Chapter 20 Misty Rose (Twenty)
◎New members of the Pope's Guard◎
Besancon spitted and accused Portia of one thing after another. Raphael listened attentively with a smile on his face, nodding slightly in agreement from time to time, or responding lightly with one or two words, allowing Besancon to unconsciously reveal a lot of his original
Something I hadn't intended to say.
After he left Raphael and his hot head calmed down, he realized that he seemed to have said a little too much.
It was really strange. Raphael clearly didn't express his attitude or say anything useful from beginning to end. Logically, such an unequal conversation would be difficult to continue. However, Besancon didn't feel that he was being perfunctory. After leaving, he still felt that he hadn't finished yet.
...It shouldn't matter, Besancon thought hesitantly, and was sure that although he said a lot of things, most of them were boring chats or gossip - his wife was keen on socializing and liked to compare with the wives of other lords, so he was forced to know a lot of other lords' private affairs.
I just didn't expect that His Holiness the Pope, who looks so bright and elegant, actually likes to listen to such family gossip. It's really inconsistent with his appearance.
Raphael watched Besancon leave with a smile. The foolish lord had not yet realized that he had been fooled by the Pope and even forgot what his original purpose of coming here was.
Raphael was too lazy to get involved in the undercurrent of disputes between Portia and the lords at this point in time. Let them think that he was just a puppet pope. He had no power and no manpower now. Instead of rushing into the fight and getting defeated, it would be better to wait and see on the sidelines and accumulate strength at the same time - to take back the authority that he deserves.
Thinking of this, Raphael's brows unconsciously frowned again. After all, he had no one to use.
He once believed that sincerity and kindness would be exchanged for equal rewards, but the facts proved that everything was just his imagination. In Florence, this huge and luxurious world of fame and fortune, only tangible interests and benefits can win allies.
For example, Julius.
He raised his eyes and looked around, and saw the tall figure with long iron-gray hair standing not far away, talking with an archbishop. Both of them had just the right smiles on their faces.
His relationship with Julius was more naked than in the previous life, a relationship maintained entirely by interests, but it had to be said that it was also more frank and intimate than in the previous life.
How ridiculous.
It just proves that sincerity is worthless and trust is just empty rhetoric in the drama.
Raphael averted his gaze and silently observed the scene. He saw that the lords were also gathered in twos and threes. Besançon was talking to the oldest lord among them. The man had hair that was too luxuriant for his age. The gray hair was neatly combed back from the top of his head. The ends of his hair were a dark red like rust. The dry and loose flesh on his skinny face drooped down, like a Shar-Pei dog that was intimidating without being angry. Raphael thought for a moment and dug out the old man's surname from his thin memory.
Russo.
The shipping family of the Syracuse Peninsula started out as penniless pirates, and after washing off the strong smell of blood, they transformed themselves into the protectors of shipping and patrons of sailors. Like a greedy beast, they occupied most of the ports of the Papal States. Except for the Portia family who relied on the pervasive capital flow and currency issuance power to forcefully knock away the claws of the beast, other lords had to retreat to the Russo family in shipping.
A greedy and shameless old man.
Raphael had a very bad impression of the current ruler of Russo. He still remembered that his ship loaded with ore had to pass through the port of the Russo family to reach the Papal States from Assyria. In order to enter the port in a low-key and inconspicuous manner, he needed to pay a high berthing fee for the ship - which was another bribe to the Russo family in name only.
This bribe of nearly one thousand gold florins, which also included hush money for low-level officials and secretaries, was not something that Raphael could easily take out even though he was a little better off now.
What's more, the "ship berthing fee" that made the Russo family a fortune was not allowed by the Papal Palace at all. The Russo family set up this tax but did not pay a penny to the Papal Palace.
They made huge profits on the land of the Papal States and took advantage of the ports of the Papal States, and refused to pay tribute and taxes to the Pope.
Raphael looked at the old but strong Russo from a distance, his lavender eyes revealing a well-hidden cold malice.
The celebration of the birthday of Grace will last for several days. After the first fireworks explode in the twilight, the whole square is plunged into a boiling atmosphere. A large amount of wine is poured into the fountain, and anyone with a cup can scoop it for free. The mountains of bread are steaming, and fresh bread keeps rolling out of the brass pipes and falling into this fragrant mountain.
Raphael admitted that he felt a little distressed.
But he couldn't say.
So the only option is to turn a blind eye.
Raphael left the banquet early. As his deputy, the Secretary General of the Papal Palace naturally took his place as the center of attention. Julius was more familiar with this occasion than anyone else. He moved among the crowd skillfully, talking to everyone who tried to talk to him. He found the most suitable topic the moment their eyes met, and unnoticedly dug out what he needed from the other person's words.
The man with iron-gray hair and deep purple eyes is at the most charming age in his life. The enthusiasm of young boys is not as reserved and elegant as him. The huge wealth and power add unspeakable brilliance to him. His eyes are affectionate, gentle and distant just right, providing space for people to be moved, but also reserving a distance of withdrawal and ambiguity.
