The Reversed Hierophant

Ever since he ordered Leshert to re-expand the army and form the Knights Templar, he knew that one day he would have to face this problem.

Neither Rome, Calais, nor the surrounding states of Florence could ignore the resurgence of the Papal States.

Florence had already possessed a lofty status superior to all secular monarchs. Once it had an invincible army… they would definitely be unable to sleep at night.

Rafael said lightly, “You’re worrying too much. This is just necessary self-protection. According to the provisions of the Holy City Treaty, the Knights Templar of Florence will never exceed two hundred. The troops that have set out this time are all temporary recruits from the common people, and will not be included in the Knights Templar.”

This explanation was full of vague and ambiguous concept substitutions. If it was investigated more deeply, many problems could be found.

But the Queen, who was always perceptive, did not ask any further questions. She was silent for a moment and said: “This explanation is not strong enough.”

Her response was equally implicit and vague.

“Grand Duke Francois is very dissatisfied with the changes in Florence. He has tried to contact me to question Florence, demanding a census of all adult males in the Papal States who have been armed for a long time, and to calculate the military expenditures. Your explanation is unlikely satisfy him.” The Queen almost frankly stated the content of her private dealings with Calais, which could also be regarded as a gesture of goodwill towards Rafael.

“I don’t need to satisfy him,” Rafael understood the queen’s meaning, and the heavy stone hanging in his heart finally fell to the ground. His lavender eyes curved slightly, “The problem is not whether he is satisfied or not, but whether he will accept it.”

“If Rome and Assyria acquiesce to this fact, then Calais will not be the first to step forward. Although Francois is arrogant, he is not a complete fool.”

Rafael moved slightly closer to the table, his slender fingers stroking the warm exterior of the teacup: “…So, what do you think?”

It was a rhetorical question.

The Queen glanced at the Pope opposite her. The young Pope had an overly dazzling face. His golden long hair was bound by a crown of thorns made of silver and gold, and loose hair like gold flowed down his back. One could almost see the light blue veins under his fair skin. His thin body leaned against the chair, as if a steel bone supported this not-so-strong body, making everyone who saw him ignore the lingering weariness and fatigue on his face.

“Rome will always respect Florence’s guidance.” Amandra sighed slightly in her heart, but her face remained calm as she replied.

“I have shown my sincerity. If Your Holiness is willing, you can stir up the chaos in Rome at any time.” The Queen threw a sugar cube into the cup and stirred it twice with a long-handled silver spoon.

“Of course I wouldn’t do that. We’re allies, aren’t we?” Rafael got a satisfactory answer, so he said lightly.

“Yes, an ally,” the Queen suddenly laughed. This time, the smile on her face was much simpler. She looked at Rafael no longer as an enemy, an ally, or a monarch of equal status, but as an elder looking at a younger generation, “Sancha likes you very much. As a mother, I’m also very happy that my child can make such a good friend.”

“I thought you would be very wary. As the heirs of two empires, Sancha becoming friends with the Pope…” Rafael’s words stopped abruptly, the implication being very obvious. This friendship could not be known to the world. Their status and position would cause all their interactions to be subject to much speculation, as if all their words and deeds carried ulterior motives.

After the official business was settled, the private conversation no longer needed to be so tense. The two of them were visibly more relaxed.

“Do I look like a stubborn old woman?” the Queen laughed lightly, her sapphire blue eyes sparkling in the light, “On the contrary, I hope that while I can still protect Sancha, she can encounter as many setbacks as possible. At least it proves that she won’t make such mistakes again in the future. And, if your betrayal makes her sad, then I have to sympathize with you—my little sun is quite resilient, but you’re about to lose one of the best friends in the world.” ȒáΝȰᛒЁS

Queen Amandra’s tone was as if she were talking to a friend of her daughter. Rafael changed his attitude accordingly and replied, “Then I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. I’m not ready to lose such a good friend.”

Both of them smiled pleasantly at the playful joke. Seizing the opportunity, Rafael asked about something that had been bothering him for quite a while, “You seem to trust me a great deal, just like when you sent Sancha to Florence to make an alliance with me. I understand your urgency, but given the situation at the time, you could have perhaps considered it for much longer.”

If he hadn’t asked this question, a thorn would have forever remained in his heart. The mutual aid agreement between the Papal States and Roman Empire signed with Sancha had been too easily obtained. At that time, he had been overwhelmed with internal and external troubles and had no time to delve into the secrets behind it. Even if Sancha had offered him poisoned bait, as long as it didn’t kill him immediately, he would have had to swallow it.

