From Corsica to the Fourth Rome

Central Corsica

Outskirts of the town of Propriano

Little George huddled on a broken board covered with a few pieces of straw, trying his best not to be distracted by the squirming coming from his empty stomach.

Although there was no and could not be any clock in this shabby little thatched cottage, little George glanced at the bright moon hanging high outside through the cracks in the wall and probably knew that it was past midnight.

Hungry, so hungry.

For such a sixteen-year-old boy, eating only one piece of black bread as hard as a stone a day is really not enough.

Little George knew that his rest time was only a few hours at night. When the dawn sun broke through the sky, he would pick up the sickle again and drag his sleepy body to spend all the energy of the whole day in the wheat fields.

Despite this, the squirming of hunger still tortured the hard-working little farmer all the time, making it difficult for him to sleep even for a moment.

Little George lay in bed absentmindedly, subconsciously recalling his childhood, which was the only time he could fill his stomach.

He remembered that his father was a free farmer with a fertile field of their own on the outskirts of town.

Every year from the end of summer to the beginning of autumn until the harvest time, little George would see a large piece of toasted brown new wheat bread with an attractive aroma on his dining table.

He loved nothing more than stuffing bread into his mouth while listening to his father tell the latest stories about Governor Paoli's fight against the Genoese in Bastia.

Thinking of this, little George's eyes couldn't help but moisten.

Later, a cold wind in the cold winter caused his father to contract tuberculosis. In Corsica, which lacked medical treatment, his father did not even survive the cold winter and closed his eyes forever before the arrival of spring.

Little George reluctantly dug a grave for his father in a corner of the field, and used his family's savings to hire a priest to pray for his burial.

However, the day after his father died.

A group of servants dressed in white rushed directly into his home surrounded by a graceful and luxurious master.

Little George knew him, he was a local landowner.

The old man raised his eyebrows, looked at the valuables in his house, and took out a vaguely written debt note. He only said that little George's father owed him hundreds of gold coins and wanted to use this land and house to pay off the debt. .

The handwriting on the debt note was almost blurred into a Chinese ink painting, but the master insisted that this was evidence of the debt simply because the debt note had the seal of the local mayor.

Since then, little George has continued to work on the land where his father was buried.

But he could no longer call himself a free farmer.

All the harvest of this land belonged to that master, and little George could only receive a piece of dry, moldy black bread from the master every day to survive.

"Gulu gulu."

The desire for food came again in his stomach, and little George had no choice but to get up, pick up a straw rope and tie it tightly around his waist, trying to relieve the endless restlessness in his body.

And this kind of self-deception didn't last long, and it lost its effectiveness after just two minutes.

Little George weakly threw the straw rope aside, sat dizzy by the bed for a moment, and then decided to go outside to find some food.

There are some wild vegetables in the fields that can barely satisfy the hunger. If you are lucky, you might even catch two dim old hares.

Tie a tattered scarf around his neck to resist the slight chill at night, little George quietly closed the door and got into the boundless night.

…

After searching along the gravel road for more than half an hour, little George gasped and began to review his gains:

Two lavender roots of unknown plants, a few half-rotten vole carcasses, and a handful of berries that tasted extremely sour but could barely be eaten.

Overall, not bad, at least much better than usual.

Little George wiped the hot sweat from his forehead, carefully wrapped these precious foods in cloth, and prepared to enjoy them when he returned home.

"It's time to go back...it won't be long before dawn."

And just when little George was gathering his strength and preparing to rush back, he suddenly caught an unusual sight in the corner of his vision.

It was a hill extending into the distance along the road.

I saw a bright and beating linear fire on the top of the mountain, which was particularly conspicuous in the dark night. It was like a winding fire snake, slowly moving down the road on the mountain.

"That is…?"

Little George was stunned for a moment, thinking that there was a wildfire in the forest somewhere.

He quickly rubbed his eyes vigorously and looked at the mountain with wide eyes.

