CHAPTER 10 #8
Without strong weapons and an army, this small city, isolated from the rest, would always be seen as a rich, tender prize by neighboring nations and states.
When real war came, this city would be as insignificant as a butterfly.
Lorenzo had intended to ask her to take care of Clarice and the children in his absence, but he hadn't expected to hear such bold, even audacious, words.
He took a deep breath, his voice remaining calm and low.
"You don’t think I would be offended by your words."
"The Pope, the Bible, Heaven—you don’t care about any of these, do you?" Hedy responded without hesitation. "You’re just pretending to be humble."
But sometimes, when people wear a mask for too long, they begin to believe the lie themselves.
Lorenzo suddenly wondered if she was truly sent by God—if there was a God.
"I understand your point," he said briefly. "But the war isn’t over yet. These matters need to be thought through carefully. This afternoon, I will take part of my people and head south."
"Please bring Da Vinci with you," she instinctively suggested. "He can help you solve many difficult problems."
"Leonardo da Vinci?" Lorenzo stared into her eyes. "Do you think we need a painter to record great moments right now?"
"No, he’s an excellent engineer with extensive studies in military matters," Hedy thought to herself that she was probably dancing on the lion’s tail today, but still mustered the courage to say, "Please trust me one more time."
The lord fell silent for a few seconds before agreeing to her request.
He may have been too tired lately to rest properly, allowing a young girl to have such influence over him.
Hedy chose to stay in Florence.
She even started praying in the mornings, and whenever she heard a noise from afar, she would feel a sudden panic.
If she had misjudged the time or if some unknown historical event had occurred, it was possible that when she woke up, the Turkish army would have already breached the city walls, charging through the palace, wreaking havoc at will.
She hoped there would be no such changes and wished for their safe return.
During the Second World War, at least there were newspapers and radio broadcasts to update on the situation, with war correspondents reporting casualties and news in real time.
But in this era, receiving a letter from Da Vinci seemed almost impossible.
She would wander around the shops in the streets, even lingering in front of a stall selling apples, turning them over and inspecting them for a long time.
Still, there was no news.
The people in the city, like comfortable pigs and sheep, showed little interest in the war to the south.
The poets and artists continued their drinking and revelry, and the bathhouses were still in disarray.
Sensing her anxiety, Botticelli brought her a bottle of new wine.
"Prayer is enough; leave the rest to them," the young painter said, pouring her a glass of wine, his tone calm. "If you rush to Brindisi now, all you’ll do is cause them more trouble."
That was indeed true.
Without firearms or armor, as a woman, in times like these, all she could do was passively wait.
Hedy rubbed her forehead, took a sip of the wine, and suddenly froze in place.
The taste— it was absolutely incredible.
How could wine be this good?!
Her appetite, which had been spoiled in America, had been lowered to its lowest threshold after a year here. Even eating a piece of candy was now a treat.
People were rough with meat, and the wine often had such a strange taste that it was impossible to tell if it had gone bad or if it was meant to be like that.
In fact, not succumbing to dysentery and dying suddenly in the past two years was already a stroke of luck.
Hedy took another sip of the wine, and instinctively, she took another.
This was completely different from any of the wines she had drunk at the palace before.
And… it had a faint honey-like fragrance.
Wait, could this be...
"Did you taste it?" Botticelli smiled with a squint. "I secretly took it from your wine barrel."
"Ah?!"
Seals were something that, for a painter, were no issue at all.
Even if Lorenzo himself had written a note and stuck it on, Botticelli could perfectly replicate it.
The bottle of wine Botticelli brought her was made from the oak barrel that had been charred.
This... could very well be the first barrel of aged wine in the world.
Hedy suddenly felt as though she were drinking a glass of the British Museum, shattered into pieces.
Before this, people could only drink freshly brewed wine; old wine would spoil, turn sour, and become discarded as inferior.
But because of her arrival, the method of aging wine in barrels and storing it with corks had been advanced by a hundred years. This marvelous thing, which shouldn't even have existed yet, had now been born into reality.
