Chapter 205

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 205
Chapter Title: Hope
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The method she told Cesare was simple. Avoid a direct confrontation at all costs.

A head-on clash with the Gallican heavy cavalry would be unwinnable.

The alternative strategy was simple. Evacuate all the surrounding peasants and burn the fields to cut off their food supply.

Send troops to the rear to block any supply lines coming from the Gallican mainland.

“…A sound strategy.”

Cesare was impressed, though he tried not to show it.

Pathetic thoughts like, ‘How does she know such things?’ or ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’ never even crossed his mind.

He had already finished vetting Ariadne’s qualifications in his heart.

It wasn't a logical conclusion. It was an emotional one.

He gazed at Ariadne’s profile with an utterly smitten expression.

His eyes took in the high bridge of her nose, her chubby cheeks still holding a trace of baby fat, and the strands of dark hair that had fallen loose.

To Cesare’s eyes right now, even the rabbit-like teeth visible whenever she slightly parted her lips seemed like proof of her genius.

“Understand? The goal is to starve them out, not defeat them. We just have to hold on until winter, no matter what.”

Her cute rabbit teeth moved as she spoke. For someone who looked so utterly adorable, her words were utterly ruthless.

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts to focus.

This year, the plague ruined the harvest in the south, and the Gallican army has made harvesting impossible in the north.

Now that they were planning to set fire to the wheat fields, the harvest was a lost cause. In the end, the grain she held would be the only food supply within the borders of Etruscan.

“You’ll become a tycoon.”

“Well, it’s an unavoidable byproduct of the only solution.”

Ariadne shrugged. *Shameless,* Cesare thought. *A perfect match for me.*

“This tycoon will sell Your Grace of Pisano 15,000 *cantari* of wheat. The price is 15,000 ducats.”

At this point, Cesare could no longer see Ariadne as just cute. His eyes widened as he retorted.

“Wait a minute. You’re asking for one ducat per *cantaro* (about 300 kg)?”

In normal times, the price of grain was about a tenth of that.

That was price gouging at ten times the usual rate. Even compared to Cesare’s initial offer, it was more than two and a half times the price.

But Ariadne answered without batting an eye.

“Right now, I’m the only one in this country who can supply grain on a large scale. You should be grateful I’m even selling to you.”

Even if they tried to import from overseas, the Gallican army was blocking the north. The south was the sea.

Even if they managed to bring it from the Duchy of Acereto, arranging for ships and making preparations would take ages.

Besides, the plague had spread from the south. The grain supply from overseas was blocked from both the north and the south.

But the price was too high, and Cesare shook his head.

“Ah… This price is impossible. Even if I approve it, I won’t be able to convince my vassals.”

Ariadne pouted.

Just as Cesare was starting to regret his refusal, thinking he might have bungled the deal, she pulled a parchment toward her and scribbled something on it.

“Then, I’ll revise the terms of the contract.”

Cesare’s ears perked up. Ariadne wrote the new terms on the paper. It was a simple mathematical formula.

Instead of looking at the paper, Cesare asked Ariadne directly.

“Are you giving me a discount?”

“Of course not.”

*Still as cold as ever.*

Interpreting Ariadne’s formula, the proposal was to sell the grain in two installments.

She would sell the first 5,000 *cantari* for 2,500 ducats. He could buy just that much and no more.

However, if he wanted to purchase the remaining 10,000 *cantari*, she would give him the right to buy it for 12,500 ducats, settling the full amount.

“It’s a kind of option to buy. You don’t have to exercise it.”

“So, if the war ends early or the price of grain drops…”

“Then Your Grace will have bought only 5,000 *cantari* for 2,500 ducats.”

“And if the war drags on or the price of grain rises…”

“You’ll need the remaining 10,000 *cantari*, won’t you?”

For Cesare, there was no downside to this deal.

“Not bad. But if I only buy the 5,000 *cantari*, you’ll have effectively given me a half-price discount. Are you okay with that?”

“I suppose so.”

Ariadne casually examined her fingertips. She was quite pleased with their neatly squared shape.

“When a situation arises where Your Grace needs all of the remaining 10,000 *cantari*, 12,500 ducats will be an absolute bargain. Locking in the price this early really is a losing deal for me.”

She was just saying that.

This option to buy the second batch at a price far below market value would serve as a safety measure, preventing Cesare from using Leo III to forcibly seize her grain.

But Cesare didn’t grasp her inner thoughts, instead focusing on another implication. It was, of course, an important point.

“…You’re certain that I’ll need all 15,000 *cantari*.”

The woman who knew the future answered resolutely.

