novelraw Chapter 89: Rumors and Truth
Chapter 89: Rumors and Truth
In September of the holy year 1082, a clandestine piece of news began to spread like wildfire across the Syracuse Peninsula. It passed beneath the sleeves of nobles, amidst the chaotic clamor of taverns, and through the veiled glances of bards. Every eye shimmered with a spark of excitement; humans are naturally drawn to gossip, especially when that gossip involves the world’s most powerful monarchs—even if the two subjects in question were already dead.
“So, is it true? I mean, Assyria and the Papal States?” Even in the bustling markets, this freshly baked, hot topic became the ultimate icebreaker.
“I heard they met in Assyria. Didn’t His Holiness serve as the Queen’s tutor? Perhaps it happened back then…”
Almost overnight, the same rumor sprouted in Calais, Rome, Assyria, and even the Papal States: that the late Queen Amandra of Assyria and Pope Vitalian III had once been lovers.
People were rarely surprised by the messy entanglements of the nobility, but the involvement of Pope Vitalian III stirred a flicker of unease. He was, after all, the Pope—the man who had sworn his life to the Holy Lord, renouncing all desire to offer a pure body and soul to the divine. He seemed the only person in the world who should never be associated with a scandalous affair.
However, given the Holy Church’s sometimes eccentric behavior, with many monks having illegitimate children, and considering that Vitalian III had not yet been crowned when he committed the alleged indiscretion, an Archbishop making a mistake… seemed almost tolerable.
Public tolerance could be quite strange; their focus shifted entirely to the romance between the two monarchs, wishing they could travel back in time to witness that hidden affair of the past.
Soon, more details were passed from mouth to mouth: how the then-Archbishop of Valencia, Vitalian III, had traveled to Calais to serve as the Tutor of Religious Studies for the then-Princess Amandra, how he returned to Florence a few years later… These matters should have been secrets, or at the very least, not known in such detail by so many commoners. In this age of limited information, many commoners didn’t even know the name of their own city’s mayor, how could they recount the personal history of a deceased Pope and a foreign Queen so fluently?
The astute quickly realized one thing: this rumor had definitely been released by someone with an agenda. That person had stirred the waters from behind, spreading the secret to every corner of the Syracuse Peninsula and even Assyria in the shortest possible time, even filling in many details to make the story sound rich and plausible.
What was their motive?The even smarter ones vaguely sensed the other party’s intention from the outset.
A love story involving the Queen, unearthed after her death, precisely when Assyria was embroiled in a fierce struggle for the throne—
In that story, did the Queen ever bear a child for her lover?
That child, whose existence remained unconfirmed, might become the new key to shifting the situation in Assyria.
In Florence, however, there were far fewer people discussing the rumor. Masters forbade their servants from mentioning it, and respect for Pope Vitalian III kept most mouths shut. Yet among the nobles, terrified glances were exchanged in private.
They knew a bit more than others—about a “rumor” that had circulated in Florence for many years. Even while Pope Vitalian III was alive, this matter had been repeatedly mentioned by nobles in a mocking tone.
It was said that the current occupant of the Papal Palace, His Holiness, was the illegitimate child of Pope Vitalian III.
This “rumor” wasn’t a big deal initially; which noble didn’t have one or two illegitimate children? The Portias had spent vast sums to scrub the current Pope’s origins spotlessly clean. No one could find fault, so the rumor remained just that—a rumor. Aside from Redrick’s inexplicable, years-long hostility toward His Holiness, everything seemed normal.
But when they heard this new love story, the moment they connected the dots, their legs couldn’t help but began to go weak.
The illegitimate son of Pope Vitalian III was his eldest child. Calculating the timeline, he was born exactly in the year Vitalian III returned to Florence from Assyria.
At the time, people said the child’s mother was a prostitute. Everyone naturally accepted this conclusion; after all, keeping a mistress wasn’t a major issue, and since no such woman ever appeared by His Holiness’s side, it was clear she was a fleeting affair, of lowly status, not worth mentioning.
No one had thought to guess in the opposite direction—what if the woman wasn’t of low status, but on the contrary, was of a status so high she couldn’t
be the Pope’s mistress?If they truly fell in love in Assyria, if they truly crossed the forbidden line, and if they truly had a child…
…and if that child survived to this day, and even donned a crown…
All the nobles who glimpsed even a fraction of the truth couldn’t help but tremble with fear.
