Instead of Sir Manfredi, who had no understanding of modern civilization, Sir Rothschild answered without hesitation.
“Because my hobby is going to the market.”
Sir Rothschild had a tendency to try out anything new, whether it was a modified stirrup, a thin, lightweight scabbard, or a graphite pencil.
“Whenever I have time, I browse the Tiber River market, and the paper is a very new product that just came out.”
It was the only interesting thing that had happened in his free time since he left the battlefield.
“It is said to be very popular among merchants because it is thin and soft.”
“Oh, right.”
Sir Manfredi wondered why Miss Bedelia wasn't interested when everyone else was.
Sir Rothschild, the guardian of all new useless things, was also well versed in the details of how paper first entered the market.
"This 'paper' is made from old hemp or linen. Thanks to it, ragpickers have a lot of work to do."
“That’s a good thing.”
Ariadne pondered. Could the decrease in new arrivals at the Rambouillet Relief Center this month be due to this "paper" thing? What changes would this new invention bring to San Carlo?
Sir Rothschild gave Ariadne a frank update on the market situation.
“It sold so well that they started using new linen instead of rags to make it, and the price of linen went through the roof.”
“Oh. I heard that part too.”
A while ago, she received a letter from Lazione Linen complaining about business difficulties due to rising raw material prices. She thought it was just the usual complaint, but it was definitely something different than usual.
“Is it true that the ‘paper’ is not imported?”
“It definitely started first in San Carlo.”
Sir Rothschild told a vivid story of a ragpicker he had met on the street the previous week who had gotten into a fight with a vagrant from the next town while trying to bring in rags from that town.
“It’s spreading from here to other cities, so the price of rags is rising sequentially in the cities closest to San Carlo.”
He was lost in thought for a moment.
"Where's the farthest? Taranto? If I go down to Taranto and buy rags, will I become a millionaire?"
Sir Bernardino gave the training.
"What's the difference between you and the ragpicker from San Carlo? That's something only people like our Princess do! We're just swordsmen!"
“I can ride a horse a little faster than those rag boys!”
Sir Manfredi intervened.
“You weren’t planning on beating him up with a knife if you got into a fight with the ragpicker from the next town?”
“Oh my, I got caught?”
Ariadne was no longer listening to their grumbling.
'First time in San Carlo?'
Ariadne counted on her fingers with a strange expression.
Since her return in 1122, no real fashion has begun in San Carlo. It was all brought by her.
Paper. Paper.
No matter how hard she searched her memory, it wasn't there. She called out to the red-haired knight who was arguing with Sir Manfredi.
“Sir Rothschild.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
He immediately stopped arguing and bowed politely to Ariadne. This allowed him to avoid the final blow from Sir Manfredi, who was aiming for the back of his head with a swing of his hand, but he remained motionless.
“Please tell me about the merchant who first sold that thing called ‘paper.’”
Sir Manfredi's eyes widened.
“Are you going to take it away by kicking it?”
Before Ariadne could explain anything, this time Sir Dino hit the back of Sir Manfredi's head.
“Your Highness, the Princess doesn’t know you are like it!”
While the two were bickering, Ariadne checked with Sir Rotschild again.
“You know, right?”
“Yes. I will complete it as quickly as possible.”
Sir Rothschild answered with a rare, serious expression.
While they were having an important conversation next to each other, Sir Manfredi somehow managed to complete the love letter in question despite Sir Dino's interruptions.
“Oh, I’m done!”
It was a beautiful handwriting on elegant parchment. It looked neat on the outside.
“I must send it to Miss Bedelia by the fastest courier!”
After the reply came back, Sir Manfredi was shaken like a dog. Even the best advice, if applied in the wrong place, can be ineffective. Felicite's kindly advice to "tell a good and pleasant story" had a devastating negative effect.
"Why doesn't Sir Manfredi tell me he wants to see me?"
"To my dearest lover in the world, Bedelia.
At San Carlo, Lady Felicite de Alba has arrived as Ariadne's maid. She is the eldest daughter of the Viscount de Alba. With a gentle and calm personality, she serves Ariadne well. (continued)"
“...Why on earth aren’t you answering my questions and instead are you writing letters to me about another woman?!?”
“Hey, you idiot!”
- Chuck!
Sir Bernardino slapped Sir Manfredi on the back, who was holding his head in his hands.
“When someone gets annoyed, don’t react and just say good things!”
