Chapter 1474 - Banquet

The corners of the Count's mouth curved down in a sneer. He turned and gave a couple of orders to a sailor who appeared to be a leader. Immediately, urgent whistles sounded on the deck. Under the Treasurer's stunned gaze, a dozen sailors swiftly took their positions. The cannon covers were stripped from the carronades on deck. In moments, they swiveled to starboard, muzzles raised.

Sparks flew with a tremendous boom. A 48-pound solid iron ball flew over the galleon's bow, passing above the head of the gilded Neptune figurehead, and splashed into the sea on the other side of the ship, raising a water column nearly as high as the mast. The second shot struck between the yacht and the galleon—the falling water column drenching the galleon's deck.

The shock effect of the straddling fire was visible through the cannon smoke and flying spray: a large swarm of East Indian sailors scurried chaotically across the galleon's deck, panic-stricken. Gun ports on one side slowly opened, but the ship was so heavily laden that the ports sat closer to the waterline than usual. Waves stirred by the sea wind slapped against the hull, and seawater immediately flowed into the open ports, forcing them closed again. The result was that as the Esmeralda rode the wind away, the galleon failed to return a single shot from start to finish.

"Are you mad? What are you doing?" Andrade finally recovered from his stupor. "If just one of your shells had struck the hold, it would have been over. Sanabria has a royal charter to transport saltpeter for the colony—the hold of that ship back from India must be stuffed with it. For God's sake, if the saltpeter supply for the entire colony were written off, what would you have His Highness the Governor do?"

"Don't worry, my dear Sebastian." The Count remained smiling. "I was merely expressing my friendship to Don Sanabria. Moreover, he isn't the only one who can work to promote the welfare of the Royal Colony—I can too. The respected Lord Salamanca should know this."

It was sunset in Manila, sultry as usual for this season, but the sun had fallen into cloud wisps gradually rising from the horizon. Rays of golden light peering through the cloud gaps reflected a splendid brilliance on the tranquil surface of the Pasig River.

A glittering golden carriage drove to the riverside and stopped before a villa's gate. It was a white garden residence famous throughout the colony for its elegance. Adorning the grove by the river, it rested like a jewel inlaid in greenery—extremely incongruous with the ostentatious style presented by this carriage drenched in gold paint. However, the four robust steeds tethered to the shafts still won unanimous praise from onlookers. Unfortunately, close inspection revealed that not only were the four horses of different breeds, but their coat colors weren't entirely identical either. To mask this flaw, the carriage owner had tied towering rose knots on each horse's forehead—which only made the display appear more vulgar.

A Spanish gentleman near fifty strode down from the carriage, removed his magnificent plumed hat, and tossed it along with his cane to an East Indian attendant, revealing a few strands of hair combed very neatly across a scalp oily with sweat. He adjusted his gold-threaded ruff slightly, very satisfied that his black coat and tight trousers of Nanking satin remained crisp and shiny. The gold medal with ribbon hanging on his chest had been polished many times—bright and translucent. He surveyed his surroundings with an air of disdain for everything, then shouted at the servant standing on the steps: "Where is the Madam? Go announce to your master that Don Esteban Sanabria has come to visit!"

Inside the residence, whitewashed with shell powder and lime, the entrance hall was deep and the corridors winding. A robust black slave led them around in circles through many turns. Sanabria was annoyed to find the black devil before him was actually a head taller than himself; this displeasure affected the personal attendant following closely behind. The wretched Indian manservant was small by birth, and now he shrank into a ball even more, walking softly, scarcely daring to breathe.

Every room they passed had servants in livery busy decorating walls and doorways with flower balls and colorful ribbons, climbing up and down to wipe floor-to-ceiling windows inlaid with bright Australian glass, or transporting various foods and liquors back and forth—no shortage of imported goods from Lingao. Imported food brought by Chinese merchants had long been an important source for colonial tables, and now novel foods were shipped from Lingao: especially various delicious candies, spirits, and beverages. Someone had even prepared shipped ice. The Spaniards were skeptical—it was widely known that Lingao's latitude was even lower than Guangzhou's. It was impossible to find ice and snow there.

Huge silver platters on the tables were piled high with lemons arranged into tall towers according to the Italian method, emitting a charming fragrance. It seemed the richest, most beautiful white widow in the Philippines colony, Baroness Lucrezia Ciarlo, had spared no thought or money to prepare for her name day celebration.

