On the bed was an old man, naked from the waist up. His hair was almost entirely white, and he looked to be over seventy years old. The old man appeared remarkably calm.
This was the Marquis of Milan, Alberto Azzo, founder of the Este Clan.
"Oh-ho, it seems something interesting has happened in Milan again. The master of Milan City is you now, is that right?" Marquis Azo stood up, completely unconcerned about being shirtless. He walked over to Eric and brazenly sized him up. "You look younger than twenty. Might I have the honor of hearing how you came to power? To be honest, I’ve become quite interested in these kinds of stories lately. It’s one of my few remaining pastimes."
Marquis Azo laughed without restraint, his voice surprisingly robust.
"Conspiracy? Bribery? Or the usual spreading of seditious lies?"
Marquis Azo circled Eric, continuing to inspect him. "Or perhaps... seduction? You’ve got the looks for it."
Marquis Azo glanced to the side at Sforza, whom he recognized.
"Insolent! How dare you speak to our Count like that! You’re a prisoner now!"
A Knight shouted, ready to teach the old man a lesson, but Eric stopped him.
"A prisoner? Hahaha, I’ve been a prisoner for over a month. You think I care about that? Count? Has the arrogance of usurpers reached such heights? It doesn’t matter. No matter how brazen you are, time will teach you your place.
Instead of threatening me, you should be thinking about how you’ll survive the week. I’ll bet you die before I do. Next week, it’ll be another group of people prying open my door. Honestly, I’ve seen it all this past month. There’s nothing new under the sun."
Marquis Azo, unconcerned, started walking back toward his bed. Then he stopped abruptly. He’d noticed the Knight who had just spoken was using French—Norman French.
He spun around, looking at Eric with some surprise. "Normans? Apulia? Are you Giscard’s men?"
At that moment, Marquis Azo also noticed that Eric bore a slight resemblance to Giscard.
It was true that last year, he had arranged a marriage with Giscard, wedding his youngest son, Hugo, to Giscard’s daughter, Helia. Through this, he had forged a marital alliance with the Outville Family, the new nobles of Southern Italy.
But their relationship had never been deep. Would Giscard really dispatch troops to Milan to rescue him over such a tenuous family tie?
"We come from Normandy and England! The man standing before you is the Earl of Gloucester of the England Kingdom, and now the Marquis of Tuscany," a Knight shouted.
"Oh, I’ve heard of you. The upstart noble of the England Kingdom. The one who props up the King of England. The meticulous Eric, the Spider of Normandy, and, of course, Giscard’s bastard son.
Oh, right, what else? Marquis of Tuscany? It seems you’ve married that Matilda. Honestly, you’d be wise not to take that title too seriously.
The Emperor won’t let you be. He will not allow a band of Normans to entrench themselves on his Empire’s border for long. Your father is already more than he can stand; your very existence is precarious." Marquis Azo smiled, seeming completely unconcerned about whether he was angering Eric.
"Precarious? That word seems to fit you better than it does me." Eric shrugged, looking completely unfazed.
"I am seventy-eight years old. I have three sons, and not a single one of them is trapped here like me. My eldest son, Welf, is the current Duke of Bavaria. Do you think I care about any of this?
But you’re different. You’re only twenty. Everything you’ve clawed for, crawling through the mud, could all be wiped out in an instant. That’s a bitter pill to swallow." Marquis Azo chuckled.
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