Chapter 201

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 201
Chapter Title: Intentions and Consequences
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Cesare had not entertained the slightest thought that he could be refused.

With his handsome features and his newly acquired title of Duke of Pisano, Cesare saw no reason why anyone would turn him down.

This nonchalant confidence was evident in his expression, his gaze, and his demeanor.

But Ariadne replied without a single change in her expression.

“I refuse.”

“What?”

A stunned Cesare shot back. He even stammered slightly.

“It’s not a bad offer for you, milady.”

Ariadne nodded in agreement. Selling her grain to the Duke of Pisano was not a bad deal.

Cesare intended to buy in bulk, and more importantly, he would be a steady, reliable customer.

With public safety deteriorating, the added advantage was that he had the means to haul the grain away himself as soon as it left her warehouses.

The ridiculously low price he offered was irrelevant. Ariadne, not Cesare, held the upper hand here.

She had the skill and the nerve to negotiate a much higher price.

But there was a reason she had refused outright without even attempting to negotiate.

Cesare's fatal mistake today was offering the ‘Swan of Linville’ as payment.

“You came without His Majesty the King’s knowledge, didn't you?”

“What?”

Had he informed Leo III, the payment for the grain would have been in ducats from the royal treasury, not the ‘Swan of Linville’ from Cesare’s personal assets.

“If this were truly a matter of state, you would have come bearing a royal decree, waving it about for all to see.”

“Ha!”

He had no retort, for she was right.

Indeed. If Cesare had told Leo III about this, he would have shown up in broad daylight, brandishing a royal edict to requisition the grain.

His decision to visit Ariadne like a thief in the night stemmed from his desire to prove his abilities without having to ask his father for help.

“Calling it a matter of state when it’s just a personal scheme to earn credit? How utterly shameless.”

Cesare’s face was now a fascinating medley of colors, shifting from red to purple.

“And you tried to lowball me on top of that? One ducat for three cantari? Have you no conscience, given the current market price!”

Ariadne had been pinned between Cesare and a wardrobe. She gracefully slipped sideways, leaned against the sofa, and crossed her legs.

“Get out of my house, you conniving miser.”

She had not the slightest intention of partaking in any act that would bring Cesare closer to the throne.

The past would not repeat itself.

* * *

Cesare, Duke of Pisano, left without a fuss. It was his last shred of pride.

He had been made a fool of, but causing a scene in a lady’s home would leave him too ashamed to show his face in the capital.

The very next day, Ariadne broke her long seclusion and visited the Rambouillet Almshouse.

Her goal was to check on the situation at the almshouse and then tour Campo de Spezia, an area densely populated by foreigners and the poor.

She was wrapped meticulously in a wax-coated cloak, believed to prevent the plague, with a cloth covering her face.

“Provide wax cloaks for all the attendants as well.”

“Yes, milady.”

She had finally stirred herself to leave the house because she could not be certain what schemes Cesare, now the Duke of Pisano, might attempt.

A peaceful purchase was off the table. Knowing Cesare, the next step would be requisition.

No, even if Cesare did nothing, Leo III’s soldiers would eventually come barging in, demanding her grain.

It was only a matter of time. When that happened, she might lose everything without even a chance to negotiate the price.

*You can never beat state power with money.*

She intended to become the protector of the poor, the mother of refugees. Since time immemorial, a woman’s best shield in times of danger has been her reputation.

*If they so much as lay a finger on it, I'll make this whole thing blow up in their faces.*

If the king tried to seize the grain she was using to feed the capital’s poor and divert it to the army, an uprising would erupt within the city long before the troops reached the border.

If Leo III did not wish to see angry citizens marching on Palazzo Carlo with torches, he would have to tread carefully.

*I do need to liquidate some of it, though…*

Ariadne had started this venture to make money.

And although grain prices had soared, she still needed to sell some of it to pay the Boccanegra Company what she had promised.

*If worse comes to worst, there’s always the black market…*

She'd be in deep trouble if caught, but she'd figure something out. She decided to worry about that later.

Ariadne had deliberately chosen to ride a horse instead of taking a carriage today. It was to increase her visibility.

*I want you to see with your own two eyes who is responsible for your meals, and I want you to spread the word.*

She was accompanied by nearly thirty able-bodied attendants. Their numbers and arms were such that they could have passed for the private soldiers of a high noble.

One had to project power when the time was right, and one could never be too careful about safety.

Following behind her were a cart loaded with grain and another with baked bread.

The grain was for the Rambouillet Almshouse.

She deliberately had the cart—uncovered, so the grains of wheat were clearly visible—driven slowly across the front of the almshouse.

After meeting with the director, she purposely stopped in the courtyard to speak with the residents, shake hands with the children, and hand out armfuls of bread.

Giuseppe, who was standing guard right beside Ariadne through all of this, did not look pleased.

