From Corsica to the Fourth Rome

The dawn light shone from the eastern land, dragging the shadows of Lawrence and the cuirassiers into sharp thin lines on the ground.

About twenty people, including city officials, landowners, and a few wealthy businessmen seeking political influence, lined up in a neat little square, waiting respectfully at the entrance of Propriano like soldiers undergoing review. .

Each of them bowed their heads obediently, only daring to raise their eyes occasionally, using the corner of their vision to observe the murderous cavalry guard about fifty meters away, as well as the man riding in the middle surrounded by cavalry. The young governor on a white horse.

Even the most obtuse person can understand that in Propriano, a small town just over sixty miles away from Ajaccio, Laurence Bonaparte and his army are the masters who hold the power of life and death for everyone. .

The local alderman, a bearded man wearing a traditional Corsican robe, nervously lifted the hem of his coat, turned his head and winked at everyone, and then led a group of dignitaries forward.

The alderman took the lead and walked forward, stopped about ten steps away from Lawrence, bowed respectfully and flatteringly, and said loudly in an exaggerated tone similar to opera singing:

"We are waiting for you, Your Majesty the Governor."

The nobles behind him quickly followed suit and bent their proud backs in front of the prestigious governor to show their goodwill.

Listening to this loud chorus, little George on horseback shivered subconsciously.

How could I, a serf, sit on my tall horse with peace of mind, look down at the gentlemen, and accept their bowing to welcome me?

Especially among that group of people was his own master, Mr. Custar.

Although little George was full of hatred for this old man with a white beard who took away his family's land, when he thought of the beatings he had received at the hands of Mr. Custar over the years, little George still felt palpitations and couldn't help but shrink back. Shrink.

At the front of the team, facing the bowed greetings of the city magistrate and all the nobles, Lawrence said nothing. He just snorted coldly and turned to look at little George beside him, frowning and asked:

"You said your master is here too?"

"me…"

Little George trembled, his weak voice trembled, and a pair of dark pupils wandered uncertainly. He looked at Lawrence in front of him for a while, and then glanced at Mr. Custar in the crowd. He hesitated for a long time but said nothing. speak out.

This little boy with a stooped figure understood that if he made Master Custar unhappy, being tied to a stake and whipped with a whip would be regarded as a sign of mercy from him.

In the eyes of the gentlemen, serfs like Little George were nothing more than private property, and their lives were not even as precious as a cow.

The local officials even turned a blind eye to this kind of torture and killing of serfs. After all, who would offend the rich masters for these despicable little things.

"Child..." Major Cui Farley rode up to the poor child, brushed away the cold sweat on little George's forehead with his generous palm, and comforted him softly:

"You only need to answer Monsieur Bonaparte's words, and then turn around and look around..."

Little George obediently turned his head and looked at the cuirassiers around him, watching their silver-white plate armor reflect a dazzling white halo in the dawn light.

"This army is here for you, and for everyone like you."

Major Trifari's thick, calloused palm squeezed little George's arm tightly, which reminded little George of his father's palm. This feeling of peace of mind was something he had not experienced in many years:

"Trust us, kid, no harm will come to you again."

Little George licked his chapped lips, nodded heavily as if he had made up his mind, then looked at Lawrence, and said quietly but firmly:

"Yes, sir, my master - Master Custar is right there."

Hearing this, a small commotion immediately broke out in the welcoming team. People turned to look at Mr. Custar one after another, casting complex glances mixed with doubts and gloating on the white-haired old man.

No one knew why the Governor was accompanied by a local serf boy, and no one knew why the Governor came up to ask about this serf.

But everyone present knew very well that judging from the chilling and cold face of Lord Bonaparte, what was going to happen was definitely not a good thing.

Master Custar shuddered, and under the urging of the mayor's eyes, he walked out of the team, walked tremblingly in front of Lawrence's horse, took a deep breath and said:

"Your Majesty the Governor, I am Custar Abair, a manor owner here, but I am most proud of my status as your humble servant and follower..."

Before he could finish introducing himself slowly, Lawrence waved his hand to interrupt impatiently, pointed at little George and asked:

"Okay, you know this boy, right?"

Master Custar looked closely at little George on the horse, his pupils showing uneasiness and fear he had never seen before. He thought he would never show such a look in front of a serf.

"It's...the Governor..."

After hesitating for a while, Mr. Custar gritted his teeth, nodded and admitted:

"I am his employer, and he has worked on my estate for many years...I hired him legally, paid him wages, and provided him with food and fields. Mr. Governor, is there any problem with this?"

"Yeah?"

Lawrence narrowed his eyes slightly and looked at Mr. Custard. His right hand was already on the handle of his saber. Then he turned to look at Little George and asked:

"Is that what happened?"

The poor child was stunned for a few seconds. He lived like an ant and never thought that one day he would speak out in such a big scene.

At this moment, he suddenly remembered what Major Cui Farali had just said when he was stroking himself.

Is this army really here for me?

Little George was not sure, but he also understood deeply that this was the only chance to change this tragic fate.

"No, sir!"

Little George, whose mind was blank, shouted subconsciously. This voice mixed with the grievance and resentment of more than ten years surprised everyone, including Lawrence:

"He didn't give me any wages! All I got from working day and night was a piece of black bread a day! He didn't even provide me with any land, which was my father's land..."

The vast open space outside the city gate only echoed with little George's grievance-filled cry. Even the late-summer cicadas seemed to fade away under this cry, as if all the grievances of the past ten years were shouted out.

Master Custar's face was as pale as lime, and the other landowners, including the city officials, had almost the same expression. After all, their manor was almost entirely filled with serfs like Little George.

Even those businessmen who stayed out of the matter looked at Lawrence's army in horror, wondering what the governor was going to do.

