CHAPTER 11
She ran panicked towards the lord's palace (Palazzo Vecchio), glancing back at the scene behind her—
Da Vinci had already picked up a nearby clay pot and was throwing it at the rioters. Several others had drawn knives and were rushing towards the place where the lord was.
Hide—no one can protect you now—
Hedy quickly took off all her shoes and raced to find a place to take cover.
She could vaguely hear women screaming in panic, and others shouting in anger.
Where to go? Find a house?
No, it needed to be somewhere more hidden.
She crossed the entire square and suddenly saw a corner with a pile of firewood.
Hedy quickly turned around to check if there were any pursuers, then hid in the corner.
Flustered, she hurriedly used the firewood to cover the gaps nearby, making sure it looked perfectly sealed, then began to hold her breath and observe the battlefield through the cracks.
She couldn’t run too far—she had no idea if there were other bandits waiting at Da Vinci’s workshop or the Doge’s Palace. If she ran back to ask for help and happened to be caught, she could end up as a prisoner.
She couldn’t stay too close to the crowd—even if she wasn’t directly injured by the blades, the stampede from this chain reaction could easily break someone’s bones.
Covering her nose and mouth, she crouched in the corner, watching the various situations in the distance, and started trembling uncontrollably.
This was a very real riot.
The army quickly arrived and began clashing with the rioters in the square.
The civilians quickly fled with their wives and children, but she didn’t see where the lord was.
The children hadn’t come over either, and she didn’t know how safe they were now...
She kept wondering whether she should push aside her cover and escape again, but she couldn’t help but see the brutal scene outside.
The large army began suppressing the two or three dozen assassins. Although they all wore civilian clothing, looking no different from the other spectators of the dictator, each of them held a blade.
Some started dropping their weapons and stumbling away, only to be torn apart by the hounds chasing them. One even had an arm torn off, leaving a bloody mess.
Others were beheaded or stabbed through the chest, blood—both red and white—flowing everywhere, with the sharp scent of it filling the air.
Some were crying in pain, others were screaming, and some charged recklessly at the knights in armor, only to be stabbed and spit out a mouthful of hot blood.
This was the first time she had witnessed such a scene firsthand.
Although World War II saw many tragic and large-scale battles, they had nothing to do with her—
Those events appeared in the news and reports, usually with wide-angle shots, not intentionally focusing on decapitated heads or pierced chests.
But at this moment, as Hedy watched the chaos unfold, she suddenly felt a wave of nausea.
She could even imagine the Pazzi family hanging from the windows of the Doge’s Palace and the oil paintings by Botticelli.
How terrifying...
How could humans meet such a tragic end, dying without even a scream?
Eyes and flesh rolled in the streets, and wild dogs greedily devoured them.
If a small-scale riot was this hellish, how horrifying would a real war be?!
Da Vinci, armed with a spear taken from an enemy, had driven off several of the rioters and began steadily moving towards the lord's position.
Lorenzo seemed unusually calm, as if he had known these events would unfold.
Although he sat there, he was surrounded by guards, creating an impenetrable barrier, capable of deflecting any flying arrows.
The riot lasted about half an hour. Soon, the madmen were captured or killed, and those who managed to escape were chased down.
When Lorenzo saw Da Vinci appear, he suddenly realized something.
“Hedy—” Da Vinci instinctively looked at him and asked, “Have you seen Hedy?”
“I ordered her to go make wine, didn’t I?!” Lorenzo stood up instinctively, his voice growing more intense. “Why is she here?!”
“She asked Dechio to help and came with me to watch the celebration—” Da Vinci’s face changed, and he turned his head to scan the square filled with mutilated bodies, stepping through the blood to search for the fleeing ones.
Please, let nothing happen to her—she’s still so young!
“Cosimo, go check on Clarice and the children,” Lorenzo turned to another guard by his side. “Take people and search for my alchemist immediately—make sure to bring her back safely!”
Da Vinci's first instinct was to think about how she would react.
It was impossible for her to follow the crowd to evacuate, as rioters could blend in and attack.
She wouldn’t go too far, either—she had never felt truly safe, so she was probably nearby.
He began searching through the nearby haystacks and flower beds, even checking the bushes one by one. Suddenly, his gaze landed on an inconspicuous pile of dry firewood.
