Chapter 46 Jadeite Gem (Seventeen)

◎Conscription◎

Since the June trial in which blood soaked half of the square in front of the Tribunal, Pope St. Sistine I re-established the supreme status of the Crown of Thorns in Florence. Theocracy regained its authority from the hands of the separatist lords. The blood of the principal and accomplices was spread on the marble floor. Cleaners scrubbed the floor over and over again with boar-bristle brushes and poured buckets of water on it. During that time, even the river water in Florence was filled with a faint smell of blood.

The conscription notice of the Papal Palace was posted on the bulletin board in front of the big iron gate. Black-robed monks carried gongs and drums and a white linen bag and shuttled through the streets and alleys of Florence, orally conveying the Pope's will to all the people.

Your Majesty will organize an army to attack the territories of those lords who have committed evil deeds in order to reunite the Papal States.

This news spread to every household like wings, but even more eye-catching was the military service conditions proposed by the Papal Palace.

Those who participate in the war and are recruited as soldiers will receive an annual salary of ninety gold florins. Those who have served in the military for more than five years can obtain priority purchase rights for apartments in the upper town, and can also advance their salary from the Papal Palace to purchase real estate. Their children will have priority admission to all public colleges under Florence. If they are killed in battle, the Papal Palace will pay a one-time pension of two hundred gold florins to their family members and allow one of their children to work in the Papal Palace's affiliated industries.

Ninety gold florins a year!

Most people in the lower city of Florence may not be able to earn ten gold florins even if they work day and night from the beginning of the year to the end of the year!

The conditions offered by the Papal Palace were so generous that even the nobles found it incomprehensible, not to mention the people struggling at the bottom of society. Their trust and love for the Pope made them believe the authenticity of these benefits without much questioning, and the number of people who eagerly joined the army was staggering.

Although the monks repeatedly emphasized that those who joined the army needed to stay in the army for the entire year and were not allowed to leave the barracks, these conditions were nothing compared to the temptation of ninety gold florins.

Leshert walked into the Pope's reception room with a thick list. The two monks at the door looked at him, nodded slightly, and opened the door for him. A warm breeze blew in his face.

Leshert walked in and the carved oak door closed behind him.

The temperature inside was higher than outside. Although it was already mid-June, most of the rooms in the Papal Palace where the Pope might go had fireplaces. Florence was close to the ocean, with little temperature difference throughout the year. It was warm in winter and cool in summer, with abundant rainfall. However, for Raphael, whose physical foundation had been hollowed out in the lower city as a child, no matter how warm the natural temperature was, it would still be cold for him.

The handsome knight was still wearing light armor and, in accordance with etiquette, did not carry any sharp objects. He simply glanced around and soon found his monarch behind the bay window.

The glass oriel window looks like a small terrace facing the garden outside. When the burgundy velvet curtain falls, it becomes a secluded and leisurely little world.

The curtain was half drawn up, and the corner of the Pope's snow-white robe trailed out from the edge as gently as waves, like a handful of new snow, curling and piling up on the edge of the wine-red curtain, making the white even whiter and the red even redder.

Leshert walked over. The thick long wool carpet absorbed all the footsteps. He walked to the curtain, gently pushed aside the thick curtain, and held his breath silently.

The young pope fell asleep.

It was like Narcissus in the ancient myth sleeping in an intoxicating dream, his long light golden hair spread out on the sapphire green velvet chair, brilliant as the sun. Some of it fell down and was unconsciously tangle up in his palm. His plain white loose robe was covered with graceful folds, and the Pope's golden hair jumped in the gaps, interweaving like molten gold and silver, framing his overly elegant and graceful face. He pressed one hand on his abdomen and held a book in the other. As if he was too sleepy, the hand holding the book hung on the edge of the chair and the spine of the book pressed to the ground.

Decades ago, the art master Raphael, who shares the same name as the Pope, once painted a famous portrait titled "Narcissus in the Water", which was based on the famous tyrant Antium in history. Everyone knows that Antium was famous not only for his absurdity, cruelty and disregard for food, but also for his stunning beauty in his youth. Many people believed that his twisted and insane psychology in the second half of his life was caused by this cursed beauty. This famous painting was hung in the hall of the Roman Crystal Palace, and everyone who saw it was intoxicated and crazy by it.

A marquis fell madly in love with the dying Narcissus in the painting. He begged the Roman King to give him the painting and carried it with him wherever he went. Finally, he was burned to death in the middle of the night due to hopeless love.

The painting became famous because of this, but it was also burned in the fire. People in later generations could only imagine the beauty of the young Narcissus in the picture from a few words, trying to bring the faces of all the famous beautiful boys into the picture.