Sir Manfredi cried.
“It has to be a good story from the other person’s perspective!”
“What bad thing did I do?”
Sir Manfredi was deeply resentful. He simply said that it was a pleasure to have someone new and that with the added help of the Princess, his workload would be reduced, which was even better. Why should that be considered bad news for Miss Bedelia?
“If I had more time, I could spend more time with Miss Bedelia! Isn’t that right, Lady Felicite?”
In fact, Felicite, the person who gave the advice, was so pale that she couldn't move.
Ariadne, unable to stand by any longer, took up her pen. It was a letter to Madame Cornelia de Rinaldi, Madame Bedelia's older sister and her friend, asking for an explanation.
"Nelly, I swear on God that I had no ill intentions towards Felicite.
Please pass this on to your younger sibling, and to prevent any more misunderstandings, if possible, when the two of us write letters, have someone around us interfere..."
Sir Rotschild, who had lost all seriousness, laughed and whispered to his youngest brother, Sir Desilio.
“Five florins for Sir Manfredi not being able to marry.”
“...I was also going to bet on the side of not being able to get married.”
“Then take it and double it.”
The Marchioness of Montefeltro and the Countess of Gaeta were among the select few who were assigned quarters within the Winter Palace.
The two weren't usually in the same group, but the fact that they were allowed to unpack inside the villa gave them a sense of belonging.
So they went out for a walk together in the small central courtyard of the villa to exchange information.
“The New Year’s party was smaller than I thought.”
“There is nothing we can do, His Majesty is not in good health.”
"That's true. His Majesty hasn't been here long, so it's a shame to have such a grand banquet."
The courtyard of the Taranto villa, where they were strolling, was lined with low shrubs. In other words, it was a location where anyone could easily tell if they were being eavesdropped on.
Countess Gaeta, after confirming that no one was there, whispered to the old Marchioness of Montefeltro with a wicked smile.
“Isn’t it true that His Majesty has finished the relationship with Grand Duchess Rubina?”
“...She's old. Amazingly, she's held on this far.”
The Marchioness of Montefeltro maintained an ambiguous position, seemingly defending Rubina but not defending her.
It wasn't her fault she lost favor, but she did lose favor.
This wasn't a land where right and wrong mattered. It was a place where performance alone was the sole judgement. Ultimately, the old woman's overall assessment was a curse on Rubina.
Countess Gaeta said, stretching.
“Life is like a flower that blooms in the sky.”
Her in-laws were originally a family loyal to the Kingdom of Gallico, but when Margaret of Gallico married into the Etruscan Kingdom, the fief of Gaeta was included in the dowry, so they suddenly became Etruscan.
In the eyes of the Countess of Gaeta, who had just joined the Etruscan kingdom, Rubina Tullia was a woman who wielded absurd power.
“I never thought that this day would come, even for Countess Rubina, whose power I thought would last forever.”
The old Marchioness of Montefeltro laughed.
“Still, isn’t this a government position that has already achieved everything it could have achieved?”
After holding the throne for over twenty years, she was officially recognized as a member of the royal family and even granted her son the title of Grand Duke before finally retiring. By this point, it was a successful retirement ceremony for a government that would go down in history.
“By then, I don’t think you’ll feel any regrets.”
It was said without knowing Rubina's greed.
“The problem is the young new government.”
"Ah."
A sneer crossed Countess Gaeta's face. Isabella was the favorite drink of the local lords' wives these days.
“I didn’t know she wouldn’t show up at the New Year’s party.”
“Is it because she didn’t do it or because she couldn’t do it?”
The old Marchioness of Montefeltro was no exception to this trend. The landowners, intoxicated by a sense of justice and triumph, celebrated Isabella's misfortune.
Isabella, not even from a prominent family, had always looked down on the daughters and wives of provincial lords because they were from the capital. Even as Lady of de Mare, Countess of Contarini, and even after becoming the King's mistress, she remained consistently arrogant.
But the world's most wicked woman, who had broken the rules and sought a position beyond her means, had lost her greatest weapon and fallen. How could anyone not rejoice?
“I heard that the scar on her face is severe.”
"Yes?"
“Not only that. Pus was oozing from all over her body, and the stench was terrible...”
It was like that for a moment, right after the whipping. But rumors spread that Isabella would be in that state permanently.
“Have you heard that story? The Moorish servant?”
“Oh no?”
