The sunset glow dyed the azure sky canvas golden and red, and the night watchmen in the town had already begun to prepare their equipment.
After Simon and his party settled down in the tavern in Coblenz, Miller and Gabriel, along with a few tavern guys and caravan guards who had some spare money, went to the bathhouse to have fun.
Simon could only be said to be curious about the bathing place, but he had no interest in taking a bath at all. He simply couldn't imagine what these savage guys who didn't take a bath for months or even years and liked to urinate and defecate wherever they wanted would make public baths look like - even Simon himself hadn't taken a bath for a long time.
The fat man really wanted to go to the bathing place with Gabriel and the others, but Simon gave him an extra task to inquire about the local grape harvest sales in the town, which ruined his dream. However, as Simon's most loyal attendant, Fatty just muttered and complained.
"Master, I've made inquiries. The grapes in Trier have basically been harvested, and most of them have gone into local wineries. The remaining batch of grapes were also picked up by a team from Lombardy two days ago. The caravan passing by north bought it." The fat man returned to the tavern and said to Simon with a grimace.
"Hmm..." Simon stroked his longer and longer beard, thinking carefully in his mind. Originally, Simon had heard that this area was rich in high-quality wine grapes, and he planned to buy a batch of grapes back home, using the grape flesh to make wine, and the grape skins to see if they could be used to trial purple dyeing cloth.
"Dear Lord Simon, I just heard from a caravan guy coming from the east that in Frankfurt, not far east of Trier, there is a vineyard belonging to the bishop of Frankfurt who has not harvested grapes until now," said the little Guy Dyson saw Simon in distress, took a sip of mead, came over with a wooden wine cup and said, "It is said that the Bishop of Frankfurt is very strict. He once made a rule in the vineyard that all grapes must be picked with his consent. . So after the grapes ripened, the local church sent a monk to Mainz to find the Bishop of Frankfurt, but after a long time, no one even responded."
"There is such a thing!" Simon was secretly surprised, but felt that it was completely normal. In this day and age, it’s not surprising that there are many more ridiculous rules than this rigid old-fashioned rule that doesn’t know how to adapt.
"Yes, this makes the farmers who are usually oppressed extremely happy. They are very happy to abide by the rules set by the bishop and do not pick ripe grapes and let them rot." The face of young boy Dyson A bright smile appeared on his face.
"There is such a good thing?" Simon couldn't help but secretly rejoiced in his heart. Only mature wine grapes infected with Botrytis cinerea can be used to make noble rot wine, and the sweet and delicious dried fruit grains can be used to brew a sustained, delicate and warm taste.
"I think we can go east and take a detour to Frankfurt to see the grapes in that vineyard, and then go south to Mainz." Simon told the fat man his plan.
"But Master, there is nothing but rotten grapes there!" The fat man touched his ears in confusion.
"I have my own plan." Simon waved his hand and called the tavern maid to order two glasses of fruit wine.
"Dyson, why didn't you go to the bathhouse with them?" Simon took a sip of fruit wine and looked up at the energetic young man in front of him.
"I, I," the little boy Dyson's face turned as red as a ripe apple on the tree, "when we were in the village, the priest told us that lust is a sin."
"Oh?" Simon put down the wooden wine glass and laughed, "I didn't expect you to be such a devout believer!"
"To be honest, I actually want to play with them. But I know that there must be a paradise-like paradise waiting for me in the distance." When the little boy Dyson said this, his eyes bloomed. The light of hope.
"What's Anle Township?" The fat man took a sip of fruit wine and took off his thick turban with some heat.
"I heard this from a bard. I later decided to join the caravan and travel around largely because of this story," the young boy Dyson cleared his throat and slowly told the story under the light of the fire that kept dancing on the wall of the tavern. "Legend has it that there is a land full of miracles, blessed by God and saints, where the walls of the houses are built of salmon and perch, the rafters are made of sturgeon, and the roofs are not made of hay. But bacon and sausage.”
"My God, isn't it not going to be long before everyone eats up their houses beyond recognition and becomes homeless?" The fat man tapped the greasy oak dining table with his index finger and asked doubtfully.
"Of course not, because their streets are full of fat geese that are being turned and roasted on iron spits, and there are tables spread out with fine white tablecloths everywhere. Anyone can sit down and eat for free anytime, anywhere. Eat and drink a lot, so no one will be stupid enough to eat their own house." The young boy Dyson's tongue was a little knotted under the influence of alcohol, but he looked unusually excited.
