Chapter 18: A Snapshot of Francoiss Life in Florence
François was having a grand time in Florence.
As the de facto ruler of the vast empire of Calais, he possessed countless wealth, power spanning across the continent, and a noble status. This allowed him to obtain everything he desired with ease. Except for the years he had to lurk under his brother’s crown when he was young, he had never bowed to anyone’s orders—not even to the Pope, the spiritual leader of the continent.
The Pope… Humph, the Pope was merely something that needed to rely on the Calais royal family to survive, François thought contemptuously as he kissed the cheek of the young woman in his arms and listened to her laughter.
Florence boasted of its authority, claiming to have the faith of all the people, but it was the country and the royal family that truly owned these people. Since the fall of the Knights Templar, Florence’s influence had declined significantly. Although those ignorant lambs were still foolishly willing to donate all their wealth to the church, a large portion of this money was embezzled by the lords and royalty before it reached Florence.
Florence was, of course, aware of this dire situation and worked to change it. Pope Vitalian III had implemented a religious reform, and many of its measures had proven effective—measures that the royal families and lords were not very happy about. Fortunately, the unlucky Vitalian III was soon assassinated, and his successor was a complete fool. Till his death, he was still figuring out how to empty the papal palace of its wealth. The Holy Reforms, which had been halfway completed, was thus put on hold in a muddled manner.
François’s visit to Florence this time, in addition to celebrating the coronation of Sistine I, had another purpose: to confirm whether this new Pope would once again promote reforms that were unfavorable to the royal family.
They were quite satisfied with Florence’s current situation, so they were not stingy in giving Florence the title of a holy city and bestowing empty glory on the Pope—as long as he is obedient and content, without doing unnecessary things or having unnecessary thoughts.
However, he didn’t expect that before he could find out what he wanted to know, his target had already become so disgusted with him that they wanted to kick him back to Calais.
François was naked from the waist up, his white trousers hanging loosely around his hips. His muscular chest was smeared with a transparent, shiny oil, imitating the custom of ancient Roman gladiators. His gold armbands and necklaces were shining. The woman lying on the couch turned over and looked at his back with infatuated eyes.