Chapter 122 Heart of the Storm (Ten) :-)

◎Reenter Calais◎

If you had told the people of Calais two years ago that they would be lucky to have a safe meal of boiled potatoes in the future, these tough people would have picked up dung forks and kicked the person out, and repeated the incident as an interesting story in every tavern.

Yes...two years ago, John pulled out the last shriveled plant in the soil with a curse, put the potatoes as big as baby fists at the end of the roots into the big pocket of his leather apron, and walked home with these only crops.

It was called a home, but in fact it was just a shack slightly higher than the ground. John threw the potatoes into a wooden bucket at the door and rinsed them twice, then took them out and threw them into an iron pot hanging on a chain, and used a piece of wood to poke the fire under the pot.

The dancing orange light of the fire shone on his face, making the face with messy beard like weeds flicker. The iron pot soon exuded a rich aroma of food, which went so smoothly through the nose into the stomach, making old John produce a little saliva on his dry tongue.

He grabbed the salt shaker, scooped a spoonful of water from the iron pot with a wooden spoon and poured it into the salt shaker, then held the shaker hard and shook it a few times, then poured the water, which had become much more turbid, back into the pot.

He sniffed the rising water vapor hard, and with his sensitive ears he heard rustling footsteps outside.

John was startled and jumped up from the ground in an instant. He grabbed the dung fork standing behind the door and looked out through the crack in the door vigilantly.

There had been fierce fighting outside in the past few months, with the two majesties leading their armies to fight each other to the death. John actually did not understand what the legitimate right to succession to the throne was. His family had lived in Horlekin, a city near Dudley, for generations, making a living by farming. They claimed to be the subjects of the noble majesty and looked down upon all the vulgar "country people" equally. When the young majesty ascended the throne, John even put on his new clothes and went to Dudley to watch his majesty's coronation ceremony!

Perhaps because of this fate, John always treated that Majesty as a family member. After Alexander VI ascended the throne, John had more than once privately cursed this vicious uncle who "robbed his nephew's property" - Horlequin had fallen out many times over the ancestral property. John adhered to the simple property concept of the peasants and believed that his father's inheritance should be left to his son. Even if it was changed to the throne, the principle should be the same.

This idea reappeared after Francis IV led his troops back to Calais and the two sides gradually became involved in a mess in Calais. When the battle line was pushed to Horlequin, the originally peaceful and harmonious city became the front line, and John was embarrassedly rushed into the suburbs of Dudelais with a large number of fleeing peasants.

During this period, the suburbs of Dudle were a mixed crowd, and the lack of food turned people into ferocious beasts. John had fought several battles to finally snatch this shabby shed from the previous owner, along with the small piece of land. Anyone who came here could be his enemy.

John looked out through the crack in the door and saw two men wrapped in huge cloaks walking towards him from the field where he had just dug potatoes. Their target was very clear: this crooked shack.

John tensed up and tightened his grip on the dung fork.

The shorter of the two men approached the door first, and the man behind him seemed to want to pull him back, but failed.

The man who came forward opened his mouth and gushed out

John could hardly tell where the dialect came from, but he guessed it was from Calais, a border city near the Romanesque. Only people there would roll up their tongues so crudely and make incomprehensible sounds.

"Open the door! Whoever's inside! Damn it, can't you see it's going to rain soon? If you let me get wet in the rain, I'll pull your intestines out of your ass and hang them around your neck! I mean what I say!"

When John heard this, he couldn't help but imagine the scene and subconsciously squeezed his legs tightly. He noticed that the person standing behind the speaker seemed to be unsteady and swayed for a moment, and the hand under the cloak persisted in reaching out again to pull the person in front.

"...Okay, okay, I won't say anything... Hey! People inside, let us go in and hide from the rain." He looked around, lowered his voice mysteriously, and almost spoke to the door, "I can give you a piece of bacon."

As if he was afraid of being coveted, he quickly added: "But there is only one piece! This is the last piece!"

John was struck by the word "bacon". After hesitating for a moment, he hid the dung fork behind him, lowered his head and opened the door.

"You're smart." The man wrapped in the cloak pushed John aside and walked in carelessly. He sat down in the cleanest place by the fire and waved to the person standing outside the door. "Oh, come in quickly, there's potato soup here!"

John didn't care about the bacon anymore. He quickly turned around to protect his last food and shouted a warning: "Hey! That's my potato soup!"

Leshert, standing outside the door, was completely torn.

The upright and humble Grand Master of the Knights Templar felt that the world had become fantastic when he heard the Pope speak a string of rude words that he had never heard of without any psychological barriers.

