Chapter 129 Heart of the Storm (XVII)
◎Assassination◎
Raphael opened his arms and stared at himself in the huge floor-to-ceiling mirror. The butlers on both sides held up the king's cloak, which was mainly made of platinum velvet. The edges were trimmed with black and white mink fur. Thousands of sapphires, topazes, opals, diamonds and pearls were scattered in the velvet, making the whole cloak look like it was shining with stars from any angle.
The deacons lifted the heavy and ornate instrument of torture and gently pressed it on the shoulders of the current owner of Calais. Raphael couldn't help but frown because of the weight. Sensing his dissatisfaction, the perceptive deacon hurriedly explained: "The previous Majesties wore this cloak to attend the first public meeting. This has always been the tradition of Calais. Many people also regard this cloak as a symbol of their majesty-"
His explanation was long and wordy. Raphael sighed silently, feeling that if he didn't say something, the deacon might scare himself to death. He didn't know why everyone was so afraid of him. It seemed that his image in the hearts of the people in this palace had become unspeakable, but he clearly did nothing.
If he was willing to trace the source, he would be surprised to find that the blame was entirely put on him by Francis IV. This is not quite accurate. It should be done by Francis IV and Viscount Julia together.
The servants in the palace had long been accustomed to serving a mad emperor, and the feeling of living under the bullying Julia seemed like yesterday. When Raphael took over this ancient palace, everyone had their hair stand on end for a brief moment when they saw his face, as if they saw the domineering Viscount again.
No, this is not to say that Raphael and Julia are similar or something... That's not accurate either. At least it proves that Julia has put a lot of effort into imitating Raphael and has achieved some results.
"knew."
Raphael interrupted the deacon calmly and reached out to tighten the cloak straps around his neck. The inside of the cloak was lined with silk, hanging down smoothly, and the straps were particularly short for some reason. Raphael frowned and tightened the straps, secretly praying that the cloak would not suddenly slip off at some point.
The servant kneeling on one knee tied the last strap of his boot for him. The person in the mirror was tall and slender, with a gorgeous cloak and dark dress, golden ribbon tassels, jewel brooches and belts adorning the monarch's body. He had an overly handsome face, and the solemn clothes pushed this handsomeness to another kind of submissive majesty.
When Sanxia walked in, she happened to see Raphael fiddling with the cloak tie with an unhappy look on his face. He looked like a flat-faced long-haired cat. The queen smiled at her own association and took the initiative to walk over and take the bad tie from Raphael.
"Well... it's a bit short."
The Queen muttered softly and turned to look around. The circular dressing room was filled with all kinds of jewelry accessories on cushions padded with dark red velvet. They ranged from crowns, necklaces, and belts to brooches, hatpins, and all kinds of strange trinkets. The dazzling array of jewelry stacked layer upon layer was dazzling enough, and these were just the number required for the monarch to change his clothes once.
However, both Sangxia and Raphael were accustomed to such scenes.
Sang Xia pointed to a deep sapphire brooch on the cushion, and someone immediately brought the brooch over. ‖
The queen carefully tied the laces with a collar pin and adjusted them into a beautiful bow: "Okay, it suits you very well."
She took two steps back, looked Raphael up and down, couldn't help but cover her chest, and sighed: "Even though this is not the first time I see you in a formal dress, but still...if you are not my brother, I will definitely marry you."
Raphael was stunned for a moment by Sanxia's familiar words, and shook his head helplessly: "It's unlikely that Roman's cavalry regiment can take me away."
"Oh, it sounds like I'm a dragon that robbed a princess in a fairy tale," Sanxia said to herself, "Although I don't care, you are definitely the most difficult princess to rob in fairy tale history."
The brother and sister looked at each other and smiled at the same time.
"Well, dear Princess, I have come to say goodbye to you," the young Queen said solemnly. "The dragon is leaving to conquer her kingdom. New territories, new adventures."
In the contract between Raphael and Sancha, the southern part of Calais, including Dudlais, belonged to the Papal States, while the western part, which was incorporated into the Roman territory, needed Sancha to inspect it again.
Today's Citizens' Assembly is a large banquet held in accordance with the customs of Calais. Every Emperor of Calais will convene a Citizens' Assembly after the coronation and appear in public to show that he has become the ruler of Calais from now on.
Raphael did not need to follow such traditions, but adapting to local customs would help calm the frightened people of Calais. He did not mind making some concessions in these small matters and putting on some dramas that would make everyone happy.
Leshet led the Knights to impose martial law on the periphery. This conference strictly screened the identities of all those who could meet the monarch. Ferrante brought a large number of Holy Crows and followed Raphael in secret throughout the whole process.
As night fell, this grand performance finally came to an end. Raphael soaked himself in the pool, completely emptying his mind for a rare moment.
