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 rider surrounded by cavalry in the middle.
The young governor on the 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:
The nobles behind him quickly followed suit and bowed their proud spine in front of the prestigious governor as a sign of goodwill.
Hearing 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 greet me?
Especially among that group of people was his own master—Master 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 severe beatings he had received at the hands of Mr. Custar over the years, little George still felt a pang of sadness and couldn't help shrinking.
Shrunk down.
[An app that has been running stably for many years. It is comparable to the old book-chasing tool. It is used by all old bookworms.
over 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 knows why the Governor is accompanied by a local serf boy, and no one knows why the Governor comes up to ask about this serf.
But everyone present knew very well that judging from Monsignor Bonaparte's chilling and stern face, 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:
Before he could finish introducing himself slowly, Lawrence waved his hand to interrupt impatiently, pointed at little George and asked:
Master Custar looked closely at the little George on the horse, his face showing uneasiness and fear that he had never seen before. He thought he would never show such a look in front of a serf.
After hesitating for a while, Mr. Custar gritted his teeth, nodded and admitted:
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:
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 time, he suddenly remembered what Major Cui Farley said when he was caressing 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.
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:
The vast open space outside the city gate only echoed with little George's grievance-filled cry. Even the cicadas singing in late summer seemed to have become weaker and weaker 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 merchants who stayed out of the incident looked at Lawrence's army in horror, wondering what the governor was going to do.
The smart alderman knew that he could not let the damn serf continue to cry, so he took the initiative to regain his words and said loudly:
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:
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:
…
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 currently facing a situation of opposition between the two sides.
These landowners also naturally believed that Governor Bonaparte would treat them well and offer favorable 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:
This chapter is not over yet, please click on the next page to continue reading the exciting content! As he spoke, Mr. Custar even put on a flattering smile while walking towards Little George's horse, preparing to cross Lawrence to pick up this damn serf.
go back.
Listening to these noisy requests, Lawrence, who had already 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.
Lawrence pointed the knife at Mr. Custard and the nobles behind him, with a cold voice:
Captain Mattia, the captain of the cavalry, immediately stepped forward on his horse, 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 widened his eyes, watching the usually majestic gentleman being held in front of him by Captain Mattia like a helpless sick cat.
Upon seeing this, a landowner quickly stepped forward and asked anxiously:
Lawrence glanced at the man coldly, and slowly put the knife into its sheath:
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. Custard 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 is before them now is not the mountain they imagined.
Instead of the livre silver coin, it was the tip of Lawrence's sword and dozens of fierce cuirassiers.
The city official turned his head and glanced at the frightened landowners, then stepped forward bravely:
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:
As soon as he finished speaking, dozens of cuirassiers rushed 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 spoiled 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 soon streaked down his cheeks covered with dirt.
Lawrence calmly pronounced the fate of everyone present, then turned to Major Trifali and whispered:
