Chapter 71: Golden Ouroboros (XIX)
Ferrante's new discovery
Raphael read through all the contents of the leather notebook at a glance. It was only more than half an hour since he got up. The hour hand of the floor clock accurately pointed to the number eleven that was bent like a vine. The dim light stretched the Pope's shadow infinitely on the carpet.
A secret murder that had been kept secret for many years, a feast of revenge consisting of blood, hatred and betrayal. The spoils were the life of a Pope and the amendment of the Royal Succession Act that had been postponed for several years.
Raphael threw the thin notebook back into the box and suddenly lost the desire to explore other things. He felt a little tired. The reason for this tiredness was unknown. It spread up from the depths of his body like a tide, submerging his bones and mind.
Only a little over a year had passed since he had gained a new life, but the dark fire of revenge burning in his body had dried up.
Raphael never gave up the search for the truth, but as he immersed himself deeper and deeper into the past, the rotten things slowly enveloped him like the mud in a swamp.
Sometimes... Raphael would think, maybe it would be nice to be an unconscious puppet and do whatever he wants, just like in his previous life.
For example, now he suddenly thought of the vineyard in the suburbs. In previous years, he would take a month off to vacation in the manor and leave all matters to Julius.
However - Raphael couldn't help but wonder, did Julius know the truth about Delacroix's death? After Delacroix's death, Dandol still firmly held the position of cardinal. Who supported him behind the scenes? Apart from the connections that Laf XI had in Florence, who else was involved in this secret murder, balancing the power and blood on the scales?
Once thoughts started running, they began to run uncontrollably. Smart people always have this problem of overthinking and being suspicious. Raphael had to admit that he himself was the epitome of suspicion and desire for control, especially after he died once. He wanted to analyze everyone around him over and over again until they knew everything clearly.
——It seems that his previous idea of being a comfortable puppet pope was just a fantasy for his own amusement.
Raphael knew that such suspicion was endless and meaningless, so he forced himself to stop thinking and casually opened the two letters in the box. The name of Laf XI was signed on his heart - it seemed that Cardinal Dondol did not trust the mastermind behind the scenes that much.
He preserved the two most important letters of correspondence between him and Love XI, which revealed in not-so-subtle terms the plot to murder Pope St. Vitalian III.
Obviously, Laf XI was very confident in his accomplice. This unspeakable conspiracy gave the two of them an unbreakable foundation of trust. Laf XI's personal seal was also left on the letter, but he obviously did not expect that Dondoler would actually keep these deadly things - which would not do him any good at all.
If these two letters were made public, Laf XI would surely become infamous after his death, and Roman would become the target of hatred by all believers. The Papal State could easily launch a holy war of revenge against Roman and drag this huge empire into the abyss of disintegration - as long as Raphael was willing.
Raphael stuffed the letter back into the envelope and closed the box wearily. There was a parchment scroll inside, but he was in no mood to open it now.
Betrayal, murder, poison and dagger, these words sounded terribly familiar.
Raphael supported his forehead with his fingers and stared at the intricate patterns on the table. His mind was emptier than ever before. He stared blankly ahead like a newborn baby, until the long-lost sleepiness gently embraced him.
Ferrante, with his hands tucked into his sleeves, walked softly and silently into the Pope's suite before the morning bell of the Florentine Prayer rang. His deep blue eyes were slightly cast downward, and he was obviously a little distracted, otherwise he would have noticed the figure lying on the table at the first moment.
However, his reaction was only two seconds late.
"Huh?" The young man with many horrible titles let out a surprised grunt from his throat, he pulled out his hands that were tucked under his wide sleeves, his nerves tensed, he rushed forward in two steps, and with his superb personal professional qualities, he realized that his holy father had not suffered any misfortune, but was asleep.
But, here?
Without waking the Holy Father, Ferrante quietly crept to the four-poster bed and touched the quilt.
Ice-cold, without a trace of warmth.
Apparently the Holy Father had gotten up long ago, or maybe he hadn't slept at all?
Ferrante frowned. He was a little angry, an anger that was hard to explain, and perhaps part of it was directed at himself.
…I will come over regularly to check on the Holy Father’s sleep in the future.
The leader of the Arbitration Bureau returned to the Pope and looked at His Holiness who was still sleeping with a little distress.
Sleeping in this position is not good for the body, especially since the Holy Father’s health is not very good. But Ferrante also knows that the Pope’s sleep quality has always been poor. Perhaps it is because there are too many things to think about and deal with, and it is difficult for the Pope to get a full and good night’s sleep. It is rare for him to be able to walk so close without being awakened.
So do we need to wake His Majesty up?
Ferrante was struggling painfully. If he woke up, according to the Saint's character, he would definitely get up and work immediately. If he didn't wake him up, he might feel pain all over his body after waking up...