This was a story she couldn't ignore. Even the old woman's pale eyes sparkled again.
“This time, Countess Contarini brought in a new servant from the Moorish Empire. He is so sturdy and wild, like a horse...”
The old woman was not interested in such things at all, so she left only a brief comment based on common prejudice.
“Of course, since they are pagan barbarians.”
“But that’s not the problem. Countess Contarini has been shut in her quarters ever since she brought in that Moorish servant!”
At this point, the old woman's eyes also widened.
Otherwise, smoke would come out of the firewood.
Isabella had been quite busy lately. The only people she'd met weren't socialites.
But the careless remarks of the Countess of Gaeta, who was farthest from the center of the rumor, reached the old Marchioness of Montefeltro, who was the center of the gossip.
“Oh my god, is this true?”
"Look at how she didn't even show up for the New Year's party. What was she so busy with that she couldn't even invite His Majesty and stayed cooped up in her own quarters?"
Unrelated information was forcibly bundled together to serve as a basis for reinforcing other information.
Isabella, as seen by society today, was either too ill to attend a New Year's party or she was indulging in pleasures the King's mistress should not indulge in.
Either way, the government was disqualified, declared the old Marchioness of Montefeltro.
“That’s it, it’s over.”
If the story about the male servant was true, it would have been noisy, but if it was true that he was not feeling well, it would have been quiet; but his departure was a done deal.
Countess Gaeta muttered.
“I can’t even enjoy the palace’s glory, and I’m leaving in such a vain way.”
The old Marchioness of Montefeltro answered with a vulgar smile.
“We’ll have to wait and see whether it’ll be a futile or a noisy journey.”
The old lady wanted to see the sights and then send Isabella off.
But something unexpected was about to happen, even to the old Marchioness of Montefeltro, who had survived for a long time in San Carlo.
As the old Marchioness and the young Countess spoke of her downfall, Isabella received a delivery of seven oncias of newborn blood in a vial.
At her feet lay Janobi de Rossi, a man whose limbs were severed, his whole body twisted, and he limped whenever he walked.
“Yes.”
She snatched the glass bottle without even glancing at Janobi.
Isabella's tangled, hideous mouth twisted silently.
It was a laugh.
At the same time, pure joy filled the only remaining, beautiful eyes.
It was madness.
“Because my hobby is going to the market.”
Sir Rothschild had a tendency to try out anything new, whether it was a modified stirrup, a thin, lightweight scabbard, or a graphite pencil.
“Whenever I have time, I browse the Tiber River market, and the paper is a very new product that just came out.”
It was the only interesting thing that had happened in his free time since he left the battlefield.
“It is said to be very popular among merchants because it is thin and soft.”
“Oh, right.”
Sir Manfredi wondered why Miss Bedelia wasn't interested when everyone else was.
Sir Rothschild, the guardian of all new useless things, was also well versed in the details of how paper first entered the market.
"This 'paper' is made from old hemp or linen. Thanks to it, ragpickers have a lot of work to do."
“That’s a good thing.”
Ariadne pondered. Could the decrease in new arrivals at the Rambouillet Relief Center this month be due to this "paper" thing? What changes would this new invention bring to San Carlo?
Sir Rothschild gave Ariadne a frank update on the market situation.
“It sold so well that they started using new linen instead of rags to make it, and the price of linen went through the roof.”
“Oh. I heard that part too.”
A while ago, she received a letter from Lazione Linen complaining about business difficulties due to rising raw material prices. She thought it was just the usual complaint, but it was definitely something different than usual.
“Is it true that the ‘paper’ is not imported?”
“It definitely started first in San Carlo.”
Sir Rothschild told a vivid story of a ragpicker he had met on the street the previous week who had gotten into a fight with a vagrant from the next town while trying to bring in rags from that town.
“It’s spreading from here to other cities, so the price of rags is rising sequentially in the cities closest to San Carlo.”
He was lost in thought for a moment.
"Where's the farthest? Taranto? If I go down to Taranto and buy rags, will I become a millionaire?"
Sir Bernardino gave the training.
"What's the difference between you and the ragpicker from San Carlo? That's something only people like our Princess do! We're just swordsmen!"
“I can ride a horse a little faster than those rag boys!”
Sir Manfredi intervened.
“You weren’t planning on beating him up with a knife if you got into a fight with the ragpicker from the next town?”
“Oh my, I got caught?”
Ariadne was no longer listening to their grumbling.
