3 Journey Through the Middle Ages, Part 3

When Louisa returned to her temporary chamber, the maid had already prepared the bathwater—of course, it was only a temporary room. The count had promised her that she would stay here only for the time being.

This room was hardly the finest in the castle’s residential quarters, but all the best chambers were reserved for the count and countess, as well as for Eva.

The round tower at the southeast corner of the castle grounds, which had been under construction for four years, was expected to be completed in just over a year. Once finished, the entire tower would be under her control, granting her full autonomy... the rightful privilege of an heir.

“...Milady, everything is ready. I made sure they used fresh well water, not the reservoir water,” Jeanne, who had accompanied Louisa to the Brudo court, said naturally.

She understood Louisa’s peculiarities—there were many habits that others failed to comprehend. Louisa didn’t reject the reservoir water out of mistrust of its cleanliness. Rather, during her time at the convent, there was a rooftop reservoir used to collect rainwater. This water was channeled by gravity through pipes to the kitchen and several other rooms.

It sounded quite modern—akin to the later concept of running water. The only drawback was that the pipes were most commonly made of lead at that time.

“Good work, Jeanne... By the way, in a few days, I’ll arrange for you to work in the kitchen.” Louisa did not explain her reasons for avoiding reservoir water; naturally, she preferred the safer, cleaner groundwater whenever possible.

Jeanne had served as a kitchen maid during her convent days. Louisa had met her because, dissatisfied with the local food, she had gone to the kitchen intending to cook for herself. Though her attempt at self-cooking failed, she ended up nurturing an excellent cook—Jeanne. Despite Louisa’s modern knowledge, she was more a master of words than of culinary skills. Jeanne, a native with practical ideas and hands-on ability, would thrive with just a little guidance.

Jeanne nodded gratefully, well aware that coming from a farmer’s family and moving from a convent kitchen to a palace kitchen was a significant step forward. More importantly, she knew that Lady Louisa was unlike other nobles—genuine and kind-hearted. With Louisa’s care, she had nothing to fear.

Feeling appreciated, Louisa exhaled deeply, ready to enjoy a proper bath. Though she had bathed during the journey, conditions were limited while traveling—no soaking baths, only sitz baths, and the hot water often not hot enough.

The bath was placed opposite a warm hearth, draped with a white canopy. The top was conical, and the bottom encircled by curtains. This arrangement was both a heat preservation measure and a modesty screen. While Louisa could bathe in her own room, many in the castle had to wash in semi-public areas, where such curtains were indispensable.

Louisa undressed and stepped into the tub. It was spacious and deep, with a small stool inside. Even sitting on the stool, the hot water reached her chest. Louisa relaxed against the thick linen lining the tub’s interior. Due to limited woodworking techniques, wooden boards inevitably had splinters, so wealthy nobles always lined their tubs with fabric to prevent skin injuries.

Contrary to the popular myth that medieval people never bathed, bathing habits varied greatly across time and place. There were periods when bathing was neglected, but for the most part, people bathed regularly. Fortunately, Louisa lived in one of those eras when bathing was the norm.

From a modern perspective, hygiene standards still seemed poor and baths were infrequent. But compared to modern people with abundant resources, anyone from any ancient era or region would appear less clean—even the Romans, renowned for their grand baths, and the White Robes, famed for their strict cleanliness due to religious doctrine.

Soon, a maid brought Louisa her washing items. On a large tray lay a stack of cloth towels, a jug of wine, a small bottle of scented oil, and a silver box left open to reveal a piece of hard, brownish-yellow soap.

Although only the soap was truly for washing, people back then might disagree with Louisa’s view. Nobles often used wine to wash their faces and hands. Louisa couldn’t say why exactly—perhaps because wine was a prized commodity, people tried to use it wherever possible.

The scented oil was infused with fragrant substances and believed to smooth, scent, and cleanse the skin. Some even thought it could erase freckles... well, of course not, but just as many today trust ancient skincare remedies, it was natural for people centuries ago to believe in such magic.

“...Milady, this is the finest soap from the East,” the maid explained, assuming Louisa might be unfamiliar with it after her time in the convent.

Louisa knew that “the East” referred to the Near East—the region of Western Asia in her previous life.

