The marquis was dead. The news had arrived by express courier.
High treason, lèse-majesté, blasphemy... every vile charge that one human could pin on another had been heaped upon him. Was this how a loyal servant met his end? What a cruel joke.
Moreover, the Sardinian royal court had apparently found ordinary execution insufficient, for they had carried out a death of extraordinary cruelty.
As anyone who had seen Jeremy or Daisy would know, this world's methods of execution and torture had developed along grotesquely sophisticated lines. The marquis had his skin flayed, then every vein and muscle slashed to ribbons; his bones were pulverized and thrown to the dogs as dog food.
According to the official proclamation, the marquis had been colluding with our Empire. He had secretly obtained the Duke of Milan's and the Grand Duke of Florence's battle plans and leaked them to us; he had deceived the royal court and funneled gold coin to our coffers. So went the story. A well-crafted tale. A well-crafted scapegoat.
I knew who the real culprit was.
Just before walking into the jaws of death, the marquis had sent me an urgent letter. It read as follows:
'With my deepest loyalty, I send this to the Court Count. I am pleased to report that I have been able to faithfully carry out the requirements you set before me. As you know, the mountain range we had to cross was double-layered, and I crossed the first range stretching before Venice with less effort than expected. Now I prepare to scale the final mountain.'
'I send this letter in the hope that you will acknowledge my efforts. I know you to be a man who takes promises with the utmost seriousness. But sometimes the line between strictness and cruelty is a blurred one. What determines which side of that line we stand on is simply this: whether the promise shared between two people results in the sacrifice of others, or it does not... That is all.'
'I have attached my ring to this letter—a ring that symbolizes my family and my title.'
'A treasure bestowed upon me by His Majesty the King himself. My pride and my blood are distilled into this small object. Of course, I suspect the Court Count does not favor such abstract sentiments, so allow me to note that this ring is the only key to our family vault. It is, in effect, my entire fortune. Surely this earns at least a measure of trust? I jest, of course.'
'Court Count. Please wait for just three days. Exactly three days. No one should have to be sacrificed on account of our promise—let alone an innocent soul. Once I have scaled the second range, I will come to visit you and retrieve my ring... Ascanio Juno de Lodi.'
A gold ring was indeed attached to the letter.
It was an unremarkable, worn thing. The color had faded to a dull yellowish-brown, so much so that you couldn't tell whether it was truly made of gold or merely brass. The marquis's family treasury probably didn't contain a single valuable item.
I smiled as I turned the ring over in my fingers.
"You were wrong, Marquis. I happen to be very fond of abstract things..."
Let me say it once more: I knew who the culprit was. I was the culprit.
I hadn't wanted Elizabeth to remain cooped up in Venice. But the Republican army was, after all, nothing more than foreign mercenaries. For them to move freely, they needed a suitable pretext. The marquis had been perfect for the role.
I had known the marquis would go to Elizabeth. I had also known that Elizabeth would recognize his value... In other words, the person who had driven the marquis to his death was not Elizabeth. It was me.
"My Lord. There's word that the Republican army has moved in Venice."
Laura entered the tent. Her body was drenched in sweat — it seemed she had been practicing swordsmanship.
"They're saying the force numbers between twelve and fifteen thousand. The Grand Duke of Florence has recruited more mercenaries to bring the total to twelve thousand, so combined, it amounts to an army of thirty thousand. We need to move before the two forces link up..."
"How much time do we have?"
"Mm."
Laura threw off her cloak and breastplate. The maids flocked to her. Three of them had already soaked towels in hot water and were wiping down her body in every crevice. They were all mute and deaf, so there was no cause for concern.
"The faster we move, the better. But let me think... we can afford a tight window of up to four days."
"Would it be alright to wait just two more days?"
"......"
Laura gazed at my face in silence.
"Since this isn't an order, it must be a personal reason."
"That's right. A personal matter — an exceedingly personal one."
"Very well. We'll move in two days."
Laura nodded agreeably. She didn't ask why I had requested the two-day delay.
During the two days we remained stationary, the Habsburg Empire condemned the Republic's interference.
The neighboring nations, seeing how events were unfolding, found it increasingly difficult to keep their mouths shut. Until now, they had been deliberately maintaining their silence. But the Republic had butted into another nation's war — and one justified by nothing more than the deeply private cause of "restoring a ducal house."
It was blatantly overstepping. Criticism poured in from neighboring nations. Starting with the Batavia Republic, Franck, Teuton, Politunia, and Kalmar each issued statements in succession, demanding an immediate halt to foreign interference.
Emperor Rudolf delivered his final advisory.
— This is a final warning to the Kingdom of Sardinia and the self-proclaimed band of traitors calling themselves a republic. We have given you multiple opportunities to choose a handshake over a sword. Henceforth, We will neither retreat nor negotiate — We shall simply inform you of Our decision.
— The Duchy of Milan and the Duchy of Piacenza-Parma are hereby incorporated into the territories of the Farnese family. Furthermore, the Kingdom of Sardinia and the band of traitors are to immediately cease all personnel and material exchanges. Should this proposal go unheeded, you will learn that men cannot remain arrogant even in the face of death.
Various diplomatic exchanges came and went, and two days passed in a flash.
The appointed time had elapsed, so Laura moved the army. Leaving only a minimal garrison at Piacenza-Parma, the Imperial forces began marching south toward central Sardinia. Their destination was the great city of Florence, ruled by the Grand Duke of Florence.
"Three days. They've waited faithfully."
Twenty-five thousand soldiers filed into a long column and marched onward. I watched the sight from a hilltop. The Marquess's gold ring sat on my left hand.
