Chapter 42 Jadeite Gem (13)
Judgment (II)
Old Russo smiled grimly, spread his hands, faced the audience, and said loudly: "Look at me - an old man who is about to die! Do I expect to gain any benefit from so many deaths? I have reached the end of my life. No matter how much wealth and power I have, they are useless to me. The only thing that attracts me is a healthy body and a flexible mind - but this is the realm of the Supreme God. Our Father God treats everyone equally. He gives us the same length of life, and I know in my heart that I have squandered this precious and non-renewable wealth."
His words were sincere and true, instantly grabbing everyone's attention.
"What good does it bring to me to commit such murders in this life that is about to end? Can I get some pleasure from the death of those poor people? Any normal and empathetic person would not take pleasure in this. You can certainly accuse me of being a born demon who takes pleasure in the tragic fate of others, but I know that I am also the son of my parents and the father of my children. I am just an ordinary person with a little more wealth and status than you."
"I have been accused of such a crime that deserves to go to hell. I cannot deny that I have caused these tragedies, but is this out of my own will? An old man who is about to die, an old man who no longer has more youth and health, even if I can get any benefit from it, it can only be left to my children - but my children! I am not afraid of your ridicule. There are always so many parents in history who are not good at this. I am not so successful in my family. My children are coveting my property. They wish I could return to eternal peace now so that they can enjoy the wealth I have earned with my blood and tears - such children, will I commit such evil deeds for them? Or, will I foolishly think that after the death of the Holy Father, I can wear the glorious and holy crown?"
Old Russo obviously knew very well what people wanted to hear the most. The communication skills he had acquired in his early years following his father in all walks of life allowed him to grasp people's psychology at the first moment and cleverly lead them into his own language trap. For a moment, everyone was captured by his thoughts, and they couldn't help but think, yes, such a dying old man committed such a serious crime "for his own selfish interests", and it seemed that he could not get anything from it, so why did he do this? Is there a hidden story behind this that cannot be seen by others?
Julius's face changed. He had realized what old Russo was going to say. This old madman, this old hyena, realized that he could not escape the trial, and he actually wanted to make random accusations and drag the Pope, the victim, into the water!
The purpose of this trial was to let the people of Florence know the evil deeds committed by Russo the Elder and others, and to give Florence a legitimate reason to take back its territory. The Pope must be the unquestionable victim and a clean arbitrator. Once dirty water was thrown on him, this trial would become a huge conspiracy that shook the world - the deaths of more than 7,000 people became a tool for Russo the Elder to attack Raphael.
Old Russo knew that his failure was inevitable, so he wanted to muddy the waters so that even if Raphael was the winner, his victory would be inglorious, disgusting, and would be despised by everyone!
Proving a person's innocence in a rumor is the most difficult thing, while it is easy to put a hat on someone and throw dirty water on him. Old Russo knows too well the thoughts of those ignorant lower-class untouchables. They have empty heads and will always follow the footsteps of the majority. They have a natural hostility and hatred towards the upper class. As long as there is an excuse, even if it is
This excuse and reason sounds so outrageous that it cannot be further explored, and they will use it to attack others without any doubt.
Julius quickly walked to the railing and gestured to the guards below to stop old Russo from talking nonsense and not let him continue!
But a hand grabbed his sleeve.
The blond, purple-eyed Pope sat there quietly, his calmness was a little frightening.
"Let's listen to what he wants to say. If we stop him now, any rumors he hasn't said will become evidence of our guilt." The Pope said slowly, with a cold and fierce light in his lavender eyes.
It's not that he didn't care, but he had sentenced old Russo to death in his heart.
Ferrante received instructions from the Pope and stayed in his seat without moving. He noticed that the faces of the people around him were all lit up with strange lights. Perhaps they had guessed what old Russo was going to say, and such an exciting plot and twists undoubtedly satisfied their mood. The people on the stage all had important enough identities, and what was performed were real life-and-death struggles. How could this not make people who were born to be spectators celebrate?
