Chapter 117 Heart of the Storm (V)

Ambition

The hall fell into a long silence. The cold and stagnant atmosphere was like a ball of cold iron, sinking heavily into everyone's stomach. Julius's refusal was concise and clear, without any room for imagination. After he finished speaking, he did not look at other people's reactions, but closed his eyes. It seemed that he was patiently waiting for others' reactions, but everyone could see that his body language was full of hints of rejection.

"Are you the Patriarch of Portia or the Secretary General of the Papal Palace?"

A voice suddenly sounded on the empty table.

Julius frowned. He recognized the voice of the person asking the question and turned to him. “Such a test is boring and meaningless.”

"No, it's important." The other old man denied, "You have done enough for Raphael."

Julius felt that his brain began to throb again due to long-term lack of sleep, as if a madman was pulling a rubber band to flick his temple. He rubbed his brows and picked up his remaining patience: "This matter has nothing to do with Raphael. The Portia family cannot produce another pope, at least the pope after Raphael cannot be from the Portia family. The foundation we have laid in the Holy See is enough. It is more beneficial for us to choose a pope who comes from a commoner family and let them compete for the seat of cardinal. As long as we control the position of the archbishop, the right to speak in the Holy See will still be in the hands of Portia."

This is true and very smart. Julius always makes the most advantageous choice, and facts always prove that he is right. The Portia family was once extremely proud of his wisdom. If it were in the past, no one would question his decision, but it is different now. ②

The old people at the long table exchanged glances with each other. This was not what they wanted to hear today.

"Your reasons are sufficient and appropriate," an old man said slowly, his tone was calm and his attitude was good, "but we only want to know one thing today."

Julius raised his hand politely, signaling him to ask.

"Are you the Patriarch of Portia or the Secretary General of the Papal Palace?"

This question was raised again.

Julius felt a little irritated and bored. He subconsciously wanted to make a few sarcastic remarks, but suddenly he noticed something strange.

This strange thing made all his fatigue and impatience disappear like water. Chief Potia, who was as sharp as a fox, narrowed his eyes slightly. For the first time since he entered the room, he looked at all the people at the table with cautious eyes. His eyes swept over their different expressions and movements. Complex information poured into his brain like a vast torrent, and was selected and cut calmly by reason.

Something is not right.

He thought.

Today they are particularly obsessed with distinguishing between Portia and Raphael, which is different from their previous hope to bring Raphael back into the family.

He chewed over the question again, analyzing from that short sentence an emotional tendency that the questioner himself was not even aware of.

This didn't seem to be a question to test his loyalty to the family, but more like a question of...taking sides.

Julius, who lives in the vortex of power, is naturally extremely sensitive to all "taking sides". Once there is a need to take sides, it means that irreconcilable contradictions will arise behind the two parties.

What kind of conflict will there be between the Portia family and Raphael?

In other words, what kind of conflict would there be between an ancient aristocratic family and the Holy See?

Julius vaguely realized something, and this guess surprised him, but he still needed some evidence.

So, the man with iron-gray hair adjusted

He sat down and crossed his hands on the table. "Everything I do is for the honor of my family. Facts have proved that my decisions have never been wrong. Back then, I used half of the family bank to buy Raphael's votes. In return, which of your accounts doesn't have a pile of gold florins? Our investment has earned hundreds and thousands of times the return, and you are still fretting over the half of the funds you threw out that year."

Julius gave a mocking smile.

His eye sockets were deep, and the shadow cast by his brow bone made his dark purple pupils dim, like a snake lurking in the darkness waiting for its prey to reveal a flaw.

"We have indeed gained enough wealth," someone finally let go and hinted not so obviously, "but wealth is never the end. Even though we already have two duke titles—one of which is the Duke of Lucern, which was even brought by Cassandra as a dowry—when any noble family mentions Portia, they will always only call us lowly bankers and merchants, and will not remember that the King of Pompadour was once just a wine merchant!"

Julius' fingers twitched, and he quickly clenched them tightly.

He understood.

The ancestors of the Portia family made their fortune by selling cotton and linen products. After accumulating enough funds, they began to lend money and eventually established the first bank in Syracuse. With their never-ending money, they controlled the economic lifeline of most of Syracuse and became a family rich enough to rival a country. Ten generations ago, they even bought a duke title with money - the Duke of the Rhine, which is currently inherited by Julius. This title was conferred by the Pope and was an honorary title without any real territory.

This way of making a fortune is different from those of orthodox nobles from the beginning to the end, so even if he is a small viscount, as long as his title is inherited and has a great background, he can contemptuously call the Portia family "lowly merchants." Of course, people with brains would never say this out loud, but no one can stop them from thinking so in private.

