8 Crossing into the Middle Ages, Part 8

Louisa’s swift idea to produce sugar from beets stemmed partly from her studies in a previous life and partly from her real, firsthand experience with beets in this life, giving her a more concrete understanding of medieval beets.

Unlike today, where there is a clear distinction between beets grown for eating and those cultivated for sugar—with the latter’s sugar content periodically enhanced by scientific efforts—medieval beets, despite having been domesticated in various regions and occasionally benefiting from favorable mutations, remained essentially ordinary vegetables.

Even the large-rooted beet, which was edible at the root, had a relatively slender root that could not compare to vegetables like radishes. Of course, compared to modern radishes, the radishes of that time were also rather small and thin.

Louisa’s practical knowledge of beets came from her time at the convent, where the nunnery’s garden cultivated many beets. The abbess, who was also Louisa’s aunt, liked to make vegetable soup using beets and thus exercised a bit of her authority to grow them.

Louisa had once studied beets with the abbess, and under Louisa’s subtle influence, the abbess even attempted to cultivate beets with larger roots, higher sweetness, and white coloration. For a long time, the monks and nuns often took on the role of researchers within the monastery and convent.

Living in an isolated environment with little to do but time—and many monks and nuns being rare intellectuals of the era—made them quite suited to focused research. In fact, Gregor Mendel, considered the father of modern genetics, was a priest in a monastery in the 19th century. If that was the case in Mendel’s time, what about centuries earlier?

Louisa’s suggestion to use beets for sugar came from her foresight, but honestly, she had not thought that far ahead when she first proposed it. The breeding and domestication of plants have always been time-consuming endeavors, especially in the Middle Ages. Often, it was truly a case of one generation planting the trees and another enjoying the shade.

Moreover, even with some luck and favorable mutations leading to gains in a relatively short time, Louisa did not need that yet.

At the time, she thought she would spend her entire life in the convent and had accepted that future—she was genuinely optimistic, always looking on the bright side. Although life in the convent was dull, she liked that being a nun allowed her to remain unmarried and childless openly and avoid the violence of the outside world.

Though the most violent era had passed, the secular world remained full of savagery. In her previous life, the saying “stay unmarried and childless for safety” was mostly a joke, but in the Middle Ages, it was a truth: not marrying spared one from a rough husband and marital scheming—inevitable given her birth—and not bearing children greatly reduced risk.

The mortality rate of childbirth at the time was terrifying.

In short, a person planning to quietly live out her days in the convent had little reason to discuss sugar production from beets. At best, she might consider slowly cultivating sugar beets, hoping that “Louisa of Brudo” might one day earn a revered title in the Church, like Hildegard of Bingen in history, so her life would not have been in vain.

But plans cannot keep pace with change. Who could have predicted that she would leave the convent and so quickly set her sights on producing sugar from beets?

Back at the castle, Louisa explained her needs to the blacksmith and even drew diagrams. Since the items she required were not complicated, the blacksmith readily agreed—everyone in the castle was eager to assist Louisa, knowing that the returning countess of Brudo was not only kind and generous but also rewarded those who served her handsomely.

While the blacksmith began crafting what Louisa requested, she sent someone to the countryside to purchase some beets. She specified large-rooted white beets (as opposed to large-leaf beets, which were mainly grown for their leaves), prioritizing the sweetest varieties, and instructed to buy as many as possible if the quality was good.

The beet harvest had just concluded that year, and many large-rooted beets had already been stored for winter consumption.

Thus, it was easy for her agents to procure some beets. Upon inspection, Louisa found the sugar content still too low, but there was no choice—she had to start with what was available.

That evening, after dinner, she made a request to Count Brudo: “Father, may I send someone to Fontro to obtain some of the local specialty beet seeds?”

Thanks to Louisa’s foresight, the beets at the convent were primitive sugar beets—a hybrid of large-leaf and large-rooted beets that had naturally evolved. They had been selectively bred for higher sugar content.

