People watching the game, with their respective families, appeared in the stands one after another, looking for the nobles they were familiar with and sitting next to each other, constantly greeting and clinking glasses and drinking.

Women gather to discuss the most popular hijabs and dresses, and the stands opposite the rostrum are filled with craftsmen, merchants and local farmers, separated by a race aisle in between.

I sat alone in the crowd, with no familiar faces to greet me, no one who wanted to know a hapless man who had befriended the mighty Duke of Normandy on the first day, and as for the so-called ladies who were covered in vulgar powder and pungent smell, I wished they had stayed away from me.

The Count of Baudouin pretended to be reserved and pinched a grape, and a middle-aged man dressed in the appearance of a splendid butler walked up to him and whispered something in his ear, and the Count threw the grape into his mouth, cleared his throat and signaled everyone to be quiet, then straightened his robe and stood up, looked around with his chin high, took the scepter handed by the attendant and tapped it twice on the ground, and announced with confidence:

"Game on!"

What the! And that's where it begins? No blood-pumping passionate speeches, no sensational passages for God?

I never understood why these Europeans loved such bloody and savage brawl games, where living people were armed and fought against strangers who had no grievances against them, and then cheered for every broken and broken tooth, and the enthusiasm continued undiminished for most of the day.

I stared hungrily at the attendant in front of me, and the apples and grapes brought up in a daze, but the nobles around me were full of admiration, and from time to time exchanged opinions with the people around me about a dangerous martial arts move, nothing more than how to remove the other person's shoulders faster, as if it was a skill worth boasting about.

The seats of the ladies have long been empty, only a few crooked melons and cracked dates are left, and they are still looking for their goals, many young noble girls and the illegitimate son of a certain adult, or the handsome attendant of the knight hide in the corner and pull and pull, and then disappear into the arena hand in arm, go outside in the dense grass of the warbler ****, and have a deeper exchange, maybe the illegitimate son of the illegitimate child, how funny!

The game in the field has reached the critical stage of four into two, from the thirty-two teams that came to participate, the four outstanding teams that stood out are fighting each other, everyone chooses a relatively easy opponent, so as to ensure that they can save their strength to enter the final finals, but the chaotic scene in front of me, still makes me unable to distinguish their respective lineups, but I know that the Bulls are in the middle of the twelve people who are fighting hard under the stands.

There had been three samurai killed in the previous game, including the blacksmith's youngest son, but the father was apparently not so saddened by the glorious death of his son at the hands of a knight from the ancient House of Troyes, and admitting that the young man who died in battle was the bravest opponent he had ever seen, which made both sides feel extremely honored, and death was less important in comparison.

A badly wounded warrior would be pardoned by a gracious opponent and dragged down to heal, but judging from the terrifying wounds, even if he did not die of excessive blood loss, it would be difficult for him to escape the doom of the infection, and finally died in a dark room, ruthlessly abandoned by the feudal lord for whom he fought.

However, those knights who couldn't support the surrender at the beginning would drown in shame for the rest of their lives in the boos of the audience, and his feudal lord stared at him step by step away from the back of the decadent Tang with a blue face, and his clenched fists indicated that he had secretly killed him, and the tragic ending could be imagined.

Could this be the knightly competition that was admired by later generations?

What about the courteous knights and the strict order of the game, the noble sentiments and the beautiful princesses?

This is a realistic version of the Colosseum in ancient Rome, except that it is no longer the lowly slaves who stand in the arena and scream like wild beasts, but the aristocratic knights in iron shells, and no one seems to be more noble than anyone else, they are all playthings for the entertainment of the ruling class when they are bored.

"Those samurai of yours are really lucky, they have been able to hold out all the way until now, cunning and scheming, never fighting head-to-head battles, especially the thin and tall man with a bow and arrow, who always hides in the dark and releases cold arrows."

The Duke of Normandy, not knowing when he appeared at my side, clutched his glass viciously, and said with no eyes on me: "But they will soon see what true knights are, and the angry tomahawk will tear them into flying pieces, and they will be pecked by wild dogs and crows, and they will go to God with an inexhaustible humiliation, and this is the punishment for your blatant disobedience against me." ”

I looked at the young man with blonde hair in front of me inexplicably, if I hadn't known it earlier, I would have thought that he was the kind of sexy handsome guy on the cover of the magazine, who would have thought that under the gentle face, there would be such a cautious temper.

