Chapter 37: Aftermath
Upon returning to the Papal Palace after nearly two months’ absence, Rafael fell ill.
This was hardly surprising. In fact, Polly found it quite remarkable. Considering the immense pressure and workload Rafael had endured over the past two months, it was almost admirable that he had managed to hold out until everything was over before falling sick.
But this did little to comfort those around the Pope.
Rafael was very ill.
On the wide four-poster bed, the heavy, dark green silk curtains were partially drawn, revealing golden threads woven into the fabric that created luxurious golden ripples against the deep green. The young man lying on the bed had his eyes closed, his breath weak. His cheeks were flushed with fever, his lips cracked and pale. His light golden hair was scattered messily on the pillow, and the velvet quilt was pulled up to his chin, making the figure in the bed appear even thinner. Even the rise and fall of his chest was barely noticeable.
To care for the patient, the gas lamp in the room was deliberately dimmed. Polly said that this was a high fever caused by excessive fatigue, and that he would be fine once he got enough sleep. However, no one could easily feel relieved when seeing Rafael’s pitiful and miserable appearance.
Julius walked in carrying several bottles of wine. He pulled over a golden basin on a nearby shelf, casually poured the wine into the basin, and then leaned into the bed curtain, carefully observing Rafael’s face.
With his eyes closed, the Pope looked especially harmless. The frail, delicate, and fragile aura about him was infinitely magnified, almost making it impossible to associate him with the man who had decisively and cruelly issued the order to burn 7,000 people to ashes. Stripped of his conscious rationality, the sleeping Pope had a fragile beauty like a flower.
Gentle, pure, and transparent, it seemed as if one could hold him in the palm of one hand, gently knead his petals, and wait for him to shed tears.