Chapter 161 Traveling Through the Middle Ages 161

Chapter 161 Crossing the Middle Ages 161

As the chamberlain had said, the Zeblan people never practiced 'frugality' when it came to feasting!

The variety of food was staggering, piled high on enormous platters, creating an overwhelming sense of abundance. Yet, to Louisa, no matter how lavish it appeared, it simply wasn’t tasty—really, just not tasty. In the end, she only ate some fruit and some grilled fish. The fish, a local sea catch, had flaky white meat with few bones and was seasoned simply, making it impossible to go wrong.

But what truly surprised Louisa was the other side of the Zeblan people when it came to drinking. The Zeblan people she had seen before were generally humble and mild-mannered, even somewhat solemn. Even if they lacked the coldness of the Nordic people, they could hardly be called exuberant—their joy was always restrained.

Yet once the drinking began, everything changed. A vast array of wines was brought to the banquet, and the guests just kept drinking!

Seeing Louisa’s astonishment, Guillaume explained, "This is the Zeblan custom, and my biggest complaint about them... They excel in everything else, but when it comes to drinking, they have no restraint. There’s a Zeblan proverb: ‘Never turn down a drink, and never stop till you're drunk.’ If no one gets drunk at a feast, it’s considered the host's failure—proof they skimped on the wine."

Guillaume drank, of course—who didn't in the Middle Ages? But he was one of the more moderate drinkers, mainly because he hated getting drunk. While some saw inebriation as a form of relaxation, revelry, or even a display of masculinity, Guillaume was not one of them. He particularly loathed how drunkenness could lead to mistakes.

Louisa watched as the wine was served in rounds, confirming that the Zeblan people truly loved their drink. The beverages weren’t just haphazardly poured out; they were carefully selected and served in a specific order, one after another. This only got the drinkers more worked up, making it impossible for them to stop!

"It’s the complete opposite of their usual selves. The Zeblan national character is truly unexpected... Could it be that their daily restraint is compensated by indulgence in food and drink?" Louisa blinked, observing the scene in the great hall where some guests were already passed out drunk, and couldn’t help but comment.

"That’s why there are so many taverns dotting the streets every few buildings. Earlier today, when we entered the city, I noticed taverns between shops, but I didn’t think much of it. Now, though..."

This was the Middle Ages, where restaurants and taverns were rare. The wealthy always preferred meals at home, seeing little reason to eat out, while the poor couldn’t afford it—a single meal outside might cost several days’ worth of food expenses.

Still, taverns were more common than restaurants. For many, taverns served as social hubs. Drinking at home alone was nothing like the experience of sharing drinks and shooting the breeze in a lively tavern. Moreover, many taverns offered entertainment—cockfights, rat-catching contests, and the like—things one couldn’t enjoy at home.

In an era as starved for entertainment as the Middle Ages, these were rare pleasures.

Though initially surprised by the Zeblan drinking culture, Louisa quickly changed her tune. In these times, heavy drinking was the norm—she was the odd one out. Even Guillaume, who hated getting drunk, still enjoyed drinking. The only slightly unusual aspect was the Zeblan insistence on drinking to the point of inebriation.

After all, alcohol back then wasn’t very strong—it took real effort to get plastered!

By the time the banquet ended, even Helena was marveling as she assisted Louisa with her bath: "Nearly every guest tonight was drunk! I’m worried they’ll drown in the river on their way home—don’t people mostly get around Lottmas by boat? The court steward even said the feast was a great success because every guest drank their fill!"

Clearly, despite having traveled extensively with her father, Helena had never encountered customs like the Zeblan’s.

Louisa, working up lather with a loofah to wash herself, replied, "Then we can only pray for our guests’ safe return... At least the Zeblan people are only like this during feasts. Normally, they’re serious and reliable—if that weren’t the case, Guillaume probably wouldn’t have insisted on spending Christmas here, no matter how much he didn’t want to return to Cité."

"Oh, Prince Guillaume is indeed quite serious—that's one way he's very Zeblan. But at least he doesn’t drink to excess. That’s good... I can’t imagine you tolerating a drunken husband," Helena said bluntly, knowing Louisa wouldn’t take offense.

Most noblewomen would've taken offense at such a remark—after all, no one saw a husband’s drinking as a problem, and drunkenness was considered normal. A wife who couldn’t tolerate it would be seen as 'difficult' by societal standards.

But Louisa didn’t mind. In fact, she briefly entertained the thought of Guillaume as a drunkard and herself having to care for him. The conclusion? Impossible. Absolutely impossible! In such a scenario, she’d leave him to his attendants. Once drunk, he could be managed however they pleased.

Even as she sat by the bed combing her hair before sleep, the thought lingered, and she couldn’t resist asking Guillaume out of curiosity, "Have you ever been drunk?"

Guillaume, who had just finished bathing (he had commendable hygiene habits, likely from his military days—in crowded army camps, poor sanitation could spell disaster), paused while drying his damp hair. After a moment’s thought, he replied, "Of course. Once or twice... You must understand, as a man, it’s bound to happen."