“You’ll buy even more than that.”

Then she added thriftily.

“The third batch will be more expensive, so be prepared.”

It was a chilling thought. But Cesare was thinking something else entirely.

*Wow, she’s smart, pretty, and sharp.*

No matter how he looked at it, she was the perfect future Duchess of Pisano. The future of his domain looked secure.

* * *

Having advised Cesare on tactics for the border region and successfully secured 2,500 ducats for her grain, Ariadne spurred her horse and hurried back to San Carlo.

That strategy was not one Ariadne had devised herself.

It was the most successful tactic the Kingdom of Etruscan had used to fend off the Gallican army in her past life.

It hadn’t been used for long because the Gaeta territory surrendered immediately, but if they had held out until winter when food became scarce, history might have been different.

“This time… it has to work.”

The Gaeta of this life would not surrender so easily.

The Pisano territory would intercept and provide covering fire from the side, and once winter arrived, the Gallican army would have no choice but to retreat.

Winter supplies were a headache for everyone, and it would be especially true for the Gallican army, which had to cross the snow-covered Prinoyak Mountains.

To that end, she had to prepare the first 5,000 *cantari* of wheat for Cesare. A swift return to the capital was essential.

But upon returning to the capital, Ariadne was met with Sancha’s uneasy reaction.

“My lady… Since you were already up there, perhaps you should have stayed in the north a little longer.”

Sancha’s concern was understandable. In the mere two days Ariadne had been away, the number of plague cases in San Carlo had exploded.

“Where was the outbreak?”

“It’s not just one place anymore. We were keeping an eye on the Comune Nuova and Campo de Spezia districts, but now it’s erupting everywhere.”

Comune Nuova was a low-income residential area, and Campo de Spezia was where most foreigners lived.

“There was a mass infection at a mansion in Boca della Giano, and there’s an outbreak at a monastery on the outskirts. Nowhere is safe.”

Boca della Giano was the affluent residential area where the de Mare mansion was located.

A monastery meant it might have had contact with Cardinal de Mare. Ariadne frowned.

“With the friars’ hands, feet, and groins swelling up and turning black, all that talk about ‘the Black Death is divine punishment for the lazy and the heretics’ has died down.”

“Just wait. They’ll start saying the friars must have been corrupt.”

The terrified masses would never allow their belief system to crumble. It was their only source of comfort. The best course of action was simply not to oppose it.

Ariadne shook her head, clearing her thoughts.

“I need to visit the Rambouillet Almshouse.”

“What? In times like these?”

Sancha’s face fell.

“Well, these days, the almshouse might just be the safest place.”

“…I suppose you’re right.”

The alleys of San Carlo were a scene of pandemonium.

All commerce had ceased. Shops had shut their doors in unison, and goods from outside were no longer being transported.

With the economy at a standstill, there were no jobs. Those without savings were instantly reduced to beggars.

The alleys were filled with people begging and others rummaging through trash bins.

Able-bodied men used their strength to drive away the children who had claimed the best begging spots through experience, taking the places for themselves.

But with the plague rampant, there was hardly anyone walking the streets.

Corpses with bloated bellies—it was impossible to tell if they had died from eating trash or from the plague—began to pile up in the corners of the alleys.

“These days, people are actually desperate to get into the Rambouillet Almshouse.”

“Inside the almshouse, the disease isn’t spreading, and they get meals at every turn. It’s only natural.”

But the Rambouillet Almshouse had long since locked its gates and stopped accepting new people.

Normally, the Capital Guard would round up vagrants from the streets and throw them into the almshouse, but since the Black Death reached the capital, Leo III had strictly forbidden the army from leaving its garrisons.

“If the King won’t do it, then I will. I’ll use the people inside the almshouse. Get ready.”

“…Yes, my lady.”

It was the beginning of San Carlo’s salvation in earnest.

* * *

“…You intend to use these people as nurses?”

Secretary Albani asked back without thinking.

The idea was so preposterous that he forgot his own ironclad rule of never questioning the nobility.

“Paradoxically, is there any place in all of San Carlo safer than the Rambouillet Almshouse right now? Besides, it’s full of people who have already dealt with the Black Death once.”

Ariadne replied calmly.

“But… they’re uneducated people… It won’t be easy to make them useful.”

The prevailing belief was that the people in the almshouse had been brought there because they were lazy and indolent.

Under the teachings of God, where diligence and sincerity were considered virtues, this was a gathering of failures.

In Secretary Albani’s common sense, the idea of rehabilitating them and making them work—and skilled work at that—was nonsensical.

Ariadne smiled lightly.

