Chapter 143 Extra: Forty Years Later
◎ Saint Sistine I’s 70th Birthday (Part 1)◎
The Papal States have been very busy recently. Since the beginning of last year, diplomatic envoys from various countries have arrived in Florence one after another. In early February 1127, when spring had not yet fully opened its smile to Florence, the Sistine Palace was surrounded by a high-pitched joy and excitement. The envoys wore their most gorgeous and decent clothes, and led by the monks, they climbed the magnificent steps in front of the square with their heads held high, their hearts filled with proud excitement.
Florence did not send out an invitation to the whole world. According to some secretaries in the Papal Palace who were not so honest after drinking, the Secretariat only sent out invitations to several national leaders represented by Roman on behalf of His Majesty. But as everyone knows -
The birth of Saint Sistine I is public information. Decades after he became the undisputed Lord of Syracuse, young people born in this generation grew up listening to his stories. The glory of the entire era was concentrated in Florence, where Saint Sistine I lived. How could they miss the opportunity to see the saint on earth with their own eyes?
With this idea in mind, monarchs of the entire Western world began collecting all kinds of treasures that could serve as gifts in 1125, including the most beautiful flowers, the most dazzling gems, the oldest crowns, the most rare animals... The citizens of Florence were amazed by this, and diplomats from various countries were happy to show off the rare treasures they brought after entering Florence. The amazement in the eyes of the citizens of Florence gave them an incomparable sense of satisfaction.
Their arrival was not rejected - that was of course. Saint Sixtus I possessed all the glorious virtues of mankind. When he entered his twilight years, he was compassionate, kind, gentle, knowledgeable... He almost became a concept condensed from these qualities. Young people who had not experienced his youth could not imagine that the monarch in the story who swept across Assyria with flags and split Calais with swords and fire was the same person as this old man. The monarch in the story was iron-blooded, cold-blooded and decisive, but the person they saw?
Although most of the power in Syracuse is actually in his hands, the young people prefer to call him Your Majesty or that somewhat exaggerated but absolutely sincere title - Saint on Earth.
The secretariat of the Papal Palace calmly welcomed these uninvited guests and properly accommodated them, arranging for young tour guides from the City Hall to lead them on a tour of Florence. Those young tour guides were all children from the lower town. After graduating from the monastery that taught them to read, they were hired by the City Hall and received a salary. More importantly, they broadened their horizons in the process, which provided them with very good resumes for applying for other jobs in the future.
After all, the city hall will only hire children under the age of thirteen, and every child who leaves the downtown area in this way will leave this position early and hand over the job to the next generation who needs it.
When that day in February arrived, all the envoys gathered early in the Sistine Palace. They looked up at the magnificent stone steps and the palace standing at the top, and couldn't help but exclaim in admiration.
"It is truly an amazing work of art, a masterpiece of mankind!" The administrator from the Duvisi Federation exclaimed with squinted eyes.
The palace supported by huge stone steps is indeed worthy of such praise. It is like a palace resurrected from the distant Roman Empire. Twenty-four thick round Roman columns support the three-story palace. Every little detail is finely carved and decorated with curlews, roses, and of course the ubiquitous lilies and thorn crowns. When standing at the bottom of the steps and looking up, you will be captured by the desolate and quiet majesty of the ancient Roman style. The monarch's majesty is wedged into the guests' hearts like a nail being hammered into them as they look up and climb the long steps.
The Duke of Pompadour stood in the middle of the steps, holding his cane, and asked the monk accompanying him with great interest: "Was His Excellency the Duke of the Rhine assassinated here more than forty years ago?"
The monk had always maintained a dignified expressionless face. When he heard this question, his eyebrows moved slightly and he politely flattered: "You know a lot about Florence."
It was hard to tell whether this statement was sarcastic or not, so Duke Pompadour simply took it as a compliment.
"Ah, who among the young people of Syracuse did not grow up listening to your Majesty's stories?" The young duke, who just turned 25 last year, said excitedly, turning his head to look around, seeming to have completely regarded this journey as some kind of holy land tour of childhood and historical stories.
