Chapter 4: Journey Through the Medieval Era, Part 4

The following morning, a young woman with delicate features was brought in by a maidservant. She was the court hairdresser serving the Brudo household—bathing was common enough, but washing one’s hair was far less frequent. Even among the nobility, who had ample fuel and hot water and warm chambers to dry their hair, it was rare to wash more than a few times each season outside of summer.

This didn’t mean people at the time neglected their hair. On the contrary, especially among women, hair was highly prized. Wherever they went, thick, soft, lustrous, and glossy hair was the hallmark of beauty.

Because hair was so valued, specialists arose to serve the upper class: hairdressers who helped with washing, ensuring the scalp was thoroughly cleaned while providing a relaxing and pleasant experience. Above all, they had to safeguard the health of their clients, avoiding any chills or headaches caused by washing.

Occasionally, they also offered treatments like applying hair oils or dyeing.

Louisa produced a pale rose-colored shampoo she had bottled herself. “Madam, this is the detergent I usually use. Please wash twice... I only washed it twice on the way here from Fontelo. It was far too greasy; the first wash might not produce much lather.”

The maid had been puzzled the previous night when Louisa mentioned washing her hair with “soft soap,” which was considered inferior soap at the time, especially given the high-quality soap readily available—indeed, Louisa had mistaken the shampoo for a type of soft soap. Soft soaps varied greatly: some thick and porridge-like, others as thin as vegetable oil. Shampoo’s creamy texture was not unusual.

It was precisely this that gave Louisa the confidence to bring out her shampoo.

Only when the hairdresser began applying and massaging the shampoo did the maid suddenly realize the truth. The rich, dense, pure white foam and the rapidly spreading rose fragrance spoke volumes of its worth. The maid thought, of course—this must be soap made with “Eastern perfume.” She wondered how much of that precious perfume her lady had used.

“Eastern perfume,” also known as “water of life,” was essentially essential oil, so named because it was originally imported entirely from the Near East.

By this time, soap-making was no secret. Ordinary soft soap was made by mixing oils and alkali in a pot in certain proportions and heating the mixture. In that sense, essential oils were oils after all, so it was plausible—though they wouldn’t use pure essential oils, as that would be prohibitively expensive. The maid guessed Louisa’s “soap” was infused with some rose essential oil.

Even a small amount was enough to astonish the maid: among the costly “Eastern perfumes,” rose essential oil ranked among the most expensive! The countess herself had a bottle, and each use was carefully rationed. She would dilute it with olive oil and apply it to her hair, prolonging the scent and making it last longer.

“Your hair is truly beautiful...” After washing, the hairdresser carefully dried Louisa’s hair bit by bit, complimenting her, “Look at your hair—black as ebony, which makes you appear so noble! And with such thickness and shine, it’s perfect for weaving all kinds of beautiful braids.”

Louisa was only twelve, but in an era when most noblewomen were betrothed before ten and married around fourteen, such praise was not excessive.

“People rarely compliment my hair, though I love it... They always prefer blond hair, don’t they?” Louisa plucked a lock and sniffed it, catching the distinct scent of rose. This was a rose-scented shampoo, simpler than the complex fragrance of the soap she used before.

“Oh, madam, isn’t that all the more special? Though many praise blond beauties, black hair always suggests intelligence and nobility.”

Louisa’s hair, thick and black, had been the same in this life as in the last. Black hair itself was nothing unusual; even among white Europeans, black or dark brown hair predominated.

“How lovely, thank you...” Louisa smiled faintly and rose to retrieve a dozen silk handkerchiefs from a box. Half were pale yellow, the other half soft rose, each edged with exquisite lace. She distributed one to everyone in the room: two maids, a chambermaid tending the fireplace, and the hairdresser.

“I’ve just returned to Brudo, and I hope you’ll accept this small gift... There are others who serve me as well, Mrs. Hugo, could you please distribute these to them?” Louisa said to another maid.

Compared to the maid who helped her bathe the night before, Louisa preferred this older maid. She was the wife of a knight under the Brudo count, whose husband also lived in the castle. The husband had recommended her to the count and countess to serve Louisa.

Textiles had never been cheap, even before modern times. During the early Industrial Revolution, while labor costs decreased and efficiency increased, raw materials remained natural and costly.

At court, it was customary for nobles of higher rank to gift textiles to those beneath them—a duty akin to a lord’s obligation to ensure their retainers were properly attired. This practice smoothly extended down the ranks.

