To the south of Naples, near a river that runs through the city, there is a large mansion.

One side of the house is built on a slightly higher riverbank, and the other side is completely deep into the middle of the river, directly on several large reefs.

The river, which was originally quite wide, has become more turbulent due to the sudden narrowing of these reefs, and the buildings on these reefs are connected by several small stone bridges.

From a distance, the houses look as if they are standing directly on the river.

This rather strange mansion was the home of Modiglo, Count of Naples.

Like many aristocrats of his time, Modillo, Count of Naples, was a man with a deep appreciation for art.

And if you inquire closely, you will know that the count himself is a painter of extraordinary skill, but his connoisseurship is more prominent and admired than his level as a painter.

Especially since he wrote a book on art appreciation a few years ago, many Neapolitan artists have made the recognition of Count Modiglo a benchmark for success.

It's just such a person, while he has been praised countless times, he also has something to criticize.

The Modillo family was a generation of Neapolitan counts, which meant that even the palace of the King of Naples was actually built on his domain.

Although the relationship between Modilo and the king was not so harmonious in the past, as the contemporary count of the Mordilo family, Salon Modillo's relationship with the king was the worst.

This kind of bad even started with the father of the previous king, and the previous king only reigned for a year and hid in the convent, so this tension with the royal family has continued to the current King Ferdinand, so that many Neapolitans say that this Modillo is a dead match with the king's family for three generations.

However, this had nothing to do with ordinary Neapolitans, who preferred to see such aristocrats fighting each other, even if one of them was the king.

What really upset many Neapolitans was his active cooperation with the French during the occupation of Naples.

Although no one has come forward to accuse him to his face, in the eyes of many Neapolitans, Modillo is a traitor to Napoli.

It's just that because the long-inguated influence of the Modillo family still exists, the complaints about Salon Modillo have become insignificant.

When Alexander arrived at the Modilo family's house, he had just caught up with the servant to light the first candle.

Candles mixed with lard and dried flower powder smelled strangely, and a few Moorish servants against the wall in the living room were sweating profusely pulling a rotating fan made of several large fans, which kept fanning the hot air as the axles creaked.

Salen Mordillo sat in a chair near the fan, and a painter was painting him, watching Alexander come in, he just waved his hand and then held his cheek motionless.

Alexander walked to the easel and noticed that the portrait was almost finished and was already making up the color, but he also knew that the more times like this, the more the painter's skills were tested, and it was often at this time that some great artists were able to add the finishing touch to the whole painting.

The artist didn't seem to care about the people watching nearby, and even a little crazy, perhaps in order to show off his difference, he suddenly picked up a rag and vigorously wiped off a patch of color, and instead re-mixed the color, adding a deeper black to the already slightly dark background.

"Strong colors can better set off the existence of the characters," the artist's imposing painter didn't know whether he was talking to himself or explaining to Alexander next to him, and after deepening the background color in succession, he looked back at Alexander next to him who was speechless, "So do you think it is better to use a stronger contrast?" ”

Alexander shook his head, saying that although he had seen many paintings in various galleries, many of which were masterpieces by masters, he was not good at painting.

Although it seems to him that today's painting method still seems to stay at the level of the early days of relying on the flat perspective of the characters by deepening the background color, Alexander still has self-knowledge, at least he can't draw at this level of others.

And he doesn't think it's a good idea to explain perspective to others, although it seems that right in Florence there is already a man of the best in the world who is trying to revolutionize the history of painting in such a subversive way.

"You don't seem to be interested in art," said Mordillo, who was sitting in his chair, at last he stood up, walked over to the easel and looked at his portrait, and then bowed to the painter in thanks, and watched as the painter carefully covered the easel with a cloth and withdrew, and the Count extended his hand and motioned for Alexander to follow him towards the house on a rock on the river.

Alexander casually followed, looking at the man in front of him seriously, as long as he knew that his heart was not as calm as it seemed.

It all started with the surname "Mordillo", although I had always imagined that one day I would meet someone with this surname, but I didn't expect this opportunity to come so suddenly, and it was so special.

