The Restoration of Rome: In the Name of Augustus

Chapter 22 The Leprosy King

Led by the princess, Lyon and his entourage headed towards the council chamber where the king resided. Along the way, Jacob's hand trembled slightly as he held Lyon's tightly, while Lyon could clearly feel the intense gaze of the noblewoman behind them.

Could she be his mother, the Queen Mother of Jerusalem—Maria Komnina? And why would the King summon them at this time? Shouldn't he be discussing state affairs with the Earl?

At that moment, a loud noise from ahead interrupted Lyon's thoughts.

The heavy double doors of the council chamber were flung open from the inside, and a tall man stormed out. He stopped in the corridor, his chest heaving with anger. His frame was as large as a bear's, but the years and disappointments had subtly eroded his body. His once angular jaw had become rounded, and his luxurious silk blouse creased tautly at his abdomen. His golden-brown curly hair was damp with sweat, and his deep blue eyes were sunken in swollen eyelids, filled with restlessness.

"Sibylla!" he called hoarsely to the princess, striding forward and almost impolitely grabbing her wrist, his face contorted with resentment. "Your good brother, our 'holy' good king, would rather believe that old fox Raymond's peaceful fantasies than the enemy before him! He stripped me of my regency... simply because I advocated using the sword instead of prayer against Saladin!"

Sibyl frowned slightly, then calmly and swiftly withdrew his wrist.

"Guy," she warned in a low voice, her gaze sweeping over the group behind her, "watch your words and actions."

She then turned to the crowd behind her, her tone regaining its composure: "His Majesty is in the council chamber ahead, so I will not keep you company." With that, she said no more and turned to leave with Guy, who was still indignant.

The council chamber was dimly lit and silent, save for the echoing footsteps of Lyon and his companions against the stone walls. Earl Raymond stood at the foot of the throne, holding a pair of linen gloves, his face solemn and pitying as he gazed up at the throne. And on that high throne sat a figure shrouded in shadow and opulent robes.

Baldwin IV was clad in a heavy, silver-white velvet robe, with a golden Jerusalem cross draped from his shoulders. His face was completely concealed behind a polished silver mask; the only part of his body visible was a hand protruding from the sleeve and resting on the armrest. That hand was slender and pale, with morbidly twisted joints, and trembled slightly uncontrollably. Even more alarming were the purplish-red, festering sores covering the back of his hands and twisted knuckles. Some of these sores had already ruptured, slowly oozing a mixture of blood and yellow pus.

The attendants behind the throne rushed forward to bandage the king's wounds. The king glanced casually at the sores on his hands, then looked at the priest, stepmother, and Lyon approaching, his gaze clear and sharp, as if those eyes did not belong to this ailing body.

"Your Majesty," Raymond's voice broke the silence, "they...are all here."

The person on the throne stirred slightly. A voice rang out, its tone as clear as a young boy's, yet tinged with obvious weakness and panting: "Come closer..."

They stepped forward as instructed. The voice paused, as if gathering its strength, then rang out again. Though still weak, the calmness and authority within it were enough to freeze the air:

"Welcome to Jerusalem, my brother whom I have never met before..."

Lyon shuddered, his face turning deathly pale. Did the king know his identity?

Almost instinctively, Jacob stepped aside to shield Lyon. Behind him, Queen Mother Maria let out a short gasp, clutching her mouth tightly. She swayed, only catching herself thanks to Jacob's timely support. Her gaze darted frantically between the King and her son, her eyes filled with tearful panic and a glimmer of disbelief.

A look of extreme surprise flashed across Earl Raymond's eyes, then he fell into deep thought. He glanced at the king on the throne, as if he instantly understood the king's intention.

The King's right hand trembled as he raised it, then pressed it down slightly to signal them to calm down. He glanced at the panicked Queen Mother, "Why did you send your brother to the court in Constantinople in the first place? Did you think Mr. William's learning was inferior to that of the Patriarch of Constantinople?" His gaze then quickly locked onto Lyon, and he asked, "Your name is... Lyon, isn't it? An elegant Frankish name. How old are you now?"

Maria picked up where the king left off, answering first, "About... nine years old."

The king's cold gaze, hidden behind his mask, shot swiftly towards Maria, his tone unusually angry: "I didn't ask you, Empress Dowager!"

Seeing Maria lower her head stiffly, he looked back at Leon, his anger gone, and calmly asked, "Now, Leon, tell me a precise number: how old are you now?"

Jacob wanted to say something to Leon, but under the king's oppressive presence, his body was completely stiff and he could not move. He could only let Leon expose himself to the king's piercing eyes and seemingly calm probing gaze.

Lyon was stumped by the question, a look of bewilderment befitting his age appearing on his face, but it quickly turned into a deep contemplation that seemed out of place with his appearance. This wasn't just a simple age check; it was a death trap. Whether he answered truthfully or fabricated a lie, it was unlikely he could satisfy the king before him.

Having considered this, Lyon took a deep breath, stepped forward, and bowed deeply to the throne. His voice was tense, but his words were clear: "Your Majesty, I cannot give everyone a satisfactory answer to this question. Age is just a number; it is written in some church record that may have been lost or even burned as firewood, and therefore it is more often recorded in a person's memory. This person could be a friend or family member, or a sworn enemy or political foe. Age can be distorted, falsified, and used for political purposes, but no matter how others state, fabricate, or weave it, it cannot change a person's inherent character and abilities."

Lyon paused, then continued, "Baron Balian of Ibelin is highly regarded by you, so there's no need to inquire about his age, for he is already a noble knight. As for you, Your Majesty, at the age of 16, you led the charge in Montgisa, defeating Saladin, the sword of Islam. From then on, in the eyes of the world, your age is equally insignificant compared to your outstanding military talent..."

Lyon straightened his back, meeting the king's surprised gaze: "Therefore, Your Majesty, if you simply wish to welcome a brother by blood, then I stand before you now. But if you desire more, what meaning does a mere, intangible number hold for you?"

"What you really want to ask is something far more profound than age..."