Even though it had only been aged for a little over a year, the taste was so magnificent it felt like a dream.
"I'm not drinking... the first glass, am I?" she instinctively asked.
This was no less remarkable than the Americans landing on the moon with the Apollo spacecraft.
"No," Botticelli laughed, scratching the back of his head. "When I went into the wine cellar earlier, I secretly tasted a little. It’s as good as expected."
Hedy sighed and showed him how to decant the wine using a wide-bottomed vessel, then they both enjoyed a glass of the fine wine together.
Sitting there in anxiety wouldn't change anything, so it was better to do something else.
"Why don’t we brew a few more barrels, and let them age a little longer?" Botticelli said, swirling his wine glass, clearly already lost in the scent of grapes and honey. "In two years—no, five years—let’s invite Lorenzo and Leonardo to taste this exquisite wine together."
Hedy froze for a moment, then finally smiled.
"Alright."
She took him to custom-order new oak barrels and they studied the method of charring the wood.
Fresh wine was stored in the oak barrels, three large barrels in total.
Hedy casually marked the barrels with English writing in a hidden corner, to remind herself of the different aging and opening years.
The first barrel had already been partly consumed by the angels, and with the bottle Botticelli had poured earlier, only about four-fifths remained.
She replaced the glass stopper with a cork and began to look forward to the taste of this barrel of wine in a year.
However, if they returned victorious from the war, it was likely that this barrel of wine would be finished in a single afternoon.
In addition to pouring the new wine into the barrels, Hedy discovered some other things.
There were differences even between different types of oak.
For example, the American oak used to make the wine she had once favored carried hints of vanilla or caraway. French oak, on the other hand, imparted a more subtle creamy and caramel flavor to the wine.
However, the artificially dried wood, although resistant to decay, seemed prone to cracking. This kind of wine barrel would likely only last three to five years, and after that, it might not hold up well.
If they were to create wine that would age well for twenty years, they would need to use naturally air-dried oak, allowing it to evenly evaporate for one to two years in the wind.
She immediately took out a few coins and asked the craftsmen to set up the necessary structures in the back storage room.
In a few years... she wondered what everything here would look like.
By the end of November, the lord finally returned with his troops in tow.
On the day of their return, the whole city erupted into cheers and celebrations, with singers and bands joining the procession, filling the streets with music and song.
Hedy, along with the lady of the house and the children, waited in front of the Doge’s Palace, eagerly looking out for familiar faces. After a long wait, they finally saw the figures they had been longing for.
When Lorenzo dismounted, the children rushed toward him, cheering, and Clarice went to meet him, embracing him briefly.
Da Vinci also dismounted from the back of the line and, smiling, gave Hedy a big hug.
"You’ll never guess what I’ve made," he whispered excitedly in her ear. "The Turks have all left on their ships!"
Hedy paused, then broke into an astonished smile. At that moment, she felt the heavy stone in her heart finally lift.
They had actually won the war—she had a few more peaceful years to live!
Lorenzo had intended to say something to Hedy, but when he turned around, he saw Da Vinci hugging her and whispering with a smile. He silently withdrew his gaze.
Winning was enough.
For the next several days, the city was once again immersed in celebration.
During this war, Lorenzo had managed to convince the lords of Naples and Milan to sign the Treaty of Collective Defense. Even more surprisingly, Pope Innocent VIII had joined in, directly persuading many smaller city-states to join as well.
However, as they had expected before leaving, Venice chose to remain neutral, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
Not only that, but Florence's army made a significant contribution in several key battles, and their reputation began to change the minds of many who had previously underestimated them.
The key to their success was the war machine designed by Da Vinci himself—the giant crossbow.
Da Vinci was already well-versed in many fields, with deep knowledge of physics and mathematics. When he set off, he began innovating and reworking old concepts.
This giant crossbow, 80 feet wide, required six large carts for transport and movement. Although firearms were starting to become widespread in this era, they were inaccurate, had poor killing power, were prone to misfires, and took time to reload.
In contrast, this giant crossbow acted like a silent giant, directly turning the tide of battle.