St. John's Day is followed by the Martyrdom of All Saints, followed by the Feast of the Circumcision on January 1, the Feast of the Three Kings on January 6, the Feast of the Sacrifice on February 2, the Feast of St. Matthias on February 24, and then followed by Lent, the forty days of Lent before Easter.

Although the days after Ash Wednesday will be strictly fasting and abstaining under the supervision of the Church, the long and monotonous days of misery will be preceded by three or five days of feasting, drinking, and revelry—even for the frugal and stern King Louis XII of France, not to mention that he will show his wealth and force before the Duchess of Brittany. Borgia will not let go of such a good opportunity to boast about himself.

He didn't want Julio to be around so much, as the lady-in-waiting of the Good Lady said, Caesar. Borgia was indeed well-looked and erect (he was called the most beautiful man in Italy), and yes, he was always admired, but he was still in the realm of humanity. Julio. The Medici's countenance, however, was as depraved as the devil, especially as he grew older, and sometimes even Cardinal Picromini, who was well acquainted with him, found it difficult to look at this disciple without being moved.

Unlike others, whether it is theology, mathematics, medicine, Latin, Greek, etc., compared to Caesar, who was brilliant but always difficult to distract, Giulio has been like a cone in his pocket since the University of Pisa, and during his time as secretary to Cardinal Picromini and assisting Caesar, he proved that he was not the kind of dull guy who could only talk on paper - in addition, in the battles of Seminara and Fornovo, Giulio hid behind General Gonzalo. The Medici were almost unknown, but Gonzalo, a confidant of the King of Spain, and Pope Alexander VI, a Spaniard, certainly got to know Giulio deeply. The Medici's military genius was met with hatred and contempt by Alexander VI, and Caesar—whom Caesar must admit, began a long time ago—was perhaps jealous of himself when his little sister Luclesia, when she was persecuted by their half-brother Luigi, not Alexander VI nor Caesar, but Giulio.

And this bad seed, which grew stronger and stronger when Lucrecia was desperate to marry Giulio and conceive his child, almost annihilated his deep brotherly affection for Giulio, and in Giulio's presence he was like a patient suffering from dysentery, a burst of cold and a burst of heat, which not only bewildered Giulio, but also tortured him to death.

Therefore, when the envoy of Louis XII, the duchess of Brittany, made a request, Caesar eagerly agreed, unbeknownst to him, which had taken him to a new level of character among the French—although Caesar was not the one who initiated the matter, it was not common to privately discuss whether the prince was too unkind.

After all, the best way for people to get ahead at this time is to gain the favor of the superiors, and they will try to surround those who are powerful, and they will do their best to show their bravery or wisdom in front of King Louis XII of France, and sometimes even Caesar is no exception. And the truly learned and capable among them was exiled to a deserted town with only commoners and monks, not to mention that this man was once Caesar. A close friend of Borgia who saved his life from Charles VIII's army of 200,000.

So no matter how hard they tried, the French were stubborn like stones, and they were not shaken by their words or deeds.

The longer Caesar stayed at the French court, the more he felt that his previous judgment might have been wrong, as Giulio had reminded him, the French were not deterred by their extravagance, and that they seemed to be warm to the Italians, but in fact cold and distant. He could not find close friends, reliable companions, and even his unfavourable charm for women in Italy seemed to be ineffective, and as a "loyal" suitor, he could not be too indulgent (as in Rome) to offer to any woman he fancied or needed.

King Louis XII of France was a practical and ruthless fellow, his vanity appearance would be pierced by him at once, and he was too lazy to listen to empty words, he still respected Caesar, but that was also because he was the illegitimate son of Pope Alexander VI, his agent, but he did not have the heart to face Caesar's ability and talent.

In contrast, Giulio. The Medici, the most beloved disciple of Cardinal Picromini, whose knowledge, vision, and insight had long since replaced his beautiful countenance as the new topic of conversation at the French court, and it was unanimously agreed that he was indeed a noble man—if it were not, how could he, in spite of the will of the king and the Duchess of Brittany, be willing to stoop himself as an archbishop in the town of Prigverin, and personally perform the sacraments of many poor and destitute people?

