Chapter 724 Prisoner's Crown
South, Inner Court of Milan Palace, Duke Witote's Study Room.
When the Prime Minister of the Camp opened the oak door of the study, the Duke of Lombardy was scratching the varnish with the first stone inlaid with pigeon blood. The moonlight fell through the Gothic arch and fell on the parchment, making the words "Fall of Solonborg" pale~
The bronze lampstand suddenly fell over, and the melted wax oil burned scorch marks on the Persian carpet - the ruler known for his iron fist actually knocked over the entire candlestick when he retreated.
"One day?" The Duke of Lombardy's roar made the iron candlestick buzz, and the tip of the dagger dug deeply into the walnut table. "Our enemies have been climbing with ladders for twenty years without reaching the arrow stacks of Sauronburg! Now they are telling me that that bastard blasted open the three city gates in one day?"
The sable cloak of the Prime Minister brushed the broken porcelain on the ground. He bent down to pick up the Byzantine wine glass that was broken by the Duke, and wiped the wine stains on the gilded fragments with his fingertips. "To be precise, it was half a day and a whole night - from the time when the first stone bullet hit the arrow tower on the north city wall, to when the flag of the Teerman family fell into the moat."
< br/> Duke Witott suddenly grabbed the Prime Minister's emerald sacred belt, and the gilt armor got stuck in the silk veins. "Why did I let the reinforcements you summoned just set off last night? If they had arrived at Soronborg a day earlier, they might have been able to save the fortress." His pupils reflected the spire of the Milan Cathedral outside the window, where the bells of Vespers were ringing.
The Prime Minister of the Palace was busy for a moment. He had never seen the Duke of Lombardy treat him so rudely. It is obviously unreasonable for the Duke of Lombardy to blame himself for the fall of Solenberg.
The Prime Minister of the Palace gasped a few times, and then explained: "Your Majesty the Duke, you also know that it is our current limit to be able to gather those two thousand old, weak, sick and disabled people who can barely breathe a few breaths. Even if they arrive at Soronborg,~" The Prime Minister of the Palace did not dare to continue talking and lowered his head.
Duke Witott's chest was rising and falling with each breath, and his face was already red with anger. When the church bells disappeared from his ears, he slowly released his hands, propped them on the table, and kept tapping.
When the knuckles tap on the table, they create a fading rhythm, like a trapped animal constricting its claws. His eyes glanced at the yellowed military map on the wall.
The eagle coat of arms of the Burgundy Kingdom was pressed against the throat of the red lion of Lombardy.
The Prime Minister of the Palace took a step forward and pushed the amber snuff bottle across the table. The hollow silver cover was engraved with a cross-section of Sauronburg, "But rather than holding people responsible, it is more important now to let the Burgundian horses stay in Sauronburg for three more months." The silver ring of the palace prime minister crossed the valley marked with a red cross. "The Genoese are willing to use the road as long as we can keep their saltworks in Provence."
"Do you want me to put the noose around my neck myself?" Duke Witote suddenly sneered, and his gilt armor crushed two incense sticks. "When the Burgundy and Provence people meet, Milan will become a roast suckling pig on the Pope's table!" "
“So we need special sacrifices.” The fingertips of the Prime Minister of the Palace stopped on the symbol marking the dungeon. “When the vengeful snake bites its prey, its fangs will be temporarily stuck in the flesh—this is a good time to peel the skin and extract the guts.”
After a while, the guards outside the study heard the sound of the crystal ink bottle exploding ~
When the Duke of Lombardy pushed open the iron door with a hand full of indigo ink stains, his scarlet cloak had become as straight as a battle flag again, "Call immediately All nobles who can still breathe, I will let them see the fate of traitors! "
Leather-gray clouds pressed against the gilded spire of the Milan Palace. When three jackdaws passed by the bell tower of San Lorenzo, the blood-stained chainmail of the deserters was reflected on the stained windows of the palace meeting hall.
Duke Witott's palms were covered with parchment war reports, and veins popped out, and his nails scratched five bloody marks on the words "Fall of Sauronburg".
"St. George above!" The finance minister suddenly kicked over the malachite seat, and the silver wine glass rolled out a dark red track on the Tuscan red carpet. "We have allocated thousands of gold coins to Solenberg. That money is enough to cast the city wall into iron!"
The intelligence chief turned the amber ring, quartz The lamp illuminated the shadows on both sides of his aquiline nose. "Perhaps you should ask your nephew, distinguished quartermaster, why the twenty barrels of kerosene shipped last month were turned into Sicilian olive oil?" The Grand Maester's skinny fingers traced the crystal asteroid, and the rubies embedded in the brass track suddenly trembled collectively.
“The light of Sirius is devouring Aries.” The old bachelor’s gray eyes were full of morbid enthusiasm. “Last night at the observatory, I saw a bloody comet piercing the silver crown of the Madonna. This was a sign that the Burgundy Black Eagle tore the naked body of the Son of God!
"Put away your astrological tricks!" The Director of Ordnance slammed his fist on the Speaker's table, and the rose in the Venetian glass bottle shattered. "What is needed now is the molten iron in the furnace, not the words of the magic stick!"