'First time in San Carlo?'
Ariadne counted on her fingers with a strange expression.
Since her return in 1122, no real fashion has begun in San Carlo. It was all brought by her.
Paper. Paper.
No matter how hard she searched her memory, it wasn't there. She called out to the red-haired knight who was arguing with Sir Manfredi.
“Sir Rothschild.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
He immediately stopped arguing and bowed politely to Ariadne. This allowed him to avoid the final blow from Sir Manfredi, who was aiming for the back of his head with a swing of his hand, but he remained motionless.
“Please tell me about the merchant who first sold that thing called ‘paper.’”
Sir Manfredi's eyes widened.
“Are you going to take it away by kicking it?”
Before Ariadne could explain anything, this time Sir Dino hit the back of Sir Manfredi's head.
“Your Highness, the Princess doesn’t know you are like it!”
While the two were bickering, Ariadne checked with Sir Rotschild again.
“You know, right?”
“Yes. I will complete it as quickly as possible.”
Sir Rothschild answered with a rare, serious expression.
While they were having an important conversation next to each other, Sir Manfredi somehow managed to complete the love letter in question despite Sir Dino's interruptions.
“Oh, I’m done!”
It was a beautiful handwriting on elegant parchment. It looked neat on the outside.
“I must send it to Miss Bedelia by the fastest courier!”
***
After the reply came back, Sir Manfredi was shaken like a dog. Even the best advice, if applied in the wrong place, can be ineffective. Felicite's kindly advice to "tell a good and pleasant story" had a devastating negative effect.
"Why doesn't Sir Manfredi tell me he wants to see me?"
"To my dearest lover in the world, Bedelia.
At San Carlo, Lady Felicite de Alba has arrived as Ariadne's maid. She is the eldest daughter of the Viscount de Alba. With a gentle and calm personality, she serves Ariadne well. (continued)"
“...Why on earth aren’t you answering my questions and instead are you writing letters to me about another woman?!?”
“Hey, you idiot!”
- Chuck!
Sir Bernardino slapped Sir Manfredi on the back, who was holding his head in his hands.
“When someone gets annoyed, don’t react and just say good things!”
Sir Manfredi cried.
“It has to be a good story from the other person’s perspective!”
“What bad thing did I do?”
Sir Manfredi was deeply resentful. He simply said that it was a pleasure to have someone new and that with the added help of the Princess, his workload would be reduced, which was even better. Why should that be considered bad news for Miss Bedelia?
“If I had more time, I could spend more time with Miss Bedelia! Isn’t that right, Lady Felicite?”
In fact, Felicite, the person who gave the advice, was so pale that she couldn't move.
Ariadne, unable to stand by any longer, took up her pen. It was a letter to Madame Cornelia de Rinaldi, Madame Bedelia's older sister and her friend, asking for an explanation.
"Nelly, I swear on God that I had no ill intentions towards Felicite.
Please pass this on to your younger sibling, and to prevent any more misunderstandings, if possible, when the two of us write letters, have someone around us interfere..."
Sir Rotschild, who had lost all seriousness, laughed and whispered to his youngest brother, Sir Desilio.
“Five florins for Sir Manfredi not being able to marry.”
“...I was also going to bet on the side of not being able to get married.”
“Then take it and double it.”
***
The Marchioness of Montefeltro and the Countess of Gaeta were among the select few who were assigned quarters within the Winter Palace.
The two weren't usually in the same group, but the fact that they were allowed to unpack inside the villa gave them a sense of belonging.
So they went out for a walk together in the small central courtyard of the villa to exchange information.
“The New Year’s party was smaller than I thought.”
“There is nothing we can do, His Majesty is not in good health.”
"That's true. His Majesty hasn't been here long, so it's a shame to have such a grand banquet."
The courtyard of the Taranto villa, where they were strolling, was lined with low shrubs. In other words, it was a location where anyone could easily tell if they were being eavesdropped on.
Countess Gaeta, after confirming that no one was there, whispered to the old Marchioness of Montefeltro with a wicked smile.
“Isn’t it true that His Majesty has finished the relationship with Grand Duchess Rubina?”
“...She's old. Amazingly, she's held on this far.”
The Marchioness of Montefeltro maintained an ambiguous position, seemingly defending Rubina but not defending her.
It wasn't her fault she lost favor, but she did lose favor.
