The Reversed Hierophant
Chapter 6: Old Injuries

Cardinal Tondolo’s funeral was held with solemn simplicity. In accordance with his will, his estates, castles, and other fixed assets were inherited by his eldest son, young Tondolo. Half of his 9,800 gold florins went to his eldest son, and the other half was divided equally among his remaining children. For this, they also paid the Pope a “notarization fee” of 11,000 gold florins.

The Pope’s income came from many sources. The main income was naturally the annual tithes and taxes from dioceses in various countries and the revenue from churches. Other sources included the regular position-retention fees paid by the clergy to Florence, the numerous taxes levied by Florence, and the fact that if a cleric died without a will, all their property would be confiscated by the Papal treasury.

However, just before his death, Pope Leo VI had gifted all the cash in the papal treasury to his relatives and children, leaving Rafael with a nearly bankrupt papal palace. The 11,000 gold florins in income only barely covered the shortfall from the papal coronation ceremony, leaving countless gaps in the funding for the Florence city guard, the papal guard, the salaries of the papal palace servants, and so on.

A pile of parchment scrolls covered the oak desk. A luxurious, long-haired carpet covered the entire room. Servants entered silently, turned a few valves, and the hissing of air passed through pipes buried in the ground and walls. The wicks in the glass covers suddenly lit up, and dozens of wall lamps emitted orange light one after another. Through the refraction of the gems on the lampshades, the study was enveloped in a dazzling glow.

The Pope, sitting behind the desk, held a beauty more dazzling than the light. He had taken off the gorgeous robes he wore when presiding over the funeral during the day, and was only wearing a simple white robe, with an ermine blanket draped over his knees. He held a quill in his left hand, and his right hand was pressed under the blanket, his brows slightly furrowed.

His recently washed long, golden hair was still damp, bound by a gold ring at the back of his head. The dampness had soaked through the thin clothing on his shoulders, but Rafael didn’t notice. He gripped his quill and signed the parchment.

At the beginning of his reign, there were holes everywhere that needed to be filled. Pope Leo VI had been very thorough, having distributed all of the Pope’s disposable assets to his relatives in various ways.

In fact, this was not surprising.

Most popes would do everything they could to enrich themselves, creating new taxes or establishing new dioceses and appointing new bishops, all of which were good ways to make money. Of course, they wouldn’t kindly give this money to their successors. Before being called by the Lord, every pope would plunder the papal treasury clean.

Rafael had no comment on this. He was very clear about the virtues of Leo VI. This man, who was elevated to the papal throne during a period of chaos in order to balance various factions, was old and chronically ill. He was greedy, mediocre, and no one could expect him to do anything earth-shattering. He was merely a figurehead, and it was only natural for him to line his own pockets before he died.

In his previous life, Leo VI had also left him an empty, bare treasury. Apart from the holy relics and jewels that couldn’t be sold, Leo VI had practically looted the Papal Palace. His only legacy was a pile of bills signed by the Pope.

But to be honest, despite being burdened with such a heavy debt as soon as he took office, Rafael had never truly worried about money. These debts were soon offset by his secretary general, and soon the Papal Palace returned to a life of wealth and luxury.

His secretary general…Julius Portia.

Rafael’s pen hovered over the parchment, a drop of ink clinging to the tip, about to fall.

His gaze involuntarily turned to the drawer beside him. At the very top of the drawer was an appointment letter, appointing Julius Portia as the Secretary of State¹ of the Papal Palace during the reign of Pope Sistine I.

The signature line below was blank. He had drafted this appointment letter on the night before his coronation, before his rebirth. As for the signature… When he wrote this appointment letter, he had already decided that as soon as he was crowned, he would sign it immediately, expressing his gratitude to his mentor in the capacity of Pope Sistine I. However…

Rafael fell into deep thought.

There was no denying that Julius was an exemplary Secretary of State. In fact, he was the perfect secretary. Under Julius’s management, Florence flourished. Rafael didn’t need to worry about anything; Julius could always solve any problem in the most appropriate way. Rafael was free to do whatever what he liked according to his own wishes.

No one could refuse Julius.

Even if he had a second chance, Rafael didn’t think anyone could replace Julius at his side.

But he still hesitated.

The Papal States² encompassed fourteen cities. After centuries of rise and fall, the only city that the Pope could firmly control was Florence, where the Papal Palace was located. The other thirteen cities had their own lords and families. The Portias, who had made their fortune in banking, were lords of the Rhine. Through the Portia Bank, they controlled the cash flow of half the continent. The florin, the currency of the Papal States, was issued by the Portia Bank. This monopoly made the Portias the leader of the thirteen lords.

