Chapter 122 Chapter 122 Please bury me in the high mountains...
When the news reached France, the Sicilian mission fell into silence.
Student Filippo was the first to jump up and want to return home, but Minister Michel immediately held his shoulder and told him that only here could he better serve his country; this was also the reason for the silence among the crowd. When their beautiful and rich homeland was in trouble, they had to endure the grief of not being able to share its suffering and the worry of not being able to know the news of their relatives, friends and neighbors, and continue their mission.
"It was England and France that stopped Ferdinand II," Michel told the delegation. "If they could stop him once, they can stop him a second time!"
This thought revived the spirit of the entire delegation, perhaps because they were more willing to believe that their efforts to publicize the Sicilian situation, win public sympathy, and request diplomatic intervention were effective. Only Elio remained silent. After this brief meeting, he immediately went to the minister.
"I must go back," Elio said. "Only on the battlefield can I play my greatest role."
Michel did not dissuade him. The minister simply grasped his wrist tightly and whispered, "How are you going to get back?"
"The Brotherhood contacted the warship. They're willing to pretend there's no unexpected crew member aboard."
"Excellent. Are they willing to pretend there aren't two extra?"
Elio was stunned. "You..."
"I can only say this to you," the ambassador said quickly, "I thank God that England and France are willing to stop Ferdinand II's cannon once! They may sympathize with us, but they will never attack Naples for our independence unless they are crazy, and I don't expect that! There is no better result for our work here. Don't try to persuade me to stay here, Elio! You are not the only one who has fought!"
Elio was silent for a moment. Under Michel's intense gaze, he squeezed the minister's wrist and nodded.
"Please arrange the handover as soon as possible," Elio whispered. "The fleet will depart this afternoon!"
At this moment, Sicily, as they had imagined, was a bloody battle. The Bourbon army temporarily abandoned its thunderous artillery, but that did not mean they would abandon their weapons. Britain and France expressed strong sympathy for Sicily, and diplomatically urged Ferdinand II to cease hostilities, but their warships patrolling the Mediterranean merely observed the battle cautiously.
They certainly would not start a war for Sicilian ideals, even if such a war had already begun.
Politicians often do this.
But beyond that, it is recorded that British Admiral William Parker once anchored a fleet of ten ships in Naples, right under the nose of Ferdinand II. When questioned, he insisted that the claim that "they had drawn up in battle array" was pure slander; it is also recorded that Ruggero Settimo of the Provisional Commission for Sicily signed a proclamation thanking "an anonymous Frenchman" for providing all the ship's supplies; it is also recorded that when the Sicilians successfully captured some forts from the Bourbon army and looted the arsenal, the American battleship Plympton happened to drop its sails and fire its guns, claiming that they were celebrating General Washington's birthday.
This may be one of the reasons why Sicily resisted the Bourbon army for so long.
Of course, it was more because of the Sicilians' desperate fight. They took advantage of the terrain, fighting and retreating, and more warriors burst into the flame of life in this plundering and slaughter; even if their flames were extinguished in the next second, they thought it was worth it.
As Sicily entered its traditional autumn harvest season, the fields and plantations were deserted. The hillsides, once lush and green before the war, were now scorched, the golden wastelands darkened, and corpses littered the ground. The estates that once grew olives and citrus fruits lost their sweet and sour aroma, their beautiful golden waves that undulated like the sea when the autumn breeze caressed them, and their moving music played by accordions and mouth harps.
At that time, they would sing "Goodbye, Friends" happily.
"(Singing) That morning, I woke up from a dream and saw invaders breaking into my hometown,"
After capturing the fortress of Messina, the Bourbon army quickly launched a charge towards the southwest of Sicily. They estimated that conquering the entire island would only take a few months. After all, it was such a small island, with a total area of less than 30,000 square kilometers!
But the Sicilians gave them a completely opposite answer.
"(Singing) Goodbye, oh friend, goodbye, goodbye!"