Duke Witott suddenly grabbed the gilded candlestick and threw it at the painted dome, and burning beeswax rained down on everyone's heads. The hero who has ruled Lombardy for the 20th year is like an old lion trapped in an iron cage. The chain mail under his scarlet cloak clangs with his heavy breathing, "I want to know how far the Provence is from Milan!"
"Returning to your lord, Duke, if they advance at their current speed, it may not take half a month~" The voice of the palace prime minister was like a poisonous snake gliding across the ice. "To be precise, if the military forts and towns along the way can resist them for a while, they may be able to hold on for so long - their forwards have burned down the San Giovanni Chapel this morning." Only then did everyone realize that it was a faint thunder coming from somewhere in the north - maybe it was just an illusion, but the colored windows of the conference hall were indeed continuing to tremble.
"Seek peace." The Prime Minister of the Palace stroked the emerald reliquary on his chest, and the crown of thorns inlaid with moonstone shone coldly between his fingers. "Nail Walder Burley's tongue on a golden tray and send it to the Earl of the North together with his family tree."
The Undersecretary of Military Affairs suddenly lifted up his cloak embroidered with the family crest, revealing the ruby-encrusted scimitar at his waist. "Are you suggesting that you bow the knee to that Burgundy bastard? We still have seven fortresses!"
To be precise, there are five!" The palace prime minister swung the wine in his glass and raised the corner of his mouth in a mocking arc, "Two hours ago, the defenders of Pesaro Fortress opened the city gate - for thirty carts of wheat and the diamond necklace of the governor's wife...
While the quarrel almost overturned the Madonna fresco on the dome, Walder Burley, in the deepest part of the dungeon, was carving the seven hundredth trace of blood on the wall with his fingernails.
Putrid straw squirmed under his knees, and some multi-legged creature crawled across his left palm that had lost its little finger, leaving fine bite marks on the wrist where it was worn.
"The sound of the devil's hoofs——." He suddenly smiled stupidly at the sewage seeping out of the cracks in the stone, and the swaying torches reflected in his eyes between the messy hair, "I heard it! Hahaha~ The corner of the black goat's chair pierced the confessional!"
At this moment, the iron door burst open, and Walder Burley huddled in the corner like a frightened beast.
The Prime Minister's sable cloak stirred up a dark wind in the dungeon corridor, and the scepter inlaid with luminous pearls lifted the prisoner's chin.
"Old man, you are really good at acting. If it weren't for your current situation, I would really like to recommend you to the largest brothel in Milan. They are in need of talents like yours to entertain the noble gentlemen. I'm sure you will be very popular." The tip of the scepter suddenly pierced Walder's ulcerated gums, "But I heard that your eyeballs shrank three times when you heard the name 'Art'." "
"Ah!" Walder Burley screamed and the Prime Minister leaned over and whispered in his ear, "Do you know why you chose today? Because your daughter gave birth to a stillborn baby in the abbey yesterday - what a pity, that child should have had the same green eyes as you. Oh, what a pity~" The Prime Minister sighed again.
"No!" Walder Burley suddenly raised his head and shouted, frightening the Prime Minister of the Palace and hurriedly retreating behind the guards.
"Tie him up and put him in a prison van!"
As the prison van passed through the Plaza de Sant'Eustogio, the crowd of onlookers suddenly fell into an eerie silence. The faded Burley family crest was stuck on the iron on Walder's neck, and the rotten silk satin fluttered into strands of gold in the cold wind.
"Smash him to death!"
As soon as he finished speaking, an old woman in the crowd suddenly threw a rotten tomato in the direction of the prison car. The dark red juice dripped down the iron rod of the prison,
Like the stigmata flowing on the murals of the Vatican.
"Look!" the Prime Minister of the Palace stroked the emerald box behind the curtain of the carriage, "The Milanese need a living sacrifice to calm their fears, and we need three months to reorganize the army——"
When the prison van passed the sixth intersection, Ward Burley suddenly hit his head on the iron fence. Blood beaded on his broken forehead in the cold wind, and his roar frightened the white pigeons flying in the square, "They are forging the fire of hell, and I saw sulfur flowing in the furnace! All of you will be burned to death by the fire spouted by the devil! Hahahaha—"
On the wall of Solenberg three hundred miles away, Art was wiping the stainless steel knight sword in his hand. The blood-stained family flag clanked behind him, and the soldiers were running back and forth to help the craftsmen in the fort repair the gap that had been opened in the castle.
"Sir!" the guard's voice came from the corner of the stairs, "Eagle Eye from the South is reporting that a prison van is driving out from the direction of Milan, and the escort is flying a white flag!"
Matt inserted the shining silver sword into the scabbard, and the sun shone on his stern face, "Tell our people to pay close attention to the movements in the south. The Duke of Lombardy has always been treacherous, and we must be careful. In addition, send a few capable men to closely monitor the movements of this prison car. I think the person in the prison car should be that bastard Ward Burley~"
"Yes, sir."