The family where Leschert was born had a copy of "Narcissus in the Water". The imitator was probably just an apprentice with little skills. The picture was blurry and the features of the characters had not been processed in detail. All that could be seen clearly were the growing aquatic plants on the shore and the still water with ripples.

But at this moment, he suddenly and uncontrollably merged the scene before him and the crude imitation into one.

Shall I compare you to summer?

But you are more beautiful and gentle than summer.

Only your eternal summer lingers,

Your beauty is vivid,

Death has no right to imprison you,

You live forever in my eternal dreams.

The Marquis's mumblings left on the parchment became his last words. Leshert suddenly thought of this passionate unrequited love and suddenly felt that if he had been facing such a scene and such a person day and night, then falling into a desperate love would not seem to be a surprising thing.

"Your Majesty." The knight knelt on one knee and gently took the heavy book from the Pope's hand and placed it on the small round table beside him. The Pope's fingers brushed across the back of his hand. The knight was stunned for a moment, then reached back and gently held the Pope's drooping fingers, stunned.

It's so cold. ㊣

He clasped his palms together and held the Pope's hand in his palms to warm the overly cold hand. At the same time, he thought worriedly, it was June and the fireplace was already lit, so why was His Majesty's body still so cold?

Raphael was walking alone in his dream. He was walking on a road without any light. There was thick darkness in front and behind. All around him was the dull echo of waves hitting the rocks, one sound after another, mixed with a vague woman's singing.

This scene that was enough to suffocate everyone with fear did not make Raphael panic at all. He did not look back or forward, but just walked forward numbly. The monotonous and dull sound of the waves hit his eardrums. He knew very clearly that he was dreaming, but he did not want to wake up.

He even knew where the sound of the waves came from - there was a harbor a few miles away from Canterbury Castle. During the nearly four years he lived there, or was imprisoned there, he listened to such sounds every night, waiting for someone to come, or maybe not.

Julius only knew that every time he came, he could see Raphael, who had never entered his dream, waiting for him, but he might have overlooked that when he was not coming, the lonely boy could only wait and wait quietly like this.

Raphael hated the sound of the tide. It reminded him of rainy days, of the screams for mercy as he rolled in the mud, of the futile waiting, of the drowsy pain, and of the nights of hope and disappointment.

But he didn't understand where the vague woman's singing came from. Perhaps in the distant past, in the memory that he couldn't even remember, there was such a person who sang to him. Because this was enough blank space for his imagination and warmth for him to rely on, he would rather listen to the eternally recurring sound of the tide than wake up.

Then a hand lifted him out of the dream, very gently, as if scooping up a handful of moonlight or broken gold that was about to flow away, and lifted him out of the monotonous sea tide and the dark road.

Raphael curled up his body, obediently giving up all resistance, allowing the unknown but unusually warm person to hold his cold and tired soul.

"Your Majesty." Leshert saw Raphael open his eyes. Those lavender eyes that were always intoxicating no matter how many times one looked at them were filled with moist and hazy mist. The Lord of Florence, who had just woken up from a dream, was as gentle and soft as a snow-white cloud. His eyes were filled with frost that fell when the Black Sea monsoon blew, as if waiting for someone to wipe away all the frost.

But this fragile illusion only lasted for a moment. When Raphael blinked his eyes and dug out the clear mind from his head, Leshert saw with joy and regret that the monarch who had led the June trial appeared here again.

"Good afternoon, Knight."

Raphael quickly regained his sanity, slowly sat up straight, and calmly pulled his hand out of Leshert's palm and put it back under his loose sleeves. "What's the matter?"

As he asked, he quietly twisted his fingers, feeling the comfortable warmth on his skin, which was really nostalgic, and it made him distracted for a moment.

It’s so warm, Raphael thought vaguely.

He seldom received such an intimate and defenseless touch. The poor environment in the lower town when he was young made him afraid to get close to anyone. After returning to the Papal Palace, all he met were gentlemen who adhered to aristocratic etiquette. Keeping a certain distance from each other was a doctrine engraved in their bones. His father, Saint Vitalian III, was not a man who liked to express his emotions with body language. Julius had an invisible mysophobia, and although he would not attack Raphael, he was not used to physical contact, and there were no women close to him.

By this calculation, up to now, apart from the necessary etiquette, the only person he had any contact with beyond etiquette was Leah when he was young, and the very occasional times when Julius showed concern for him.

Raphael thought calmly with a bit of self-mockery, and saw Leshert handing him a thick roll of paper.

He took it and flipped through it twice, and soon understood: "Conscription list? These things are handed over to you, just do it, no need to show it to me again. There are currently 118 members of the Knights Templar. I hope to expand it to 800 by the end of July. I will equip them with armor, horses and weapons. By the end of this year, you must have an army of at least 8,000 people, including the Knights Templar.

