The Reversed Hierophant

Rafael sat in the council chamber’s reception room, blowing on a steaming cup of red tea. The steam formed a thin layer of mist in front of him. When the mist dissipated, he saw Ferrante walking through the decorative archway and leaning down slightly.

“Holy Father, the royal guard has entered.”

Rafael turned his head. “With weapons?”

“With weapons,” Ferrante confirmed.

“It seems that Her Majesty is anxious… But it shouldn’t be this early – is there trouble in Assyria?” the Pope speculated, setting down the porcelain cup in his hand. “Well, it’s time for us to make our entrance.”

As soon as he finished speaking, there was a polite knock at the door, three times in total, each neither light nor heavy.

Ferrante went to open the door. A queen’s servant, dressed in a fine uniform, bowed to him. “By order of Her Majesty, His Holiness is requested join the council in the chamber.”

“Understood.” The dark-haired monk’s voice was deep and husky from puberty. He closed the door and returned to his Holy Father, who was already standing in front of a mirror examining his appearance. A crown of crimson velvet was placed near him on a low stool half a person’s height.

The intertwined thorns of the crown gleamed with the cold light of age, and a circle of tiny colorless gems was embedded in the base. The gold crown bore the marks of age, with scratches from years of use, but this did not diminish its status as the oldest crown in the world.

Ferrante carefully lifted the papal crown and gently placed it on the golden hair. Rafael adjusted the position of the crown with his fingers and picked up the pastoral staff that Ferrante handed him. “Let’s go.”

The silent monks followed closely behind the Pope like gloomy, voiceless souls. Every door they passed was tightly shut. Guards, upon seeing them, would lower their heads and reluctantly open the door, only to shut it immediately afterward. The atmosphere was so tense that Ferrante couldn’t help but touch the dagger strapped to his sleeve.

Door after door opened before them and closed behind them. The gradually rising temperature indicated that they were nearing the heart of the council. When the final door was pushed open, a grand and magnificent hall came into their view, along with the trembling nobles seated around a long marble table.

Rafael glanced around the room calmly and quickly. Guards with drawn weapons stood motionless like statues. At the head of the table sat the Queen with an expressionless face. The surrounded nobles, some angry, some frightened, turned towards them as they entered.

“I thank our loyal ally, Florence, for their assistance. As a neutral third party, the Holy See, with all its virtues and as the incarnation of God on earth, is more than qualified to witness and arbitrate this meeting,” Queen Amandra began.

“During our discussion just now, you have all signed the document agreeing to amend the Sarik Law. According to the regulations, the Sarik Succession Law will be temporarily invalidated from this moment on. Our next step is to formulate a legal treaty to supplement the outdated provisions of the law and make it the cornerstone of the Roman throne once more.”

The Queen pointed to a roll of parchment on the table, where the signatures of two-thirds of the nobles at the long table were present, proving that the inheritance law would enter the stage of supplementary revision.

“All amendments are made to better adapt to the times. My husband, Lav XI, passed away nearly five years ago, and the Roman crown remains vacant. My daughter, Princess Sancha, as the only legitimate child of Lav XI, has the right to take precedence in the succession to the throne. Therefore, I propose that the clause in the Sarik Law prohibiting women from inheriting the throne be abolished, and that legitimate children be treated equally.”

The nobles clamped their mouths shut like clams.

After a long silence, someone finally voiced their agreement. “According to the oldest inheritance system, tracing back to Roman law, there are precedents of legitimate daughters inheriting their father’s property in the absence of a legitimate son. This is precedent for this.”

“Yes, Princess Sancha, as the only legitimate child of King Lav XI, has the right to the throne.”

“That’s assuming that Lav XI had no other children!” someone objected fiercely.

“The royal family has more suitable male heirs. Instead of a queen, we should consider a male king in his prime…”

The hall buzzed with chaotic arguments once more. Rafael sat beside Amandra, and they watched the farce below, both knowing the outcome of this show.

The deal had already been made the night before. Those who needed to be bought had been bought. All the disputes were merely temporary, to make their surrender seem less hasty.