In the hazy mist, the young men of Sicily kissed their families goodbye. Each goodbye kiss could be their last. The sound of hearts breaking and tears rolling down was so quiet, yet so loud. They silently grabbed their hunting rifles, knives, and any other weapons they could find, and headed back to the battlefield without hesitation.
"(Singing) If I were to die in battle,"
Virgil Guida, nearing sixty, dressed after a long absence. As if transported back to before the war began, he proudly donned his iron hidden blade, adjusted his climbing gloves, and pulled up his eagle-beak hood. As he did so, it was as if his former glory had reappeared within him, as if he were still the invincible Master Assassin of his youth, capable of even taking on a hundred enemies alone.
The remnants of the assassins surrounded him, like frightened children, trying to dissuade him from the dangerous idea.
But Virgil was determined to leave.
"Get out of here!" For the first time in history, the assassin mentor sternly ordered his prized students. "I'm not so old I can't move! If I continue to waste your precious protection like a piece of trash, I'd rather die in battle!"
"(Singing) You must come to bury me,"
The assassin quietly reported the news to the Vongola. With his dazzling golden hair, his golden flames, and his unwavering willingness to stand in the most dangerous and conspicuous places, Giotto Vongola was always the easiest to find. When he heard about the assassin's mentor's stubborn determination, his face changed drastically.
"Which direction did he go?!"
"He went straight to the port!"
"(Singing) Please bury me on the high hill,"
The Bourbon fleet lay in the harbor, its masts standing like tombstones.
Everyone knew they were the ones who had blockaded the port, and everyone knew they were the ones constantly transporting troops. But even the Vongola couldn't break through the heavy enemy lines and attack their commander directly. "To take the enemy commander's head amidst a vast army"—that was something only an assassin could do.
...something that only the most legendary master assassin could possibly do.
"(Singing) Put another beautiful flower in it,"
Virgil Guida, 1789-1848.
Born during the French Revolution, he dedicated his life to the cause of Italy. Combat was never his forte, but living up to his title of "Guide," this amiable and venerable Mentor of the Assassins guided the Sicilian Brotherhood through a long journey with his noble will and exceptional ideals. Even after his passing, his wisdom still shines brightly in the memories of the Assassins.
Sadly, Guida died heroically in Sicily's darkest year. May he rest in peace.
"(Singing) Ah whenever people, pass by here,"
…but unlike the impression left by his time, Virgil died with hope.
"(Singing) They all say 'Oh, what beautiful flowers'!"
When Virgil finally fell on the barricade in order to protect the young people from the army's guns (he didn't even make it to the port); when he was dying and the blood flowing from his forehead almost covered his entire vision, making him fall into the darkness of death, a burst of golden light suddenly brought him back to the light.
When Virgil regained consciousness and found Elio holding his hand with tears streaming down his face, Virgil smiled first.
"You're back, Elio," Virgil said haltingly, "You shouldn't have come back..."
"You want me to stay in France and wait for the news that you all died one by one?" Elio said with tears in his eyes. "That would be much crueler than asking me to come back and die with you!"
The warm flames licked Virgil's fingers, reminding him of a black cat he had raised in his youth. He tried to speak, but the blood in his throat choked him. Amidst the coughing, Virgil reluctantly waved his hand, "Let's go... let's go! Even if you can heal my wounds... can you cure my aging?!"
But Elio refused to leave. Although his flame burned continuously, healing almost all of the Assassin's injuries, the latter was right about one thing: "aging" was a chronic disease that no doctor, no matter how skilled, could cure, and Elio was powerless.
Even Napoleon Bonaparte, who spent his entire life in military service, only lived to the age of fifty-one!
Perhaps knowing he couldn't drive Elio away, the Assassin Master reluctantly grasped his finger. He also grasped the flaming ring in his palm, but nearing death, Virgil could no longer recognize that he had ever been so close to an Isu artifact.