Only then did he fully see that it was not a fire snake at all, but a large group of people holding torches slowly advancing along the road.

And the team seemed to be endless, and neat formations came out from the back of the hill in a steady stream. Little George swore that he had never seen so many people gathered together even at a Christmas party in the town.

Such a huge momentum made the little serf swallow nervously.

Especially after discovering that the team was heading in the direction where he was, little George didn't dare to stay any longer. He covered the bag in his hand and prepared to leave here and go home.

However, just as he turned around and walked out a few steps, he heard a frightening neighing sound of a war horse coming from behind.

Little George turned his head and looked in horror, only to see a cavalryman riding a tall horse galloping towards him.

The cavalryman was wearing leather armor, and his sharp eyes were staring at Little George who was running away not far away. As he rode in pursuit, he waved the saber in his hand and shouted:

"Stop! If you want to live, don't run."

Little George turned around and glanced at the scimitar that shone coldly in the moonlight. His legs suddenly softened and he sat down and fell to the ground.

Seeing little George sitting on the ground, the cavalryman also sheathed his sword, rode around him in a circle, and then shouted to the woods beside him:

"Captain! He's a child. He has no weapons. He doesn't look like a spy."

Several more cavalry slowly walked out of the woods. The leader squinted at little George on the ground. He seemed a little embarrassed. After hesitating for a moment, he still ordered:

"Well...it's better to take him first and report back to Monsieur Bonaparte. If he is really a spy, we can't neglect our duty."

"yes!"

Little George was so frightened that he couldn't say anything. He let the strong hands of the cavalry carry him onto the horse, and then several people galloped towards the marching team not far away.

…

About twenty minutes later, little George found himself brought to an open space brightly lit by torches.

All around were soldiers holding torches and carrying muskets on their shoulders. Their resolute expressions and seemingly tireless eyes made little George feel a chill down his back.

Surrounded by soldiers in the center were two officers in military uniforms. The styles of their military uniforms were very similar, but there were still some differences if you looked closely. However, the ribbons indicating their military rank on their cuffs were exactly the same.

As for the person sandwiched between the two officers, it was a young man who looked not much older than himself. He was sitting on the back of a white horse and was looking at him with a frown.

Little George trembled nervously. From the words of the few cavalrymen, he already knew that he was regarded as a hostile spy by this army.

At this moment, this helpless little serf didn't know what fate was waiting for him.

In a tense and solemn atmosphere, the young man riding a white horse suddenly spoke:

"He doesn't look like a scout. He's too thin. Although Justin doesn't have regular troops, he won't send such a skinny kid to inquire about our situation."

Upon hearing this, little George immediately became excited, as if he had been saved, and shouted repeatedly:

"Yes, yes, sir! My name is George. Everyone in this area knows me. We have been living here since my grandfather."

The two officers also nodded in approval. From the perspective of their professional soldiers, no army would send such a weak and weak child as a scout. After all, those who can be scouts are without exception. Elites in the military with superhuman qualities.

At this time, a soldier walked into the open space with a rag bag. Little George recognized at a glance that the rag bag was the one he used to hold food.

"Monsieur Bonaparte, we have checked it. There is nothing suspicious in his belongings. There are only these things..."

The soldier walked up to Lawrence and respectfully reported the matter to Lawrence. At the same time, he showed Lawrence the contents of the bag.

"This is…?"

Lawrence endured the feeling of vomiting and took a closer look at the items inside the bag, especially the bloody corpses of field mice. He couldn't help frowning at little George and asked:

"What do you do picking up these things?"

Hearing this question, little George's eyes instantly dropped, he tugged at the corner of his clothes hard, and said nothing.

Seeing this, Major Cui Farley urged gently:

"Son, just tell the truth. This is Governor Bonaparte."

Governor Bonaparte? Little George suddenly looked up at the young man on the horse.

He had heard from people in the town that Governor Bonaparte was a successor who was deeply appreciated by Governor Paoli. He was a benevolent and brave ruler who was not inferior to Governor Paoli.

