Chapter 32 Jadeite Gem (3)
◎The Temptation of a Saint◎
The Pope's procession finally stopped at a decent-sized church in the lower town. The person who chose it was Ferrante, a young man who had climbed to the position of captain of the Pope's Guard. Although he had not yet reached the legal age of adulthood, he already possessed calmness, maturity and intelligence far beyond his peers. Since the François incident last year, he had become unusually taciturn, following the Pope like a silent ghost, staring at everyone who approached the Pope with emotionless eyes.
There was gradually a buzz about Ferrante in the Papal Palace. Unlike the heated discussion when he first arrived because he was favored by the Pope, this time the discussion was silent and quiet, like a long, cold stream of water flowing in an underground river, without a trace and without a sound, but it would be noticed by all the branches and leaves entrenched in the big tree of the Papal Palace.
They said he was the Pope’s shadow, a watchdog to the Holy Father, a loyal pet… Whatever, Ferrante heard these whispers through his own countless gossips, but ultimately just laughed them off.
This young man, who seemed to really regard protecting the Pope as his only mission, was born in the lower city. No one knew better than him what stories had happened in these complex, dark and damp streets. After careful comparison and consideration, he carefully selected this church for his Holy Father. Its decoration was not particularly gorgeous, but its biggest advantage was safety.
The Orange Blossom Church was originally a public school left by the ancient Romans. After the huge empire fell apart and eventually perished, the Holy See transformed it into a monastery. It still retains the solid foundation of the ancient Roman period. The thick curved brick and stone walls tightly surround the building. The style is solemn and dignified. Although it is not as exquisite and gorgeous as other churches built later, it has its own unique rugged and magnificent style.
This monastery was abandoned more than fifty years after its establishment and was later converted into a church. From the time it stood on the earth, it probably welcomed the arrival of the crown for the first time.
The Knights Templar were very satisfied with this base. The open square space left over from the ancient Roman period was very suitable for their training. The thick walls and regular structure also made it convenient for them to be stationed and guard. They quickly took over the defense of the exterior of the Orange Blossom Church, while the security of the Pope was the responsibility of the Papal Guard, who were dedicated to this matter.
Raphael also assigned half of the knights to participate in the rescue and supply distribution in the lower city. This move obviously greatly calmed people's hearts. The people silently listened to the words of these knights in snow-white robes and light armor, returned to their desolate homes, and waited for tomorrow to come.
On the first day that Pope Sixtus I entered the lower city, the rioting people quieted down and once again became obedient lambs under the throne of God.
Julius sat in his study in the Papal Palace. The gates of Florence had been completely closed. Following the order of Pope Sistine I before he left, he allowed those who wanted to flee to leave Florence. They could leave with a written consent document stamped with the Secretary-General's seal and signature, but...
Of course, it is impossible for the guilty people to abandon Florence, which they had harmed, so easily.
Julius neatly drew a cross on the application form he had just handed over. The cursive handwriting was slender and upright, like a vine.
Reject the application.
The bishop's face turned pale when he received the approval document, which formed a sharp contrast with the jubilant crowd around him. His expression attracted the attention of his colleagues. They looked at him in confusion, and then found the rejected application in his hand. Their faces changed one after another, and their eyes looking at the bishop gradually became meaningful.
At least under the edict of Pope Sistine I, Julius Portia was not a harsh person. He would quickly approve any application that came to his desk, even including some people who did not get along well with the Portia family.
But not everyone can get that easy-to-get autograph.
Those who have made it in the upper class of Florence are all shrewd people. They observed quietly and soon discovered that all those whose applications were rejected were people related to the twelve lords.
Not to mention the twelve lords themselves.
At the same time that Sistine I was riding in his carriage to the lower town, the guards of the Portia family and the remaining guards of the Papal Palace rushed to the lords' mansions, surrounded them, and did not allow anyone to enter or leave.
Such an open and aboveboard act, coupled with this delicate moment, allowed many people to vaguely guess the whole story, which also made them shudder.
