British hegemon

Chapter 5 Cheap Mom

"...You have no idea, that old bastard Gary is on guard. He's gathered several tenant farmers to protect the house, and they're all carrying clubs."

"But we are not afraid at all; they are just a few strong tenant farmers."

"I kicked open the gate first, and with a swing of my short stick, I knocked down a burly farmer..." The green-clad thug spittle flew as he exaggerated himself into the image of a valiant knight riding a horse and wielding a sword, cutting through enemy lines.

Roger watched the guy's performance with a relaxed smile; he had already guessed most of the truth:

A bald man in green clothes, under the pretext of avenging the son of the Knight Colin family, gathered three or five thugs and ruffians on Alan Island and went to Locklanza Village in the north of the island to bully the rich village chief.

As it turned out, the villagers were prepared, and the group of thugs were beaten up by the village chief's tenant farmers and scattered in all directions.

As the thugs fled, they didn't forget to steal an innocent old hen from the village, which now became a prize for the green-clad thugs to boast about and claim as a reward.

However, Roger didn't expose him, and this familiar feeling added a lot of fun to his leisurely "prison life".

After spending these days together, Roger had a very good impression of the green-clad bald man.

The bald man's name was Neil, and he couldn't tell if he was eighteen or twenty. He lived in Flea Nest, on the outskirts of Brodick, on the Isle of Arun.

He lost his mother at a young age, and his father was killed in a battle against the English. For many years, he has been taking care of his half-blind grandmother.

Strictly speaking, this guy can't be considered a bad person at all. He doesn't dare to rob or kill or set fires. He usually steals chickens and dogs and is often beaten up.

He wanders around all year round wearing that tattered green sweater and with bulging toad eyes, so the islanders call him "Green Toad." Recently, he has also been given the nickname "Bald Head."

This guy has a terrible reputation, but he has two good points. First, he is very filial to his half-blind grandmother, and second, he is quite loyal.

Ever since he learned that young master Roger had been awakened and imprisoned, he has climbed over the wall almost every day, rain or shine, to keep him company and relieve his boredom.

"The men fought a fierce battle and worked hard, so I took the liberty of roasting this captured hen and giving them half of it, while the other half was specially brought to you, young master."

The bald man in green sniffed the air and said, "Why does your house smell so good?" Then he fixed his gaze on the half roast chicken in Roger's hand, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

Roger casually handed the remaining chicken to the bald man in green, "Whose salt is this? It's quite fine, and tastes good."

The green-clad, bald chicken, its mouth stuffed full, mumbled, "Of course, this is... the fine salt we stole from the Moulin Rouge kitchen."

"It's made from the salt from your family's sea salt beach. It's all a valuable commodity sold to Irish merchants. Even the Baron's family is reluctant to eat too much of it."

"Refined salt? Maritime trade?" Roger was somewhat lost in thought.

The bald man in green didn't even hear Roger's mutterings. He swallowed a mouthful of minced meat and said, "Young Master Roger, how many days have you been locked up? Shouldn't you be released?"

"The guys are waiting for you to come out and get drunk."

"The town of Brodick is holding a wool market soon, and the town tavern has just hired a few new prostitutes."

"While the Baron and the other gentlemen are away from the island, you must take us to enjoy ourselves..."

"We'll see," Roger replied casually. "Tell me about what's been happening on the island lately..."

…………

"Roger~"

A long, gentle call startled Roger from his afternoon nap; his frail, helpless stepmother was here again.

The cheap old lady was wearing a simple dark gray wool dress with a belted coat over it.

Although the cut was simple, the cuffs and collar were finely embroidered, and the silver belt bound her already slender figure into a wasp waist. The deerskin shoes on her feet were very well-fitting.

Behind her followed the plump woman who always wore an apron.

She was the mother of the young stable boy Igor, the manor's cook, and the personal nanny of his adoptive mother.

My cheap mom was in good spirits; her usually thin face had regained some color. She took a tray from the cook, which contained wheat bread and pea and meat puree, along with a piece of roasted meat smeared with honey and a large glass of barley wine.

Placing the tray on the wooden table, the stepmother said excitedly, "Roger, your father sent a message saying that they should be leading their troops back to the island in three to five days."

"This time your father and your brother captured a castle occupied by the English and seized a lot of spoils. The Colin family will finally have an easier time this year."

"Thank God," my cheap mom said, raising her hand to make the sign of the cross.

The husband and eldest son are on a successful campaign and will soon return with a full haul; the youngest son is now learning Latin at the island church, is exceptionally bright, and is highly regarded by the priest.

Even the second son, whom they had been most worried about, suddenly changed his personality after waking up from his serious injuries. Although his behavior was very strange, he had at least settled down.

"I went to Brodick Church today, and the priest told me that you should have received God's forgiveness. He said..."

Roger stared half-openly at the incessantly chattering middle-aged woman, his mind a jumble of problems.

He hasn't been dreaming much lately; the memories of the body's original owner have become a black-and-white movie in his mind.

In my memory, this frail, middle-aged woman who couldn't take care of herself was indeed my "mother".

The daughter of a minor nobleman from the Scottish Highlands seems to be related to a seventh-generation descendant of Malmüller, the eldest son of the late King Duncan I of Scotland, and also to a daughter of one of the Dukes of the Western Isles, Gilbreth.

However, after King Alexander III of Scotland died without an heir, dozens of nobles, both large and small, claimed to be related to the Scottish royal family by blood, including a large number of earls and barons.

Her meager royal lineage is practically negligible.

Every day, this middle-aged woman would come to Roger's bedroom and chatter for half a day. For Roger, who had been an orphan since childhood, he really couldn't stand the middle-aged woman's endless gossip and nagging.

Roger lazily got up, walked to the wooden table without saying a word, sat down, picked up his glass, and took a sip of the island's homemade barley wine.

This barley beer is actually the beer of this era. It originated in Ayrshire and has now become a drink on the tables of ordinary people with a little wealth. The beer is light brown in color and has a slightly burnt malt aroma.

It was much lighter than the Scottish ale Roger had drunk in his later years, but the taste was still quite good.

After downing half a glass of beer, Roger carefully examined the pale yellow wheat bread on the tray, while the plump cook beside him looked on with excitement.

This refined wheat bread is a revolutionary product.

Ten days ago, Roger finally couldn't stand the crunchy rye bread anymore.

Based on his vague memory of fermenting dough, he asked the stable boy to find raisins, mix them with cooled boiled water, and put them into a ceramic jar to ferment. After white foam appeared, he added wheat flour to ferment, sealed it for a few days, added it again, and finally it expanded to form a dough. He then cut it into pieces, dried it in the sun, and ground it into yeast powder.

This was the first time the plump cook had tried making bread with yeast powder. Although it was very different from the puffed bread of later generations, it already had the basic characteristics of being soft and fragrant.

The taste has undergone a revolutionary leap.

Roger tore off a piece, put it in his mouth, chewed it a couple of times, and surprisingly nodded in approval of the food at the manor.

He tore off another half, dipped it in the pea and meat puree sauce, and swallowed it in a few bites.

After finishing a specially prepared, sumptuous lunch, Roger interrupted his incessantly nagging adoptive mother, "I should go out now."

"What?" The cheap mother opened her mouth slightly, unable to believe her ears. This was the first time Roger had spoken to her in days.

"I should be released."

Roger gritted his teeth and added fiercely, "Mother."

"Oh my god, he finally spoke to me and even called me mother." The middle-aged woman turned around and hugged the plump cook behind her, tears streaming down her face like a spring.

"God bless me, my son spoke to me. Son, can you say it again?"

Roger was speechless...