What we want is this kind of mellow sexiness that is both close and distant, and both intimate and provocative.
With such abilities, it's no wonder that all the women in the audience would unconsciously set their sights on him.
However, no one could tell that Julius, who was completing the same old social content with ease, was actually distracted.
He held a lady's hand and spun around on the dance floor. When they faced each other, the lady winked at him with her light green eyes, making a secret signal that all adults knew. Receiving this ambiguous invitation, the head of the Portia family remained unmoved, and spun again to the beat with his arms around the lady's waist, while exchanging partners with the dancer next to him.
The woman who was moving further and further away from Julius at the beat and pace could only show an unwilling expression, but the sociable Julius gave her a very gentle and apologetic smile, which perfectly soothed the other party's dissatisfaction at being rejected.
During this little episode, Julius casually thought about the arrangements for the next few days and the meeting with the lords. Thinking of this, the smile on his face deepened, and he looked so gentle and affectionate that it was intoxicating. However, the thoughts in his mind at the moment were so violent and bloody that they could not be put on paper.
Let me reiterate that Julius is not a good-tempered person. He grew up with the power to call the shots and successfully grasped all the power of this huge family. Even Redrick, who does whatever he wants, is afraid of him. How could such a person be as polite and gentle as he appears to be?
Julius had long been tired of those stupid colleagues who were greedily eyeing the Papal States. It was not enough to just hold on to the benefits, but they wanted to take more...
Are they idiots? There was nothing left in the Papal States for them to divide, or did they want to take Florence away from the Pope as well?
They didn't even think that the Pope, who seemed to be bullied by them at will, was actually the supreme faith of hundreds of millions of people on the continent.
They are just speculators who took advantage of the Pope's weakest moment to make some profits. They should just curl up and eat their meals. But they still greedily want more.
Julius had noticed that the ship was spinning out of control, and he refused to go down with these idiots.
So he immediately turned around and boarded the Pope's ship. Although the strength gap between Florence and the lords seemed huge, with the help of Portia, everything was not a problem.
Putting aside other issues, the most fundamental problem is of course... the fragmented Papal States can no longer meet Portia's needs. If Portia wants to make further progress, it needs more land. Florence cannot move, and Portia cannot directly go to war with other countries, so it can only trouble other lords to move.
Julius's deep purple eyes hidden under his long eyelashes were reserved and gentle, and even when thinking about such things, his smile did not fluctuate at all.
The music in the palace was melodious. Raphael turned three corridors before he completely left the sound behind. The Pope's guards and deacons followed not far away, ready to fulfill any request of the Pope, but the young Pope completely ignored them. His plain white robe made graceful folds on the ground, and he went straight back to his bedroom.
The two guards waiting at the door saw the Pope coming back and immediately opened the magnificent door on the left and right. Raphael was about to go in when he suddenly caught a glimpse of a familiar face he had seen not long ago.
"you……"
This moment of thinking slowed down his pace. He simply stopped and looked at the black-haired boy: "What's your name?"
In fact, you are asking this question even though you already know the answer, but as it is the "first meeting", this process still has to be followed.
The boy with curly black hair stood with his back straight. Although his face still had a hint of childishness, his features already showed the almost demonic magic that would come in the future.
"My name is Ferrante, Holy Father."
He bowed his head deeply in accordance with etiquette and answered. Although he wanted desperately to look the other person in the eye and see the face of the saint who was so close to him, he couldn't.
Be patient, Ferrante, he whispered silently and slowly in his heart, be patient, just like countless times before, as long as he is patient... he can always achieve what he wants.
Raphael looked at the head that bowed respectfully: "I haven't seen you before, are you new here?"
Ferrante's voice was a little trembling, and Raphael said tolerantly: "Don't be nervous, I won't punish you."
Ferrante paused, and when he spoke again, his trembling voice and unstable breathing had stabilized a lot. He raised his head boldly. The deacon behind Raphael was about to scold the ignorant guard, but he was glanced at by the Pope and had to swallow what he wanted to say.
With tacit consent, Ferrante raised his head and looked directly at his saint for the first time.
It was exactly the same as what he had seen countless times in his dreams, with long, soft light golden hair and lavender eyes, as if embraced by a hazy halo. God's light favors His children walking on earth, and the saint was also looking at him, and in the moment their eyes met, Ferrante suddenly felt his heart beating like a drum.
He didn't understand what this emotion was. He seemed to see himself struggling in the mud in the other person's eyes, and then in this sight, he gained peace and comfort that he had never had before.
Ferrante quickly lowered his head to hide his inexplicable expression on the verge of tears, and heard the Pope change the subject and began to ask the name of another new guard next to him who was selected like him.
"…They are new members of the Pope's Guard selected from the churches below. They are all pious, kind, and loyal children to you. These two are the most hardworking, so they are allowed to serve by your side today."
A deacon who was walking behind Raphael came up to report in a low voice.
