Chapter 102: Traveling Through the Middle Ages 102

Chapter 102 Journey Through the Middle Ages 102

The Crusades couldn’t just be organized on a whim. Typically, they needed at least three groups to 'cooperate' before they could even begin.

First, there had to be the local Christian forces in the East—initially the Byzantines, and later mostly the Crusader city-states. Now, with no Crusader states left on the mainland, only scattered Crusader forces could serve as this party. They had to issue a "request" for aid from the West, which would then set the next steps in motion.

Next, the Church had to step in, playing the role of mediator and advocate—after all, compared to the pursuit of wealth, religious ideals were a far more presentable and motivating reason for knights to risk their lives journeying to the East (individual morale was hard to gauge, but for a group to maintain long-term fighting spirit, "ideals" were more valuable than gold).

Finally, there was the Crusade itself. Most Crusades weren’t just one lord and his knights, but rather a coalition of multiple lords forming a joint army... As everyone knows, 'coalition forces' are always a mess. So historically, Crusades were rarely united—trouble was constant.

In short, organizing a Crusade was an extremely complicated affair—time, money, manpower... By the time everything was ready and the expedition could set off, a considerable amount of time would have passed.

In fact, even if a "request" from the East happened to arrive, and the main Crusader forces gathered with the intention of establishing a new Crusader state in Tartu—planning to use it as a springboard to return to the mainland—the timing was chosen because the Mongol armies from the distant East had reached the region. Their campaigns in the Near East provided the Crusaders with a breathing space.

Even so, it was not until the following summer that the newly assembled Crusade finally set off for the East.

Back in Troyes, Louisa went on with her quiet life... This era and this land were far from peaceful or safe, but Louisa was lucky, relatively speaking—at least she’d landed as high nobility. This allowed her, up to now, to maintain what she considered a normal daily routine.

"...I saw it with my own eyes—her golden hair was dyed! It wasn’t the best blonde, but I’d really love to find out who mixed the dye for her..." In the second-floor parlor of the Red Tower, the maids gathered around Louisa, chatting with her.

Soon, the conversation turned to a noblewoman who had recently visited Troyes as a guest. She was the Countess’s cousin, wed to some Gaudelan lord. Now that her husband had come to Xidai as a diplomat, she had accompanied him. But finding life in Xidai somewhat dull, she had sought out her childhood friend, the Countess.

Wives were practically their husbands’ property, but among the nobility, it wasn’t uncommon for couples to live separate lives. The most frequent reason was that the husband had to tour his territories, while the wife was often left behind at court. Alternatively, if the wife entered court to serve a higher-ranking lady, that too could lead to separation.

"Do you think her golden hair is beautiful? I don’t think so," Helena said dismissively. "I’ve got a pretty good guess about her recipe, but it’s useless! Only if your hair’s already light or near-blonde can you even try it. In fact, I’d guess her natural hair is carrot-colored."

Back then, 'carrot color' meant a dull, orangey yellow—quite different from the vibrant carrots of later eras. But this wasn’t surprising, as fruits and vegetables underwent many modifications over the centuries, changing significantly in appearance.

"...And even if you happen to meet the conditions for dyeing, you’d have to consider that the dye itself damages both hair and scalp. As for washing your hair with an alkaline solution before each dyeing—well, that’s hardly worth mentioning. Oh, the most common alkaline solution is just the soap water you all use normally."

Washing hair with straight soap water? You could *tell* it’d wreck your hair. Done once in a while, it’d just leave your scalp stiff and hair coarse, with stubborn soap residue clinging to the strands. But do it too much, and your follicles’d give out. And with dyeing on top of that—how could it possibly be sustainable? It wouldn’t be long before another round of dyeing was needed!

This was only bearable because people at this time rarely washed their hair. If they did so frequently, they’d have to re-dye it every time. And each dyeing session required washing with an alkaline solution (which was necessary to strip away dirt and oils like lanolin from the hair, ensuring the dye could take hold). Over time, the hair would be ruined.

Even though women of this era had no fear of receding hairlines—some even plucked the hair near their foreheads—they couldn’t tolerate thinning or fragile hair elsewhere. Long, thick hair was still a beauty must.