"...After the last head of the Portia family was betrayed and assassinated and died in front of the palace gate, the Portia family fell into irreversible decline, until the merciful His Majesty forgave this ancient family, and a new and pious Portia family was born in the ruins. They continued their former glory and once again became synonymous with art and wealth...And the palace that buried the last head of the Portia family was dedicated to Saint Sistine I, and became the place where His Majesty lived most often besides the Papal Palace..."
The Duke of Pompadour stood on the steps, looking at the magnificent palace in front of him, his eyes glimpsing the intoxicating light of history. The words he recited came from the "Modern History of Florence" which was newly compiled a few years ago. This book was published after strict review by the Secretariat of the Papal Palace. Every aristocratic family chooses to use it for their children's historical enlightenment.
"If that is what you are referring to," the monk admitted frankly, "yes, it was here that His Excellency the Duke of the Rhine was betrayed."
There was one thing he didn't say. His father was originally a servant of the Portia family. After that night full of conspiracy and blood, his father also participated in the cleaning work. The servant who returned home sighed to his little son that it was hard to imagine how much those people hated their master. The blood on the steps was like a waterfall flowing down from near the top. It took more than 20 servants three days to wipe off the last trace of Lord Portia in the world bit by bit with clean water and rags. However, the steps were made of some not-so-smooth stone, and some cracks and crevices might still be seeping with the blood of that adult.
The monk kept his mouth shut. He would not deny the facts, but he would not bring up this tragic story to amuse others.
Although His Majesty never stopped people from discussing these matters, everyone in the Papal Palace vaguely knew that the death of Mr. Portia might not be such a trivial matter to His Majesty.
They respected and loved the benevolent King, so they tacitly kept silent about it.
They walked up the high steps and entered the magnificent hall under the guidance of the waiter.
As soon as Duke Pompadour entered the room, he noticed a young man standing by the curtains of the oriel window. It was hard for people who entered the room not to notice him, not because the place he was standing in was so conspicuous. On the contrary, it was almost remote. But there is always such a person who can illuminate wherever he passes by with his brilliance.
The young man looked to be less than 20 years old, tall, with beautiful golden-brown curly hair, plump white cheeks, deep blue eyes, and delicate and beautiful features, as if he had been kissed by an angel. His whole body was glowing as bright as a gem. His stiff silk coat with silver flowers was long to his calves, covering him with a thin halo that was enough to make everyone who saw him sigh at the partiality of the Holy Lord.
"Who is that?" asked the Duke of Pompadour impatiently.
The monk took a look and answered as usual: "That is the grandson of Her Majesty Queen Romanina, the brother of Grand Duchess Romanina, His Excellency Duke Hesandora."
Duke Pompadour stared at the young duke and sighed, "So he is the grandson of Her Majesty the Queen... In terms of blood relationship, he is the third generation of Your Majesty... If Your Majesty had such a face when she was young, then I can understand why the books never tire of praising Your Majesty's beauty."
The monk held back and did not get angry at the frivolous comments on His Majesty's appearance, but he still said unkindly: "Please be careful with your words, Your Excellency."
Duke Pompadour nodded apologetically and quickly found an excuse to go to the side of Duke Hesandora.
The duke and his sister were twins. Queen Roman gave birth to only one princess in her lifetime. The princess, who was destined to inherit a huge empire, contracted an illness and died early, leaving only the twins to her mother. This time, on the Pope’s 70th birthday, the already elderly queen came to Florence in person, bringing only this grandson with her. The duke’s sister was left in Roman as regent by the queen.
Then people clearly realized that Roman would probably have another queen.
The guests on the first floor gathered in groups of three or four to chat, waiting for the host to appear, while on the hidden stand on the third floor, the host of this feast was leaning on the railing and looking down. He was no longer young, his long light blonde hair had faded to silver and was tied behind his shoulders, and wrinkles of age had accumulated at the corners of his eyes. However, the lavender eyes that had amazed the entire Syracuse and were still called "the jewel of the Holy Lord" were still clear and bright.
