Somewhere south of the River Po, French Occupied Italy
The magistrate was looking out into the courtyard, the rain outside had eased a bit. It had been months, since he had last heard from the other movement cells in Spain and Portugal. But he was sure that, like in Italy, the movement there must've been driven underground or destroyed near totally. His thoughts passed back and forth from the movement to the current war situation, he however put those aside when a knock at the dining room's door interrupted him, and one of his bodyguards stepped inside.
'Forgive the intrusion Magistrate Cagliostro, but you have a visitor.'
'French?'
'No. He said that his name is Gramsci.'
'Gramsci? He was in charge of organizing the movement militia, I didn't think that he'd be alive. Show him in.'
'Yes, magistrate.'
The magistrate turned to face the courtyard window again. With Gramsci alive, the Italian populance riled at the French and the Byzantines right at the doorstep the movement could revolt again against the French. Cagliostro thought and allowed himself to sneer at his own optimism. He and Gramsci would have plenty to talk about.
More stories when I get home.
