CHAPTER 625: CHAPTER 616: THE NEAR-DEATH SAINT ARNO

The poor Arabs are still unaware that their future fate has been completely sealed by a foreign monarch named Jerome Bonaparte. The future Middle East will be even more fragmented than in history, and the conflicts between tribes will become even more severe.

"I hope that after you assume the position of Deputy Consul of France in the Holy Land, you can strengthen ties with the minorities living in the Syria Province. If necessary, you may allow them to support each other to jointly resist tyranny!" Jerome Bonaparte subtly hinted to Klein.

According to Jerome Bonaparte, the so-called minorities were none other than the Jews residing in the Holy Land (or rather the Shemites) and the Kurds living in the future Syria and Iraq regions.

This is because these two ethnic groups have been the most disruptive in the Arab world, with their presence never lacking in the entire Middle Eastern world from the 19th to the 21st century.

Most crucially, these two ethnic groups have, in the end, managed to carve out a piece of territory with their tenacious spirit in the Middle East, a land dotted with "oases."

The slightly more fortunate Jews established Israel, while the slightly less fortunate Kurds also established autonomous regions in Iraq and Syria.

Of course, the unlucky Kurds have never been able to escape the assaults from the Turks.

Just over half a year before Jerome Bonaparte arrived in this world, the Turkish President Esultan was still ordering the Turkish army to bomb Kurdish gathering areas in the Syria region.

It can be said that the hatred between the Kurds and the Turkic people and Arabs is "irreconcilable."

And at this point in time, 1847, the last Kurdish duchy was completely annihilated by the Ottoman Empire, marking the beginning of the Kurds’ path of resistance from that moment on!

"Yes, Your Majesty!" Klein responded excitedly to Jerome Bonaparte, knowing that his appointment as consul in the Holy Land was practically a foregone conclusion.

"Valerovsky!" Jerome Bonaparte turned his gaze towards Valerovsky and softly called out to him.

"Your Majesty!" Valerovsky replied respectfully to Jerome Bonaparte.

"During my stay at the embassy, you must resolve all outstanding issues! Do not leave the work for your successor and then just walk away!" Jerome Bonaparte commanded Valerovsky, and then, with a serious face, asked, "Do you understand?"

"Your Majesty, I will handle it as soon as possible!" Valerovsky solemnly promised.

"Alright! I’ll be watching your performance!" Jerome Bonaparte nodded to Valerovsky.

...

The carriage stopped at the gate of the French Embassy, and Jerome Bonaparte, Valerovsky, and Klein got off one by one.

Standing at the embassy’s entrance, Jerome Bonaparte suddenly remembered that he hadn’t yet met with Marshal Saint Arno.

"How is Marshal Saint Arno’s condition?" Jerome Bonaparte halted and turned to inquire of Valerovsky.

Jerome Bonaparte’s sudden question left Valerovsky standing there in a daze for a few seconds before he came to and replied, "Marshal Saint Arno’s condition still hasn’t improved!"

"Didn’t I tell you all! If Marshal Saint Arno’s health deteriorates, you must send him to Paris!" Although Jerome Bonaparte understood that Marshal Saint Arno’s illness couldn’t be resolved simply by where he stayed, he still felt some dissatisfaction with Valerovsky.

"Your Majesty!" Valerovsky bowed to Jerome Bonaparte and then replied with a wry smile, "We did advise His Excellency the Marshal, but the Marshal simply wouldn’t listen to us! He insists on staying here until France’s victory! He also said that if his body can’t hold out until France wins the final victory, then only at that time will his body be brought back!"

As Jerome Bonaparte listened to Valerovsky’s words, the phrase "wrapped in a horse skin" immediately echoed in his mind.

For a soldier like Saint Arno, who possesses a spirit of adventure, being "wrapped in a horse skin" might be the most romantic thing.

Jerome Bonaparte somewhat understood Saint Arno’s current thoughts and feelings. For a general who leads troops into battle, dying on the battlefield is not a disgraceful thing; rather, it’s an honor of the highest order.

Dying in a sickbed is what’s disgraceful, let alone hastily returning to Paris before dying, which is even more of a disgrace.

However, despite his understanding, Jerome Bonaparte still scolded with a straight face, "This is nonsense! Marshal Saint Arno is being absurd, and you are following him in this absurdity? Could you not tie him up and put him on the rail?"

