobilizing their armies. This was to be an unprecedented Holy War, and yet..." Gregory slammed the letter in his hand down on the desk. "That detestable Emperor is more hateful than the Heretics themselves! I even suspect he’s been in league with them all along!

To think he would challenge me at a time like this, on the eve of a sacred Holy War."

Gregory grew agitated.

Six months ago, he had even planned to temporarily entrust the affairs of the Church to Henry IV so he could personally lead an army to the East and fight the Heretics.

But in the end, Henry IV—that detestable Emperor—actually rejected his reforms.

"Isn’t this an excellent solution? It keeps Germany in chaos, allows us to aid our brothers in the East, and restores the Holy See to its rightful place. Besides, even if the princes elected a rival emperor, there’s no guarantee he would be any more controllable.

If the Emperor and the lords of the Empire are bent on war, isn’t it better they go to the East? Most sins can be forgiven for those who dedicate themselves to the cause of the Lord of Heaven," Eric said with a smile.

"You mean..." Gregory paused, stunned, then began to laugh. "Yes, yes, yes. That’s exactly it."

....

「Early in the morning, while Matilda was still fast asleep.」

Her mother’s maids invaded her room. They humbly woke her and respectfully refused her pleas.

A wedding was a sacrament; every step had to be taken with solemnity, especially when the Holy See himself was to preside.

Her schedule was packed for the seven days leading up to the wedding. In addition to daily trips to the Church for penance and a light fast, her mother also demanded that she behave like a proper young lady of the Nobility.

The maids dressed her in an ivory satin gown, its golden laces pulled taut to accentuate her slender waist. A jeweled cap covered the crown of her head, but her thick, reddish-gold hair, interwoven with metallic ribbons, still remained exposed.

Her nails were dyed pink with madder and buffed until they gleamed. Matilda felt she was being burnished as bright as a silver-gilt cup for a wedding feast.

After successfully stuffing her into her ’gorgeous box’ and reminding her to head to the Church for penance, the maids finally departed her room.

Shortly after the maids left, she tossed aside all the things they had put on her—things that did not belong to her.

She hastily changed into a simple, cool linen robe, but when she searched for her riding boots, she couldn’t find them anywhere. Someone had hidden them.

Annoyed, she kicked off the exquisitely embroidered slippers on her feet.

"If he wants to see them, he can wear them himself," she muttered, giving the embroidered slipper another kick. The slipper spun twice across the wooden floor before coming to a stop against the wall.

Ordinarily, she would have been happy to go to the Church to confess. It calmed her, and she did it for herself.

But not today. She didn’t want to go because someone else was telling her to, and she hated being told what to do.

She walked out of her room and descended from the main tower of the fortress.

She arrived at the stable. Her Andalusian Horse nickered softly upon seeing her, eagerly searching for the breadcrumbs its mistress brought. Matilda stroked its neck, drawing comfort from the sweet smell of hay and horse.

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the mare’s smooth, warm neck.

In a world changing so rapidly, she found solace in what was dear, familiar, and beyond reproach.

She would rather spend the night in the stable than return to her room.

She wanted to go for a ride, but she knew it would be impossible for the next few days.

Thanks to yesterday’s rain, it was much cooler now, though the walls still radiated a gentle warmth.

Fish in the courtyard pond splashed lazily in the fading light, catching insects. The air was filled with the ancient scent of sun-baked stone.

She loved this lush and fragrant area of the fortress, planted with all manner of plants, flowers, and dense lawns. The fragrant roses had begun to bloom, heralding the arrival of summer.

The gardeners were masters of their craft. Although the garden was enclosed, it provided a different, fresh world—a temporary escape from the intrigues and malicious gossip of the court.

The sun cast a warm, transparent light over the grass and trees, which were still clad in summer’s green, though their edges were beginning to turn gold. Dewdrops glittered on the lawn, and Matilda suddenly wanted to feel their crystalline coolness on her bare feet.

On a whim, she pulled off her dark stockings and stepped onto the cool, glittering grass.

The feel of the damp, cool grass between her toes delighted her.

The soft, damp earth soon stained the pale soles of her feet, then her toes, then her ankles.

The hem of her gown, soaked with dew, slapped against her bare ankles.

It was only at times like these that she felt she was truly alive, and that she belonged only to herself.

Her toes dug more forcefully into the grass.

But just as she was reveling in the moment, she felt as if someone was watching her.

She lifted her head.

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