CHAPTER 11 #2
“Although they had all agreed on a unified story, there were still traitors who could be tempted by money,” Lorenzo continued slowly, his eyes still watching her closely.
In the recent invasion, Florence had played a pivotal role, not only forming a strong triangular alliance but also displaying incredible military power.
Because of this, France had secretly sent a small force, disguised as Neapolitan aggressors.
The first goal was to target the Medici family, hoping to assassinate those related to them during the festival, killing as many as possible.
The second goal was to sow discord and create confusion.
Had it not been for Cosimo noticing someone speaking with a Southern French accent, they might have really believed that the lord of Naples was planning another strike.
Hedy gave Dechio a glance, and he immediately cleared the small dining table from the bed and led the chef out of the room.
She had already reviewed the relevant information and supplemented the necessary details.
The current ruler of France is King Louis XI, known as the Spider King.
He is an ambitious and ruthless old king, whose cunning and desire for territory are enough to send chills down anyone’s spine.
When Cosimo had mentioned him before, he also spoke of Louis’ most famous saying.
"I am France."
Hedy had heard this phrase elsewhere, as it is one of the symbols of French national spirit, but she never imagined that she would be living in the same era as him.
She had never expected to be an invisible player in the same game.
Over the past few decades, Louis XI had relentlessly suppressed rebels, fought with his brother Charles over Normandy and other territories, restricted imports and exports, promoted the rising bourgeoisie merchants, and even invited Italian workers to Lyon to establish the country’s first silk factory.
Even though this old man was already in his sixties, his eyes were still set on the changing political landscape of Europe, always ready to seize any advantage from the chaos.
“I didn’t pay much attention to France before,” Lorenzo leaned back slightly, his tone complicated. “Because two years ago, he was defeated by the Archduke of Austria at the Battle of Guinegatte, losing the entire Netherlands to them.”
He had thought that the old man would lie low for a while—after all, in the past ten years, England and France had been embroiled in constant warfare, leaving little time for Louis to interfere with affairs in Florence.
But the reality was…
“Wait, what about his children?” Hedy instinctively asked.
Why was there a discrepancy between this and her own memories?
According to what she had heard in the Uffizi Gallery, about ten years later, a young king would launch a war against all of Italy—
That war would directly force Lorenzo’s successor, Piero, to surrender Pisa, and soon after, the Medici family would lose their influence and be pushed out of the political scene. The fire of vanity would be stoked by the ascetic monks, and the entire city would fall into a cult-like atmosphere.
But the young king—
“Are you talking about his only son, Charles VIII?” Lorenzo furrowed his brow. “The boy is only ten years old. What’s going on?”
Hedy took a moment to collect herself, realizing that she had missed many details.
A ten-year-old child wasn’t yet in a position to interfere in politics or start wars.
Many of the things she had been worried about could be put aside, at least for now.
“So, if this old king passes away, will he inherit the throne?”
Lorenzo thought for a moment, then answered cautiously, “Not necessarily.”
“He will inherit the position, but because he is too young, I believe his sister and her husband will act as regents—namely, Bourbon VIII and Anne of France.”
That would at least give them about ten more years.
Hedy let out a long sigh of relief, quickly calculating various possibilities in her mind.
Ten years... How much could Florence change in that time?
She awkwardly reached for her glass, and Lorenzo, instinctively, passed it to her, his fingers brushing lightly against hers, which were cool to the touch.
“Mr. Medici,” Hedy said, holding the glass, “what do you plan to do about this?”
“An eye for an eye,” Lorenzo replied flatly. “If my spies in the Bourbon camp haven’t misheard, the old king plans to go to Chateau de Plessis this year—there are sharpshooters and guards there, and it will be secure enough for him.”
Hedy smiled. “That proves one thing.”
If Louis XI were truly brave enough, he wouldn’t be hiding in such a remote and heavily guarded place.
It seemed Louis XI was starting to fear.
Whether from the forces of England, his old enemies in Naples, or the newly antagonized Florence—
He wanted to hide, to retreat to the safest place where no one could strike at him.
“The more heavily fortified, the easier it is to infiltrate,” she said, looking at him. “You’re planning to send him a reliable doctor, aren’t you, Mr. Medici?”