"Emissary from Sicily," Modillo, who had already walked across the stone bridge into the room, turned and looked at Alexander, who was still standing on the bridge, "so we are now dealing with a council, not King Ferdinand's court?" ”

"The Council is loyal to the king," Alexander said, "If you draw your sword from me because of this, you can only say that you are wrong." ”

"Is that so?" Mordillo asked as if he were simply asking, and then he motioned for Alexander to follow him into the room.

The house built on the reef is not large, because the surface of the reef is rugged, the ground is completely made of wooden planks, and even the river flowing below can be faintly seen through the gaps in the planks.

Alexander suddenly felt that Modillo had built such a house without four walls, not so much as an interest, but to prevent anyone from eavesdropping.

Sure enough, standing on the creaking plank, Modillo turned to look at Alexander and said, "Alright, now let's all be honest and tell me how Gomez died, young man." ”

Alexander was about to speak, but was stopped by Mordillo's raised hand.

"Wait a minute, I'm going to tell you first, I've heard a lot about Gomez's death, and although I'm far from Palermo, it's enough for me to know a lot, so don't doubt my abilities, and I know who you are."

Mordillo's words made Alexander's heart skip a beat, and then he told himself that Mordillo could not have known "who he was".

"Actually, Miya-sama was assassinated by a French plot," Alexander began, knowing that as Modillo himself said, he had many ways to know what was happening in Sicily, and in this case Alexander decided to tell the 'truth' "The French planned a riot in Palermo, and although no one knows exactly how they did it until now, it is certain that they were premeditated, and in Palermo, they also had the help of some locals." ”

"The conspiracy of the French against Sicily?" Modillo looked at Alexander, "How do you prove that what you say is true, or how do you prove that the other side of the lighthouse thinks that the French are doing ghosts?" ”

Seeing that Modillo didn't seem to believe it, or rather seemed to be troubled by something, Alexander remembered that Camus, the leader of the Council, had said that Modillo was one of the fanatical supporters of the reunification of the two Sicilies.

Thinking of all the rumors about him during the French occupation of Naples, Alexander suddenly felt as if he had touched something, and after a little thought in his heart, he made a decision!

"My lord, when it comes to proof, I think the Bishop of Palermo, Lord Alfonso, can give you a better answer." Alexander said as he carefully observed Modillo's expression, only to hear Alfonso's name, and the count's face did not show any strangeness: "The Bishop once received a French scholar named Ficher from the Orleans territory, and I was fortunate enough to meet this old man from France many times in the Bishop's original Priest's Palace. Only the last time, on the bloodstained night of the murder of the minister-sama, when the venerable French scholar was in the company of a mob, and he had not a pen in his hand, but a sword. “

For the first time, Modillo, who had been listening calmly, had a strange expression on his face, he looked at Alexander seriously, and after staring at him silently for a while, he said slowly: "I know that you are a messenger, I know that you are a Greek from Crete, I know that you are lucky to have a certain friendship with Gomez because you once saved the life of the palace minister, and I also know that you once served as Alfonso's personal librarian, so what I want to ask you now is, do you say this to me, does it mean that you are implying that you used to be an employer, Is the current bishop of Palermo linked to the death of Gomez? ”

Facing Modillo's inquiring eyes, Alexander shook his head slightly calmly: "No, my lord, I didn't hint at anything, let alone accuse anyone, I just told the facts I saw with my own eyes." ”

"The facts?" Modiglo smiled playfully: "There can be a myriad of facts about everything, and people always like the one they want to believe." ”

"But there is always only one truth."

After saying this, the pressure was great, and he suddenly felt that he had a feeling of going to the wrong set.

Modillo looked at Alexander with interest, and then he suddenly spoke: "It seems that I have to apologize for my previous rudeness, and I hope that your envoy will enjoy it again tomorrow night." ”

Looking at Alexander's departing back, the corners of Modillo's mouth curled slightly.

"There is only one truth, so what is your truth?"