"Really? I thought you guys would have to train for a while longer." Raphael looked at them tenderly and sighed softly. "It must have been very hard to complete the training in such a short time. My safety from now on will be in your hands."
Hearing the amiable His Majesty say this, the two new members straightened up at the same time, and the brown-haired one shouted, "I swear to protect Your Majesty with my life!"
Raphael looked at his eyes that were shining with excitement, smiled, and walked into the bedroom.
The two doors closed behind him, Raphael's smile disappeared, he silently repeated Ferrante's name, and a rare hint of hesitation appeared on his face.
The author has something to say:
I will be entering v tomorrow, I hope you guys will support me! [The fat pigeon who is collecting three chapters to be included in the v-draft scratches his belly]
Chapter 21 Mist
Rose (21)
◎Confrontation◎
Raphael had another nightmare.
He woke up from his dream in a sweat. This time it was better than before, at least he didn't fall off the bed, but that was all.
The skinny Pope lay stiff and rigid on the bed with fear. In his perception, even the expensive and soft silk quilt became a weapon that would entangle him to death. Raphael tried to relax his body, but his overly tense muscles did not obey his command at all. He still followed his instinct and remained alert to the outside world.
A thin layer of sweat wet the corners of his eyes, and his hair fell into his eyes, bringing an itchy and stinging pain, but he didn't dare close his eyes. His trembling and desperate soul was still immersed in the aftermath of the nightmare, giving him the illusion that he would be killed if he closed his eyes.
After taking a few slow breaths, Raphael finally regained some sense. He threw back the quilt and got out of bed. He walked to the gas valve switch on the wall and flipped the on-and-off switch hard. The mechanism buried in the wall began to work, and a hissing sound was made when the air flow passed through the brass pipe. After a moment, the gas lamp in the room lit up steadily, casting a comprehensive light in the room.
Raphael did not stop. He flipped the switch again and pressed the airlock to the bottom. The light immediately changed from moderate to dazzling white. The huge and gorgeous crystal chandelier on the top was like a miniature sun. All shadows had no place to stay here.
Surrounded by such light, Raphael finally calmed down.
He returned to the bed and sat for a while, using his hands to push his slightly sweaty hair back, revealing his smooth forehead. The fire in the fireplace had gone out, and the temperature slowly dropped with the half-open window. After Raphael was reborn, he was very resistant to others entering his bedroom, especially when he was alone, so he refused to let the butler come in to look after the fireplace at night, so the temperature in the room was always much lower in the second half of the night.
He sat on the edge of the bed in the steadily descending chill, perhaps thinking about something or perhaps thinking about nothing. The floor clock in the corner ticked away, and the sound of its mechanical operation gave him a silent, calming force. He finally felt a little peace, but at the same time, he also felt belatedly sleepy.
Raphael stood up, apparently without any intention of turning off the light. Instead, he rolled up the thin blanket on the bed, walked to the decorative cabinet with ease, and stuffed himself and the quilt into it.
The cabinet was very wide and low. All the decorations inside were cleared out one day according to the Pope's order, but the original wooden boards and fence partitions could not be removed and were still retained. These things prevented him from lying down comfortably. There was also a strong smell of spices in it, which would make his head slightly dizzy after smelling it for a long time.
But Raphael needed this kind of discomfort that was almost torturous.
He curled up his body and stuck it in the cabinet. The uncirculated blood soon caused his limbs to feel cooled and tingling. In this needle-like pain and the dizziness brought by the spices, Raphael obediently sank into an endless black dream.
The next day, the bells of the celebration rang as scheduled, and more people gathered in the Square of Miracles than the day before. Amid the noisy noise, a light drizzle fell from the sky. The sudden change in weather did not dampen people's enthusiasm. The people of Florence were still very happy, laughing loudly while covering their heads with wooden boards picked up from somewhere.
Ferrante stood in front of the door all night. The thin armor did not keep him warm, and he felt as if his whole body was soaked in cold water. When he changed shifts, his numb legs made him unable to move for a while.
The experienced old guard bent down, pinched Ferrante's calf hard, and hit it twice. Ferrante was almost stimulated by the feeling and bent over. A sore, numb and itchy feeling rushed from the muscles to the brain, almost making Ferrante's eyes go black.
The old guard chuckled, obviously knowing this feeling very well. After Ferrante recovered, he patted the black-haired boy on the shoulder and said, "Hurry up and eat. We have grilled steaks this morning. They are all freshly slaughtered calves. Let the chef pick the most tender ones for you!"
Ferrante gritted his teeth and nodded, then he and his short-haired companion limped away, pulling each other.
Raphael finished his morning prayer, pushed the door open and went out. As soon as he took a step, he was stunned.
It's raining?
The sound of raindrops hit the ground, and a trace of irritation flashed across the face of the young Pope, who always smiled. He said nothing all the way to the restaurant, and the guards following him did not dare to make a sound, for fear of upsetting the Pope.
This obvious unhappiness disappeared when he stepped into the restaurant and saw the people inside. No, it should be said that it was well hidden.
