Chapter 120 Heart of the Storm (VIII)
Aging
When Raphael woke up, he thought he was still dreaming. The rustling sound of falling rain was like a furry quilt and water of just the right temperature, wrapping him gently. The young monarch closed his eyes in relaxation, and let himself indulge in the comfort of half-asleep for a while.
When he finally made up his mind to pull himself out of the comfortable warm water, he found that it was really raining outside again.
When he returned from Assyria, it was the dry season, with a lack of rain and a significant drop in river water levels. Raphael hadn't seen rain for more than half a year. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of rain for a while, wondering how the new reservoir project in Assyria was progressing. He also thought of the open-air banquet being held outside, wondering if the city hall had prepared rain protection facilities...
After thinking about this for a while, Raphael opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was Julius sitting by the window, staring at him silently.
It was unknown when the Secretary General came, nor how long he had been sitting there watching. When Raphael suddenly opened his eyes, he didn't even react at first, so Raphael clearly saw something almost deep in his empty eyes.
Raphael subconsciously avoided those eyes the moment he came into contact with them. His instinct retreated before his reason, as if his skin was burned by scorching fire.
When he turned back as if nothing had happened, Julius had already sorted out his emotions and expression, as if the avoidance just now had not happened, and the deep rift between them was once again covered up by the two of them tacitly.
"Did you take the medicine Polly gave you?"
"Is the party still going on outside?"
They spoke at the same time, then closed their mouths at the same time. They looked at each other briefly. Raphael raised his chin, indicating that Julius should answer the question first. The secretary-general looked at him steadily, but still took a step back: "...The City Hall took out the oilcloth stored last year and propped up a row of ceilings on the square. The citizens are very enthusiastic and don't want to leave. If you want to show up on the terrace now, you can get cheers from the whole of Florence."
Raphael nodded absentmindedly. Julius stared at him, his eyes sweeping over the ivory pipe on the table. Suddenly he remembered that Raphael was sleeping without knowing it when he came in. "How many cigarettes did you smoke?"
Raphael was startled.
Julius frowned. "When Poli prescribed the medicine, he said that it was highly addictive and that it also contained poison used as an anesthetic. He asked you to take no more than one tube a day. I couldn't control you in Assyria. Didn't Ferrante remind you?"
When he said this, Raphael's face twisted strangely, and he said slowly: "...I have reminded you."
That was more than just a "reminder". Compared to this mild word, the unspeakable things that Ferrante did would probably make Julius, who was still calm now, furious. The director of the Arbitration Bureau, who was born in the lower city and spent the first few years of his life in the Rose House, was really gifted in some aspects, even overly creative.
Raphael forced the memory away, raised a finger as if nothing had happened, and looked at Julius with the most sincere eyes: "Only one tube, I swear."
Julius looked at him doubtfully, then reached out his hand and held Raphael's fingers loosely, with a force that Raphael could break free of at any time: "You know, I'm worried about you."
Patriarch Portia never showed such an attitude. It was too soft for a person in power, and all those who were protected by him hoped that he was strong and indestructible, so every time he showed weakness, it could only be a temporary concession for greater benefits.
But maybe this time is different, because Julius doesn't want to get anything from Raphael. ω
The older man held the front half of Raphael's finger, his eyelids drooped, and his eye sockets were as deep as those of a Roman artist, casting three-dimensional shadows even without the use of lighting. This thin, feather-like shadow hid the deep purple eyeballs, making him look like a carefully decorated statue.
Raphael sat on the chair, looking down at him. This angle allowed him to see the fine lines at the corners of Julius' eyes. He belatedly remembered that he was already 28 years old this year, and Julius was nearly ten years older than him. At this age, in an era with backward medical standards, the average life expectancy of civilians has exceeded that of ordinary people. However, Julius still had a young and handsome face and abundant energy. The Holy Lord really favored him.
Raphael knew that the Portia family had been urging Julius to get married more and more frequently in recent years, almost to the point of madness. Considering Julius' status, he had no wife, and he didn't even have a lover - they certainly didn't know what role Raphael played in it, otherwise they might have fainted in the conference hall - as Julius got older, the consequences of the lack of an heir became more and more obvious, and one day those greedy jackals would not be able to hold back their saliva.
"I heard that Archduke Pompadour's eldest daughter is already at the age to get engaged, and a lot of Portia Bank's business is centered around Pompadour. Doesn't your family have any ideas?" Raphael asked suddenly.
