The Restoration of Rome: In the Name of Augustus

Chapter 165 Talking about Henry Henry

Chapter 165 Speaking of Henry, Henry Arrives (Part 1)

Mid-June, 1183 (Julian calendar), Jaffa Port.

Lyon rode through the narrow and bustling streets of Jaffa, escorted by twenty royal guards.

He wore a dark blue, fitted robe that allowed for easy movement, over which he wore a light chainmail vest, and his longsword with cross-shaped handguards was at his waist.

His gaze swept across the harbor, searching for Zahir's figure. They had arranged for Lyon to travel to Milan on his ship today.

However, before he could even approach the designated berth, a squad leader of the guard responsible for port security rushed over and knelt on one knee in front of the horse.

"Your Highness," the squad leader said with a wry smile, "a strange young man has arrived at the port. He looks like a wandering knight, travel-worn, but his equipment is quite good. He keeps asking everyone where you are, saying he knows you and has important business to discuss. When we asked his name and purpose, he only said he was a friend from Italy." We dared not neglect him, nor could we allow him to approach your ship, so we had no choice but to take him to the castle and hand him over to Princess Sibylla for her disposal.

"A friend from Italy?" A thought flashed through Lyon's mind, and a name almost immediately popped into his head.

But suppressing his eagerness, he asked, "What did that person look like?"

The squad leader tried to describe him: "Uh, very young, probably not even twenty? Short brown hair, dark green eyes, quite tall, always has a smile on his face, and his way of speaking—well, a bit strange, but he doesn't sound like a bad guy. He's just a bit clueless, asking anyone he can find at the docks."

(As shown in the figure)

It's almost certain who Lyon is.

But he didn't expect the other party to take the initiative to contact him, which was much faster than he had anticipated and saved him the trouble of searching for someone across the sea.

A mischievous smile appeared on his lips.

"I understand. Take me to the castle."

Lyon gestured for his guards to wait outside the hall, while he quietly slipped to the half-open door.

The conversation coming from inside confirmed his suspicions.

A young, cheerful voice, a mix of Italian vernacular Latin and a touch of Czech accent, was speaking in a light and pleasant tone, as if telling an amusing story: "—So you see, Your Highness, that poor mule is stuck in that narrow alley, unable to move forward or backward. Its owner, a Venetian spice merchant, is frantic, cursing in all sorts of dialects I don't understand. And I, your faithful servant, just happen to be passing by, and happen to know a little about livestock and—well, structural mechanics. I suggest he try singing a song to the mule to calm it down, and at the same time, loosen up that annoying secondhand stall next door a little—"

Lyon peered through the crack in the door.

Princess Sibyl was sitting in an armchair covered with embroidered cushions.

She wore a pale yellow summer dress, her blonde hair was loosely tied up, and she had a long-lost relaxed smile on her face.

She rested her chin on her hand, watching the person sitting opposite her with great interest.

That man was Henry, who was using the alias "Alberto da Giuzano".

He seemed more mature than when I saw him in Milan a year ago; his facial features were more defined, and his long-term travels and training made him look lean and muscular.

He wore a slightly worn green tunic, over which was a finely crafted but clearly weathered leather studded breastplate. A small red scarf was tied around his neck, and an extremely ornate longsword hung at his waist.

His posture was casual yet polite. Although he looked dull, simple, and honest, Leon could hardly contain himself whenever he saw his tense expression.

"And then? The mule came out after listening to the song?" Sibylla asked with a smile.

Her husband, Guy, was busy with military and political affairs for many years and his personality had become increasingly serious. It had been a long time since they had such a relaxed and interesting conversation.

"Oh, no, not at all." Henry shrugged, his expression utterly sincere. "The mule probably thought I sang terribly, and that made him even angrier. But while I was singing, the stall owner was finally disturbed and came out. We 'amicably' discussed it and moved the stall a mere two inches away! And the mule actually wandered out on its own. So you see, Your Highness, the solution to a problem often lies in the most unexpected place, the key is—"

He paused, seemingly searching for the right words: "—It's about getting everyone involved in this unexpected event."

Sibylla couldn't help but chuckle softly: "You certainly know how to talk, young knight. My husband—"

She paused suddenly, her smile fading slightly, a complex emotion flashing across her eyes, and said wistfully, "He was a handsome and witty knight when he was young, but now, he's too busy with official duties, and what he says sounds like battle reports and accounts."

Lyon raised an eyebrow from outside the door.

What the heck? Where did I get this from? I hope something weird is going to happen next.

Henry blinked his exceptionally sincere dark green eyes, leaned forward slightly, lowered his voice, and said solemnly, "My princess, please allow me to speak frankly. If a husband, in the prime of his life, has already showered his one and only treasure with the most beautiful words of love, like pearls, then in the years that follow, as he shoulders the responsibilities of the kingdom, his words become as concise and practical as steel forged through tempering—is this not another, deeper, more trustworthy proof of love? He has reserved the most beautiful words for you, while shouldering the responsibilities himself."

He then sighed, "As for me, these light, fluttering words, like butterfly wings, are merely because I haven't yet met the one for whom I'm willing to remain silent, to shoulder the entire world. And you, noble Princess Sibylla, are simply the first lady I've successfully struck up a conversation with in my not-so-long, but rather hasty, adventure—oh, please forgive my crude word. To compare your husband's steely silence to my unrefined, raw iron is itself the greatest compliment to your charm, and the greatest irony of myself."

Sibyl was clearly a little dazed by what he had just said; his cheeks flushed slightly, and his eyes sparkled.

She gave Henry a reproachful look, but her smile deepened: "Oh, your mouth—if only Guy were half as eloquent as you. No, even a tenth as eloquent."

"Your Highness, if I had even one ten-thousandth of Lord Guy's achievements and sense of responsibility, I would gladly exchange nine-tenths of my nonsense for it," Henry immediately interjected, his expression as solemn as if he were making a vow. "A butterfly that talks nothing can't fly across the winter strait, but the silence of an eagle can shake the entire forest."

Lyon, who was listening outside the door, almost burst out laughing.

This guy has taken flattery to a philosophical level.

He decided to stop hiding; if he continued to hide, he would be letting Guy down.