"That sounds awful," Gina said, instinctively touching her own hair. "Back at home, aside from rinsing my hair with cold floral water infused with herbs and flowers, I’d wash it with soap water or wood-ash water a few times a year. Otherwise, it’d itch like crazy, the grease matting my hair into clumps."

"But after each wash, while it felt clean, it also brought a different kind of discomfort."

"Louisa’s way was better—lathering up with the East soap—a hard soap imported from the Near East—and rinsing thoroughly with clean water, then rubbing lemon juice into the strands. There’s none of that discomfort, and the hair stays in good condition."

The East soap—a hard soap imported from the Near East—was long considered a mark of quality. But Louisa didn’t have them use it for that. She knew such hard soap had usually aged for some time, reducing its alkalinity. This made it far less harsh on hair and scalp when washing.

As for the thorough rinsing, it was to wash away soap residue, while the lemon juice helped convert any remaining residue into fatty acids using citric acid. Combined with the fact that the soap of this era was mostly "potassium soap" rather than the later "sodium soap," which was inherently less alkaline, the result was far more tolerable...

Around Louisa, hygiene standards were relatively high. It wasn’t that everyone was completely free of lice or fleas—after all, if others around them weren’t as careful, these pests could easily spread. But at the very least, the issue was kept under control... This standard meant that hair-washing inevitably became more frequent, and it couldn’t just be a quick rinse with water.

Louisa had noticed how uncomfortable the maids were after washing with soap or wood-ash water, which was why she had taught them this method—not because she was stingy and unwilling to share her own shampoo.

She was just one person, and it was unlikely she’d ever use up the stock in her portable supermarket in this lifetime. Letting others use the excess wouldn’t be an issue, right? After all, people at this time washed their hair very infrequently. Even among her attendants, excluding simple water rinses, they might only use cleansing products once a month. For just a few maids, the amount used would still be manageable.

The problem was, once they tried the shampoo Louisa provided, they’d realize it was nothing like the soft soap they were used to—making it impossible to pass off as ordinary. Especially Helena, who was an alchemist and proto-chemist, would spot the difference immediately.

Unlike the stuff she and Helena had whipped up before, shampoo wasn’t something Louisa could just handcraft herself! How would she explain where it came from? Dodge and say it’s a 'secret recipe'? That’d fly with others, but not Louisa—she had already casually shared so many "secret recipes" before. Why would this one be any different?

It wasn’t like the perfumes. Who didn’t want their own scent? And while more complex scents were distinctive, they wouldn’t pique Helena’s curiosity as an alchemist. But shampoo? That was a whole other beast.

Louisa could just stonewall her—rank had its perks. If she didn’t say anything, Helena wouldn’t dare press her. But even so, it would be a hassle. Easier to dodge the headache entirely.

"It's nothing. If it helps your hair, then that’s all the better," Louisa said, running her fingers through one of her long braids. She wasn’t planning to go out today, so she had simply tied her hair into two loose braids—simple and comfortable, which was good for her scalp.

"Of course it does..." Helena chimed in. "By the way, have you heard the news from the recent guests at court?"

"What news?" Louisa blinked, not quite following.

"Those guests came from *Cité*. The newly assembled main force of the Crusade is gathering. This time, the knights of *Vasson* will be led by the Count of *Zebland*... They’ll march east from a small town south of *Cité*, pass through *Rolancy*, and then sail to the eastern Mediterranean—the east! Who knows if I’ll ever set foot in Constantinople again in my lifetime."

Helena and her father were, strictly speaking, Greeks, though neither had ever lived in Greece itself. Instead, they had spent their most important years in Constantinople, and their attachment to the city ran deep. But now, the Byzantine Empire was in steady decline...

Once a wealthy empire in Western legends, it had become a nation that still held cultural significance but little else. Decades ago, they had barely managed to reclaim their old capital, Constantinople, but that was all—just the city and its immediate surroundings, along with a few scattered territories that still nominally acknowledged Byzantine rule.

And even that was only in name. In reality, those "enclaves" were all self-governing.

If life in Constantinople hadn’t been so difficult, why would a renowned scholar like Helena’s father have come to the West? He wasn’t the ambitious sort to begin with.

