Chapter 340 - 245: Lord and Vassal (3)

"Your courage has proven you’re someone worth helping. If you were fearful and irresolute, no one could help you." Eric shrugged. "You can stay here and become Emma’s handmaiden. I will serve as your son’s temporary guardian until he’s qualified to inherit the manor. I hope he becomes an excellent Knight, because the price for holding land is military service to one’s Lord.

What I need is a Warrior, not the young master of a manor."

.....

A week later, Eric traveled to Luton to attend the celebration for the Crown Prince’s baptism.

Robert chose this city to thank it for being the first to pledge its loyalty, and its grateful citizens welcomed their King with enthusiasm.

Inside the Cathedral, Anselm, the Archbishop of Canterbury, personally conducted a service for the Crown Prince.

Robert cared little for the details and kept urging the Archbishop to hurry.

The baby lay in his mother’s arms, wrapped in pure white silk that symbolized innocence and purity.

The Archbishop stood before the baptismal font, holding a silver Cross with a solemn expression. He lightly sprinkled clear Holy Water on the infant’s forehead, asking God to bless the soul of this new life. The infant let out a faint cry, then grew quiet, as if sensing the divine protection.

As the final Hymn concluded, the ceremony was over. The Nobility filed out into the courtyard outside the Church, where the feast was to be held.

The feast was paid for by the citizens.

However boundless their goodwill, their resources were finite, but they did their best with the materials at hand.

A rich stew of pomegranates and pears was brought to the table, sparking much teasing, as it was well known that such Fruit was an aphrodisiac.

Next came pies filled with bone marrow, sugar, and minced pork, followed by a roasted peacock; the cooks had spent hours arranging its skeleton and reattaching its skin and feathers to create the illusion of immortality.

A pig was slaughtered and cut in half; its hindquarters were stuffed with tallow, egg yolk, and breadcrumbs, then carefully sewn to the head and front half of a chicken, creating a bizarre beast that was both mouth-watering and a delight to behold.

But what the Nobility found most amusing was a sugar confection: a sensual mermaid sculpted from marzipan, her tail dyed green with parsley juice and her flowing hair like scattered saffron.

For entertainment, there was an acrobatic performance and a worrisomely clumsy juggler who seemed in constant danger of stabbing himself with his own knives.

But for the townspeople, the real attraction was the arrival of their King. They listened with rapt attention to his firsthand accounts of major events happening in the world beyond the island, beyond Lune.

Eric and Belem had no intention of interfering with Robert’s grand display, so they chose a spot far from the center of the feast.

"Robert is either always alone or surrounded by whores," Eric said suddenly.

"Not everyone is as beautiful as the young lady from the Osborne Family. Even if she’s a bit mad, men are visual creatures. You must be satisfied now, with a beauty like her by your side here in England, while your real wife is far away in Italy. It’s not like she can fly over and catch you."

"Give me a break. You’ve been enjoying yourself lately, too," Eric said, patting Belem’s shoulder.

"I can’t even bear to bring it up. A face full of pockmarks... Thankfully, her dowry is a comfort." Belem tilted his head back, stroking the flamboyant long hair that had since grown back. He sighed, and a single tear rolled from the corner of each eye.

Belem had also married last year, in a match arranged by Robert.

It was a match to win over the Count of Blois.

The Count of Blois was one of Conqueror William’s most important supporters on the European Continent and one of the commanders at the Battle of Hastings. The Count’s high-stakes gamble won him vast lands and wealth in England.

"But such are the marriages of the Nobility. Dowries and alliances are what matter most. In any tavern in Bayeux, you can find a three-farthing whore who would put most wives to shame.

A wife’s duty is not to be beautiful, but to be rich.

Don’t expect true love, because it’s a hard thing to find a face that’s an equal match." Belem wiped the tears from his eyes with his sleeve and clapped Eric on the shoulder. "Not inviting you to my wedding was my last act of defiance."

Eric: "..."

"Ah, forget it. It’s all in the past. Let’s get to the East quickly. I can’t stand to stay in England another day.

From now on, call me Belem the Devout. My heart is filled only with Devotion; there’s no room for anything else."