But it was too small to be a horse bridle... It looked as if it had been made for a human being, Sir Bernardino replied proudly.
“It’s a gag, but it’s a gag for people.”
Dino, who had given away the bulky trash that had cost him a lot of money, continued to speak with a hearty laugh.
"You need to keep quiet. I gave you something to help you keep quiet."
“Oh, sir!”
Sir Manfredi, who had given Sir Bernardino a practical gift, was furious.
"I gave Sir Dino a back brace! I hope you stay healthy even when you get older."
“That’s worse!”
While the two were arguing, Sir Rothschild belatedly entered the dining room. The group erupted in jeers.
“Red hair! Red hair!”
“I’m going to have terrible luck all year long!”
There was a superstition that the color of the hair of the person entering a house just after midnight on the last day of the year would determine their fortune for the year. Blonde hair meant good luck, red hair meant bad luck.
“Redhead, come here! Let’s hit each other!”
Sir Rothschild responded incredulously to the man who was trying to hit him.
“Wasn’t that the front door? I was inside the castle the whole time!”
Amidst the din of laughter, Sancha, who had narrowly avoided the first redhead to enter, now led the former maids of the de Mare family, now promoted to the position of royal attendants, in, carrying a trolley full of food. It was a late-night snack.
“Now, warriors! Choose a bread!”
It was a New Year's bread eaten to commemorate Saint Sylvester, who is said to have defeated the great devil, Leviathan, in the Old Testament.
Most of the breads contained nothing, but one contained a ring, and another contained a cross.
It is said that the person who finds the ring will get married that year, and the person who finds the cross will become a priest.
"You've all been to the temple, so you're qualified to distribute Holy Communion, right? Even if you pull out the cross, you'll still need at least one less lesson!"
“Is this bread considered communion?”
Sir Manfredi and Sir Bernardino, while whispering among themselves, rushed to the trolley to hand out bread to the people.
The youngest, Sir Desilio, sitting behind, muttered with a prickly expression.
“I haven’t been to the temple.”
Beside him, Giuseppe glanced at Sir Desilio. Just being able to say those words was a blessing.
Giuseppe felt embarrassed to be among them. He found it difficult to say, as Sir Desilio had done, that he was unworthy. It was so extreme that he worried that he might not be allowed to eat bread when they called him "brave men."
“Mr. Giuseppe!”
Then a gentle woman's voice was heard. It was Ariadne's new maid, the young lady of the Viscount of Elba.
“Happy New Year!”
She handed Giuseppe a small gift package. It was a day when everyone gave each other gifts, but Giuseppe had never expected to receive a gift from anyone.
“Oh, thank you.”
He was too surprised to ask if he could open it. After Felicite left to give the gift to the next person, he opened the package and found cinnamon and nutmeg inside.
'Do you know that I... like spices?'
It was an unexpected warmth. The young lady of the Viscount of Elba, a noblewoman of a quiet heart, felt nothing but gratitude instead of affection. He carefully picked up the cinnamon bundle.
“Miss Sancha!”
The mountain girl who was handing out Sylvester bread turned her head at the sound of a voice calling her.
“Happy New Year!”
Felicite also handed Sancha a gift package. It was a large, beautifully wrapped box. Sancha accepted it, trying her best to keep her excitement to a minimum.
“I also brought a gift for the young lady of the Viscount Elba, but I don’t have it with me right now. I’ll bring it to you in a bit.”
“Oh, no. I’m sorry to bother you when you’re busy.”
Then a terrible scream was heard.
“Eww!”
It was Sir Manfredi's voice. He was crouching at the table, clutching his mouth. A piece of St. Sylvester's bread lay in front of him.
“What’s going on?!”
A startled Sancha ran over. Sancha was the person in charge of preparing the banquet that day. If there was a problem with the bread, it was her fault.
“Teeth, my teeth...”