The director of the arbitration bureau was caught in a dilemma.
As he was thinking deeply about this century-old problem, the morning bell rang. Ferrante was startled, and without time to think more, he subconsciously reached out and covered Raphael's ears.
It was not until he finished the set of movements that he realized how stupid his behavior was.
But it was too late to withdraw his hand.
Ferrante half-bent his waist, maintaining this position stiffly, his eyes slid downwards, and saw Raphael's eyes closed peacefully, his long eyelashes gently casting a light shadow on his lower eyelids, his long light golden hair scattered a little messily on his neck,
A few strands of it were entangled around Ferrante's fingers due to his hasty movements, like a net of solidified gold, catching a butterfly with its wings fluttering.
His heart began to beat wildly, and Ferrante suspected that his heartbeat at this moment was loud enough for everyone in Florence to hear it. He tried hard to remain quiet, but even though he had held his breath, he could still sadly and helplessly hear his own arrogant heartbeat.
Ferrante's gaze slid uncontrollably down Raphael's fair profile. The Pope's neck had a graceful curve, and the collarbone was round, so the neat and smooth lines disappeared under the collarbone, and the perfect curves were clearly visible.
Ferrante's eyes froze for a moment, then suddenly turned away.
His face first turned red, then faded and turned pale.
Unlike the overly naive Leschert, Ferrante grew up in an extremely bad environment. In addition, he was born in a rose house, so Ferrante grew up exposed to all kinds of desires. No one knows better than him what these dark and subtle thoughts and actions represent.
His heartbeat, which had been as crazy as a drum, stopped instantly, as if he was facing the most terrifying scene in the world.
He - actually had such thoughts about the Holy Father? !
How could this be possible—this shouldn't be—
All the beautiful thoughts were washed away, and Ferrante tried to convince himself that this was just an accident, but he knew better than anyone what his thoughts just now meant.
Raphael saved him, pulled him out of the muddy world, gave him a new life, and became his only spiritual pillar and guide of faith, a perfect and noble existence. How many people want to be close to Raphael, and such a person just sets his sights on you - who can remain indifferent in the face of such preference?
There are so many reasons why Ferrante fell in love with Raphael, enough to converge into a torrent, and the excuses that could refuse him from doing so are vulnerable in the face of these torrents.
Not to mention, Ferrante is not one to follow rules.
How could a law-abiding person survive in that quagmire of downtown?
The man, who had just entered adulthood, had a slender body and outstanding looks. He lowered his eyes, and the person sleeping on the table was completely reflected in his deep blue irises.
Unscrupulously and carefully, he stared at Raphael inch by inch.
The hand covering Raphael's ear was as steady as ever. In order to protect the Pope, Ferrante and his men learned martial arts that were more secretive like assassins, emphasizing concealment, bloodiness, and extreme patience and stability. No matter how intense and crazy the things he was thinking about at the moment, his hands remained motionless.
Raphael was awakened entirely by the numbness and soreness in his neck. The muscles in his neck began to arrogantly clamor for their existence due to his incorrect sleeping position. Raphael opened his eyes painfully and met Ferrante's blue eyes as deep as the sea.
"Ferrante?" The Pope mumbled the name of the person he trusted, and the other person gave him a dependent smile.
"Why did you fall asleep here?" There was a hint of reproach in Ferrante's tone. Raphael did not answer him because of his guilty conscience and the pain in his neck. Then he felt a warm hand pressing hard on his painful muscles.
The extreme pain mixed with the relaxation of being kneaded rushed all the way into the brain through the nerves in the spine. Before his mind could react, his senses had already responded. The corners of Raphael's eyes instantly turned red due to the overly complex perception, and a thin layer of tears covered his eye sockets. A low whimper flowed out of his throat, but was swallowed back by him, and became a vague sob like crying.
The young Pope subconsciously tried to avoid the hand, but Ferrante stepped forward and held him down with both hands. One hand loosely circled Raphael's body and brought him close to himself, while the other hand continued to knead his shoulders and neck steadily. There was a barely perceptible smile in his tone: "Don't be afraid, Raphael, it will be fine soon, otherwise you will feel uncomfortable all day."
Rafael was very ticklish, so he resisted people touching his waist and neck, even if it was just a light touch. But now, when he was suddenly kneaded by Ferrante, it was like a shy stray cat being grabbed by the back of the neck. He couldn't escape and could only tremble in the arms of someone, so much so that he didn't even notice Ferrante's address.
No, actually he noticed it, but he didn't have the energy to analyze this change now. He just vaguely thought that he had allowed Ferrante to call his name before, but Ferrante had always refused. Why did he suddenly change now?
