When she saw the little box, little Medici couldn't help but vomit.

Bishop Picromini was not surprised, he could swear, and even a wave of hellish anger rose in his heart. As a clergyman who had served the Pope in Rome for decades, he had seen shameless people, lewd people, despicable people, greedy people and vicious people, but for the first time he had seen a monster that could bring these filthy traits together—he opened the little box and retracted his hand as if it had been burned with coal.

The box was filled with all kinds of precious knick-knacks, from gold belt buckles, to gold earrings, to gem-encrusted reliquaries, or six-pointed stars and (???) The symbolic pendant and the necklace made of eighteen gold coins have a distinctly Jewish character, and it is clear that the owner of the box is likely the Jew who knelt on the execution ground and watched his daughter be burned to death, and that it may have stored his life savings.

As a 15th-century clothed man (only bishops were allowed to be clothed), Bishop Picromini certainly did not show mercy to a single Jew. In the New Testament Gospel of Matthew, the Jews say, "Let the blood of this man (that is, Jesus) be sprinkled on our heads and on our children" - St. Paul, the founder of the church, even more explicitly blamed the Jews for Jesus' death, saying: "The Jews killed the Lord Jesus and persecuted us in every way, how disrespectful they were to God and how hostile they were to mankind!" They even prevent us from preaching to the wealthy. They have been doing evil, and now they are finally full of evil. God's wrath had come upon them. St. John's accusation is more straightforward: "You (the Jews) are the children of the devil, and therefore you have inherited his desires." In the eyes of the bishops, priests and monks of the time, the Jews were the source of evil, the progenitor of sinners, a Jewish girl was accused of being a witch, they felt it was a matter of course, a Jewish merchant was taken away from all his possessions, and they felt that he also deserved it, but as an eccentric among them, Bishop Picromini was more disgusted by those who said, "The devil's gold is also gold." The unfortunate Kramer was one of them, and he did not feel that there was anything wrong with offering the box he had received from the execution directly to the bishop as a gift, even if it came from a Jew, perhaps simply because the splendid little box was inlaid with precious stones and enamel like the reliquary of the Three Kings in Cologne, he could turn a blind eye to all evil signs, and wishfully thought that the same was true for Bishop Picromini.

"Is it rotting to this extent?" Bishop Picromini muttered, caressing Giulio's back with his warm palm, personally holding a cup for him to rinse, and ordering the monks who served them to bring honey water.

Along with the honey water came a visitor, who was accompanied by a monk with a keen sense of smell, dressed in the black hooded cloak common to monks, and who bowed deeply at the sight of Bishop Picromini, and when he gave his master's name, the bishop knew why Kremer was so attentive—the man who came called himself Miguel. The surname Corero is very common in the Valencian countryside, but in fact, this man who seems to have had half of his face cut open by the devil is none other than the current Vice-Chancellor of the Holy See, Rodrigo. The illegitimate son of Borgia's sister, he is said to have fought alone at the age of sixteen against bandits several times his size, and when the robbers invaded the village for the second time, their leader was captured by Miguel and hanged from a tree at the entrance of the village.

More than a year ago, as Pope Sextus IV became ill and weakened, and the battle between Borgia and Lovere became more and more intense, and their enemies were ready to move, and after some Assassins had invaded Borgia's "Silver Palace", his private residence, and threatened his lives almost directly, he sent several of his children separately, and summoned his illegitimate nephew to protect his safety - this time he sent Miguel out with the utmost sincerity, No one knew what they were talking about in the room, but when the door was opened, Bishop Picromini had one more student.

Father Valencia was soon brought before the bishop, who confessed deeply and admitted that he had been taught a lesson, that he had come to his senses of folly, and that he had vowed to remain faithful to his mentor forever.

Bishop Picromini was indifferent, but neither the young Caesar nor Cardinal Borgia's illegitimate nephew would be angry, so why should he be angry? As long as Bishop Picromini recognized Caesar. Borgia was his student, and Picomini's covenant with Borgia was in effect.

"Where's Lucrea?" As soon as he left the bishop's room, Caesar asked eagerly, that he was still an eight-year-old boy after all, and that he had not seen his sister for months since his father had sent them away separately to avoid threats.

