Chapter 2: The Archduchess of Assyria
A strange, shuddering emotion swept through everyone’s hearts like a storm, regardless of their faith in the Holy Church. When the Pope’s gaze fell upon them, those who were looked at felt a lump in their throat. The emotions of countless people converged, and the angels and saints on the surrounding murals, stained-glass windows, and sculptures stood silent. The organ roared and sang, and the majestic notes lifted people’s souls out of their bodies, allowing them to float upwards and be immersed in a pure spiritual cleansing, becoming part of the eternal historical silhouette.
“Oh Lord…” Someone murmured, their voice choked with tears as they gazed at the saintly-looking Pope. For a moment, they felt as if they had witnessed a miracle.
Rafael, overlooking everything, took in the expressions of everyone present, while his heart remained calm. As an institution that influenced people through spiritual means, the Holy See was already extremely proficient in such rituals. How to create an atmosphere, how to stir people’s emotions, every detail, from the moment they stepped into the Cathedral of the Holy Thorn, had been serving for this moment.
The cardinal standing aside announced the beginning of the audience ceremony. With a long and loud call, the guests, starting from the front row, one by one approached the new Pope.
“His Grace, François-Alexandre de Calais, Duke of Calais and Montpensier, Count of the House of Rockefeller—”
With the cardinal’s loud voice, the first man in the front row, of medium build and long, lithe limbs, stood up. He sported the fashionable curled mustache popular among noblemen of the time, and his brown curly hair was slicked back, each curl perfectly uniform. His snow-white ruff collar was adorned with transparent diamonds, and snow-white stockings alongside a stiff silk long coat wrapped his muscular body. His gaze was sharp and arrogant, and his left hand was always resting on the hilt of his sword.
Rafael remembered him. As the Duke of Calais Empire, one of the most powerful empires of the time, this uncle of the emperor was only thirty years old this year, in the prime of his life. As an “advisor” to the young emperor, he was in fact the true ruler of that vast empire. He was arrogant, overbearing, greedy, and ambitious…
The Duke of Calais took a few steps forward and, at the reminder of the Pope’s deacon, removed his sword—Rafael noticed a fleeting look of displeasure on his face—and stopped before the Pope’s seat, looking up at the young Pope from several steps below.
Although he was looking up, the Duke’s expression was full of undisguised scrutiny. After a brief exchange of glances, Francois knelt on one knee and kissed the thorned pattern on the Pope’s gold-threaded robe: “I pledge on behalf of Calais my faith in you and the Holy See you lead. At the same time, I pay my tribute to you, Your Holiness. May your blessings and your fame spread far and wide.”