Louisa believed she was merely following custom, but clearly not everyone agreed. At lunch, the countess expressed jealousy, saying, “Dear, I don’t mean to criticize your actions, but you’ve just arrived and are already giving your servants silk handkerchiefs. Isn’t that a bit extravagant? I don’t think even the maids who clean the floors will use silk handkerchiefs.”

At this time, silk was a very expensive commodity, generally costing 12 to 15 sous per yard. The currency system in Vasson had three tiers: pounds, sous, and pennies. One pound equaled 20 sous or 240 pennies. However, pounds and sous were accounting units; there were no corresponding coins. One pound originally equaled one pound of silver, and one sou was 0.05 pounds of silver.

Of course, this was the original standard. Due to currency debasement, the actual silver content of coins varied by mint and their “honesty.”

A yard was just under a meter, and 12 sous could buy a castrated bull or two dairy cows, illustrating the high cost of silk.

Louisa’s handkerchiefs were large enough to be worn as headscarves—handkerchiefs were an imported item initially intended for that purpose. A dozen of these, with fine lace edging, could buy seven or eight dairy cows!

As Louisa struggled with the unappealing lunch before her, she mused distractedly, “Hmm... Why wouldn’t they use them? Madam, I think they could sell the handkerchiefs and buy things they need more.”

According to fasting rules of the time, ordinary people ate only two meals a day: a main meal at midday and a light meal at dusk. Breakfast was skipped to avoid breaking the fast too early, and dinner was eaten early and simply as a prelude to fasting. This also conserved food.

This did not apply to the nobility, who eagerly filled their stomachs from dawn onward. They feasted and drank well into the night, showcasing their robust health and vigor through lavish eating and drinking—an essential demonstration for those whose status rested on military prowess.

Yet even so, mornings rarely featured grand feasts. Noblewomen like Louisa, wishing to appear devout and proper, mostly adhered to skipping breakfast, meaning the kitchen prepared none for her.

Louisa was given only a cup of warm milk to start her day...

This was effectively her first meal. She had been looking forward to it, but the successive dishes brought out only diminished her appetite. It was worse than last night! The previous evening, a welcoming feast offered a variety of dishes, some of which she enjoyed. Today’s lunch was back to normal—still numerous dishes, but none could excite her palate.

The heavily spiced dishes, meant to showcase wealth, did not smell pleasant to Louisa; instead, they made her want to sneeze. She tasted them reluctantly and could tell the chef had worked hard. The complex seasonings spoke volumes, but the basic saltiness was off, and the overemphasis on sour and sweet flavors made the dishes a chaotic mess.

They were even less appealing than what Louisa had eaten at the convent. The nuns’ meals lacked the luxury and complex seasonings of a noble table but were not as roughly prepared or lacking in ingredients as commoner fare. If all else failed, Louisa could always have a private meal with Jeanne.

The appetizer was honey-glazed radish; the main courses were stewed lamb, braised capon, and a double-grain wheat porridge with milk, accompanied by orange wine. Dessert had yet to be served. These sounded excellent in theory, but what was promised was not always delivered.

The honey-glazed radish was cooked in broth, pan-fried in butter, then lavishly coated with honey and spice powder—a heavy, oily, and sweet dish, overwhelming to Louisa’s senses. The so-called aromatic spices were far too pungent for her.

Surprisingly, the honey-glazed radish was the least offensive among the meat dishes.

The stewed lamb was seasoned with onion, parsley, rosemary, thyme, peppermint, and ginger—ingredients generally good for masking gamey flavors and enhancing meat. But to Louisa’s palate, the spices and meat seemed to exist independently, lacking harmony.

The seasonings were jarringly out of place, and the meat remained both musky and gamey.

The braised capon was somewhat better but only marginally. Capon was not as prone to error as lamb, but braising demanded precise seasoning and timing—skills the cook apparently lacked.

After tasting a bit of the radish and capon, Louisa resorted to sipping the milk porridge.

Lost in her discontent over the meal, Louisa paid no mind to the countess’s remarks. The count glanced at his wife and said, “Generous giving is a lord’s virtue. No stingy master ever earned a knight’s loyalty. Louisa, I will be meeting the nobles of the domain shortly, and you should come as well.”

“In fact, there will be a grand banquet this evening, all for you... I intend to introduce them to you, their future mistress.”