With a polite smile on my face, I touched him with a wine glass, and replied-for-tat: "Although I don't know what you said, since you choose to fight, it is not yet known whether you will win or lose until the last moment, so let's wait and see who is the warrior chosen by God!" ”

There was a break before the finals, and the civilian spectators took the time to fill their stomachs with the food they had brought with them, or spent a coin to buy cold water mixed with grape juice from the vendors selling drinks outside the stadium to make the meat pure, to the envy of their neighbors.

The knights' tournament was also a big festival for merchants, especially in a wealthy town like Antwerp, where the propertied class was the majority, and they had enough money to buy their favorite gadgets.

Whether it is a small bottle of fruit wine that claims to have been shipped from an Italian convent, but is actually made from his own inferior grapes in a ravine of Champagne, or a small shawl of fine wool, he will buy it after a simple bargain in order to compare and satisfy the vanity of the small citizens, just to make himself the focus of heated discussions in the neighborhood tomorrow, of course, his neighbors who are not to be outdone will smash the pot and sell iron, and the next day he will buy exactly the same object to show his wealth, Of course, the happy merchants who were secretly counting the money behind their backs had once again found a market for the tattered tatters at the bottom of their boxes.

In the Middle Ages, there was no trade in the traditional sense of the word, and the fantasy of merchants driving huge cargo ships or leading huge caravans through exotic jungles and hills, traveling from one region to another, transporting large quantities of rare and rare precious goods, and then entrapping thousands of rich and rivaled countries, did not appear in this era.

The so-called trade is nothing more than some Jews who are not recognized by Christendom and have no land to cultivate, risking their lives through the terrible forests where robbers lurk, selling a little bit of a pitiful needle and thread to the peasants in the poor ravines who have never seen the world all their lives with their backs to the loess, and always beware of the greedy lord who punishes the parasite who does not work, if he is in a good mood and invites you to the castle, thank God that he does not send enough ransom to the lord's cellar before the fire consumes you, The family can only get a bunch of black charcoal with a vague face.

The strength of Flanders lies in the lax policy of commerce, especially of the Jews, as the lords of other regions do, who do not hate merchants who take gold from their purses, nor do they rob them to satisfy themselves by killing chickens and eggs, but only collecting a considerable amount of taxes to replenish the gold coins consumed by the long tug-of-war with the surrounding countries.

The traditional industry in Flanders was wool weaving, where the gentle lowlands of the river created large pastures suitable for grazing, and the women of each family would take care of the sheep while they were busy with the spindle at hand, weaving large horses of fine wool products, which were then sold to a Jewish merchant who had traveled from village to village to buy to subsidize the family.

After purchasing enough goods and paying the taxes they pay, the merchants would hire a merchant fleet under the Count of Flanders to sell the brightly colored wool products of Flanders across the sea to England on the other side of the sea, in exchange for the same cheap fine wool cloth there, which would be dyed and processed in Flanders, and then sold to the interior of Germany and Venice on the relatively safe route of Brabant to Luxembourg.

If you are lucky enough to avoid the robbers and mobs who are fighting in the autumn wind along the way, as well as the lords who are eyeing each other, the income of this trip is almost double the amount invested, and of course God does not treat every devout believer who prays to him equally, and there will always be some who disappear into the long journey and never appear in sight again.

"I hate the cheesy taste of these philistine parasites."

The Count of Lille snorted contrivedly, as if he really smelled something very stinky, and said with a frown that he could never stretch away: "This smell will make me nervous and vomit." ”

The Count of Bauduin put the empty wine glass on the plate brought by the attendant, and gracefully tore off a small piece of well-baked white bread from the neatly arranged plate in front of him, and threw it into his mouth, and said as he chewed:

"Maybe you'll like the taste of the gold coins they bring, like this magical plate that can only be found in the East, and much more delicate and beautiful than our rough wooden and earthenware plates, isn't it?"

He raised his eyebrows, and his expression seemed to mock the Count of Lille, whose defeat in several border wars was due to the conservative idea of his rule, and his greed but sanctimoniousness made him a subordinate today.

(End of chapter)