A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

An oxcart laden with wooden planks rumbled past. Reaching a crossroads, Eric saw two women emerge from a house. They adjusted their veils. Here, it was hard to tell Christians from Saracens.

Leaving the residential district, they entered a more commercial area.

The streets teemed with people, forcing them to slow their pace. In addition to the Greek majority, there were also many Saracens of every complexion: dark brown, light brown, and the deepest black.

These dark-skinned Saracens were said to come from distant Ethiopia and Sudan, lands south of Egypt.

There were also Jews, wearing small round caps with curled sidelocks at their temples, and Armenians in strange, pointed hats.

Every building housed some sort of business.

A horse-drawn cart was being unloaded of its cotton bales, which workers carried into a shop.

Elsewhere, small birds chirped in a cage. A silver smith tapped away at a small table with a delicate hammer.

Stalks of sugarcane—a sight unseen in the north—leaned against another shop wall, while the ground was piled high with burlap sacks full of crystallized sugar.

A fruit vendor shouted from his stall, offering freshly squeezed pomegranate and orange juice.

Two young boys herded sheep into an alley. Eric glanced inside and saw a pen. Judging by the smell of blood and dung, a butcher’s knife was not far behind.

After walking a little further, a tempting aroma replaced the foul stench: the smell of hot, freshly baked bread. Eric realized he hadn’t eaten breakfast and was still famished.

A wave of heat washed over Eric as he approached the bakery.

It was a small shop, with a counter spanning the full width of the entrance.

All sorts of breads, pastries, and pies were laid out on the counter.

Against the back wall stood two domed brick ovens, coals glowing faintly within their openings.

Workers stood nearby with long wooden peels, periodically peeking inside to ensure nothing burned.

Eric smiled at the proprietress, a striking Armenian woman with long, lustrous black hair.

She was quite friendly. She called out to him while he was still some distance away, recognizing him as a Norman and greeting him in French.

Nearly everyone living in Constantinople could speak more than two languages. Even if not fluent in others, they could at least manage a few phrases to hawk their wares.

She was selling a Greek-style bread called ’skripilita,’ made from chickpea flour. It had a hard, crispy top and a glistening, oily bottom, and was wrapped in broad leaves. It was miraculously delicious—and sprinkled with pepper.

After the proprietress had packed the food and handed it to Eric, she pulled open her collar. "Hey handsome, interested in warming me up? If you are, I can teach you how to make the beast with two backs."

Eric politely declined.

Eric handed a piece of the bread to Brinyos, suggesting they find a shady spot to eat their breakfast.

Brinyos initially insisted he wasn’t hungry, but he ended up eating every last crumb. Eric then gave him half of his own portion.

Brinyos seemed to be in better spirits after breakfast.

Afterward, Brinyos led Eric to the Monastery where his sister was staying.

....

Inside the Monastery, an old Nun led a fair-haired young woman to stand before Eric.

Though many years had passed, Eric recognized her instantly: his half-sister, Olympia.

She was only twelve, but she was already as tall as a young woman of sixteen or seventeen. She was at least half a head taller than her sister, Helia. She looked nothing like a child; she was already a remarkably elegant young lady.

"The last time I saw you, you were just a little girl," Eric said, ruffling her hair with a smile. "Now you’re Aphrodite come down to earth."

The young woman’s face flushed slightly, and she turned her head away. "An Aphrodite in a Monastery? You call me Aphrodite, the Greeks call me Helena, but names that mean ’beauty’ often lead to misfortune. Maria has read me their stories—their tragic endings.

Aphrodite may be the goddess of love and beauty, but it was her beauty that prompted the judgment of Paris, which ultimately led to the Trojan War. Her beauty was peerless, but it brought war and destruction.

And Helen... because of her beauty, she was taken by Paris, and Troy paid for it with its destruction. Her beauty didn’t just ruin her own life; it led countless people to their deaths."

"Alright, then what should I say? That you’ve gotten taller? I seem to recall you hated hearing that," Eric teased.

When she was little, his sister Olympia had always worried about her height, afraid she would grow too tall.

"Not anymore," Olympia said, lifting her chin. "Everyone here says I’ll grow to be as strong as an ox. No one dislikes a strong girl. It means you’re healthy, that you won’t die young."

"That’s right. No one could ever dislike Olympia," Eric said with a smile, ruffling her hair again.

Olympia turned her head away, mumbling, "I suppose I’m like an ox now... only valuable when I’m dead."

"What was that?" Eric caught that Olympia was muttering something, but her voice was too quiet for him to make out the words.

"Oh, it’s nothing! I’m so happy to see you, Eric," Olympia said, immediately looking up with a smile. "I’m doing perfectly fine here. I really like this life, and Maria takes good care of me."

"Maria?" Eric’s attention was caught by the name.

"The former Empress. She’s a princess from the Georgia Kingdom, a country in the East. Her brother, the King, cares for her deeply. She’s Little Constantine’s mother. Constantine is my fiancé. He just turned four."

"Thanks to her, our life here in the Monastery is as good as it was in the palace. She’s very influential in Constantinople."

"Is that so?" Eric nodded. "Then she certainly has my thanks."

Olympia turned her head away again, muttering, "Hardly. Maria can barely protect herself. Who cares about a former empress? A foreign princess?"

"What?"

"I said... I said we really should thank her. I owe my current life to her," Olympia said, looking up with a smile. "By the way, Eric, were you recalled from England by Father? Your clothes look very fine. They look like something a Knight would wear."

Eric nodded gently, his voice softening. "No. I’ve found a new home there. Helia is with me. In a little while, I’ll find a way to get you out of here, and we can all live together in Normandy.

I know you don’t belong here, and I’m going to take you away. You won’t be trapped here any longer. This place stifles your freedom, but that will all be over soon. When I return, we can start a new life together.

I just have to travel to the East first. Once I’ve taken care of my business there, I’ll return to Constantinople for you. We’ll go back to Normandy together, and you can do anything you want.

You can ride horses, learn to paint, read books..."

"Really?" Olympia nodded. "I... I’ll wait for you in Constantinople, brother. My French isn’t very good, but you and sister can teach me."

A moment later, Olympia turned her head away again, muttering to herself:

’He must be making excuses. There’s no trip to the East. I’m not wanted. He probably just dropped by on a whim, passing through while buying supplies in Constantinople...’