Chapter 44: Tide of Rage
The rioting masses had already surged up the broad, majestic steps of the Great Hall. The ancient kings and knights carved in relief on the massive, round stone columns, holding spears with their cloaks billowing in the wind, seemed to be their precursors, gazing at the endless stream of people following in their footsteps.
The black-robed monks retreated again and again. They did not try to obstruct the crowd forcefully, nor did a single one of them utter a word. They were as silent as the rocks on the seashore, retreating cautiously as the waves rolled in, neither retreating too quickly nor standing still to provoke conflict. They controlled the crowd’s advance at a slow and orderly pace.
In the sweltering atmosphere, on the steps above, the solemn door carved with scales and crossed swords slowly opened, revealing a somewhat thin figure.
The monks, who had keenly noticed the identity of the newcomer, untied the whips from their waists—some only then noticed that they were wearing black leather whips that looked like belts. The fine and densely woven ropes were elastic, and the edges were rough. When they were shaken out, they were more than two feet long. They raised their whips and swung them in the air, skilfully avoiding the people around them, and a loud and clear whip crack exploded in the air.
The continuous whip cracks were like birds swooping across the sky, causing the people immersed in violence to gradually awaken from the collective will. They stopped and looked ahead in confusion, and then someone caught a glimpse of the figure standing at the door.
“It’s His Holiness!”
A joyful scream rang out, and the rioting mob, which had been like mad lions and tigers just a moment ago, seemed to instantly return to their polite selves. They took off their tattered caps and pressed them against their chests, bowing to the Pope on the steps. The whole crowd began to bow, their movements akin to waves of wheat slowly falling to the ground.
All those storms and waves turned into a gentle spring breeze and drizzle before the young Pope.
The people inside the courtroom gathered by the windows that could see outside, nervously grasping the thick velvet curtains. As they watched this scene, a vague thought flashed through everyone’s mind: Sistine I was establishing his authority in Florence, and all the people were happy to see his name engraved on the cornerstone of this city.