Chapter 92

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 92
Chapter Title: Escape
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Lucrezia, having returned to the de Mare estate, began to cling to her son in place of her cold husband.

“Son. Shall we go shopping in downtown San Carlo?”

“Shopping? It's too cold for that.”

“My soooon. Is there anything you want to eat?”

“It's only been a few minutes since lunch.”

“Son—”

“Mom, that's enough! Later!”

This was unacceptable to Lucrezia. She had to find a reason, any reason. She concluded there could be only one: her good son, Ippolito, was pushing her away because he was utterly smitten with the maid, Maletta. Lady Lucrezia began to make life hell for the maid.

“Did you have lunch?”

Maletta answered Lucrezia's question politely. She was dressed plainly, having removed nearly all the lavish jewelry she had been scolded for before.

“Yes, I have.”

“Not you. I'm talking about my son.”

Lucrezia lounged comfortably on the sofa, examining her finely manicured nails.

“Why would I care if *you* ate? Do you have a brain in that head or not? Getting all fat and ignorant. You act just like you look.”

Maletta was weak to the strong and strong to the weak. The spirit she'd shown when confronting Ariadne, fresh from the farm, was nowhere to be seen. Before Lucrezia, she was like a trembling mouse. But Lucrezia showed no mercy just because she looked pitiful. She was a ferocious cat, capable of batting at prey that didn't even dream of fighting back.

“Aren't you going to answer? Are you stupid? You're his personal maid, have you already forgotten what my son had for lunch?”

“He, ah, had a tart with prosciutto, cheese, and dried cherries, along with some cooked lentils and a bit of fruit.”

Lucrezia flew into a rage at the meager meal Ippolito had apparently eaten.

“The only warm food was lentils! How are you even attending to the young master?!”

In truth, Ippolito had consumed something else warm. Omitted was the ‘mulled wine.’ He hadn't eaten a proper meal because he'd spent the morning sipping wine and tumbling around with Maletta. Unable to tell the truth, Maletta broke into a cold sweat, trying desperately to appease the lady.

“Well, ah, the young master enjoyed it...”

“He has the palate of a child, and you just coddle him! You should be the one making sure he eats well by serving him nutritious food!”

It was less the palate of a child and more the snack list of a drunkard, but the truth didn't matter. Lucrezia scanned Maletta from head to toe, searching for something to criticize.

“You. Did I tell you to dress properly or not?”

“I... I've taken off all my jewelry, my lady...”

“How dare you talk back!”

*Smack!* Lucrezia tried to slap Maletta's cheek, but Maletta flinched away so quickly that Lucrezia ended up striking her shoulder instead.

“Ow!”

“Ow? How dare you cry out!”

Just as Lucrezia was about to grab an oak club to give Maletta a proper beating, her savior appeared. *Slam!*

“Young Master!”

“Maletta?”

It was Ippolito, who had entered the room after hearing the commotion. Startled by her son's sudden appearance, Lucrezia immediately dropped the oak club. She nudged it under the sofa with the tip of her foot.

“Ippolito, what are you doing here?”

“I'm thirsty, and my personal maid is nowhere to be found. Why are you holding onto her, Mother? She can't be by my side if she's waiting on you.”

Strictly speaking, she wasn't waiting on her. But from Lucrezia's perspective, it was better if her son thought so.

“W-well, yes. Ippolito. Take her with you. My son can't be without his maid for chores.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Lucrezia let her cornered prey go this time. But she didn't forget to glare at the maid, who was emboldened and about to follow Ippolito out, with the sharp eyes of an eagle spotting its meal from the sky. Maletta's eyes met Lucrezia's just before she left, and she flinched again, cowering. She scurried after the young master, her lifeline.

***

“Young Master! You saw that, didn't you!”

“Water.”

It seemed his claim of being thirsty wasn't an empty one; Ippolito cut Maletta off and demanded a drink. The morning's hangover seemed to be catching up to him. Maletta had no choice but to go to the kitchen and fetch cold water. To have a conversation with Ippolito, one had to satisfy all his needs first. But even after downing the water Maletta gave him, Ippolito simply handed the glass back and kept his mouth shut. He clearly didn't want to discuss his mother. Growing impatient, Maletta ignored Ippolito's mood and shrieked.

“Young Master! Please, save me!”

She truly felt like she was going to die.

“Her ladyship is trying to drive me to my grave!”

“Let it go in one ear and out the other.”

“She even hit me earlier!”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“She slapped my shoulder! Hard!”

“...She probably just gave you a fond pat.”

“Young Master!”

Ugh. His ears were ringing. Ippolito's mind was a fog. At breakfast, he had to sit in the family dining room to make a good impression on his father, Cardinal de Mare. He hated waking up early, but he had no choice. During the meal, his mother, Lucrezia, had chattered at him endlessly. 'Try some of this, how does this taste?' 'Goodness, you've eaten so little, bring the next plate,' 'No, you've cleaned your plate, it must have been delicious, bring another of the same,' and so on. He felt like his stomach and eardrums were about to burst simultaneously. He'd crawled back to his room for some rest, only to have the maid, who was supposed to be quietly nestled in his arms, get some wild idea in her head and start nagging and whining in his ear. Ugh, why were women created this way? And why on earth did he like them so much?

*'I just don't have to see them.'*

A brilliant idea suddenly flashed through Ippolito's mind.

*'That's right. I don't have to see them.'*

This wasn't an idea about changing his sexual preferences or living a life of celibacy. Ippolito liked women far too much for that. He just needed to be physically apart from them! Then he wouldn't have to see them. Ippolito shot up to his feet and exclaimed.

