Chapter 135 Heart of the Storm (Twenty-two)
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In mid-March, the Pope's carriage, which had been stationed in Dudley for nearly half a year, finally moved. The master of Syracuse frankly told all those who had been paying attention to him openly or secretly that he would return to Florence.
His attitude was quite generous, as if Florence was still the loyal place that respectfully obeyed his orders and looked forward to his return without any unrest. It was this kind of calmness that gave everyone who was still stuck in the mud of the Papal States a sense of urgency.
No one can explain this sense of urgency. It's like a group of lawless children who, when their parents are not at home, hear their parents' footsteps approaching the door, they always can't wait to clean up the mess and push the unlucky guy who caused the chaos to take the blame.
Raphael, who was returning to Florence at a leisurely pace at this moment, gave them such a strange oppression.
When such anxiety arose, those smart people also vaguely felt the inevitable failure of this chaos.
No one is not afraid of Sistine I. So, now that Sistine I is still alive, who can successfully take the Papal States away from its owner?
The series of intrigues and struggles they waged over the power of the Papal States were like an ignorant child's declaration of dominance in front of his parents, which usually only resulted in a smile or a scolding.
Whether it is a compassionate smile or a merciless rebuke may depend on the mood of the parents and the degree of understanding of the child.
So after Raphael set off, letters from the Papal States flew in like snowflakes. Humble submissions, prayers, and denunciations seemed to have no end, and they poured into the Pope's carriage continuously. These carefully chosen words longed for forgiveness and understanding, but their owners might not know that they never got the chance to unfold in front of Pope Sistine I.
Raphael did not read any of the letters.
He maintained his usual pace of life. After Dr. Polly discovered that he had taken an overdose of drugs, the old man strictly forbade him to devote too much energy to official duties. The power of a doctor who is completely serious cannot be underestimated. Raphael also respected the old man who had taken care of him since his youth, so he simply threw most of the trivial matters to Ferrante.
He also threw these letters to Ferrante. I don’t know if it was Ferrante’s illusion, but Raphael didn’t seem to care much about the rebellion in the Papal States from beginning to end.
In the past few days, the merchants accompanying the team have sent many precious potted flowers to Sistine I. Ever since Raphael's status as the Lord of Syracuse became apparent, more and more merchants have followed his caravan every time he made a public long-distance trip. These people racked their brains to try to present the good things in their hands to the Holy See. As long as they can get a word of praise from the other party, it means that countless orders will come from all directions of Syracuse in the future. However, the picky Holy See rarely likes anything.
This is normal. The more picky he is, the more respectful the merchants will be. They will wish to present all the treasures in the world to him. Only such one in a million can prove the uniqueness of the "Pope's Choice".
Therefore, after Raphael left these pots of flowers and gave them as rewards to the merchant from the Duvisi Federation, the merchant was immediately stared at by jealous and envious eyes.
Raphael bent over and examined the flower buds. They had changed trains a day ago. This carriage was soft and comfortable, with a maple table and several pairs of sofas. It was Ferrante who was working hard behind the table, while their original owners were watering the flowers leisurely.
"What a lot of nonsense." Ferrante frowned and opened another letter. He used a silver letter opener to cut open the wax seal and shook out the papers in the envelope. After smelling the incense on it, the dissatisfaction rose up again.
"Can't they just come over and kneel down?"
The director of the arbitration bureau expressed his opinion viciously.
In his opinion, there was no difference between someone who could write these words in the letter and someone who came and knelt down.
"If it's written in the letter, only he and I will know. If you come over and kneel down, too many people will see it."
Raphael said slowly.
Ferrante sneered, "Noble."
Raphael kept a curled mouth, did not make any comment on his blatant ridicule, and continued to fiddle with the pots of flowers.
No matter how many letters were sent from Florence, the Pope's caravan accepted them all, but not a single letter was sent from the caravan to Florence. When the people in Florence who were eagerly awaiting a reply secretly exchanged information and learned of this situation, the already anxious people were about to collapse.
So Ferrante saw what the bottom line of the nobility was.
Compared with the reserved words and euphemistic prayers before, the letters sent later were all full of tearful pleas and complaints, and the words used were so humble that it really opened Ferrante's eyes.
At the same time, the content they disclosed changed from superficial news used to test Raphael's attitude to real important intelligence. Ferrante did not need to send out the Holy Raven to investigate. These nobles knew almost every action of every family in the whole process of the rebellion of the Papal States.
Raphael didn't say anything, but he easily knew all the details before and after the incident. He then verified what different people said with each other, and what was presented before his eyes was the truth - perhaps even Teion VIII might not know such a complete and detailed truth.
Ferrante was sorting out the clues, holding the papers and putting them together. He and Raphael figured out everything almost at the same time. There was a brief silence in the carriage.
As people puzzled, how could a sane person send an obituary to Raphael while he was happily staying in Calais? There is no doubt that Tyn VIII is a smart man, and a very patient one at that. The person who can make him do this must be someone who has gained his trust.
Julius, this shrewd and cunning man locked the whole of Florence into the magic box he had woven. He provided a breeding ground for lies and a cornerstone of chaos for the ambitious people in the box, coaxing these unstable elements into exposing their ambitions, and then opened this beautiful box to let them see the cruel reality.
His actions seemed to have accomplished nothing except causing a massive chaos, but Ferrante knew very well that without this chaos, Raphael would have found no suitable reason to reorganize those ambitious nobles and the church where rebels were lurking.
Of course, Raphael could patiently spend many years trimming off the rotten branches and leaves bit by bit, but pruning and mending would never be as good as digging out the rotten roots and exposing them to the sun.
Julius handed the Pope an excellent knife and even thoughtfully prepared an excuse to put it away.