Julius sat at the dining table waiting for him. The orchestra played a brisk morning song. The violinist imitated the melodious singing of birds, and his bow danced lightly on the strings.
Raphael glanced at the large floor-to-ceiling window. The sound of rain had become inaudible, and through the glass he could only see the plants in the garden rustling.
His glance was very brief, but it was clearly seen by Julius who had been paying attention to him. Julius turned his head and whispered something to the butler beside him, then stood up from the table, walked towards Raphael, and left the restaurant with Raphael without leaving a trace.
The deacons serving the Pope in the Papal Palace were all efficient. When Julius and Raphael walked to the Spring Flower Hall next door, the dining table there had already been set. Pleasant music was coming from behind the emerald velvet curtains, and the violinist was hidden behind them so as not to disturb the Pope's meal.
This restaurant is enclosed, and the dome is painted with the god of spring born from the palm of the god. Colorful flowers are hanging from the top and turn into real flowers when they get close to the ground. Vines and green ivy, sweet olive, licorice, mint, rose and calamus are arranged into clever shapes, climbing up the walls and turning the Spring Goddess Flower Hall into an indoor garden.
Raphael did not ask why they had to change restaurants, and Julius did not say anything extra. The two of them finished their breakfast in a silent and leisurely atmosphere. Raphael was still the first to leave.
Julius watched the young pope leave, twirled the Portia ring on his finger, and turned to his attendant, "Where is Francois?"
At yesterday's celebration, François only appeared for a short while, with his usual arrogant attitude. He arrived at an awkward time, and his contempt for the Pope was almost clearly written on his face.
When he arrived, Raphael had just left. François seemed unhappy that he did not embarrass the Pope in person. He greeted Julius with a sullen face - of course he did not gain any benefit, and finally left with an unhappy look on his face.
Julius immediately understood what this arrogant Duke of Calais was planning. Perhaps it was because he controlled a huge empire and even the Emperor of Calais had to look up to him, but he could not actually ascend the throne. Therefore, this regent duke was hostile to all those who were "legitimately" higher in status than him, and seemed to want to declare his own nobility by embarrassing them.
Sure enough, he heard the servant answer: "Duke François's carriage is already waiting at the door and will arrive at the Papal Palace in about twenty-five minutes."
The banquet and celebration in the square would last for several days, and the banquet prepared for the nobles of Florence in the Papal Palace would certainly be no less spectacular. Upon hearing that François was coming early, Julius, who knew that he had no good intentions, slightly raised his eyebrows.
Originally, it wasn't a big problem. Raphael had encountered this kind of difficulty many times before and could handle it easily, but...
Julius raised his eyes and seemed to be able to see the falling rain outside through the wall.
"The weather is so bad today, so please don't bother Duke Francois to come." The head of the Portia family said cheerfully.
The servant instantly understood the master's meaning and nodded. An hour later, Raphael, who was sitting in his seat talking with the nobles, heard the news that Duke François's carriage frame suddenly broke down on the road. Perhaps a rivet on the wheel was loose, and the wheel was directly separated from the body of the carriage. The carriage overturned to the side of the road, and the noble Duke almost rolled into the dirty ditch.
Having encountered such embarrassment in public, Duke François did not appear in the Papal Palace for a whole day, which gave Raphael some vague comfort in his annoyance.
He really hated that rooster that spread male hormones everywhere.
The joy brought by this news made him maintain a pleasant expression when he saw Sir Dondoler. Although he was amazed by Sir Goose's wasteness, he still smiled.
"Holy Father, may your glory always bless the great Florence." Sir Goose bowed his head deeply to the monarch of Florence. This action made people wonder whether his slender neck would break when he raised his head because he could not support the weight of his head.
"Good day, Sir Dondol." Raphael calmly erased the boring imagination in his mind and responded with a polite greeting.
After the death of Archbishop Dondol, Sir Dondol the Younger removed the "Younger" from his title and gloriously became Dondol. However, as Julius had told Raphael before, the battle between him and his brother for the title had not yet come to a conclusion, so the "Sir" here was just a polite title and did not mean that he had a real title.
Sir Goose was obviously also very sensitive to the word "Sir". When he heard it, his face twitched twice, and he looked a little uneasy. He stammered, "Holy Father, I am honored to see your glory rise here. Your kindness and love have moved the people of Florence. When I came out of the Tandole Palace today, I heard praises for you along the way. In fact, this is not the first time I have heard such sincere praise, but I cannot meet you in person to convey the people's gratitude..."
Raphael listened to Dondol's flattery patiently with a smile on his face.
Three minutes later, Raphael's smile began to fade.
Seven minutes later, the curve of Raphael's lips had flattened.
Twelve minutes later, Raphael looked at Dondol quietly. Sir Goose, who was stared at by the Pope, had cold sweat on his back, but he still insisted on talking nonstop, but his face became more and more red, and even his pronunciation became a little unstable.
