Chapter 98 < Death Of The Woman I Love >




News of Arabella's death was immediately conveyed to Taranto. This was so that Ippolito, her biological brother and the eldest son of the family, could participate in her funeral. 

Funerals for the noble families of San Carlo typically involved praying for seven days, lying in a coffin, and welcoming visitors. After that, it was common to bury her in a grave after holding a memorial mass that also served as her funeral in a church. Ordinary people found a resting place in a cemetery, and nobles found a resting place in a separate lot prepared within the Great Hall. 

Arabella had to wait for her family to come from Taranto, so she ended up receiving her mourners for 14 days, a little longer than the usual 7 days. This was possible because it was the middle of winter.

“Master Ippolito, this is a message for you to return to San Carlo immediately.”

A servant of the de Mare family managed to find Ippolito in the middle of a party in Taranto and relayed a message from home.

"What? Why do you do that at home again?”

Ippolito glared at the servant without hiding his irritation. 

Was my mother playing to her whims? No, that's still true. Are you embarrassingly telling me to send a servant to the middle of the banquet hall and fetch me? Obsession is no joke...

“Lady Arabella has passed away.”

"What?"

“They're telling you to come back quickly and attend the funeral.”

Ippolito did not have much intimacy with his youngest sister, with whom he was separated by a large margin, and soon after Arabella began to speak, he went to Padua to study. It was rare for him to have a human-to-human conversation with his youngest sister. 

Moreover, he was enjoying his life by participating in all the winter social events of Taranto. The news of his sister's death, whom he was not close to, which he heard in the midst of a party full of alcohol, meat, and meat, was half surprising and half irritating to him.

“What happened to her all of a sudden?”

“It was an accident...”

“Oh, what...!”

It wasn't a pain, it was an accident and it was like a lightning strike in a completely dry sky. Be careful!

“When do you want to leave? Should I prepare your horse right now?”

The distance from Taranto to San Carlo could be covered in three or four days by horseback riding day and night. But Ippolito had no intention of going that hard.

“You said the memorial mass would be held in 14 days, right?”

"Yes, that's right."

“Then get the carriage ready. Let’s sleep here tonight and leave tomorrow morning.”

"Yes? A carriage? Not horse?”

It was several times faster to run at full speed on a horse than to take a long journey by carriage.

“What kind of horrible story is this, sleeping barefoot in the snow? If we hurry by carriage, we will be there in ten days.”

It took three and a half days for the messenger from home to reach Taranto, so Ippolito had ten days and a little more time left. But the de Mare family servant hesitated and asked again.

“...You don’t participate in welcoming guests?”

In principle, Ippolito, as the eldest son of the family, had to play a leading role in welcoming guests. But he snorted his.

“Does anything change whether I’m standing there or not? Anyway, there’s no one important left in San Carlo right now.”

He planned to skip greeting the visitors, who he would not be able to meet even if he went through all the trouble, and only attend the memorial mass where he would be more likely to be noticed by others.

"Oh my...”

The servant let out a short sigh. But what power does a servant have?

“I will prepare it as you asked.”

The servant sent from the house bowed and retreated out of the banquet hall. Ippolito washed his face dry and looked around. He was now at a Taranto winter society party. There were many important social figures around. He can't believe he has to go back to San Carlo and leave all these people behind. What is this regret? 

Ottavio, who was watching the servant come into the party room and talk to Ippolito, asked Ippolito.

“Ippolito. What happened?”

“Oh my, Ottavio. I just got a news report from home.”

Ottavio was surprised to hear that it was an obituary.

“No way, His Holiness the Cardinal...”

There was no one in that house who was old enough to die or who was seriously ill. At least the Cardinal himself and his mistress were close to the limit of the average lifespan. However, Ippolito's expression was too calm to believe that his father, the source of all his material wealth, had passed away.

“Or maybe your mother...?”

In response to Ottavio's cautious question, Ippolito smiled broadly and shook his head.

“No, no, such scary words! My sister had an accident or something.”

He spoke with a bit of annoyance.

“So I guess I’ll have to go back to San Carlo right away. There’s no one to go with, right?”

It is said that Cardinal de Mare's youngest daughter has died, and all the great families in San Carlo will send representatives to the funeral. However, there was no way that the representative was necessarily an important person all the way to Taranto. It would be an older person, collateral, or the head of the employees remaining in the capital. After all, they die in winter, Ippolito added. 

