Chapter 90 Hope Blue Diamond (VII)
◎Sickness comes◎
Doctor Polly had his sleeves rolled up and a heavy wooden mortar was placed in front of him. He was using a wooden pestle to pound medicine. On the table next to him was a book with yellowed and soft paper, and the binding was also very peculiar. He pounded the medicine twice, then looked at the contents of the book absent-mindedly, and a deep groove appeared between his already wrinkled brows.
The noise in the inner room gradually died down. After a while, Julius came out with his head down, adjusting his sleeves. He closed the bedroom door behind him and sat on the sofa next to Polly. The hem of his long coat slid to the ground, and the gold thread and tiny gems on it reflected sparkling light under the gas lamp.
The Secretary General of the Papal Palace did not speak.
He leaned on the sofa, supporting his forehead with one hand, looking tired, with a faint gray in his eyes. During the time when Raphael was missing, the pressure of the entire Papal State was on his shoulders. Even Julius, who was always calm, was undeniably more nervous than usual. And Raphael finally came back, but he was injured. ⊥
As long as he was alive, Julius inevitably felt a little inappropriate relief. As long as people were still alive, there was a way.
Separated from the sleeping Raphael by a wall, Julius allowed himself to relax a little, but soon he put this little bit of fatigue back into his bones and internal organs.
"How's his leg?"
Julius did not change his posture. He opened his eyes and watched Dr. Polly pounding the medicine and flipping through the book. His voice was very soft, like a whisper, as if he was afraid of waking someone.
Dr. Polly did not answer immediately. He carefully turned the page with his knuckles, pressing the edge of the book, looking at the pictures on it, and struggling to recognize each word.
After a while, he said, "I don't know either."
When no one was around, Polly dared to tell the truth: "...It's an old problem. He had the operation when he was so young, so he should recover well. But he was locked up in Fort Cantrera for so long... Humph, the environment there is so bad that even a healthy person would die. I told you a long time ago that you have to take good care of yourself. Take my words as fart!"
As the old man spoke, anger burned in his eyes.
"It's terrible!" He used his last bit of sanity to swallow back what he wanted to say and concluded his statement in one word.
"It's terrible!" he emphasized again, unable to bear it any longer.
Julius was silent for a while, then he moved his body, crossed his hands on his legs, leaned forward, and softened his tone: "If... I mean, is there any other way? He is only twenty-five years old, he still has a long way to go, and Florence and the Papal States cannot do without him."
A disabled person cannot be Pope, so Julius not only concealed the news of Raphael's injury, but also had to find a way to enable him to walk normally in the future.
This is not an easy task, as can be seen from Polly's gloomy face at this moment.
"I'm a doctor, not a saint." Polly couldn't help but sneer, "When it comes to performing miracles, this is what you are good at."
This was the first time in Julius’ life that he was ridiculed in person. He glanced at Polly with his deep purple eyes and said nothing. His gaze fell on the book: “What’s written on it?”
He mastered seven languages and even had some knowledge of some dead languages that had no speakers any more, but he still knew little about the vast empire in the far east - this was a common problem caused by the geographical limitations of the Syracuse Peninsula. The sea separated the two civilizations. Except for a crazy guy like Poly who was not afraid of death, no decent person with a family and a career would want to cross the ocean.
"I'm reading it now." Polly replied with a sullen face, "I haven't read this book for many years. Their writing is really difficult... I didn't learn it very well back then..."
The old man had a painful expression on his face, typical of a poor student.
Use it or lose it is an iron law of nature. A language will certainly be forgotten if it is not used for decades. Polly racked his brains to try to recall what those Chinese characters meant, and then stumblingly reorganized the language in his own words.
"It's hard to restore his previous function," Polly said. "He fell into the river and hit the river bank. His bones were a little dislocated. He was soaked in cold water for a long time... When he wakes up, I will re-set his bones. If the bones are
The head position is not good and another surgery may be needed. ”
At this point, not only did Julius' expression change, but Polly's own face also looked extremely ugly.
It was different from the first time I operated on Raphael. At that time, I was still young and I did all the steps of the operation myself to ensure the best results. But now...
Not to mention that Raphael's current condition is much worse than before. He is very worried that this operation will have a counterproductive effect. Polly prays secretly, hoping that Raphael's bones are not too crooked and can be straightened without surgery.
Julius leaned back on the cushion behind him, his body sank into the soft feather pillow, and slowly closed his eyes. Polly lowered his head and pounded the medicine without saying a word. After a long time, Julius stood up and walked out of the Pope's bedroom.