Once they were just out of earshot of the poor, Ariadne asked Giuseppe with a faint smile,

“Why? Do I seem detestable in your eyes?”

Giuseppe shook his head a moment too late.

“Ah, no, milady.”

He deliberately added,

“I was just concerned you were getting too close, for hygiene's sake…”

It sounded like an excuse no matter how one heard it.

Unlike Sancha, whose thought processes had been thoroughly laundered by her adoration for Lady Ariadne to match those of her master’s house, Giuseppe thought as he had been raised.

Giuseppe was not from the Rambouillet Almshouse, but she had heard he was from the slums of Campo de Spezia.

If he had been caught pickpocketing on the streets, he would have ended up a resident of the Rambouillet Almshouse, not an apprentice groom for Cardinal de Mare’s household.

It seemed he empathized more with the residents receiving the bread than with the lady handing it out.

“It’s all for the sake of survival.”

“Pardon?”

How could giving food away to others help one survive?

“Good deeds ultimately become a shield to protect oneself. In that sense, what I've done is not a truly good deed. I did not act from a place of pure intentions.”

She swung herself onto her white horse. It was a new one she had acquired after her brown mare died during the hunting festival.

“But in San Carlo right now, who else besides me is feeding the poor?”

No one. The high nobles had bolted their doors and refused to come out, and even the king had thrown up his hands and was just looking to the heavens.

The high-ranking officials of the Holy See, too, spoke gentle words but did not open their storehouses.

It was only natural. No one knew how long this plague would last, and everyone had to protect their own family, army, and organization first.

“When judging whether an act is good or evil, one can use the motive as the standard, or one can use the result.”

Giuseppe looked confused.

Ariadne hadn’t expected him to understand perfectly. Her words were more of a monologue.

“It would be best if the two aligned. But if I had to choose only one as the standard for judging good and evil, I believe the result is more important than the motive.”

One person killed with good intentions versus ten thousand saved for selfish reasons. Which of the two is the more virtuous act?

She was certain it was the latter.

“Let’s go.”

Their next destination was Giuseppe’s hometown, Campo de Spezia.

* * *

“It’s changed a lot.”

Giuseppe said bitterly. Campo de Spezia, once a low-income residential area, had now become a gathering place for gypsies and Moors.

But the wariness toward outsiders remained, regardless of the residents’ skin color.

As Ariadne’s party entered Campo de Spezia, anxious gazes fell upon the group of armed men and the woman at their center.

The people were afraid they would be harmed.

“I heard His Majesty the King swept through here not long ago.”

Ariadne asked Giuseppe. He nodded.

“They say soldiers swarmed in and dragged anyone who so much as sneezed out beyond the city walls.”

“Set up the tent. We need to show them that not all armed men are bad people.”

Ariadne’s attendants took a makeshift tent from the cart and began assembling it in the square with practiced efficiency.

The people kept their distance but still gathered to watch, wondering what was happening.

Ariadne sat atop her white horse by the fountain in the center of the square, watching the tent go up.

Once the tent was raised, Giuseppe began unloading the bread from the cart and shouted in a loud voice,

“Everyone! We are from the household of Cardinal de Mare!”

The eyes of the people who saw the bread began to gleam. People from the Holy See, of all things? Could they be giving out food?

“Today’s food has been provided by Lady Ariadne de Mare, the second daughter of the de Mare family, from her own personal funds! Form a single line and take one piece per person! We have a thousand prepared!”

At his words, people began to stampede toward the center of the square. It was pandemonium.

“One line! One line!”

The shouts of Giuseppe and the other attendants, mingled with the excited voices of the residents, echoed through the square.

Ariadne made a mental note to bring face cloths to hand out to the residents next time.

Having so many people crowded together in a public space was a health hazard.

Cutting through the noise, an unfamiliar sound reached Ariadne’s ears.

“You're a special person, miss.”

It was the clear, high-pitched voice of a child. She looked down.

Though not entirely without the characteristic accent of a Moor, the child spoke a natural Etruscan, as children do.

Thinking it was just a child, she lowered her guard and replied gently,

“Are you happy to be getting some bread?”

The child, who looked to be about eight or nine, grinned, but his expression was hard to see behind the cloth wrapped around his face.

He was the only child in the square, besides Ariadne and her party, wearing a face covering.

“You're wearing a cloth over your face?”

The child answered brightly.

“We’re sorcerers and alchemists from the East! We know exactly what to do about the plague!”

Sorcerers from the East. Ariadne’s eyes sparkled.

Until now, she had only met a multitude of charlatans, but perhaps this time, she had found someone genuine.

But it was just a child, looking no different from the beggar children swarming Campo de Spezia. The face covering alone wasn't enough to convince her…

“The halo of light on your fingertips is shining beautifully!”

Ariadne’s expression froze.

This one was real.

She leaped from her horse at once. Ariadne grabbed the boy’s hand.

“We need to talk.”