Julius was gently kneading Raphael's fingers with his fingertips. When he heard these words, he was suddenly stunned and raised his eyebrows. At that moment, the light in his eyes was sharp and cold enough to make all his enemies weak in the knees.
But this expression only lasted for a moment, so fast that Raphael almost thought it was his illusion. When he looked carefully again, the man with iron-gray hair had already lowered his eyes lazily, and his tone was still gentle and low: "There are many unmarried young men in the Portia family. Would they be happy to marry a young duke with a rich dowry for the family, or does my holy father want to match them up?"
He was deliberately avoiding the subject, and they both knew it.
But this was a topic that didn't need to be avoided. It was almost a daily occurrence for Julius to be urged to get married, and Raphael would sometimes use this to tease or curse him - of course, the latter happened mostly in bed, and Julius would always listen with a smile - they were all used to talking about this as Julius's "shortcoming" outwardly.
So why avoid him, Raphael thought maliciously, could it be that he finally realized that he had reached the point where he could be considered old, and so began to covet the warmth of the family fireplace?
Raphael knew that his thoughts were full of personal bias. He suddenly wanted to hurt Julius, using the sharpest words or some other method, to see a critical and dissatisfied look on this man's face.
That would remind him of many years ago, when the laurel trees of the Florence Seminary were lush and green, white doves flew over the treetops, and the bell tower rang the bell for the end of get out of class on time. Julius was still a young man who had just entered maturity. He always had a polite and gentle smile on his face, but in fact, if you got to know him a little, you would find that he was not as happy as he looked, as if he was always ready to find fault with something.
Raphael had just arrived at Julius's side and his leg had not yet been healed, so he could only follow Julius timidly and fearfully like a lame duckling, stumbling and looking at the billowing robes in front of him as he walked through the winding and deep corridors of the seminary.
In fact, in many cases, Julius was not such a considerate person. He was overly proud, and because of strict etiquette, he hid his pride under a polite appearance. He would never deliberately slow down just because Raphael couldn't keep up with him. Hearing someone chasing him from behind was almost something Julius was accustomed to and took for granted.
So we can know that after a few years, the mature wave
The head of the Tia family climbed over the outer wall of the Cantrera Castle in a very embarrassed manner, squatted down, rubbed her hands to warm them up, and covered Raphael's knees. Why did Raphael remember this simple little thing for so many years?
The Pope reached out and touched Julius' forehead. His fingertips slid from the other's brow bone along the eye socket to the end of the eye, and his fingertips pressed on the fragile skin until a faint red appeared on the cold white skin.
Julius seemed to realize something. He lowered his voice to a whisper as if he was afraid of disturbing a butterfly that had landed on his eyelashes. “I’m old, am I?”
He closed his eyes and put his face close to Raphael's palm. It was a silent gesture of cuddling, like a swan lowering its noble head or a dove folding its snow-like wings.
"Yes, uncle." This was the first time Raphael called him uncle in all these years. They had never taken this blood relationship to heart, and when it was suddenly mentioned at this moment, it sounded more like a joke than a fact.
Julius' thin lips curled up a little. To be honest, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes did not detract from his appearance. Instead, they gave him a certain grace that was better than that of a young man. Power and wealth made his youth more beautiful than that of others. Even if he was gray-haired and old, with his skin loose and sagging, he would probably still attract many people to be obsessed with him like moths to a flame - Julius certainly had such charm, and Raphael never denied it.
But the look in Raphael's eyes when he looked at those lines was still almost hatred.
"I hate everything that reminds me that death is approaching." After a brief silence, Raphael withdrew his hand and sighed softly.
The passage of time and the collapse of years are undoubtedly the most unstoppable of all deaths.
"Then I think I am destined to be ahead of you," Julius laughed. "Your rule will always be glorious in Syracuse, and I, or Ferrante, or Lesherte, we are just a footnote under your name - Secretary General of the Papal Palace during the reign of Saint Sistine I, Director of the Religious Arbitration Bureau - or something like that."
He moved closer to Raphael, and placed not-so-warm kisses on Raphael's brow, cheeks, and lips: "But I am glad that our names will never be separated from now on."
The young Pope raised his face, looking lazy like a cat whose back and ears were stroked, being caressed and hugged obediently by humans, his lavender eyes narrowed, and he was just about to make a comfortable murmur from his throat. Julius' words fell into his ears, earning an ambiguous smile from the Pope.
That sounds like a good idea.
