Chapter 93: Confrontation
On the day of Rafael’s surgery, the Emperor of Calais formally issued a claim to the Assyrian throne, explicitly stating that he would not rule out the use of military force.
This declaration, tantamount to a declaration of war, once again shocked the Syracuse Peninsula. Rome, maintaining his customary “polite calm,” remained silent on the matter.
Thus, the eyes of the world converged once more upon the Papal States.
The figure at the heart of the storm lay wearily in bed. Even in the drowsiness induced by medication, his brow remained furrowed, his expression one of an anxiety that could find no rest.
Julius touched his forehead, then removed the ring and glove from his right hand. Sliding his hand beneath the covers and under Rafael’s clothing, he found the Pope’s back damp with sweat. Producing a dry linen towel, Julius carefully wiped away the perspiration from Rafael’s spine, then smoothed out the rumpled fabric of his garments.
This sequence of actions appeared excessively practiced. It was difficult to imagine that His Excellency the Duke of Rhine, a man who had been served by others his entire life, could perform a servant’s work so naturally. He looked like the sort of man who wouldn’t even know how to wring out his own towel.
And that wouldn’t have been far from the truth.
At least, thirteen years ago, he had been a traditional aristocrat who had never wringed a cloth in his life. If someone had told him then that he would one day personally tend to another man without the help of a single servant—even changing his clothes and wiping his body—Julius would have undoubtedly committed that delusional individual to the most securely guarded monastery with a smile.
But—yes, fate always loved to add that dramatic footnote to a person’s story. Just as Rafael’s disappearance was to Amandra, or Tondolo’s betrayal was to Delacroix, Julius never imagined when he took the future of that frail child from his cousin that he would one day find himself in such a “humble” position.