The Portia family has never stopped thinking about taking off this shameful outer layer and completely joining the upper class.

The person they chose to emulate was Pompadour.

This kingdom located between Romanesque and Calais is small in area, but it is a legitimate kingdom recognized by the Holy See and all countries. The royal family of Pompadour was originally just a wine merchant, but it jumped from the bottom of society to the absolute top in one fell swoop. Not to mention the Portia family, even the dukes, marquises and other nobles were envious.

What are the nobility in front of the royal family?

If given the opportunity to be a monarch, who would want to crawl under the throne as a servant?

Julius's guess was confirmed.

He pondered for a moment and tapped the table: "Where do you want to get the kingdom's territory from?"

This is the most important issue. The Syracuse Peninsula had long been completely divided up. It was a piece of cake that had been licked clean. Pompadour's success was also due to the chaos in Syracuse at the time, which gave wine merchants the opportunity to take advantage of the situation.

Julius was not surprised that the old men had such ambitions. He even had a fire in his heart that was about to explode. However, he was more rational and calm than anyone else, so he easily guessed their thoughts.

“…Are you coveting the land of Calais?” Julius asked with a strange smile in his tone.

He didn't know whether these stupid guys were short-sighted or arrogant.

Don't they really think that Alexander VI's current obedience to the Holy See is unconditional and unconditional? The withdrawal of Calais's right to invest the crown was undoubtedly an expansion of the power of the Holy See. As the most powerful family in the Papal States, Portia possessed the ability to manipulate the Holy See. But in essence, the power of the Holy See and the power of the Portia family had nothing to do with each other.

If Portia left the cloak of the Holy See, it would just be a banking family.

They actually wanted to tear a piece of meat from Calais. Not to mention that the civil war in Calais this time did not cause a fatal blow to it. Even if it was seriously injured in the war, it could not be threatened by the Portia family who did not have powerful bargaining chips in their hands.

Julius was both angry and amused. He was speechless for a moment. This silence probably made others misunderstand something. Someone immediately said in a tactful and soothing tone: "That's another matter. What we need now is the Pope's permission to establish a country. Only with the recognition of the Holy See can Portia become a legitimate royal family."

Julius was noncommittal about this, and after thinking for a while, he said objectively: "Raphael won't refuse."

This is the truth. Whether the Portia family builds their own kingdom or not is of no concern to Raphael. The Papal States will always be the Papal States anyway. Even if a new country emerges, it needs to be recognized by Raphael. Raphael's divine power will always be above the royal power. His opposition or approval only depends on whether there are enough interests for him to tip the scales.

The premise is that the Portia family has no intention of usurping power.

At present, Calais is in a state of mutual game and adjustment between the theocracy of Alexander VI and the Pope. Due to the fact that Francis IV, who is still alive, is eyeing Assyria, the two sides have to act as if they are in close contact. But as long as Francis IV dies, the theocracy and royal power in Calais will undoubtedly break up immediately, and a silent struggle will begin again.

At this time, the Portia family wanted to intervene and use Raphael's name to seek benefits for themselves, which was an unbearable act for Raphael.

But from the perspective of the Portia family, this is a good time for them to fish in troubled waters. Alexander VI will never break off relations with the Vatican at this time. As long as the Portia family can bite off a piece of meat and stand firmly on their feet, realizing this seemingly crazy dream will no longer be empty talk.

"If you do this, you will definitely anger Raphael," Julius said, "He will never acknowledge the existence of the New Kingdom. Sometimes, our Lord is not a good-tempered person."

Perhaps his tone was too neutral, giving others a false impression. After a while, someone whispered, "So - what if we change to a His Majesty with a good temper?"

——Are you the patriarch of Portia or the secretary general of the Papal Palace?

Julius finally understood the meaning of this sentence. It was indeed an obvious warning and hint.

He raised his head, and the atmosphere in the hall fell into a stagnant coldness again. Everyone stared at him with scrutiny. This was a magnificent hunting ground. All the hunters were covered in gorgeous skins, but underneath the skins were the greedy and cold hearts of wild beasts. Julius had always been the most powerful alpha wolf and leader among them. He brought them enough prey, so they followed him loyally and obediently, but they kept their eyes on his back all the time, waiting to tear him apart if he showed a flaw or was not brave enough.

This hall used for family meetings has a very high dome, imitating the design of the Cathedral of Our Lady of Mior. The dome is supported by eight arched beams and columns, and in between are giant murals that took the masters six years to paint. Chain chandeliers hang down from the beams, and they are scattered like stars. The yellow light falls into Julius' eyes and is completely absorbed by the deep purple vortex.

