The Reversed Hierophant
Chapter 32: Temptation of the Saint

The papal procession finally came to a halt at a moderately sized church in the lower city. The person who chose this location was Ferrante who had climbed to the position of captain of the papal guard. Although, he had not yet reached the legal age of adulthood, he already possessed a calmness, maturity, and intelligence far beyond his years. Since the Francois incident last year, he had become unusually taciturn, following behind the Pope like a silent ghost, gazing at everyone who approached the Pope with emotionless eyes.

In the papal palace, there was already growing discussion about Ferrante. Unlike the previous heated discussion caused by the Pope’s favoritism towards him when he first arrived, this time the discussion was silent and subtle, like a long, cold stream flowing in an underground river, leaving no trace or sound, yet noticed by all the leaves and branches perched on the big tree of the papal palace.

They said he was the Pope’s shadow, a watchdog to the Holy Father, a loyal pet… No matter what, Ferrante had heard these whispers from his own numerous sources but had always laughed them off.

This young man, who seemed to have taken the protection of the Pope as his only mission, was born in the lower city. No one knew better than he 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 greatest advantage was its safety.

The Orange Blossom Church was originally a public schoolhouse left by the ancient Romans. After the collapse of the vast empire, the Holy See transformed it into a monastery. It still retained the solid foundation of the Roman era, and the thick arched brick walls enclosed the building tightly. The style was solemn and majestic, and although it was not as delicate and beautiful as other later-built churches, it had its own unique and rugged grandeur.

This monastery was then abandoned fifty years after its establishment and later converted into a church. From the time it stood on the earth till present, it was probably the first time it welcomed a crown.

The Knights Templar were very satisfied with this base. The open square left over from the ancient Roman era was very suitable for their training. The thick walls and regular structure also made it convenient for them to facilitate their garrison and guard. They quickly took over the external defence of the Orange Blossom Church, while the security of the Pope was left to the responsibility of the Papal Guard, who were dedicated to this matter.

Rafael also assigned half of the knights to participate in the rescue and distribution of supplies in the lower city. This move obviously greatly calmed people’s hearts. The people silently obeyed the words of these knights wearing snow-white robes and light armor, returning to their desolate homes and waiting for tomorrow.

On the first day that Pope Sistine 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. In accordance with Sistine I’s order before he left, he allowed those who wanted to flee to leave Florence. Those with a certificate of consent stamped with the Secretary-General’s seal and signature could leave, but…

Of course, it was impossible to let the guilty abandon Florence so easily.

Julius neatly drew a cross on the application form just handed to him. The cursive handwriting was slender and upright, like a vine.

Application denied.

The bishop who received this document turned pale, in stark contrast with the jubilant crowd around him. His expression attracted the attention of his colleagues. They looked at him in confusion, and then discovered 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 holy decree of Sistine I, Julius Portia was not a harsh person. He would quickly approve the applications for leave submitted to his desk, including those from people who were not very friendly with the Portia family.

But not everyone could get that seemingly easy-to-get signature.

Those who had made their way up in the upper class of Florence were all shrewd. They quietly observed and quickly discovered that all the rejected applications were people related to the twelve lords.

Not to mention the twelve lords themselves.

At the same time that Sistine I took a carriage to the lower city, the Portia family’s guards and the remaining guards of the papal palace went to the residences of the lords, surrounding them and not allowing anyone to enter or leave.

Such an open act, coupled with this subtle timing, made many people vaguely guess the whole story, making them shudder.

Although the plague occurred in the lower city, who knows if they would be so insane as to include the upper city in their attacks. What if the lords fought to the death and were determined to kill Sistine I? Wouldn’t those living in the upper city also suffer an unexpected disaster?

The frightened nobles rarely united against a common enemy. They subtly distanced themselves from the lords and rejected the letters of request sent from their residences, even if the letters only asked them to take one or two people with them in the caravan leaving the city.

The nobles sneered and handed the letters directly to the papal palace.

