<Episode 542> Find That Moor
"Where did you find out?"
"Is there any evidence?"
Alfonso and Ariadne asked the question almost simultaneously. Alfonso's gaze was sharp, and there was tension at the corners of Ariadne's mouth. This is a matter that could cause turmoil in the international politics of the Central Continent.
"I overheard it at a tavern in the port city at the entrance to Giresin. Some fellows who looked like remnants of Pasha Nazir were venting their grievances."
It was a story about mid-level bosses getting angry at their captain for ceasing operations, saying that since the work given by the Porto guys had been cut off, they shouldn't stop pirating but rather do even more than before.
"They were chattering away as they pleased, completely unaware if we could understand them, but we had a locally hired crew member on our merchant ship. He translated for us!"
Ariadne asked with a sharp gaze.
"Do you still have that sailor with you?"
"...No, I hired him temporarily because of the local waterways, so I dropped him off when I left Giresin Sea."
At that answer, a slight look of disappointment crossed Alfonso's face. It seemed highly credible, but it was a story that could not be proven. One could not protest to the Republic or report it to the Holy See over something like this.
However, at the very least, this story would spread throughout the Etruscan world like the truth through Petrucia's lips. Sensing the atmosphere cool at the mention of the lack of evidence, Petrucia awkwardly changed the subject.
"Anyway, this area is in turmoil as well. Coastal trade was manageable until late autumn, but it all ended when the northeasterly winds started blowing."
"Because the wind is bad?"
"No, it's because the pirates are causing a ruckus!"
Sir Manfredi protested.
"I heard there aren't that many pirates over here!"
"That's right, too!"
The whole sea was in an uproar.
"These days, the only ships that can launch are the Republic of Porto's regular trading companies and merchant vessels belonging to Unaisola!"
There were two players capable of bringing an escort fleet. Although she was not yet among them, Petrucia's face was filled with pride.
"The morale of the merchants in the Etruscan Kingdom is at its peak these days! It is all thanks to Your Highness the Prince."
Alfonso gave a bitter smile.
"I have a long way to go, so I appreciate you looking upon me favorably."
Alfonso truly believed in the proverb Petrucia had mentioned. "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." Even when it seemed like an insurmountable odd, if you took one step at a time, you were bound to find yourself at the finish line before you knew it. You could do it. The problem was that the situation made it impossible to do so.
"It is unthinkable to build a navy without His Majesty's permission."
His hands and feet were completely tied. The Kingdom of Gallico had completed its centralized system of government after a civil war, and the Republic of Porto was steadily building up overseas trading posts. Only the Etruscan Kingdom lagged behind as an agrarian nation, letting its natural advantages go to waste. He was anxious. Noticing Alfonso's demeanor, Ariadne stroked his hand.
"It's okay. Everything will be fine."
How she wished she could tell him everything she knew. That Pasha Nazir's absence would soon be filled by a local, that this autumn's wheat harvest would be bountiful, and that there would be plenty of rain in the summer. That he didn't need to worry like this.
Alfonso suddenly looked at his woman. Her deep green eyes gazed at him as if they knew everything. Feeling that there was more to it than simply understanding his feelings, Alfonso gently stroked the area beneath her eye. Right where the red tear mole was.
***
"Your Highness, the Princess. The merchant you ordered has been brought."
Lord Rothschild reported to Ariadne. She felt a sense of foreboding in his choice of words, rather than 'found' or 'brought'.
"You didn't catch him, did you?"
Lord Rothschild flinched, but soon answered calmly.
"Of course, he walked here on his own two feet."
***
Ariadne now had a private audience room in the Prince's palace. She had repurposed one of the Prince's reception rooms. However, unlike a typical audience room with a throne on a raised platform, it resembled a combination of a study and a reception room. This was because her imagination ran wild, imagining the scandal that would ensue if she were to bring in something like a throne. Thus, sitting at a large desk, she was able to look horizontally at the shivering merchant.
If she had sat on the podium and looked down, that person would have fainted.
"Your-Your Highness. Please spare my life."
The first remark was mind-boggling. Ariadne let out a deep sigh and said.
"It is not Your Highness, but Countess de Mare. What on earth did you hear to come here?"
The merchant began to speak incoherently. To summarize his words, he said that Lord Rothschild had interrogated him about "where that audacious thing came from" and urged him to go report to the high-ranking officials without a single lie. Since it was unimaginable for an ordinary merchant to come face-to-face with a resident of the palace under the reign of Leo III, less akin to a death sentence handed down directly by the King, he entered the Palazzo Carlo filled with all sorts of terrible thoughts.
"I didn't commit fraud or steal anything! That man came and made the offer first!"
It seemed the merchant's strategy for self-preservation was to blame others. At this, Ariadne's ears pricked up.
"That man?"
"Yes! A big Moorish man came to find me and asked, "Do you have any intention of making a lot of money?"
A Moorish man. In an instant, someone flashed through her mind. There was only one Moorish man who had left a vivid impression on Ariadne's memory. Isabella's bodyguard, who had beheaded her in her past life.
"They say he went around offering to teach a secret to great success for a fee of 1,000 ducats. He was rejected by everyone due to his suspicious appearance and the highly questionable nature of his offer, and that's how it ended up with me! Ah, well, I'm not usually the type to do business with suspicious strangers, but I ended up haggling so much that he gave me such a generous discount."
