CHAPTER 22 #2
If they didn’t read well, the night watchmen would scold them, and the candle would be extended for another half-hour.
—What had they discovered?!
—What kind of intimidation was this?!
The spies had to stand in the middle of the snoring mercenaries at dawn, nervously reading The Divine Comedy and The Decameron. When they reached certain inappropriate sections, laughter would echo from every corner of the room.
Outside the window were the ever-vigilant night watchmen, some even carrying whips, ready to give the spies a taste of their punishment.
—If they had truly wanted to assassinate someone, they probably wouldn’t have even been able to draw their daggers before being forced to keep reading ten more lewd passages.
According to meetings with the lord and senior officers, it was expected that they would stay here for two months to rest and prepare. During this time, they would also increase control over the army and conduct drills.
By the end of August, when the weather cooled a bit, they would set off again to conquer an even more succulent prey—Genoa.
The heat was unbearable, and the officials had all hidden in the castles and churches to enjoy the coolness. The content of the meetings had grown so monotonous that it nearly put them to sleep.
As Hedy was explaining the recent calm in the war, someone was quietly flipping through The Decameron in search of the story they hadn’t finished listening to the night before.
At that moment, Dechio walked in from the doorway and leaned down to whisper a few words into Hedy’s ear.
"My lady, there’s a young man outside the south gate requesting to see you. He claims he should be hired as the chief advisor."
... That sounded rather arrogant.
"How young?"
Could it be Atalante, grown a beard and trying to sneak past her?
"He looks to be about seventeen or eighteen, but his manner of speech is quite strange."
That didn’t sound like an old acquaintance coming to meddle in the war.
Though Hedy wasn’t keen on having the meeting interrupted, she still asked, "What’s his name?"
"Never heard of him," Dechio thought for a moment before replying. "Niccolò Machiavelli."
Hedy’s eyes narrowed.
The last time she had heard that surname, it was used as an adjective.
—And it was used to describe her.
—
When the meeting was adjourned, the generals who had been reading novels or dozing off were abruptly tapped on the head by Luris Zino, causing them to yelp in pain.
"Dechio, first have someone check for hidden weapons on him, then bring him here," Hedy instructed.
She rubbed her forehead and added, "Make sure to check his shoes, socks, and sleeves too."
Dechio nodded and hurried out, leaving Luris to stay by her side.
The female knight, polishing her new dagger embedded with rubies, raised an eyebrow and asked, "Don’t tell me this is your illegitimate child."
"Of course not." Hedy took a sip of wine and said, "I’ve heard of this name."
She had once been maliciously slandered and insulted by certain media due to her expertise in frequency hopping technology.
Apart from the exaggerated and false depictions related to sexuality, they had also used the name to paint her as a multi-faceted spy.
It meant that an individual used others to achieve their own goals, and the more evident this tendency, the stronger the egoism. The idea was that as long as the goal was right, any means could be justified.
Given that anyone she met in this era could potentially be involved, she had already started considering whether this man was the originator of these concepts.
Luris was focused on polishing her blade, the caw of a raven echoing from the distance.
She waited for the group to arrive, but her mind inevitably drifted back to the past.
She had been attacked by the media and some people as a "multi-faceted spy."
It seemed people weren’t willing to acknowledge that a woman could actively and effectively influence the birth of a revolutionary technology like frequency-hopping communications.
Even when her manuscripts were publicly released, they would insist on framing it in a more sexually charged narrative.
All that she had achieved, including the patents and recognition she had received in her later years, was often claimed to rightfully belong to her first husband, a former Nazi arms dealer.
People spoke at length about how she had maneuvered between men, using flirtation and distance like a seasoned player in the realm of romance to gather intelligence. They refused to believe that, as others thought, she could be "honest" and "wise."
It seemed that a woman’s role, aside from spending money on luxury goods, was simply to be used by men to control other men.
She had once wanted to do so much for her country, even using her own kiss to help raise millions in war bonds for the United States, only to be vilified as a traitor to America.
Hedy steadied herself, mentally repeating this harsh label, almost with a sense of irony.
...
She had worked tirelessly for science and peace, and faced the crowds with the utmost grace and goodwill. Yet, in the end, she was still described as a confused, aging egoist.
