Road To The Crown 4 Taste Of The Medieval Beer

*Small note about scales:

Dozen - 12

Stack - 60

Kor - From Polish Korzec, about 120 litres (For dry matter)

Las - 30 Kors about 3600 litres (For dry matter)

Barrel - about 160 litres (of liquid)

Garn - from garniec - about 4 litres (liquid)

Quater - forth of Garn, about 1 litre (liquid)

Lut - about 12g

Gryw - from Grzywna - about 0.2kg

Stone - 32 funts - about 13kg

Centar - 5 stones - 1600 funts - about 65 kg

I will be using those scales for the better immersion, but for the sake of keeping things easy to understand, whenever I will use them in the chapter, they will be placed either in brackets right beside the story number or the entire scale will be copied to the author's notes!*

"Al, Elemo, gather the servants. We are moving out!"

Bursting into the tavern where my company was staying, I shouted right as soon as I entered the place. With my status of major landed n.o.ble - even if I was no one when compared to real magnates - I could come inside, cut half of the guests in half with my trusty sabre and end up jailed for two weeks in the town's stronghold, and came out clean just by paying an honest fine. Even with that in mind, the jovial atmosphere inside this Jewish inn.

*major disclaimer, In XVI century Poland, most of the taverns were operated by Jews, as they had major tax discounts on serving alcohol and were know to be the major group when it came to services and trade. This is by no means meant to be insulting or abusive, just true to history. Also, referring to Jewish folk per 'jew' was as common as calling all commoners a serf and n.o.bles a Sir/Mister. Only Town's citizens didn't have the natural form of referring to as a group*

"Per order, Sir!" *Sir - when referring to someone higher in the hierarchy, Mister, when referring to fellow n.o.ble*

Before I even managed to finish my words, two young, burly men jumped out of the long bench, almost causing the entire table to flip. Only a deep breath I took at the sight of this saved me from las.h.i.+ng out at them right away.

"Take the carriage and bring it to the Kleparz gates. Leave the militia to guard it and look for me inside. We will be bringing some cargo back."

Not daring to risk my composture by watching their reaction to my words, I was about to bolt from the inn as fast as I came inside when a sudden idea forced me to halt my steps.

"Jew, quarter!" (about 1 litre)

Turning to the master of the place, I placed my voice with a tone more curious than haughty. In reality, I couldn't help but marvel at the almost magical atmosphere of this place. There was something else in the taverns pa.s.sed from father to son through generations, decorated with a delicate, Jewish sense of style - as far as poor commoners like the owners could afford to do. This place oozed with comfiness!

"Yes, sir!"

Taking the tone of my underlings in fear of irking my anger, innkeeper burst towards the backroom himself, only to come back right away with a big mug filled to the brim with a yellowish liquid.

"Sit with me for a moment."

As if asking everyone to enter a contest of gazes with the price being the hand of the most beautiful maiden in the entire Crown, I invited the Jew to the table. Even looking at him made me feel nostalgic about the reality that this country lost with the attack of the homicidal ideology from the west in the times to come.

Visibly battling his own thoughts, torn between insulting the n.o.ble by sitting at his table and daring to refuse his direct request, the innkeeper had to turn his mind into calculating the losses that my inevitable wrath would incur as he powerlessly sat his thin bottom at the bench on the other side of the table that I was sitting.

Raising the mug to my lips, I first took a sniff, trying to gauge the ingredients used to create this drink. Regretfully, while my body was that of a typical n.o.ble of the age, my senses were still governed by my transmigrated mind! I expected this whiff to throw me off, making the whole idea of tasting obsolete, bur surprisingly enough, the smell alone wasn't that bad!

Taking the first, small sip, I was surprised how weak this drink actually was!

Used to the heavy stouts like Guinesser, this drink tasted more like a fruity wine for kids, with just a hint of true beer taste! But that was something I had to expect. With no knowledge about water treatment, only the alcoholic drinks were considered safe in this time and age. That's why even in ancient Rome, the wine was often cheaper than drinkable water!

"Tell me, do you think this is a good beer?"

After taking a sizeable gulp from the mug, I finally placed the container on the table and turned my head to the terrifying jew. Maybe because of how energetic and jovial most of the n.o.bles were, the calm manner in which I asked this question must have made this poor guy reconsider his choice of following in his father's footsteps when he picked up the family business after him!

"Sir… That's the best beer that our inn has… I'm sure we can't compare to royal booze or western wines, but even n.o.bles claim its one of the best ale's they have tasted in the entire area!"

At first, the Jew's voice was breaking, but the more he spoke about the product he was serving, the more his composture improved as if praising the drink was the duty of all innkeepers, no matter what would be the price for doing so!

With how light the drink was, I took a deep breath before angling the mug once again and chugging all its content right to my stomach in one go! While my mind might be used to the more alcohol heavy drinks, the same logic didn't apply to my body… But what kind of Polish n.o.ble was going to do business sober?

Reaching to the pouch strapped to my belt, I picked a single, silver grosz from it and dropped it on the table as I stood up.

"Keep the change."

After giving this middle-aged man a scare, I decided I could at least be a bit generous. A quarter of beer would be worth a bit less than a single grosz fifty years later, when both silver and gold gained a lot of value, meaning that right now, I overpaid several times. But on the other side, while I didn't lose enough to grieve over it, this poor man gained a nice profit just like that!

"Sir, the horses and the carriage are ready!"

Forced to get to this place on foot, I couldn't help but get a little excited at the thought of riding a true, polish horse of the old breed. One could write several books about the love that my nation, especially at this age, directed to this particular animal, and this topic still wouldn't be exhausted!

Sadly, after the fall of the medieval type of cavalry and the growing usage of modernised firearms, along with the part.i.tion of Poland, the true breed of Polish horses disappeared into the history, just like many other beautiful aspects of the true national spirit.

Even if I didn't know how the heck did I traversed such a vast distance on the road of time, in the opposite direction that I would normally be supposed to at that - but I was sure about one thing. With my knowledge, modern way of thinking and most and foremost, the system, I would do my very best to change the course of history!