This wasn't a land where right and wrong mattered. It was a place where performance alone was the sole judgement. Ultimately, the old woman's overall assessment was a curse on Rubina.
Countess Gaeta said, stretching.
“Life is like a flower that blooms in the sky.”
Her in-laws were originally a family loyal to the Kingdom of Gallico, but when Margaret of Gallico married into the Etruscan Kingdom, the fief of Gaeta was included in the dowry, so they suddenly became Etruscan.
In the eyes of the Countess of Gaeta, who had just joined the Etruscan kingdom, Rubina Tullia was a woman who wielded absurd power.
“I never thought that this day would come, even for Countess Rubina, whose power I thought would last forever.”
The old Marchioness of Montefeltro laughed.
“Still, isn’t this a government position that has already achieved everything it could have achieved?”
After holding the throne for over twenty years, she was officially recognized as a member of the royal family and even granted her son the title of Grand Duke before finally retiring. By this point, it was a successful retirement ceremony for a government that would go down in history.
“By then, I don’t think you’ll feel any regrets.”
It was said without knowing Rubina's greed.
“The problem is the young new government.”
"Ah."
A sneer crossed Countess Gaeta's face. Isabella was the favorite drink of the local lords' wives these days.
“I didn’t know she wouldn’t show up at the New Year’s party.”
“Is it because she didn’t do it or because she couldn’t do it?”
The old Marchioness of Montefeltro was no exception to this trend. The landowners, intoxicated by a sense of justice and triumph, celebrated Isabella's misfortune.
Isabella, not even from a prominent family, had always looked down on the daughters and wives of provincial lords because they were from the capital. Even as Lady of de Mare, Countess of Contarini, and even after becoming the King's mistress, she remained consistently arrogant.
But the world's most wicked woman, who had broken the rules and sought a position beyond her means, had lost her greatest weapon and fallen. How could anyone not rejoice?
“I heard that the scar on her face is severe.”
"Yes?"
“Not only that. Pus was oozing from all over her body, and the stench was terrible...”
It was like that for a moment, right after the whipping. But rumors spread that Isabella would be in that state permanently.
“Have you heard that story? The Moorish servant?”
“Oh no?”
This was a story she couldn't ignore. Even the old woman's pale eyes sparkled again.
“This time, Countess Contarini brought in a new servant from the Moorish Empire. He is so sturdy and wild, like a horse...”
The old woman was not interested in such things at all, so she left only a brief comment based on common prejudice.
“Of course, since they are pagan barbarians.”
“But that’s not the problem. Countess Contarini has been shut in her quarters ever since she brought in that Moorish servant!”
At this point, the old woman's eyes also widened.
Otherwise, smoke would come out of the firewood.
Isabella had been quite busy lately. The only people she'd met weren't socialites.
But the careless remarks of the Countess of Gaeta, who was farthest from the center of the rumor, reached the old Marchioness of Montefeltro, who was the center of the gossip.
“Oh my god, is this true?”
"Look at how she didn't even show up for the New Year's party. What was she so busy with that she couldn't even invite His Majesty and stayed cooped up in her own quarters?"
Unrelated information was forcibly bundled together to serve as a basis for reinforcing other information.
Isabella, as seen by society today, was either too ill to attend a New Year's party or she was indulging in pleasures the King's mistress should not indulge in.
Either way, the government was disqualified, declared the old Marchioness of Montefeltro.
“That’s it, it’s over.”
If the story about the male servant was true, it would have been noisy, but if it was true that he was not feeling well, it would have been quiet; but his departure was a done deal.
Countess Gaeta muttered.
“I can’t even enjoy the palace’s glory, and I’m leaving in such a vain way.”
The old Marchioness of Montefeltro answered with a vulgar smile.
“We’ll have to wait and see whether it’ll be a futile or a noisy journey.”
The old lady wanted to see the sights and then send Isabella off.
But something unexpected was about to happen, even to the old Marchioness of Montefeltro, who had survived for a long time in San Carlo.
As the old Marchioness and the young Countess spoke of her downfall, Isabella received a delivery of seven oncias of newborn blood in a vial.
At her feet lay Janobi de Rossi, a man whose limbs were severed, his whole body twisted, and he limped whenever he walked.
“Yes.”
She snatched the glass bottle without even glancing at Janobi.
Isabella's tangled, hideous mouth twisted silently.
It was a laugh.
At the same time, pure joy filled the only remaining, beautiful eyes.
It was madness.
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