CHAPTER 4
She was finally released from house arrest.
Winter had arrived, and the city had seen a light snowfall, which seemed like a mere formality, as not even the holly branches had turned white.
Hedy had waited for a long time, but the glass vessels still hadn’t been returned, and she felt some anxiety.
It wasn’t that she was worried about whether the penicillin could be produced—what she feared was that the beef broth in the glass vessels might spoil and grow mold, attracting mice or scorpions to crawl out from the dark corners.
If that happened, she might end up being suspected of being a witch again.
On the day of her release from house arrest, Dechio took her to his office.
The palace here was different from what she had seen at Buckingham Palace.
The outer walls of Renaissance-era palaces were simple and unadorned, with the bricks exposed, making the building appear like a fortress from afar.
But once you stepped inside, walked on the Persian soft rugs embroidered with golden lions, and looked at the off-white walls and countless famous paintings, a sense of awe and solemnity would immediately sink into your heart.
As Hedy approached the office, she felt a surge of fear.
The closer she got to Lorenzo, the more she could feel a sense of helplessness she couldn’t escape.
“Sit.”
The servant brought over a four-legged stool with a velvet cushion. Hedy lowered her head in a respectful greeting and sat across from the desk.
“Besides the citrus, what else?”
Lorenzo seemed to be writing something, not once looking up at her.
“My lord, different research results require different experimental periods,” Hedy said calmly. “I need time to confirm the principles.”
The quill paused on the paper for a moment before Lorenzo continued writing his thoughts.
“How long will it take?”
“It depends on what you want.”
“The medicine you mentioned last time, what was it called?”
“Penicillin.”
“Then start with that.”
Hedy wasn’t sure how long it would take to develop penicillin.
Even if it took two or three months, she needed to drag it out to two years to give herself more time to survive.
If she lost her usefulness and hadn’t planned an escape, the consequences would be unthinkable.
“Probably... at least five years,” Hedy said uncertainly. “This requires repeated experiments and confirmations, as well as clinical trials.”
She feared he might not believe her and quickly added, “I can give you regular progress reports. I won’t be negligent.”
Lorenzo didn’t seem to care much about what she said. He merely nodded and casually ended the conversation with a period.
“If you need anything, just ask Cosimo for help.”
He lifted his head, seemingly about to ask about the glass vessels, but then he noticed the young woman before him.
She was young, beautiful, and her skin was as smooth and lustrous as pearls.
Dechio had arranged new clothes and hair accessories for her, making her appear neat and tidy. At first glance, one might have mistaken her for a noblewoman from a neighboring country.
“...Is there anything else?” Hedy felt a little uncomfortable under his gaze and subtly leaned back.
“No.” Lorenzo averted his gaze and prepared to summon the next sponsor. “You may leave.”
“Rather than the medicine, I hope you pay more attention to Florence,” Hedy mustered the courage to say. “It may not be in absolute order.”
Her words had crossed a line.
Lorenzo looked up again, this time giving her a polite but distant smile. “Miss Kiesler, do you think the Medici family has failed to protect this city?”
Hedy had kept these concerns in mind.
Aside from the fires of vanity, the Italian-French war was something that needed early intervention.
Though she couldn’t understand how a 24-year-old emperor could lead an army to conquer Florence, this was clearly something that couldn’t be brought up directly.
To mention it would be offensive, even insulting to him.
She needed to gain the lord's trust first before she could warn him about such matters.
There’s a Latin proverb that warns people against speaking too soon in shallow relationships.
—This war would last at least another decade, and its outcome must be changed.
“Sir, I was hired from the bottom ranks,” Hedy said, her voice heavy with memory of the sinful fire. “Besides the words of bishops and merchants, you could also observe this city through thieves and riots.”
“Some crises quietly expand in unnoticed places.”
What was in plain sight couldn’t even be called an enemy.
She still didn’t know the name, age, or whereabouts of that madman, only that he could incite the people to destroy all of Florence, burning countless treasures in a raging fire.
Lorenzo didn’t nod in agreement. Instead, he simply pointed to the door.
The young alchemist bowed again and left without another word.
As she bent down, her dark, curly hair cascaded down, making him suddenly think of the wind god Eurus from the poems.