Since Ottavio didn't think he would go to San Carlo himself, he clicked his tongue and sympathized with Ippolito, saying he had had a bad season. The Contarini family will probably be represented by a younger uncle who was unable to come down to the winter court in Taranto. It was his father's job to take care of it. But there was one thing that bothered him.

“Which of your younger sisters is dead? Surely it’s not Miss Isabella?”

Ippolito de Mare himself was a so-called little man, but his two younger sisters were famous in social circles. Moreover, Ottavio had a close relationship with Isabella. Ottavio asked about Isabella's well-being for a more instinctive reason, but he lied to himself that he was asking because they were acquaintances.

“No, no, that can’t be. Isabella is fine. She may be unable to control herself due to sadness.”

"Ah."

Ottavio, whose interest suddenly dropped, lowered his head. Ippolito, disappointed by Ottavio's sour reaction, stood up.

“I have to go now. I have to pack my bags now so I can leave in the morning.”

“I pray for the soul of the deceased. Please convey my regret and condolences to Miss Isabella.”

“Thank you. Don’t do that.”

As Ippolito left the party, Ottavio quickly broke the news to his fellow socialites.

“Ippolito’s sister is dead!”

"What? You mean Cardinal de Mare’s daughter?”

“Which of the daughters?”

Taranto's once boring winter social scene became noisy due to an unexpected death.

“No way, Isabella de Mare?”

“Why Isabella all of a sudden?”

“Why, I was heartbroken because of that rumor...?”

Ottavio, who had the upper hand with information in his hands in front of people with wild imaginations, laughed at them.

“What a terrible sound! It was an accident. And it’s her other sister.”

“Oh, it’s not Isabella?”

“Then are she Miss Ariadne?”

People were crowded and chatting. And the heart of one person who heard this story broke. It was Prince Alfonso, who was standing by Grand Duchess Lariesa's side like a plaster statue at the party.  

“Prince, are you okay?”

As Alfonso's expression became serious, Grand Duchess Lariesa, who was always delighted with Alfonso's every move, immediately looked at his face.  

“It’s nothing.”

He wanted to run out right away and ask Ottavio what was going on and what happened to Cardinal de Mare's second daughter, but Grand Duchess Lariesa sitting next to him was looking up at him with innocent eyes.  

“Grand Duchess, please excuse me for a moment.”

Alfonso got up from the seat next to Lariesa and made a straight line among the people. As Prince Alfonso, who was sitting on a high pedestal like a prop in a banquet hall, mingled with the crowd, everyone at the banquet looked at his face in amazement. 

As soon as Alfonso met a vaguely familiar face in the banquet hall, he skipped even greeting him and asked.

“Who died?”

Alfonso wiped the cold sweat seeping from his palms on his pants while waiting for an answer.

“Oh, Your Highness! Cardinal de Mare’s daughter is dead.”

“Which one?”

His voice was strangely hoarse and cracked, so it must have sounded strange. He was not at all like the usual polite and gentle Prince Alfonso. The noble who was asked the question also answered with a little surprise.

“Seeing as he says it’s not the eldest daughter, I guess it’s the second daughter, Miss Ariadne de Mare?”

“!”

The Prince turned and left the grand banquet hall without even saying goodbye to the young nobleman. As soon as the Prince left the banquet hall, Bernardino, the Prince's secretary, immediately followed him.

“Your Highness the Prince! What did Grand Duchess Lariesa do in the banquet hall...?”

“Bernardino. I need to take a week off right away.”

Alfonso gave instructions in a low but uncharacteristically firm voice.

“Prepare a horse, a token that allows you to change horses at the station, and an Id.

"Yes? Is it a week? Where on earth are you planning to go!”

“San Carlo.”

Bernardino was astonished and looked up at his master.

“...Are you doing this because of Cardinal de Mare’s daughter, Your Highness?”

Alfonso glanced at Bernardino with cold eyes.

“If you don’t take care of them right away, I’ll call someone else to do the things I just ordered.”

“Your Highness, it is a pity that the Lady has passed away, but it is not at all appropriate for you to go to San Carlo now. A dead person is already dead.”

Ûy ua“If your goal is to treat me like a stallion in a stable, then a dead woman doesn’t matter!”

Bernardino was startled by Prince Alfonso's shout and stopped in place. His Master never used such vulgar words and did not know how to be cynical and sarcastic. Alfonso scolded Bernardino in a voice filled with resentment.