“But women can never possess the same wisdom as men!” a nobleman exclaimed loudly. “Since God distinguished between men and women at creation, men have always been leaders and rulers. They are the embodiment of wisdom, courage, fortitude, and calmness, while women are sensitive, stubborn, and foolish. How can we, as the rulers of a country, place the crown on the head of an immature girl? This will be the greatest mistake you will ever make!” The old nobleman with a full white beard roared, his spittle even landing on the head of the unlucky nobleman next to him.

When Amandra heard those words, she merely raised an eyebrow indifferently. She had long grown accustomed to this kind of ridicule against women, and Sancha… she would have to get used to it sooner or later.

Rafael raised his hand, picked up the small copper bell on the table and shook it twice. The clear and pleasant sound silenced the ensuing argument. Lowering the bell, the overly young and handsome pope said apologetically, “I shouldn’t interfere in this matter, but I heard a misinterpretation of God’s decree.”

He nodded apologetically to the Queen beside him, who returned a smile.

In that moment when Amandra smiled, it seemed to overlap with Sancha, and Rafael suddenly felt a jumble of fragments flash through his mind, but they shattered and disappeared quickly.

“When God created the world, he separated men and women, so that each could take on different responsibilities for the world,” the Pope said slowly. “Men are naturally strong and therefore take on the responsibilities of obtaining food, hunting, and defending against enemies. Women are sensitive and caring, so they are responsible for healing and nurturing. Listening to what this gentleman said, it seems that the women created by God are worthless – is this your accusation and contempt for God?”

“Are you saying this to provoke the Church?”

“Are you declaring the deficiencies of women to prove that God can also make mistakes? Is this your personal new interpretation of the doctrine, or have you been influenced by someone else?”

His tone remained gentle and peaceful, but the meaning behind his words became heavier and heavier. Seeing that the Pope was about to accuse him of colluding with heretics, the arrogant old nobleman’s legs softened, and he began to explain frantically, “No! That’s not what I meant! Your Holiness, please forgive my unintentional words!”

Rafael smiled faintly, neither confirming nor denying his apology.

This little episode calmed everyone down. They looked at Amandra and Rafael with hidden glances, secretly alarmed by the Pope’s undisguised partiality. Sitting at the front, Duke Horton stared at Rafael in disbelief. He had remained silent throughout the long debate, knowing that it was not appropriate for him to speak directly at this moment. He just needed to let his “wolfhounds” do the fighting for him. But now he couldn’t believe what he was seeing – he had clearly informed Pope Vitalian III’s cause of death! Yet the Pope still cooperated with Amandra without any grudges?

What was going on?

Could it be that he had been deceived and in fact Vitalian III and Sistine I were not related by blood after all? If that were the case, it would explain why Sistine I was indifferent to taking revenge on behalf of his predecessor. But this was his last chance!

I have to think of a way, a way…

Got it!

Duke Horton’s eyes lit up. Eagerly, he whispered a few words to the person beside him. The other man showed obvious hesitation on his face, but was quickly forced by the Duke’s fierce eyes.

“But… even if Rome can accept a female monarch, can our people accept a ruler who never governs from their own land?” His voice was weak, trembling slightly, but it instantly captured everyone’s attention.

Amandra’s expression changed subtly.

“…According to reliable sources, Calais has proposed marriage to Princess Sancha. If this marriage were to happen, the princess would have to reside in Calais. While the title of ‘two kings’ sounds appealing, would the abandoned people of Rome accept a monarch who no longer resides in Perigo? This is not an unfounded concern.”

The nobleman paused mid-sentence, but even without finishing, the others knew what he was referring to.

The chaos in Assyria was a stark example. Hadn’t its division been largely due to the fact that the Queen never ruled in Gonda?

Who could say that today’s Assyria wouldn’t be tomorrow’s Roman Empire?

Everyone looked at the nobleman with a hint of admiration. To dare to raise this issue in front of Amandra – though he was careful to be subtle and obscure, who wasn’t aware of his true intentions?

How audacious!

“Or are you going to deny the marriage negotiations with Calais?” This time it was Duke Horton who spoke. He finally couldn’t help but participate.

This was undeniable, as the envoy from Calais was already on their way.

Amandra’s expression remained calm. “Yes, Calais has indeed sent us a marriage proposal, and their envoy is already on their way to Perigo.”