By asking this question now, he was showing his desire to resolve this issue and ensure that there were no hidden dangers in the cooperation between Florence and Perigo.

Queen Amandra easily understood the meaning behind his subtle question. For the first time, she hesitated for a moment.

The room, specifically designed for secret meetings, was small with an extremely high ceiling, resembling an inverted rectangular box. The walls were adorned with portraits of former Roman queens, with their gold frames and vases placed near the tall cabinets next to the curtains. For privacy, there were no windows in the room, and the only door connected to the queen’s study – such secret rooms existed in abundance in all ancient palaces.

Palaces were breeding grounds for secrets, filled with countless plots and prying eyes. These small, secluded rooms used for clandestine conversations could be found next to a ballroom, at the corner of a staircase, or behind a false window in a dressing room. Many were erased during constant expansions and renovations, while more were built, and some were lost to memory over generations. Even those who have lived there for many years couldn’t claim to know all the secret passages and chambers of the palace.

The most famous example was the double helix staircase in the Palace of Calais. Its unique structure allowed two staircases to overlap and intertwine, so that even if two people were ascending or descending at the same time, they would never meet – it was said that this design was invented by the artistic genius Leonardo da Vinci to prevent the queen and the king’s mistress from encountering each other when they both resided there at the same time.

The temporarily lit fireplace crackled with the sound of burning wood. Amandra turned her gaze towards it and said after a while, “This was not something that needed to be concealed – your father and I were once acquainted. He was once my tutor on religious studies.”

Even Rafael, who was usually calm, widened his eyes upon hearing this unknown secret.

The sudden shock made his expression resemble a startled cat, with his fluffy golden hair standing on end and his round eyes widening, giving him a very childish appearance.

This expression caused the queen’s hand to twitch slightly, but she quickly changed her posture, suppressing the small movement.

“No one has ever mentioned it…” he murmured unconsciously.

Amandra shook her head helplessly, “It was always meant to be a secret. After my engagement to Lav XI was finalized, my father hired many tutors to instruct me in Roman history, language, culture, and of course, religious studies. Among them was Vitalian III – he was just a bishop at the time, assigned to Assyria, a diocese filled with ‘pagans’. Naturally, my father hired him to teach me for a few months.”

The queen continued, “Not many people know about this, especially after he returned to Florence. Due to their sensitive positions and the delicate relationship between a Roman queen and a Pope, our communication was limited to exchanging letters inquiring about each other’s well-being during diplomatic exchanges.”

Rafael raised an eyebrow subtly. Such a distant relationship, how could that man have confessed to her about his illegitimate child?

“Because of Sancha,” the Queen replied candidly, noticing his expression. “I needed to make plans for Sancha – and for the princess to gain the right of succession in Rome, she could only do so through the pope. We made a… deal. This secret was used by him as a collateral, and I simply needed to look after my teacher’s child when the time is right.”

As she spoke, Amandra turned her head and pushed away the cup in front of her. Her honey-colored fingertips pressed against the rose on the tablecloth facing her. “I didn’t want to bring this up now, but our deal is not yet complete. According to the oldest laws of inheritance, it’s now your turn to fulfill his obligation.”

Rafael leaned back, his gaze also falling on the rose. A glimmer of understanding flashed in his mind.

A rose.

A vow of silence.

When the firstborn son of God and the incarnation of Saint Leah walked the earth, the evil-doers instigated by the devil had banished him to a barren plain. All his followers were arrested, leaving him without warm clothes, food to fill his belly, or loyal friends. So a tiger offered him its den for warmth, and a bird brought him wild berries to satisfy his hunger.

After his life was saved, Saint Leah sat by a bush and preached to the empty plain. A tramp saw him and asked him about the truth of the world. Saint Leah replied, “I can tell you the truth of the world, but this is God’s secret. Anyone who hears it must swear to forever devote themselves to God, never to reveal, disclose, or hint at it.”

The tramp asked, “Can God hear my oath?”

Saint Leah replied, “Whatever is spoken, He will hear.”

He pointed to a frail rose in the bush beside him and said, “All things are His will. Please swear to Him.”