Finally, in this silent tug-of-war, Raphael sighed helplessly and raised a hand to stop Dondol's increasingly exaggerated flattery. He didn't know where he found this set of words, but it sounded so corny and stiff. Raphael sincerely hoped that this was not written by Dondol himself, otherwise he would definitely put this Sir Goose on the blacklist of the Pope's Palace.
When he made this gesture, not only he, but also Dondoler showed a look of relief on his face.
Sir Goose wiped the sweat off his face and gave Raphael an awkward and flattering smile: "Holy Father..."
Raphael now had a headache when he heard him say the word "Holy Father" and quickly interrupted him: "You want me to help you get the title of Bishop of Dondol?"
Tang Doler, who had been beating around the bush for so long and still couldn't get to the point, suddenly had his eyes lit up. He nodded vigorously, then realized that his action was not quite appropriate, so he smiled awkwardly.
Watching his series of actions, Raphael sighed silently again.
He finally understood why this man had ended up in such a bad situation.
This is just pure idiocy.
Naive, childish, simple, and always a sure bet.
I can’t ask for help, I can’t speak, and I can’t hide my emotions.
I really don’t know how he grew up in the world of fame and fortune in Florence. Old Don Doller must have been worried about his son.
Raphael expressed his deep sympathy for the deceased archbishop.
But this did not stop him from adding insult to injury.
Although taking advantage of someone's misfortune was a very immoral thing to do, Raphael didn't care.
He himself is in a bad situation right now, so how can he be in the mood to care for others - before his death, old Don Doller begged him to help young Don Doller, and he agreed, but before young Don Doller really came to him, he had no plans to do anything. But since the other party came to him, he couldn't refuse.
Raphael thought so and slowly let go.
He relaxed his body, rubbed his fingers on the cold gold carvings on the armrests of the chair, and put on the most sincere and sweet smile on his face: "I can help you, so what can you give in exchange?"
——Helping is one thing, reward is another.
Old Dondoler had been running business in Florence for so many years, he must have a lot of good things hidden in his hands. No matter what they were, at least Raphael was sure that as a Pope who looked glamorous on the outside but was actually penniless, he would accept anything.
Little Dondoler opened his mouth blankly: "Ah... exchange... I don't know..."
He thought nervously and hesitantly: "Do you... do you need money? There are still 80,000 gold florins in the palace of Tandor..."
Raphael raised an eyebrow.
Seeing his expression, Tang Duole quickly changed his tone: "No, no, no, what I mean is that you must not be short of this little money, except for this, except for this..."
He racked his brains to think about it.
Raphael, who was originally planning to nod in agreement, remained silent and watched him think quietly.
"I still have several manors in my hands, all of which are located in the vicinity of Florence..."
He took a tentative look at the young Pope, and was frightened by the ambiguous smile on the Pope's lips. He immediately lowered his head and murmured: "Let me think about it again, think about it again..."
He was so anxious that cold sweats broke out, and he had the idea of backing out. But no matter how stupid he was, he knew that since things had come to this point, it was absolutely impossible to back down, unless Sistine I himself refused.
"Well... I also have two vineyards and a port on the border of the Papal States..."
port.
Raphael, who caught this key word, changed his polite smile and said with a kind apology: "Your father asked me to take care of you before he died, but you also know that the situation in the Pope's Palace is not very good. I have not been able to free up my hands to help you. But since you have come to me in person, I will never refuse you. Speaking of which, don't you have a good relationship with Redrick? Why don't you go to Portia? Maybe that will be faster."
As he spoke, he winked at little Dondol affectionately, with an innocent boyish look on his smiling face, as if he was really expressing doubts to his close friend.
But Sir Goose, who had always been silly, suddenly became smart. Although he did not understand the real intention of His Holiness the Pope's question, the warning in his instinct reminded him to tell the truth, so Dondol answered honestly: "I, I thought about it... Portia is indeed very powerful..."
It is an indisputable fact that the emblem of Portia is sometimes more effective in Florence than in the Papal Palace.
When he said this, Raphael was still smiling, and the smile was so sweet that it was almost weird.
"But my brother..." When talking about his brother, Tang Duole couldn't help showing a look of disgust, as if he had swallowed a fly alive, "His mother has a little relationship with Portia..."
He said it very tactfully, but Raphael understood what he meant instantly. After a brief moment of confusion, he did not know whether to laugh or cry.
Dondole's idea was very straightforward. He believed that Portia would help his illegitimate brother, so he tried his best to choose someone who had no relationship with the Portia family or stood on the opposite side to help him. If that didn't work, he would give Portia some good things to make him stand neutral. After thinking about it, he found that the monarch of Florence was his best target.
Indeed, in the eyes of outsiders, Sixtus I was just a puppet controlled by Julius, and a puppet would either follow his master wholeheartedly or become his enemy. If he tried to please the Pope, the worst that could happen was that he would be rejected, or the money would go into Portia's hands - this would make no difference to him, but after taking the money, at least Portia would not favor his brother, and the best outcome, of course, would be that the Pope would help him get his title back.
