Chapter 17 Misty Rose (Seventeen)
◎Nightmare and Soothing Iris◎
In addition to the monks and nuns who serve the Pope and the secretaries who do clerical work, the largest number of people in the Papal Palace are guards who perform security work. They are distributed in every corner of the Papal Palace and devote themselves to protecting the supreme head of faith of this city and even the whole world.
Most of them are proud of their job and regard it as the pinnacle of their lives, and those who are able to obtain the position of guarding outside the Pope's bedroom are even more proud.
The two people standing outside the door stood straight, looking around and listening carefully, following the secretary-general's instructions before he left, wishing they could grow another pair of eyes to observe the surroundings.
So when a strange noise suddenly came from the room, they heard it first.
The two of them quickly turned their heads, stared at the double doors carved with angels holding cups, and looked at each other hesitantly.
What's that sound?
They communicated with each other through eye contact.
It sounded like the sound of something heavy falling to the ground... Your Majesty fell off the bed?
One of them tilted his head in thought.
The braver one went up and knocked on the door gently, cleared his throat, and asked tentatively: "Holy Father, are you okay? We seem to hear some noises, is there anything we can do?"
There was a long silence in the room. Just as he was worried that this was a mistake and that he had disturbed the Holy Father's rest, a low and hoarse voice came: "... No, it's nothing, I'm fine."
After a few seconds, he added quietly, "Thank you."
The Holy Father's voice sounded very tired. The guard who received the Holy Father's gratitude was flattered and thought that, in fact, the Holy Father was about the same age as his younger brother. That bad boy was still used to hanging around in the rose room and doing bad things with young men of his age, but the Holy Father was already a big man who shouldered the world's faith. Is this the difference between people?
The guard whispered in his heart
Gulp, but...how should I put it, the Holy Father looks very busy every day. There is a constant flow of business in the Papal Palace, and events involving the faith of various countries and the entire continent will converge in the heart of this holy city. As the Holy Father's guard, he knows very well that the Holy Father's rest time is so short that it can be ignored.
If this is the price I have to pay... Never mind, let that brat go to the rose room to use up his excess energy.
The light from the deliberately dimmed gas lamp in the room was steady, shining on the satin curtains and casting long shadows on the carpet. The messy bed was empty. The young owner of the Pope's Palace was lying on the floor, his chest heaving violently, his brilliant blond hair sticking damply to the skin on his face, neck and collar. His pair of lavender eyes were wide open, with sticky fear swirling in them. He struggled to curl himself up, rubbing his snow-white profile against the wool carpet until his skin began to sting.
This insignificant pain finally pulled him out of the nightmare, and his screaming soul was stuffed back into the empty shell to fill his still trembling body.
Raphael hugged his knees tightly again, as if a baby in the womb was hugging him. From this unfamiliar posture, he gained a little bit of familiarity. Relying on that little bit of reason, he answered the guard outside the door and suppressed his intense breathing rate.
Be quiet, be still, Raphael, he told himself, there is nothing to be afraid of, you are still alive.
Trembling, he touched his heart and then his throat.
The skin was smooth and warm, and my fingers felt hot and wet sweat. The blood was flowing under the skin, and the heart was still beating strongly and rapidly.
His excessive breathing made his eyes dark for a while, and everything in his vision was deprived. He saw the assassin coming silently from the door again in his dream, with the cold blade pressed against his neck, and he could only struggle helplessly in the severe pain. After waking up from the dream, he was suddenly stimulated by the same arrangement as in the dream, and for a moment he could not distinguish between reality and dreams.
So he fell off the bed.
Raphael buried his face deeply into the wool carpet, closed his eyes tightly, and tried hard to suppress the trembling of his body. The feeling of approaching death was too terrifying. Even though he was not that afraid of death, he could not stop his panic.
The young Pope grabbed the long wool on the carpet and curled up into a small ball. His soft blond hair was disheveled and his pale face was faintly red from the wool fibers. He breathed in small sips until his frightened soul was completely grasped by his brain. He used reason to control his running thoughts, and then he slowly stretched out his body.
His limbs were still stiff and numb from the unconscious overexertion just now, and they twitched from time to time. He lay on the ground, pulling up the hanging bed sheet to cover his face, and then suddenly lifted it up after a while.
The feeling of insecurity of being cut off from sight became even more intense.
His eyes wandered around aimlessly, finally landing on a wide low cabinet against the wall used to place decorations.
————
The morning prayer bells rang from the bell tower of the Papal Palace, and the whole of Florence began a new day with the reminder of this bell. Julius got dressed and sat down by the French window near the garden. Simple snacks and morning tea were already placed on the round table, and a bunch of gorgeous goose yellow lilies dripping with morning dew were stretching their petals in a crystal vase.
The fragrant and warm steam of Ceylon black tea blew towards him, soothing Julius' morning grumpiness. He picked up the porcelain cup with a gold rim, blew away the hot steam, and took a sip of the black tea known as "liquid gold". The Queen's Rose outside the window was in full bloom. The gardener had specially trimmed the flowers facing the glass of Mr. Portia to be unusually gorgeous, and regularly dug out the plants that were not growing so well, hoping that Mr. Portia's mood for the day would not be ruined by his work.
You know, serving a noble person carries such risks. There may not be a reward if you do a good job, but if the noble person is unhappy, it is always the people at the bottom like them who will suffer.
And the young head of Portia... that's not a person with a good personality.
Julius turned his head to look at the garden. The steam from the tea blurred his glasses. He took off his glasses, took the flannel handed to him by the servant, and slowly wiped the lenses. He casually said, "The roses in the garden are pretty good. Give the gardener a gold florin."