"Wait a minute, describe that man in a little more detail."
The merchant unraveled his story using gestures and movements, with the main subject being his own exploit of haggling a thousand ducats down to six hundred, and the Moorish appearance serving as a side spice.
"He was a man this tall!"
Isabella's bodyguard was also abnormally tall.
"By any chance, were your eyes red?"
"Ah, no."
Ariadne was momentarily disappointed. The merchant, not noticing her expression, continued to fluently describe the large Moorish man.
"He spoke quite well, albeit with a Moorish accent, and he recited the paper-making method fluently in one go, as if he had memorized it, rather than carrying it around written down."
"Wait a minute."
Ariadne remembered his face clearly, but it was not easy to describe his features in words. So she asked about the most distinctive feature.
"Does he have no hair?"
The merchant answered in surprise.
"How did you know? He was bald."
Although it was common for people of the Moorish Empire, especially those from the Amhara, to go around with their heads shaved, Ariadne was certain it was the same man from back then. She bombarded him with questions.
"Do you know any of his personal details? His place of origin, age, what he originally did, what he did in the Etruscan Kingdom, and where he was."
The merchant shook his head with a fearful expression. Since it is generally better to know a little about the other party when trading in the dark, he deliberately did not ask anything.
"You don't even know the name?"
"I, I am sorry..."
The merchant entered trembling, fearing that his papermaking skills might be taken away under the pretext of a tax he had never heard of before. However, the Prince's spouse, a wealthy merchant, seemed to have no interest in paper whatsoever. Desperately racking his brains to satisfy the powerful woman, the merchant recalled the man who had taught him the papermaking skills.
"Ah! Um... the Moorish Empire also has several tribes, doesn't it?"
"That's right."
"Oh, do you know?"
As expected, the Prince's wife was well-known in the upper echelons; she certainly had insight. Not the useless things like etiquette or dignity that those lowlife nobles talk about, but real insight.
"From what I saw, I thought he was from the Amhara region. His appearance suggested it, and although he spoke our language well, his accent was very strong. People from the Balassa Ordo or Magyar regions looked completely different."
Anadne nodded and thought. It was indeed that fellow from back then. Balassa Ordo was the hometown of the old priestess and her grandson. Their skin was tanned but not dark, and they had jet-black straight hair. With their small stature and small features, it seemed unlikely they would grow to the build the merchant had described.
"The people of Etelkoz are different from us, but they are also different from the Amharas, and while the people of Uttar Agra cannot be distinguished from the Amharas by skin color alone, the two have distinctly different accents."
"He used an Amhara accent?"
Ariadne was now certain. She asked not to find out who the Moor was who had introduced the paper technology, but to gather information on what characteristics the soldiers searching for him should use to locate him.
"Yes, it is a nasal way of speaking that sounds like singing. Even when people from Uttar Agra speak Etruscan, they cannot eliminate aspirated consonants and speak in a choppy, staccato manner."
It was a time when Ariadne was contemplating whether to commission a portrait painter to paint a picture with a bounty on it. The merchant, feeling embarrassed to leave with just that one item, racked his brains desperately and realized something.
"Ah! Why did I forget this!"
"Hmm?"
"He must be a naive fellow. I paid with a promissory note, and he took it."
Usually, those trying to erase their tracks would not accept anything other than gold coins. In fact, because it was a society with low credit, everyone preferred gold much more than promissory notes.
"However, I received word that the promissory note was settled in Taranto."
A glint appeared in Ariadne's eyes. She opened her mouth.
"Tell me the date, amount, and bank branch."
The merchant hurriedly began searching his body to see if he had brought his notebook. Well, it didn't matter if he hadn't. Now that he was caught, it was only a matter of time. As it happened, Taranto was a land ruled by her good friend.
***
Former Grand Duchess Rubina woke up late and called for the Marchioness Ceppinelli.
"Honey, what's my schedule like today?"
Since coming down to Taranto, she gathered noble ladies for breakfast. While in San Carlo, she could not spend her mornings as she pleased because she was attending to Leo III, but now that she was free thanks to Isabella, she decided to lead her own gatherings upon arriving in Taranto. However, every coin has two sides
"Umm... Your Ladyship, the late Duchess... That is..."
Deborah was there instead of the Marchioness Ceppinelli. Rubina answered sharply.
"Where did Francesca go, and why are you out here?!"
"The Marchioness de Ceppinelli urgently took sick leave this morning, saying she was ill..."
Rubina snapped. "If you were sick, you should have reported it to me in advance!"
"Then, who is coming to my luncheon today?"
Deborah could not answer. Usually, ladies wishing to attend Rubina or the former Grand Duchess's luncheon would apply the evening before, and the Marchioness Ceppinelli would compile the list, approve it, and then submit it to Rubina. Therefore, Rubina assumed that Deborah was unable to answer because the handover from the Marchioness to Deborah had not yet been properly completed.
"How come you can't do your job properly!"
Rubina was annoyed that her subordinate was making her life difficult first thing in the morning.
"What's so hard about getting the list and letting me know! Even if Francesca was bedridden, it must have been something like a cold. Can't you speak?! Can't you write?! At the very least, you could have looked up the invitation list yourself!"
"S-S-Grand Duchess, that's not it."
Deborah was so choked up she could barely speak. What kind of lightning might strike if she said the next thing? Yet, she couldn't help but speak
"No ladies have requested to join us for lunch today."
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