“Oh, I know it.” Louisa sniffed the soap to confirm it bore no rancid odor, only a faint, fresh fragrance. She recognized this soap—the abbess of the convent she once lived in, who was also her aunt in this life, used exactly this brand. Unlike the common soft soaps found locally, this hard soap was always imported from the East and was quite expensive.

Louisa thought for a moment and said, “Please open the box I brought with me—the one painted with the ‘Fountain of Youth’ story. My usual soap is inside; you may fetch it.”

Although Louisa could always “smuggle” various supplies from her portable store, she also kept duplicates of frequently used items outside for situations like this, where openly using her own goods might cause suspicion.

The maid quickly found the box and intuitively located the soap. Unlike the dry, hard soap she was used to, this crimson soap was plump, smooth, and much more fragrant. Its scent was notably pure—normal for quality soaps made with vegetable oils, primarily olive oil, while inferior ones used animal fats. The difference lay in the stronger odor of animal fats, which, if not properly rendered, could even smell burnt.

Vegetable oil soaps also had odors, but tolerance varied. It was like how people might find the scent of an oil mill pleasant or offensive. Moreover, those who liked the natural aroma of oils wouldn’t necessarily enjoy perfumes made from rapeseed, peanut, or sesame oils. In such cases, the vegetal scent could be described as “fishy” or “rancid.”

Compared to contemporary soaps, Louisa’s was a modern industrial product with stable, thorough deodorization. Regardless of the fragrance, it lacked any unpleasant odors. Modern people took this for granted, but medieval folk would recognize it as a rare luxury.

The maid, like many in the castle, had both respect for Louisa as the Brudo heir and disdain for her upbringing in a rural convent like Fontro. She had dismissed Louisa as a mere country girl. Now, over a single bar of soap, the maid began to see her differently.

In medieval courts, maids and male attendants were often nobles themselves. Though they might not perform much labor—those duties fell to lower-ranked servants—they felt entitled to be snobbish and judge Louisa, the future lord.

Louisa had not expected a bar of soap to so starkly humble their snobbery; it was a raw, low-level judgment. Growing up in a convent had shielded her from realizing just how petty medieval aristocrats could be.

Though court culture had begun to foster “elegance,” it was a far cry from the ostentatious and delicate Western aristocratic manner familiar after several centuries of wealth. This was unsurprising, as the nobles’ ancestors were all rugged warriors, and society still glorified violence.

So-called “elegance” existed only within the court and vanished outside its walls.

Louisa bathed with her own soap, which was actually one of the most popular brands of her previous life—not particularly special. This particular “Pomegranate Soap” was notable for its outstanding floral-fruity scent—sweet but not cloying, a favorite of hers. Despite its name, she had studied its fragrance carefully and knew it bore little relation to actual pomegranates.

Only its deep red color evoked the imagery of pomegranates. The “guava” scent in its fragrance was also misleading, as guava and pomegranate belonged to entirely different botanical families.

Exhausted, Louisa skipped washing her hair and prepared to rest. Before bed, she told the maid, “Please have plenty of hot water ready for tomorrow morning. There were few chances to wash my hair on the way from Fontro, and I desperately need it.”

The maid replied respectfully, “Yes, Your Ladyship... I will inform the hair washer.”

Jeanne added just in time, “Milady, your bed is prepared.”

Louisa glanced toward the bed. She didn’t know what linens had been used before, but now everything was replaced with her familiar bedding—she never used others’ linens! Even new ones had to be considered carefully, given the hygiene and health of those who made and handled them.

Indeed, the medieval world’s reputation for filth was a stereotype. The period spanned a vast territory and many centuries. Some places and times were excessively dirty, but most were roughly average for ancient societies.

The problem was that for a modern person, any ancient time or place seemed filthy. Even among great nobles, fleas and lice were common, regardless of personal hygiene habits. When everyone around had these pests, having them oneself was almost inevitable.

Louisa smiled at the bed and reminded Jeanne, “Ah, you usually say ‘make the bed’ as ‘do the bed,’ don’t you? But today, it’s quite fitting—it’s like making a new bed.”

Ordinary households did not have beds as furniture. Space was too scarce to waste on fixed large furnishings. During the day there was no bed; only before sleep did they stuff sacks with dry straw for mattresses, add simple bedding, and assemble a bed that could be dismantled and moved by morning.

Louisa didn’t mind Jeanne’s choice of words—“do the bed” or “make the bed”—but she didn’t want her to be mocked by others in the castle for the phrase.