The Restoration of Rome: In the Name of Augustus

Chapter 54 Reunion with Zahir

Inside the encirclement of the Jerusalem soldiers, a dozen or so pirates formed a semicircle, protecting their leader behind them. The leader held a scimitar with a turquoise hilt, a scar running from his left eyebrow to his chin, his expression resolute as he stared intently at the approaching soldiers.

"Zahir?!"

The pirate leader jerked as if electrocuted, turning his sword and crossbow aimed at them toward the source of the sound. A young man in fine clothes, accompanied by two swordsmen in cloaks and chainmail, stood before him, having passed through the soldiers' encirclement.

"You…" Zahir's voice was unusually hoarse. His eyes were wide open, his gaze darting frantically between Lyon and the Templar Knight beside him. The Templar Knight removed his helmet, revealing a young face with a slight stubble—it was the very priest who had drunk mead with him years ago, altering the hymns and proclaiming "justification by faith"!

"It's you?!" Zahir's voice suddenly rose, turning into a strange sound somewhere between maniacal laughter and a roar. "That little actor?! And that blasphemous drunken priest?!"

A profound sense of absurdity and furious anger at being fooled overwhelmed him like a tsunami. He had offended the powerful figures of Alexandria for the sake of that "Eastern Roman prince," and had been framed for helping an organization called the Assassins murder the tax collector Hakim, becoming a pariah on the Egyptian coastline... It turned out that it wasn't a prince at all, but...

Jacob wiped the blood splattered on his face with his gloved hand, grinned, and revealed a smile that was a mixture of pleasure and complex emotions: "Hey, Zahir," his tone carried a strange warmth like that of an old acquaintance, "Looks like your ambition hasn't gotten any worse these past few years, and your judgment hasn't changed either." Jacob pointed to Robert, who was watching nearby, "Of all people to rob, you had to rob our business partner."

"Ha, who knows, the Mediterranean is really small..." Zahir said with a bitter expression, it was hard to tell whether he was crying or laughing.

Lyon took a small step forward, and the guards' shields moved accordingly, maintaining the barrier in front of him. He silently scrutinized the pirate captain who had once looked down on him.

"Captain Zahir," his voice was calm, seemingly without hostility, his eyes glancing at the goddess statue on the prow, "it seems the goddess of fate doesn't like simple farewells. She has arranged a reunion for us. Thanks to her guidance, I was able to quickly locate you amidst the chaos of battle."

Zahir's gaze swept over Lyon's opulent Frankish attire, the elite soldiers surrounding him, and the two warships disguised as merchant ships, finally settling on Lyon. His facial muscles twitched violently as the scene from two years ago clashed violently with the reality before him: the boy in the purple robes he'd taken from the true prince, feigning composure only to become withdrawn after being dismissed with a few words, versus the Jerusalem nobleman before him, so decisive and capable of annihilating the core of his fleet with a single command…

"Who the hell are you?!" he almost roared. But he already had a vague answer in his heart.

Leon didn't answer directly, but instead slightly raised his chin, the sea breeze ruffling the hair on his forehead. "Two years ago, you 'invited' me to answer with swords and candied fruit. Now," his gaze swept over the dead and wounded pirates and disarmed prisoners on the deck, finally settling on Zahir's pale face, pale with shock and defeat, "it's my turn to ask a question."

"If I answer honestly, will you let us go?" Zahir forced a smile. "I guess not."

"We might not be able to let you go, but you'll definitely talk," Leon said with a confident smile, observing Zahir's expression. "As a Muslim, without the protection of Alexandria, I imagine your life isn't... very comfortable, is it?"

Zahir's face darkened as if a sore spot had been hit.

Lyon surveyed the galleys of Calais that had been occupied by Jerusalem soldiers and said leisurely, "I don't know what price you paid to gain the support of Venice or other city-states. But judging from these ships and your companions, they are clearly not very sincere, or rather... you no longer have enough dinars."

Seeing Zahir's increasingly pained expression, Lyon said smugly, "You bet all your dinars on this raid. It was a huge gamble, but unfortunately, you lost. Now you have no choice but to gamble one last time, betting on whether we'll spare your lives."

Zahir's right hand, gripping the scimitar, trembled slightly. He gave Lyon and Jacob a deep look, then lowered the knife and roared almost maniacally, "Fine, fine, if that's the case, I'll bet! I'll bet! Don't you just want to know who's behind me?" He calmed down, looked at Robert, and continued, "This bearded man you're working with isn't very popular. Many people in Venice dislike him, and they're willing to go to any lengths, even targeting heretics, to sabotage his business."

Robert gritted his teeth: "How could that be? The Italian city-states have already formed the Lombard League against the Holy Roman Emperor. That tyrannical Redbeard is still not giving up and is stirring up trouble. This is precisely the time for the city-state merchants to unite. Why would they waste their resources suppressing a merchant who won't affect their domestic businesses at all?"

"How would I know? I'm just doing my job for money." Zahir smiled mysteriously. "Besides, Big Beard, do you know what they think of you?"

"What?"

"The watchdog of the Holy Land! The traitor of Lombardy! The leper king's purse!"

Robert paused, then sighed, rubbing his forehead in exasperation, letting out a self-deprecating laugh. The nicknames, though unpleasant, were true. He, Robert, had obtained commercial licenses that other city-state merchants lacked, practically monopolizing the trade of building materials and grain between the Holy Land and Italy. Even the few galleys currently used by the Kingdom of Jerusalem were oarsmen and craftsmen he had coaxed and tricked from his hometown of Milan. It was perfectly normal for merchants whose interests were threatened to hire pirates to plunder their businesses…

Zahir took a deep breath, turned to Lyon as if he were prepared: "I've told you everything I know. Is there anything else you want to ask? If not, what will you do? Kill me, or let me go?"

Leon shook his head and laughed, "I'm neither going to kill you nor let you go."

"Hmm?" Zahir seemed to understand.

“You know, Zahir, I still remember vividly your decisive command when the ships entered Alexandria back then. Given our connection, and your friendship with the priest…” Lyon glanced at Jacob, and finally revealed his decision to Zahir, “I want to hire you. Your people, your crew, and your ships.”

Zahir was stunned. He stared intently at the child he had once looked down upon, trying to find a hint of mockery in his expression, but there was none. He seemed... to be serious.

"However, I have one condition."

It wasn't that easy after all. Zahir quietly awaited Lyon's next move.

Leon said slowly, "I want you to convert to Jesus and become a Christian."

"Okay." Zahir agreed without even thinking.

For a moment, everyone, including Zahir's crew, looked at him in surprise, except for Jacob, who gave a knowing smile.

"Justification is by faith, I've never forgotten that," Zahir laughed. "You probably don't care whether I worship Allah or God in my heart, you just need a Christian mercenary who wears a cross and constantly says 'God bless me,' right? Now, that's me!"