"Elio…Helios…promise me one last thing!"
The black robe of Death swept across the young assassin's figure. Only the dying Master saw it, his silver hair cascading from his hood, spilling onto the shoulders of the living. Elio, unaware of Death's approach, simply begged his Master, tears streaming, not to speak of it.
"You are our last hope," Virgil said, seizing the moment, just as he had grasped Elio's hand. "Lead the Assassins..."
Before he could finish his words, Death drew his dagger from his waist. "Ah!" Virgil cried out, wanting to plead for more time, even just a minute! But Thanatos sighed, full of pity, yet still faithfully fulfilling his duty, he cut off a lock of Virgil's gray hair.
Like a flash of light! Virgil was dead.
But the war continued. The gunfire continued, the swords and axes chopped and chopped, and only Elio, in disbelief, touched Virgil's nose and pressed his neck before finally accepting the news of his mentor's death. Virgil's face was so vivid that Elio couldn't understand how he died, but how could a living person fight death?
His tears stopped flowing, but Elio silently held up the body of the Assassin's Mentor.
"(Singing) Every time people walk by here,"
The gentle, healing flame died. But another emotion brewed like lightning in his ring, finally erupting as Elio carried the old man through the streets and encountered the first wave of troops. The destructive lightning came down, sweeping across the enemy with the force of true thunder.
"(Singing) They all say what beautiful flowers there are,"
Thunder and lightning cleared the way. More and more people discovered Elio and the body he was holding.
"It's Elio!" the Sicilian exclaimed. "He's back!"
"That's Virgil!" sighed the Sicilian. "He's dead!"
They gradually followed Elio, their numbers growing. The group gradually attracted attention, and when the Assassins finally arrived, they saw this scene: Elio cradling his mentor's still-living body, and the Sicilians followed them silently, forming a long river of mourning.
"(Singing) Goodbye, oh friend, goodbye, goodbye!"
Luigi's machete clanged and fell. He was the first to leap forward, wailing. Maria hurried forward, lapsed into a despairing silence before her mentor's body, finally collapsing to her knees. Faced with Virgil's death, more assassins followed suit.
Giotto was the second to arrive at the noise. Elio was helping (or rather, dragging) the assassins to their feet one by one, while Maria held his arm, her bloodless lips trembling as she uttered the first word of "Master" from them.
In the autumn of 1848, Elio succeeded Virgil Guida as Mentor of the Sicilian Brotherhood during the war.
Meanwhile, Michele Amari, back in Palermo, stunned the crowd. He had clearly managed to navigate the war zone, even going so far as to wear drag, and he looked anything but an intellectual. But when he straightened his back and told them, "Your finance minister is back! Now, tell me what kind of mess I'm going to face!" they all burst into tears.
After that, Sicily's resistance continued until the spring of the following year, but ultimately failed to reverse the situation.
On May 15, 1849, the Provisional Committee of Sicily surrendered.
Wanted by the authorities, Michel Amari was forced to go into exile in Paris again.
But at the stealthy moment of his boarding the ship, he looked back with indignation and grief, thinking that this might be the last time he would see his homeland, when Michel suddenly saw a figure rising on the roof.
One, two, three.
The assassins came to see him off.
The tears that had been welling up in Michel's eyes finally fell. But these tears, spurred by grief and anger, were shed out of emotion. At this moment, the flame of hope suddenly lit up in Michel's heart; he secretly swore that as long as he was still alive, as long as there was still a possibility that Sicily needed him, he would come back regardless of everything!
Fortunately, that one might not have kept him waiting for too long.
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The author has something to say: *The record of foreign support during that period also comes from Christopher Clark's "1848: Europe's Year of Revolution." This has been artistically edited.
**Share Yves Montand's single "Bella Ciao (Ah, Goodbye, Friend)"
And these few chapters are indeed not easy (being shaken) (mosquito-ring eyes) (white flag), but it will be fine soon!
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