Saint's Prison - Chapter 1

Bread and Wine

In the monastery, meals were served twice a day.

The number of meals seemed to change with the seasons, adhering to various intricate rules.

Unfortunately, the quantity of food was also predetermined, consisting of bread, soup, fruits, wine, mead, and beer within these limits.

Although I have a knife for cutting bread and cheese, I don’t have a spoon or fork, so I basically eat with my hands. This also took some time to get used to.

Food was served roughly on large platters, from which everyone helped themselves.

Instead of individual plates, flat slices of bread were used as substitutes.

Despite the presence of tablecloths, placing food directly on them still felt somewhat unhygienic.

However, voicing such concerns would only hinder the enjoyment of meals.

Interestingly, the bread was rock-hard, so you could only eat it after soaking it in soup or wine.

These meals were eaten in the communal dining hall, which, regrettably, enforced silence, prohibiting any conversation. For someone like me, who preferred meals to be lively and sociable, this was a real challenge.

Having said this, I only used the communal dining hall a few times. Afterwards, I started having meals with Amal in my room. Perhaps she had secured permission from the monastery’s priest, because he couldn’t bear to see me complaining so often.

However, I didn’t have to do anything special like carrying food to my room, as Amal took care of all the meal arrangements. Initially, I insisted she didn’t need to go to such lengths, but lately, I’ve let her do as she pleases, seeing how much she enjoys it.

Amal meticulously wiped the table with a cloth.

Even though I was itching to help, though my offers were always briskly declined.

My contribution was limited to moving the table and chair to the center of the room, a task of brute strength. Unfortunately, as there was only one chair, Amal always used it during meals, while I used the bed as a makeshift seat.

Efficiently, Amal spread a tablecloth, then placed cheese, bread, and apples from a basket on the table.

Alongside these were a pitcher of wine, wooden cups, a deep dish, and a single knife beside them.

A steaming pot was placed on the stand, its tantalizing aroma wafting through the air.

As I gazed intently at the pot, Amal smiled gently, like one would to a young child, and assured,

“It will be ready shortly.”

Soon, everything was prepared, and we took our seats at the table.

Amal led a prayer before the meal, and I followed suit, silently reflecting for a few seconds.

“Now, Andy-sama, please enjoy your meal.”

“Ah, thank you.”

I thanked Amal as she sliced and offered me cheese. I placed it on the flat, hard bread. Holding the knife, I awkwardly sliced the edge of the bread and soaked it in soup. After ensuring it was sufficiently drenched, I popped it into my mouth.

Delicious.

The chickpea soup, based on bouillon, brimmed with carrots, onions, and other vegetables, providing a simple yet comforting taste.

“Mm, it’s delicious today as well. Thank you, as always.”

“No, it’s nothing.”

Amal blushed shyly and smiled. She had prepared all these dishes herself. They were incomparably more delicious than the ones served in the communal dining hall.

Having quickly finished the soup, I reluctantly started on the bread alone. Chewing the dry, crumbly bread with cheese, it felt like it was absorbing all the moisture in my mouth.

Just as I thought this, Amal poured wine from the pitcher into a cup and gracefully offered it to me.

Taking it, I savored the wine. She was skilled in anticipating needs, adeptly handling such tasks.

I sliced more bread, consuming it.

This bread, known as black bread, was made from rye. It was highly nutritious and inexpensive, making it a staple for many.

Black bread also served as a staple, baked in large quantities and stored for a week or even a month. Consequently, aged black bread became so hard that even a knife had difficulty cutting through it.

Amal, who typically ate little, had finished her meal while I struggled with the black bread. She attentively refilled my empty cup with wine and sliced cheese, taking care of me.

Just as I was about to finish the bread, Amal, with perfect timing, picked up an apple and began peeling it.

Her skillful handling of the knife was always a sight to behold.

Suddenly, Amal stopped peeling and looked at me.

“Andy-sama… you have some bread crumbs on your mouth.”

With those words, she reached out with her slender, elegant hand and gently removed the crumbs from my face.

I looked up to thank her, but froze upon seeing Amal put the crumbs into her mouth.

Unfazed, she resumed peeling the apple as if nothing had happened. Not knowing what to say, I simply gazed at her.

Once she finished peeling the apple, she quickly cut it into manageable slices.

She offered me a piece with a modest gesture.

I accepted it, thanking her. Biting into it, The sweet and sour taste of the apple filled my mouth.