"Go back to the Governor..." Little George came back to his senses after staring at Lawrence for a long time and said intermittently:

"The things in the bag...are food, food."

Hearing this, Major Trifari couldn't help but glance at the bag of foul-smelling vole carcasses and took a deep breath.

Major Serulier couldn't help but shook his head repeatedly and kept repeating: "Oh God, Oh God..."

Even Zhou Wei's soldiers pursed their lips sympathetically after hearing this answer. They really couldn't believe that something like that could be stuffed into a human's mouth.

Only a few Wehrmacht veterans who have had the same experience can understand this feeling,

Lawrence's face suddenly darkened. As the ruler of Corsica, it was absolutely a great shame to see his people using such things to satisfy their hunger.

Major Cui Farley on the side looked at Lawrence's face and suddenly felt a chill running down his back.

During the years of working with Monsignor Bonaparte, Major Trefarly had rarely seen such an expression on the Governor Bonaparte, who was known for his calmness and composure.

Biting his lips tightly with his teeth until blood oozed out, Lawrence took a deep breath, calmed down his emotions, and asked as gently as possible:

"Where are your parents, kid."

"Come back to my lord, you are dead, both of them."

"Then you don't have a place to make a living?"

"No, sir." Little George shook his head and replied in a low voice:

"I make a living by farming, or rather...I make a living by farming for the master."

Although he is no longer a free farmer, little George always likes to call his former land "my land", as if calling it this way for a long time can return to the past time of living and working for himself.

"master?"

Hearing this answer, Lawrence's eyes suddenly became sharp, and he couldn't help but asked in a cold voice:

"What is the lease your master has given you? How much harvest do you have to hand over to him?"

Little George was stunned for a moment, as if he didn't know how to answer this question. He thought for a long time before shaking his head and saying:

"Sir, I don't know what the lease is. The harvest in the field belongs to the master. I only get a piece of black bread every day...but I can get an extra piece on Christmas and the master's birthday..."

"hiss…"

Major Trifali took a breath of air again, and then took a careful look at Lord Bonaparte's face.

Lawrence's face was so gloomy that water dripped from his face, and his hands were holding the reins tightly, even trembling slightly.

"That's enough, I already know."

Lawrence shook his head to himself and ordered loudly:

"Come here! Get the boy some food from the baggage cart, and get him a horse, so that he can follow me. In addition, inform the whole army to speed up the march. I will reach Proprie before dawn. Arno Town!”

Little George sat on the ground blankly, not knowing what was going to happen.

…

At dawn, the army led by Lawrence arrived at the edge of the town of Propriano.

Before entering the city, a scout cavalry leader suddenly returned to the formation and reported to Lawrence:

"Signor Bonaparte, the alderman of Propriano and a dozen local influential dignitaries will greet you at the gate of the city. Do you want to receive them?"

Lawrence nodded expressionlessly and ordered:

"Let the army first find suitable terrain to camp in the suburbs. The cuirassiers will follow me into the city. And you will also follow me."

Lawrence said, raising his hand and pointing to the two major adjutants and little George who was trembling on the horse.

Soon, a group of murderous cuirassiers escorted Lawrence and others alone and galloped towards the city gate.

Sure enough, at the entrance of the city gate, the roads on both sides had been decorated with colorful flags in advance. There were no other people waiting on the road, only a group of brightly dressed people waiting respectfully.

Little George on horseback glanced at the group of people, suddenly shrank subconsciously, and then quickly lowered his head.

Lawrence glanced at him, frowned and asked:

"What's wrong, kid?"

"I...my master seems to be there too."

Little George said shiveringly, his head lowered even further.

At the same time, in the team welcoming Governor Bonaparte, a white-bearded and white-haired landowner stared at the skinny boy in the team and murmured in disbelief:

"Isn't that George?! How could he be with Governor Bonaparte?!"