When Caesar heard that even the new ruler of France, Louis XII, had once again listened in detail to the report from the town of Prugverin in his morning meeting, he realized that he could no longer indulge his private feelings, and he wrote a sincere letter to Giulio, hoping that he would return to him, and sent it to the messenger at once.

No sooner had his messenger set out than the messenger from Luclecia brought him a letter. The contents of the letter made him even more irrepressible to see the man who had filled him with grief as soon as possible.

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Caesar's messenger was the son of a Valencian nobleman, and the Borgia family had held the priesthood of the diocese of Valencia in Spain for generations, and Valencia was the foundation of the Borgia family, and the people there were born to be trusted subordinates of the Borgia family, not to mention, with Caesar all the way from Rome to Brest, this young man who had not been well involved in the world heard all the sycophants, saw all the beauty, the clothes and meals were fine and noble, and Caesar was never stingy with them—and naturally raised them into a arrogant style.

This proud lad began to frown as soon as he entered Prugverin, if they were in Prugverin, the town was quiet except for poverty, but now it was somehow crowded with filthy poor people, who lay down in the streets, chattered and chattered, and whose clothes were spread out to enjoy the winter sun emitted a suffocating stench, and among them were many children and old people.

To his great annoyance, as soon as he entered the stone road of the town, he was ordered by the guards to dismount and walk, why? It was useless for him to argue so that the hooves of the horses would not step on the hands and feet of the fools, and it was said that this was an order from the Good Lady and the Archbishop. It was the end of March, but Prugverin, who was at the tip of the cape, was still surprisingly cold, and he grabbed the mink fur that was wrapped around him, cowering, and walked in disgust on the stone road, which was narrowed by the number of poor people, and his attendants cursed and waved sticks in their hands, threatening the damned "livestock" to get out of the way.

Such a threat should be effective according to reason, who knew that a dull old woman walked backwards, and at once stepped on the long toe of the attendant's shoes, and now it was terrible, and the swineherd-born attendant immediately waved his club frantically, and whipped the fool like a sow, and made a rhythmic "purr" sound in his mouth, just listening to his companion laughing on the side, his emotions also turned from anger to excitement, and he became more and more energetic, and even jumped high, and threw the stick with a clattering sound, He was so proud that he forgot to see why the old woman had suddenly retreated, and it was not until two strong monks rushed at him, seized him by the arm, and dragged him aside, that he became frightened, and he turned his head to seek help from his master, only to see his master kneeling on the dirty stone road with his head down, the shadow of the great cross hanging over him, and the eyes of the swineherd's attendants widening - he also saw young men in archbishopric robes, richly dressed nobles, and reliquariesScriptures, holy vessels, monks and acolytes with incense burners and candles—alas, beating one or two filthy peasants, even to death, is not a mistake, but to block the procession of the great rites is a deep sin, and the swineherd's retinue suddenly lost his strength, like the old woman whom he had beaten, and wept and curled up on the ground.

The Borgia messenger also realized his mistake, and he raised his head with the last glimmer of hope—of course he knew Giulio, even if not his face, his episcopal robes, "My lord, my lord," he cried out, "I am Caesar's messenger, and I have brought you his own letter, my lord, forgive me for my transgressions, for the sake of my urgent and fervent heart!" ”

The procession of the Great Rite would not have been stopped by this little accident, and the archbishop, dressed in the crimson vestments of martyrdom, the descent of the Holy Spirit and the sacraments of the Holy Order, did not even stop, and the most exalted lady of the good faith beside him did not even give a merciful glance, and the procession passed in front of them on their knees, and the attendants of the Good Lady took over the work of the friars, and the poor people whom they despised knelt on both sides of the procession, muttering prayers, and when the procession had passed, they got up and followed the procession, without a single glance at them.