Chapter 285: The Banquet

The corners of the Count’s mouth curved into a sneer. He turned and gave a few instructions to a sailor who seemed to be a leader. A sharp whistle blast followed on the deck. Under the treasurer’s astonished gaze, a dozen sailors quickly took their positions. The carronade on the deck had its cover removed, was swiftly turned to starboard, its muzzle raised. Sparks flew with a huge bang, and a 48-pound solid iron ball flew over the galleon’s bow, passing over the head of the gilded Neptune statue and landing in the sea on the other side of the ship, splashing up a column of water almost as high as the mast. The second shot landed between the yacht and the galleon, and the column of water fell, drenching the galleon’s deck. The deterrent effect of the bracketing fire was evident to the treasurer and the Count through the smoke and scattered water. A large group of East India sailors scurried around the galleon’s deck in a panic. The gunports on one side slowly opened, but the ship was so heavily laden that the gunports were closer to the waterline than usual. The waves, stirred up by the sea breeze, slapped against the hull, and seawater immediately flowed into the open gunports, which had to be closed again. The result was that by the time the Esmeralda had sailed away on the wind, the galleon had not been able to return a single shot.

“Are you mad? What are you doing?” Andrade finally recovered from his stupor. “If just one of your cannonballs had hit the hold, it would have been over. Sanavria has a royal charter to transport saltpeter for the colony. That ship returning from India must be filled with saltpeter. For God’s sake, if the entire colony’s supply of saltpeter is destroyed, what will His Excellency the Governor do?”

“Don’t worry, my dear Sebastian,” the Count was still smiling. “I am merely expressing my friendship to Don Sanavria. Besides, he is not the only one who can contribute to the welfare of the royal colony. I can too. The esteemed Lord Salamanca should know this.”

It was sunset in Manila, as stuffy as usual at this time of year. The sun had already set into the clouds rising from the horizon, and the golden rays shining through the gaps in the clouds cast a brilliant light on the calm surface of the Pasig River. A golden carriage drove to the riverside and stopped in front of the gate of a villa. It was a white garden residence known throughout the colony for its elegance. It was nestled in the trees by the river, like a jewel set in green, a stark contrast to the flamboyant style of the gilded carriage. However, the four sturdy horses harnessed to the carriage still won the unanimous admiration of the onlookers.

Unfortunately, upon closer inspection, one would find that not only were the four horses of different breeds, but their coat colors were not entirely uniform either. To conceal this flaw, the owner of the carriage had tied a tall rose rosette on the forehead of each horse, which only made it look more vulgar.

A Spanish gentleman in his late forties strode down from the carriage, took off his magnificent plumed hat, and threw it along with his cane to his East Indian attendant, revealing a few strands of neatly combed hair stuck to his oily scalp. He slightly adjusted his white silk ruff embroidered with gold thread, satisfied that his black jacket and tight trousers, made of Nanjing satin, were crisp and shiny. A gold medal with a ribbon was pinned to his chest, polished many times to a bright shine. He looked around with an air of disdain and then shouted at the servant standing on the steps, “Where is the lady of the house? Go and announce the visit of Don Esteban Sanavria!”

Inside the whitewashed residence, the foyer was deep, and the corridors wound around. A sturdy black slave led them in circles. Mr. Sanavria was annoyed to find that the black devil in front of him was a head taller than himself. This displeasure affected his personal attendant who followed closely behind. The poor Indian servant was already short, and now he shrank even more, tiptoeing along, not daring to breathe loudly.

The rooms they passed through were filled with servants in livery, busy decorating the walls and porches with flower balls and ribbons; climbing up and down to wipe the bright French windows made of Australian glass; or coming and going, carrying all sorts of food and wine—not a few of which were imported from Lingao. Imported food from Chinese merchants had always been an important source for the colonial dining table, and now new and strange foods were being brought in from Lingao, especially all kinds of delicious candies, wines, and beverages. Some even planned to bring in ice, which the Spanish were skeptical about. It was well known that Lingao’s latitude was even lower than Guangzhou’s, so it was impossible to find ice and snow there.

On the table, a huge silver platter held lemons stacked into a high tower, in the Italian style, emitting a charming fragrance. It seemed that the richest and most beautiful white widow in the Philippine colony, Baroness Lucrezia Ciaro, had spared no effort or expense in preparing for her name day celebration.

