CHAPTER 11 #3
But Da Vinci didn’t glance at her for even a second. Instead, he immediately picked up the paper and stood up.
“Wait—”
He said this as he rushed out, seemingly to buy cow’s blood.
Botticelli was working on a sketch when he saw Da Vinci outside, carrying a bundle of dry hay and burning it to create ash. Then, he squatted by a barrel, mixing the wood ash and cow blood together, looking like a craftsman covered in soot and dust.
Botticelli watched for a while, noticing that Da Vinci didn’t seem to acknowledge his presence. He cleared his throat.
Da Vinci looked up at him. “What’s the matter?”
“What… what are you doing?”
“Not sure yet, I’ll tell you when I’m done.”
“But… I remember you told me this afternoon, before you went upstairs, that you were going to spend time with Miss Hedy?” Botticelli tried to give him a hint. “And she doesn’t seem to have gotten out of bed recently. She’s been having nightmares, right?”
Da Vinci mixed the cow’s blood and began to think about how to roast the mixture. After a moment, he looked at Botticelli and said, “I’ve already seen her.”
“You mean?”
“I’ve given her the gift and said the comforting words. That should be enough, right?” Da Vinci raised both hands, covered in the foul-smelling paste. “That’s no longer the focus.”
——
Prussian blue has truly been born.
When Da Vinci brought the tube of paint over, Hedy was flipping through a new book borrowed from the Academy of Florence.
She glanced up and didn’t see the painter with his dirty hand, but the tube of paint in his hand.
It was the Prussian blue, purified and filtered, without any impurities.
It was so deep and magnificent that it reminded one of the unfathomable deep sea and the tea-scented rose, known as the blue enchantress.
No language could adequately describe such a color; all descriptions seemed pale and powerless.
"You made it..." She felt her spirits lift, and at that moment, she even wanted to jump up from the bed and hug him. "It’s exactly like I remembered!"
Da Vinci smiled and handed the tube of paint to Hedy.
"Get better quickly," he said, looking at her. "I'm still waiting for you to push me for the painting—at least two weeks have passed since I started that new order."
Hedy chuckled softly and responded with a long "Mm."
By the time she had regained her energy and began taking walks outside in the courtyard, Florence had already entered spring.
The sunlight, like a warm embrace, felt pleasantly soothing on the skin.
The citrus trees by the roadside had begun to bloom and bear fruit, releasing a fresh, green fragrance.
Due to the new order he took last year, Da Vinci was now balancing helping the lord with various studies and finishing the previous oil painting.
He and Hedy had co-written a "Vision for Florence’s Development," adding related tables and assessments—these modern ways of thinking were, of course, taught to him by Hedy.
The first step was to develop the economy comprehensively.
Whether it be technology or military matters, all of these require strong economic support.
Currently, Florence was thriving in the art industry, and hand-made products and textiles were also selling well, but it lacked proper management.
While the lord was still reviewing and studying the report, Hedy took out all the penicillin she had stored and prepared for animal experiments.
She had extracted about three grams of penicillin, but its purity was uncertain, and the quantity was very limited.
Given the limited conditions, to ferment this substance in large quantities, she would need a sufficiently large container.
The container that once held beef broth had been transferred from a small plate to a deep bowl, and eventually to the largest ceramic jar, requiring constant stirring and extraction.
Upon observation, Hedy found that the mycelium began to deteriorate after growing to a certain point.
She had to collect them at the right time—either to extract them into a solution or grind them into powder.
With the current amount, she might be able to treat a small to medium-sized inflamed wound, but it was absolutely impossible to distribute it on a larger scale.
The two rabbits Da Vinci had given her had already had two litters of babies, and the healthy ones were still lively and hopping around.
Hedy couldn't bear to harm them, so she bought a chicken, first trimming some of its feathers to expose the skin, then cutting a wound on its leg.
It was not easy for her to manage such a noisy animal on her own, so Da Vinci helped her hold the chicken down in the yard, skillfully tying its beak with a rope while curiously watching what she was doing.
"Hey, Hedy, how about we go have another glass of wine?" Botticelli appeared nearby, raising an eyebrow suggestively. "We can just say the angel came again."
Hedy was still busy writing in her experimental log, so Da Vinci decisively turned down the offer.