“We’re not trying to treat every illness, just respond to the Black Death. I’m not suggesting we train doctors in a week.”

“Hah…”

Despite Secretary Albani’s skepticism, he was not in a position to actively oppose her.

How often did one find a benefactor who provided food and wages without any legal basis?

He soon gathered the people between the ages of fifteen and thirty, just as Ariadne had requested.

There were men and women mixed together, and a few—though not many—who were literate.

“Alright, everyone!”

Sancha actively drew the crowd’s attention.

“From now on, you will learn how to care for plague patients, isolate them, and dispose of the waste and refuse they produce!”

Sancha had been the first in San Carlo to learn these methods. She was practically a veteran.

“This job requires you to interact with plague patients. It can be dangerous. Anyone who does not wish to participate is free to leave.”

The assembled people began to murmur amongst themselves.

They whispered about the danger and wondered who would bother going out when they were already being fed inside.

“However, while you work, you will receive a wage of three florins a week, and you will be allowed to leave the Rambouillet Almshouse!”

Three florins a week?

An entry-level maid in a noble’s mansion—considered a very good job for San Carlo’s lower class—earned a little over fifteen florins a year.

Twelve to fifteen florins a month meant they could earn a novice worker’s entire annual salary in just one month.

The forty or so people gathered in the room fell silent at once.

Ariadne, who had been standing behind Sancha, stepped forward to drive the point home.

“Once the plague situation is resolved, I intend to actively support those who meet the criteria in resettling outside. The decision will be based on your work performance during this period and the amount of savings you’ve accumulated.”

Once you entered the Rambouillet Almshouse, there was no telling when you might leave. It was common to die in the squalid conditions. And now, she was offering to help them resettle outside!

“What do we need to learn first?!”

“But… can we even do this?”

“Who knows? We can learn a bit, and if it doesn’t work out, we’ll just take the money and kill time. It’s not a loss either way, so just raise your hand!”

“I’ll do it too!”

“I’m in!”

“I’ll do it!”

After excluding those with chronic illnesses or young children who couldn’t possibly be near patients, about thirty people remained.

Secretary Albani, who was watching from the back with his arms crossed, shook his head worriedly.

“Their spirit is high, but… how long will they last? The almshouse residents are inherently lazy and clumsy. How many of them will learn properly?”

He added, glancing over the residents.

“Even if they get out, their origins will eventually show.”

Sancha’s face flushed red as she listened. She, too, was from the Rambouillet Almshouse.

She glared at Secretary Albani but said nothing.

Ariadne gave Sancha a look.

*‘Should I say something?’*

Sancha hesitated for a moment, then nodded. Ariadne looked Secretary Albani straight in the eye and stopped him.

“Secretary Albani.”

“Yes?”

“Sancha here is also from the Rambouillet Almshouse.”

“…What?”

This time, it was Secretary Albani’s turn to be flustered. Ariadne placed both hands on Sancha’s shoulders and continued.

“Sancha is my right hand now, and a more reliable servant I could not ask for. She is perceptive and quick to respond. Being sharp and meticulous is a given.”

*She’s a better worker than you, who brought me sick people and a mother with a newborn when I asked for plague nurses,* she swallowed the thought.

“Where one comes from doesn’t matter.”

“Ah, no, that’s… There are always exceptional people everywhere…”

He could have just apologized, but Secretary Albani stammered and rambled. Annoyed by his behavior, Sancha stepped forward.

“Everyone!”

Her clear, young voice made everyone turn to look at her.

“We will prepare the training materials over the next day and meet in the small cloister at this time tomorrow! And!”

She cleared her throat.

“I am also from the Rambouillet Almshouse!”

A different kind of murmur spread through the crowd.

The head maid of the Cardinal de Mare’s household, who seemed as high as the heavens, was from the same place as them. Some looked down on her, but another feeling was stronger.

“Life in the almshouse can end!”

She looked around at the people with sparkling eyes.

“The day will surely come when tomorrow is better than today, a day when you look forward to the new year!”

Sancha seemed to want to follow up with praises for Ariadne, who had helped her and would help them, but what was etched clearly in people’s minds was the image of Sancha herself—well-dressed, clean, and speaking clearly and confidently without backing down, even in front of Secretary Albani, the highest-ranking person at the almshouse.

“Let’s work hard, everyone! Let’s get out together!”

Get out. Out of the almshouse.

A strange sense of elation, a peculiar excitement, began to consume them.

In the Rambouillet Almshouse, where the lowest of San Carlo’s society gathered under the dark clouds of the plague, a word that seemed most out of place was beginning to blossom.

It was ‘hope.’