The Restoration of Rome: In the Name of Augustus

Chapter 14 Cairo Holiday

Cairo is located deep inland on the east bank of the Nile. Although it is connected to Alexandria to the northwest by tributaries of the Nile and the canal system, the most reliable and convenient way for diplomatic missions and large caravans to carry large amounts of luggage and gifts and be escorted by a large number of armored soldiers is to hire camel caravans.

The mission first traversed the fertile farmlands of the Nile Delta, crisscrossed by irrigation canals and shaded by palm trees.

The closer Lyon got to Cairo, the drier the landscape became, gradually transforming from pastoral scenery into the desolate edge of the desert. The camel caravan moved slowly and rhythmically, accompanied by the monotonous and soporific sound of camel bells, making Lyon drowsy.

After several days of bumpy travel on camelback, the outline of Cairo finally appeared on the horizon.

Thousands upon thousands of minarets pierce the sky, gleaming white under the blazing sun, like a stone forest stretching from the earth to the heavens.

A faint call to prayer drifted on the wind, dozens of voices intertwining to form a solemn net that enveloped heaven and earth.

As the camel caravan entered the city gate, a wave of heat, carrying with it countless odors, hit them in the face.

Accord held Leon's hand tightly as they walked through the surging crowd, protected by Count Raymond.

They passed by the dyehouse, where colorful fabrics cascaded down like waterfalls; they squeezed through the copperware street, where the clanging sounds were deafening.

Lyon looked up and saw the towering castle perched atop the mountain, and the magnificent Al-Azhar Mosque, where scholars from all over the world were coming and going.

“Father,” he murmured, “it feels…noisier here than ten Constantinoples.”

Jacob did not answer; he simply stared blankly at the former capital of the Fatimid dynasty, which was ruled by Saladin.

In his eyes, besides vigilance, there was also undisguised amazement at the prosperity of this exotic land.

Raymond drove his camel closer to the hotel, stuffed a heavy bag of dinars into his arms, and warned, "From now on, don't follow me. Just find an inn closest to the city gate and stay there. Go wherever you want during the day, as long as you don't cause me any trouble—I'll come to the inn to pick you up after the negotiations with Sultan Saladin are over."

Jacob quickly put the dinar into his pocket, fearing that the count might change his mind.

He made the sign of the cross on his chest in an exaggerated and comical gesture: "Thank you, Your Excellency, for your generosity in God's work—may God bless you!"

Watching Raymond and his delegation head towards Saladin's Citadel on Mount Muqattam, Jacob poked the back of Lyon's neck with his finger, waving the bag of dinars donated by the "devout" count, and said with great enthusiasm, "Lyon, where do you want to go in this huge city of Cairo? Don't worry, go wherever you want! Remember, you're the nephew of the First Priest of the Levant and the grandson of the Komnenos!"

"Father, did you smoke marijuana today?" Lyon asked worriedly. "I can't forget the shadow of the Assassin on the mast that night—it's not a hallucination, he must be following us and watching us."

"Oh, Lyon, what's there to be afraid of?" Jacob didn't seem to care. Seeing Lyon's worried expression, he then analyzed seriously, "The night we escaped, didn't you notice that it wasn't them who discovered us? The pursuers appeared almost suddenly, even deploying fully armed soldiers—presumably, that Assassin just ran into a trap and fled this way."

Accord paused, recalling the figure on the mast: "As for that shadow, there's even less to fear; it might just be a hallucination born of excessive terror. Even if it were real, why didn't he show himself that night? He could have easily regained control of us—but he didn't."

"Where is the Earl? Could he be plotting against him with us? His father is..."

Jacob scoffed, "The Count? Lyon, you don't know the Count's reputation unless you're in Jerusalem. A nice guy like that, those with the money have no reason to kill him, and those who want to kill him can't afford it—even if the Assassins are plotting something, it's definitely Saladin. Why should we concern ourselves with the infighting between Shiites and Sunnis?"

Jacob pulled on the reins, and the camel beneath him moved slowly along the streets of Cairo.

