CHAPTER 28 #4
Now, however, he saw the queen sitting coldly on the throne, her earlier jovial ministers now stern-faced and standing on either side, like wolves ready to pounce at any moment.
What was going on? Why had everyone suddenly changed their attitude?
Ferdinand, young and proud, became angry at the shift in mood. In the Aragonese royal family, even though he was a bastard, he was still the rightful heir to the throne—no one dared to protest, not even when he fed a minister's daughter to crocodiles in front of everyone!
"What are you playing at?" he said darkly. "This is what you call a meeting?"
Was that woman sitting on the throne expecting him to kneel and bow?
A joke!
"Is this how you treat the queen?" Niccolò sharply rapped the back of his chair, his voice cold. "Duke Sforza has already pledged his allegiance. Don't you think it's time you repent?!"
So, these people had been toying with him like a fool just a few days ago?
Ferdinand, seething with rage, sneered and pointed directly at the queen’s nose, addressing the nearby nobles, "Is this the queen you all revere? A woman who manipulates with her looks like a whore—are you all really going to stand by and let someone like this sit on the throne?"
"Watch your manners," Dechio said coldly. "Otherwise, we will take this as the entire Kingdom of Naples' attitude toward the Italian Empire."
"Yes, that’s exactly it," Ferdinand retorted bitterly. "You’ve all been waiting for me to say that, haven’t you? What’s the point of this charade?"
He had completely lost his composure, driven by emotion, wanting to humiliate everyone who had toyed with him—preferably in the most severe manner possible.
"Since Italy was founded, you’ve been sending armies to occupy the borders.
This is the work of your queen! What does she want?
My life? To conquer my kingdom?" Ferdinand turned toward the Milanese nobles, raising his voice.
"Go back and tell your lord that if she dares to touch us today, tomorrow Milan will be as much of a ruin as Rome! "
His overconfidence, already dangerous, had been further shattered by the sudden shift in circumstances, and his emotions spiraled out of control.
But instead of backing him up, the Milanese nobles, who should have been on his side, looked at him with pity and remained silent.
Something was wrong... There was something off.
"Where’s Sforza?" he panicked, turning back. "What did you do to Sforza? Is he dead?!"
"Did the clerks record what the gentleman just said?" Dechio asked.
"They did," the clerks all nodded in unison.
"Did everyone hear the insults and attacks he made against the queen?"
"We all heard it," the crowd echoed together.
"This will be considered a declaration of war by Naples against the Italian Empire."
"As per your judgment."
"No—no!" Ferdinand roared. "You two countries have conspired against me?! We agreed on peace talks, and now you're forcing Naples to declare war unilaterally?! How much did Sforza bribe you with? Bitch—who doesn't know about your little affair with Lorenzo?!"
In his fury, Ferdinand drew his whip and stormed forward, intent on striking the woman.
Before Ferdinand could even step onto the stairs, the guard, Nino, swiftly kicked him back. The duke slid across the smooth floor for quite a distance before finally coming to a stop, clutching his chest in a grimace of pain.
Nino walked down the stairs and, in just three seconds, executed an arm lock and a reverse chokehold. The other guards pulled out ropes and began tying up the lord, who was now hissing as the pressure on his neck tightened.
"He is a man of great crimes," someone whispered.
"He deserves the harshest punishment."
"Everything is at the queen’s command."
The people in the hall muttered and whispered about Ferdinand's transgressions, shaking their heads in unison, sighing at the same rhythm. It was as though they were a flock of sheep that had already been tamed.
Ferdinand was thrown into the dungeon, landing beside the nearly lifeless Sforza.
Old Sforza had been on the brink of death for days, reduced to barking like a dog just to get a meal. Once accustomed to a life of luxury, now he could barely survive on a few pieces of black bread. His existence had become worse than the hounds he had once kept.
After being thrown into the cell, Ferdinand began to curse angrily and struggle. He could keep roaring for hours, shouting the most vicious words over and over again, repeating them ten times if needed.
The indulgent royal life he had lived, along with the loss of his father's control over him, had transformed him into a madman with no respect for rules.
The guards changed shifts regularly, but no one bothered to silence him.
Even Sforza, in his pitiful state, listened to Ferdinand’s ranting with indifference, occasionally letting out an annoyed snort.
