Chapter 56: Duke Horton
The banquet at the Mirror Palace finally ended a little after three in the morning. The candles that had burned all night were reduced to nothing but pools of wax. The servants turned the heavy iron winches, lowering the enormous chandeliers from the ceiling. They stripped off the congealed wax and replaced the candles with new ones.
While the servants worked diligently on the first floor, the kitchen began to prepare meals for the new day. The second floor, where the masters rested, was completely silent.
Rafael had a terrible headache. The journey by carriage had been fairly smooth, but as soon as he lay down on the bed, he began to feel unwell. His head was throbbing. Although he was obviously terribly sleepy, he couldn’t fall asleep. He tossed and turned until the sun rose, before finally getting up, throwing on a robe.
The climate of Rome was warmer and more humid than that of Florence. The monsoon brought abundant rainfall every year, and the vast mountains blocked the cold current flowing from the south. The country was born on fertile plains, and its excellent geographical location near the sea gave it a large population of skilled swimmers. The Roman navy was the strongest in the world, a fact that even Calais had to grudgingly admit.
Rafael was staying in the best suite at the Mirror Palace. The fireplace heated the entire room, making it dry and warm. He walked barefoot on the carpet, his ankles sinking into the soft, thick threads.
Unlike the large, magnificent frescoes commonly found in Florence, Rome favoured a more delicate and elegant style. Stuccos were framed in oval or square golden frames and hung on walls adorned with deep red or dark green wallpaper and curtains.
In anticipation of the Pope’s arrival, some of the more romantic and out-of-place pieces in the Mirror Palace had been replaced with more religious artwork. Rafael shifted his gaze away from an oil painting and settled into an armchair in front of the fireplace. He curled his feet up onto the chair, resembling a cat curled up in a ball. He allowed his mind to drift lazily, enjoying the comfortable drowsiness.
Ferrante pushed the door open quietly and as expected, found the bed empty. A moment later, he easily located his holy father in front of the fireplace.
‘Just like a cat,’ he thought disrespectfully. ‘Always curling himself up in a warm spot, napping peacefully.’