Sometimes the worst thing is to be unable to give money. As long as Emperor Sistine I accepts the money, there is still room for everything.
Raphael was surprised to find that although Dondol looked stupid, he was actually quite smart at this critical moment.
The Pope was pushed out to fight with Portia, and he hid behind the Pope's shield, so he would not suffer any loss.
Considering the huge amount of gold coins, manors and ports, Raphael didn't mind being used once.
He nodded happily: "I have received your sincerity. I will solve this problem for you."
He turned away after he finished speaking. Tang Duole immediately withdrew tactfully and then happily let go of this important matter.
A countship without real power is actually very easy to deal with. If Cardinal Dondol had not died so hastily that no arrangements had been made, and there was no powerful person in the Dondol family, young Dondol would not have needed to be so humble to please him.
Raphael did not go to Julius to solve this problem. It is not a good thing to put all the solutions on one person. Once Julius rejects him in the future, he will definitely fall into the same predicament.
He looked around the field, and when Besancon looked over, he nodded and smiled at him, then calmly looked away, as if they had just happened to meet each other's eyes.
After a few seconds, Besancon walked up to him and bowed deeply: "Your Majesty."
"Ah, Mr. Besancon." Raphael pretended to be surprised, nodded to him, and exchanged a few words of concern. In the aimless chat, he casually mentioned Dondol: "...Poor Sir Dondol, he was pushed to the limit by his brother, and even lost his composure in front of me just now."
Dandol talked with the Pope for a long time, which was seen by everyone in the audience.
Besancon asked flatteringly: "What happened to Sir Dondol?"
Raphael glanced at him and suddenly realized: "Oh, you don't know this. It's all because of Portia..."
The Pope shook his head and looked at the figure who had disappeared in the crowd with pity: "It is too bad that his younger brother has the blood of the Portia family and is trying to seize his legal right to inherit the title."
Besancon noticed that the Pope's face looked a little grim when he said this, as if he was thinking of his own similar situation.
This is a good thing!
Besançon was overjoyed. If he could get the Pope to the side of the lords, then what reason would Portia have to fight against them? And controlling a Pope...what a dream come true! It seems that Sistine I has long been dissatisfied with Portia, and he only needs to give him a little push to get him closer to him...
Besancon thought of Rousseau's old Shar Pei face again, and his greedy heart moved slightly. If he could use the power of the Pope, perhaps the Besancon family could be like Rousseau.
"That's a pity," said Besancon quickly. "Perhaps I can help you then."
"Oh? What do I have to worry about? Did you make a slip of the tongue?" The handsome Pope looked at him with a half-smile, his eyes filled with a sharp sense of oppression.
But the more he acted as if nothing had happened, the more Besançon became convinced that he had long been dissatisfied with Portia.
"Yes, yes, yes. Of course there is nothing in this world worth your worry. I mean Dondoler. I think the Besancon family can solve this problem for Sir Dondoler. Even if it is Portia, the loyal and kind Besancon is willing to fight against it."
Besancon lowered his voice: "The Besancon family will show you our sincerity."
Raphael didn't know whether he believed it or not. He looked at Besancon with his lavender eyes for a long time before he curved his eyes and said, "Then let me see what Besancon is capable of."
He didn't pay anything, and even his words were ambiguous and vague, but Besancon's expression was as if he had picked up a big bargain from the sky. His cheeks flushed, his eyes lit up, and he couldn't wait to go out and show his abilities.
From beginning to end, Raphael did not give any clear instructions, and even this favor was offered by Besancon himself.
He suffered a loss, helped, did things, and thought he got the upper hand. Where can you find such a good person? Raphael looked at Besancon with almost pity. It was a pity that this method could only be used once, otherwise he really wanted to keep this sucker as a treasure.
Julius, who was repeatedly used as an imaginary enemy, stood in the crowd and suddenly felt a chill. He looked around suspiciously, but didn't find anything unusual. He wondered secretly, was he too suspicious?
Raphael left before the dinner started. Dr. Polly waited in his reception room for more than an hour. When he saw him come in, he glared at him and put the tools in the medicine box in a bang. The Pope, who had been playing tricks just now, sat down immediately and put on an innocent attitude.
"Clothes," Polly said stiffly.
Raphael pulled up his skirt obediently, revealing his pale legs. ◆
Polly touched his knees and felt the bony bones and cold skin. He glared at Raphael fiercely: "If you continue like this, you will be paralyzed sooner or later!"
"I've been sitting all day..." Raphael tried to defend himself, but Polly saw through his lie at a glance.
"What time did you go to bed yesterday? What time did you get up today?"
Polly tapped Raphael's knees and calves with his fingers. Raphael felt the pain of poor blood circulation, but he didn't dare to speak. Of course, he didn't dare to say where he slept. If Polly knew, the old man might be so angry that he died on the spot.
Polly waved his arms and cursed Raphael viciously. The Pope, knowing he was in the wrong, squatted there like a little kitten with shiny fur, not daring to move, with his hands neatly clasped together on his legs, and was extremely easy to talk to.