Though he spoke lightly, Louisa, who knew him well by now, sensed his discomfort. Whether it was the memory of the physical misery of drunkenness or something worse that had accompanied it, she couldn’t tell. Perhaps his current aversion wasn’t just about practicality—maybe a past experience had cemented his dislike.

"What happened when you were drunk?" Louisa pressed.

Guillaume evaded the question, which only sharpened her curiosity. She pestered him until, finally worn down, he relented and shared his 'dark history.'

In his teens, Queen Anna had a court lady in charge of robes who had fallen for Guillaume, though he felt nothing for her. Once, when he was drunk, she seized the chance to 'care' for him... For a long time afterward, Guillaume believed they’d slept together. Though still uninterested, he couldn’t bring himself to treat her coldly.

It wasn’t until a friend—similar in age but far more experienced—heard of his distress and nearly died laughing that the truth came out. After confirming Guillaume had been utterly blackout drunk, the friend assured him nothing had happened.

"A truly drunk man is incapable of such things. Saying you did things while drunk is just an excuse."

Louisa suppressed her laughter... This wasn’t funny at all! Not to mention the lack of sexual education in the Middle Ages, where everything relied on 'experience.' Even today, when information is so easy to access, many still don’t know this and continue to believe in 'old wives’ tales' like 'losing control after drinking' or 'truth comes out when drunk.'

"Laugh if you must," Guillaume had clearly anticipated Louisa’s reaction and said helplessly, "It seems you already knew about this?"

Louisa thought for a moment and replied, "I know a thing or two about drunkenness. I’ve always believed that being drunk doesn’t make one 'unaware of what they’re doing,' but rather unlocks the 'urges' buried deep down. If someone does something terrible while drunk, it’s not the alcohol’s fault—it simply means they already harbored such ill intentions. It’s just that, when sober, they can control it with reason..."

The subtext was obvious. If, as Guillaume claimed, he had no interest in that court lady whatsoever, then nothing could have happened while he was drunk—Louisa could only explain it this way. Otherwise, how could she possibly explain from a physiological standpoint that a man couldn’t 'perform' when drunk?

For a medieval husband, that would have been too blunt.

"A curious take." Guillaume pondered Louisa’s words, comparing them to the drunkards he’d encountered, and found it quite reasonable. Then he shook his head and said, "Many people use drink as cover for mischief. It’s terrible... I’m glad drink doesn’t tempt you."

It was rare for women to be tipplers or lushes, but one could never be sure.

Louisa smiled faintly and said softly, "I’m also glad you’re not the type to swill yourself senseless."

Yet, to Louisa’s surprise, the very next day after she and Guillaume had praised each other for their lack of interest in alcohol, someone sent her a wine gift—perhaps due to some misunderstanding, like assuming she had a preference for wine because she had once created 'Troyes wine soap.'

"Eight types of red wine, one barrel each. Five types of white wine, also one barrel each. Plus beer, cider, mead..." Helena ran through the inventory while glancing at one particular wine—Retsina, essentially Greek wine. In a way, it was a taste of 'home' for Helena.

"Who sent this?" Louisa was speechless but waved her hand dismissively. "Just accept it and store it in the cellar... Good drink never goes begging."

In the Middle Ages, alcohol was a staple provision, ranking below meat and grain but above vegetables and fruit. Even if Louisa didn’t drink it herself, those around her would. And while the gift seemed lavish, it would be consumed quickly—nowadays, many sent her gifts, often not expecting anything in return but simply as a mark of respect. Given the value of these wines, it was likely just that, so she accepted it without hesitation.

"It’s a gift from the city’s wool guild. And this isn’t all." Helena glanced at the list again and cleared her throat. "Besides the wine, there’s plenty of wool cloth! The finest quality, in various colors and types—two hundred bolts altogether. Also, furs and jewelry are on the list."

Leaving aside the wool cloth for now, the furs and jewelry were carried in by several attendants—the furs packed in a large chest, filled with prime-cured pelts, enough to make four coats or two cloaks.

Helena examined the furs in surprise and said to Louisa, "Your Highness, these are the finest Russian furs."

This was no small gift—just the furs alone were incredibly valuable! Most nobles only used such high-quality pelts for trimming formalwear or sleeves. Full fur garments or cloaks were reserved for the very few—a fact evident from sumptuary laws (regulating luxury).

'Sumptuary laws' were somewhat like China’s 'regulations against overstepping one’s rank,' dictating what each social class could wear or own. By the late Middle Ages, many countries had enacted such laws, with varying details. Generally, the highest nobility could wear anything. The next tier could wear most things except full squirrel or sable fur. The tier below that wasn’t even allowed to use such furs for trims or sleeves...

Louisa knew that, judging by these furs alone, the wool guild of Lottmas couldn’t possibly be offering this gift out of mere goodwill. Yet she hadn’t expected that, compared to the jewelry that followed, the furs were just an appetizer—the guild had sent only five pieces of jewelry, but each was exquisite! Each was housed in an understated calfskin box, revealing its true luxury only upon opening.

A crown, a necklace, a brooch, a pair of hairpins, and a ring. The crown and necklace seemed to be a set, both crafted with amber as the primary stone. The gems themselves were of high quality and large size, making them precious regardless of craft (given that the Baltic region was rich in amber and Zeblan was nearby, such jewelry wasn’t surprising).