The upper city of Florence soon became empty. Only a few nobles remained. However, not many of the clergy were willing to leave. They knew very well that now that the pope had shown his determination to live and die with the people, if they really left, they would never be promoted in their lifetime, and they might even be excluded from Florence – they would rather die than lose everything they had struggled for so many years.

So people were surprised to replace that more and more priests were coming to the lower city, and with the various materials sent by the nobles, life in the lower city actually seemed to be much better than before the plague.

However, such changes were just a drop in the bucket in the face of the merciless plague.

Rafael stood on the highest bell tower of the Orange Blossom Church, looking down at the tangled streets and narrow alleys below with a gloomy expression. No one would allow him to leave the church nor would they allow anyone outside to approach him directly. The Orange Blossom Church entered a semi-closed state because the Pope lived there. The knights of the Templar seemed to be only protecting the Pope, but there was another unspoken meaning – they were preventing people from the lower city from entering the church and putting the Pope at risk of infection. 𝐑�

Ferrante stood not far behind him, intently watching his back. As time passed, he couldn’t help but quietly shift his gaze to look at those places he was so familiar with.

Following the narrow, winding road in front of the Orange Blossom Church, passing a low, narrow bakery, crossing a stinking pool, and going forward and forward, one could see the small, semi-arched spire of the Holy Grail Church; behind the church were low buildings that were no different from other houses, crooked cottages piled up with bricks, planks, and haystacks. Cold in winter and hot in summer, the rotten eaves exuded a stench. They could barely be called houses. He had lived there for a year and had sent his young mother there. Every road here had his footprints, sticky with mud, dirty dust, and the stinking excrement of livestock, dragging him into his once damp life in countless dreams.

I’m back here again.

Ferrante thought.

But it was different now. Disease and fear have shrouded this place. The roads that were once bustling with crowds were now dead silent. Ditches had been dug where garbage was dumped, and countless corpses were thrown in. The soil hadn’t completely covered their bodies, and the gravediggers had already fallen beside the pit. The exposed, pale skin of the corpses was covered with carbuncles and black sores, and flies and insects crawled in and out of their wide-open mouths.

Knights in light armor knocked on every door, carrying out the corpses. Monks in black robes followed behind them, reciting scriptures. Doctors, wrapped head to toe in black robes and wearing bird-beaked masks, carried large buckets, splashing vinegar-laced water¹ on the streets, filling the entire street with a pungent sour smell. They believed that this strongly scented liquid could drive away the hidden plague demons.

This method was provided by Doctor Polly. Of course, he didn’t believe it had anything to do with demons, but since people were willing to accept this explanation, he didn’t mind saying so. In addition, he also suggested fumigating houses with mugwort – according to him, the Eastern Empire did the same thing. However, Florence couldn’t get so much mugwort all at once, so they compromised and first fumigated the buildings headed by the papal palace, and then took all the vinegar stored in the noble mansions and boiled and sprinkled it at every street corner.

No one wanted to go out.

But they would still stagger out of their homes every morning and go to the Orange Blossom Church, kneeling at the door and mumbling prayers, praying for the protection of His Holiness the Pope and the blessing of God.

On the seventh day after Sistine I entered the lower city, he continued to climb the bell tower in the morning. Fewer and fewer people were kneeling outside the door to pray. He saw with his own eyes a thin woman walking towards him with a bent body, before collapsing silently to the ground.

At the Pope’s insistence, all churches and monasteries opened their doors to manage patients collectively. The monks, nuns, and doctors looked more and more grim, as deaths continued to occur among them. Leshert even began to tactfully request that the Pope evacuate the lower city. This was unimaginable for a righteous knight who lived by his vows, which showed how critical the situation was.

Julius’ letters increased from once a day to several an hour, and the tone gradually became more severe. Rafael refused him as usual.

The only good news was that the plague was indeed contained in the lower city, and at least Florence would not be dragged into the abyss.

Rafael looked at the gradually dying lower city with a cold expression. Many things flashed through his mind. His chaotic and complex thoughts jumped from the sick people to the lords who were starting to move again, piled up in a 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.

