Chapter 17

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: Isabella
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“I heard a saint has come from Acereto.”

“Hush! He’s not a saint yet! The Holy See hasn’t officially canonized him. Watch your mouth.”

“But still, they say he’s an apostle from Acereto! He’s a virtuous scholar who knows everything!”

Acereto was a duchy and a large island located south of the Kingdom of Etruscan. They shared the same race, language, system of weights and measures, and currency, but their accent, national character, and customs were slightly different from those of the Kingdom of Etruscan. The ‘Apostle of Acereto’ was a priest who had gained renown through his sermons in the Duchy of Acereto. The core of his sermon was that ‘Yesak’s Gon’ was the son of man, not the Son of God, and that ordinary humans like us could become as virtuous as him through effort. This became a school of thought, and in recent times, his followers had grown as numerous as clouds. This was an unwelcome phenomenon for the establishment. The followers of Pope Ludovico, advocating for the divinity of the Father and the Holy Trinity, proposed holding a council in Trevero to debate and conclude whether Yesak’s Gon was the Son of God or the son of man.

- “It is a matter that requires us to firmly establish the theological nature of Yesak’s Gon.”

- “If we let the discussion proceed naturally, the Acereto region will end up believing in a religion different from that of the mainland.”

- “This is an opportunity to spread the true truth to the central continent as well!”

Everyone was approaching the Council of Trevero with their own agendas. In principle, all clergy of the rank of bishop or higher from across the continent were required to gather in Trevero, a territory directly governed by the Holy See in the north, to attend the council. However, Cardinal de Mare did not belong to Pope Ludovico’s faction, and the Pope, to secure a stable number of votes, came up with all sorts of reasons to prevent those not in his faction from coming to Trevero. Cardinal de Mare, too, was left behind in San Carlo under the logic of ‘who will tend the flock?’ The Apostle of Acereto himself, the very center of this controversy, was also not invited to the party. As he was an ordinary priest, not a bishop, he was not qualified to participate in the Council of Trevero. Instead, through Pope Ludovico’s arrangement, he was invited to San Carlo, the capital of the Kingdom of Etruscan and the epitome of civilized secular society. He was paired with Cardinal de Mare, a thorn in the Pope’s side, and tasked with delivering the sermon at the High Mass in the Cardinal’s stead. This was the full story of today’s events.

***

While outside, the common people gathered in billowing crowds in the square before the Grand Basilica of San Ercole, filled with anticipation to see the Apostle of Acereto, Cardinal de Mare’s household was busy preparing for the High Mass.

“Push them together more! Tighten the rubber!”

Isabella had recently started using an item called a ‘breast pouch’. It was a device she had devised to emulate her mother’s ample décolletage, as she herself was rather flat-chested. The moment a peddler who came to the house presented it as a product from the Kingdom of Moor, Isabella snatched it up without even asking the price, and it had since become her most cherished item. The breast pouch alone wasn’t enough to create cleavage, so Isabella stuffed it with cotton balls and then bound it tightly with a wide strip of cotton cloth. Only then would she don a dress with a deeply plunging neckline, fashionable in the Kingdom of Etruscan, creating a perfect illusion of having what she did not.

“My lady! You are so beautiful!”

Maletta, who had clung to Isabella’s side and was now flattering her for dear life since leaving Ariadne, praised Isabella’s beauty in a loud voice.

“How shall I do your makeup?”

“With pearl powder from Taranto. For the blush and lip tint, rosewater from Gaeta.”

Makeup was taboo in San Carlo, yet everyone did it. A woman beautiful with a bare face was considered the ultimate beauty, but who in San Carlo ever competed fairly? Without exception, noble ladies subtly touched up their faces so that the makeup was not obvious.

“You’re a genius, my lady. Everyone uses rosewater for bathing, but no one would have thought to tint their lips with it.”

Isabella smiled brightly.

If one were to name the most outstanding individual in all of San Carlo in the art of adornment, it would undoubtedly be Isabella de Mare. There was no reason to blame Isabella for her slow progress in Latin lessons or court etiquette. Isabella was not a slow or dull student. She was the type of student who was very clever and pursued efficient learning. It was just that she spent all day gazing into the mirror, contemplating which blush best suited her violet eyes and how to pluck her eyebrows to create a naturally perfect arch, leaving little time for things like Latin, theology, history, or court etiquette. Time is given equally to everyone, usually.

“Let’s go with the dress I had made last month.”

The collar of the sky-blue silk dress was adorned with gold-thread lace, and over her deeply cut décolletage, she wore a long necklace of large pearls. A golden cross pendant the size of her palm hung from the pearl necklace. The tip of the cross pendant rested perfectly in the cleavage created by her breast pouch. Isabella knew very well that whenever the pendant swayed, every man within sight would be unable to tear his eyes away from her. As she descended to the ground floor where her family was waiting, she contemplated how she would feign ignorance when the men’s gazes were fixed on her pendant and cleavage.

‘Should I turn my head to the side? Should I talk to the person next to me? Who should I talk to? Ariadne?’

As one thought led to another, Isabella looked her half-sister, who was waiting demurely in the ground-floor entrance hall, up and down.

‘Why does she go around looking like that? Her features are decent enough; she’d look much better with a little effort.’