"My Lord Governor, I think there must be some misunderstanding here."

The smart alderman knew that he could not let the damn serf continue to cry, so he took the initiative to regain the conversation and said loudly:

"Mr. Custar is a highly respected manor owner in our town. When he was young, he served in the army with Governor Paoli and shed his blood for the liberation of Corsica. There must be something between him and this young man. Misunderstanding, I swear I will send someone to investigate. Mr. Governor, let us enter the city now. There will be a grand banquet in the city to welcome you. "

Seeing the city mayor hurriedly coming forward to smooth things over, Lawrence just sneered.

As a political figure who could chat and laugh with the Duke of Choiseul and Justice Maupp in Paris, how could Lawrence fail to hear the implication of the alderman's words.

He seemed to be trying to smooth things over humbly, but in fact he was threatening himself in a gentle way. The city official's true thoughts should be:

"This gentleman is a representative figure of the landlord class here, and he is a revolutionary hero who followed Governor Paoli. If Lord Bonaparte wants to attack him, I am afraid he will have to consider whether such behavior will chill a large number of people. ”

Everyone present is also a sensible person. They may not have fully guessed the threat hidden in the mayor's words, but they also know that the fate of Mr. Cusda is a microcosm of their own fate, so they must fight with Cusda at the moment. Master Da stood together.

Although there was no communication, the landowners quickly reached a tacit agreement and asked Lawrence one after another to ignore this trivial matter:

"Your Majesty the Governor! Mr. Cusda is a good man, we can all testify."

"That child must have some misunderstanding about Mr. Custard. I believe Mr. Mayor can investigate clearly."

"Monsieur Bonaparte, Mr. Custard was once a member of the National Defense Forces. Don't you believe in the character of a Corsican soldier?"

"Let's hurry into the city for the banquet, Lord Governor. There is no need to waste time for a small farmer."

…

Everyone was talking at once, and their voices went from pleading softly at the beginning to shouting loudly at the end. It was obvious that the landowners gathered together gradually gained the confidence and confidence to fight against Lawrence.

Although they are rural people, they also understand that Corsica is now facing a situation of opposition between the two sides.

These landowners also naturally believed that Governor Bonaparte would treat them well and offer generous treatment in exchange for the support of the hesitant landowners in the south.

Seeing the support from his colleagues, Mr. Custar could not help but breathe a sigh of relief. Although he was still patting his chest in fear, his tone was no longer as fearful and humble as before:

"Lord Bonaparte, I'm sorry that my servant has caused you trouble, but as the Alderman said, he will investigate this matter. It's better to leave this child alone now. We have prepared the best Ale for you…”

As he spoke, Master Custar even put on a flattering smile while walking towards Little George's horse, preparing to cross Lawrence and take the damn serf back.

Listening to these noisy requests, Lawrence, who had suppressed his anger, once again became furious. He pulled out the sword from his waist and danced with one hand in the air.

The blade decorated with gold powder drew a beautiful arc and pointed directly at the approaching Master Custar, frightening the white-haired old man to the spot.

"That's enough, gentlemen, no more of your bad tricks."

Lawrence pointed the knife at Mr. Custar and the nobles behind him, and said in a cold voice:

"Come here! Get Custard first."

Captain Mattia, the captain of the cavalry, immediately stepped forward, dismounted next to Mr. Custar, and tied the hands of the old man, who was still in a daze and trembling, behind his back.

Little George on the horse stared with wide eyes, watching the usually majestic master being held in front of Captain Mattia like a weak and sick cat.

"Wait!" Upon seeing this, a landowner quickly stepped forward and asked anxiously:

"May I ask what Mr. Cusda is guilty of? Mr. Governor!"

Lawrence glanced at the man coldly, and slowly sheathed the knife:

"I have enough reason to suspect that Mr. Cusda is involved in property fraud, intentional injury, and slavery. Are these crimes enough?"

The landlord was speechless for a moment, endured the cold sweat on his back, lowered his head and returned to the team obediently.

In Corsica, the governor's word is law.

The landowners watched with pale faces as Mr. Custar was escorted to Lawrence by Captain Mattia in silence like a walking zombie. This was definitely not the scene they expected.

In their imagination, Governor Bonaparte would accept the warm welcome with a smile, get drunk at the banquet, wave and reward people with a large sum of money to win over people.

But what was before them now was not the pile of Livre silver coins as they imagined, but the tip of Lawrence's sword and dozens of fierce cuirassiers.

"Your Majesty the Governor..." The city official turned his head and glanced at the frightened landowners, then stepped forward bravely:

"Since you have decided to interrogate Mr. Custard first, we will not disturb you..."

With that said, the city official turned half of his body, preparing to lead everyone away from this land of right and wrong.

And just when everyone was wiping cold sweat and holding up their trembling thighs to leave, Lawrence's trembling voice sounded in their ears again:

"Wait a minute, I said you can leave?"

As soon as he finished speaking, dozens of cuirassiers galloped towards the landlords through the smoke and formed a circle to surround them.

With a plop, a timid landowner fell to his knees on the ground. He had never seen such a scene since he was a child. Even the crotch of his silk trousers showed a water stain.

Little George stared blankly at the local arrogant figures kneeling on the ground in despair surrounded by cavalry. He originally thought that this kind of scene would only happen in his dreams.

Somehow, little George felt that the corners of his eyes suddenly became moist, and two lines of tears quickly streaked down his cheeks covered with dirt.

"Gentlemen, I suspect that you are guilty of the same crime as Mr. Custar. Please cooperate."

Lawrence calmly pronounced the fate of everyone present, then turned to Major Trifali and whispered:

"Call Mr. Coggero, his treasury will be busy soon."