A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

After dismissing Belem, Eric entered the Church.

Although Simone Scalas was extremely fawning toward them, Matilda had refused his invitation as a precaution.

She held no fondness for the city of Pisa and had no expectations of it for the time being. This was her first visit since she began to rule Tuscan, and the city had not yet earned her trust.

Matilda, Eric, and some of the Knights and Attendants from Canossa were staying in the Pisa Cathedral, while Belem and over a hundred Norman Knights were quartered in an inn within the city.

This Church was the seat of the Archbishop of Pisa. Matilda had long been one of the Cathedral’s primary patrons, and the new Cathedral to be built was nominally a donation to the Archbishop of Pisa.

Friends can only be trusted when your interests are aligned—and even then, only to a point.

Once inside the Church, he walked along the cloister toward the chapel.

The cloister encircled a central courtyard where several Priests were currently chatting. Judging by their spirited expressions, they were definitely not discussing matters of theology.

Just then, bells rang from the nearby Church tower—the call to vespers. In a Monastery, all Cultivators would be required to go to the chapel to pray.

However, this was not a Monastery but a Church—and a Church in Pisa, no less. The lives of the Clergy were governed by far fewer rules than those of Cultivators; they were much more flexible in many respects, and far more worldly.

Eric continued toward the chapel.

Not far off was a small, round building with smoke rising from a hole in its roof. It was clearly the kitchen.

In a strict Monastery, only one meal was served daily: the midday meal. But this was a Church. Perhaps there would be a light supper after vespers—bread with cheese or salted fish, or maybe a bowl of seasoned barley porridge.

However, as he drew closer to the kitchen, he caught the unmistakable, mouth-watering aroma of roasting meat. He stopped in his tracks, frowned, and then strode over.

Two Priests and a boy, still in his white choir robe, were gathered around a central hearth.

As Eric watched, one Priest passed a cup to the other, who took it and drank. The boy was turning a spit, on which a suckling pig was roasting.

They looked up in surprise as Eric stepped into the light.

He said nothing, simply taking the cup from the Priest’s hand and sniffing it. Then he asked, "Why are you drinking wine?"

"Because wine gladdens the heart, my unknown brother," the Priest said, noticing Eric’s Monk’s Robe. He raised his cup. "Have some, *hic*—take a big swig."

"The children of the poor starve so that we may have wine and meat," he said. "It is for the glory of God, not for our own pleasure. You will drink no more tonight."

He walked away, carrying the cup of wine. But before he had even reached the door, and while the two Priests were still trying to process what was happening, Eric turned back and snatched the perfectly roasted suckling pig as well.

"Seeing as this is your first offense, I’ll let it slide with a verbal warning. I expect you to remember my counsel and constantly repent for your sinful behavior. Do not be resentful or defiant. On the contrary, you should thank me.

For I have created in you a clean heart, and renewed a righteous spirit within you.

As for this... as material evidence of your sin, I am confiscating it. I trust that its storage in my possession will serve as a constant reminder of the sin of gluttony you committed out of weakness of will."

Long after Eric had gone, the boy finally asked, "Did we just get robbed?"

"Yes, a robbery! How dare he bully us!" The two Priests jumped to their feet, looking righteously indignant, as if the fact had only just dawned on them.

"That’s right! We have to teach him a lesson."

With that, the boy got to his feet, looking ready to charge out and pick a fight with Eric. But when he turned back, he saw the two Priests had sat down again.

"Resist not an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other also."

"Yes, yes, we must heed the word of God. We are Priests; fighting and killing isn’t for us. Besides, can you really call it robbery when a brother Cultivator does it?"

’What a joke. That Cultivator was built well enough to thrash the both of them. A fight? Don’t make me laugh.’

When Eric reached the chapel, he didn’t find Matilda. An Attendant inside informed him that the Marchioness had returned to her room.

The Attendant then led him to her quarters.

The guards bowed respectfully. Eric then pushed the door open, trying not to make a sound.

The room was dim, lit only by a single night candle. Bright moonlight filtered through the windowpanes, dappling the floor with light.

Eric saw that Matilda was already in bed and had left half the space for him. He removed his Monk’s Robe, leaving on his white underclothes, and climbed into bed, lying down at Matilda’s side.

As it was nearly August, the weather had grown warmer. Instead of heavy bedding, there was only a light wool blanket—one large enough for the two of them.

But just as Eric reached for the blanket, Matilda rolled over and, in one fluid motion, wrapped it all around herself.

Eric chuckled softly. He wasn’t surprised; it had been like this for the past three days.

Ever since that day, Matilda had not mentioned the events of that morning. But whenever they were alone in a room, she remained stubbornly silent toward him.

Eric lay down and took a blanket out of his storage space—the very same one he had swiped from Eleanor’s bed in Mannfuer Castle.

For the first time in a long while, he felt a bit uncomfortable.

"So, this is how it’s going to be from now on?" Eric glanced at Matilda.

He finished speaking, but Matilda, her back to him, gave no response. She was clearly still maintaining her silence.

"This reminds me of when I was still a Cultivator. Then again, maybe that’s a good start."

Eric sighed and turned his head away. Just as he closed his eyes, Matilda’s voice broke the silence.

"Why didn’t you remain a Cultivator?"

Hearing Matilda’s voice, Eric relaxed a little.

"I didn’t want to spend my whole life stuck in one place, surrounded by nothing but old men. I also had to kiss up to a bunch of arrogant, self-important people."

"That is devotion to God."

"Yes, devotion to God. If you’d ever spent time there, you might not think so. Besides, why should I have to stay there to show my devotion to God?

How many of the people there are truly devout?"

"That’s just greed. You simply crave more, Earl of Gloucester," Matilda said, mentioning his title with a teasing lilt.

"Greed isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I think maybe God allows it to exist just to make our lives a little easier." But Eric didn’t seem to mind her jab.

"Twisting the truth again."

"Is that so? Then let me ask you, why did you choose me?" Eric sat up, looking at Matilda as he spoke.

After a moment of silence, Matilda’s voice sounded again. "The portrait... How did you do it? Your portraits are so much more natural and realistic than anyone else’s."

"Was that the reason?" Eric began to laugh.

"Only partly." Matilda’s voice sounded a little strained. She quickly added, "You should consider yourself lucky you found such a good painter."

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