Unlike Isabella, who looked like a vibrant bouquet of sky-blue flowers, Ariadne was dressed in a simple black gown. Her hair was neatly braided into a single plait, her face was bare, and she wore no earrings at all. Her only piece of jewelry was a small silver cross hanging from a thin chain around her neck. By no means could this half-sister ever threaten her position. Isabella’s heart softened, and she couldn’t help but say a word to Lucrezia.

“Mother, look at the state of her. If we take her to High Mass dressed like that, people will talk.”

Lucrezia’s eyebrow twitched, but she always had a soft spot for her eldest daughter.

“Giada. Bring my gold earrings to her. The ones in the bottom of the second box.”

At the word ‘gold,’ Ariadne’s eyes sparkled. Lucrezia reluctantly had the head maid bring the earrings for Ariadne. After putting them on Ariadne with a rough, emotional gesture, she hurried her two children and the hanger-on into the carriage.

“Come, come, hurry and get in! We’ll be in trouble if we’re late!”

Riding in the magnificent carriage adorned with pure silver, parting the poor crowds that filled the square to enter the Grand Basilica of San Ercole, was always a thrilling experience.

“Make way! Get out of the way unless you want to be trampled by the horses!”

“Oh my, whose carriage is that!”

“It’s the Cardinal’s carriage!”

Watching the bewildered and distressed faces of the poor through the sheer curtains of the window as the coachman cleared a path by lashing them with his whip was one of Isabella’s favorite pastimes.

‘Look at them, only running away when they’re about to be hit by the whip. They should have moved sooner. Those lazy paupers.’

It was the same as chasing pigeons in the square, but chasing people was much more exciting. In her always empty and boring daily life, it was only at times like these that Isabella felt a jolt of clarity, a feeling of being alive. The scene after entering the Grand Basilica of San Ercole was also always to her liking.

- *Clang!* The central doors of the nave swung open noisily to either side.

While everyone else entered through the side doors, they made their entrance through the grand main doors at the very front of the basilica, marching triumphantly down the central aisle, like a bride, all the way to the front of the altar. Only upon reaching the altar did they turn left, ascend to the second floor, and take their seats in the balcony. Besides their family, the only others permitted to sit in the balcony were the royal family, Count Cesare, and Countess Rubina.

- ‘She’s here. It’s Isabella de Mare!’

- ‘A blue dress today.’

- ‘That gold cross, isn’t it from the Luca jewelers?’

Today was the same as any other day. As she glided down the central aisle crossing the nave, women would scan her from head to toe with eyes full of half envy, half jealousy, examining what she wore and what she’d applied, while nine out of ten men sitting on the pews on either side would crane their necks to look in her direction. It didn’t matter if their wives were right beside them.

- “Darling! Maintain your dignity!”

- “Ahem!”

She could just catch a glimpse, out of the corner of her eye, of men craning their necks not only from the nave but even from the distant side aisles. Isabella was so amused she had to suppress the urge to laugh out loud. Today, Count Cesare had arrived first and was seated in the balcony to the right, in the section for the royal family. He was like the ringleader of the men who stared at Isabella during High Mass as if to devour her with their eyes. His gaze was always welcome, yet at the same time, unwelcome.

‘I want him to keep looking only at me, so that other men will desire me as he does. But I don’t want to be with Count Cesare; I want Prince Alfonso to see the Count fawning over me and get jealous. I want Prince Alfonso to be interested in me.’

It was a perfectly self-serving wish. When she had nearly reached the end of the nave, her eyes met Count Cesare’s in mid-air. While holding his gaze, Isabella gave him the most endearing eye-smile she could muster, a look that said, *I won’t be with you, but please continue your efforts in the future.*

***

Ariadne followed a step behind Isabella, watching the gazes filled with desire. In her entire life, she had never once been the object of such gazes. When she was young, men hadn’t looked at her that way because she was plain, and when she grew up, she already belonged to Cesare, so no one dared to look at her with such lustful eyes. Women had only ever pitied or ignored her; no one had ever shot her a look containing such fury. With a heart that was a little repulsed and a little envious, she followed Isabella, the target of all those stares.

It was then. Her eyes met the gaze of that person she could never forget, even in death.

A handsome man in his early twenties, just entering his youth, with the cold impression of a marble statue, stood with his arms crossed on the lower right balcony, looking down haughtily. His posture suggested he believed he ruled over everything on earth from his higher perch. Unlike Alfonso, who was young but had strong features, this man had delicate features and a slender jaw. He was quite tall, but his overall build was slim. His dark brown hair, almost black, reflected the light of the countless candles in the basilica, taking on a reddish hue. And his blue eyes—those blue eyes in which Ariadne had once desperately yearned to see warmth—were fixed, unmoving, on the beautiful, amethyst-like Isabella, who walked in a radiant glow just ahead of Ariadne.

An emotion—perhaps pain, regret, or anger—filled Ariadne’s deep green eyes. She had vowed never to associate with him again, but it still hurt. The feelings she had built up over fourteen years were inevitably separate from her resolute reason. But today was an important day. She couldn’t let someone like Cesare ruin her grand plan.

‘Please, let everything happen exactly as it did in my past life. Let the plan succeed.’

Ariadne clenched the fabric of her dress.