The attendant made no reply, but it was evident that his order would not be ignored.
Julius thought for a moment and said, "Send your Majesty a bunch of irises, cut from the garden of the Portia Palace, of the best quality."
He raised his eyelids, looked at the sky outside the window which was not yet completely bright, and added lightly: "Now."
The servant immediately understood what he meant, quickly bent down, and retreated silently.
The gentleman's meaning was very clear. They needed to deliver this bouquet of carefully selected flowers from the Botia Garden to the Pope's table before his breakfast. If they failed to do so...
Julius was not a man who got angry easily, and his upbringing did not allow him to yell, but the Portia family would rather face ten roaring Redricks than meet Julius, who they didn't know whether he was angry or not.
The rays of light in the sky burst out with brilliant colors, and the sun finally crawled above the Florence bell tower. As Pope, Raphael needed to strictly abide by the doctrine, get up when the morning prayer bell rang, finish the morning prayer, and then go to the restaurant for breakfast.
When he arrived at the restaurant, Julius was already there. He was standing by the dining table, adjusting a bunch of irises in the vase, placing each flower at the most perfect angle. The pale blue flowers stretched out their branches and petals gracefully, and the slender petals fell gently like slender fingertips, being held and turned by Julius deftly.
The restaurant is made up of several rooms of different sizes. Different rooms are required for banquets of different sizes. The largest room can accommodate hundreds of people for meals, and the smallest one is just enough for two people to sit face to face. The landscape of each room has been carefully designed.
There are usually no guests for breakfast, so usually only the Secretary General and the Pope share the breakfast room. There is only a round table in the breakfast room. The round room has ten windows cleverly opened. Slender plaster columns hold up the semicircular dome. The walls are painted with murals praising spring. The plaster flowerpots in the corners are filled with bouquets of flowers with drooping branches. The natural light fragrance mixed with the heat of the food makes people feel relaxed.
Julius placed the carefully adjusted bouquet of irises in the center of the dining table. Silver cutlery had been laid out on the snow-white tablecloth. After the two took their seats, the servants began to serve the dishes in an orderly manner. Steaming eggs, grilled lamb chops and vegetable soup slowly filled the table. No one spoke, only the light sound of the band playing in the garden could be heard.
When the last plate was removed, a monk in black came in from the door and bowed respectfully to Raphael: "Holy Father."
The Pope looked at him.
The monk said, "Frederic Portia, His Royal Highness the Duke of Luxembourg is waiting for an audience outside the Papal Palace."
Julius raised his eyes and heard Raphael refuse without hesitation: "No, he said my schedule is full today."
The monk withdrew as ordered, and Raphael turned back to look at the head of Portia and raised his eyebrows: "Why, do you want to speak to your nephew?"
Julius smiled and sold his good nephew without hesitation: "How could that be? He really needs some exercise - the irises in the Portia Palace, these are the first flowers of the year. You used to like reading in the garden, and the gardener complained to me several times that you disturbed his work."
Raphael glanced at the beautiful light blue flowers and nodded indifferently: "It's very beautiful - has François agreed to attend the celebration of the birthday of Grace?"
Princess Sancha, who represented Assyria and Rome, had already left Florence. The only person left in the Holy City who represented Calais was Duke François, who held an important position that could not be ignored. As a courtesy, all major events in Florence would of course need to send invitations to this important guest, and it would be best if Raphael should invite him in person.
However, this matter was taken over by Julius. As the Secretary General of the Papal Palace, the Patriarch of Portia, and the Chairman of the Thirteen-member Council of the Free Cities Alliance, this was not considered rude.
"He accepted the invitation, but did not make it clear whether he would attend." Julius answered, paused for two seconds, and saw that Raphael had stood up. He took the cane handed to him by the servant and followed Raphael slowly, keeping a distance of half a step behind him.
"Really?" Raphael sneered, "What new idea does he have?"
It's not that he didn't respect the foreign duke, but François was a really bad man. In just over a month in Florence, he had hooked up with several prominent women, one of whom was even the wife of the former Pope's illegitimate son.
An arrogant man who is lustful, ambitious and unrestrained.
Raphael hated people who couldn't control their primitive desires the most.
It just so happened that because of François's status and power, countless women were willing to be his mistresses - of course, there were some smart men among them. In addition, François himself was handsome, tall and strong, and quite masculine. He was a very popular type nowadays, so it was not a disadvantage to have a romantic relationship with him.
And François... he was proud of his charm and never refused anyone who came to him. @
Raphael had already sensed the underlying anger among the Florentine nobility towards François.
Of course he is happy, but other people’s husbands, fathers, and brothers are all dead?
Although it is normal to have lovers in this era, it does not mean that his simple pursuit of love will be recognized.
Raphael was very afraid that if something really happened, it would end up being brought to him and he would have to solve it - and as the master of Florence, this outcome was very likely to occur.
Raphael now really wanted to drive François, this scourge, back to Calais as soon as possible and let him harm his unfortunate nephew, the little emperor of Calais.
"He doesn't look like he's willing to leave Florence any time soon." Julius is worthy of being the mentor who taught Raphael when he grew up. His thoughts are almost in sync with his.
"If he doesn't want to go back, then find him something to do." The young Pope said impatiently and coldly, "Throw this scourge back to Calais. Florence does not need this type of scum."
He rarely said such explicit dirty words. Julius slightly widened his eyes in surprise, but soon he began to laugh. A strand of his iron-gray hair fell on his dark red lips as he nodded. “I understand, Holy Father.”
The author has something to say:
There are too many characters to push, so let's do some daily activities to relax.
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