“Let's go. To Taranto.”

“What?”

Maletta, standing beside him, asked back, dumbfounded. Ippolito, his mood suddenly lifted, began to make empty promises he had no serious intention of keeping.

“I shall take you with me to Taranto. The entire court is down there now, and this Young Master Ippolito has plenty of friends there.”

“Wow, really?”

Maletta, mistakenly believing that the young master was choosing to go to Taranto to flee Lady Lucrezia's persecution and take her with him, gazed up at Ippolito like a hero, her two small, dark eyes sparkling.

“The winter social season isn't the official one, but there are still plenty of parties. I'll take you with me!”

“Young Master Ippolito! I think I'm going to faint from happiness!”

My goodness, parties! High society! Maletta, who used to pick through scraps in the soup at the Rambouillet Almshouse, was going to the winter court's social scene! Her face flushed, Maletta threw herself at Ippolito.

“I'm so happy! You're the best, Young Master!”

Dazed by Maletta's barrage of kisses, Ippolito fell backward onto the bed, embracing Maletta as she pressed her weight against him. Good heavens, he'd never been with such an aggressive woman. Was it because she was a maid and not a noble lady?

“Maletta, Maletta, gently!”

“Oh, Young Master!”

Amidst Maletta's dizzying storm of kisses, Ippolito added a few more empty promises that would be difficult to keep. The trip to Taranto, originally intended as an escape from both his mother and Maletta, had transformed into a journey to escape only his mother. Any trace of Cardinal de Mare's admonition to 'take responsibility for your mother and look after her' had vanished from Ippolito's mind.

***

“What? You're leaving for Taranto?”

Hearing Ippolito's declaration, Lucrezia's legs trembled as if she were a wife betrayed by her husband, and she collapsed onto the plush sofa behind her. Ippolito smoothly placated his mother.

“Oh, come now, Mother. It's been a long time since I've seen our family on your side. And, ah, you know, I should check on Zanobi.”

He was Lucrezia's distant nephew, whose limb tendons had all been severed after he fell into Cardinal de Mare's hands because of Ariadne. It took Ippolito a moment to recall the name.

“Ah, poor Zanobi...”

It was a topic that always captured Lucrezia's attention.

“No one from our family has gone to see him in person, have they? I'll go and visit him while he recovers.”

“Yes, it is necessary to pay him a visit...”

“And Mother, the entire San Carlo court is down in Taranto right now. I'll go, you know? Build some connections, see what opportunities there are for the future. A son needs powerful friends if he's to do great things, doesn't he?”

Lucrezia was incredibly weak when it came to her son's future. It was also the magic button Ippolito pushed to get an allowance. This time was no different.

“My son, do you have enough for your journey?”

“Mother, I was running a little short... But it's fine. I can just take a public coach instead of a private carriage.”

It was the false modesty of a child who knew his mother would never send him off empty-handed. And just as expected, Lucrezia waved her hands in alarm.

“Goodness, no! A public coach! How could I let my son endure such hardship!”

Lucrezia's finances had taken a major hit when her husband exiled her to the Bergamo farm. Nevertheless, she took out 10 ducats from her meager purse and pressed them into her son's hand. Her son didn't embarrass himself by visually checking how much his mother gave him. But after gauging the weight of the gold ducats in his hand, his expression soured.

“Mother, is this all?”

Lucrezia lowered her head like a guilty person.

“Well, your mother is a bit short on funds these days... I'll try to arrange something by the time you return.”

“Hah. It's fine, Mother. It can't be helped.”

Ippolito had already received a generous sum of gold coins for emergencies from his father during a private meeting over grappa a few days ago. He wasn't short on money to begin with. If he complained too much, he might hear something like, 'Wait a few days, I'll sell some things and give you another 10 ducats,' which would be a disaster. He didn't press his mother further, pocketing the ducats and kissing Lucrezia on both cheeks.

“Well then, Mother, I'll be off.”

Maletta was waiting at the front door, her hands full with all of Ippolito's packed luggage. Seeing Maletta in her fur-lined traveling cloak, Lucrezia's expression immediately soured.

“Wait, you're taking *her* with you?”

“Oh, Mother. Your son needs someone to look after him in a strange place.”

“Why does it have to be that vixen!”

“She handles her duties well enough.”

Ippolito glanced at Maletta and added another remark.

“And she's a good cook.”

At the mention of food, Lucrezia's anger subsided a little.

“Yes, it's important to have food that suits your palate. You must eat well while you're away.”

“I'll see you when I get back!”

Ippolito climbed into the carriage and waved to his mother. Maletta, following him inside, kept her head down, trying her best to avoid eye contact with Lucrezia.
"Giddy-up!" With a light crack of the whip from the driver, the carriage set off, its wheels clopping down the snow-covered winter road.

*Oh my, I forgot to ask him to take the letters and gifts for the de Rossi family.*

In this era, there was virtually no safe way to send long-distance mail or parcels. For that reason, people would always ask someone embarking on a long journey to deliver letters and such by hand. It was considered polite for the traveler to first ask those around them if they had anything that needed delivering.

*Honestly, boys. So clumsy and forgetful.*

Lucrezia couldn't even imagine that her son, finding the pile of gifts and letters for the de Rossi family to be a nuisance, had deliberately kept his plans from her, only informing her on the morning of his departure before rushing off. She also belatedly realized that she would be the one to inform the clueless Cardinal de Mare, 'Your son has left for Taranto without even telling you.'