"Lord, this is such a carefree and wonderful place." The fat man raised his wooden wine glass and burped. Simon watched as the fat man's broad rosacea turned as red as a circus clown's nose.
"Of course, there is a wine stream, half of the fine Beaune red wine, half of the fine La Rochelle and Auxerre white wines, and there are gold wine glasses floating on it that will fill themselves with wine. The most amazing thing Yes, the calendar there is simply made for pleasure. Every day is Sunday, every day is a holiday, and there is only one Lent every twenty years." Having said this, the young man Dyson glanced at his hand with some disgust. He drank the low-quality mead in one gulp and smacked his lips, as if the mead in his mouth had turned into red wine flowing in the stream of Anle Township.
"In addition, the bard also said that it rains three days a week there, but it is not just rain, but hot pig blood sausage. Money is of no use there, and the fields are full of unpicked things. A purse full of gold coins. Oh, by the way, all the women there are very beautiful. Every man can choose the women he likes. Of course, every woman can also choose the men they like. Everyone is doubled. Respected, all people are equal." Little boy Dyson felt that the more he spoke, the more disappointed he became in this land filled with hunger and injustice.
In Simon's view, this is just a story that tells the simplest survival aspirations of the majority of farmers.
"Oh! Beauty, Miller and Gabriel must be in the wonderful land of peace now, right?" The fat man said to himself and took another sip of wine.
"Even if there is such a place, given the virtue of these ignorant people who like to defecate everywhere, within a week, the ground will be covered with feces." Simon curled his lips.
"The woolen merchants in Anle Township are very kind. They distribute all kinds of new clothes for free every month, including robes made of precious violet dyed cloth, fine woolen sweaters, and even silk from the far east." The little boy Dyson patted his tattered linen robe that was full of patches and dirt and the green hood that had not been washed for a long time, and shook his head.
The fat man was a little drunk and just looked at Dyson with hazy eyes, expecting him to continue. The young boy Dyson felt his mouth was a little dry, but there was no wine in the wine glass, so he stumbled to his feet and staggered to the bar. He asked the tavern manager to help him scoop a glass of mead from the big wooden barrel behind the counter. .
For a moment, the tavern, which had not many people in it, suddenly became quiet. There was only the crackling sound of the tallow torch and the strong smell and smoke emitted by the burning tallow in the air.
The brief silence was broken by two caravan guys playing dice gambling games at the next table and a few townspeople in the corner who were drinking and making vulgar jokes. The tavern returned to its tepid and lively atmosphere.
Simon only felt a little dizzy, maybe he had drunk too much, so he patted the fat man on the shoulder and walked to the guest room on the second floor alone.
………………
Early the next morning, not long after the first ray of sunshine came out, Simon woke up.
Simon stood up from the flea nest, or hay bed, which was full of the musty smell of sweat and sour vomit, shook his somewhat heavy head, and opened the old, rotten wooden window. For a moment, a cool morning breeze, carrying the disgusting stench of urine and feces in the town of Koblenz, made Simon sober.
"We have to go." Simon put on his armor and helmet and knocked on the door of Fatty, Miller and Gabriel's room, only to see these three lazy guys sleeping soundly with the smell of alcohol all over them.
Simon wanted to go downstairs to get a wooden basin and scoop out a large basin of cold water to wake the three of them up, but he was worried that it would make them sick, so he had to give each of them a hard kick on the butt.
Having said that, the timid businessman Aubrey had no objection to Simon's desire to take a detour to Frankfurt. Of course, he did not dare to raise any objection. He just ran to the room where his buddy lived and announced to everyone.
When Simon and the cowardly businessman Aubrey opened the wooden door of the tavern and came to the stables, they saw one of the two caravan guards who had stayed to guard the horses last night holding a sleeping packhorse lying on its side, drooling and snoring. Another middle-aged caravan guard with a curly beard was lying comfortably in the horse dung piled high next to the stable.
"Once a person is tired, as long as he sleeps comfortably, he can sleep soundly even if he sleeps in a pile of feces." Simon thought.
After businessman Aubrey woke up the two caravan guards with a look of disgust, the others also finished dressing and walked out of the tavern, ready to set off.
