The chimera battle was tremendous. I listened as Sir William, with his peerless strength, grappled with the chimera and punched it with his bare hands.
Ohh, he just punched the chimera and sent it flying. It hit a rock and smashed it in half. I let out a “whoa” in spite of myself. What a hero.
Menel, beside me, had a huge frown on his face.
When it came to the half-elven hunter, descriptions of his beauty abounded.
Every time he did something, excited squeals would come from the audience, particularly the girls.
“Ahaha…”
Young men with brownish hair and blue eyes could be found everywhere, so I didn’t stand out that much. Menel, on the other hand, was a half-elf with silver hair and jade eyes. He couldn’t have been more distinctive. These stories meant he would become the center of all kinds of attention, so he was probably feeling a bit uncomfortable.
But as the passionate retelling of our chimera kill continued beyond the throng in the proud and happy voice of the storyteller, Menel’s expression softened, a reluctant smile crossed his lips, and he let out a sigh, as if the will to resist had deflated out of him.
At the same time, a loud cheer erupted from the audience. Sir William had just impaled the chimera’s lion head with his favorite spear.
The tale ended, and tips were thrown. I waited for the audience to disperse, and as the troubadour was packing up, I waved a hand and called out to her in a subdued voice.
“Bee.”
Her pointed ears pricked up. It seemed that was all she’d needed. She whipped around in surprise, and her face lit up with a beaming smile. She came running over and catapulted herself at me, crying out, “You were listening!”
“It worked out that way, yeah!” I said as I caught her and spun in circles on the stone paving. She giggled playfully. This girl, a halfling troubadour with charming facial expressions, messy red hair, and the physique of a child, was our friend Robina Goodfellow. She was as bright as ever today.
“It looks like it’s still popular.”
“You have no idea. It’s my go-to staple thanks to you! Look at this!” Bee showed us a basket full of copper and silver coins. “Made a bundle yet again!
Yeeeah!”
“Good to see our hard work is making piles of cash for someone,” Menel said jokingly.
“Awww. Okay then, it’s near enough lunch time anyway, I think I oughta pay you guys back a little!” Bee laughed, put her hands on her hips, and looked up at us. “What do you wanna eat, you two?”
“Meat,” Menel said immediately.
“You know if your fans heard that they’d be so let down.”
“Shaddup.”
“Don’t you have something a bit more, I dunno, something? Elf-like, elegant, you know.”
“Okay. Vegetables. Garnishing the meat.”
That got a laugh out of me.
In the poems and stories, elves were an elegant tribe living in the depths of the forest in harmony with nature, and didn’t have much of an image as meat-eaters. But in actual fact, living in the woods — living in harmony with the woods
— also meant eating animal meat as a predator. I had a memory of learning from Gus long ago that the reason elves were renowned as archers was because they were excellent hunters. And that was borne out in reality; Menel was quite the meat-eater.
“What about you, Will?”
“Meat for me too, I think… It isn’t often we come here to the city.”
“You warriors are real meat-lovers, huh…”
As a side note, there weren’t many opportunities to eat the meat of livestock in the countryside. I would say there were only two main times: when old livestock died, and during the autumn when it came time to slaughter livestock that wouldn’t survive the winter. Cows and horses were valuable workers, after all, and it took quite a lot of effort to slaughter and butcher even a single one.
Not only that, but those animals could be taken to the city and sold for cash rather than eaten.
Due to all those various reasons, everyday meals in the countryside would normally be bread, wheat porridge, and beans, or occasionally the meat of birds and other wild animals that a huntsman would come back with.
In the city, however, cattle and other animals brought in alive from the countryside were slaughtered and broken down everyday, and they lined the front of the butcher’s. Because of the large population, there would always be people who wanted meat today, and dedicated businesses and shops could survive here by meeting that demand. And with specialist shops came an increase in eateries that depended on them to serve meat. All of which meant that you could get your hands on a meat dish far more readily in the city than anywhere else. Passing it up wasn’t an option.
“Boy oh boy, you two have no grace at all,” Bee said, spreading her arms in feigned disappointment.
“Oh yeah, and what about you?” Menel asked. “What do you want?”
“Me? Hmm…” The red-haired troubadour looked as though she was thinking for a moment, and then she laughed. “Meat, I think!”
A little before noon, the three of us carnivores were drawn to a tavern by the delicious smell of meat, and we went straight in before it got too busy. As Bee secured us a table meant for four, she called out to the brown-skinned shop owner boiling something in a large pot. “Excuse me! What are you cooking today?”
“Boiled mutton, my dear!” he replied in a spirited voice.
“Woo! For three, please, and great big helpings!”
“Comin’ right up!”
What came out on each of our plates was a well-boiled, piping-hot lump of mutton on the bone. On the side, there were also boiled vegetables, and some kind of bread made by kneading wheat flour into dough, fermenting it, and then steaming it. It was similar to the steamed buns I knew from my past life.
Because the city of Whitesails was a port town facing an inland sea, you could see food culture from a wealth of regions here, which was really interesting.
“Ah, this is Arid Climate cooking, isn’t it?” Bee said, pinpointing its origin in a single glance.
“Sure is,” came the reply from the cook. “That’s the taste of my homeland.”
Arid Climate… I’d heard of it before. If my memory served me, it was a land of nomads, sprawling steppes, and endless wastes. True to its name, dry winds blew across the land, and climatically, it was cool. I’d heard that although caravans of merchants crossed that land heading to countries in the far east, it was quite a dangerous place that was scattered with plateaus controlled by tribes of goblins. And finally, the thing that had left the biggest impression on me when I heard about the place was—
“Is it true that there’s a race of centaurs around there? Half-man, half-horse?”
The shopkeeper laughed and nodded. “There sure are. Scarily good with a bow, every last one of ’em. All right, I’ll leave you to dig in.” And he went back to the kitchen.
Menel, still with his hood on, stared intently at the mutton. “From below the neck up to the ribs, looks like,” he said, identifying the cut.
It looked delicious. My anticipation built. But instead of immediately attacking the food, I first paused for a moment. “Mater our Earth-Mother, gods of good virtue, bless this food, which by thy merciful love we are about to receive, and let it sustain us in body and mind.” I prayed with my hands together.
“For the grace of the gods, we are truly thankful.”
As I finished offering the prayer, Menel and Bee joined in. “We are truly thankful.”
“Let’s eeeeat!”
We took our knives and wiped them, then inserted them into the lumps of boiled mutton in front of us and started cutting them up. None of us spoke, although it wasn’t on purpose; it just happened as we each intently focused on taking apart the meat. I’d heard it said that people can’t talk much while eating crab, and apparently the same thing went for mutton.