Chapter 33: Fragmented Past
Two men, wrapped tightly from head to toe in long black cloaks, walked out of the small door of the Orange Blossom Church where vegetables were transported. The knight guarding the door glanced at them silently. One of them shook out a small parchment pass. The knight glanced at it and said nothing.
The two stepped onto the wet and muddy road of the lower city.
This massive tumor growing on the body of Florence was filled with fishy-smelling water. The working people had exercised an imagination that surpassed all artists in architectural design. Narrow houses were squeezed into the gaps between buildings. A few wooden boards could be casually placed on the eaves with a piece of oilcloth propped up to create a shelter. People with tenacious vitality live in every crevice, like earthworms and maggots in the soil, greedily absorbing the little sunlight and rainwater that leaked from the layers of rotten buildings.
Damp and sticky moss grew from the ground up the walls and into the houses. These little things, nourished by animal manure, are a stubborn disease that can never be eliminated in the lower city. When you step on them, you will feel a soft and disgustingly slippery texture.
Thieves, slaves, criminals, and prostitutes lived here. Many were already dead, and more were hiding in small, dark houses, peering through the cracks at the two people who still dared to walk on the street.
Rafael walked in front. The blood that was surging in Ferrante’s head had slowly cooled down. As he watched the buildings around him become increasingly low and chaotic, he suddenly realized what was happening – His Holiness the Pope of Florence was venturing deep into the plague-ridden area alone, without any protection.
This fact made Ferrante’s blood run cold. He dared not imagine what would happen if His Holiness had an accident – not just illness, there were too many evil deeds in the lower city that could take a person’s life. The nobles didn’t set foot here not only because it was dirty, but also because many desperadoes lived here.
Given enough benefits, these desperadoes would not mind betraying their faith.
Ferrante suddenly stepped forward and grabbed Rafael’s wrist through his cloak: “Your Holiness… please go back! This place is not suitable for you to set foot in. If…”