Sir Manfredi sobbed. But his teeth were intact. He'd only bitten a little too hard. What truly saddened him was the object inside the bread.
“The cross has appeared...”
He wept sadly before a small wooden cross.
“I have to get married...”
Beside him, Sir Bernardino smiled contentedly, his arms folded.
“Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!”
Perhaps Saint Sylvester was responding to his fervent wish that he couldn't be left alone. He was more pleased that Manfredi had chosen the cross than that he had chosen the ring.
“Oh my god!”
The ring inside the bread appeared much more gentle. It had rolled out of the bread Felicite was eating.
“Congratulations, Miss Felicite!”
“Haha...”
Felicite couldn't hide her embarrassment at the attention she received. If a man were to show up with a ring, she'd be thrilled with anticipation, but she wasn't seeing anyone...
Despite a few minor incidents, the late-night meal, almost a feast, prepared with great care by Sancha, ended satisfyingly and pleasantly. The Prince's entourage gathered in the reception room.
Ariadne was leaning against the couch and reading a book, while Alfonso lay with his head on Ariadne's lap, thinking deeply about something.
Felicite was knitting with a smile on her face, and Sancha, despite everyone's full stomachs, kept bringing in warm bangchoux and eggnog from the kitchen. Giuseppe, sweating profusely, helped Sancha.
Sir Desilio and Sir Rothschild were playing cards, while Sir Bernardino was advising them. Sir Manfredi, incongruously, was sitting at his desk, writing a letter.
Sir Manfredi suddenly opened his mouth.
"Your Highness."
Alfonso answered without even turning his head.
"Why."
“How do you appease the Princess when she gets irritated?”
Sir Manfredi wrote a mistake to Miss Bedelia in Taranto and was 'swindled' again today.
Officially, he was scolded because the letter didn't include the phrase "I miss you," but the real reason was something else. The problem wasn't the omission, but the inclusion.
The letter that Sir Manfredi sent to Miss Bedelia last time contained the following:
"The Countess of Dalmarita has not gone down to Taranto due to the illness of her old husband, but has remained in San Carlo, so I am refraining from going out and am confined to the palace."
The Count of Dalmarita was the family of the young lady who had been proposed to by Lord Manfredi when he came to San Carlo after being spurned by Lady Bedelia de Rinaldi.
Sir Bernardino, who had heard the whole story, asked in disbelief.
“...Why on earth would you write something like that in a letter? Do you have no brain?”
“Ah! You old bachelor who can’t even take care of yourself, keep quiet!”
Sir Manfredi clutched his head.
“I wrote that I was doing well without paying attention...”
Sancha shook her head. The mere mention of it was a negative.
Alfonso wasn't of much help in asking for relationship advice. He answered bluntly.
“Ari doesn’t get annoyed with me.”
The one most struck by that sound was Ariadne herself. With Alfonso on her lap, she looked down at him in shock. The man's expression remained calm, even though he must have clearly seen the woman's numb face.
'I get irritated often...'
Despite the party's repentance, Alfonso continued speaking calmly.
“We have never fought.”
Ariadne shuddered once more.
'I cried and complained often...'
Sir Manfredi's pupils also wavered. That couldn't be true. No couple in this world doesn't fight. If that were the case, then all the trouble Sir Manfredi was going through would be meaningless, just a futile act of holding onto the wrong person and fussing over them.
“Your Highness, the Princess. Is it true?”
Ariadne was speechless. Even Sancha, who usually intervened and assisted her in such situations, was speechless.
Although Sancha loved her ladu more than anyone in the world, she never lost her objectivity.
“How about talking about something else entirely?”
The person who came up with the new idea was Felicite de Elba, Ariadne's new maid who was staying at the Palagio Carlo.
Ariadne looked at Felicite's beautiful copper-colored hair and sparkling hazel eyes. Felicite too... Is that how you use such tricks in human relationships?
But what came next was just like Felicite, who was known for being kind.