Lorenzo revealed a subtle smile.
“If possible, I’d also like to ask you to create a long-term, written plan for Florence,” Hedy carefully chose her words, expressing her true intention. “Or, I could do it, and you can review and make the final adjustments. Would that work?”
“Once you’ve recovered.” He stood up, placing her empty glass back on the bedside table and refilling it with orange juice.
As he was about to leave, his footsteps paused for a moment.
“Perhaps you could consider calling me Lorenzo, just like all the citizens of Florence.”
After Lorenzo left, he didn’t appear again for quite a while.
Meanwhile, Da Vinci began sending her all sorts of odd and curious things.
Things like jade stones or rabbit’s feet for good luck, a four-leaf clover from who knows where, and even a piano piece he had written himself—
It wasn’t clear whether he was unfamiliar with the piano or if he had gotten distracted while writing, but the piece was rather mediocre, with a few awkward parts that sounded off.
But no matter what, whenever Hedy saw him, her mood always seemed to lighten.
She started asking him to help with the planning, teaching him how to create lists and structured outlines.
Da Vinci willingly took on the role of her temporary scribe, his cursive handwriting beautiful and elegant.
At times, when he looked at her, there was a hint of guilt in his eyes.
If it hadn’t been for his desire to show her his newly designed float, perhaps Hedy wouldn’t have encountered the events that followed.
Sometimes, as she watched him write, she would lose focus herself.
It wasn’t because she was entranced by his appearance or the graceful fingers that held the pen—though both were indeed pleasing to the eye.
What occupied her mind were certain mysterious and elusive inevitabilities.
From the very beginning, Hedy had been living in a world full of crises.
If she were truly unlucky, she could have quietly perished from something as simple as drinking a spoiled cup of wine or contracting some bacteria.
But what was more important was that her life now undeniably carried a certain sense of inevitability.
—To live peacefully, to have a long-term safe haven, she inevitably had to rely on the wisdom and insight of the lord, in order to influence the course of history and prevent the Italian Wars.
—To achieve those historic changes, she needed to contribute her modern knowledge and innovative ideas in all fields.
Even more crucially, she had to constantly use Da Vinci’s presence to create a win-win situation.
She understood creative design and modern knowledge in many areas, but turning those concepts into actual physical entities, and meeting all the demands both physically and mentally, was beyond her capacity.
But Da Vinci—he was the perfect collaborator for this era.
He was skilled in mechanics, good at manufacturing, and had an optimistic and open mindset, always willing to listen to her ideas.
Had she not met such a shrewd lord, and such a powerful and capable collaborator, perhaps after hitting many walls, she might have eventually chosen to throw herself into the Arno River.
After all, this era, caught between ignorance and enlightenment, was filled with too much bloodshed.
“Hedy? What are you thinking about?” Da Vinci asked, organizing some scrolls. When she didn’t continue speaking, he questioned her.
Hedy suddenly snapped back to the present, instinctively replying, “Blood…”
“What?” Da Vinci, concerned, reached out and grasped her hand. “Are you afraid?”
“No—blood, blood and wood ash!”
Hedy straightened up, looking at him more firmly. “Blood and wood ash mixed together and roasted, then adding iron chloride—”
In the past few days, she had been experiencing recurring dreams, flashes of old memories and words that kept cycling through her mind.
The components of Prussian blue were ferrous ferrocyanide, which could be created through a reaction of potassium carbonate and carbon-nitrogen compounds—she had even done a related experiment before graduation.
“You mean—” Da Vinci, still processing, found himself following her lead in the conversation for the first time.
“Human blood can’t be used, so use cow blood, that is, mixing cow blood with wood ash and roasting it, then reacting with iron chloride solution…”
Seeing him still confused, she immediately got up and began writing out the chemical reaction process, organizing the fleeting memory in full.
The apothecary had hydrochloric acid readily available, and by adding iron filings, she could obtain ferrous chloride.
Although it wasn’t quite the same as ferric chloride, it would be enough to react with the previous substance to produce some of the ferrocyanide iron—the very thing they had been seeking all along.
If the experiment succeeded... then the Prussian blue would finally lose the painter’s favor.
As she leaned over, her black hair cascaded down, and the curve of her clavicle and the long neck, like a swan's, became visible.