They walked through the winding corridors, passed through the entire building, went out the back door, and stepped onto a vine-covered path in the garden. This garden cleverly blended Chinese and Moorish styles and was quite famous in the colony. On the lawn in front of a blooming jasmine bush, many guests who were afraid of being late for the grand event had already gathered. The female guests were scattered in white pavilions entwined with fresh vines and flowers, sitting on swings, whispering in twos and threes, and occasionally bursting into delicate laughter.

Unlike the ladies who competed in fashion and jewelry, showing off with various high and low hairstyles, the Spanish gentlemen were almost all dressed in dark pourpoint jackets, their sweat-soaked ruffs tightly encircling their necks. They gathered around a waterside pavilion near the river in the garden, from which a cheerful and bright singing voice, accompanied by the melody of a harpsichord, drifted out. Sanavria followed the gazes of admiration and jealousy, and his own gaze immediately froze. Not only because the hostess was singing loudly, but more importantly, Sanavria’s mortal enemy in Manila, the wicked mercenary leader, the so-called Sardinian Count, was now sitting before Lucrezia Ciaro, playing the harpsichord for her.

Beside them stood five or six Filipinos holding violins, mandolins, and bamboo flutes, the orchestra the Baroness had hired to play for the dance, who now clearly had nothing to do.

The colony’s top merchant now saw no one but his enemy. If anyone had been observing closely, they would have thought the fire burning in his eyes was intense enough to burn the Count’s luxurious carriage, with a power comparable to the heavy cannonball fired by the Esmeralda to intimidate the Neptune. The blank shot incident had become the hottest topic of conversation in the colony’s upper circles, just like the previous suspicious case of the submarine setting fire to the shipyard. There were rumors that the Count had ordered the fire, but most people believed it was just the jealous Mr. Sanavria’s nonsense. On the contrary, the Japanese, Paul, who was the party involved, had not expressed any opinion. He rarely appeared in public, so there was no way to ask his opinion.

The Count paid no attention to his enemy’s “murderous gaze.” He was completely focused on his musical performance, occasionally raising his face to return the beautiful singer’s amorous glances with a smile.

The hostess covered her face with a small Japanese folding fan and sang a triumphant song by the late poet Lorenzo de’ Medici:

How beautiful is youth, Alas, it passes so quickly, If we do not enjoy ourselves today, What will we do tomorrow?

A sudden burst of applause, cheers, and acclamations was like a basin of cold water poured over Sanavria’s head, sobering his mind, which was filled with a frenzy of revenge. After the song, the hostess took the Count’s hand, asked him to stand up, and unexpectedly gave him a light kiss on the cheek, causing a wave of gasps, laughter, and sighs filled with admiration and jealousy. Lucrezia’s extraordinary beauty and charm had always been the object of jealousy for the white women of the colony, but now it was the men’s turn to be jealous.

A certain pretentious busybody wrote: “The Count stood by the harpsichord, holding the Baroness’s delicate hand. His tall and strong physique, his handsome and charming demeanor, were enough to make one imagine what Leochares’ Apollo would look like in clothes.”

Indeed, Weiss’s attire today was an important reason for the audience’s commotion. After all, they only knew how to wear stuffed pumpkin breeches, tied under the equally stuffed pourpoint. As for cutting comical slits in the jacket to reveal the colorful lining, sticking bird feathers in their hats, and wearing a ruff like a grouse’s neck feathers—this was the common way for a Spanish man of the first half of the seventeenth century to dress himself. If he knew some of the new fads from the Netherlands and France, wore a powdered wig, a lace-trimmed collar, and breeches with garters and bows, and was covered in tassels and ribbons, exuding a thoroughly effeminate air, that would be the fashion for the next century and a half. As for the Count’s grey valentine fine wool suit, designed in the style of a later admiral’s uniform, the European natives of this era had never seen or heard of it. In other words, they were stunned. For example, Iker de Suvisarreta, the Basque captain who had once boarded the Count’s yacht, had now bid farewell to his old, decaying galley and was preparing to command a newly completed two-masted patrol ship. His hands unconsciously tugged at his new jacket, trying to remove the flashy and superfluous ornaments that were detrimental to his masculinity.

And Sanavria stared fixedly at the Count’s gold-embroidered cuffs and the sparkling jewels on his buttons.

“No, those must all be glass settings. If they were all real, he could have bought everything in Manila! Damn liar,” he thought, immersed in his indignant and resentful thoughts, until he heard the hostess’s loud laughter again and came to his senses.