Chapter 22 Misty Rose (Twenty-two)

◎Prelude to a heavy rain◎

On the third day of the celebration, according to custom, the Pope will go to the Square of Miracles to pray a great blessing. After the blessing, he will meet with the people one by one. Of course, for the safety of the Pope, these lucky people who are selected are carefully screened.

As the Pope's new favorite, Ferrante also participated in the screening activities.

Those selected could not be from noble families, nor could they be unemployed people in debt, and they could not have criminal records - this rule alone excluded almost everyone in the downtown area.

It would be best if you had a certain industry, such as a small factory owner or a Florentine official, who could at least afford decent clothes, and you had to know a certain amount of etiquette and not behave inappropriately in front of the Pope...

On the day of the celebration, Raphael arrived at the square in an open parade car. The dense crowd enthusiastically surrounded the car as it moved forward. In order to prevent the steam from hurting people, the car was pulled by the most primitive horses. Two carefully selected beautiful white horses gently stepped on the ground. Their manes were carefully braided. The nuns put wreaths of fresh lilies on them and wove various brightly colored flowers into their manes. The fragrance of the flowers made the two loyal animals shake their heads and snort constantly.

The cheering people stretched out their hands and threw the freshly picked flowers into the convoy. Ferrante, who was standing behind Raphael as a guard, was also covered with flower petals. He turned his head and sneezed. Raphael, who was always smiling and nodding, occasionally raising his hand to wave, noticed his embarrassment, and a genuine smile flashed in his eyes.

The Pope on the float perfectly fits people's imagination of God, as if the portrait hanging on the wall of the Vatican had come true. He was beautiful, kind, compassionate, and every move was elegant and dignified. Wherever he looked, people would burst into wild cheers.

The great blessing lasted for nearly three hours, and people's enthusiasm never diminished at all. Raphael's legs were numb from standing, and his right leg, which had an old injury, had lost all feeling, but he still maintained his usual demeanor and finished his speech calmly.

Fortunately it didn't rain today.

Raphael thought to himself as he put away the parchment.

He was about to walk down from the makeshift platform to meet the people. When he turned around, the Pope's body swayed slightly. Ferrante quickly supported him, but Raphael just used his arm to slow down for a moment and quickly pushed him away.

The Pope's every move is watched by people, and his every action will be deeply analyzed and understood. If he loses his composure here, even just a change in expression will lead to a lot of speculation.

This doesn't do him any good.

Raphael understood this very well, so even though his right leg was aching as if it was about to break, and the pain was piercing his muscles and blood vessels, as if someone was scratching his bones with nails, he couldn't

Frown.

The young and handsome Pope turned around and gave a perfect smile to the people who had been waiting for a long time in the audience.

He walked down the stairs unhurriedly, his steps slow and solemn, and extended his hand to the middle-aged man at the front of the line.

“May God bless you.” The Pope placed his hand in the center of the other’s open hands, pressed his palms and said gently, “May His blessing bless you with a smooth life.”

The man, who had put on a brand new tweed jacket and had his hair done—he smelled strongly of shampoo—was so excited that his face flushed. He was so overwhelmed with joy that he even forgot for a moment how the monk in the Pope's Palace had taught him to reply.

"Thank you, thank you..." he stammered, "Our whole family likes you very much. I mean, you are great. I mean--"

He tried to express his thoughts incoherently, and Raphael always smiled and listened to him patiently.

The Pope's amiable behavior made him feel much more relaxed. With his face getting redder and redder, he insisted on finishing what he wanted to say, and was then led to the other side by the monks waiting on the side.

The next people behaved in a similar way as he did. Talking incoherently was the worst they could do. An old woman even fainted when Raphael held her hand.

Raphael half supported and half hugged her, and asked the monks to come up and take her to the church to rest. He never showed any displeasure from beginning to end, which obviously moved the people around him very much. The voices shouting "Sistine I" gradually merged into a surging wave.

The last person was led up, and Raphael was stunned for a moment.

This is a little girl who looks no more than ten years old. Perhaps, because she is thin and has no well-cared-for baby fat on her cheeks, and her living conditions are not very good, her actual age should be a little older than expected.

But she was very cute, with round blue eyes and long curly golden brown hair. She was wearing a snow-white dress and looked like an angel in a church painting.

Raphael bent down and stretched out his hand to her. Seeing the sweat on her face due to nervousness, he smiled at her reassuringly and lowered his voice: "What's your name? My child?"

The girl's entire body was trembling. She was about to faint from the excessive excitement, but she pinched herself hard. She couldn't faint, at least not at this moment... She quickly raised her head to look at the handsome pope in front of her, her eyes slid past him, and quickly retracted as if she had touched something. She timidly replied, "Jenny, Your Majesty, my name is Jenny, and I'm from the Holy Grail Church in the Lower Town."

The smile on Raphael's face changed slightly.

His eyes swept over Jenny, and the details that he had just overlooked entered his mind one by one. The snow-white long skirt had simple lace on the edge. The size of the dress was obviously larger than the girl's body, the waist was loose, and the hem covered the feet. It was obviously bought on the spur of the moment - and it was definitely beyond the girl's affordability.

Did the person in charge of the church buy it for her?

This thought flashed through Raphael's mind, but he did not delve into it further. The candidates for the meeting had been screened long ago, and it was not surprising that they would buy an inappropriate new piece of clothing after being selected.

"Jenny, good girl." Raphael slowed down his tone, and the child obviously preferred such a slow tone. She was visibly relaxed a lot. Raphael did not let her stretch out her hand. He noticed that the girl was not used to physical contact, so he gently placed his hand that had been hanging in the air for a while on the top of the girl's head.