Who would dare do such a thing except for you! Valerovsky thought.

Subsequently, Valerovsky put on a long face and said to Jerome Bonaparte, "Your Majesty, His Excellency the Marshal is the Chief of Staff of all of France, and I am just an envoy of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs!"

With a Ministry of Foreign Affairs and a General Staff, two powers that do not have a superior-subordinate relationship, Valerovsky naturally has no way to order the General Staff.

Not to mention, Marshal Saint Arno’s rank is on par with De Ruy, so Valerovsky has even less reason to order Marshal Saint Arno.

"Forget it!" Jerome Bonaparte sighed and then resumed his steps forward.

However, this time Jerome Bonaparte’s direction was towards the embassy.

"Your Majesty, what are you going to do?" Valerovsky inquired of Jerome Bonaparte.

"What am I doing? Going to visit Marshal Saint Arno, is that not okay?" Jerome Bonaparte responded to Valerovsky, then paused and awkwardly asked, "Where did you build the hospital?"

"Your Majesty, please follow me!" Valerovsky responded to Jerome Bonaparte once more.

This time Klein was left at the embassy, as Jerome Bonaparte and Valerovsky took a carriage towards the direction of the French Hospital in Constantinople.

...

While Jerome Bonaparte and Valerovsky were on their carriage ride to the military hospital, in a certain "luxury VIP" room of the French Military District Hospital, the commander of the French Expeditionary Army, Marshal Saint Arno, who was already sweating profusely, opened his eyes with a pained expression.

After a while, Marshal Saint Arno gradually returned to normal, and he gently wiped the sweat from his forehead, then leaned his body against the headboard, reaching for the crutch near the bedside with difficulty, slowly placing his legs on the ground, and using the crutch as support to walk step by step forward, reaching the door.

As Marshal Saint Arno’s hand was about to touch the door handle, the door slowly opened.

A woman in a white nurse’s uniform, holding a tray in her right hand, appeared at the door, and Marshal Saint Arno’s slightly pale face showed a smile.

"Lady Vierania!" Marshal Saint Arno addressed her with a slightly respectful tone.

"Marshal, didn’t I tell you that it’s best not to get out of bed? Why don’t you listen!" Vierania said, placing the tray on the table near the door while chiding Marshal Saint Arno.

"Lady Vierania, I feel a bit suffocated staying here and want to get some fresh air!" Marshal Saint Arno responded to Vierania.

"Fresh air?" Vierania pointed to the pitch-black sky outside the window and said, "Marshal, it’s already so late! You still want to go out?"

"Lady Vierania, it isn’t really that late! Back when I was in Algiers..." Marshal Saint Arno began to enthusiastically recount events from Algiers to Vierania.

"Marshal, this isn’t Algiers, and you’re not the man you were over ten years ago!" Vierania responded to Marshal Saint Arno, "I must take responsibility for your safety and life!"

"Lady Vierania!" Marshal Saint Arno pointed to himself and asked Vierania, "Do you see how much time I have left?"

Vierania looked at Saint Arno’s body; a month ago, Marshal Saint Arno didn’t need a crutch to stand, experiencing only occasional pain.

Now, without a crutch, Marshal Saint Arno struggles, the cramping from his abdomen reoccurring at intervals.

It was as if someone repeatedly sliced open Marshal Saint Arno’s abdomen with a knife, even doubling the dose of opium couldn’t quell the pain, so Vierania had to find the latest "painkiller", whose effects were much better than opium, but also many times more addictive.

"Marshal!" Vierania replied to Saint Arno with an unusually serious expression, "As long as you are being treated here, you must listen to me. In the Expeditionary Army, you are an authoritative figure, but in this hospital, the doctors and nurses are in charge!"

Hearing Vierania’s reply, Marshal Saint Arno displayed a helpless smile at the corner of his mouth.

"Alright, enough of this talk! Let me help you back to bed!" Vierania extended her hand to support Marshal Saint Arno’s arm.

"Lady Vierania, may I sit over there?" Marshal Saint Arno pointed to the window’s location and asked Vierania.

Vierania thought for a moment and then nodded in agreement to Marshal Saint Arno’s request.

Marshal Saint Arno was allowed to sit on a chair near the window, gazing at the dark sky in the distance.

Vierania took three sterilized glass syringes from the tray, each with a liquid capacity of about 2—3 milliliters, filled with a colorless, transparent liquid.