Chapter 47: The Marriage Plan

For one month, we would first be engaged—a period for both families to build a rapport.

The following month, after receiving an auspicious date from the church, both sides agreed to proceed with the marriage. While dealing with the War Minister and Michael, I was distracted by the court priest sitting beside them, meticulously examining contract documents written in Latin. So many hurdles to clear, and this time the hurdle called the church still remained.

Beyond the dowry and morning gift, we also had to pay a marriage tax to the church. Only then would the church officially approve the marriage, and any children born to us would have the legal right to inherit property. This form of marriage between nobles was called Munt.

With this Munt marriage, along with inheritance rights, there was an exasperating right that transferred from the bride’s father to the husband: the right to dominate his wife and legally beat her in public. When the War Minister asked if I would beat her, I said I’d rather take a beating from the War Minister himself.

"Still, you’re the head of the family, so I’ll acknowledge your right. Just don’t beat her too harshly."

"I swear before God in this place that I will absolutely never beat Hilda."

"Ho, sworn before a court priest, no less—so naturally I’ll trust it’s neither falsehood nor empty words. Hahaha."

For me, still guided by modern thinking and ethics, beating my wife was unthinkable. In any case, when I swore that oath, the War Minister was visibly pleased and the atmosphere softened considerably. And finally, the matter of inheritance.

If I died young, we’d agreed to leave all property to my wife. There were no blood relatives to divide it with anyway. But I’d inserted a clause requiring my wife’s side to look after my retainers. If my retainers’ livelihoods were secure even if I died, I’d have fulfilled my duty.

Weighing the contract terms and coordinating every minor detail, the sun was already setting. Just as I was thinking about taking my leave, Michael smiled in a very suggestive way and led me to the annex. A mansion grand enough to have an annex.

Rosengarden was also a large mansion, but comparing it to this place was almost embarrassing. But why had Michael brought me to the annex? The building was mostly two stories, but the middle section jutted up to about four stories. A convex-shaped structure, though I couldn’t quite fathom the reason for the design.

"Since it’s late, stay the night. Your subordinates have been shown to separate rooms. The room you’ll be staying in tonight is that top floor. Hilda’s waiting for you there."

"...You’re telling me to perform a Night Visit? But that’s a commoner custom..."

"Is there any distinction between nobles and commoners before ancient tradition? You just need to prove your mettle."

So Michael was telling me to scale that wall and enter through the window of the top-floor room where Hilda waited. The Night Visit (or Bundling) was one of the medieval era’s more baffling customs—an old courtship tradition still found in parts of modern Europe even today.

Marriage was achieved through the window.

What sort of courtship method was this? To woo a maiden he fancied, a young man would scale the wall to her room and enter through the window to consummate his love. It was both custom and fashion. Young people believed that the higher and more perilous the climb, the more it proved the depth of one’s love.

"I’ve had plenty of straw laid below, so you won’t die even if you fall. I’ll watch as your witness, so start climbing. But you know you have to follow the rules, right?"

The Night Visit’s rules strictly forbade staying overnight or having relations; one could only lie in bed fully clothed and converse. In the end, I had no choice but to climb the wall under Michael’s watchful eye. I’d occasionally seen commoner bachelors scaling walls like this in front of onlookers, but had never imagined I’d be doing it myself.

In fairy tales, the prince climbing the tower to rescue the captive princess could be seen as one tradition derived from this custom. Fortunately, there were plenty of footholds and handholds, so I managed to climb up without too much difficulty. Just don’t look down. Entering through the window, Hilda welcomed me.

"Well done. This isn’t my room, so I objected at first, but watching Wolf climb so earnestly—I think I was moved. Proof that you love me that much, right?"

"Phew, for a beautiful bride, this level of trial is nothing."

I put on a brave front, but I actually had a mild fear of heights and hated high places. But for my family and myself, I’d had no choice but to grit my teeth and climb. Being called a coward by my brother-in-law, of all people, would have been disgraceful.

So I lay in bed with Hilda.

Mm, this rose scent mingled with her own was wonderful.

"There are so many things I’m curious about. Wolf never tells me stories from his childhood."

"Not a very interesting past. Your stories are far more interesting, Hilda."

Well, I’d need actual memories to share them. I had no recollection of my past, let alone memories of my father, so there were limits to how long I could keep improvising. I only knew the basic details imprinted in my mind but had no knowledge of family secrets or deeper history.

I was the fifth-generation knight of the Streit family, and the family’s history spanned only a hundred years, because no predecessor had lived a full life. From the founder through my father, the fourth generation, all had died in war against France. Looked at this way, France and our family were sworn enemies.