"She's busy lately, and that barrel of wine should be left until next year."
Botticelli, holding an empty bottle, looked innocently at Da Vinci. "I wasn't talking to you."
"Alright—but you'll have to wait a few more days. The wine will taste better after it gets warmer," Hedy finally finished tending to the chicken’s wound, silently praying that it wouldn’t die from tetanus.
To ensure the chicken was infected with the fungal colony, she even smeared some of the golden staphylococcus powder she had collected on the edges of the wound, using gloves.
Syringes had already existed in the Middle Ages, but their usage seemed rather terrifying...
Aside from the brutal act of bloodletting, there were also doctors attempting to use these long, thick needles to extract cataracts from the eyes of elderly patients.
—For such a genius-level idea, Hedy couldn’t find an appropriate comment.
As expected, after six or seven days, the poor rooster in the cage was on the verge of death.
Although it had been steadily provided with grains and fresh water, the wound on its leg had clearly begun to fester and become inflamed, and there was a faint pus discharge.
Seeing how concerned she was about the rooster, Da Vinci had once suggested amputating the affected area to see if it would heal.
When the inflammation worsened from mild to severe, Hedy diluted the penicillin she had previously extracted and performed a simple skin test on the other side of the rooster's body.
There were no issues; it wouldn’t be fatal.
Then, she injected a tube of the solution into the wound and began the subsequent treatment.
The amount she had previously extracted was far from enough for long-term treatment of an adult, but it was more than sufficient for an animal.
By the fifth day of injections, the wound had healed to the point of scabbing, and the rooster seemed to have regained its vigor. It even crowed at around three in the morning.
Da Vinci helped her hold the chicken down and showed her his daily sketches of the wound, which were incredibly detailed.
"What did you inject into it?" he asked, studying the tube of liquid. "Is this the stuff you got from the moldy spot on the orange?"
Botticelli appeared again, holding a book.
"Hedy—I've borrowed that book, The House of Fame by Chaucer, but it's in all English. Should we hire someone to translate it?"
Da Vinci, holding the struggling rooster down with both hands, looked up at him and said, "Mr. Alessandro Filippo, can't you see she’s busy?"
Hedy suddenly looked up. "Yes—I've been looking for that book! English is fine, I can understand it!"
Da Vinci gave her a strange look. "You can speak English?"
She gestured for Botticelli to wait, then untied the bandage and returned the rooster to its cage to rest. Standing nearby, she washed her hands with water and said, "Learning English is the beginning of understanding more knowledge—you should try it too."
Botticelli, smiling brightly, waved the book in his hand, signaling for her to come with him to discuss something else.
Da Vinci tried to stop her. "Wait, you still haven’t explained that tube of liquid."
"I’ve already submitted the paper, and if all goes well, it will be published in the Florence Gazette," Hedy waved her hand. "I’ll come by tomorrow at the usual time."
Da Vinci watched them walk away, one after the other. He had wanted to say something to keep her, but couldn’t think of another reason to do so.
Well then… see you tomorrow.
The idea for the Florence Gazette had come about before the war broke out.
At the time, Hedy knew she would be going to Milan for a while, so she wrote up a progress report on the penicillin research, along with specific recommendations for him to consider.
It must be said that having a newspaper was absolutely necessary.
As early as ancient Rome, Europe had a similar system. People in the Roman Senate had a wooden board set up, which was regularly updated with various decisions and announcements, known as Acta Diurna (Daily Acts).
As the Roman Empire expanded, Acta Diurna gradually turned into written records on cloth, which were then delivered to the provincial capitals by special messengers.
Hedy had suggested establishing a movable type printing press and had even written a complete set of procedures for publishing it.
The time didn’t need to be rushed; a week would suffice.
Typesetting and editing the movable type itself took time. More importantly, the existence of newspapers should not just be to deliver information but to guide public opinion.
Before leaving, she stood in front of Lorenzo, speaking briefly but powerfully.
"You surely want more people to hear the voice you want them to hear."
Controlling the newspaper was equivalent to controlling the machine of public opinion.
And Lorenzo did exactly that.
In just a few months, he had selected the right editors, and in record time, the first issue was published. He began experimenting with one edition after another.
Though the costs and prices were somewhat high, they were still attractive enough.