The death of the Secretary General of the Papal Palace was enough to serve as a fuse, and the death of the patriarch of Portia could also be a reason for the Pope to appease the remaining nobles.
How thoughtful.
Ferrante was almost applauding such an ingenious design, which used his own death to such an extent. He could not help but shudder at Julius's cruelty and malice. The gentle gentleman who always smiled, in a way that was not in line with his style, arrogantly occupied a position in the Pope's heart that would never be replaced.
As long as Raphael lived in Florence, as long as this city of cities remained subservient to him, in every grand celebration every year, when the people of the city cheered the name of Saint Sistine I, Raphael would inevitably remember that in such submission, there was the name of Julius written in blood.
"Cunning nobleman." Ferrante cursed silently through gritted teeth.
But at the same time he also sneered. Julius would have no other way to achieve such a goal, but he chose to sacrifice his own life. What does this mean?
Does this mean that he thinks this is the only way to make Raphael remember him?
A cowardly fellow.
The director of the Arbitration Bureau, who was good at reading people's minds, showed a sneer in his deep blue eyes.
Raphael remained silent longer than Ferrante. He had long guessed that Julius was behind this, so he was not surprised by such a result. What he saw now only made him certain of another thing - another thing that Ferrante had not yet realized. ↙
But Ferrante will probably find out soon enough.
Raphael gave a helpless smile and complained secretly to the long-dead man, "How did Ferrante offend you?" Why is there so much hostility towards Ferrante?
In the hazy and swaying sunlight, a dim shadow passed by, and a slender figure seemed to be vaguely reflected on the empty sofa opposite. A man with long iron-gray hair was leaning lazily on the cushion with a cane in one hand. Hearing his complaint, he shifted his gaze from the window to Raphael's face, and an arrogant and cunning smile flowed from his deep purple eyes, like a fox that had caught its favorite prey.
The train passed through a jungle, and when the light that had suddenly dimmed came on again, the sofa in front was still empty. Raphael sighed softly and suppressed this illusion.
"Let Leshert come over here."
Ferrante raised his eyebrows, said nothing, and obediently went to the front of the train to call the knight commander who often stayed there to enjoy the scenery.
When he arrived before the Pope, Raphael realized that he had not summoned him alone for a long time. Leshet always kept the Knights on guard outside, and after the assassination, they patrolled the Dudley Palace day and night. Raphael remembered that when he was assigned a task after the assassination, the Knight Commander's face turned pale. He realized something belatedly and frowned.
Before Leshert could say anything, he noticed that the Pope's expression had inexplicably become much more serious. He looked at him coldly. The Knight Commander, who had been calm and composed, felt his whole body tense up and began to recall if he had done anything wrong recently. After thinking for a while, he couldn't think of anything, so he widened his eyes slightly, looking dazed and innocent.
The blond and blue-eyed knight looked like a typical saint, a good man, and a moral model. When he expressed his innocence with his expression, even the most stringent trial court would be shaken by his verdict.
Unfortunately, he was facing a cold and cruel monarch who stood above the court of trial.
"Is your injury healed?"
Raphael asked suddenly.
Leshert looked natural, with just the right amount of confusion: "What's the injury?"
Raphael glanced at him and didn't comment on his acting skills: "You are my Knight Commander. Your rewards and punishments should be given by me."
The Pope raised his eyelids, and his cold lavender eyes seemed to be able to penetrate into Leshert's heart at a glance: "I don't want this to happen again."
His tone was calm, and even though he didn't get Leshert's confirmation, he was certain of a certain fact.
The Knight Commander was silent for a moment, then placed one hand on his shoulder and said, "I will obey your orders."
Raphael quickly dropped the subject: "After returning to Florence, I will give you a list. You take the members of the Knights Templar and imprison all of them in your own home. If one escapes, you can use your knights to replace him."
His voice was still cold. Lesherte immediately realized who those people would be. After hesitating for a moment, he asked, "Will Florence usher in a great purge?"
Raphael paused for a moment and said politely, "If that's what they want."
Leshert: "...no one wants a purge, especially after almost everyone got caught up in this mess."
Raphael smiled silently: "That's not necessarily true.
, as long as the people who can speak shut up quickly enough, no one can accuse them of their crimes, right? Do you believe it or not, as long as they can clear themselves, they will act faster than anyone else? ”
Leshert was silent for a moment. Of course he believed it.
When ambition, greed and the desire to survive are intertwined, they will give birth to bloodthirsty monsters.
"The last person to carry out a great purge in Florence was Ella II. Even now, he is still nailed to the pillar of shame. All the books in Syracuse curse him for his brutality and shamelessness, and such curses will undoubtedly be passed down for thousands of years."
Leshert hinted.
"No need to be so tactful. You can just say it directly. If I kill too many people, I will become a perverted tyrant in the future. Maybe the next Grand Duke Nicholas will be based on me."
The Pope's nonchalant attitude obviously made Leshert feel a little helpless, and his little joke about vampires also made the Knight Commander unable to laugh.
After a long while, Leshert said sullenly, "You shouldn't mention those ominous and inferior things."
"Oh," Raphael smiled, remembering the Knight Commander's unusual integrity in some aspects, "So... the next Caligula?"
"Your Majesty!"
Leshert raised his voice, anger flashing in his emerald eyes. The appearance of the licentious and tyrannical Roman emperor who died miserably in such a conversation was not a good sign.
"Okay." Raphael compromised, "I just asked you to keep an eye on them. As for what happens next, I haven't thought about it yet."
Leshert looked at him for a long moment. “I believe you will make the best choice.”
"Florence always stands firmly behind you, Your Majesty."
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