Florence sent a message last month that the Pope would go to Calais, and the original words were "in a low-key and inconspicuous way." But before Leshert personally met Raphael, who was dressed in rags and had a dirty face like a refugee, he had never thought that the Pope would adopt such a shocking "low-key way" - the Pope actually mixed in the group of refugees rushing to Dudley at the Calais border alone!

Raphael and Julius agreed that it was not appropriate for the Holy See to intervene in Calais' internal disputes at this time, at least it should not take any action in public. The Knights Templar were ordered to stay in their base near Dudley and not participate in any battles as a neutral party. Then, as the leader of the Holy See, Raphael should not show up in Calais at this sensitive time.

So Raphael could only conceal his identity and sneak into Calais. He played the role of a small businessman who had fled from a border city vividly. These small merchants traveled to various countries all year round and worked as money lenders part-time. In order to collect payments and protect goods, they had extremely brutal personalities and would occasionally play the role of robbers when business was bad.

This was not a very difficult thing for Raphael.

Life in the slums of Florence allowed him to see all kinds of people. These small merchants were most common in the lower town of Florence, and Raphael didn't have to spend any effort to imitate them. However, Lesherte had never seen Raphael's excellent acting skills, and was caught off guard by this scene, and his whole body was about to be split apart.

Sitting by the fire, Raphael took off his hood, revealing his dirty, messy short hair. The hair was stained by dust and sweat, and the beautiful light golden color could no longer be seen. His entire face was covered in dust and dirt, and it was so dirty that he and John seemed to be cut from the same template.

He untied the string of the tattered leather bag around his waist and took out a piece of dark black salted meat. The dried piece of meat looked like a shriveled piece of wood when it fell into the potato soup, causing only a few splashes.

John hurriedly stirred the soup with a wooden spoon and didn't notice that the man standing outside the door walked in silently and sat opposite him.

Leshet sat very properly, with his hood on. Under his butt was an unchopped wooden stake, lying on the ground in a pretentious manner. Raphael glanced at him and suppressed the smile that flashed across his eyes. The Knight Commander might have never eaten in such an environment in his life - this was different from the battlefield after all - Raphael looked at Leshet sitting there very properly and obediently, with an imperceptible politeness and embarrassment in his body movements.

The Knight Commander had never tried to rush into someone else's house in a threatening manner and forcibly take their food.

There were indeed very few potatoes in the pot, at least not enough for three adult men to eat together. Raphael took the lead in gaining control of the wooden spoon and calmly served himself a bowl of soup - using the wooden bowl he carried with him, and also served Leshert a bowl as well.

The Knight Commander's face under his hood was almost burning red. He subconsciously wanted to refuse, but Raphael had already forced the bowl into his hands. Leshert could only sit there holding the bowl upright, at a loss.

John, who was robbed, looked calm and composed. He took the whole pot off the wooden hook and started drinking the soup with a wooden spoon. He even muttered a thank you when he scooped up the bacon.

He was obviously confused by Leshert's behavior of holding the bowl and not drinking. John looked him over and asked, "Aren't you hungry?"

None of the exiled people in Calais had enough to eat by this time, and suddenly someone showed up who was not interested in eating. Even the not-so-sensitive John noticed the abnormality.

Before Leshert could answer, Raphael spoke first: "Are you talking to the mute because you want him to sing a song for you? He burned his throat and tongue while drinking the stew yesterday."

In one sentence, the Grand Master of the Knights Templar was promoted from a "mute" to a fool who would burn himself if drinking a mouthful of soup.

Leshert: ...

He nodded heavily, opened his mouth and made two "ah ah" sounds like a broken jar, performing a show for John who was full of curiosity. John, whose curiosity was satisfied, happily lowered his head and continued to chew his potatoes.

Raphael supported his forehead with one hand, as if he was in deep thought, but from Leshert's angle, he could see the young Pope's uncontrollable smile and his slightly trembling body.

Raphael was just talking nonsense at first, but he didn't expect Leshert to be so cooperative. The Knight Commander, who had always been serious and dignified, played the role of a fool. The impact was almost the same as when he played the role of a gangster to Lesher.

The sky gradually darkened, and by midnight, the roaring rainstorm filled people's eardrums. John had long fallen asleep, his snoring rising and falling in the small shack, and rain was pouring down from the cracks in the corners, but no one cared about this little flaw. Leschert leaned against the pillar, and Raphael lay beside his legs, breathing steadily, and it was impossible to tell whether he was asleep or not.

This place is only half a day's journey away from where the Knights Templar are stationed, but precisely because of the existence of this special team, Alexander VI has always paid attention to this area. Otherwise, Raphael would not have chosen such a way to come here secretly.