"It's a good idea, but now is not the right time." Finally, the patriarch of Portia said calmly, "The war in Assyria is not over yet, and Alexander VI and Francis IV are not dead yet. We have to wait until Raphael kills Francis, otherwise we can't face that madman."

His tone was exactly the same as every time before, and his iron-gray hair gleamed with a cold luster.

Everyone felt slightly relieved by this familiar Julius. If possible, they did not want to be his enemy.

"If we succeed," an old man sitting at the end of the long table stood up, his eyes burning with ambition that did not match his age. This fire burned his soul, making his cloudy eyes emit a blazing light, "you will be our undisputed monarch, the Caesar who leads Portia to glory."

"--His Majesty."

He bowed his gray head to Julius.

Julius raised his eyelids, and his dark pupils were filled with emotion.

Raphael untied his cloak and threw it behind him. Ferrante, who was following closely behind him, caught it and slung it in his arms: "Any news from Florence?"

"No."^o^

Raphael just asked casually. Ever since he blocked the port, it was difficult for ships from Florence to come. He was not too worried about Syracuse, and Julius's ability was not so great that he could not handle emergencies. So after getting Ferrante's usual answer, Raphael quickly put the matter behind him.

Ever since Francois was stabbed by him and all roads out of Assyria were cut off by him, the army of Calais fell into a state of confusion. The Holy Crow paid a huge price to find out the news about the little emperor. The stab was so solid that Francois was in a coma for a few days and then had an intermittent low fever.

Neither Raphael nor Ferrante had the kindness to let him have a good rest. They believed that it was the eternal truth to strike him dead while he was sick, so the Papal army frequently attacked the camp and city of Calais day and night, leaving the enemy busy putting out fires everywhere, and even François, who was recovering from his injuries, could not get enough rest.

Not to mention that Raphael was "kind" enough to reveal the news of the change of the throne of Calais to the other party - he did not tell François alone, but had someone hold a tin trumpet and stand under the city wall and shout it to the Calais army.

As a result, the army in Calais had been experiencing small-scale riots. They were stopped in a foreign country, and the monarch of their hometown had been replaced. Not to mention whether they could return to Calais smoothly, even if they did, it was obvious that they would face another war. Fighting against one's own people was not a happy thing. The morale of the Calais soldiers fell into an unprecedented low, and even their fighting spirit was greatly reduced.

The chaos in Calais obviously made the Pilgrim Alliance unable to sit still. Compared with Assyria, which was in a long-term civil war, the leaders of the Pilgrim Alliance were obviously more resistant to letting Raphael, who had the legitimate right to inherit the throne, control Assyria. In a recent battle, the shadows of members of the Pilgrim Alliance appeared on the battlefield. These people were easy to identify. They were wearing Assyrian rattan armor, much taller than the people around them, with strong muscles bulging, and their exposed honey-colored skin was smeared with colorful totems made of grass juice, animal blood and minerals. They appeared as allies of Calais, and each of them was as ferocious as a beast that knew no pain.

It was because of their joining that the army of the Papal States suffered its first defeat on the frontal battlefield since the Pope's arrival.

However, the soldiers' frustration did not affect the young pope.

On the contrary, after seeing the people from the Pilgrimage Alliance appear, Raphael smiled for the first time since arriving in Assyria. He murmured softly as if whispering, "Finally."

He has waited too long.

He never forgot that the Pilgrim Alliance also had a hand in Amenra's death. In order to lure this overly cautious opponent out of his lair, he had to patiently deal with Calais again and again, making feints and detours.

Now that all the prey have left the cave, it's time to cast the net and kill them.

Raphael was very patient. He was not overwhelmed by the sudden joy. After all, he wanted all his opponents to die here instead of letting one or two lucky ones get away hastily.

"Have all the priests of the Pilgrimage Alliance arrived?" Raphael sat down on the chair and Ferrante knelt in front of him, carefully massaging the Pope's legs. When his hands touched the cold joints, veins on Raphael's forehead bulged from the pain he had forced himself to endure, and he subconsciously brushed away Ferrante's hand.

Ferrante frowned and held Rafael's wrist with one hand. He rubbed the inside of his wrist soothingly with his thumb, sliding it over the skin. "Shhhhh, it will be over soon. Bear with it. I'll try to be gentle."

Raphael gritted his teeth and frowned as he endured the waves of pain. Only when the pain subsided a little did he pay attention to what Ferrante said.

The author has something to say:

Final exams these two days, bad luck

The pigeons are going to die again...