And also because of his incompetence.

If he could control the lords more forcefully, if he could discover their plots earlier, if his deterrence had reached the point where no one dared to offend him –

Rafael suddenly thought.

——I need a knife.

He looked into the distance, and the letter Dr. Polly had sent him from outside fluttered in the wind.

He needed a knife, a sharp, silent, hidden, and invincible knife.

The young pope with the face of a saint turned his head and looked at Ferrante who had always stood behind him. The young man with curly black hair was handsome and agile, like a leopard lurking in the dark, quietly retracting his claws, waiting for his keeper’s orders.

“Ferrante, come here,” Ferrante saw the pope beckoning to him. He walked over, and the scent of frankincense and myrrh from the pope filled his nose. It was a very familiar smell, but every time he smelled it, he felt as if he were stepping into a temple, “Look down, what do you see?”

The pope gently placed his hand on his shoulder. The hand of the ruler of Florence was very cold, perhaps because he had been standing in the wind for too long – Ferrante thought so aimlessly. He followed the Pope’s instructions and looked down, seeing the scenes he had seen countless times: the dead, the wailing, the moaning.

His Adam’s apple bobbed, and a painful feeling like a knife scraped his throat. Fear and bitterness overwhelmed him.

He hated this poor, damp, and decadent place, but seeing it really die, he felt an immense despair.

“This is your home,” the Pope said.

After a long silence, Ferrante heard the Pope say gently, “It’s also my home.”

Ferrante suddenly turned his head with such force that he almost twisted his head off.

He didn’t understand what the Pope meant.

Rafael smiled at him, without any other meaning in his smile: “This is a secret.”

The golden-haired pope leaned close to Ferrante’s ear and whispered: “I grew up here in my childhood. Like you, I was a piece of trash that crawled out of the mud.”

Huge waves rolled up in Ferrante’s sea-blue eyes.

Sistine I’s origin was an open secret in Florence. He was recorded under the name of a branch of the Portia family and did not even get the surname Portia. However, they all guessed that he was the illegitimate son of Pope Vitalian III, but apart from that, no one knew who his mother was or where he grew up.

They thought that he was like many illegitimate children of noble blood, 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 his childhood.

The only person who knew of his origin and was still alive was Julius—and now there was also Ferrante.

The Holy See has always been creating a sacred origin for the Pope. The Pope was a being beyond mortals, he was pure and noble, and he must have grown up in fragrant brocade and flowers, carrying people’s expectations and hopes – no matter what, he should not be a lowly beggar who crawled around in the lower city.

“I’ll take you to see my past,” Rafael 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 the huge shock, completely unaware of that bit of pity and sadness. “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 subconsciously put his hand on the Pope’s palm.

At this moment, Rafael almost wanted to retract his hand. He wanted to let go of this poor innocent soul, but this hesitation only lasted for a moment.

– God, should he commit any sin in the future, please forgive him and let the flames fall only upon me, for all this was my temptation.

Rafael murmured silently in his heart.

The Pope tightened his grip on the hand and a flawless smile appeared on his face.

Author’s Note

Rafa is going to do something bad…

Translator’s Note

1 Vinegar water – Vinegar has been used as an antiseptic and disinfectant since ancient times. The most famous during the plague is probably the four thieves vinegar. The story goes that during the terrible plague of Tolosa in 1630, four thieves, not considering the infection risks, entered the homes of plague victims, dying or died, to plunder their wealth. Arrested, they were sentenced to hang. An intelligent and curious judge wondered how to managed not to get infected. He questioned them promising them grace if they revealed the interesting secret. The thieves replied that twice a day they bath their wrists and temples with a macerate of various herbs in vinegar, which from that day took the name of “vinegar of the 4 thieves“.

This specific vinegar composition was popular during the black death epidemic of the medieval period, to prevent the catching of the plague.Plausible reasons for the effectiveness of this herbal concoction is due to its ingredients being natural flea repellents, since the flea is the carrier for the plague, as well as its antimicrobial properties.