“If you only think good thoughts and say good things, there will naturally be no more things to fight about.”
Felicite lived that way herself. She was kind to everyone and saw only the good in everyone.
But then, perhaps she had been pushed out of the competition in San Carlo's high society. Ariadne's feelings were complicated. She had to find a good match for Felicite before she left.
“Oh, is that okay?”
Sir Manfredi's face brightened.
“Then... The letter should be written like this.”
He quickly began to scribble something on a piece of parchment. The red-haired foreigner, Lord Rothschild, intervened from beside him.
"I heard they've come up with something new to write on these days, other than parchment. It's called 'paper'."
“Oh. I’ve heard that too.”
Sir Manfredi answered calmly. His attitude toward Lady Felicite and Sir Rothschild changed in an instant, like lightning.
"I tried it once, but Miss Bedelia didn't like it. She said it tore easily compared to parchment paper and was too thin to store."
Ariadne's ears perked up.
'Paper?'
Ariadne has caused quite a few events in this life, which have had quite a few causal effects.
The Etruscan Peninsula, which was devastated by the plague, avoided major damage thanks to rapid quarantine measures, but instead, the plague that had spread north devastated the southern part of the Gallico Kingdom.
Philip IV, who should have been ruling the country smoothly, was living in seclusion due to a sudden madness, and the Kingdom of Gallico was on the verge of an armed conflict with the Holy See over the port of Pisarino, something that had never happened in a previous life.
However, Ariadne lived until 1137 in her previous life.
It was now the winter of 1127-1128, and although the world's causal laws might have changed, and the course of history or the pace of trends might have changed, it was too early for a new civilization of which she had no knowledge.
“Where did that come from?”
Among the changes from the previous life were the success of the Fourth Crusade and the return of Prince Alfonso.
If he had followed the military, it would have been a natural change.
“Is this perhaps something the Crusaders brought back from the East?”
Sir Manfredi shook his head.
“No, I’ve never seen anything like that on a battlefield.”
Ariadne's expression hardened.
“It’s a gag, but it’s a gag for people.”
Dino, who had given away the bulky trash that had cost him a lot of money, continued to speak with a hearty laugh.
"You need to keep quiet. I gave you something to help you keep quiet."
“Oh, sir!”
Sir Manfredi, who had given Sir Bernardino a practical gift, was furious.
"I gave Sir Dino a back brace! I hope you stay healthy even when you get older."
“That’s worse!”
While the two were arguing, Sir Rothschild belatedly entered the dining room. The group erupted in jeers.
“Red hair! Red hair!”
“I’m going to have terrible luck all year long!”
There was a superstition that the color of the hair of the person entering a house just after midnight on the last day of the year would determine their fortune for the year. Blonde hair meant good luck, red hair meant bad luck.
“Redhead, come here! Let’s hit each other!”
Sir Rothschild responded incredulously to the man who was trying to hit him.
“Wasn’t that the front door? I was inside the castle the whole time!”
Amidst the din of laughter, Sancha, who had narrowly avoided the first redhead to enter, now led the former maids of the de Mare family, now promoted to the position of royal attendants, in, carrying a trolley full of food. It was a late-night snack.
“Now, warriors! Choose a bread!”
It was a New Year's bread eaten to commemorate Saint Sylvester, who is said to have defeated the great devil, Leviathan, in the Old Testament.
Most of the breads contained nothing, but one contained a ring, and another contained a cross.
It is said that the person who finds the ring will get married that year, and the person who finds the cross will become a priest.
"You've all been to the temple, so you're qualified to distribute Holy Communion, right? Even if you pull out the cross, you'll still need at least one less lesson!"
“Is this bread considered communion?”
Sir Manfredi and Sir Bernardino, while whispering among themselves, rushed to the trolley to hand out bread to the people.
The youngest, Sir Desilio, sitting behind, muttered with a prickly expression.
“I haven’t been to the temple.”