Although the plague occurred in the lower town, God knows whether they would be so crazy as to include the upper town in the attack range. What if the lords are determined to kill Sixtus I, then wouldn't they who live in the upper town suffer an unexpected disaster?
The frightened nobles rarely united against a common enemy. They distanced themselves from the lords without leaving a trace and rejected the letters of request sent from their mansions, even though the letters only asked them to take one or two people with them in the caravan leaving the city.
The nobles sneered and immediately sent the letter to the Pope's Palace.
The upper town of Florence soon became empty. A small number of nobles left, but not many clergy were willing to leave. They knew very well that if they really left, now that the Pope had shown his determination to live and die with the people, they would never be able to get any promotion in their lives, and might even be squeezed out of Florence - they would rather die than lose everything they had struggled for so many years.
People were surprised to find that with more and more monks coming to the lower town and with the various supplies sent by the nobles, life in the lower town seemed to be much better than before the epidemic.
However, such changes are just a drop in the bucket in the face of the ruthless epidemic.
Raphael stood on the tallest bell tower of the Orange Blossom Church, looking grimly at the intricate blocks and narrow alleys below his feet. No one around him would allow him to leave the church, nor would anyone outside approach him directly. The Orange Blossom Church was in a semi-closed state because the Pope lived there. The Knights Templar seemed to be just protecting the Pope, but in fact there was another unspeakable meaning - they were preventing people from the lower town from entering the church, putting the Pope at risk of infection.
Ferrante stood not far behind him, looking at his back intently. After looking for a long time, he couldn't help but secretly shift his gaze to look at those places that he was very familiar with.
Walking along the narrow and rugged road in front of the Orange Blossom Church, passing a low and narrow bakery and crossing a stinking puddle, he could see the small half-arched spire of the Holy Grail Church. Behind the church was a low building that was no different from other houses, a crooked bungalow made of stone bricks, wooden boards and straw. It was hot in summer and cold in winter, and the rotten eaves emitted a foul smell. It could barely be called a house. He had lived there for a year and sent his young mother off there. There were his footprints on every road here, stuck with mud, dirty dust and the smelly excrement of livestock, dragging him into his once damp life in countless dreams.
I'm back here again.
Ferrante thought.
But it is not the same now. Disease and fear have shrouded this place. The roads that used to be bustling with people are now dead silent. Trenches have been dug where garbage is dumped, and countless corpses have been thrown into them. The soil has not yet completely covered their bodies, and the people who are buried have already fallen at the edge of the pit. The exposed pale skin of the corpses is covered with carbuncles and black scars, and flies and insects are crawling in and out of the corpses' open mouths.
Knights in light armor knocked on every door and carried out corpses. Monks in black robes followed them and chanted scriptures. Doctors, wrapped tightly from head to toe and wearing bird-beak masks, carried large buckets and poured vinegar-mixed water on the street. The whole street was filled with a pungent sour smell. They believed that this strong-smelling liquid could drive away the hidden plague demon.
This method was suggested by Dr. Polly. He certainly didn't think it had anything to do with the devil, but since people were willing to accept this statement, he didn't mind saying so. In addition, he also proposed using mugwort to fumigate houses - according to him, the Eastern empire also did this, but Florence couldn't come up with so much mugwort at once, so they had to settle for the next best thing and fumigate the buildings headed by the Papal Palace first, and then take out all the vinegar stored in the nobles' mansions, and fumigate and sprinkle it at the entrance of every street.
No one wants to go out.
But they would still stagger out of their homes every morning, go to the Orange Blossom Church, kneel at the door and murmur prayers, praying for the protection of His Holiness the Pope and for God's favor.
On the seventh day after Pope Sistine I entered the lower city, he still went up to the bell tower in the morning. The number of people kneeling outside the door to pray was decreasing. He saw with his own eyes a thin woman walking towards him with a bent body, and then fell headfirst onto the road.
Under the Pope's strong opposition, all churches and monasteries opened their doors to centrally manage the patients. The monks, nuns and doctors looked more and more unhappy as deaths continued to occur among them. Leshert began to tactfully request the Pope to evacuate the lower city. This was unimaginable for an upright knight who lived by keeping his oath. It shows how critical the situation was. ┅
Julius's letters went from one a day to one every few hours, and the tone and wording gradually became harsh, but Raphael still rejected him.