This wasn’t some amusing love story or a topic for casual entertainment.
The implications behind this matter were immense—it could truly lead to death, even the deaths of many, many people.
But where some were afraid and timid, others were naturally ecstatic.
Julius received a letter from the elders of the Portia family.
The letter, in an eager tone, demanded he verify the truth of the matter, preferably obtaining solid evidence. That way, the Portia family could “formulate a more comprehensive and appropriate response” to “secure the interests they deserved.” This, they claimed, was “what Rafael ought to do for the family.”
Julius gave a silent, cold laugh. The entire thing was nonsense; the stench of greed practically seeped through the paper, emitting a nauseating odor.
He casually tossed the letter into the fireplace, watching the paper shrink and blacken in the flames, its edges turning into glowing orange embers. He crossed his hands and sank into thought.
There was no need to heed the elders’ feigned modesty and probing; they could only stomp about in impotent rage. However, the letter indirectly revealed more information. Even the Portia family leaned towards believing the rumour; more people must have begun to suspect as well. It seemed the time had come to release the next piece of information.
Indeed, it was Rafael who had ordered Julius to leak the rumours. To that end, the two had engaged in an unprecedented argument.
Though Julius had followed Rafael’s orders, there had been no private conversation between them since. Every meeting was strictly for official business, devoid of even casual greetings.
Julius believed this method was too crude and blunt. Not everyone was a fool. Once Rafael announced his claim to the Assyrian crown, the vast majority would realize he had directed this play himself. He would be labeled a schemer, a devious manipulator —hardly a good look for a Pope, and one that might even lead his followers to question him.
Rafael, however, insisted on declaring his legitimate succession to the Assyrian throne as quickly as possible, using it as a legitimate opportunity to intervene in the Assyrian civil war.
Julius looked at Rafael with something bordering on hatred: “You know how foolish your choice is.”
Rafael didn’t yield an inch: “But I know I am right.”
“You know?” Julius was nearly laughing in anger. “What do you know? You’re still too naïve and innocent, attempting to move an immovable reality with your own strength alone.”
He suddenly leaned across the table, closing the distance to Rafael. His voice was low, hiding a worry even he failed to notice: “How many times do I have to tell you? You cannot save everyone!”
Rafael instinctively leaned back at the sudden proximity. A second later, he regained his composure, but the weariness in his eyes remained clearly discernible: “Yes, I remember quite clearly, Sir.”
His tone carried a hint of mockery.
This was their long-standing disagreement.
From the time Rafael became his student at twelve until his current age of twenty-five—for thirteen years—nearly every argument they had revolved around this issue.
“You shouldn’t—”
Julius didn’t finish his sentence; Rafael cut him off sharply: “—shouldn’t put myself in danger. I know.”
He knew exactly what Julius was going to say. He understood Julius as well as Julius understood him.
No—perhaps, in truth, they had never truly understood each other at all.
“Do not love anyone; love humanity as a whole.” Rafael repeated the words Julius had taught him years ago, wearily lowering his eyelids.
Julius watched him coldly, unable to define the emotion swirling in his chest.
Was it anger? Perhaps a little. But did he not know exactly what Rafael was like? From the moment thirteen years ago when he took that scrawny wolf cub from Delacroix’s hands and led him, step by step, to the highest seat of power—how could he not know Rafael’s character?
There was no one under heaven more compassionate than him. He was practically the earthly saint described in the holy scriptures. He loved every person he brushed shoulders with; he loved every soul living in the corners he could not see; he loved every person who strove to live diligently and died peacefully.
But the world had no place for saints.
The first man to manifest the divine was betrayed by his followers and died in the desolate wilderness. What fate awaited Rafael?
“You haven’t even taken the Assyrian crown, and yet you have already begun to pity them,” Julius pointed out calmly, striking at the truth Rafael had kept hidden in his heart.
Wasn’t Rafael willing to spread the rumors of his parentage, obtain the legitimate right to the Assyrian throne as quickly as possible, even at the cost of his own reputation, precisely to halt the meaningless, chaotic civil war in Assyria and thus preserve more innocent lives?
Rafael had no intention of arguing this point with him and dismissed it lightly: “There’s nothing to discuss about this matter. The outcome we need is the same; we merely differ slightly in the process.”
