Chapter 174

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 174
Chapter Title: The Sorrow of One Lacking Gold
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Leo III’s ears perked up at the words ‘there is a way,’ his eyes fixed on Cardinal de Mare’s lips.

“Participate in sponsoring the Holy War.”

Leo III stared at the cardinal, dumbfounded. Sponsoring the Holy War…!

“If you contribute a sum large enough to render Philip IV’s support irrelevant, or at least match it, the Holy See will find it impossible to ignore the Kingdom of Etruscan’s request for mediation.”

In essence, he was telling them to crush the King of Gallico with money.

Cardinal de Mare’s sharp gaze swept over the assembly.

“His Holiness the Pope, having dispatched the Third Crusade, would surely wish to avoid a war breaking out among the sponsoring nations of the faith behind the lines.”

Though a cardinal, he skipped over abstract, beautiful nonsense like ‘the duty to create a paradise on earth for the faith’ and went straight to the practical matter at hand.

The patrons in the rear must not fall into disarray while a war is being waged.

The point was simple. A war could only be waged successfully if its patrons were steadfast and stable.

But viewed from the other side, it meant that if a dispute arose between a patron and a non-patron monarch, the Pope would invariably side with the patron.

“The amount… Is there a precedent?”

Marquis Valdesal asked cautiously. The last Crusade had been forty years ago. The prices then could not be compared to now.

“It would start at 100,000 ducats, at the very least.”

Cardinal de Mare calmly stated the estimated sum.

“Ugh…”

A pained groan escaped the King.

“When must we decide?”

Marquis Valdesal asked on behalf of the King, who couldn't bring himself to ask for details. Cardinal de Mare replied.

“The Grand Duke of Sternheim will be departing soon. The goal is to finish the expedition before winter, so in truth, it’s already late. He was supposed to leave this spring, but financial issues caused a delay, and now it seems he will depart in late summer.”

“If we were to postpone it to next spring…”

Cardinal de Mare shook his head.

“That is not possible, as some of the monarchs in the northern alliance have committed to serving only until the end of this year. You must decide within three days, a week at the latest, and immediately send a messenger to the Holy See. Only then might you have a chance to meet the Grand Duke of Sternheim before he departs.”

Leo III clutched his head with both hands as if a headache he never had before was blooming, and said.

“You may take your leave, Cardinal. We will discuss this amongst ourselves and then decide.”

My, my. So polite when they needed him, and now this.

Cardinal de Mare laughed inwardly but kept his expression perfectly composed as he rose from his seat and bowed deeply.

“Please give it careful consideration and let me know.”

He turned and left without a second thought. Judging by their reactions, getting money out of them was a lost cause.

Cardinal de Mare was an old hand at these sorts of situations.

He had never seen a single person open their purse after acting like that. He clicked his tongue softly as he walked down the corridor.

* * *

“My lady! My lady! It’s a disaster!”

It was Petruccia who burst noisily into Ariadne’s office. Ariadne did not chide the girl, but asked.

“What is it, Petruccia?”

Beside her, Sancha glared at Petruccia.

“You must mind your conduct when entering my lady’s study!”

One might have flinched, but the bold Petruccia was not the least bit intimidated by Sancha.

“Oh, is that what matters right now? I’m telling you, it’s a real disaster!”

Sparks flew from Sancha’s eyes.

Sancha seemed to feel a sense of rivalry toward this clever girl, not much younger than herself, who had appeared so suddenly.

Fearing a fight might break out between Sancha and Petruccia, Ariadne quickly changed the subject.

“What is this disaster you speak of, Petruccia?”

“Ah, a swarm of dead rats has appeared in Taranto!”

The appearance of a dead rat was a common occurrence in the Kingdom of Etruscan in the year 1123.

One saw at least one every three days. But a ‘swarm of rats’ was a different story. Ariadne tensed and sat up straight.

“Already?”

“Yes, they first appeared about a week ago. As soon as the Boccanegra Company’s contact in Taranto confirmed the dead rats, they sent the fastest messenger to San Carlo. We’re probably the only ones who know about this right now.”

The appearance of dead rats was a prelude to the Great Plague of 1123.

It would first appear in Taranto, devastating the southern breadbasket before slowly moving north.

“What is the messenger’s condition?”

“Pardon?”

“I mean, does he show any symptoms, like a fever or a swollen neck?”

“There was no particular mention of anything.”

Ariadne frowned.

“Have that messenger rest well in a separate wing of the company building and ensure he doesn’t meet with many other people. Tell them I said this must be strictly observed.”

Petruccia was indeed sharp.

“To what extent should he be kept alone?”

Ariadne recalled the plague response manual that had been established late in her past life.

“It’s best if he has a separate wing to himself.”

There was much debate over whether the cause of the disease was bad air, corrupted miasmas and foul odors, infected rats, or fleas living in bedding.

The physicians insisted it was ‘miasmas and foul odors,’ while the Holy See claimed it was ‘divine punishment,’ but the exact cause was never determined.

However, it was known that the disease spread explosively after large gatherings, and that people sharing a building with the sick were easily infected with the Black Death.

“The quarantine period is a minimum of one week. The servant who brings him meals should not speak with him and should avoid entering the building as much as possible.”

“I understand, my lady.”

“Use only boiled water. And make sure your clothes don't touch.”

Contact with corpses was also to be avoided. Though since no one had died yet, it wasn't the time to bring that up.

“Have all the wheat and beeswax that Boccanegra was buying up arrived?”

“All the grain has been purchased and stored safely in the warehouses! As for the beeswax, some is currently crossing the sea, and some is being transported overland by carriage.”

“Cancel the contracts for any beeswax that has not yet reached the warehouses.”

“What?”

Petruccia looked up at Ariadne with startled eyes.