In accordance with the luxurious style of the Calais royal family, this bath imitates the ancient Roman style, with three pools of different sizes overlapping each other, with water flowing from one to another, and the staggered steps giving the mist a flowing texture.
Raphael was leaning against the top pool, drowsy, when he heard the sound of someone coming up the stairs on the water.
The Pope, who was softened by the warm water, squinted one eye and looked over. In the hazy water vapor, his long silver-gray hair was covered like a spider web. Water vapor adhered to the cold hair, and those fine water droplets were like countless tiny diamonds, sparkling in the hair, making Raphael feel it was difficult to look directly at it.
Raphael turned his head and buried half of his face in his arms, and a comfortable low gurgling sound came from his throat, which sounded like resistance but also like an invitation.
The sound of water stopped beside Raphael, and a hand touched Raphael's hair - the long hair that he had cut short had grown unevenly to his neck, and the ends of the hair made the skin there itchy. Raphael moved uncomfortably, and the hair soaked by water was considerately brushed away by another person.
A long-lost peaceful atmosphere enveloped Raphael, and the tired young monarch slowly fell asleep in this atmosphere.
When he opened his eyes again, the pool was still filled with mist and the hourglass hanging on the thin line had reached the bottom. Raphael adjusted his sitting position. The pool was empty, and there was no one else except him.
A strange feeling struck Raphael's mind.
He stood up from the pool, frowned and thought for a while, but to no avail. The sound of the palace bell interrupted his thoughts.
Raphael put on a bathrobe and returned to the bedroom through the side door connected to the enclosed corridor. This bedroom originally belonged to the emperor of Calais, but now Raphael is the owner of Dudley, so he naturally owns this bedroom with the best conditions.
The temperature in the bedroom was adjusted to the most suitable level. Layers of curtains surrounded the soft bed, which was covered with silk and was enough to make people sink deeply into it.
Inside, the lights were turned to the dimmest. For some reason, Raphael always felt that he couldn't sleep well. He woke up from his dreams repeatedly and opened the window a crack to let fresh air blow into the room. The dim light swayed gently, pulling the shadows of the surrounding objects on the curtains, like many twisted branches.
He heard his heartbeat quickening irregularly, like some kind of omen.
In his drowsy dream, the Virgin Mary holding the Holy Child looked down at him from above, half of her face illuminated by the lamp, and the thin gauze outside the curtain was blown by the wind, turning that compassionate smile into a strange mockery. Raphael suddenly opened his eyes and subconsciously reached under the pillow, but touched nothing. He belatedly remembered that he seemed to have forgotten to put the dagger under the pillow.
However, before he could fully wake up, his body's instinct caused all the muscles to tense up, and without thinking, he rolled to the side twice. A blade flashing with cold light brushed his ear and pierced deeply into the down pillow.
The torn pillow emitted large pieces of snow-white feathers as the assassin drew his sword. Raphael grabbed the pillow and threw it at the man's face. Without looking back to see if he hit anyone, he rolled off the bed from the other side.
The assassin, whose face was covered with a large amount of scattered feathers, waved his hands to clear the flying feathers, quickly locked onto Raphael's back, raised his leg and stepped onto the bed with a knife in hand, his figure was like an eagle with its wings spread, and he pounced on Raphael's back.
Raphael, with his back to the assassin, heard the sound of the wind. He didn't even have his hidden blade or dagger with him, perhaps because he was too relaxed soaking in the pool, or perhaps he had subconsciously let go of the nightmare. In short, it was a stupid omission, so stupid that it might cost him his life again.
Leschert was sent by him to maintain order in the Citizens' Assembly, and he must not have returned yet, so it should be Ferrante who is guarding outside with his men - why would an assassin sneak past so many guards and come to him?
Raphael's heart sank. He didn't have time to think more. He picked up the porcelain vase on the flower stand and smashed it behind him, while roaring loudly: "Someone come!"
The loud noise of porcelain breaking broke the silence that was deliberately created to protect the emperor's sleep. The Holy Crow at the door almost crawled in. The moment they saw the assassin, everyone's blood ran cold.
Ferrante learned the news five minutes after the assassin was pinned down. He was arranging the last patrol at the gate of the palace and almost ran madly to the emperor's bedroom. The assassin's body lay on the carpet. He cut his own throat as soon as he realized that the mission was hopeless. The room was brightly lit, and the overly bright light made everyone's face look as pale as paper.
The first thing Ferrante looked at was the emperor sitting on the edge of the bed. The bed, which had been tossed into a mess by the assassin, looked horrible. Most of the quilt was dragged on the ground, a large piece of the curtain was torn off, and the ground and the bed were covered with snow-white feathers and bloodstains.