“If I can’t even protect her, I will never be able to forgive myself. Since Ariadne is dead, the situation you are concerned about will never happen anyway.”

Alfonso's voice became quiet.

“Let me go.”

It was an unfamiliar sight for the owner he was serving. The boy, with his thick hair, was trying to run out of the fence that the adults had put up. This cannot be prevented. And it's not something he should stop. Bernardino bowed his head.

“...Your Highness, I am only a helper. Don’t ask me for permission.”

He bowed deeply to his waist and spoke to his Master.

“When my Lord’s heart is firm, my role is only to provide help and nothing else.”

Bernardino recited quickly.

“I will prepare a course horse, a horse exchange ticket, gold coins to use, and an ID card to use when entering the castle gate. I will inform the Ministry of the Interior to provide clothing and food. But..."

He lifted his head and looked up at Alfonso.

“You can never go alone. Take ten heavy-mouthed personal guards with you.”

Alfonso had ten young knights who were more like playmates than a member of the personal guard. Many of them were chosen purely for their swordsmanship skills, and although they came from humble backgrounds, their skills and loyalty were beyond reproach. Alfonso grinned at Bernardino’s story.

“I thought you would say you would follow me because you said, ‘You shouldn’t go alone.’”

Bernardino burst out laughing.

“Are you planning on sending the old man to sleep on the street?”

And his expression hardened.

“Besides, I have to take care of the cleanup here. You will be absent from the schedule in Taranto for a week. What is the reason?”

Alfonso answered immediately without hesitation.

“Say that I visited Bianca for three days and was sick for the remaining four days.”

“The name of the disease will be a mild cold, and the second half will be a fever. There is my deputy, Matthias, at the Prince’s Palace in San Carlo, so you can leave it to him to take care of administrative matters.”

Bernardino, who quickly decided on how to handle things, stirred for a moment and then asked carefully.

“By the way, Your Royal Highness, how should I reply to those letters that come every morning?”

Alfonso was the first to show annoyance on his face.

“You just write it down.”

“I will do so, Your Majesty.”

***

Ippolito was not lying when he said that there was no one of importance among those who had not gone down to Taranto but remained in San Carlo.

“Poor Arabella....”

The nun in charge of the Basilica of San Ercole wiped her eyes. The people currently seeing Arabella off on her way were mainly people around her, including her tutors, the owner of the dressmaker, and nuns. The other people who appeared were merchants, lower-ranking nobles trying to connect with the cardinal in some way, or clergy seeking promotion. 

Tired of the barren flatterers, Cardinal de Mare soon gave up his 14-day job of guarding the Great Gallery, showing his face only for about an hour a day, leaving the rest of the care to the rest of his family. However, it was not as if the blood relatives were completely mixed with the family and faithfully guarded her coffin. Isabella felt uncomfortable remaining next to the coffin of her sister, whom she had killed with her own hands. She quickly left, making the excuse that she was exhausted from crying. The same was true for Lucrezia, who feared that her own negligence might have been involved in Arabella's death. 

All that was left was Arabella's half-sister. Naturally, Ariadne took over as her resident. Eight days after Arabella's death, she was greeting each of her guests and holding their hands.

“May the Heavenly God bless you...”

"Amen...”

After sending the nun away, the main gallery where Arabella's body was placed became quiet. Ariadne, who was about to sit down and rest for a while while looking around the empty Great Hall, noticed someone new at the entrance. 

After receiving condolences for 14 days, which was twice as long as usual, all the influential people came, and now it was only people who were empty-nesters, merchants, or people who took time to come. By the eighth day of condolences, the only people left were mostly women and the elderly. However, the person standing in the doorway was a large young man wearing a hood with fur inside.

‘Did Arabella ever have a guest like that??'

Thinking that he could be the hunting ground keeper of the Bergamo estate, Ariadne looked at the approaching mourner, adjusted her attire in her black velvet mourning attire, and straightened her posture. She planned to respond by saying, ‘Thank you for your hard work on coming all the way’ when the other person said, ‘I would like to express my sincere condolences.’ But the other person reached out and grabbed her hand without saying a word.

“Ariadne...!”

It was a voice she was familiar with. Ariadne lifted her head in surprise at the feel of the hand and the sound of her name being called.

Prince Alfonso, who had arrived here after riding for three days and nights through the snow, was standing there.


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