That kind of breathtaking beauty gradually left him as he turned sixty. No one could deny that he had reached the twilight of his life, but that did not mean that he had become ugly. For some people, even if the sharp and breathtaking beauty had faded, time would equally compensate him with calmness, gentleness, peace and a beauty as vast as the ocean. This made his old age even more sad, just like witnessing the inevitable withering of a flower, making everyone who saw him yearn for his former glory, but could only imagine it in vain and despair.
"What a popular kid."
The Pope looked at the young man surrounded by the crowd on the first floor and smiled slightly.
Sitting on the recliner behind him, the queen, who was wearing a simple and comfortable long dress, snorted disdainfully. She was also in her twilight years, and could no longer lift a saber or ride a horse. Her silver hair was curled up on her head, and her ruby crown was sparkling, but she was still as proud as ever: "They are all fools who have been blinded by beauty."
The Queen sarcastically said: "Many people refer to him as your younger self, which is disgusting to hear."
Anyone who had seen this man in his prime would scoff at the evaluation Duke Hesandora received.
"They don't know how beautiful you were when you were young," the queen said proudly.
Raphael looked at his sister helplessly: "I wish you hadn't said such things to others - such words are not suitable to describe an old man like me."
Sang Xia sighed and said firmly: "I don't care. I always respect the facts."
Raphael looked at the little duke downstairs again: "But sometimes, when I see him, it's like seeing you when you were young. He is very similar to you. You are both as proud as the sun."
After a pause, Raphael asked, "How is Doris?"
This name seemed like some kind of ominous code, casting a faint shadow on the queen's face.
More than thirty years ago, the queen gave birth to Princess Doris, the only heir to the Roman Empire. However, fate did not favor this heir to the vast empire and she died of an illness. Fortunately, she left behind a pair of children, so that the bloodline of the Roman Empire would not be cut off.
But the truth is never that simple.
"I don't know," the Queen replied coldly, "Maybe she regretted it, or maybe she is still indulging in her ridiculous love - who knows, I haven't paid attention to her news for many years."
Raphael stopped talking and gave up his inheritance of the empire for a man. This was courage for Doris at that time, but it was undoubtedly a profound betrayal for Sancha and Raphael.
Both Sanxia and Raphael believed that being obsessed with love was not a big problem. She could have many lovers like her mother - or just one was not impossible. However, the little princess who was raised and spoiled by her mother and uncle and was born with everything lacked a certain talent. She valued her lover's advice more than reason, which made Sanxia keenly smell the signal of uneasiness.
Doris would not be a qualified monarch, and when the queen died, the country would undoubtedly fall into the hands of Doris's ambitious lover.
So the queen decisively killed the man, but this behavior obviously did not win Doris's forgiveness.
Sanxia felt that this was a protection for Doris and another kind of tolerance.
Doris felt that this was an outburst of her mother's terrifying desire for control.
The mother and daughter broke up completely after Doris had another lover who infatuated her.
Sancha left Doris's child behind, secretly exiled her, and announced to the public that the Roman heir had died of illness. Doris' name was completely erased from the Roman court.
Raphael could not interfere. This matter was essentially a political decision within the Roman royal family. Both Sancha and Raphael strictly adhered to an unspoken principle, that is, never interfere in each other's political affairs.
So even when Doris, whom Raphael had loved for many years, was expelled, he did not express any opinion.
"I have never regretted my decision," the old queen said. "Every day, I look at the rosy-cheeked citizens and lively children walking on the streets and feel glad that I made this decision."
"That's good," Raphael said softly, "You know I just want to make you sad."
"What about you, brother?" Sang Xia turned her head and stared at her brother. She rarely called him that, like a naive little girl. "How have you been these years?"
Raphael was stunned for a moment. His fingers gently stroked the cuffs, which were embroidered with delicate lily patterns. After pondering for a while, he shook his head helplessly: "This question... is too difficult to answer. Maybe I should write a paper to answer this overly large question of yours."
Sang Xia looked at him: "Sly politician, are you still thinking about changing the subject at this time?"
Raphael blinked, "Oh, that's a really strong accusation. If you must ask, I'm fine."
He repeated again: "I'm fine, really, I got everything, what else can I be dissatisfied with?"
The author has something to say:
Some small extras! Write a little about Rafa's life over the years.
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