The displaced people of Imola and Forlì often feel like they are in a dream—at first a nightmare, when their homes are destroyed by the sudden fighting, the mob kills their parents, husbands, wives and children, and loots their belongings and clothes, and the survivors stumble and flee their homeland in a daze, not knowing where to go or what to do, after all, in this day and age, except for the rich and noble, people rarely leave their homes, and even if they get married, only in the same city or in the neighboring village.

They walked along the Emilian Avenue, less and less food, more and more deaths, and other villages and towns, as soon as they saw them, sent soldiers to drive them away, and priests with crosses to exorcise demons, and they could only find a way to survive in the wilderness and the forest, but the wilderness and the forest belonged to the lord, and his people had to obtain his permission to go into the forest to cut wood even in winter, let alone pick "his" fruit, and hunt "his" birds and beasts, and some brave people were soon hung behind horses or on branchesWhat's more, their bellies are dissected, and even if they die, they are not allowed to go to hell with the stolen goods.

Yes, without the golden florin, the priests would not have come to give them the sacrament of death, and these people would not be allowed to repent, but they would not have gone to hell? But the outcasts felt that they were almost in purgatory now, and that the people who expelled and killed them were not the devils with horns and claws.

They prayed to God day after day, some of them fell and turned themselves into beasts, others they supported with bitterness, and they heard that a well-meaning monk was willing to pray for the dying at no cost, so they went, and since they could not live as a man, let them die as a man.

Perhaps an angel heard their prayers, and a group of knights from far away Lucca came to them and gave them water, food, and hope, and the knight lord said that Lucca was now doing a great project, and that it required many manpower, and that if they wished, they could go, men, old men, children, women—but it was certainly hard work, not as clean and easy as their previous work, and where they had a place to live, but it was very simple, and there was something to eat, but it was rough. For a short period of time, there is little to no pay.

When he said this, many people breathed a sigh of relief, for if he had said that the days of heaven awaited them, they would have thought that they had met a slave trader, or someone who served the devil, and that the circumstances were hard, the work was heavy, and the rewards were meager, so they would go so far to recruit the homeless who had nowhere to go.

What makes them even more excited is that if they are originally a family, or if they voluntarily form a family, they will not be separated, and they can still live together as long as they want.

So they crossed half of Italy and walked to Lucca on their own feet, and along the way, there were more and more people, and they were worried at first, if there were too many people, the later people, or the old women, and children who could not work, would be driven away, and where would they go when the work was finished?

What made them immediately relieved was a mud brick standing on the outskirts of Lucca, three feet high, so long, so wide, and such a mud brick, in this project, to dig up as many as 40,000 pieces, and then to mix gravel and lime to bury again, such a huge project, even if it is enough to build another Tower of Babel, let alone 10,000 people to do it in 10 months, 100,000 people to do it in 100 months may not be able to complete it.

But wait until a few months later, and they'll be able to go back. That's what they thought.

They thought of it this way, from the circumcision of Christ (January 1) to the Feast of the Annunciation (March 25), from the May Day to St. James (July 25),

From the Feast of the Assumption (August 25) to St. Luke's Day (October 18), the news became more and more depressing and frightening, and they stopped thinking about it. Perhaps one day they will have to leave here, but before they are expelled, they are here, they have to go to work to be fed, they have a roof to shelter themselves from the wind and rain, and if they fall ill, there are monks to treat them and give them medicine, and those who do well and do fast will receive a small savings for the reward, and that is enough, compared to the unfortunate ones who are still in exile in Romagna, or the poor worms who are unable and unwilling to leave their homes, and who have to wail and weep under the oppression and plunder of BorgiasThey don't expect anything anymore - anyway, the priest said that the world is a filthy swamp, and people are born to suffer, and too much hope will only make them miserable.

An old man from Imola sat down on the mud bricks and thought that he had three sons, and one of them died when Borgia's army entered Imola; While the soldiers were plundering the farmstead, one died; On the Avenue of Emilia, in order to prevent his wife and son from being taken to the fire for food, another one died, and he was willing to die at that time, but his good daughter-in-law and good grandson were not, so they left the Avenue of Emilia and wandered in the wilderness, because he was a cowherd before, and knew what grass the cows liked to eat, and they followed it, so the knight who supported Lucca appeared.

There were baskets of corduroy at his feet, and even an old man could do a good job of kneading ropes, and the wind was a little cool, but they were all blocked by mud bricks, and the sun was warm on his body—the old man squinted, but the movements of his hands were light and fast, and the rope he beat was very strong, and each basket of rope could be exchanged for a bowl of beans, and he could not only feed himself, but also feed his grandson, and his son's wife, who ran to the "construction site" (as the Lucca people called it) to cook and lay hands, could also be exchanged for a bowl of rye.