After two days of this, hunger finally overcame Ferdinand.
The water had long since been spilled, and the pieces of black bread had been tossed out. There were no servants to attend to him, and even a drunken man urinated on them from behind the iron bars.
By the fourth day, Ferdinand was so hungry that he had resorted to gnawing on the black bread and then chewing on the dry straw from the ground, howling like a wild dog, desperately pleading for more food and water.
He had been in a state of constant delirium, his judgment and self-control completely eroded by the strong liquor he had consumed in the previous days.
When the two lords had first arrived, one had planned to use threats and persuasion, while the other thought of charming and flattering his way through the situation.
Now, both of them were lying in the dungeon, powerless to do anything but groan in hunger, wishing they could even eat their own fingers.
When Niccolò appeared again, he was carrying two bowls of meat and a razor.
He placed the meat in front of the two lords, and they had completely lost any resistance, crawling on the ground and feeding themselves with their hands, too desperate and hungry to even consider if the meat might be poisoned.
Fasting and deprivation could completely destroy someone accustomed to a life of luxury, especially when they were used to having their every command answered immediately.
When they had finished devouring the meat, Niccolò signaled for the guards to hold them in place. He then placed the razor on their scalps and began awkwardly cutting their hair.
Clumps of black hair fell into the bowls, resembling sinister offerings.
It was only at this point that Ferdinand’s face filled with fear and desperation, too afraid to even move a muscle. “What is she planning to do? What does she want from us?!”
"The two lords have stayed in Florence for quite a while, having heard the gospel of the Reformation and fallen into its teachings," Niccolò said as he made another cut, gently patting their uneven skulls.
"They sought to cleanse their sins and desires, and prayed to remain eternal followers in the Florence Cathedral, even willing to shave their heads to show their resolve to the divine."
The young man paused for a moment, his smile still as gentle as ever.
"They left behind a letter, requesting that the duchy follow them into conversion."
"Seeing the hair means seeing the man."
——
They naturally had no intention of letting these two misfortunate lords go.
As long as they were imprisoned here, all the choices were firmly in the hands of the Italian Empire.
When both Sforza and Ferdinand I were locked away, the guards immediately removed all the rings and jewelry from their hands and bodies, handing them over to Mr. Da Vinci to have replicas made.
Sending the hair and rings back was already enough of a subtle threat and a clear message: Your leaders are in my custody, and you would do well to follow my orders.
Though the two lords screamed that they would rather die than sign anything, the jailers continued to feed them for three days with coarse barley and cold water. By the end, Ferdinand I was sobbing while eating, tears and snot streaming down his face.
Meanwhile, Sforza, hearing the agonized cries from next door, cursed inwardly. The horses he kept ate only the finest oats; he had never even touched such wretched food.
Then, Niccolò appeared before them, holding a platter with seared goose legs and smoked veal, accompanied by a glass of wine. He began to demonstrate how to eat oysters and drink wine, smacking his lips with exaggerated enjoyment. It was a psychological attack.
"I'll sign—I’ll sign!" Ferdinand I roared, desperate. "Give me the meat!"
Niccolò glanced at the dark-faced Sforza and handed the paper to Ferdinand.
As Niccolò read a line, Ferdinand hastily scribbled it down, not daring to make a single mistake.
When the letter was finished, Ferdinand's eyes locked onto the bowl of meat, his gaze burning with hunger. "Give it to me—give it to me!" he demanded.
It was clear that the pampered young lord was not cut out to be an emperor.
Niccolò, resting his chin on his hand, watched him. "Now, place your seal."
Ferdinand, fully broken, bit into his thumb and pressed it onto the document, still glaring at the bowl of meat as if it were the only thing in the world that mattered.
Niccolò took the letter, held it up to the torchlight, and inspected it thoroughly, nodding approvingly. "At least your handwriting is still decent."
After that, Ferdinand's meals consisted of a meat dish every other day, sometimes even an entire roasted goose.
He had completely given up on struggling or resisting, living like an animal.
Even when Sforza lay quietly asleep, he could hear the sounds of Ferdinand tearing into the goose meat, eating greedily.
His willpower was faltering.
"Your Majesty," Nino entered, holding another letter. "Mr. Sforza has also placed his seal."
"Very well," Hedy smiled. "Then let's send these two letters back."