"Lyon, forget about the bad things from before. Now we have dinars, plenty of time, so let's enjoy ourselves!"

The camel stopped at a market that Jacob called "Khalili," and Lyon was helped off the camel by Jacob, choosing to walk through the market.

Looking around, the market presents a bustling and harmonious scene.

A Muslim coppersmith wearing a turban is explaining the craftsmanship of a brass lamp to an Italian merchant in fluent Latin.

Beside him, a long-bearded Jewish elder spread out parchment on the stall, on which accounts were recorded in both Hebrew and Arabic.

A Coptic monk in a black robe quietly selected paper for copying scriptures at his usual stall. The stall owner, an elderly Muslim man, simply nodded when he saw him and continued grinding his coffee beans.

Lyon pointed to the fragrant round cakes in the earthenware oven at a stall and tugged at Accord's sleeve: "We've never eaten these cakes before, let's go buy a few and try them."

Accord nodded, took a dinar from his purse, and flicked it to the stall owner.

"Give me two cakes, fresh out of the oven."

The old man selling pancakes took the gold coin, his cloudy eyes widening instantly. He pinched the edge of the coin with his fingernail, then squinted at it in the sunlight, his face filled with disbelief.

"Sir..." he said awkwardly, handing the gold coin back, his voice hoarse, "This gold coin of yours could buy this whole kiln of my cakes, and also buy all the roasted mutton next door. I... I don't have change."

Accord suddenly realized, slapping his forehead: "My bad, my bad. I've been at sea for too long, my brain's gone dull." He turned to Lyon, who was completely bewildered and didn't understand Arabic at all, and explained, "You kid, this one dinar is enough for an average family to live on for a month."

Guided by the old man, they first went to a nearby money changer and exchanged one dinar for a small, jingling bag of silver dirhams and copper coins.

When Accord handed a few small copper coins to the old man in exchange for two scalding hot flatbreads resting on old cloths, and gave one to Lyon, Lyon, whose face was steaming from the hot flatbread, truly felt that he had stepped into the breath and pulse of the city.

The streets were narrow, and the crowds were shoulder to shoulder. Several Armenian Christian caravans were unloading their goods; the heavy wooden crates were marked with their crosses, and the foremen were directing the porters.

In the bustling market, the sounds of vendors hawking their wares and haggling rapidly switched between Arabic, Greek, Turkic, and Frankish languages.

Flatbread, lamb skewers, grilled fish, fried beans, mint tea, fig juice... these dishes changed hands and mouths in turn, and even the bean soup in a Norman mercenary's pot couldn't escape their clutches.

"Father."

"Um?"

Lyon sipped his juice while looking at the throngs of people around him: "I want to learn Arabic."

Accord paused in his bite of the biscuit, glancing at Yan Yang. Seeing his unusually serious expression, indicating it wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision, he chuckled, "Arabic is great! Arabic is wonderful! You have to learn Arabic! Why do you suddenly want to learn it?"

Lyon paused for a moment, seemingly organizing his thoughts.

When he spoke again, his voice was not loud, but it carried a calmness beyond his years: "Take this small market in Cairo, for example. Without you, who understands Arabic, by my side, I would be completely unable to move an inch. The Levant, Sinai, Egypt... and even the entire East, the three Crusader kingdoms are just a corner of the world. The Arab region is a much grander world—without understanding their language, I am a completely blind and deaf person, isolated from the outside."

Accord's playful expression gradually faded. He didn't immediately offer praise, but instead looked at Lyon carefully, as if truly observing his nephew for the first time. After a long while, a slight smile returned to the corners of his mouth, this time carrying a hint of satisfaction and depth.

"Looks like the Cairo wind has somehow ripened you up," he said, patting the crumbs off his hand. "Want to see the world clearly, instead of just peeking through the keyhole of Latin letters? Very good."

He stood up, pointed in a direction, his tone returning to its usual unrestrained and carefree manner, but his eyes were unusually bright:

"Then what are you waiting for? Follow along—Azhar is just ahead, the brightest flame of wisdom in the entire Islamic world. Your first lesson in Arabic will begin there."