Those who had just heard this news took a deep breath and exchanged glances with each other.

The situation had become complicated. If Princess Sancha were to become the Queen of Calais in the future, she would inevitably be unable to rule in Perigo for a long time. In this era of poor transportation and slow communication, it was very risky for a monarch to leave their country. If they were not careful, chaos and rebellion could occur.

The example of Assyria was a stark warning.

If things were to go as Queen Amandra intended, and Princess Sancha were to marry the Emperor of Calais, they would have a queen who was absent from her own country. Until now, there had been no precedent for a married couple living apart. Even noble dukes and heiresses who inherited family estates would never be separated from their husbands but would go to live in their husband’s territory. The most powerful example was Queen Amandra herself.

As the Queen of Assyria, she continued to reside in the lands of the Roman Empire, ruled by her husband, Lav XI. While there were undoubtedly many compelling reasons for this, it was undeniable that societal conventions played a significant role.

One couldn’t simply expect the Emperor of Calais to follow his wife to Rome after their marriage, couldn’t they? Such an arrangement would not be a marriage but a declaration of war against the people of Calais.

“This matter will be further discussed during the marriage negotiations,” said Amandra. Rafael noticed her whispering to her attendant before turning back. The attendant silently retreated, and the Queen continued, “Sancha will never leave the Roman Empire for an extended period. As her homeland, Rome is her only foundation. Her roots are deeply planted here, and her future children will inherit this land and cherish it just as she does.”

Rafael, who had been idly twirling his fingers beneath the table, paused. His probing gaze lightly shifted to the queen’s face, only to see her icy, cold profile.

Was it a slip of the tongue?

She had just said that Rome was Sancha’s only foundation. What about Assyria?

The nobles began to murmur among themselves, their attitudes towards Amandra’s words a mix of doubt and skepticism. Even those who supported Sancha seemed to waver slightly. It had to be said that the plan devised by Duke Horton under pressure was quite effective.

At this moment, a herald suddenly announced at the door: “Her Royal Highness Princess Sancha has arrived—”

The doors were opened by the guards, and the young girl bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun stepped into the hall. The nobles at the long table stood up one after another to greet her, exchanging meaningful glances with their peers.

The council chamber was a place reserved for members of the council. Amandra was present due to her status as Regent, allowing her to participate in politics. However, Princess Sancha was different. In theory, Sancha, only held the title of princess, which did not grant her access to the council chamber.

It was clear that Amandra was determined to achieve her goal today.

This time, no one uttered any inappropriate remarks. They simply watched in silence as Princess Sancha took her seat in a newly added chair beside Amandra. It could be said that the current seating arrangement was peculiar and loaded with meaning. Duke Horton was currently seated at the long table, while Amandra and Sancha were seated on a raised platform, separate from the rest. While this arrangement was justified by Sancha’s lack of a suitable title, it was undeniably… meaningful.

At the very least, Duke Horton’s expression had turned extremely ugly. It seemed he wanted to immediately rise from his seat and leave, but his last shred of reason held him back.

“Your Majesty, my niece seems out of place here.” He said coldly through gritted teeth.

Amandra replied calmly, “You seem to have forgotten that the Sarik Inheritance Law is currently under revision. The clauses regarding gender in the succession are still pending. Since there is no explicit rule stating that women cannot inherit the throne, Sancha’s presence here is justified. As a party to the inheritance law, she has the right to participate in all proceedings.”

“Very well,” Duke Horton forced a twisted smile, attempting to feign indifference. “You are the Queen. Your word is law.”

Amandra ignored his sarcasm. She had always despised on this cowardly, dark, petty, and stupid man. Fate had granted him a privileged birth, but he treated it like melting ice cream. Compared to his cunning and ruthless cousin, this blood relative was simply useless. Sometimes, Amandra even wondered whether either Lav XI or Duke Horton were the result of an illicit affair.

The challenges she faced were never just from Duke Horton, but from the entire Roman aristocracy and the doubtful people of Rome.

“Returning to the previous topic, Your Majesty, perhaps we could suggest another option. Princess Sancha could inherit the Roman crown and simultaneously reject the marriage alliance with Calais. In this way, we would not have to face this dilemma.”