So the tramp swore an oath to the rose, and Saint Leah told him the truth of the world. To avoid revealing the secret, the tramp remained silent for the rest of his life, never uttering another word. His faithful character earned him the title of saint after his death, and he became the patron saint of all secrets.

And that rose used for the oath also became a symbol for ‘confidentiality’. Whenever a rose motif was present in a meeting, it meant that the conversation needed to be kept strictly confidential, a ‘vow of silence’ witnessed by God, sworn upon one’s soul, and requiring no signature.

Rafael, realizing this was a planned conversation, picked up his teacup, not to drink, but moved it towards the rose facing him, signaling his acceptance of the confidentiality agreement. “Please, go on.”

He knew there was no such thing as a free gift in this world. All favors had to be repaid.

In the Spring Goddess Hall, music was playing lightly. The herald standing at the door straightened his back and announced loudly, “Her Royal Highness, Princess Sancha has arrived!”

The people who had been waiting with their ears pricked up immediately ended their meaningless small talk and turned their gazes towards the door.

A young woman with light honey-colored skin walked in with her head held high. The gentlemen on either side bowed, while the ladies curtsied.

“His Holiness, Pope Sistine I, and Her Majesty the Queen Mother have arrived!”

A powerful voice echoed through the spacious hall.

The Pope and the Queen entered hand in hand. According to etiquette, Queen Amandra’s arm was linked with Rafael’s, and their body language was filled with politeness and formality.

Although they had already been struck by the young Pope’s beauty at the entrance of the Mirror Palace, as he walked inside, the countless bright lights reflected by the mirrors illuminated his long hair, golden vestments, and snow-white robes. His flawless beauty was like a surging wave that crashed into their eyes once again, rewriting all aesthetics that were contrary to his.

As they passed, men and women bowed deeply one after another, bending their bodies at a much greater angle than before. They couldn’t help but want to write their loyalty and respect for the Pope and the Queen on their faces.

Everyone sat down in order. The long table stretched from one end of the hall to the other. Those seated here were all the upper echelons of the Roman Empire. Men and women sat together at intervals, conversing with each other. Servants began serving dishes like flowing water. Crimson-red wine swirled in crystal glasses, and snow-white porcelain plates were placed one after another on the dining table, set against a backdrop of fresh flowers from the garden, their refreshing fragrance filling the air.

The Queen picked up a silver spoon and gently tapped the crystal goblet in front of her. The crisp tinkling sound attracted the attention of all the guests. She picked up a newly poured glass of wine from the tray of a servant waiting beside her and raised it to everyone, “We gather here today to welcome our distinguished guest from afar, His Holiness Pope Sistine I. The friendship between Rome and the Papal States has lasted for many years and will continue to do so long into the future. I ask all of you present to bear witness to this. Let us raise a toast together to our esteemed guests who have traveled a long way to visit Perigo.”

Everyone raised their glasses and shouted, “To His Holiness!”

Rafael raised his glass in return, “To Your Majesty.”

The nobles raised their glasses once more: “To Her Majesty.”

With the formalities out of the way, a lively tune began to play, signaling the official start of the banquet.

As the most honored guest, Rafael was seated to the queen’s right, with Sancha on his other side. To the queen’s left sat Duke Horton—the cousin of Lav XI and the biggest obstacle to Sancha’s succession. The middle-aged man was dressed in elegant attire, with hair the same color as Sancha’s. He wore a smiling expression, but it was clear to everyone that he was in a terrible mood.

Everyone knew the reason the Pope had come to Rome. Duke Horton would have loved nothing more than for Rafael to disappear from the face of the earth. It would be strange if he could be happy when he saw the foreign aid invited by his rival.

However, aside from his followers, no one now cared about his mood.

Sancha was quietly introducing the dishes on the table to Rafael, eagerly recommending Rome’s specialties. Two servants stood nearby, holding enormous platters. A roasted chicken, drenched in creamy white sauce, sizzled invitingly. Rafael took a knife and sliced open the chicken’s belly. The rich aroma of butter hit him like a bomb, while the scents of basil and lemon gently intertwined, neutralizing the overly greasy dish into a mellow and flavorful one.

Rafael cut a piece of the roast chicken and placed it on his plate. A servant on the side ladled a spoonful of hot, seasoned cream over the chicken. Rafael could smell the fragrant aroma of fruitwood, mixed with the faint scent of orange leaves.

Food was meant to be enjoyed.

As for the angry look in Duke Horton’s eyes…

What does it have to do with him?

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