Beside him, Giuseppe glanced at Sir Desilio. Just being able to say those words was a blessing.
Giuseppe felt embarrassed to be among them. He found it difficult to say, as Sir Desilio had done, that he was unworthy. It was so extreme that he worried that he might not be allowed to eat bread when they called him "brave men."
“Mr. Giuseppe!”
Then a gentle woman's voice was heard. It was Ariadne's new maid, the young lady of the Viscount of Elba.
“Happy New Year!”
She handed Giuseppe a small gift package. It was a day when everyone gave each other gifts, but Giuseppe had never expected to receive a gift from anyone.
“Oh, thank you.”
He was too surprised to ask if he could open it. After Felicite left to give the gift to the next person, he opened the package and found cinnamon and nutmeg inside.
'Do you know that I... like spices?'
It was an unexpected warmth. The young lady of the Viscount of Elba, a noblewoman of a quiet heart, felt nothing but gratitude instead of affection. He carefully picked up the cinnamon bundle.
“Miss Sancha!”
The mountain girl who was handing out Sylvester bread turned her head at the sound of a voice calling her.
“Happy New Year!”
Felicite also handed Sancha a gift package. It was a large, beautifully wrapped box. Sancha accepted it, trying her best to keep her excitement to a minimum.
“I also brought a gift for the young lady of the Viscount Elba, but I don’t have it with me right now. I’ll bring it to you in a bit.”
“Oh, no. I’m sorry to bother you when you’re busy.”
Then a terrible scream was heard.
“Eww!”
It was Sir Manfredi's voice. He was crouching at the table, clutching his mouth. A piece of St. Sylvester's bread lay in front of him.
“What’s going on?!”
A startled Sancha ran over. Sancha was the person in charge of preparing the banquet that day. If there was a problem with the bread, it was her fault.
“Teeth, my teeth...”
Sir Manfredi sobbed. But his teeth were intact. He'd only bitten a little too hard. What truly saddened him was the object inside the bread.
“The cross has appeared...”
He wept sadly before a small wooden cross.
“I have to get married...”
Beside him, Sir Bernardino smiled contentedly, his arms folded.
“Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!”
Perhaps Saint Sylvester was responding to his fervent wish that he couldn't be left alone. He was more pleased that Manfredi had chosen the cross than that he had chosen the ring.
“Oh my god!”
The ring inside the bread appeared much more gentle. It had rolled out of the bread Felicite was eating.
“Congratulations, Miss Felicite!”
“Haha...”
Felicite couldn't hide her embarrassment at the attention she received. If a man were to show up with a ring, she'd be thrilled with anticipation, but she wasn't seeing anyone...
Despite a few minor incidents, the late-night meal, almost a feast, prepared with great care by Sancha, ended satisfyingly and pleasantly. The Prince's entourage gathered in the reception room.
Ariadne was leaning against the couch and reading a book, while Alfonso lay with his head on Ariadne's lap, thinking deeply about something.
Felicite was knitting with a smile on her face, and Sancha, despite everyone's full stomachs, kept bringing in warm bangchoux and eggnog from the kitchen. Giuseppe, sweating profusely, helped Sancha.
Sir Desilio and Sir Rothschild were playing cards, while Sir Bernardino was advising them. Sir Manfredi, incongruously, was sitting at his desk, writing a letter.
Sir Manfredi suddenly opened his mouth.
"Your Highness."
Alfonso answered without even turning his head.
"Why."
“How do you appease the Princess when she gets irritated?”
Sir Manfredi wrote a mistake to Miss Bedelia in Taranto and was 'swindled' again today.
Officially, he was scolded because the letter didn't include the phrase "I miss you," but the real reason was something else. The problem wasn't the omission, but the inclusion.
The letter that Sir Manfredi sent to Miss Bedelia last time contained the following:
"The Countess of Dalmarita has not gone down to Taranto due to the illness of her old husband, but has remained in San Carlo, so I am refraining from going out and am confined to the palace."
