During the Middle Ages in Europe, it had been common to eat food with your hands, rather than using cutlery such as spoons or forks. I’d even read historical anecdotes that some people had used dried bread in place of plates. Apparently, this practice had stemmed from religious beliefs, with the clergy of the time espousing the idea that only human hands should touch food, and that using tools would be an act of sacrilege. Or at least, I was pretty sure I’d heard something along those lines, at some point.
I didn’t really “get” it, since I wasn’t a Christian, but my best guess at the reasoning was: Since humans were God’s creations, eating with one’s hands was fine, but eating food—also one of God’s creations—with tools made by human hands was no bueno. It was a shame I no longer had access to any search engines or reference materials that would let me confirm it.
In this world, however, spoons, forks, and plates were all in common usage. When I’d recently been reborn here, I’d rationalized it by thinking, “Well, it’s an alternate world,” but in actuality, it was due to the influence of the First Faith. Apparently, the Illuminatus, Ein, had been quite clear about the “proper conduct” of using tableware, washing one’s hands before a meal, and table manners in general. It seemed that in this world, there was no need to worry about catching a knife in the hand in a fight over meat, and murder would still be considered murder, even when seven or more people got together for a meal.
We had the First Faith to thank for the propagation of flush toilets and the common practice of bathing too. All praise the mighty Ein. Granted, it was also a testament to the sheer influence that religion could possess.
Getting back on topic, though, the point was that the acts of using tableware, not eating with one’s hands, and splitting food from shared platters onto personal plates before eating were considered righteous conduct. Conversely, that meant that doing the opposite could be considered to be acting against God’s teachings. This was the position that the Western Orthodoxy had taken.
However, an army on the march could not afford to observe these practices. I mean, what were we going to do—issue every soldier their own personal tableware? Yeah, right. They ate with their hands, and if the meal happened to be soup, they took turns passing a ladle around. Unless they were the emperor, in which case they had the simply egregious privilege of possessing their own bowl of soup and spoon.
Once, during one of my tours, a noble had warned me against eating porridge made by farmers because it would “dirty” me. But what he hadn’t done was make any accusations of impiety, since the farmers had been eating with bowls and spoons. This time, however, our soldiers had been using neither.
For someone so obviously concerned with material gain, it seemed that sacerdos had a stick up his behind when it came to doctrine. That was probably why he was so inflexible. I suspected most of his motivation was so he could take some petty revenge, though.
“What does the former minister superior have to say on the matter?” I asked, turning my gaze to Deflotte le Moissan. I didn’t know when, but the ex-clergyman of the Western Orthodoxy had shown up to join our traveling column at some point.
For the record, the Western Orthodoxy had a clearly defined hierarchical structure. Roughly from the top down: prelate, hierarch, presbyter, diocesan, sacerdos, vicar. Of course, there were more granular separations among those, and sometimes their actual influence differed from their rank. An example of the former was the Archprelate and the other prelates, while presbyters and diocesans constituted an example of the latter. From what I knew, it wasn’t uncommon for clergy members to aim to become regional diocesans rather than presbyters in major population centers, since being a big fish in a small pond often came with more benefits than having a technically higher rank but having to answer to a hierarch or some such. The two ranks had shifted close enough that a new term had cropped up recently to refer to them both: minister superior.
In Deflotte le Moissan’s case, aside from being the agent of Daniel de Piers, the prelate officium, he had held the official rank of presbyter.
“It is the shared interpretation of every denomination that such transgressions may be forgiven if they are performed when there is no other choice, and for the sake of protecting one’s family,” Deflotte said. “As war would fall under that category, there is no issue.”
While Deflotte had been with the Gotiroir until now to act as a liaison to the imperial capital, it seemed he’d made his return because I had finally made my move. Incidentally, Count Palatine Vodedt wasn’t around right now. Being the spymaster, he often had to disappear to see to other matters. I had a suspicion that Deflotte had chosen the timing of his appearance specifically to avoid his father. He denied it, but it seemed pretty obvious to me.
“That is cold comfort for those of us who had to put up with that fool’s grievances,” Nadine grumbled.
The sacerdos had seemed pretty chauvinistic. It was easy to imagine him believing Nadine would make a more receptive target for his preaching. There were many sacerdotes like him, who mistook their regional churches—which belonged to the Western Orthodoxy—as their own possessions. Still, haranguing the daughter of a duke? I couldn’t tell if he was too jumped-up and blinkered by his power trip to feel fear or was just plain stupid. It impressed me that Nadine had put up with him at all.
“Sorry Nadine,” I apologized. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.”
She was quiet for a moment before turning her gaze away. “It wasn’t that big a deal.”
The First Faith had been founded by Ein, a transmigrator, so rather than pure idealism, there was a lot of practicality baked into its core doctrine, including provisions for exceptional circumstances, such as war. That wasn’t even touching on its aforementioned interest in hygiene and the sheer effort Ein had made to curb discrimination and prejudice right out the gate. As religions went, I personally thought the First Faith was pretty good. The members of the clergy, though? Well. They seemed pretty preoccupied with reproducing the same trajectory you saw in organized religions throughout Earth’s history: A real swell guy got the ball rolling, and then it was all downhill from there.
“How was the soldiers’ fare?” Deflotte asked suddenly.
Today’s meal had been bread—the kind that could keep for a good long while—and relatively fresh meat. According to the platoon commanders, dried meat would start showing up more frequently as time went on, and if provisions ran low, we’d see more porridges and gruels. That happened more often on cross-border expeditions, though, where a supply chain was harder to establish. Chelán Hill was relatively close, so we had little to worry about in terms of our food situation.
“It was excellent,” I said truthfully.
“Oh? So it wasn’t to Your Majesty’s liking?”
It seemed my answer had been taken as sarcasm. “No, it truly wasn’t bad. The taste was much more palatable than we’d expected.”
“That would be Your Majesty’s own achievement, then.”
“Ours?”
“Yes,” Deflotte said. “It appears that wily she-fox... No, I suppose ‘ewe’ would suit her more as a moniker. It appears that she and her associates have taken a liking to you. Thanks to their abundant provisions of pepper, your lords’ soldiers are in excellent spirits. After all, they have experienced military provisions without it. Perhaps it would be wise to make sure they know their good fortune is due to Your Majesty’s efforts?”
Oh, that made sense. I’d taken it for granted since my meals always came seasoned, but there had been pepper added to the provisions today. Another part of the Golden Sheep’s loan, I supposed.
Since canning hadn’t been invented in this world yet, the primary method of storing food was to preserve it in salt. But while that would delay the rotting of meat, it wouldn’t completely stop it, so pepper was used to mask the taste. Hence why it was so popular. Although I’d been reborn in a different world, it seemed that some historical quirks had remained the same.
“We plan to treat the men to alcohol once we reach Chelán Hill,” I revealed. “That should suffice, for now.”
“My apologies for the delay,” said the last of my key vassals to join us as he entered the tent.
“Right,” I said. “Let the war council commence.”