"God bless you!" A traveler shouted.

"God bless you!" The old man shouted along, and he looked up and down the visitor, who looked like a young monk, too young, almost a child, with big brown eyes, hair of the same color curled under a four-cornered hat, and he carried a cloth bag on his back, which he didn't seem to be carrying much.

"Where are you from?" The old man asked.

"I'm from Rome." The young monk replied aloud and energetically, "Is this Luka?" ”

"Not yet, but it's close." The old man said, "My lord," and he asked with some urgency, "you are from Rome, but have you heard of Imola?" ”

"You don't need to call me sir," said the monk, "I am only a farmer's son," he said, "but I have heard some news, the commander of the Roman church army, the head of the coalition army, the Duke of Valentino, Caesar. Borgia, who has become the master of Imola, Forlì, Rimini, and Pesaro, is now attacking Faenza, and when Faenza is defeated, he will become the Duke of Romagna. ”

"What an unfortunate thing that was." The old man cried out bitterly.

"Well, it does." The monk said.

His words reassured the old man, who had just accidentally lost his words and was worried. "What are you doing here? Is it a work for the Lord? But it's the city walls, not the churches that are being built here. ”

"I have come to my brother, who, like me, is a brother of the Church of the Brethren who lives together, and who had made an appointment with me to meet in Rome and pass through the Holy Gate, but I did not meet him, but his messenger sent a letter saying that he had found another Holy Gate, so I followed in his footsteps and came here."

"Holy Gate." The old man asked enviously, "So did you pass through?" Have you been washed away from your sins? ”

"You say the Holy Gate of Rome?" The monk said, "I think that it is not the sins that have been washed away through the Holy Gate, but the jingling coins on my body, but no, old sir, I have beaten the priest who guards the Holy Gate, and I have overturned the vat of coins and jewels, and I have come here in one go." ”

"Oops!" The old man was taken aback, "You are such a bold person, or you are lying to me." ”

"Then God forgive me," said the young monk lively, "even if I lie to you." ”

The old man glanced at him angrily: "Then what is the other Holy Gate you are talking about, what is it, I am here, from the time the Holy Year has not yet arrived to the end of the Holy Year, how come I have never heard that there is also a Holy Gate here?" ”

"I don't know about that," said the monk, "and I'll ask my brother about it." ”

After saying that, he saluted the old man, and in return for asking for directions, he jumped up and down and walked happily in the direction of Luca.

In fact, even if he didn't ask for directions, after climbing the hill, he could almost see Lucca, and outside the city there were now many wooden shelves and towers, each of which was almost as high as the original walls, and countless people were moving on it like ants, but this was not the most surprising to him, he was most surprised that outside Lucca, there was a ditch like a dry river, which surrounded the whole city, and emitted a blinding white light in the daylight.

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And at this moment, Brother Desi was standing beside Archbishop Lucca, looking at a drawing with him. Erasmus was a man who was quite proficient in calculations, but even he could not mentally calculate multiplication and division of more than three digits at the same time. The Medici could do it without much effort. This is a little frustrating, but it must be admitted that it is impossible for such a person to complete the calculation of such a huge project by himself.

"It's a mistake to say that you did it on your own," said Giulio, smiling, looking away from the drawings, "and you and Machiavelli have also helped me a lot." ”

"That's a smile that's really refreshing." Brother Desi bluntly praised: "It is a pity that it appears so little, like the sun behind heavy clouds." But," he continued, "it is precisely because of this that it should be cherished." ”

Julio glanced at him.

Machiavelli, who was also nearby, obviously wanted to say something, but he couldn't help it, since the monks and scholars of Cardinal Picromini had been taught a lot of lessons since they arrived in Lucca, and he didn't even appear in Giulio's eyes for a while—it seemed that the Picrominian family's education was quite successful, and the things that were as transgressive as in the past were rarely seen again.

"The holy year is almost over." Giulio said, "When are you going to Rome?" ”

"Do you speak of the Holy Gate," said Brother Desi nonchalantly, "it is all right, Your Highness, here is more worthy of my wait." ”

Machiavelli couldn't help but grunt.

"And what about your little brother?"

"I have sent him a letter," said Brother Desi, "and in these two days he may have arrived." ”

As he spoke, he heard someone shouting his name, and when he turned around, he saw a little bean rushing towards him from the hillside in the distance.