The brooch, however, was the most 'artistic' of the five, designed in the shape of a blooming rose, inlaid with rubies and peridots. Three rubies formed the petals—though none were particularly large, their quality was exceptional, red as true roses, making it a piece of considerable value.

The hairpins and ring were simpler but still mounted in gold with gemstone inlays. The ring, in particular, featured a rectangular emerald the size of a cat’s eye, enough to make one blink...

Louisa did a quick calculation—this gift was worth at least two thousand pounds (a king’s ransom)! For anyone, even a king, this was an extravagant present, enough to secure significant favors. She couldn’t simply accept it without a word. In fact, to avoid trouble, she considered returning it outright.

After all, it was obvious that such a lavish gift couldn’t be for something trivial! It was an investment, meant to yield returns many times over in the future... Louisa wasn’t short on money. If she needed it, she could earn it herself—why dirty her hands?

After some thought, Louisa said to Helena and the others, "This gift is far too extravagant. Where would the wool guild get the money for such a present? It must have been scraped together by members. The guild members are hardworking merchants who’ve painstakingly built their fortunes—I can’t accept such a lavish gift from them."

Louisa ordered the gifts returned, framing her refusal as consideration for the guild’s hardships. This left the recipients with no leg to stand on—they couldn’t very well admit, "We’re trying to bribe you because we need a favor," could they?

Some things could be done but not said. Or if they had to be said, it had to be directly to the person involved, not cried from the rooftops.

"The gifts were returned? Does the Countess know what the guild wants from her?" Mr. Wilder was surprised upon hearing the news, but after a moment’s thought, he shook his head. "Even if she doesn’t, she must have guessed. Such an extravagant gift couldn’t be for something simple... The Countess isn’t greedy, so her refusal makes sense."

Before sending such a lavish gift, the wool guild would have surely researched Louisa’s character. Everyone knew she wasn’t the type to be swayed by wealth—a double-edged sword for those seeking her favor. The upside was that they wouldn’t be endlessly extorted. The downside was that gold couldn’t grease the wheels.

And as mere merchants, if money couldn’t talk, they had no other cards to play.

"The Countess couldn’t care less about the guild’s demands..." The messenger shook his head and relayed, "But the guildmaster isn’t giving up. He still wants to ask for your help."

"Me?" Mr. Wilder pointed at himself, puzzled. "What could I possibly do? If the guildmaster can’t manage it, I certainly have no solution. By the way, isn’t the guildmaster also the mayor of Lotmas? Surely he has opportunities to meet the Countess. Couldn’t he seize the chance to present their request? Isn’t he the most persuasive man?"

"The mayor has been received by the Count and Countess two or three times, but never alone—hardly an opportunity to speak." The messenger briefly explained before cutting to the chase: "You’ve got an in with the Countess—someone who can put in a word for you!"

Mr. Wilder stared blankly. He had no idea he had such a connection to the Countess of Zebland.

Truth was, merchants back then, despite their growing influence, still lacked real status. Only the rarest of merchants might gain an audience with high nobility—a privilege reserved for the wealthiest, and often not just because of money.

"You must be mistaken. I don’t know anyone close to the Countess, let alone someone who could help." The Countess of Zebland was not just their liege lady but also the Crown Princess of Vason and the heiress of Brudo. Such an exalted noblewoman—Mr. Wilder couldn’t fathom how an "ordinary merchant" like himself could have any ties to her.

The messenger, however, wore a mysterious smile. "Man, what I wouldn’t give... You’ve got that noble last name, right? Ah, sometimes it’s like this—minor noble lines thin out over time until they seem no different from common folk. Yet, at crucial moments, the power of a 'name' suddenly reveals itself."

Mr. Wilder’s surname was "Bridge," indeed a noble name in Lotmas, where a "Baron Bridge" still existed—a distant cousin of his. But he himself held no knighthood and was entirely a commoner. He’d never thought to cash in on his name—at most, borrowing its prestige occasionally for minor advantages.

When Mr. Wilder still looked lost, the messenger finally laid it bare: "Among the Countess’s court ladies is the Countess of Cagny. You might not know this, but the Countess of Cagny serves as both the Countess’s attendant and a trusted confidante of the Count... And it was the Countess of Cagny’s cousin—not some distant relative—who’d married into the Bridge family!"

To put it plainly, the connection was quite distant. The one who married into the Bridge family was the Countess of Cagny’s cousin—not a distant relation, so Baron Bridge still had a link to her. But for Mr. Wilder, it was practically negligible.

Still, "negligible" didn’t matter—they just needed to make it count.

At this point, Mr. Wilder understood. They needed him to be the go-between—the guild could use him to approach Baroness Bridge, who couldn’t easily refuse her husband’s cousin, even if distant. From there, they could reach her cousin, the Countess of Cagny.

The ultimate goal, of course, was to meet Louisa—not just once, but to have her listen patiently to the guild’s plea and grant them the chance to present their gifts (with someone who rarely takes bribes—sorry, ‘gifts’—just getting a foot in the door was half the battle).