They followed the winding corridor through the entire building, walked out the back door, and stepped onto vine-shaded paths in the garden. This garden cleverly blended Chinese and Moorish styles and was quite famous in the colony. On the lawn before the blooming Arabian jasmine bushes, many guests who feared being late for the grand event and had arrived early were already gathered. Female guests were scattered in white gazebos entwined with fresh vines and flowers, sitting on swings, whispering in twos and threes, occasionally bursting into gentle laughter.

Unlike the ladies and misses vying in beauty with attire and jewelry, showing off with various towering hairstyles, the Spanish gentlemen almost all wore dark doublet coats, sweat-soaked ruffs tightly gripping their necks. They gathered beside a water pavilion near the river in the garden, from which a cheerful, crisp singing voice drifted out, accompanied by the melody of a harpsichord.

Sanabria followed those admiring or jealous gazes, and his eyes froze instantly. Not only because the hostess was singing boldly, but more importantly—Sanabria's mortal enemy in Manila, the evil mercenary leader, the so-called Count of Sardinia, was currently seated before Madame Lucrezia Ciarlo, playing the instrument to accompany her. Standing beside them were five or six Filipinos holding violins, mandolins, and bamboo flutes—the band the Baroness had hired to play for dancing, evidently now left with nothing to do.

The colony's number one tycoon saw nothing now but his enemy. If anyone observed carefully, they would surely think the flames burning in his eyes were intense enough to incinerate the Count's luxurious carriage, packing a power comparable to the heavy shell Esmeralda had fired to intimidate the Neptune. The blank shot incident had already become the hottest topic in the colony's high society, just like the suspicious case of the submersible burning down in the dockyard before. Rumors said the Count had instigated the arson, though most thought this was the ravings of the jealous Mr. Sanabria. Conversely, the party involved—the Japanese Paul—expressed no opinion. He rarely showed up in public, so there was no way for anyone to ask.

The Count paid no heed to his enemy's "murderous gaze." He focused entirely on the performance, occasionally raising his face to respond with a smile to the amorous glances sent by the beautiful singer.

The hostess covered her face with a small Japanese folding fan, singing a song favored by the late Lorenzo de' Medici:

How beautiful is youth, Yet how quickly it flees, Let him who would be happy, be so now, For there is no certainty in tomorrow!

Suddenly erupting applause and waves of cheers and acclaim poured down like cold water on Sanabria, sobering his head from its fever of vengeance. The song ended; the hostess held the Count's hand, asked him to rise, and unexpectedly planted a light kiss on his cheek—eliciting a chorus of yells, laughter, and sighs full of astonishment and jealousy. Lucrezia's extraordinary beauty and myriad charms had always been the object of envy among the colony's white women, but now it was the men's turn to be jealous.

A certain cultured busybody wrote: "The Count stood by the instrument stand holding the Baroness's slender hand. His magnificent, vigorous body and dashing, moving appearance were enough to make one imagine what Leochares' Apollo would look like clothed."

Indeed, Weiss's attire today was a major reason for the audience's commotion. After all, they only knew to wear pumpkin breeches stuffed with padding, tied under similarly stuffed doublets. As for slashing comical slits in the jacket to reveal colorful lining, sticking bird feathers all over the hat, and wearing a ruff like a grouse's neck feathers—this passed for the common way a Spanish man in the first half of the 17th century dressed himself. If he knew some fresh things just becoming popular in the Netherlands and France—wearing a powdered wig, draping a lace-edged collar, donning culottes with garters and bows, hanging tassels and ribbons all over his body, giving off a thoroughly womanly air—that would be the fashion for the next century and a half.

As for the suit Weiss wore today, made of gray valentin fine wool and designed after later generations' admiral dress uniforms, the European bumpkins of this spacetime had absolutely never seen or heard of it. In other words, they were dumbstruck. For instance, Captain Iker Zubizarretta—who had boarded the Count's yacht and now bid farewell to that nearly rotten, toothless galley to command a newly completed two-masted patrol sloop—unconsciously tugged at his newly made coat with both hands, wanting to remove those gaudy, superfluous ornaments that hindered masculine spirit.

Sanabria, however, stared dead at the gold-threaded cuffs of the Count and the sparkling gems on his buttons.

"No—those must all be inlaid glass. If they were real, he could have bought everything in Manila long ago! Damned liar—" He was immersed in resentful thoughts until the hostess's loud laughter sobered him again.

(End of Chapter)