These primitive sugar beets had then been crossed with various existing beet varieties. After several years of hybridization and selection, the sugar content’s improvement was uncertain, but the enlargement of the root was achieved—though by later standards, the swollen roots were still quite small.

“Beets?” Count Brudo raised his eyebrows and, recalling something, readily agreed: “Oh, if that’s what you want, I can send two men to Fontro to handle it.”

He thought Louisa merely shared her sister’s taste preference for edible beets and that the convent had tastier varieties.

“That’s wonderful! If possible, please instruct them to bring back as many seeds as they can,” Louisa said, planning to write her aunt detailing which beet seeds to bring. Once the seeds arrived, she would plant them all, aiming to produce sugar from next year’s harvest with a higher sugar yield.

Louisa had already judged from the beets she had on hand that they wouldn’t yield much sugar.

Count Brudo was puzzled. If the beets were just for personal use, there was no need to grow so many. Asking for a large quantity of seeds seemed odd.

“Dear, I assume you understand the garden well—you know that a small amount of seeds can yield plenty of produce,” the count reminded her.

“Yes, Father, I understand perfectly. In fact, I have grown vegetables with my aunt. I just...” Louisa hesitated, then decided to explain more fully: “Father, I need some land to cultivate these beets. Could you allocate a nearby estate for me?”

As the lord, Count Brudo had many estates scattered throughout Brudo. For convenience, he would find a nearby estate, such as White Lake Estate, which bordered the castle. That estate’s produce partly supplied the castle, with the remainder sold in Troyes.

Troyes was a prosperous city with a developed industry and commerce, home to many people detached from agriculture but with a strong demand for farm products.

Count Brudo grew even more puzzled. If these were just vegetables for personal use, the castle’s kitchen garden would suffice, leaving a small patch for the beets from Fontro.

Louisa continued, “This relates to the challenge you gave me about increasing Brudo’s revenue. I visited the market and was inspired—sugar sells well. High-quality sugar goes for two sous a pound, and even lower-quality sugar fetches at least one sou per pound. It’s a very profitable business.”

“Uh...” Count Brudo was momentarily speechless. He had not intended this challenge to be understood this way. His original intent was for Louisa to devise a new tax revenue source—an approach common among nobles, both secular and religious, to raise funds.

This was well-known, so the count had not elaborated further, never imagining Louisa would misunderstand so profoundly. Only now did he realize his eldest daughter, having lived mostly in the convent, lacked sufficient understanding of the secular world.

Louisa’s recent conduct was so worldly and poised, even more so than her sister Eva, who had grown up at court.

“Uh, sugar?” Count Brudo finally found his voice. “Sugar and beets? What’s the connection?”

Beets were indeed sweet, but sweetness alone meant little. Many plants had sweet roots or fruits, yet only a handful could be used to produce sugar. Historically, it wasn’t until the 18th century that chemists discovered beet roots contained sucrose. There was a reason for that.

Beets did not appear particularly special compared to other sweet plants.

“The East uses sugarcane to refine sugar, but beet roots can also be used, though their sugar yield is not as high as sugarcane’s,” Louisa said hesitantly. She felt uneasy because she obviously could not explain how she knew such a “world-shattering secret.”

Indeed, it was a momentous secret. The sugar trade was highly lucrative, and the market was far from saturated—humans simply cannot resist sweetness.

The local climate made large-scale sugarcane cultivation impossible, so they relied on imports. Historically, the colonial blood and tears began with insatiable demands for sugar and cotton. If anyone knew at this time that sugar could be extracted from beets, it would instantly become a closely guarded commercial secret.

Count Brudo, however, was not concerned about how Louisa knew this secret but doubted its truthfulness. “...Dear, who told you this? Was it Anna? My heavens, what has she been teaching you!”

‘Anna’ was Louisa’s aunt, the count’s sister.