Compared with the nobles, a vagrant or a small businessman who can be found everywhere would not be taken seriously by others.

Early the next morning, Raphael and Leshert left the shack. They needed to walk through the less dense jungle and then reach the Knights' residence. If they had horses, the journey would be much shorter, but just as Raphael had "knocked" on John's door rudely before, a small businessman living at the bottom of society could not own an expensive horse.

Leshert was not riding a horse when he came to pick him up, and the camp was still creating the illusion that the Knight Commander had not gone out. He had originally planned to buy a horse on the way, but obviously this plan was aborted after seeing Raphael's unique new setting.

Hiking was not a difficult task for Leshet, and it was not a difficult task for Raphael either. But maybe it was because of the weather, but Raphael always felt a dull pain in his knees, as if there was a knife slowly scraping it, and the numbness was more unbearable than the pain.

When Lesherte passed a stream, he turned around to hold Raphael's hand and saw him stuffing a handful of dark green stuff into his mouth. It looked like some dried grass. The Knight Commander immediately became alert: "What is that? You can't just eat the food here."

Raphael paused chewing and looked at Lesherte with an indescribable expression: "...Your words make me feel like a fool who would lick a mouthful of dog shit on the roadside anytime and anywhere."

Perhaps because he was playing the role of a small businessman who was not picky about food or meat, Raphael spoke more boldly in private.

"Don't worry, this is just a little stimulant. It doesn't have any side effects and is healthy and safe." Raphael's tone was exaggerated like a salesman who was enthusiastically promoting his inferior goods. The dramatic performance made Leshert let go of his inexplicable nervousness.

"We'll be there soon," Leshert said comfortingly, holding Raphael's wrist and pulling him across the extremely slippery stream bank covered with rotten branches and leaves. "You can have a good rest for a few days then." -

"Oh, I hope so," Raphael murmured without much hope.

It was already afternoon when the two arrived at the Knights' camp. The ground after the rain was so muddy that it was no different from a quagmire. The two trudged over with one step deep and one step shallow. They were mostly wet and looked as miserable as if they had fought a battle with a mud monster.

They sneaked into the camp using the Knights' vehicle that was used to purchase daily supplies, and finally relaxed their tense nerves.

After taking off the ill-fated cloak, Raphael sat obediently on the carpet and waited for Leshet to bring him water for a bath. The conditions here were simple and the plumbing was not perfect. To take a bath, he had to fetch water from a nearby pool. Alexander VI certainly would not arrange such a bad environment for them, but Leshet refused those comfortable castles and insisted on taking this land to build a camp by himself. He built a square small bungalow with wooden boards.

Although the conditions were crude, at least it ensured that the Knights Templar were united both inside and outside, and it also left Alexander VI no room to place people inside.

Leshet came in with a bucket of boiled water and poured it into the rough wooden bathtub in the room. The rising hot steam quickly filled the small room, making people feel sleepy. Leshet turned around and saw the Pope sitting on the carpet against the table leg, with his head tilted to one side and his eyes closed. He looked very sleepy and fell asleep.

The Knight Commander couldn't help but slow down his movements. He stayed where he was for a while, then tiptoed over and squatted in front of Raphael. His eyes scanned Raphael's face, and he was absent-minded for a rare moment.

After a moment, Leshert cautiously reached out his hand and brushed away a tuft of hair that was piercing Raphael's eyelids. The Pope originally had beautiful long light blonde hair, but in order to blend into Calais, he cut his hair into a mess himself. Julius personally drove him to the outside of Florence and watched him getting his hair cut in the car with a frown. He couldn't stand it and left halfway through. His expression was so ugly that it was as if he saw a troll courting him.

Leshert stroked his messy short hair with his fingers, feeling a little regretful, but he didn't mind Raphael's changes that much. No matter what Raphael looked like, it would not affect his view of him as the supreme king.

Under his throne, he holds the scepter of God and the crown of man, and also controls all his unknown desires and cravings.

He will always be faithful and loyal, Leshert prayed in his heart, praying to the sleeping Pope as he did every day before to the Holy Lord.

Please take care of me, he said silently, please take care of me, so that I will always be bathed in your glory and be watched by you.

Just being looked at by those eyes made him reach the most satisfying state in life.

The author has something to say:

As I was writing, I suddenly realized that the Knight Commander at the end seemed to have become a dark B... What a strange change [stunned]

I'm traveling these two days, and the next update will probably be on the 22nd. And a good news, I don't have to teach senior high school next semester, hahahaha! ! ! ! ! ! No need to be a dark society

Livestock, cattle, horses and people, what kind of paradise on earth is this!