"Oh..." Louisa didn’t quite know how to respond to Helena’s words. That homesickness for a place one could never truly return to—she understood it all too well. In a way, her own situation was even more hopeless than Helena’s. At least Helena could still cling to the idea of going back someday, whereas Louisa could hardly even entertain such a thought.

"Well, as long as you want it, there’s always hope. I mean, if one day you wish to return to the land where you grew up, I could help you." Louisa herself couldn’t go back to the "modern" world, but helping Helena reach Constantinople was just a matter of money and manpower.

Helena was momentarily stunned by Louisa’s offer. First came a rush of gratitude and joy, but then she shook her head. "No, my dear friend. I truly appreciate your kindness—it moves me deeply. But I think... perhaps I’ve just been away for too long. I’ve forgotten all the bad things about that place, and the good things have only grown fonder in my memory."

"I mean, Constantinople *is* a treasure trove of culture, but... it also has plenty of flaws." Helena gave a wry smile. "Reality doesn’t lie. If it were truly so wonderful, the empire wouldn’t have declined to this irreparable state."

"Don’t say that. Maybe one day it will regain its glory, just like in history—times when it weakened, only to flourish once more, even reaching a golden age," Louisa comforted her.

She was speaking of facts that had already happened, but if history followed the same course as in her past life, this time, the Byzantine Empire would have no chance of revival. Still, there was no need to share such a grim possibility with Helena, even as speculation.

What Louisa didn’t expect was that Helena held no hope for the empire’s future either. After hearing Louisa’s words, she only said, "No, my lady, there’s no hope left. This time is different from all those past crises. Even in the worst of times before, the empire still had the foundations for resurgence—its elites, lands, people, governance... But what does it have now?"

"It’s like an old man on his deathbed, or the sun setting beyond the horizon. Things have reached a point beyond saving—unless the goddess of youth were to grant the nectar of youth, or the sun god’s chariot could make the sun rise again from the west, restoring its zenith."

"That is the realm of the gods. Mortals can do nothing."

The conversation had taken a heavy turn. Louisa wanted to change the subject, but she wasn’t particularly skilled at it, so she could only subtly signal to the others. Someone quickly picked up on it and said, "Speaking of which, the one leading our kingdom’s knights this time is the Count of *Zebland*. Everyone trusts him... Let’s hope the Count brings victory, as he always has!"

The transition was rather abrupt, but Helena obliged. She chuckled and said, "The Count’s past achievements do make him worthy of trust. Aside from his exceptional talent as a commander, there’s also an element of luck, isn’t there? Luck matters greatly on the battlefield."

"I’ve heard that at the Count’s knighting ceremony, the sword he received was one blessed by the kingdom’s patron saint in life—a symbol of courage, strength, and fortune..."

Louisa’s modern skepticism flared up, and she instinctively retorted, "Every royal prince has some story or treasure that supposedly brings good fortune. What’s so special about that? More likely, people just attached those tales to the Count because of his impressive military record."

Helena laughed and patted Louisa’s shoulder. "Lately, all the news about the Count has been about him leading the Crusader knights of *Vasson*. Few have noticed that he just dissolved his engagement to 'Sophia of Potslia'... How odd. Why would he suddenly break it off?"

Helena had enough tact not to spell it out, though her hint of teasing was obvious. Some things, once said aloud, could easily spread as gossip, and she knew Louisa had no interest in being the subject of such talk. Still, the implication was unmistakable.

Last year, during the Palatinate celebrations, Guillaume’s attentiveness to Louisa had been obvious. Before leaving, he had even anonymously gifted her a ruby of immense value. Now, with his engagement being dissolved for no apparent reason—how could people *not* draw conclusions?

That said, even Helena, who had made the connection, wouldn’t have guessed that Guillaume’s broken engagement was entirely because of Louisa. In her mind, Louisa was likely *one* of the reasons—perhaps Guillaume had never been satisfied with the "match," which had been pushed by his stepmother, Queen Anna, and was far from ideal in many ways.

And as for being "one of the reasons," Helena thought Louisa was more than enough... There was no exact Western equivalent to the sentiment *"better never to have met a beauty so devastating,"* but the idea existed all the same. (This alludes to Chinese poetry, suggesting unattainable love.)

"These things always have hidden complexities. Without more information, it’s hard to guess correctly," Louisa said, with some guilt.