Two thousand men, and the standing army of the Papal States six thousand. ”

"Of course, members of the Knights Templar will be posted in other places under other names, such as the Pope's Guard, the Florence Security Team, etc. We also need to take care of the fragile hearts of other countries occasionally."

The Pope's tone was cold and indifferent, and when he said the last sentence, there was a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Undoubtedly, in his blueprint, Leshet would become the general who commanded the entire army. The leader of the Knights Templar had integrity that even he admired, but many times, integrity was not a compliment to a general.

so……

Raphael looked at the handsome knight, and the other side looked back at him, with a hint of confusion in his forest green eyes, as if he didn't understand why His Majesty suddenly fell silent.

——So he needs to try to change the other person's mind, just a little bit.

"You... you are expanding your army," Lesherte paused for a moment and said softly, "You are trying to restore the size of the Knights."

The Pope looked calm, as if he did not think there was anything wrong with this question, which was enough to cause a major earthquake if it were put to the outside world: "It's obvious."

Leshert took a breath silently: "But...we have been banned for a long time..."

"We are forbidden," the Pope repeated his words, with the corners of his mouth raised, and his lavender eyes were cold without any smile, "Who forbidden us? Who gave us orders? Who tied us up with a dog rope? Don't you know why they did this?"

The Pope looked at his knight aggressively: "Answer me."

Leshert moved his Adam's apple with difficulty and whispered, "The Treaty of the Holy City is a treaty signed in Florence by sixteen countries including Calais, Romanesque and Burgundy, Pombaré, and the Duvisi Federation, as well as the city-state and the Papal States. Florence promised never to restore the Inquisition and to never allow the number of members of the Knights Templar to exceed 200."

"Yes, the Holy City Treaty. They knocked on the door of the Papal States and forced the Pope to step down from the pedestal of God and bow to them. From then on, they completely defeated theocracy and split the Papal States into fourteen city-states. Florence only had the name of the Holy City, but in fact it was just an insignificant foil on their stage. Everyone could place spies in the Papal Palace. They manipulated Florence's politics and economy, sold bishops' robes, and even murdered popes they were dissatisfied with."

The Pope's voice was almost a whisper.

The last sentence caused Leshter's pupils to shrink suddenly.

It is no secret that after the fall of Florence and the signing of the Treaty of the Holy City, the popes who lost the protection of the Inquisition and the Knights Templar became the clam meat peeled out of the shell. The average reign of each pope was eight years shorter than before the signing of the treaty, the replacement of the Holy See accelerated, and as many as thirteen popes died in assassinations - Raphael's father contributed one vote. Of course, if Raphael himself is counted, there should be fourteen popes.

It's just that his death was recorded as illness in history books, and perhaps he didn't even deserve a place in it.

Raphael lowered his eyes and looked at the knight kneeling on one knee beside his chair. He reached out and gently lifted a strand of golden hair that fell on his temple. Unlike his own cold and light silvery hair, Leshert's hair color was darker, like thick molten pure gold, warm and naturally with a sun-like luster.

"Are you willing? Being bound and imprisoned, being watched even though you have done nothing, crawling at everyone's feet like a dog, and having to do whatever they say - and all this is just because they are weak and afraid."

Raphael said softly: "The weak have no right to cry out. No one will hear your cry for help in the middle of the night. If you are a lion, you must do what a lion should do. It is useless to wag your tail like a dog and beg others to play with you."

He let go of the lock of golden hair, as if he had never said those words, and spoke in a normal tone, "Assyria has fallen into civil strife, and their queen will never sit idly by. Roman will definitely intervene in this chaos, and Calais will definitely not miss this opportunity. By then, the surrounding countries will also take action, and Florence must have the capital to protect itself before then."

Leshert ordered himself to focus on these things and thought for a while: "What is the movement in Calais?"

He only said a few words, and Raphael understood what he meant. A smile flashed in his eyes. "Yes, the key lies in the movement of Calais, and of course Roman. In the second half of the year, the Queen will invite me to Roman to speak for Princess Sancha's inheritance rights. We don't have much time left, Knight."

Leshert bowed his head deeply: "I will be your strongest support."

In response to the answer from the leader of the Knights Templar, Raphael moved his lips silently.

I hope so.

The author has something to say:

Ding ding ding! Please check for today’s update!

First of all, I have to make it clear that Raphael is not a warmongerer. He expands the army not for personal power. The plot will explain this again later.

In addition, the lines "Shall I compare thee to summer" are from Shakespeare's sonnet, with slight modifications.