After the assassination attempt in the church, Florence had drastically increased its security, with archers now on rotation even at the city's viewpoints.
In recent years, Lorenzo had spent lavishly, continually hosting extravagant parades and festivities, sponsoring dozens of painters and poets, and his reputation in the city had nearly reached its peak.
—What crisis was she referring to?
On a rational level, Lorenzo didn’t want to take her warning seriously.
But the seeds of doubt and hesitation had already been quietly sown.
Hedy had been under house arrest for more than a month, and now that she was finally free, she decided to find Leonardo da Vinci for a drink and some conversation.
From the Doge’s Palace, one could overlook the Piazza della Signoria and catch a glimpse of a replica of Michelangelo’s David.
The first floor housed a council hall capable of hosting more than five hundred people, where noble politicians often gathered to dance and feast.
The second and third floors were for family members to live and work, all lavishly decorated with gold and splendor.
Artists sponsored by the Medici family lived on the southern side of the first floor, free to come and go from the courtyard. They often gathered there to drink and chat, occasionally entertained by maids dancing for them.
Hedy had memorized the various paths, avoiding the ladies and young women, and made her way to the courtyard to visit her former superior.
—Well, now he was her colleague.
Da Vinci wasn’t around, but Botticelli was in the courtyard painting, his palette exuding the air of wealth.
Hedy instantly recognized several colors—pink, blue, red, yellow, purple, and even violet.
As she took a few steps closer, she could indeed smell the pungent odor of urine, and instinctively, she stepped back a little.
“Miss Kiesler?” Botticelli looked up at the young woman who was trying to sneak away and waved his hand. “You’ve finally been let out?”
The moment Hedy saw him, she thought of the terrifying painting Da Vinci had mentioned, and she nodded.
“Want to come and bask in the sun? The weather’s quite nice today,” the blonde man said with a smile, still looking warm and approachable.
Hedy hesitated for a moment but then sat down beside him.
He was coloring a woodcut, and it seemed like he had only just begun the work.
The wooden board was covered with a clear draft, and the lines were numerous.
Half-naked young men and women were dancing in pleasure, and in the background, branches of peach trees intertwined. The women’s clothes were adorned with flowers, and a winged Cupid was drawing his bow to shoot arrows.
“What’s the name of this painting?”
“Primavera.”
***
Hedy vaguely remembered something, but the thought slipped away before she could grasp it. She instinctively asked, “Who are they?”
Botticelli adjusted the marks with his palette knife, then pointed to the man in the top right corner.
“This is Zephyrus, the god of the west wind, trying to abduct the flower goddess Chloris.”
The flower goddess was completely naked, draped in a thin veil, like the earth as snow began to melt.
She opened her mouth as if to gasp, but a string of flower petals spilled out instead.
“And her?” Hedy pointed to the woman in the center, who was still just a sketch.
“She is... Venus.” Botticelli lowered his eyes, his voice becoming much gentler.
But the look in his eyes wasn’t as if he were gazing at some distant deity; it was as if he were remembering a lost loved one.
Some secrets, buried too long, began to stir in his heart again.
My Venus…
Hedy suddenly realized.
She had always found his name a little familiar, and now, it clicked.
In this era of Christian rule over Europe, there was one artist who always poured his heart into the legends of paganism.
His Christian and holy father paintings were all made to please those in power.
But in the end, the immortal legend left behind was not in those works, but in the Venus he painted again and again.
In his lifetime, he painted the birth of Venus, Venus with Mars, and countless gods from Roman mythology.
And now, what Hedy was witnessing... was La Primavera.
In the painting, the gods and spring came to life.
The Three Graces shimmered as they danced with raised arms, and countless roses and daisies bloomed in their wake.
Botticelli—he was the pioneering artist who had created such a masterpiece.
She had not only been Da Vinci’s servant but had also met such a trailblazer.
At this moment, a wave of emotions gathered together, and Hedy found herself at a loss for words.
She was standing at the very center of the Renaissance vortex.
“You’re painting pagan myths…” she whispered, “She’s so beautiful.”
It was he who had given Venus her true and gentle face, giving the goddess of beauty her clearest definition.
“The Medici family needs new myths,” Botticelli said, applying paint with a calm tone. “Lorenzo really likes this one.”