This distanced gesture did not cause Jenny to feel disgusted. Raphael breathed a sigh of relief and said as usual: "May God bless you, and His blessings will accompany you throughout your life-"

Before he finished his words, Jenny suddenly raised her head slightly. Raphael noticed her movement and gave her a questioning look.

Jenny tiptoed towards him, like a child saying something secret to an adult, and the young Pope bent down towards her indulgently. The girl put her bright red lips close to the Pope's ear, and Raphael heard an almost inaudible word.

"Your Majesty, Duke Francois bought many beautiful girls and boys, but none of them came back. My friends were also taken away. Can you save them?"

Raphael's smiling lavender pupils suddenly contracted.

Others only saw the little girl saying something to the Pope. The blond Pope was stunned for a moment, then smiled and touched the girl's head: "God treats all His children equally. Visiting the Papal Palace is not a big deal. Let this brother take you there."

He waved to the guards behind him to come forward and take the little girl away.

People thought this was just a story about a pope helping an innocent little girl fulfill her dream, and no one paid attention to this little episode.

Raphael finished all activities according to the planned process and returned to the Papal Palace. As soon as he entered the door, Ferrante came to meet him.

Ferrante was the guard he called to take Jenny on a "tour" of the Papal Palace.

"Your Majesty..." Before Ferrante could speak, Raphael looked at him and made him swallow the rest of the words.

The deacon who followed closely behind the Pope came up and took off his heavy and gorgeous robes, jewelry and pendants. The crown of thorns was carefully placed back on the scarlet velvet cushion. The deacon tied the Pope's hair and put on a light and warm indoor robe for him. Raphael couldn't help but sigh after taking off the burden.

After the deacon with jewels, crowns and robes left, he walked to the table and sat down, rubbing his forehead, and pointed to the sofa wearily: "You sit down too - how is Jenny?"

A warm hand covered his hand, and Raphael opened his eyes, only to find that Ferrante did not sit down as he had instructed, but walked to his side.

The deep blue eyes like the ocean showed concern: "Are you tired? Let me massage you. I used to massage my mother like this."

Raphael looked at the familiar yet unfamiliar blue eyes, did not refuse, and closed his eyes again.

Ferrante gently pressed the Pope's temples, trying not to make his breathing too harsh, and said as gently as possible: "Jeanne fell asleep. I put her in the guest room. She told me about that incident. Her friend Marie was missing. She asked around and finally found out that Marie was sent to Duke François, and there were many bought boys and girls in the Duke's mansion..."

Ferrante hesitated and asked softly, "What are you going to do?"

As a guard, his words were an overstep, but Raphael didn't care about this little problem.

The monarch of Florence was silent for a long time. In the silence that almost suffocated Ferrante, he finally heard Raphael's soft voice saying, "Why can Jenny come to me?"

"Hmm?" This question obviously exceeded Ferrante's expectations. He tilted his head in confusion, but his flexible brain had already begun to answer it, and Ferrante almost couldn't control his actions.

He suddenly felt an inexplicable fear.

Raphael did not notice his abnormality and continued softly, "A little girl went to the Pope to report and expose her friend in order to save her friend. What a touching script. But how did she, a powerless girl, pass the screening and come to me?"

There is no way the head of the church would offend Duke François for a missing girl, and a girl of this age is indeed not a suitable candidate to be received by the Pope. So how did Jenny pass the screening and meet him? Who wants to use her to expose François?

François's enemy? Or his enemy?

That person wanted to see him and François face off?

Or do you want to pit Florence against Calais?

His thoughts were like a violent storm, spreading out like a dense spider web from Jenny's body. Raphael's face was solemn, as if he wanted to see through the thin and frail girl and see the numerous conspiracies behind her.

Ferrante stood there stiffly, wondering frantically, had he been discovered? He just made a change on the list, and no one should notice. Even if an abnormality in the list was discovered later, it would not be traced back to him.

"You mean..." He tried again.

Raphael paused for a moment and answered decisively: "Nothing."

Ferrante's hands froze instantly. He stared at the person with his back to him and murmured, "Do... nothing?"

Those suffering children, those pale and dead bodies, those people who died in torture, those people who were waiting, calling out, and praying for the saint to reach out to them...

The saints walking among men rejected their pleas.

Ferrante felt something in his heart was teetering on the verge of collapse.

Raphael felt that the warm hands seemed to have lost their temperature, so he turned his head to look at Ferrante in confusion, and met a smile that seemed to be the same but also seemed to be a little different.

"Don't do anything until I know the whole story." Raphael explained with rare patience.

"Know the whole story? Then... just ignore those people for now?" Ferrante asked almost in a whisper, his eyes dull and heavy. Storms and waves were rolling up from the deep sea under the clear sky. He stared at Raphael's white neck and for a moment he didn't even know what he was saying.

"Yes."

He heard his saint answer without hesitation.

ah.

wrong.

Something must be wrong.

Ferrante seemed not to have heard clearly and asked again: "They might be dying soon, and you don't care?"

Raphael was silent for a little longer this time. His thin fingers pressed on the table, his nails showing an unhealthy color. The thin Pope was so thin that a gust of wind could break him, but his tone was harder than a sword: "Until I find out who asked her to come, yes."

This is wrong.

How can a saint... turn a blind eye to suffering?

Unless... this is a devil in the guise of a saint to lure people into depravity.

Suddenly, a loud thunder exploded outside the window. Raphael turned his head sharply, and a trace of uncontrollable fear flashed in his lavender pupils. Ferrante noticed his fleeting expression, tilted his head slightly, and seemed to remember something. He looked at Raphael motionlessly from behind.

The author has something to say:

Ferrante is a mad dog, a real mad dog, and a mad dog who is immersed in his own thoughts, tits tut tut.

Right now, his and Raphael’s train of thought simply don’t match, but that doesn’t matter! The little pope will teach him how to be a normal person.