This thought was quickly washed away by the tingling sensation that came like a wave, and colorful fireworks exploded in his mind. Rafael suppressed his breathing and involuntarily grasped the corner of Ferrante's clothes. Like an insecure furry little animal, he tried desperately to drill into Ferrante's arms, as if he wanted to drill a hole that would allow him to escape on the spot and completely disappear in Ferrante's palm.
The young man with black curly hair lowered his eyes, looking at the shivering Pope curled up in his arms. He had to dig him out manually and touched his soft long hair. When he met the red lavender eyes, Ferrante's breathing paused for a moment, then he smiled and said, "Don't you like this massage method? This is what I learned from Dr. Polly."
Raphael used all his strength to not scream out in shame. He blinked away the mist that blocked his vision, and his voice trembled: "No... I'm just not used to it."
"Ah...you'll get used to it after trying it a few times." Ferrante said something that made Raphael shudder in the most harmless tone.
The Pope almost jumped up from his chair, but Ferrante stopped him lightly and changed the subject: "I noticed that your quilt is cold. Did you sleep like this last night?"
This topic made Rafael feel guilty and short of breath again. Ferrante said softly, "Doctor Polly said that you really need a comfortable sleep. If I see this situation again next time, I will tell Doctor Polly. Before that, I will come to check on your sleep from time to time."
His words made Raphael's face change again and again, but the Pope, who was in the wrong, did not refute him after all. He just felt something was wrong in his heart. Ferrante used to care about him, but had he been so strong before? Or is he particularly angry today?
With such doubts in mind, Raphael finished his morning prayer and breakfast. Reports on the flooding problem in Florence's lower city were already piled up on his desk. Many of them were compiled by Ferrante's men. The situation was more comprehensive than that compiled by Julius. After all, the Secretary-General did not have a beggar informant from the lower city, and Ferrante...
But Raphael heard that Ferrante was recently trying to divide his informants according to their occupations. Currently, there are groups such as thieves, beggars, prostitutes, small workshop owners, etc. The illegal industries in Florence are endless. If Ferrante can keep them in his hands, Raphael thinks it is not a bad thing.
Ferrante was also very careful in doing this. This was different from the official guild. The informants he had in his hands regarded him as some kind of broker in the gray area, which made it easier for him to obtain information. So Ferrante was very careful about keeping his identity confidential. If those people knew that they were providing information to the Papal Palace, they would definitely go back into their burrows like rats in the daylight and never appear in front of Ferrante again.
But there are also some smart people who vaguely realize something, and Ferrante welcomes such smart people to work with him. As long as there is desire, he can skillfully control them in his hands.
"Count Dondol is currently doing his job conscientiously and has completed all the tasks assigned to him seriously." Ferrante said casually.
Raphael's eyelashes trembled when he heard the last name, but he didn't say anything. He nodded and said in a steady tone: "Then give him more tasks. I won't mistreat those who can do things."
Ferrante hesitated for a moment, pulled out a roll of paper from his sleeve, and spread it on Raphael's desk. "My men discovered that someone in the lower city has been buying children between the ages of six and ten. After investigation, they were found in Cardinal Lombardi's estate."
Raphael stopped writing and stared at the list in front of him: "What does he want to do?"
Ferrante licked his lips. In fact, before he was chosen by the Holy Grail Church to go to the Papal Palace, he had lived in Cardinal Lombardi's manor. He knew very well that if Raphael had not chosen him, he would have become a knife in the hands of Cardinal Lombardi. These children were obviously a reflection of his other destiny: "Perhaps... they are trained as private guards."
Although he used uncertain words, his tone was affirmative.
Raphael realized something from Ferrante's tone, raised his eyes and looked at Ferrante for a moment, the cold ice in his lavender pupils slowly melted into gentle water. He gently patted Ferrante's hand on the table without saying anything, but Ferrante's heart miraculously relaxed.
"The laws of the Papal States do not explicitly prohibit the trafficking of human beings, but with such a number of people... and a cardinal... what does he want to do? Is his popularity so bad that he will be beheaded by a knife if he doesn't eat with guards around him?" Raphael frowned and said sarcastically, with a look of boredom. "Tell Julius about this. He is good at handling this. Send the children brought back home. If they have nowhere to go, place them in the monastery under the name of the Papal Palace."
Ferrante accepted the order and watched Raphael quickly and scribbled a few lines on a piece of notepaper, then stamped it with his own seal: "Remind me when you have time. Lombardi has been sitting in the position of cardinal for long enough. It's time for someone else to take the position. There are many people who want to buy themselves a red robe."
The position of cardinal has always been a lifelong position, but...how could the Pope be wrong?
Ferrante curled up the corners of his lips: "I'll remember that."
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