Chapter 299 - 228: The Scent of Roses
Matilda spent the morning handling official business. The halls and courtyards of Canossa were a flurry of activity, with messengers, petitioners, Copyists, and servants bustling about.
Because of the Emperor’s arrival, she had instructed the northern Tuscan cities to keep a close watch on his movements. On top of that, there were also many petitions from various villages that required her attention.
These measures were normally unnecessary, as she usually did not stay in one place for too long—not even Canossa Castle, her family’s ancient domain.
Like most Lords, she spent most of her time traveling between various cities and villages, inspecting the state of the Tuscan Duchy, listening to her subjects’ lawsuits and requests, and making just—or at least seemingly just—rulings.
Only by seeing her often could her subjects remember that she was their ruler and that they were constantly under her protection.
The Tuscan Duchy’s vassals were more often cities than Knights and Barons, which meant her circuit was larger than that of a traditional Marquisate. Therefore, she had palaces all over Tuscany, built successively since her grandfather’s time.
Thus, she moved between several different palaces almost every month.
But for the past two months, due to her wedding and affairs in Pisa and Milan, she had been forced to halt her travels. She had the village heads and the cities’ Municipal Officials convert their appeals into petitions and send them to Canossa.
She would reimburse their travel expenses.
She disliked this kind of avoidable expense, so she hoped to quickly deal with recent events. Most importantly, she wanted the Emperor to leave Italy as soon as possible.
She put down the document in her hand and rubbed her eyes. Eric’s snoring last night had kept her in a state of light sleep.
She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again, her gaze subconsciously falling on the new silver seal to her right. This was the new seal Eric had commissioned after their wedding. The Latin inscription around its edge declared her the Marchioness of Tuscany and the Countess of Gloucester.
’This is mine. This is my power.’
Then, as if sensing something, she suddenly turned her head and saw Eric leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, watching her.
He had probably just taken a bath; his golden hair was still dripping wet.
’He must have just woken up. After rushing back from Milan so quickly, he’s probably exhausted.’
Matilda had originally thought she would stay in bed a little longer today. Her initial plan was to wait for him to wake up so they could do their morning prayers together; she had even postponed her own prayer time for him. But he hadn’t woken up, and his snoring was truly disruptive.
’But... there’s a completely different feeling to him when he’s asleep versus when he’s awake. It’s only when he’s sleeping that I can clearly sense he’s just a nineteen-year-old young man.’
She remembered that when he first arrived, his hair was very short—the Normans all liked that style. Now, over a month later, it had grown long. It now drooped over his forehead, looking more and more out of place with his Monk’s Robe.
"Have you had breakfast?" Matilda asked.
"I had some of last night’s bread. I’m not that hungry yet. It’s almost time for lunch anyway, so I can just wait."
"Perhaps you should go dry your hair, and maybe get it cut short."
"Do you like short hair?" Eric asked suddenly.
"It has nothing to do with that. It’s just that your slightly long hair, being wet, makes it look like you’ve poured a bucket of oil on your head. I remember the Normans all like to keep their hair short, and you seem to still be playing the part of a Cultivator."
"I’m a Marquis of Tuscany now. I’m trying to look more like an Italian nobleman," Eric said, unconsciously running a hand through his hair.
"Right now you look like a Teuton. If you tie it into a ponytail, you’ll look even more like one," Matilda said, her gaze returning to the parchment in front of her.
"Such a merciless evaluation." Eric shrugged, walking inside and coming to Matilda’s side. "What are you looking at? Letters from the Emperor? But there are so many."
"No, these are petitions recently submitted from all over Tuscany. I haven’t been able to deal with them for over a month. I can’t leave here for the time being, so I even have to pay to have these petitions brought to me."
"Petitions?" Eric picked up a piece of parchment.
"Yes. Normally, I would hear their requests and lawsuits in person. But we can’t make our rounds now. I suspect there are still some villages with many issues they want to appeal to me about, but they haven’t sent in petitions. Some village heads will embezzle the funds I specifically allocate for the delivery of these petitions.
"That’s why I don’t particularly like this method," Matilda said, looking at Eric.
"What’s written on this?" Eric asked, placing the parchment he had just picked up back on the desk.
"Can’t you read it? Aren’t you very proficient in Latin?" Matilda found this a little strange.
"The grammar, rhetoric, and spelling errors... it seems to be mixed with the word order of the Tuscan dialect. It’s giving me a headache. Spare me. I’m a Latin purist."
Eric smiled, moving close to Matilda’s cheek. The weather was still hot today; she was sweating a little, making her cheeks slightly sticky. Strands of reddish-gold hair clung to her face, damp with perspiration.
The scent of rose oil she wore became even more alluring.
He took her hand, his thumb rubbing back and forth over her wedding ring.
"There’s no such thing as a strange affliction like that." Matilda knew Eric was talking nonsense, but she had no intention of dwelling on the topic. She began to read the contents of the parchment aloud for him. "This is a petition submitted to me by a village near Canossa. They complain that the city-dwellers are too harsh on them, deliberately driving down the prices of their farm products, and the same item sells for one price to a citizen, and a completely different price to a villager.