Thinking of this, Raphael sank into the soft quilt, raised one hand and pressed it on the back of Julius' neck, his long golden hair spread out under him, and he looked at the magnificent murals on the ceiling of the bedroom through the secretary-general's iron-gray hair.
The painting depicts the story of the Holy Lord bestowing blessings on the world. Many people surround the Holy Lord, kneeling on the ground devoutly, waiting for the Holy Lord's hand to touch their foreheads.
Heat was rising, and Raphael's eyes were a little wandering. The Holy Lord and the believers were shaking in his eyes and turning into a ball of colorful sticky blocks. The Pope's hand changed from resting on Julius' shoulder to pressing the other person towards himself. This hug was hasty and deformed, and it was just a small episode in their passionate love.
The night passed quickly, and Julius quietly left the Pope's bedroom before the dawn. His office produced various official documents at a constant rate every day, ensuring that his work would never be finished. Today was obviously no exception. Before he even reached the office, he was stopped downstairs in the secretary's office.
The nun holding a stack of parchment with accounts receivable saluted him respectfully. Julius had always been in charge of the financial expenditures of the Papal Palace. In the past two days, in order to welcome the return of the Pope and prepare for a banquet, the gold florins of the Papal Palace had been spent like water. Every expenditure required the signature of the Secretary-General before the money could be withdrawn from the Portia Bank, so the merchants waiting for accounts receivable blocked the door of the Papal Palace early in the morning.
Julius bowed his head and signed with the nun's hand while walking upstairs. At the same time, he gave instructions to the secretaries who followed him one by one: "... Let them send people to pick up the funds for the Arbitration Bureau, and increase the number of patrols around the Knights' base... Did someone fall into the river again yesterday? Today's banquet will end an hour early, and the distribution of beer will be reduced, but they will be allowed to come to the door of the cathedral tomorrow morning to receive free red wine..."
Orders came out of his mouth in an orderly manner. The secretaries around him formed a circular chain, coming and going in a hurry, and Julius was the core that maintained the operation of the chain steadily, moving forward at a steady pace.
Finally, when he walked to the second floor, a figure wrapped in a black cloak came into his sight. In the whole of Florence, there was only one type of person who dressed like this.
Julius paused and raised his hand to signal the secretaries to leave. Soon, the stairs were empty. The secretary walked to the door of the office, pushed open the two closed doors, and asked casually, "What's the matter with Ferrante?"
The relationship between Julius and Ferrante was really average. They had been forced to cooperate for a period of time due to Raphael's serious illness, but as Raphael recovered, this short-lived alliance quickly became a bubble that shattered in the sun and disappeared completely.
Julius was not surprised that Ferrante would send someone to find him. Although they did not have a good personal relationship, the Arbitration Bureau and the Secretariat always had a lot of intersections.
Julius walked straight to the cupboard where the teacups were placed, and selected the cups that suited his taste through the glass door. In the end, he chose a set of porcelain cups with gold enamel. This set of porcelain came from the East across the ocean. It was captured by a count on a pirate ship, and its origin can be traced back to the legacy of an Eastern nobleman.
He took out the set of cups, and the man in the black cloak came silently behind him.
The Holy Crow, whose face was hidden in the hood, spoke in a hoarse voice as if he had not used his vocal organs for a long time: "... His Excellency said that you should pay attention to your interactions with the cardinals. In the past few months, you have met more often than before."
Julius paused for a moment, his eyes, which were filled with a calm smile, turned cold: “Is he threatening me?”
"No," the Holy Crow's tone remained unchanged. "Your Excellency said that he would pass this news to Your Majesty, which would be a threat, but he doesn't want to do that. You have caused enough trouble, Your Majesty doesn't need to worry about you anymore."
Julius sneered and listened to the Holy Raven continue to convey Ferrante's words: "But if you don't restrain yourself, he will get rid of everyone before you do anything bad to His Majesty."
"He'll be watching you all the time."
After the cloaked man finished speaking, he silently left the room. Julius stood in front of the cabinet for a long time, his face remained calm and indifferent. After a long time, he suddenly raised his hand and smashed the gorgeous and expensive enamel cup to the ground.
The floor was covered with thick carpet, and the broken pieces of porcelain still bounced high. One piece even brushed the end of his eyebrow, leaving a faint blood mark on his eyelid.
The author has something to say:
I've been running around these two days and just arrived in Hangzhou last night. I had so much to do that I forgot to post the note. It's been really hot these two days, so everyone please take precautions against heatstroke and cool down!
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