The young monarch had a solemn expression, and it was impossible to tell whether he was happy or angry. He was wearing a coat sloppily. His eyes were fixed on the assassin. For a moment, Ferrante had the illusion that he was not angry, but rather in a trance - as if he was thinking of something from long ago.
"Your Majesty!"
The panting young man rushed in, stood at the door for a while, letting his weak legs and agitated nerves slowly calm down, then he walked tremblingly to Raphael and knelt at his feet like an obedient wolfhound.
"Your Majesty."
Ferrante pressed his face against Rafael's leg, and his voice seemed to be squeezed out of his trachea because of fear.
"Rafa."
He murmured silently.
Ferrante rarely called Raphael like that. The Pope raised his hand and placed it on his head, stroking Ferrante's hair twice as if he was stroking a pet, his fingers running through the black hair, silently comforting the still terrified director of the Arbitration Bureau.
"Go and see him."
Raphael patted Ferrante on the head and whispered, his eyes never leaving the assassin.
He felt that something was not right with him. He knew clearly where he was, but his eyes were always blurry. The Pope's bedroom buried in his memory was slowly overlapping with this place, with the smiling Madonna holding the Holy Child, the fragrant stove, the ivory cabinet and the light gold curtains.
The assassin lying on the ground seemed able to stand up at any time and stab the dagger in his heart.
Raphael half opened his eyes. The rich floral scent of the Palace of Calais disappeared, and the smell of myrrh mixed with blood occupied his sense of smell. When Ferrante's body temperature left him, he grabbed the soft mattress under him tightly and tore the thin silk into a ball of rags.
Ferrante squatted beside the corpse, reached out and twisted the other's chin, stared at him for two seconds, checked the items on his body, and quickly came to a conclusion.
"They have been professionally trained to do this kind of work. They have the brand of slaves on their bodies, which has been crossed out—"
Ferrante's voice suddenly stopped. He moved closer to the corpse's clothes, sniffed for a moment, and frowned: "It's the smell of myrrh."
This expensive spice was rare; kings and dukes would use it during prayers in church, but the most common place it was found was... the Vatican in Florence.
Raphael's drooping eyelashes did not move at all, even after hearing these words.
"What else?"
Ferrante used his fingers to spread open the torn skin, trying to identify the mark on the skin. After taking over the Arbitration Bureau, he had contacted almost all the families that were capable of raising private guards. There were not many of them, and those who were connected with the Holy See...
He made a long list in his mind, eliminating them one by one. Halfway through, he heard Raphael's hoarse voice: "Look for it among the cardinals."
Ferrante didn’t ask why he was so sure, and blurted out: “That’s Cardinal Lombardi. He will choose orphans of appropriate age from the church—”
Raphael did not say anything after getting the answer. He was like a sculpture, frozen in the early autumn night of Calais.
“Julius…”
Ferrante heard him utter the name almost in a whisper.
Ferrante's expression changed instantly. Yes, as the second-in-command who stayed in Florence, Julius could not have been unaware of the movements of the cardinals. Could it be that the sinister and venomous snake was completely unaware of the undercurrents within the Vatican? !
But even Ferrante doesn’t dare to face that horrible assumption.
Julius Portia betrayed Saint Sistine I.
Raphael stood up, his face was almost transparent under the light, having lost all color, but what he thought was different from what Ferrante thought.
But for the first time he hoped he was wrong.
"Florence... When was the last time a letter came?"
Before Raphael's question was answered, the sound of hurried footsteps broke the tense atmosphere.
A dusty messenger with cracked lips appeared at the door. Behind him was Leshert, who was in a fully uniform. The Knight Commander looked worried and stood not too far away, looking at Raphael.
Just a glance, Raphael's heart was suddenly filled with fear, he seemed to know what news the messenger from Florence brought.
He doesn't want to listen.
However, no one could hear the Pope's resistance.
The messenger opened his mouth and reported in a hoarse voice: "The nobles of the Papal States have rebelled, the Portia family has blockaded Florence, the Holy See has excommunicated His Majesty Sistine I and re-elected Cardinal Lombardi as the new Pope. His Excellency Julius Portia... was assassinated in the Portia Palace. Your Majesty, they are slaughtering your followers in Florence!"
Raphael slowly took a step forward, as if he didn't hear clearly what he said. This step was very small. After a brief pause, he bent down. The intense pain spreading from his heart made him completely unable to hear what he said next.
"Wait a moment……"
The Pope raised his hand to stop the messenger from speaking. He spoke slowly and calmly, and with clear pronunciation, "I understand... Let me think about it for a while."
He was unreasonably calm, and no one could see his expression, but everyone fell silent at the same time.
The author has something to say:
【Put the lid on the pot】
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