Leshert felt the excitement and heat floating in the crowd. The heat emitted by the human body mixed with the turbid breath. He suddenly felt a little inexplicably nauseous, and his stomach and intestines were churning, trying to twist out the things inside.
But he walked into the downtown area that was sentenced to death, and he thought, he saved you.
The Knight Commander raised his eyes blankly and looked around. These were all the people he needed to protect in accordance with the spirit of chivalry. He was upright, compassionate, tolerant, and friendly to everyone. He did everything a knight could do. Both his enemies and friends recognized his strength, bravery, and omnipotence. But he inexplicably had a creepy feeling, as if he had returned to his childhood. He was walking in the deep and winding stone corridor of the family castle with a candlestick in his hand. Ancient silk tapestries were hung on the tall and narrow walls on both sides. The people in solemn and gorgeous clothes in the golden frames were staring grimly at the person walking in the middle. He was full of fear and was as weak as a baby bird, with no one to rely on.
He subconsciously raised his gaze upwards. The figure behind the curtain was still sitting still, but for a moment Leshert seemed to gain the strength to calm down from that shadow.
"I swear to you all that what I said is true," said Old Russo, with a vicious light flashing in his eyes. He suddenly raised his bark-like hand and pointed at the man who had remained silent behind the curtain of the platform. "I accuse you that all the crimes I have committed were instigated and instructed by His Majesty!"
This blatant accusation caused everyone present to gasp involuntarily, and the mixed sounds seemed to stir up a small storm in the empty courtroom.
The golden candlestick on the lectern behind the curtain was emitting a steady light. There was no wind here, and the candle flame shot straight up, outlining a vague, steady figure on the curtain.
After hearing this accusation, Raphael still sat there motionless. In fact, there was no need for him to refute it. Or rather, such shameless accusations were not worthy of the Pope's attention.
Julius took a step forward and stood by the railing, giving Russo a polite but cold smile. "Your accusation is full of the crazy imagination of a hysterical patient. Out of respect for the law, Your Majesty and everyone present are willing to tolerate you finishing your defense. But if your words are all such unfounded fantasies, perhaps Your Excellency the Judge can make a judgment on you right now."
As the patriarch of the Portia family, Julius Portia's reputation resounded throughout Florence. He was a genius with extraordinary attainments in philosophy, theology and art, but these were just embellishments of his talent. Most people focused their attention on the Portia family led by him. Only at this time did they remember that Julius was also the secretary general of the Papal Palace and was qualified to serve as the Pope's spokesperson.
The Pope does not speak casually. Every word he says is God spreading the gospel to the world through him. Therefore, the Secretary-General becomes the Pope's external mouthpiece. It can be said that he is the Pope's voice.
Julius was cunning and sharp, and his natural intelligence enabled him to seize any tiny loophole of the enemy and then tear open a hole large enough for the Assyrian infantry to line up inside.
Old Russo, who was labeled a hysterical patient as soon as he opened his mouth, glared at Julius fiercely - he would never dare to face the head of Portia like this before. No matter how prosperous the Russo family was, he had to maintain respect in front of Portia.
While the Secretary General was charging forward for him, Raphael, who was sitting there, waved his hand gently and called a black-robed monk standing in a hidden corner. The monk came silently to the Pope, bent down to listen to a few words from the Pope, and then quietly retreated.
Raphael lowered his head again and flipped through the manuscript full of boring ramblings and interesting illustrations as if it had nothing to do with him. The cold murderous intent just now disappeared from him, and he seemed to have completely turned a deaf ear to Russo's accusations against him.
Old Russo was breathing heavily, and the four lords beside him exchanged glances uneasily. They did not expect Old Russo to make such a shocking statement, which made them hesitate whether to sever ties with Old Russo, or... follow up on this accusation.
They were quickly weighing the pros and cons, their eyeballs trembling in their sockets, sweat covering their foreheads and temples, and if thoughts could make sounds, everyone in the court would be able to hear their brains humming like a steam carriage running at full speed.
