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Botticelli was surrounded by a group of women and girls, all trying to engage with him, though he responded naturally, perhaps with a hint of teasing in his tone.
Hedy glanced around, her eyes falling on the lord, who stood nearby with a detached expression. She yawned, deciding to head back to the palace for some rest.
At that moment, a few unfamiliar men quickly approached them.
The carnival was in full swing, the air filled with the noise of the crowd, and even the melodies of the instruments were drowned out by the cheers and singing.
When Hedy came to her senses, one of the men was already standing right in front of them, drawing a dagger.
"Duck!" Da Vinci instinctively threw his book at the man's face, raising his arm to push Hedy backward, just in time to avoid the thrust of the knife aimed at her.
Screams echoed from the distance as the crowd began to panic, pressing together and scattering. Several more assassins surged toward the Medici direction, nearly breaking through the guards' perimeter.
"Hedy—run!!"
CHAPTER 11
She ran panicked towards the lord's palace (Palazzo Vecchio), glancing back at the scene behind her—
Da Vinci had already picked up a nearby clay pot and was throwing it at the rioters. Several others had drawn knives and were rushing towards the place where the lord was.
Hide—no one can protect you now—
Hedy quickly took off all her shoes and raced to find a place to take cover.
She could vaguely hear women screaming in panic, and others shouting in anger.
Where to go? Find a house?
No, it needed to be somewhere more hidden.
She crossed the entire square and suddenly saw a corner with a pile of firewood.
Hedy quickly turned around to check if there were any pursuers, then hid in the corner.
Flustered, she hurriedly used the firewood to cover the gaps nearby, making sure it looked perfectly sealed, then began to hold her breath and observe the battlefield through the cracks.
She couldn’t run too far—she had no idea if there were other bandits waiting at Da Vinci’s workshop or the Doge’s Palace. If she ran back to ask for help and happened to be caught, she could end up as a prisoner.
She couldn’t stay too close to the crowd—even if she wasn’t directly injured by the blades, the stampede from this chain reaction could easily break someone’s bones.
Covering her nose and mouth, she crouched in the corner, watching the various situations in the distance, and started trembling uncontrollably.
This was a very real riot.
The army quickly arrived and began clashing with the rioters in the square.
The civilians quickly fled with their wives and children, but she didn’t see where the lord was.
The children hadn’t come over either, and she didn’t know how safe they were now...
She kept wondering whether she should push aside her cover and escape again, but she couldn’t help but see the brutal scene outside.
The large army began suppressing the two or three dozen assassins. Although they all wore civilian clothing, looking no different from the other spectators of the dictator, each of them held a blade.
Some started dropping their weapons and stumbling away, only to be torn apart by the hounds chasing them. One even had an arm torn off, leaving a bloody mess.
Others were beheaded or stabbed through the chest, blood—both red and white—flowing everywhere, with the sharp scent of it filling the air.