The next morning, before Polly could check Raphael's legs, Raphael developed a high fever. Perhaps the running around in Calais had consumed his energy too much, and once he reached a safe place, all the sequelae came to him aggressively. Julius hurried over after receiving the news. He was still wearing a pajamas, with only a large cloak on his shoulders. His long iron-gray hair was uncombed and scattered on his body.
The Secretary General rushed in wrapped in the morning chill, and the doctors scattered in panic like a flock of birds under his aura. Julius raised his hand, and the servants behind him immediately understood and politely but firmly asked the doctors to leave the Pope's bedroom.
Polly looked at him anxiously, then at Raphael, wanting to say something but keeping silent. He turned around and continued to study his surgical plan.
Raphael woke up once in the middle of the night. Julius sat beside the bed and wiped his sweat with a wet cotton handkerchief. He turned his head and vaguely chased after the coolness. His chaotic mind was floating in the pain, and his burning red lips were moving.
Julius leaned over to listen, but could only hear a few unclear syllables, illogical, upside-down and chaotic.
"...Mom..." The young Pope cried to his mother in his dream like a wronged child, "...pain...letter...manor..."
He was too sick to be conscious, sobbing in long and intense pain. He wanted to curl up his body, but he was too sick to have the strength to even move his hands and feet, which made him feel even more aggrieved. Tears rolled down from the corners of his eyes, and his long eyelashes were wet with water vapor. Julius patiently wiped his face.
Faith, what faith?
Julius distracted himself and coaxed him with an unprecedentedly gentle tone. He even leaned his upper body against the pillow and whispered to Raphael with his face close to his.
"I'm here, Rafa, I'm here, dear." He coaxed the drowsy Raphael like a child, took off the ring of power that he never took off, gently covered Raphael's hot face with his big hand, and gently rubbed his ear.
"Shh...get some sleep," Julius' voice was almost a whisper, "get some sleep. No one can take you away from me."
It was not known whether Raphael heard what he said or not, but like a wounded kitten, he instinctively burrowed into the warm source. He rested his head on Julius' shoulder, his temples and forehead were covered with sweat, his eyelids were half open, and there was no light in his lavender pupils, like a gem with its lights turned off, which made Julius sad and anxious.
Raphael frowned, and Julius kissed his forehead and cheeks, and pinched the back of his neck gently like a cat to make him relax. Even in his coma, Raphael always maintained an almost instinctive alertness. His muscles were so tense that they ached, and he let out a low whimper when Julius touched him.
Julius held him in his arms. It was bright outside the window. The curtains in the room were closed. The smell of frankincense and myrrh floated in the room. The rich aroma filled the whole room with a drowsy atmosphere, but Raphael could not fall into a deep sleep no matter what. He woke up repeatedly and was repeatedly coaxed to sleep by Julius. He was awakened again after a short sleep, and this repeated for a long time. For him, sleep was almost becoming a torture.
"Why can't he sleep?" Julius had also been tossed around the whole day, with dark circles under his eyes and a gloomy and irritable look on his face. He was still wearing a nightgown with messy wrinkles all over his clothes. He looked completely different from the reserved and dignified patriarch of Portia who was exquisite in every way.
"This shouldn't happen." Dr. Polly showed a puzzled look. "It's easiest for a sick person to fall asleep, and there's a sedative in the spices. He shouldn't wake up all the time."
"He is resisting falling asleep. Why?" After thinking about it, it seems that only this reason can explain why Raphael wakes up repeatedly.
Julius silently looked at the young man with an unhealthy red cheek under the quilt. He reached out to cover his ears and saw that Raphael had opened his eyes again. There was no light in his eyes. It was obvious that he was still in a coma. Forcing his eyes open made a thin layer of tears well up in his eye sockets. His lavender pupils were particularly soft in the water, like a confused rabbit that had just woken up.
Julius moved his hand, which was covering Raphael's ears, to his eyes. His wet eyelashes rubbed his palms, bringing out a tingling sensation. After a moment, the itchy feeling disappeared, and Raphael's breathing became steady again. Julius removed his hand and saw that Raphael had closed his eyes and fallen asleep.
But his sleep was not so restful. There were faint frown marks between his brows, he looked uneasy, and his eyeballs moved under his eyelids. It seemed that he would force himself to open his eyes and wake up again at any time, as if he was in an extremely unsafe environment and needed to remain highly vigilant at all times.
Julius was stunned for a moment by his own association.
Unsafe?
He stared at Raphael's face, becoming more and more confused.
Don't you feel safe here? Even if you are in the Papal Palace in Florence, surrounded by your own guards?
But why?
Julius had never realized that Raphael had such an extremely sensitive character, and he never showed any distrust of the people around him. Whether it was asking Ferrante to train the Holy Ravens, training the Pope's Guard, or handing over the affairs of the Papal Palace to Julius again, Raphael always showed his consistent calmness and trust in them.