“No, it’s not the same.” Julius suddenly grew calm.
He scrutinized Rafael’s expression intently, then slowly straightened his back. He smoothed the sleeves that had wrinkled during his earlier, violent movements, and declared: “I do not support you obtaining the Assyrian throne.”
Rafael’s pupils constricted sharply.
He had never considered this possibility… Julius was refusing him?
Julius looked at him. “Yes. If this is your plan, then I refuse. You already possess the crown of the Papal States; every monarch must honor your name. To discard a unique theocratic authority for earthly royal power—and in a country as chaotic as Assyria, no less… I see no benefit whatsoever. As a partner to the Portia family, your actions lack consideration. If you insist on such a choice, I can only reassess our cooperation. I absolutely cannot accept a partner who might at any time sacrifice themselves for… for other people.”
He weighed the interests with cold precision: “I oppose your succession to the Assyrian throne.”
Rafael stared at him blankly, then erupted in a sudden fury.
An unprecedented argument broke out between them.
Perhaps the seeds of this conflict had been sown the day Rafael was crowned, merely waiting for a fuse. They glared at each other with fury, irrationally attacking each other’s vulnerabilities with the sharpest, most stinging words. It was a miserable experience; their long history meant they knew not only each other’s preferences but exactly how to step on each other’s sensitive spots with unerring accuracy. They hurled insults, vented, spewed venom utterly unbecoming of their stations. Had the room not been sufficiently soundproofed, the entire Papal Palace would have heard the sounds of them casting aside their dignity and decorum.
The argument ended with Julius slamming the door as he left.
Yet, two days later, Julius did exactly what Rafael wanted.
His arrangements and designs were even more exquisite than Rafael had envisioned. Every step was meticulously planned. As with countless times before, as long as Julius was there, it felt as though there was always a path for retreat.
But this time was different.
Rafael held the report sent by the Secretariat. Usually, such things were handled by clerks, but in the past, Julius would always bring them personally. Not this time.
Looking at the familiar signature on the report, Rafael realized clearly that this was unlike any time before. They had finally returned to the positions where they belonged.
Sovereign and subject, Pope and Secretary-General—or something of that nature.
But that was fine. The type of relationship he was best at handling was one built purely on mutual interests.
As the rumors of the late Queen and Pope Vitalian III reached a fever pitch before slowly subsiding, another bombshell dropped.
The Queen and Pope Vitalian III had a child: the current Pope, His Holiness Sistine I. The Queen had even left a will naming him the primary heir to the Assyrian throne.
The Queen’s lady-in-waiting, Ashur, appeared in Florence. In a public forum, she presented the Queen’s will to the foreign ambassadors stationed there. Simultaneously, Queen Sancha I of Rome sent an open letter to Florence, acknowledging Sistine I as her half-brother. She displayed a covenant left by Queen Amandra in the Roman court, proving that twenty-five years ago, when she gave birth to Rafael, she and Pope Vitalian III were in a state of matrimony. This made Rafael a legitimate child, with his claim to the papal crown possessing an unshakable legal foundation.
Sancha’s decision to take a side stripped many of those who wished to attack Rafael of their leverage. They couldn’t believe that Sancha—the person whose Assyrian crown was being “stolen”—could support Rafael so unreservedly. Even more bafflingly, Emperor François IV of Calais followed suit, announcing his own “legitimate claim” to the Assyrian throne.
Invoking his status as Sancha’s legitimate fiancé, he claimed the “right to obtain the Assyrian throne on behalf of his wife.”
This series of upheavals directly plunged the situation on the Syracuse Peninsula into utter confusion. Watching the developments, everyone was stunned.
During this period, the cobblestone streets of Florence were nearly worn down by the endless stream of noble carriages. They frantically held various tea parties, balls, and hunting parties, exchanging intelligence and information like little insects flitting about in spring, trying to gauge the movements of everyone in the Papal Palace and find angles to exploit.
A crown hung before them, and the one who could obtain it was Florence’s sovereign.
If Rafael succeeded in ascending to the throne, could they gain something from it?
Author’s Note
Rafael and Julius… the relationship between these two is just too complicated… No matter how I write it, it just doesn’t feel quite right… These two have already left me racking my brains, and there’s even more trouble coming up later… Ahhh just thinking about it makes my scalp tingle.
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