This also made them a major concern for successive popes.

Every ambitious Pope wants a complete Papal State that belonged solely to the Pope, but no matter how much the thirteen lords fought among themselves in private, they always showed a surprising unity when facing the Pope.

He had never cared about this before. Julius was a skilled diplomat who handled the relationship between the Pope and the lords very harmoniously, so they had always coexisted peacefully. Ŕἁ

But perhaps… this kind of peaceful coexistence was merely his wishful thinking?

The young Pope lowered his eyelids, his lavender eyes fixed gloomily on the parchment. His death was a mystery, and after careful consideration, he discovered that it seemed as if there were enemies everywhere around him.

The carved wooden door creaked open, and the moonlight cast a long shadow on the ground. The light in the room flickered due to the change in airflow, and for a moment, he was involuntarily plunged into that terrifying nightmare.

An unguarded bedroom, a carelessly opened door, the flickering candlelight, and a dark figure approaching him helplessly…

“Who?!”

His reaction was so exaggerated that it was almost out of line. The person who entered didn’t expect him to be so angry. They paused, then removed their hood: “It’s me.”

Rafael stared at him, struggling against fear for a couple of seconds before he could make out the other person’s appearance.

Iron-gray long hair, thin crimson lips, silver-rimmed glasses, and a slender frame.

Julius Portia.

Rafael’s pupils constricted, and he quickly glanced out the door. The Papal Guards stationed outside looked a bit flustered, clearly having tried their best but failed to stop the Duke of Rhine.

Rafael calmed down and gestured for the guard to close the door. He looked at Julius across the wide oak table, “I haven’t received your request for an audience.”

Julius seemed right at home. He naturally undid his thin cloak with one hand and casually draped it over the back of the chair. Rafael noticed that he was holding something in his right hand. After a brief moment of confusion, he immediately understood what it was. At that realization, his whole body tensed.

Julius walked towards him. As Julius got closer, Rafael’s resistance became more and more obvious. When Julius knelt beside him, this resistance reached its peak, almost making him want to stand up and leave.

However, the patriarch of the Portia family simply reached out and pressed on his right leg, just like grabbing the neck of a kitten, suppressing this overly beautiful but rebellious golden cat.

“You…” Rafael tried to speak, but the latter half was forced back into his throat, turning into a vague low hum.

“You’re running?” Julius’s tone seemed a little cold, and his deep purple eyes behind the lenses, held no smile.

Julius forcibly lifted the blanket from Rafael’s knees and pulled open the Pope’s robe, revealing a pair of legs that were no different from those of ordinary people but were extremely pale.

Rafael’s face turned pale as he watched Julius take out a small leather pouch from his bag which he carefully placed over his right knee.

After standing for a whole day to preside over the funeral, his right leg had already become numb from pain and lost all sensation. After applying hot water for a while, an intense tingling rushed up from the nerve endings, more torturous than the pure pain. Rafael almost instinctively tried to avoid Julius’ hand: “I don’t need–“

Julius grasped his ankle, pressing the leather pouch against his legs, seemingly unconcerned with Rafael’s rejection.

After a while, he raised his eyelids and looked at Rafael with those deep purple eyes: “No? Then why didn’t you leave when I approached? You’re clearly unable to move now.”

“I’ve taught you that being stubborn is the most foolish thing. It won’t bring you any benefits, but I…” The Head of Portia softened his cold and stiff tone and said softly to his student, “You can always trust me, Rafa.”

This sentence seemed to remove all of Rafael’s resistance. Julius reached out and pressed his muscles in a certain pattern. The skin under his hands was cold and soft, without a hint of healthy blood. Rafael looked down at him. The Patriarch of the Portia family was kneading his right leg so patiently and skilfully. Who could have imagined this scene?

The high and mighty Lord Portia, the Duke of Rhine, would actually do something a humble servant would do, and he seemed quite accustomed to it?

Rafael endured the waves of numbness and pain that were surging up his leg. This scene was all too familiar to him. In order to study at the Florentine Seminary, he had voluntarily broken and reset his injured leg. Vitalian III had invited a doctor from the Portia family to treat him. Out of concern for his blood relative, Julius also followed the doctor to visit him.

So when did it start? When did Julius started kneeling in front of him, spending half an hour patiently and meticulously massaging his persistently aching right leg? He realized he couldn’t really remember.