The only good news is that the plague has indeed been blocked in the lower city, and at least Florence will not be dragged into the abyss.
Raphael looked at the gradually dying lower city with a cold face. Many things flashed through his mind. His chaotic thoughts jumped from the sick people to the lords who began to make unusual moves again. They were scattered and piled up like a tangled mess. He didn't know what he was thinking. He admitted that he had never faced such a crisis. This was a real disaster - a disaster caused by the struggle for power.
Also because of his incompetence.
If he could control the lords with strength, if he could discover their plots earlier, if his deterrent power had reached the point where no one dared to offend him -
Raphael suddenly thought.
——I need a knife.
He looked into the distance, and the letter that Dr. Polly had brought him from outside rustled in the wind.
He needed a knife, a sharp, silent, hidden, and invincible knife.
The young Pope with a saintly face turned his head to look at Ferrante who was always standing behind him. The young man with curly black hair was handsome and agile, like a leopard lurking in the darkness, who obediently retracted his claws and waited for the keeper to give orders.
“Ferrante, come here.” Ferrante saw the Pope waving at him. He walked over and the scent of frankincense and myrrh on the Pope filled his nose. This was a very familiar smell, but every time he smelled it, he still had the illusion that he was stepping into the temple. “Look down, what do you see?”
The Pope put his hand gently on his shoulder. The Florentine monarch's hand was very cold, perhaps because he had stood in the wind for too long. Ferrante thought so aimlessly. He followed the Pope's instructions and looked down. He saw the scenes that he had seen countless times, the dead, the wailing, the groaning.
His Adam's apple moved, and a painful feeling like a knife scraped across his throat, and fear and bitterness overwhelmed him.
He hated this poor, damp, decadent place, but seeing it really die, he felt extremely desperate.
“This is your home,” the pope said, and after a long silence, Ferrante heard him add tenderly, “It’s also my home.”
Ferrante suddenly turned his head with such force that he almost twisted his head off.
He did not understand what the Pope meant.
Raphael smiled at him, without any other meaning in his smile.
Yi: “It’s a secret.”
The blond pope leaned close to Ferrante's ear and whispered: "I grew up here in my childhood. Like you, I am a piece of trash that crawled out of the mud."
Huge waves rolled up in Ferrante's sea-blue eyes.
The origin of Sistine I was an open secret in Florence. He was recorded under the name of a branch of the Portia family and did not even have the surname Portia. However, they all speculated that he was the illegitimate son of St. Vitalian III, but other than that, no one knew who his mother was or where he grew up.
They thought he was like many illegitimate children of nobles, born to a mother of humble status and raised until he was old enough to do things, and then brought up by his father, but in fact no one really knew about his childhood.
The only person who knew his origins and was still alive was Julius—and now there was also Ferrante.
The Holy See has always been shaping a sacred origin for the Pope. The Pope is a being beyond mortals. He is pure and noble. He must have grown up among the fragrance of brocade and flowers, carrying people's expectations and hopes - in any case, he should not be a lowly beggar struggling in the downtown area.
"I'll take you to see my past," Raphael continued in a low voice. His invitation was like poisoned honey. His lavender eyes were full of temptation, pity and sorrow, but Ferrante was still immersed in great shock and was completely unaware of the pity and sorrow. "Hold my hand, and I will tell you how a saint was born."
Ferrante couldn’t resist such an invitation, or rather, he simply couldn’t resist any invitation from this person.
He somehow placed his hand on the Pope's palm.
At this moment, Raphael almost retracted his hand. He wanted to let go of this poor innocent soul, but this hesitation only lasted for a moment.
- God, if he will commit sins in the future, please forgive him and bring fire upon me, because all this was my temptation.
Raphael murmured silently in his heart.
The Pope clenched the hand and a flawless smile appeared on his face.
The author has something to say:
Rafa is going to do something bad...
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