Polly rushed out with a fierce step, opened the door, and said to the guard at the door: "Go and get a bucket of hot water."
He turned around and walked back, and Raphael immediately gave him a flattering and obedient smile.
Who doesn’t like to see a cute little kitten with golden fur and lavender eyes acting cute? Especially since it originally had sharp claws, it deliberately hid this weapon for you.
Polly took a deep breath and held back what he was about to say.
"Holy Father, the hot water is here."
Unexpectedly, it was Ferrante who came in with the bucket.
The young man stood there somewhat uncomfortably; there were only three of them in the room, and this fact seemed to make him nervous. Beads of sweat were visibly seeping from his temples.
Of course, it could also be because the fireplace in the room was burning too hot.
Raphael sank into a pile of fluffy and soft down cushions, relaxing his tired bones, and a little sleepy warmth filled his head. He saw Ferrante was at a loss, and waved to him: "Come closer."
The black-haired boy came over with a bucket and watched Polly throw a bunch of unknown herbs into the bucket. An indescribable bitter smell emanated from the steam, and the water in the bucket turned dark green. Raphael kicked off his shoes and put his feet in. His pale skin soon turned a faint pink.
This scene somehow made Ferrante a little nervous. He didn't know where to put his eyes, so he had to stare at his toes.
It was very strange. He had seen more explicit and erotic scenes before in the rose room, and he had even gotten used to them. There was nothing wrong this time, so why did he feel uncomfortable all over?
"Ferrante, are you used to staying here?" the young Pope asked in a gentle tone.
"It's fine. The seniors in the guard team take good care of us." Ferrante answered carefully.
The Pope noticed his nervousness and pointed to the sofa beside him, smiling: "Don't be so nervous - when I saw you yesterday, you were also so nervous, as if I would eat you. Doctrine does not allow the Pope to eat people. Please sit down. I don't like people standing and talking to me."
He made a little joke and watched Ferrante sit down.
The handsome boy had a thin face. Perhaps due to the long-term experience of living in the lower class, his skin was a little rough. There were calluses and many small wounds on his bony hands. His curly black hair stood up unruly. Under the uniform black uniform of the Pope's Guard, it could be seen that he was not weak.
Weak muscle definition.
A little malnourished, but healthy, agile, and...intelligent.
Raphael made a quick judgment.
"How did you come up with the idea of joining the Pope's Guard?" Raphael seemed to be chatting with him, and Ferrante was not too wary. After hesitating for a moment, he replied softly: "I am an orphan adopted by the church. The church received an edict from the Pope's Palace, and I was selected."
When he said the word "orphan", Raphael's muscles tensed and then relaxed.
"Really? That's a pity. God will cherish his children who return to his arms." Raphael paused for a few seconds and said slowly.
“Thank you, Holy Father.” Ferrante bowed his head.
"Then... did you come here voluntarily? I mean, your age is just right for studying. If you want to go to school, I can sponsor you. How about Florence Seminary? I studied there. The academic atmosphere and environment there are very good, and there will be no discrimination."
As soon as these words came out, not only Ferrante, but even Polly, who was preparing the herbs, looked at Raphael in astonishment.
He could be said to have watched Raphael grow up, and no matter how heavy the filter was, he had to admit that in many cases, Raphael was not a particularly kind child.
No, this doesn't mean that Raphael is a bad person, but that he has a scale in his heart that measures things according to his own standards. When he judges that something is beneficial, he will do it even if it will hurt others. And when he judges that his life is suitable to be put on the scale, he will give his life without hesitation.
This kind of fairness that was close to absolute fraternity once frightened Polly, and sometimes even made him hallucinate as if he had really seen a saint walking on earth.
The saints in ancient legends did not just save people, they also had the merit of killing. The balance never changed because of life or death. Their standards of good and evil were strangely similar to Raphael's.
Even though Polly was focused on medicine, he was well aware that Raphael's current situation was difficult.
Sistine I of Florence is now almost known as a puppet pope. Portia lifted him to the throne of Saint Lea, and through him, he held the supreme authority of Florence and even the entire continent. The orders of the Papal Palace could not even leave Florence. The previous pope plundered wealth and distributed it to his relatives. Sistine I had no manpower, no money, and no power.
Raphael had none of that.
And at this time when people are most needed, faced with a young, promising boy with a clean background, he actually chose to reject him?
Polly thought there was something fishy going on.
Either Raphael is crazy or he is crazy.
But there was no way Raphael was crazy;
Polly came to this conclusion with satisfaction and stuffed himself with a mint to refresh himself.
Ferrante had to admit that he was indeed shaken for a moment.
Studying at the Florence Seminary is a beautiful dream that many children from the slums dare not even think about.
His mother also mentioned this matter in the same longing tone, but the frail woman did not dare to mention the prestigious school. She only mentioned the only church in the slum that had a religious school. The school was so small that it only had one classroom, and it was converted from the church's restaurant. But for people like them, it was already a place that was out of reach.