A noble suggested, his words heavy with implication.

If the Queen chose to marry Sancha to a noble within Rome, there would be no need for Amandra to maneuver so carefully. The great nobles present would immediately rush to cast their votes in favor of Sancha’s crown. Who wouldn’t be eager to incorporate their bloodline with the royal lineage?, Even if the chance was slim. But as long as there was a possibility, there was a chance!

This was the quickest path to victory for them. Both Amandra and Sancha were certain that if they nodded at this moment, they would achieve a great triumph.

However, both the princess and the queen remained silent.

After a long pause, Amandra said firmly, “No, Sancha will inherit the crown of Roman, and she will continue with the marriage negotiations with Calais.”

“Through this marriage, Rome, Assyria, and Calais will be united. In years to come, we can recreate the glory of the Ancient Roman Empire. A vast unified land will stretch across both sides of the Black Sea, and the imperial flag will fly over both sea and land. We can have a monarch with the title of ‘Emperor’.”

Her words left everyone breathless. The Roman Empire was a cultural aspiration deeply ingrained in their hearts.

“Your vision is truly magnificent, and I am deeply moved, Your Majesty,” the noble said softly. “However, I may not live to see the birth of such an emperor, so I can only be responsible for the people of Rome who are alive today.”

“If you insist on marrying Princess Sancha to Calais, I cannot accept such a ruler who would leave our country.”

With a forceful voice, he declared, “I refuse to accept Princess Sancha as Queen of the Roman Empire.”

After his voice fell, more and more nobles joined in, their voices growing stronger. As the number of supporters grew, their resolve hardened, and the gleaming blades and brass gun barrels around them were ignored.

“Shua—”

The sharp sound of a blade being drawn cut through their words. The nobles turned around, alert, searching for the audacious individual who had dared to interrupt them.

It was Princess Sancha, who had been silently observing their debate.

While they had been discussing her, she had remained silent, qyuetly restraining her presence. This made her seem like the opposite of her mother. One was cold and hard, while the other gentle and serene. She seemed… like she could be easily controlled.

Indeed, some people thought to themselves, with a hint of contempt in their hearts that she was indeed just a woman. Even with a mother like Amandra, a daughter can’t escape the docile and gentle nature expected of women. As for Amandra… she was nothing more than a barbaric heathen who knew nothing of propriety. Roman women should be like the princess, listening attentively and remaining silent when men speak.

It wasn’t until this moment, when Sancha drew the dagger she always carried, gripped it with practiced ease, and slowly surveyed the nobles at the long table, that these men began to realize something was amiss.

“What you all fear is that I will leave Rome after marrying into Calais. But your concerns are unfounded. During the marriage negotiations, I will propose that after the wedding, I will spend five months each year in Rome—”

“How can you guarantee Calais will agree to such terms?” someone immediately retorted.

“As long as the young Emperor of Calais values his life and wishes to preserve his crown, he will definitely agree. You seem to have forgotten about his ambitious uncle, who covets the Calais throne—coincidentally, I happen to have such a good uncle as well.”

Sancha’s emotionless gaze fell on Duke Horton, and she smiled.

Duke Horton’s face turned a multitude of colors like a revolving lantern.

The nobles fell into deep thought. Duke Francois… Indeed, they had forgotten about him. As the young emperor grew older, the voices within Calais calling for the return of power to the Emperor grew stronger. The young Emperor was now akin to sitting on the edge of a volcano, desperately needing allies. He would not hesitate to make concessions for the sake of his life and throne.

“My uncle, previously the only conflict between us was our gender. Now that the inheritance laws no longer restrict us, let us return to the most primal and fair form of competition.”

The princess, dressed in a crimson gown, smiled slightly, a dimple appearing on her cheek, a sweetness that was in stark contrast with her cold words.

“Draw your sword. Right here, right now. Show me your determination to claim the Roman throne.”

With those words, Sancha leaped down from the platform, like a silent thunderbolt, driving her gleaming dagger into the table in front of Duke Horton. Amid the splintering wood and the gasps of shock, the smiling Sancha locked eyes with the wide-eyed Horton.

“Come, I am prepared to die for this. Are you prepared?”

The young princess challenged her uncle to a duel.

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