Vitalian III’s religious reforms had touched the interests of too many people. After his assassination, Rafael, who had done so much for him, was banished to a rural parish. It was the result of much bargaining that he was not excommunicated from the church and executed on the spot. All his parish income was stripped from him, and he was exiled alone to the desolate and barren Cantrella Castle, dragging his injured body while worrying about his future.

During that time… only Julius came to visit him from time to time.

Rafael was an exiled and feared sinner of the ‘Heretical Reform’. He was not allowed to receive any guests ‘to avoid spreading his evil ideas to innocent lambs’. He was imprisoned in Cantrella Castle, and every day he could only sit on the high watchtower and quietly look towards Florence.

The guards swallowed up all the salary, medicine and food that he was entitled to. Julius, bearing the surname ‘Portia’, couldn’t visit him openly, so he could only sneak up through the side gate of the castle after sunset.

The guard was sleeping soundly with a bottle of wine in his arms. Rafael leaned against the wind-eroded wall, watching the noble Portia Patriarch climbing the wall clumsily. He was worried but couldn’t help but laugh.

Thinking about it this way, even though life was difficult and he only had water and hard bread every day, that was actually the happiest time of his life.

Julius said he was taking care of him at the request of Vitalian III. These cousins had a significant age gap, but their relationship was unexpectedly good. Taking care of his deceased cousin’s orphan was just a piece of cake for him.

But Rafael never thought about why Julius had to come in person every time for such a simple matter that could be entrusted to the servants.

In the desolate and dilapidated castle, countless nights, the Portia Patriarch would sit cross-legged on the ground, using the dim candlelight in the room to patiently massage his legs that were chilled by the night wind. They talked about astronomy and geography, about the situation in Florence, about the struggles between Rome and Calais, about the starry poems, and even about a bird that happened to pass by during the day.

It was strange, because that period should have been the loneliest time for him.

But he had never felt lonely.

He only felt immense joy, far greater than he had ever felt while vying for power beside his father or living in the opulent palace of Florence.

He never believed that Julius’s feelings for him were insincere. For four whole years, how could a person be so deceitful and consistently visit him, a prisoner with a bleak future? It was precisely because of this long companionship that he would trust Julius so much in the years that followed, and even though the Portia family was ambitious, he never had the slightest suspicion of Julius.

He was his companion, mentor, and guide, his savior, the only glimmer of light in his dark sky.

Yet, thinking back to that time now, even though only six years have passed in his memory, it seemed like a lifetime ago.

Julius didn’t know what he was thinking. The skin under his palm gradually warmed up, and he finally spoke, “You’ve been standing for so long during the day. Why didn’t you replace a servant to massage you? If you’re worried, I can have the doctor come to you.”

Rafael didn’t respond, lost in thought for a while, until Julius helplessly looked up at him, “Why are you so lost in thought again?”

Rafael gazed into those familiar deep purple eyes. An impulse surged in his heart, urging him to ask sharp questions about that silent and bloody night, but he controlled himself. The current Julius knew nothing about it, and this was just his guess after all.

Julius keenly sensed Rafael’s hesitation and said gently, “What do you want to ask?”

The tone was all too familiar. Under countless dim lights, they had talked about everything, and Julius had never been impatient with Rafael’s endless questions. Even the most naive and straightforward questions, he would encourage Rafael to ask and was willing to give a proper answer.

So much so that when Rafael heard this familiar question, he couldn’t help himself.

Slowly, word by word, with the blood surging in his veins and the icy wind whistling in his memory, he asked on behalf of that lonely soul with no one to rescue him.

“Under what circumstances would you kill me?”

Julius’s hand paused, and a tense atmosphere spread between them.

Translator’s Note

1 Secretary of State – The Secretary of State of His Holiness presides over the Holy See’s Secretariat of State, which is the oldest and most important dicastery/ department of the Roman Curia (the central government of the Roman Catholic Church). The Secretariat of State performs all the political and diplomatic functions of the Holy See and the Vatican City State. The Secretary is the chief adminstator of various dicasteries in the Roman Curia. The position is sometimes described as the prime minister of the Holy See.

In the translations, I’ll mainly refer to the position as Secretary General since its easier to translate, but the term can be used interchangeably.

2 Papal States – The Papal States were a conglomeration of territories on the Italian Peninsula under the direct sovereign rule of the Pope from 756 to 1870. They were among the major states of Italy from the 8th century until the Unification of Italy , which took place between 1859 and 1870, and culminated in their demise.

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