“The deadline I originally gave Representative Caruso was the end of July, but things have become more urgent than I thought.”

But if they delayed by trying to move the goods to San Carlo at this late stage, they risked bringing the plague into the city.

That was out of the question.

“Of course, since I’m the one changing the terms, I will pay the penalty on time. But I cannot accept the goods.”

Petruccia’s face fell. The penalty fee wouldn't cover all the losses.

The girl’s crestfallen face was so cute that Ariadne stroked her cheek.

“You won’t regret this. Don’t worry. Tell my father to have the secured beeswax docked in its current city and to begin selling it after a month.”

“I don’t know if my father… has the means to do that.”

The Boccanegra Company had staked its very survival on this venture. They didn’t have much capital left.

If even one cog went out of place, the entire picture could collapse.

“Sister, could you please reconsider, just once?”

Ariadne’s expression hardened.

If she made an exception for the Boccanegra Company and the Black Death entered San Carlo through their merchandise—no, it was bound to enter eventually, but it would be a disaster if her people fell ill in the process.

“I’m afraid that will be difficult.”

“I’ll… I’ll try to explain it to my father…”

Once her conversation with Petruccia was concluded, Ariadne turned to Sancha and gave her instructions.

“Sancha, in your capacity as acting head maid, issue a notice to the household staff. For the time being, they are to refrain from going out unless absolutely necessary, and to avoid the port and the slums.”

The Black Death would slowly make its way up from the south.

In 1123, the movement of goods across the central continent was not very efficient.

The volume of trade was small, and the speed of transport was slow. It would take a good thirty days for a freight wagon to travel from Taranto to San Carlo.

The Great Plague would travel slowly north, following the merchants and travelers.

“Um… my lady.”

“Speak.”

“Lady Isabella has been frequenting the slums lately.”

“What? Why on earth?”

Ariadne’s eyes widened at the utterly mismatched pairing of Isabella de Mare and the slums.

The Isabella she knew was not the type to voluntarily go to such a place, unless she had developed a new hobby of paying beggars to whip them.

“You are aware that Lady Isabella has been doing volunteer work with the other ladies recently, are you not?”

“Ah. That ‘Silver Cross Ladies’ Society’ or whatever it’s called?”

“Yes. It seems she goes with Countess Balzo and Countess Contarini. Last time it was a nursing home, and recently, an orphanage. They are all located in the slums of the Comune Nuovo.”

Sancha knew the destinations of the carriage Isabella used. Ariadne frowned.

“My sister Isabella certainly wouldn’t bat an eye at a notice from the acting head maid.”

There was still some time before the plague would hit San Carlo in earnest.

“I’ll speak to my sister Isabella separately. You just focus on managing the household staff.”

“Yes, my lady.”

* * *

For the first time in a long while, Prince Alfonso dressed in his formal attire and attended an official function.

The Grand Duke of Oldenburg from the Duchy of Sternheim was visiting, and Philip IV was hosting a banquet.

As it would be unthinkable not to invite the heir to the Etruscan throne while he was right there in the palace, Prince Alfonso also got a rare chance to get some fresh air.

“Oh! Welcome, cousin.”

Philip IV was exceedingly friendly and polite whenever they were face to face.

It was an attitude unbecoming of the very man who had placed Alfonso under semi-confinement.

“Allow me to introduce you. This is the Grand Duke of Oldenburg from the Duchy of Sternheim. The defender of the faith, the sword of the Holy See. He is to be the commander-in-chief of the Holy War departing for Yesak.”

Philip IV, who had been speaking Gallican with Prince Alfonso, switched to the ancient tongue of the Ratan Empire, the continent’s common language, when the Grand Duke of Oldenburg joined the conversation.

It was a clear difference in treatment. Prince Alfonso bit his lip imperceptibly.

The Grand Duke of Oldenburg was a man in his early forties with a large frame but not an ounce of flesh on him.

His high-bridged nose and hollow cheeks fit well with the reputation of the Grand Duke of Sternheim, a man who championed frugality.

His neat brown hair, just beginning to be streaked with gray, and his proper expression truly brought to life the image of a dignified and devout northern lord.

“It is all mere reputation. I am embarrassed by such praise.”

At this, Philip IV introduced Prince Alfonso to the Grand Duke of Oldenburg.

“This is Prince Alfonso de Carlo of the Kingdom of Etruscan. He is renowned for his excellence and valor.”

“The Prince of Etruscan. I have heard much about you.”

Seemingly oblivious to the slight tension flowing between Prince Alfonso and Philip IV, the Grand Duke of Oldenburg smiled warmly and extended a hand.

Alfonso took his hand and they shook. It was a firm, reliable hand.

Philip watched the prince and the grand duke exchange greetings with a smile like a glass mask, while Princess Auguste, stuck to the King’s side, watched with displeasure, twisting the ends of her hair.

The Grand Duke of Sternheim, for his part, did not seem to think much of Princess Auguste either.

To the eyes of a simple and frugal northerner, the Gallican palace was gaudy, lacking grace and merely slathered in gold.

It was the kind of decor that brought the term ‘nouveau riche’ to mind. And at the pinnacle of it all was Princess Auguste.

Moreover, she was far too close to her own brother.

Princess Auguste had even followed them into the negotiation chamber.

Philip IV did nothing to restrain his sister.

While the king wore a pleasant smile, Princess Auguste haggled down the amount of funds for the Holy War, slashed the projected expenses, and scoffed at the war’s purpose.

For the devoutly religious Grand Duke of Oldenburg, her words and actions were difficult to tolerate.

But the Grand Duke of Oldenburg was here today to borrow money.

And not just a small sum, but a fortune. The war to capture Yesak, the fate of the Holy War, rested on those corrupt siblings.