The Count of Dalmarita was the family of the young lady who had been proposed to by Lord Manfredi when he came to San Carlo after being spurned by Lady Bedelia de Rinaldi.
Sir Bernardino, who had heard the whole story, asked in disbelief.
“...Why on earth would you write something like that in a letter? Do you have no brain?”
“Ah! You old bachelor who can’t even take care of yourself, keep quiet!”
Sir Manfredi clutched his head.
“I wrote that I was doing well without paying attention...”
Sancha shook her head. The mere mention of it was a negative.
Alfonso wasn't of much help in asking for relationship advice. He answered bluntly.
“Ari doesn’t get annoyed with me.”
The one most struck by that sound was Ariadne herself. With Alfonso on her lap, she looked down at him in shock. The man's expression remained calm, even though he must have clearly seen the woman's numb face.
'I get irritated often...'
Despite the party's repentance, Alfonso continued speaking calmly.
“We have never fought.”
Ariadne shuddered once more.
'I cried and complained often...'
Sir Manfredi's pupils also wavered. That couldn't be true. No couple in this world doesn't fight. If that were the case, then all the trouble Sir Manfredi was going through would be meaningless, just a futile act of holding onto the wrong person and fussing over them.
“Your Highness, the Princess. Is it true?”
Ariadne was speechless. Even Sancha, who usually intervened and assisted her in such situations, was speechless.
Although Sancha loved her ladu more than anyone in the world, she never lost her objectivity.
“How about talking about something else entirely?”
The person who came up with the new idea was Felicite de Elba, Ariadne's new maid who was staying at the Palagio Carlo.
Ariadne looked at Felicite's beautiful copper-colored hair and sparkling hazel eyes. Felicite too... Is that how you use such tricks in human relationships?
But what came next was just like Felicite, who was known for being kind.
“If you only think good thoughts and say good things, there will naturally be no more things to fight about.”
Felicite lived that way herself. She was kind to everyone and saw only the good in everyone.
But then, perhaps she had been pushed out of the competition in San Carlo's high society. Ariadne's feelings were complicated. She had to find a good match for Felicite before she left.
“Oh, is that okay?”
Sir Manfredi's face brightened.
“Then... The letter should be written like this.”
He quickly began to scribble something on a piece of parchment. The red-haired foreigner, Lord Rothschild, intervened from beside him.
"I heard they've come up with something new to write on these days, other than parchment. It's called 'paper'."
“Oh. I’ve heard that too.”
Sir Manfredi answered calmly. His attitude toward Lady Felicite and Sir Rothschild changed in an instant, like lightning.
"I tried it once, but Miss Bedelia didn't like it. She said it tore easily compared to parchment paper and was too thin to store."
Ariadne's ears perked up.
'Paper?'
Ariadne has caused quite a few events in this life, which have had quite a few causal effects.
The Etruscan Peninsula, which was devastated by the plague, avoided major damage thanks to rapid quarantine measures, but instead, the plague that had spread north devastated the southern part of the Gallico Kingdom.
Philip IV, who should have been ruling the country smoothly, was living in seclusion due to a sudden madness, and the Kingdom of Gallico was on the verge of an armed conflict with the Holy See over the port of Pisarino, something that had never happened in a previous life.
However, Ariadne lived until 1137 in her previous life.
It was now the winter of 1127-1128, and although the world's causal laws might have changed, and the course of history or the pace of trends might have changed, it was too early for a new civilization of which she had no knowledge.
“Where did that come from?”
Among the changes from the previous life were the success of the Fourth Crusade and the return of Prince Alfonso.
If he had followed the military, it would have been a natural change.
“Is this perhaps something the Crusaders brought back from the East?”
Sir Manfredi shook his head.
“No, I’ve never seen anything like that on a battlefield.”
Ariadne's expression hardened.
Comments
Post a Comment