But four generations of fighting in wars and dying in battle, yet still just lowly hereditary knights. Wasn’t the recognition far too meager? I didn’t know what circumstances might have been at play, but I was determined that in my generation, our family would achieve fame and wealth incomparable to anything before.

The first step was welcoming the War Minister’s daughter as my legitimate wife.

What would my father have thought if he’d been alive?

Sometimes I wondered about that.

"Once Wolf receives official knighthood and becomes Fran’s close associate, jealous factions will probably emerge."

"I think I’m among those jealous ones myself."

"What? Why?"

"Because you call other men by nicknames besides me."

When I revealed my jealous streak, Hilda giggled and pulled me into a hug. How unbecoming of my age—I’d unknowingly let jealousy slip out in a sappy line. But Hilda kissed my lips and cheeks, thoroughly delighted. I’d thought it was a terrible line.

"All right. A wife should heed and follow her husband’s words."

Having grown up in an era of gender equality, Hilda’s statement struck a nerve. Having heard about the right to dominate wives and the right to legally beat them in public, I at the very least wanted to respect my wife as a person. She wasn’t my appendage but a lifelong companion.

"You know? Sometimes I feel my husband is more mature than me."

"R-really?"

By appearances, I was two years younger, but inside I was in my thirties, so a more mature sensibility naturally came through. But Hilda said she rather liked that. A young husband with a mature side was all the more appealing, apparently. I was young in body but didn’t quite understand the sensibilities of actual young people these days.

"Actually, my goal is to become a lord knight. I don’t want to spend my life as a hereditary knight."

"A lord knight? To be granted territory, ordinary merit won’t come close to being enough, will it?"

"Right. But having that kind of goal is what drives me to grow stronger."

"Wolf, I don’t want to become a widow while I’m still young."

I told Hilda my true ambition—something I’d never shared with anyone—but her reaction wasn’t encouraging. Well, earning merit meant charging across battlefields at the risk of your life, so naturally the odds of dying young were high. Not wanting to become a widow meant she didn’t want me pushing myself too far. So I held Hilda tight.

After a while, I could see Hilda’s lovely face, fast asleep in my arms.

I would have liked to stay like that, but a knock came, and Hilda’s maid spoke from outside:

"Sir Streit, for the young lady’s honor, please come out now."

I kissed Hilda’s cheek and slipped out without waking her. Hilda’s maid was a strict sort. From the moment I’d set foot in the War Minister’s mansion, every moment with Hilda had been under this maid’s watchful eye. The War Minister had undoubtedly ordered it behind the scenes.

Perhaps because she served a great family, she was very well-educated, thoroughly disciplined, and the cold type—yet quite a pretty woman. She had a good figure and was of a suitable age, so if she was unmarried, wouldn’t she be a good match for our Hans? But it seemed my gaze had been a touch too appraising.

"Sir Streit is the young lady’s husband. Please don’t entertain foolish thoughts."

"Ah, that’s not what I meant. How long have you served Hilda?"

"Since the day the young lady was born."

"Hmm, I see. So how old are you now?"

"...Twenty years old."

"Unmarried?"

"...Unmarried."

Oh—I’d made her angry.

As she led the way to my room, I could feel the irritation radiating from her back. She couldn’t express her displeasure to me openly, so she was seething in silence. But I was asking all this to play matchmaker. Hans was twenty-two, so the age was a perfect fit.

"If you’d be open to it, I’d like to introduce you to someone. What do you say?"

"A match? For me?"

The maid’s head whipped around to face me. The ice-cold, frosty composure was completely gone. Startled by her sudden transformation, I understood—she was a woman desperate about her marital prospects. Because the medieval average lifespan was around fifty, twenty was more than old enough to be called a spinster or bachelor.

"Who is this match you’re proposing?"

"Among my attendants and soldiers, there’s a man named Hans."

"Was he among those who came attending Sir Streit?"

"No, he’s currently guarding the mansion."

"...I think that’s a fine match. In any case, if the young lady marries, I’ll follow as part of her household. So if my match is the master’s own retainer, I’ll accept."

"...Already calling me master?"

"Naturally. Since you’ll become the young lady’s lord, you are my master as well. I’ll address you as master from now on. Please permit it."

R-right. Was this the urgency of a woman who feared she’d already missed her chance in an era where twenty was well past prime marrying age? Nobles’ attendants and maids were essentially commoners. Only dukes or royalty took lower noble ladies as maids. And from lower nobles’ perspective, a position as a royal maid was a great honor.

In any case, with this I’d sorted out Hans first—the oldest among my retainers. Next came Ted, Oscar, and Bodo, in that order. Finding suitable matches for all of them would be no easy task either. Was this the burden of being head of a household?

The maid’s name was Priscilla Lev.

I hoped she’d take good care of the sister-obsessed fellow who couldn’t function without Sabine.