The next day, John was enjoying the service provided by the Irish maids.
It must be said that these Irish maids were quite adept at serving the nobility. John had a bath first thing in the morning and then enjoyed morning tea in the castle.
John had essentially emptied the stock of Simis Castle, managing to procure a few barrels of wine from France.
"I have to say, the wine here is mediocre," John remarked as he swirled his glass, feeling the massage from the delicate hands of a young maid. His comfortable expression showed that he was in a good mood.
Guillaume, fully armed, stood vigilantly by John's side.
In a voice sweet as honey, the maid said, "Your Highness, this is a small place, and this is the best wine we have."
John sighed contentedly. With beautiful women attending to him, good wine to drink, and both power and wealth at his disposal, the feeling was truly wonderful.
Although his quality of life might have been slightly better in England, here, John was the absolute authority.
Outside the castle, however, was a scene of ruins and devastation. The bodies of the dead Irishmen were being piled up and burned, while Norwegian merchants from Dublin began trading gold and silver coins for the soldiers' captives.
These captives would likely end up in England, Norway, Denmark, Saxony, or even the distant principalities of Rus.
Although the Catholic Church prohibited slave trading, most people felt that their faith could be flexible when it came to making a living. After all, survival was crucial.
One could say that, although the outskirts of Simis Castle were currently desolate and dilapidated, it would not be long before the area became even more prosperous.
Amid this budding prosperity, a group of people who looked different appeared.
"Make way, make way!"
The leader, who walked with an air of arrogance, wore a white clerical robe, indicating his affiliation with the church. Those following him also bore marks of the church.
They walked straight through the crowd, completely ignoring the soldiers and civilians by the roadside. The common folk, seeing their luxurious attire and the emblems of the Roman Church, felt intimidated and dared not show any anger.
Thus, the group arrived at the main castle gate, attempting to push past the guards.
"What do you think you're doing?"
The royal guards were different from the soldiers outside the main castle. They were absolutely loyal to the royal family, even if their adversaries were from the church. Moreover, they had faced off against church members before.
The weapon of criticism cannot replace the criticism of weapons. When clerics faced knights wielding swords, they would selectively retreat.
"I want to see your master," the leading cleric demanded in a shrill voice, "Prince John of England, Earl of Lancaster, son of Henry."
The commotion caused by the cleric downstairs naturally reached John's ears upstairs. Curious, John stood up from the bath and slowly had the maid dry his body.
Just as the knight ran upstairs to report the situation to John, John interrupted him: "I know, let them come up."
The knight nodded and ran back down. John simply threw on a robe and found a place to sit.
Seeing a group of people from the Roman Church coming upstairs, John felt a pang of unease.
These people were truly troublesome.
"Prince John of England, I am here on behalf of His Holiness the Pope to issue a warning to you!" The leading cleric had not even sat down before he started speaking harshly.
John was a bit taken aback: "What warning?"
The cleric's eyes were sharp, as if he were the master here. He directly found a seat facing John and sat down, making John wait for him to speak. Once seated, he continued:
"Prince John of England, you have committed the crime of treason. You have deceived your brother and father, concealed the true situation in Ireland, and profited for yourself!"
The cleric's tone was aggressive, and before John could respond, he continued: "Furthermore, you have colluded with pagans, reduced Irish Catholics to slavery, and sold them to those Nordic heathens. How can you stand by and watch this happen? How can you allow those heathens to walk on God's land and even sell God's people?"
"And you have launched a so-called holy war against High King Rhodri under the guise of God's name. Have you considered that these actions might reach the ears of the Pope? The Pope is God's messenger and knows everything happening on Earth. How dare you commit such blasphemous acts?"
Listening to the cleric's rebukes, John felt the man might have a few screws loose.
Just as the cleric was about to continue, John grabbed a wine cup from the table and hurled it at him.
"Smash!"
The clay wine cup shattered on the cleric's head, sending shards all over his face. The scene instantly turned bloody.
"Have I been too respectful to you?" John stood up from his chair. "Who do you think is the boss on this land? Your Pope, or me?"
John walked over to the cleric and grabbed him by the collar.
"And do you think I'm a fool? It takes over forty days to travel back and forth between here and Rome. Even by now, His Holiness the Pope would barely know what's happening in Ireland. How did you get here from Rome? Did you fly?"
With this statement, everyone present suddenly realized the truth. They had all assumed these men were from the Vatican, but it turned out they were imposters.
"Don't give me that nonsense about being from the Church's branch in Aquitaine. Do you realize how heavily accented your French is with an Aquitaine flavor? It's really stupid."
After saying this, John sat back down. But the cleric, unwilling to give up, got up from the ground and rushed at John, trying to grab him.
The dutiful knights stopped him, but they couldn't silence his mouth.
"John, you better watch out. I'll report this to the Pope right away. When that happens, whether the story is true or not will depend on what I say. Don't think I have no influence in the Vatican!"
At this moment, John found the cleric laughable. Perhaps the cleric had spent too long in peaceful surroundings, causing him to develop certain delusions.
John reached out and patted the cleric's face. "Do you think I'll let you go back and continue conspiring with Duke Richard of Aquitaine?"
The cleric was stunned by John's words.
"Arrest them all!" John shouted. The knights immediately sprang into action, detaining the powerless clerics. The knights who were supposed to protect them were also subdued in an instant, with almost no chance to resist.
Even as he was knocked out, the cleric couldn't believe John had actually dared to take action.
Watching the cleric pass out, John felt a sense of relief. These people might indeed have connections with the church, but even if they were truly sent by the church, John would dare to detain them.
So what? Excommunicate me if you can. At worst, I'll have my dad back me up.
With this mindset, John felt he could do anything.
However, this incident meant he would need to return to England for safety. A bit of crying, making a scene, and some dramatic pleading with his father Henry would likely resolve the situation.
"Damn those bastards, ruining my good days," John muttered, confusing everyone present. No one could keep up with his thought process.
"Prepare to return to England in a few days," he ordered.