It appeared to be a solid structure, one that couldn’t possibly hide anyone.
But a thought crossed his mind, and he strode over without hesitation.
“Hedy—Hedy, are you here?!”
The pile of firewood remained silent.
Instinctively, Da Vinci pushed aside some of the wood on the side, and finally saw the familiar figure.
She was hiding in the fortress-like structure of firewood, still trembling.
This was the body’s stress response—
When truly encountering or witnessing something horrific, only a few could run away while maintaining high self-control.
The majority, upon witnessing such a scene, would scream uncontrollably or freeze, unable to even move their legs.
She had been so frightened that she was almost speechless.
“It’s me—” Da Vinci carefully approached her, his voice softening considerably. “We’re safe now. Let’s go back?”
Her light blue eyes stared blankly at him, and then, suddenly, tears began to fall.
After being brought back to the lord’s palace (Palazzo Vecchio), Hedy had a fever for four straight days.
Dissecting corpses and witnessing a bloody massacre were two completely different things.
Even though she hadn’t explained it, they all knew exactly what she had seen.
Severed heads, young men with their bellies ripped open, and blood and flesh spilling out...
For the first two days, Hedy couldn’t sleep at all at night.
She had one restless, suffocating dream after another, and many things from her past and present began to swirl together.
Images of Hitler, newspapers reporting the death toll, sharp media commentary, and the cruel face of the MGM boss...
Countless scenes kept intertwining and shifting, and even the screams from the Saint Sixtus massacre echoed in her mind.
Soldiers, trained to handle such horrors, often return from the battlefield with severe PTSD. Even someone as strong and calm as she was couldn’t escape the haunting nightmares.
She muttered in English and German while burning with fever. The servants could vaguely identify the languages, but they couldn’t understand her words.
She refused to take medicine and rejected bloodletting.
When the doctor reached out to touch her, she would briefly regain consciousness and order him to stay away.
The lord’s face darkened, instructing the doctor to leave.
Dechio carefully fed her meat soup and water, and followed the Maternal and Child Encyclopedia's instructions to place a cold compress on her to bring down the fever.
Fortunately, by the third night, her fever finally broke, and she began to regain consciousness.
When Hedy spoke again, her voice was hoarse.
She was helped up to drink some orange juice and had a bit of bread.
There were no medicines, and no reliable doctors.
She briefly praised Dechio for his cleverness, and after explaining her care instructions, she fell back into a deep sleep.
This illness kept her bedridden for an entire week.
It wasn’t that Hedy was weak, but in this era, there were hardly any medicinal remedies to restore her strength. All recovery depended on her body’s natural processes.
According to local customs, it was common to place alchemical talismans on the sick, feed them strange herbs, or perform bloodletting, claiming it could cure all ailments.
Thankfully, she managed to avoid all of this.
During the days she was bedridden, many people came to visit her.
Botticelli brought her fresh blueberries and grapes, and placed a pot of newly bloomed hyacinths at her bedside.
The patients she had once helped brought various wild chickens and fresh fish, performing a long, respectful bow before leaving.
The lord did not appear for a long time. When he finally returned to her side, he was accompanied by a chef.
The chef, looking nervous, uncovered the platter to reveal a pizza that had been hastily recreated—
On the round dough, there was bacon, mushrooms, and tenderloin, with a few sprigs of rosemary and basil sprinkled on top.
Hedy, propped up and sitting, smelled the sizzling bacon and felt a slight lift in her spirits.
She should teach this chef how to make burgers and Wellington steaks.
The black-haired beauty lowered her head, eating the pizza slowly and deliberately. The lord sat silently on a nearby chair for a long while before finally speaking.
“I originally intended to send you away that day. The situation caught us by surprise.”
“A spy informed me that he had seen hidden daggers in one of the un-deployed parade wagons, but the procession was about to begin in only fifteen minutes.”
He paused for a moment, seemingly observing her reaction.
She didn’t react, instead continuing to eat the second slice of pizza.
Lorenzo rubbed his temple and softened his voice. “The interrogation results revealed that while some of them wore typical Neapolitan attire, they were actually French.”
—French?!
Hedy’s movements paused for a moment, and she took a handkerchief to wipe the corner of her mouth, turning to look at him.