"Ferrante, it would be great if you could read. You could become a monk or a clerk. You are so smart, you will definitely learn faster than others." The gentle woman touched his cheek, and the fragrance of her body was evaporated by her warm skin, making people feel as if they were sinking into soft cotton. The simple wooden houses and thin silk curtains around them were glowing with dim light.
"I have saved some tuition money for you. When you grow up a little, I will take you to church. The priest will like you." Her eyes were bright, and her deep blue eyes were rippling with spring lake water. She was fantasizing about a beautiful life in the future. This fantasy made the young Ferrante feel relaxed and comfortable.
"My little Feilan, my little angel, my little honey." The woman smiled and bent down to kiss him, and the mother and son laughed together.
Such comfortable memories soon faded away. The wooden house and silk curtains were gone, and what he saw before him was still the gorgeous decoration of the Pope's reception room.
"No," he heard his own voice saying, "thank you very much, but I am not fit to study. Please let me follow you and protect you."
Rafael looked at him for several seconds, and for a moment, Ferrante seemed to see extreme sadness and pity in the other's eyes.
Why is he so sad? Who is he grieving for?
Ferrante almost blurted out these questions, but the look was so fleeting that he felt as if he was having an illusion.
"Well, since you refused, you won't have such a good opportunity in the future, so don't regret it." Sistine I smiled, his smile was still so dignified, like a saint walking in the world, who had foreseen the tragedy in the future.
“I won’t regret it,” Ferrante responded firmly.
This conversation was just a small episode. Unconsciously, the people in the Papal Palace got used to the fact that the Pope was always followed by a young guard named Ferrante. The Pope seemed to be very fond of this handsome and tall boy. When he was meeting guests, going on tours, or going to church to pray, this silent figure would always follow him, so much so that even the Secretary General of the Papal Palace had to pay some attention to him.
"Do you like Ferrante very much?" Julius asked casually at the breakfast table one day.
"What?" Raphael was absentmindedly cutting the fried eggs on the plate.
"You never let someone stay with you for so long," Julius said.
"Oh..." Raphael came back to his senses and paused with the table knife in his hand, "He is very obedient, easy to use, and very malleable."
This explanation was very casual, but Julius had not come here to accuse him. He just asked casually with a bit of arrogance, and Raphael was willing to explain to him... that was enough.
He is just a kid from the slums, Julius thought casually, thinking of the pile of investigation materials on the table, and quickly put the matter behind him.
As he lowered his head, Raphael stared at him silently for a moment.
The battle for the title of Clement soon came to an end. Cardinal Dondol's legitimate son, Sir Dondol Jr., inherited his father's title as he wished, while his illegitimate brother left Florence in disgrace with his share of the property. The new Count of Clement happily handed over the promised money, manor and port deeds to the Pope, and happily went out of the city to hunt.
And Besancon, who had secretly contributed a lot to this...also returned to his residence happily after receiving the Pope's vague words.
Is it really impossible to fleece this sucker a few more times?
Looking at Besancon's back, which was emitting joy as he thought he had obtained the Pope's approval, Raphael thought quietly. After all, this advantage was too easy to take, and it felt like he would be at a disadvantage if he didn't take advantage of it.
However, with his strong self-control, he still suppressed that regret.
After seeing the guests off, Ferrante returned and saw the Pope looking down at a parchment scroll. He stood silently behind the window and next to the curtain. This place would not hinder the owner's sight, nor block any light, and he could see the whole picture of the room. He stood in front of the owner at the first possible moment. Ferrante was very clear about his duties and status. Even though the Pope had shown unprecedented patience and preference for him recently, he had never lost himself.
Only occasionally... occasionally, during his free time before going to bed, he would quietly wonder why the Pope was so nice to him? He had never received such gentle favor and kindness from outsiders, so his first reaction was vigilance and reflection.
But he has nothing. If you have to say something, it's this face which can be considered good-looking. But the Pope is obviously more handsome than him. There will never be anyone in the world more beautiful than this human saint.
During this time, he watched the Pope's every move, as if he saw a true saint in his mind. He was compassionate, gentle, and treated everyone equally. He would not push away any muddy hand extended to him, nor would he ignore any pair of tearful eyes. His tolerance made Ferrante, who had gained his favor, feel honored.
His saint favored him, but he could not give anything in return.
It was called protection, but there were not so many dangers in the Papal Palace, so Ferrante kept his eyes on the young Pope for longer and longer periods of time. He did not dare to look at him openly, and could only watch him secretly, with the corner of his eye, at the Pope's thin body and long light blond hair, at his sometimes unconscious smile, at his expressionless eyes when he was angry, at his steps which were more graceful and slower than those of others, and then he would deliberately step on the other's steps and move forward.
The invisible overlapping footsteps made Ferrante feel inexplicably happy. He fell asleep with this little sweetness in this secret happiness that only he knew.
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triple! Ten thousand! Ten thousand! Ten thousand! ! ! !
The prototype of Shura Field began to take shape! 【Ecstasy Dance
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