As though her naval technology patent was nothing more than a joke.
But when the BBC reporters came for an interview, she still chose to stand by the words that had never changed in her heart.
People are irrational, illogical, and selfish.
Even so, you still have to love them.
If you do something good, others may accuse you of being selfish, of having impure motives. Even so, you must still do good.
Give the world your best, and you will be struck down;
Even so, give the world your best.
She knew who she was.
Even with the accusations of thousands, she had never wavered.
Dechio knocked on the door and brought the young man in.
Hedy snapped back to attention, took another sip of wine, and looked up to finally see his face.
He really was only about seventeen.
His clothes were torn and smelled foul, his hair appeared to be self-managed—untidy and uneven.
But his black eyes gleamed with energy, as if there was so much he wanted to say.
Hedy’s gaze slowly shifted downwards, noticing that the boy's shoes had completely worn out.
Not only were the soles shredded, but two of his toes were also exposed.
... How is it that these young men keep getting worse off?
Hedy instinctively thought back to that time with Michelangelo, crying while eating pizza under the eaves. She rubbed her forehead and asked, “Say your name again.”
“Niccolò Machiavelli.”
She inquired, “Where are you from?”
“Florence.” The boy straightened up, and a spark of pride appeared on his dusty face.
“Did you come alone? What for?”
“My lady—” he raised his voice a little. “I’ve come to be your chief advisor.”
Luris, who had been focused on cleaning the dust from the crevices of the gold ornaments, laughed out loud when she heard this.
Hedy didn’t immediately dismiss him.
She could tell that this young man didn’t come here blindly with naive enthusiasm.
It seemed he knew exactly what he was after.
“Sit down first.” She gestured for him to take a seat. “Bring this guest some food.”
When the boy sat down, the stains on his sleeves left black marks on the table.
His manners while eating were far from refined. He slurped every last bit of juice from the bones and cleared the soup and meat platters with such enthusiasm that the dishes didn’t even need washing.
Luris was taken aback by the speed and ferocity with which Niccolò devoured his food, signaling for the servants to bring him two more platters of meat.
Niccolò didn’t refuse, eagerly devouring the beef leg clean, and even tossing the olives and green beans, which were meant as garnish, into his mouth.
Once he had finished, let out a long burp, and only then did Hedy speak at a leisurely pace.
"Tell me your thoughts on the world."
The young man wiped his mouth, looking her straight in the eye without any fear of the authority in the room. He exuded an air of detachment that seemed far beyond his years, as though he had already seen through it all.
"I don’t believe in the Bible," Machiavelli said in a low voice. "Nor do I believe in God."
Everyone in the room had a distinctly different reaction.
Luris wore a knowing and appreciative smile, a few of the servants looked uneasy, but Hedy’s expression remained unchanged.
"Go on."
"I believe, given the current situation, you should establish a strong monarchy and rule over the entire Holy Roman Empire." The boy’s black eyes glinted coldly, like a sharp dagger. "But the fragmented Holy Roman Empire should have changed its name long ago."
Yes, the name it would later hold was Italy.
Hedy took a deep breath, confirming her suspicions were continually being validated.
She used to think that if she bumped into someone in the street, they were probably an artist or a writer from Florence.
Now, even when she ventured with the army to the North, figures from legend seemed to be rushing to meet her.
... Perhaps this was what people meant by fate.
"Why did you come to her?" Luris, who wasn’t fully trusting of this person, asked in return. "How can you prove you're not a spy sent by someone else?"
The young man couldn’t help but burp again — he had indeed eaten quite a lot.
"You’re planning to attack Genoa, right?" he asked.
Hedy didn’t answer him immediately.
Machiavelli glanced at her, then continued speaking on his own, "I can predict this — within a month, a peace offering from the French will be sent to you."
"And then?"
"But you cannot accept it," he emphasized. "This peace offer is a test. The French want to know your ambitions and strength."
Hedy raised a faint smile. "How did you guess all this? If it’s just hearsay, we won’t offer you any work."
"I heard the reports in Florence," Machiavelli scratched his head. "At first, it was about the naval battle between Pisa and Lucca, then rumors about the Devil’s cannon started spreading."