"They've kept their promise."
There was no truce.
Nearly a month of silence had ended — the war resumed.
The Kingdom of Sardinia currently had three commanders-in-chief. The Grand Duke of Florence, the Duke of Milan, and Consul Elisabeth each held that title.
In name, the Grand Duke of Florence served as the King's deputy commander and should have held supreme military authority. Yet the Duke of Milan did not readily submit to the Grand Duke's orders, and as for Consul Elisabeth, she was the head of state of an entire nation in her own right. Neither was the sort of person to quietly obey commands.
"......"
The Grand Duke pressed his right hand to his forehead. The recent stress had become so severe that he suffered from gastritis almost daily. Three commanders-in-chief for a single army? If it were a joke, he might have laughed — but since this was reality, he couldn't even keep a straight face.
The three of them were currently holding a conference through the crystal ball. Though calling it a conference was generous. "Good day." "A pleasure." "I've heard much of your reputation." The meeting had started and a grand total of three sentences had been spoken. The Grand Duke's stomach churned with frustration.
Just then, an adjutant entered the conference room.
"Your Highness. The Empire has begun to move."
"Finally......"
The Grand Duke let slip a sigh that was almost a lament. Both the Duke and the Consul glanced at the adjutant with evident interest.
"What is their destination?"
"They are marching south along the River Taurus, Your Highness."
"Taurus...... I see. They're heading for Genoa."
The Grand Duke furrowed his brow. To march from Parma to Genoa, one had to follow the River Taurus. And in Genoa, the Grand Duke himself was stationed. The Empire's next target was none other than the Grand Duke himself......
"It could also be La Spezia."
The Duke of Milan, who had been maintaining a stubborn silence, slowly opened his mouth. Every time the Duke moved his lips, his white mustache twitched along with them.
"If you follow the River Taurus and then head west, you reach Genoa. But if you turn east instead, you come to La Spezia. There's no guarantee they'll head for Genoa."
"La Spezia? What profit would the Empire gain by going there?"
The Grand Duke was displeased that the Duke had refuted his opinion, but he didn't show it. In truth, he was grateful just to have coaxed words out of him. Thanks to that, the Grand Duke naturally ended up assuming the role of chairman in this meeting.
"Marquis of Lodi...... forgive me. The traitor Ascanio's fiefdom was La Spezia, was it not?"
"......Indeed it was. Ascanio was known for his benevolent rule. He was certainly beloved by his people."
The Grand Duke nodded slowly.
"His people must be furious by now at Ascanio's execution for treason."
"Precisely. When the Imperial Army advances, there's a strong possibility the populace will join them in revolt. No, it's even possible that secret negotiations between the Empire and La Spezia have already taken place."
"A bloodless entry, then......"
This time, it was the Duke of Milan who nodded. They eyed each other with suspicion and mutual dislike, yet each acknowledged the other's strength. That was the atmosphere in the room.
"Then should we guard the La Spezia approach?"
"That is what this old man thinks. However, if the Grand Duke leaves Genoa undefended, the Imperial Army could change their minds and march on Genoa at any time. I won't deny the gamble is a heavy one."
"Hmm."
Genoa, or La Spezia.
Before they chose one side or the other, meeting them in open battle was another option. The problem was that the Grand Duke of Florence commanded a mere 13,000 troops. The Imperial Army, by contrast, numbered roughly thirty thousand.
At the Battle of Trebbia, they had been outnumbered even with superior numbers and still suffered a crushing defeat. Now they didn't have more troops — they had barely half the enemy's strength. Meeting them on the open field felt like a certain loss......
The Duke of Milan let out a sigh.
"......Ascanio shouldn't have been killed so rashly."
"Your Grace!"
The Grand Duke of Florence cried out in alarm. The Marquis had officially been declared a traitor. Anyone who shielded a traitor faced the same charge of treason. It was dangerous.
"Grand Duke, do not silence me. A wise old man grows bold in the face of death."
"......"
"I wanted a political compromise — I never wished for the Marquis to shoulder everything and be sacrificed. He was a man devoted to this country and the royal household. Surely even you know that well enough, Your Grace."
The Grand Duke of Florence held his tongue.
Both the Grand Duke and the Duke knew it. The Marquis Rody was not the kind of man to conspire in treason. So long as the world they inhabited was a ruthless political arena, the three great nobles would occasionally clash and then reconcile. But all three of them were each devoted to Sardinia in accordance with their own convictions.
The Duke sighed once more.
"The day before his execution, Ascanio sent me a message."
"To you, Your Grace?"
"He asked whether I could relinquish the Duchy of Milan. He offered to hand over his own fiefs in exchange, begging me to release the duchy for the sake of Sardinia's peace."
This was the first time the Grand Duke had heard of it. He asked cautiously, half in disbelief.
"You accepted?"
"Of course I refused. Milan is not my personal possession — it holds the history of our house. I considered it an outrageously impudent demand and shouted at him to get lost. And the very next day, Ascanio was arrested on charges of treason......"
"......"
"I don't know where it all went wrong. Where exactly......"
Where had it all gone wrong? Even the Grand Duke could not say for certain.
Had it begun when he feuded with the Duke of Milan? When they marched to the Trebbia River, deceived by the Empire? Or perhaps — when the Farnese family was destroyed and a young girl was sold off to a slave merchant......
It felt as though the specter of the past clung to him with a thick, cloying persistence. As if there were a mire beneath his feet — once you stepped in, you could never pull yourself free. A heavy silence settled over the conference room......