"My accusation sounds absurd, but it is not without reason. Please think carefully, everyone. Now that the epidemic has subsided, who has won the love of the people of Florence? And after we are tried and executed, who will get all our wealth? - Besides our crown, who else has become the only winner in this disaster that hurts both sides?"
Every word of old Russo sounded like the tongue of a poisonous snake. He stared viciously at Julius in front of the curtain. His eyes were like sharp knives, as if he wanted to tear the young man with long iron-gray hair off and cut him into pieces.
"We - we are all extremely devout believers. We traveled thousands of miles from our territory to come to Florence to meet His Majesty, and His Majesty also gave us a chance to be alone. We were ecstatic, thinking that our piety had moved the incarnation of God on earth, but His Majesty explained to us a terrifying plan!"
Old Russo was talking with spit flying all over the place, and Redrick on the jury looked at him with disgust. He admitted that he hated and even hated Raphael, but that didn't mean he thought such slander was right. In some ways, Redrick still maintained a childlike innocence. He could ridicule and curse Raphael to his face, or find a group of people to fight with Raphael - these are all things he had done, but he would never do such a despicable and shameless thing to sell out his soul.
Not to mention, as a Portia, he was naturally dismissive of people like Old Russo.
A bug that crawled out of the mud and changed his clothes thinks he can keep pace with Portia? Even if he was the illegitimate son of Portia, whom he despised the most, he was not someone that this stinky bug could bully at will!
"Yes, it was a horrible plan that frightened our Lord Russo so much that he turned around and murdered more than 7,000 people to calm down." Redrick said sarcastically.
There was a moment of silence in the courtroom, and many people had ferocious expressions on their faces, as if they wanted to laugh but didn't dare to.
The emotion that Old Russo had been brewing was stuck in his throat by this sentence. He glared at Redrick gloomily, with a trace of contempt in his eyes. This foolish boy who relied on the protection of his family -
You're not qualified to have a say in this game, kid.
Redrick read the meaning in his eyes, and driven by anger, he grabbed the cane and was about to smash it on the head of the Shar-Pei-like old guy, but his hand was grabbed by another stronger hand.
Ferrante had stood behind him at some point, and the captain of the guard, who was an expert in this field, forcefully pressed Duke Luson into his seat and glanced at old Russo expressionlessly.
Behind him, a black-robed monk was leaving silently.
"As everyone knows, when our Lord took over the crown of God, Florence was in a bad situation. Lion VI left behind a weak Florence and the Papal Palace. If His Majesty wanted to fully control Florence, he needed strong enough capital - people, wealth, or land. So he summoned us. This epidemic was instigated by him, and the result was just as he expected. He won the love and support of all the people of Florence, and now he is about to take away the legitimate wealth that our family has built for generations."
These words made the audience whisper to each other. The most clever lie in history is half truth and half lie. Almost everything old Russo said was true, except for one lie mixed in. It was this lie that changed all the truth beyond recognition.
Julius remained unmoved in the tide of whispers, his dark red lips raised coldly: "You mean, Your Majesty wants to gain the love of the people of Florence through this disaster and take away your family wealth that you think is legitimate - then when you accepted this absurd order, didn't you think about what you could gain from it? Or did you accept the order to start a massacre in Florence like a simple baby - for free, voluntarily, and without any reward?"
Old Russo's wrinkled face suddenly lengthened.
He glorified himself as a completely innocent victim, but forgot that he was the one who committed the evil, which he could not wash away in any way. He wanted to blame all the mistakes on Raphael, and his logic created a fundamental contradiction.
An innocent, completely deceived executioner and massacrer? This sounds more ridiculous than the boasting of a drunk at a May Day fair.
The author has something to say:
Fat Pigeon's Diary: A cold wave is coming. There were thunder and lightning all night last night. Then, the rain came pouring down. It was so exciting.
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