Why would he feel uncomfortable lying in his own bedroom in the Papal Palace? He even tried hard to resist the drowsiness caused by the illness and the hypnosis caused by the drugs, and insisted on maintaining his shaky consciousness, even if it was a form of torture for him?
This question is destined to remain unanswered.
After the doctors' joint efforts, the Holy See finally woke up on the fifth day when his fever subsided. He opened his eyes. It was late at night and the bedroom was silent except for the faint hissing sound of the oil and gas in the brass pipes being steadily input into the gas lamp. This white noise was quite hypnotic. Raphael turned his head sleepily and saw Ferrante sitting on the armchair beside the bed, dozing with his head down.
The young man in the black monk's robe looked exhausted, with half-long curly black hair scattered messily around his neck. His handsome facial features had revealed masculine edges and aggressiveness as he aged. His tall body had difficulty fitting into the sofa, and his long legs were curled up in the gap beside the sofa, like an eagle that had returned to its nest after being tired of flying.
Raphael wondered in confusion, how long had he slept?
He remembered that he had sent Ferrante out to investigate the situation of the Holy Raven in Calais. When did that happen? Ferrante is back? Has he been ill for a long time?
Raphael thought about this question while slowly loosening his hand and silently pulling it out from under the pillow, maintaining the same posture as when he had just woken up.
He has been having the same dream for the past few days.
In the dream, there was the Virgin Mary holding the Holy Child. She was wearing a long snow-white headscarf, her face was blank, and she was standing in the shadow, "looking" down at him. The candlelight that came from somewhere was swaying in the wind, and the Virgin Mary's shadow was sometimes high, sometimes low, sometimes long, sometimes short, and she was approaching him with her fangs and claws bared like a living thing, grinning. There was deathly silence in the dream, with only the sound of strange footsteps gradually approaching. As the footsteps got closer, Raphael's fear reached its peak, forcing him to wake up.
In his dreams, he stretched out his hands countless times to grab something, but his outstretched hands never responded, or he seemed to have grabbed something, but that thing would always fall from his hands in the next second, and no matter how anxious he was, he couldn't pick it up again.
It was not until he reached out and touched the dagger under the pillow and firmly grasped the cold and hard handle that he finally slowly breathed a sigh of relief and was reborn from the suffocating pain.
Raphael knew what he dreamed about, but why did he suddenly dream of this scene? He hadn't thought about it for a long time.
Perhaps it was because of his illness, or maybe he was distracted by the pursuit of Francis IV?
Raphael made an excuse for himself and deliberately avoided the question.
When he gently turned his head and closed his eyes again to fall into a peaceful sleep, Ferrante, who had been dozing off, opened his eyes and looked at him with a complicated expression.
Ferrante was awakened the moment Rafael's breathing changed and he opened his eyes, but Rafael subconsciously reached under the pillow too quickly. In order to avoid embarrassing Rafael, Ferrante had to pretend that he was still asleep.
But this did not prevent the shock and confusion in his heart from expanding like snow and dark clouds. ┇
His special profession made him more familiar than anyone else with what Raphael's action meant. He could even easily guess what was under the pillow.
But it shouldn't be.
Only experienced warriors, assassins who live on the edge of a knife, and desperate people who are trying to survive in the cracks will fall asleep with their weapons as a cushion. Only those who are desperate and whose lives are in danger will look for their swords as soon as they wake up.
Anyone could have ended up in such a situation except the Pope of Florence, who was surrounded by knights, loved and supported by the people, and respected and worshipped by countless people.
What made Raphael so scared?
A terrifying storm rolled up in Ferrante's deep blue eyes. This meant that he had failed in his job. Under his protection, the Holy See actually felt the fear of being isolated and helpless. This was tantamount to slapping Ferrante twice. More importantly...
Raphael had never told him or expressed such concerns in front of him. Did this mean... Raphael didn't trust him?
This speculation was more terrifying than his discovery that he might have failed in his duty.
He couldn't accept this fact.
He stood up quietly and decided to double the guard strength in the Pope's Palace, and...
Ferrante's eyes flickered, he hesitated for a moment, and finally made up his mind. As long as he was covert enough, Raphael would not know that he had investigated him. He was always careful to avoid things that might make Raphael unhappy. He knew that the Holy Raven in his hand was too intimidating. No one would not be afraid of a person who knew all your secrets. Ferrante did not want Raphael to discover that the knife in his hand had other consciousness. He was completely loyal to the Pope, and he would never do anything without Raphael's order.
This was the only time he swore in his heart that he was not doing it for his own selfish desires. He just wanted to know what was keeping Raphael awake day and night.
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