CHAPTER 22 #4
If this reason could be comprehensive and well-founded, it would not only give her the upper hand in public opinion during the war, but also provide her with enough leverage when intervening in politics later on.
"You've certainly thought about the consequences," Niccolò said, looking her directly in the eyes, lowering his voice. "What you want isn't just this bay, but Mr. Da Vinci, and many others within this city, can help you build an entire empire."
The most crucial reason would defend the legitimacy of her throne and could lead to the submission of countless citizens.
"Then we must find the clues within the core of it all," Hedy mused. "So... we should choose religion, right?"
The young man smiled, his voice clear and strong. "You are truly very smart."
——
Several centuries later, the French thinker and philosopher Voltaire made this remark about the Holy Roman Empire:
"It is neither holy, nor Roman, nor an empire."
Its existence today is a joke.
The Roman Catholic Church, which was once closely tied to the Holy Roman Empire, now finds itself in an awkward and helpless position.
"Now, the Holy Roman Empire consists of over three hundred and fifty small city-states and knightly territories," Niccolò straightened up and gestured for Hedy to look at the fragmented and complex outlines of the city-states on the map.
"And they all have their own autonomy and legislative power, completely independent from Rome's control. "
A merchant wanting to conduct business thirty kilometers away could be taxed more than twenty times along the way.
Hedy looked up at him, emphasizing her tone, "You don’t want religion interfering with politics."
"Indeed," Niccolò squinted his eyes. "Some of the decayed things should come to an end."
"Moreover—" he showed a mocking expression, "the Church is no longer holy or pure."
The Papal States' original territory was somewhat like a "buy one, get one free" deal when you buy milk at a supermarket.
Seven hundred years ago, the French dwarf king, Pepin, in gratitude for the pope helping him rise to power, gave the large piece of land he had seized to the pope.
This land originally belonged to the Byzantine Empire, stretching from Rome all the way to Ravenna. Over a thousand years, it gradually shrank until it was reduced to just the Vatican.
It was also because Pepin ceded the land that the Church's influence began to expand. However, the center of power constantly shifted and never had a fixed location.
Every country has a capital, but the capital of the Holy Roman Empire constantly moved with each newly elected pope, and at one point, it even drifted all the way to Avignon, on the outskirts of France.
"And this gift, it was uncovered just over a decade ago, and the document turned out to be fake," Niccolò said, twirling his pen. "I heard from my father that someone was so enraged at the time, they jumped into the Po River, crying that they wanted to see God."
"Fake?!" Hedy was taken aback. "How could it be fake?"
"The dwarf king, in order to establish the Papal States, lied and said this was the 'Donation of Constantine,' and its existence was absolutely holy and legitimate," Niccolò sneered. "But how could Emperor Constantine have done such a stupid thing?"
"But this is the very foundation of the Papal States' existence!" Hedy, who didn’t know much about these old stories, lowered her voice. "How did they find out?"
"Through handwriting analysis, document authentication, and a hundred other methods those old men have," Niccolò shrugged. "But fake is fake."
This meant that the existence of the Papal States was entirely based on a lie?
"What’s even more interesting is what happened in the past hundred years," the young man raised his eyebrows and looked at her, circling the location of Rome on the map.
England and France fought each other in the Hundred Years' War, and in the end, France suffered a humiliating defeat. The pope had no choice but to return to Rome from Avignon, which was just beside France—after all, even the protector could no longer keep himself safe.
However, the problem was that France had its own papacy in Avignon, while Rome had another one, and due to the conflict between Pope Gregory XI and the French cardinals, it caused a double split.
"I had heard rumors about this before," Hedy said, feeling that everything seemed absurd and foolish, "but not as specifically as you’re saying. Is this why the popes have been causing chaos in the past few decades?!"
"Forty-plus years," Niccolò gave her a sympathetic look. "At one point, there were even three popes at the same time—if there were a few more, they could have kicked a ball together."
The popes were elected repeatedly, then deposed, like puppets being dressed up by others.
The current pope, Alexander VI, also known as the father of Caesar Borgia, was a complete libertine and opportunist.
He used money to bribe and eliminate his competitors, spending vast amounts of gold to purchase the papacy.
According to Catholic doctrine, the pope is supposed to devote his entire life to God, without marriage or children. But Pope Alexander VI not only had a mistress but numerous mistresses. He would revel in wild parties in the garden, and orgies and erotic dances were no surprise to him.
Caesar's mother alone bore him four children, and there were countless other children, real or claimed.
As long as one paid, he would absolve any sin—even if it involved personally murdering his own daughter. Church offices could also be freely bought and sold; if the money was right, one could wear the red robe and touch the face of angels.
Even so, the Church continued to aggressively tax the people, inventing new taxes at will.
"We have more than enough reason..." Hedy murmured. "To start a religious war."
This was not the fault of Catholicism itself, but the corruption of the entire papacy and the pope. Yet, because of their existence, countless farmers and merchants were starving, and Italy remained stuck in stagnation and chaos.
"Religion is necessary, but not in this way," Niccolò said, having written two lines, which he handed to her.
The fire blooms upon the rotting wood.
The phoenix shall rise from the ashes.
Hedy's fingertips brushed over the ink, and she slowly looked up at him. "If this is our true intent, when answering the French, they will have no reason to stop us."
Abolishing the papacy, which had completely corrupted itself, establishing a compassionate and equal new faith, unifying this weary and fragile nation.
.. She vaguely sensed that what should have come in the future—England’s Reformation and religious reforms—might have already been thrust into the present.
Penicillin had been discovered, and improvements in gunpowder and firearms had appeared.
Countless workshops and factories rapidly sprang up in Milan and Florence, and the pope’s authority was trembling.