She didn’t want to link this matter to herself, but deep down, she knew there had to be some connection. In the original story, Guillaume and the original female lead’s engagement *had* been called off—just not this early. It had only happened later, after Guillaume became Crown Prince and his advisors deemed her not a suitable match.

For things to change now... what else could it be but the disruption caused by an outsider?

"Yes, very hard to guess," Helena said with a smile.

Looking at Helena like this, Louisa's guilt didn't last long. Instead, it faded considerably due to a rebellious streak—so what if the change was brought about by her? It wasn’t as if the heroine in the original story wasn’t supposed to have her engagement broken off anyway. Even if Louisa played a part in it now, she wasn’t to blame for it.

Her responsibility extended only to acknowledging this fact—nothing more. After all, she had neither actively pushed for this outcome nor attempted to prevent it. Strictly speaking, she was just there. The real agency, the decisions, and the execution lay entirely with others. She could only determine her own actions, and nothing beyond that...

Helena, of course, had no intention of teasing Louisa to the point of provoking her. Seeing that the mood was right, she smoothly shifted the topic to "Sophia of Potslia": "Speaking of 'Sophia of Potslia,' she wasn’t entirely unlucky. Well, at least for the Duke of Potslia, this might actually be a good thing!"

"Word is, to wrap up the engagement without a fuss and prevent the would-be in-laws from making a scene that would turn them into courtly gossip, His Majesty offered compensation too good to pass up. Not only were the gifts already given not reclaimed, but 'Sophia of Potslia' was also set up with another good match."

"Oh, and there’s the dowry. The dowry, which had been quite a burden for the Duke of Potslia, was also covered by His Majesty. To console the 'grief-stricken' Duke of Potslia over his daughter’s impending marriage, the King even granted him a sympathy payout."

"I heard Potslia is a minor duchy in Mübehan, and the Duke of Potslia has always been short on money. The current Duke has three legitimate daughters—not too many, not too few, right? But even so, he couldn’t scrape together dowries for them, so the first two ended up marrying down," Gina chimed in.

Here, "ended up marrying down" meant marrying beneath their station—a common fate for noble girls with insufficient dowries. After all, titled noblemen had no shortage of marriage prospects and aimed high. They wanted brides of high birth, worthy of their status, who could also bring substantial wealth to enrich them.

As for untitled noblemen, they needed to aim even higher! If they couldn’t secure a landed heiress, they at least wanted a wife with a fat dowry—otherwise, life would be even harder.

"Exactly. By the time it came to the third daughter, 'Sophia of Potslia,' since her betrothed was a royal prince of our country, the dowry had to be decent. I heard the engagement was repeatedly delayed precisely because the Duke struggled to gather the initial dowry payment."

Guillaume himself didn’t care how much dowry "Sophia of Potslia" brought. If he had truly resented her lack of wealth, he wouldn’t have gone along with his stepmother’s arrangement in the first place. But those who had pushed for the match, including Queen Anna, couldn’t accept the Duke of Potslia’s attempts to drastically reduce the dowry.

At the end of the day, the whole affair had already been rather unseemly—replacing "Louisa of Brudo" with "Sophia of Potslia" was bad enough. At the very least, the marriage needed to maintain the appearance of a princely union to save face. After all, when it came to internal royal power struggles, everyone played their part, and as long as basic decorum was observed, outsiders had little to criticize.

But if even that basic decorum was missing, it would be a joke! Queen Anna had no intention of becoming such a laughingstock, so after arranging the engagement, she’d all but strong-armed the Duke of Potslia for the dowry. Though the Duke was willing to pay more for the chance to have a Princess Consort of Vason in the family, you can’t get blood from a stone—hence the strong-arming.

It had even made Queen Anna somewhat regret arranging this match for Guillaume in the first place. The main reason she had chosen "Sophia of Potslia" was that the girl was her cousin’s daughter, and her mother had been very close to Queen Anna. At the time, she had thought, how poor could the Duke of Potslia really be? Like many lords of the time, he might have been tight on funds ordinarily, but surely he could scrape together money when truly needed.

Of course, there was no need for regret now—the engagement had been dissolved, and King Louis III would foot the bill to marry off "Sophia of Potslia" to a noble within Vason...