May 22, 1848.
After sailing on the sea for six days on a sailing ship, Jero Bonaparte could no longer endure the damp, moldy, and fishy-slling environnt in the cabin. He closed his book and left the room.
Proceeding along the corridor of the ship’s cabin until he reached the end, the staircase connecting the cabin and the deck appeared at the right side of the corridor’s end.
Jero Bonaparte, holding a hardcover book under his left arm, ascended the stairs to the deck, gripping the wooden railing.
On the deck, the captain in charge of directing and dispatching the crew saw the "financial backer" Jero Bonaparte and hurriedly ran over to greet him warmly: "Honored guest, is there anything you need?"
"Captain!" Enjoying the sea breeze on his face and listening to the rhythmic "splashing" of waves hitting the right side of the ship, Jero Bonaparte shed the cabin’s long-standing gloom, and felt exhilarated: "May I ask when we will arrive at Civitavecchia Port? I am eager to experience the charm of Ancient Ro!"
He finished with a roguish grin, softly whistling as he added: "And of course, the tenderness of Roman won!"
Alas! Another wanton noble!
The captain looked at the debonair deanor of Jero Bonaparte in front of him with seven parts envy mixed with three parts jealousy, showing a regretful expression on his face as he said: "Guest, you should have gone to Ro two months ago! Ro isn’t as fun now!"
"Hmm?" Jero Bonaparte asked puzzled: "Why do you say that?"
"The liveliest ti in Ro is on February 22 every year! The Ro Carnival begins on that day, and only then can you see the passion of Ro!" The captain swallowed and showed a vulgar smile on his face, saying: "Whenever the Ro Carnival starts, the residents of Ro walk the streets and alleys wearing masks! lancholic young n and won, and eager noblewon all beco active at that ti, and soone like you will surely receive warm attention."
The captain’s flattery did not bring joy to Jero Bonaparte; rather, it added to his confusion.
"Hmm? Hasn’t the war on the Apennine Peninsula already started? How do they still have the mood for a carnival?" Jero Bonaparte asked inquisitively.
"Guest!" The captain explained: "The progress of the war has nothing to do with Ro! Everyone who cos to Ro must follow Ro’s rules! Because His Holiness the Pope is in Ro!"
The captain’s matter-of-fact expression made Jero Bonaparte realize once again the "power" of the Holy See.
The 18th and 19th centuries were the last glorious monts of the Holy See’s secular influence. The Pope, holding dual authority in the religious and secular worlds, had more prestige in the Central Italy region than Napoleon did in France at his height, let alone the devout followers outside the Pope State who yearned to personally visit the Holy Land to hear His teachings.
"However, the Ro of today..." The captain hesitated for a mont, rearranging his words: "Seems even more fanatical than before! But, I think, with His Holiness the Pope’s prestige, there shouldn’t be too much of an issue!"
As he said this, the captain’s confidence evidently waned, as the enthusiasm for revolution seed to have begun conflicting with the Pope’s authority.
"Honored Captain, I do not want to know what Ro will beco like, what I want to know now is how long it will take us to reach Civitavecchia Port!" Jero Bonaparte inquired again.
"Guest, we have already passed through the Gibraltar Strait! We are now in the diterranean region! We expect to reach Civitavecchia by tomorrow! I hope you don’t worry!" the captain replied promptly.
"That’s good!" Jero Bonaparte nodded slightly, moved to the bow of the deck, and sat down to continue reading the book he hadn’t finished.
The captain, too, continued issuing tasks to the crew.
As dusk fell, Jero Bonaparte gazed back at the sunset about to dip below the horizon from the ship’s stern, he rose and sighed; he would have to return to that fish-slling cabin again.
Even though his heart was filled with reluctance, Jero Bonaparte still slowly moved his body step by step from the deck stairs back to his room.
Not long after, a sailor knocked on Jero Bonaparte’s door, delivered a small portion of seasoned salted pork knuckle, a few slightly darkened slices of bread, and an orange on a tray into Jero Bonaparte’s hands.
This was Jero Bonaparte’s dinner.
"Enjoy your al, sir!" the sailor respectfully shut the door and left.
With the aid of the flickering and swinging kerosene lamp overhead, Jero Bonaparte consud his last supper on the bed.
Chewing the hard-to-swallow salted pork jerky, Jero Bonaparte silently vowed: from now on, he would personally prepare his food before boarding any ship!
After hastily finishing his dinner, Jero Bonaparte once again perused his book, and it wasn’t until the lamp oil ran out in the kerosene lamp that Jero Bonaparte finally closed his eyes to rest.
At dawn the next day, the sailing ship finally reached within three or four leagues of Civitavecchia Port, and as the ship approached, the wind gradually diminished, forcing the sailboat to move slowly.
At 9 am, the sailing ship anchored at the outskirts of Civitavecchia Port.
At half past nine, Captain Letty woke Jero Bonaparte from his dream, and the two stepped onto the deck, where, under a sailor’s guidance, Jero Bonaparte and Captain Letty boarded a small boat and reached the land of Civitavecchia Port.
At the mont Jero Bonaparte’s feet touched the land of the Pope State, a surge of heroic spirit welled up inside him, and he clenched his fist, shouting in his heart: "Pope State, here I co!"
However, Jero’s journey was far from over, as he needed to reach Ro. As the war was confined to Northern Italy, the Pope State still maintained a complete post station system, so Jero Bonaparte and Captain Letty rented a carriage to head to Ro.
Perhaps due to the influence of the Apennine unrest, the previously bustling post road was now occupied by only a few carriages. The carriage carrying the fourth-generation leader of the Bonaparte Clan sped down the wide post road, covering the nearly 70 kiloters from Civitavecchia to Ro in less than six hours, reaching the outskirts of Ro.
Seeing the hills slowly erging from the horizon and the magnificent buildings sitting atop them, a joyful smile appeared on Jero’s face.
"Your Highness, should we perhaps find a place to stay now?" Captain Letty inquired of Jero Bonaparte.
"Of course!" Jero Bonaparte replied without hesitation.
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