"She is waiting for you in the rose garden," said Miguel, "and rest assured, her nurse and maid are with her." ”

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"Is there any quiet place here?" Giulio asked, after the evening prayer, two or three hours after the bedtime prayer, this time is often used by the monks for their own pastime, but the ordinary monks can not afford to use candles, read or copy in places that are not bright enough, do manual work, it is all eye damage, so they often gather in the kitchen, the mill, the vegetable garden, or some unobtrusive corner, and tell lewd jokes like "feed the birds" and "nail a hundred nails".

The goldsmith knew that his little master needed a place that would not be disturbed and would not disturb others, and he thought for a moment and said, "How about the rose garden?" "In the cathedral of Foligno, there is a small courtyard no more than two or three hundred paces deep and long, and the courtyard is covered with roses, a place for priests and abbots to think, and ordinary monks would never go there unless they have anything important. If Giulio was just a monk, then he couldn't, but he still had a Medici surname.

When the little Medici left the room, there was still a red light in the hallway, and when he walked through the corridor to the other side of the church, even the last bit of light was gone, the black building looked like a devil in hell against a dark blue background, and Giulio could see the skeleton that was bent and blackened like a burnt matchstick when he closed his eyes—he had thought it was just a description. He knew that this was a time of beauty on the outside, sin on the inside, and a rancid smell. The Duke commanded the army, the family fed the Assassins, the hungry commoners roamed the streets, sometimes beggars, sometimes thieves, he had seen blood, he had seen internal organs, he had seen corpses hanging from gallows and crows flying on their shoulders, and even he had been born in the midst of death—before he was born, his father, Giuliano . Morality. The Medici was brutally tortured by his enemies in the church, and his mother died in childbirth.

But today, a person dies on the charge of being young, beautiful, and rich, because she had a Jewish father, and her father took out all his possessions, and only guaranteed her a little less suffering before she died, and she could not even rest in the tomb - to be cremated, thrown into the river, and after hundreds of years it could only be said that one of the last options was one of the last destinations, but in the 15th century, it meant that not only did the dead not go to heaven, but they were also reduced to hell to endure endless torture.

For the first time, Giulio felt a suffocation that bordered on crushing, and after seeing the familiar little box, he finally exploded completely. Fortunately, Bishop Picromini did not blame or delve into this, perhaps he also thought that it was not easy for a child to persevere until now, and that human cruelty and ruthlessness also need to be cultivated, and it is very normal for a child to cry, scream, run away or vomit when he sees the stake for the first time.

The darkness and the cold wind calmed Giulio's boiling thoughts, and he stopped in front of an arch where the rose branches hung down beside him like the lady's lace, and the moonlight illuminated the courtyard inside the archway, and in the center stood a gray stone statue in the form of a man dressed in a Roman toga, with one arm supporting a defunct head, and the other muscular arm stretched forward, holding a wine glass, and clear water overflowed from the glass and flowed into the overflow basin below. Giulio guessed that the statue was once the Roman god of wine, Bacchus, and that after it was turned into a church and a monastery, the statue of the alien god could not continue to stand here, but the monks did not want to damage the statue connected to the water pipe, so they had to chisel the statue's head to count.

The statue is surrounded by velvety dwarf plants and shrubs, paved stone paths, and large stone pots with pink, white, and red roses. At night when there is only moonlight and starlight, even roses lose their daylight and brilliance, but this highlights their rich aroma, the smell of roses is long, clear and sweet, with the cleanliness of crushed privet leaves, and the fragrance of fresh apples after cutting, perhaps it is the symbol of the Virgin Mary, and that the blood of Jesus flowed down from the cross and seeped into the root system of the rose, so that the red rose was born.

And just as Giulio turned around a large stone basin large enough to hold three of him, and the roses in the stone basin were in their prime, a large bouquet of rose petals suddenly fell on his face, and he heard a joyful and loud laugh, and then a warm, heavy little body swooped down on him, and pushed him to the ground, buried in a bustling alfalfa.

Immediately afterwards, several hands brushed the petals off his face, and then a woman shouted, "Oh my God, Lucresia, he's not Caesar, he's not your brother!" ”

Julio held himself up a little from the pain in his shoulder, and he could feel those little arms still holding him tightly.

He looked at the culprit in his arms, a little girl probably about his age, with curly, lighter blonde hair, which in the moonlight flowed like a spring, and her eyes sparkled like emeralds even in such a dim place, and her cheeks were at first as delicate as the petals of white roses, but soon they took on the color of pink roses, red roses—the poor little girl, who at last understood, that her mischief and embrace.