The world had been accelerated by at least two hundred years.
The French envoys had waited for a long time, repeatedly trying to urge the servant to deliver their documents and letters.
By evening, the slow-moving servant finally led them to meet the lady lord.
When they saw her face, they couldn’t help but show expressions of surprise and awe.
She possessed the blue eyes of the Germans and the black hair of the Romans. Her classical and graceful features were like the goddess in an oil painting, and the ruby pendant around her neck glimmered in the candlelight.
Her silk gown was adorned with intricate and delicate gems, pearls, and embroidery, all so finely crafted that it was breathtaking.
Even if she merely glanced at them absentmindedly, it felt like a noble blessing.
The two ambassadors, somewhat nervous, performed the full set of courtesies before once again explaining their intentions to the lord.
"This disturbance was originally unjust," they appeared to be completely unaware of the French fleet's actions, "The Republic of Genoa has made a righteous protest, but France is willing to mediate."
"Peace is in the best interest of both of us—"
"My lord." The lord raised a faint smile. "Please, repeat what you just said. What is 'unjust'?"
"This war, my lady," one of the ambassadors said, forcing himself to continue. "I believe the Medici family would never want their family’s honor to be tarnished by this—"
"Sir," the lord spoke slowly, "The reason we sent our troops is for the Holy Roman Empire and the entire papacy."
Both Frenchmen were stunned.
"As you can see, the entire empire is now in a state of chaos and division." Her pale blue eyes were calm and gentle, just like her slow and composed voice. "We are simply following the teachings, loyal to this country."
Once those words were spoken, the French envoys were completely silenced.
The Holy Roman Empire had nothing to do with France anymore, and if this was, in all senses, an internal reckoning, the French had no grounds to condemn or interfere.
She not only clarified her political stance and the motives for war clearly, but also completely took the high ground in public opinion.
Recapturing the Empire, revitalizing the papacy—who could possibly say no?
The two ambassadors stammered for a while, and eventually, they rose to take their leave. They refused even to stay the night, reportedly rushing back northwest to report.
Once they were gone, Niccolò Machiavelli slipped out again.
"We'll march tomorrow," she said, staring out at the starry night. "We can't delay any longer."
"What do you think of the term 'Rebirth War'?" Niccolò asked with a smile. "Not worse than the Wars of the Roses, right?"
Hedy turned to look at him, her long neck elegant like a swan’s.
She smiled, still with that nonchalant demeanor.
"It sounds great."
By the time Genoa received the news, that terrifying woman's army was already at their gates.
How could they have arrived so quickly?!
It would take at least fifteen days from La Spezia to here, wouldn't it?
The midday sun in mid-August was so scorching that it was nearly impossible to open one's eyes. The army's flags fluttered high in the sky—
Above diamonds, the golden-red phoenix flew with wings spread wide.
Cannons roared like the howling of winds and thunder, striking the castle walls. Half of the army was already camped out while the other half adjusted their trajectory and began launching artillery.
There were no battering rams, no trebuchets, but the cannonballs and explosions were like the fists of giants, pounding everything to pieces.
The soldiers couldn't understand why the ground beneath the walls seemed to shake like an earthquake, and before the thick smoke had even dissipated, the walls crumbled with it.
"Fire!"
The walls began to collapse in jagged sections, and more soldiers surged toward the city gates.
The moat was entirely useless—A brown-haired, brown-eyed commander created a bridge from dried branches, allowing the army to cross the many rivers and ravines as if they were flat ground!
The city gates finally opened slowly, and knights in heavy armor charged out, swinging their longswords. But the crowd they faced quickly parted like waves, revealing rows of dark rifle barrels.
"Fire!"
It was like countless sparks exploding in the air.
The ammunition rained down in a torrential storm, piercing through the iron armor and the horses' chests.
Like an invisible web, it caused the defenders to scream and fall, utterly powerless, even though their numbers vastly outnumbered the attackers.
"Boom—Boom! Boom! Boom!"
Meanwhile, multiple sections of the city walls collapsed. The demolition troops peeked their heads out from a distance, gripping the stones to steady themselves and avoid falling.
The sound of roaring cannons rumbled like a dragon's growl, drowning out even the buzzing in their ears.
Another wave of knights and pikemen surged out of the city gates. Archers on the high towers, stubbornly holding their ground, were still trying to launch wooden arrows in a futile attempt to overcome the rush of wind from the cannons.
The musketeers repositioned themselves, clearing the way for the cross-bladed carts.
With a sharp whistle, multiple carts charged forward, the spinning cross blades in all four directions cutting through the enemy ranks like a meat grinder, harvesting countless souls.
"Fire—fire!"
The heavy city gates crashed to the ground, sending up a cloud of deep brown dust, like the final breath of an elder.
The cross-bladed war carts rumbled forward, and the musketeers aimed their guns at the remaining enemies.
"Attack—The city!"
Lorenzo took a sip of wine, placing the letter aside, before rising and turning the mechanism on the wall to open a hidden compartment.
It had taken just two hours to capture Luca, only an afternoon to seize La Spezia.
Even the grand, ancient city of Genoa was taken in just a single day.
He and she had indeed worked together smoothly, with almost nothing standing in their way.
The battle reports had already reached Florence, and the citizens couldn’t help but murmur among themselves.
"My lord, regarding the treaty and the defense alliance..." Cosimo knocked on the door. "The generals have arrived and are waiting for you in the reception room."
Lorenzo took out the glittering ruby ring, staring at it for a few seconds.
The band was made of platinum, and next to the large diamond, there were petal-shaped rubies, making it look delicate and refined.
—A bud, about to bloom, like a cyclamen from Greece.
Its flower language is... "jealous love."
He shifted his gaze away, held the ring in his palm, and walked out.