The Restoration of Rome: In the Name of Augustus

Chapter 58 Zahir's Sunday

Today is Sunday.

Zahir, dressed in a coarse linen tunic, stood with devout Christians at the entrance of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. As the morning prayer bells rang, the crowd began to push him into the church.

As the church's wooden doors opened, a whiff of incense and candle wax wafted in, making him cough. An elderly woman in the front row glanced back at him, her cloudy eyes scrutinizing him. He quickly lowered his head and, mimicking the others, clumsily made the sign of the cross with his right hand—first touching his forehead with his index finger, then his chest, and finally his left and right shoulders. His movements were a beat too slow, and his elbow bumped into an old man next to him. The old man glanced at him, his gaze settling on his face with an expression of disdain for an outsider.

"Damn it, I really can't get used to anything here," Zahir cursed under his breath.

Bishop William ascended the altar, holding an open Bible in his hands. Zahir's gaze fell upon the cross in the center of the altar, where the wooden Christ was depicted with his head bowed. He suddenly recalled the Arabic Quran inscribed on the walls of the Alexandria Mosque, its winding letters resembling elegant yet untamed waves. The cross before him, however, felt as hard as a stinking brick from a cesspool.

"You are the salt of the earth..." Bishop William's voice rang out, with the characteristic pauses of Latin, "If salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It becomes useless, nothing more than to be thrown out and trampled upon. You are the light of the world..."

The surrounding believers chanted softly in response, their voices rising and falling.

Zahir read along perfunctorily, his voice barely audible. He just wanted this awful process to end as soon as possible; every moment felt like torture.

Bishop William began to pray, raising his hands together above his head, and Zahir and the devout believers followed suit.

"Amen." The bishop's voice fell. Zahir's body seemed to be freed from its shackles, and his whole mind and body instantly relaxed. He stopped looking at the priest above and turned to walk out, but two tall figures subtly blocked his way.

Sir Guy of Lusignan wore a faint, almost warm smile, but his blue eyes held no warmth whatsoever. Beside him, Grand Master Gerald of the Templar Order had a tense jaw, his gaze fixed coldly on Zahir.

"May the Lord be with you. What is your name now... Oh, Brother Zachary," Guy began, his voice gentle. "It is truly gratifying to see you participate in the sacraments with such devotion. The Lord's grace is indeed boundless, capable of washing away the deepest sins and guiding the lost sheep."

No, who the hell are you? Do I know you?

Zahir cursed inwardly, but forced a humble smile: "My lord... it is the Lord's mercy, and the Prince's and the King's tolerance."

“Indeed,” Guy took a small step forward, closing the distance, lowering his voice, and staring intently at Zahir’s expression. “Honesty is a virtue, and also the necessary path to salvation. As it is written, ‘You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.’”

Gerald, standing to the side, added in his somber, almost malevolent voice, as if reciting a military decree from the Knights: "To conceal from God is to bear new sins. Zachary, now that you have converted, you must sever ties with the past, including... all falsehoods."

Zahir frowned: "Gentlemen..."

"Well, Zachary, we're quite interested in your past stories," Guy said, putting his hand on Zahir's shoulder like a smiling tiger. "Let's talk about it somewhere else."

Damn it, I'm always the one threatening others with a smile—well, except for that kid named Leon.

Suppressing his irritation, Zahir replied perfunctorily, "My lords, I have no interest in telling stories. I was reborn after converting to God, and I do not wish to recall the past."

"I don't think so." Gerald suddenly stepped forward, closing in on Zahir's body, a dagger pressed against his abdomen, and whispered, "Do you really think that after serving God, the sins committed by that wicked pirate no longer exist?!"

Zahir instinctively reached for the scimitar at his waist, but found nothing—he was unarmed.

Zahir was led out of the church by the two men, one on each side, and into a secluded, shady spot.

Gerald sheathed his dagger and said emotionlessly, "Sorry, Zachary brothers. We just wanted to have a quiet talk; there was no ill intent."

Guy nodded. "Indeed, to tell you the truth, the kingdom recently expressed interest in forming an alliance with the Roman Emperor through marriage, but we've been holding a grudge about the attack on him two years ago. According to Prince Lyon, he was on the same ship as the Roman Emperor at the time. So, was that attack aimed at the Roman Emperor, or Prince Lyon, or perhaps a double attack? Who ordered you to do it?"

"Tell us the details," Guy said, a hint of worry in his eyes. "After all, we're just worried about His Highness Lyon and our future allies!"

Zahir clenched his fists. These two men were truly important figures in Jerusalem. Even though his Christian identity was recognized by the Crown Prince and the King, he was still a lowly mercenary.

“My lords,” Zahir tried to make his voice sound sincere, though a hint of pirate savagery remained, “I dare not lie before God. When I met His Highness the Prince, he… he was indeed wearing purple robes and had an extraordinary bearing. He and his companion, Father Jacob, were guests I ‘invited’ from the sea. Later in Alexandria, we encountered some… trouble, Lord Hakim died, and they… disappeared.” He shrugged, revealing a helpless expression that said, “That’s all I know.”

"Gone?" Guy raised an eyebrow slightly. "A Roman prince, 'gone' in your hands?"

Gerald interrupted, his left hand on the hilt of his sword, glaring at Zahir: "Details! We want details! From beginning to end, didn't you notice anything amiss?"

Zahir cursed inwardly, thinking that these nobles were more annoying than hidden reefs at sea for their roundabout way of speaking.

He said with a pained expression, "My lord, I swear, I truly believed he was a prince! That would have been worth a huge ransom! As for whether he was or not... I only believed what I saw. The rest, only God and His Highness the Prince know. I am now a mercenary in Jerusalem, and it was the King and His Highness the Prince who gave me a new life. I would never do anything to damage their reputation."

Gerald snorted, clearly not entirely believing the explanation, but he couldn't find any real evidence against it.

Guy stared at Zahir for a few seconds, seemingly trying to determine the truthfulness of his words.

"Zakari!"

Just then, Bishop William's voice suddenly rang out. They turned around and saw Bishop William appear out of nowhere, it was unclear whether he had just arrived or...

William looked surprised: "Zachary, have you offended either of them? Apologize to them immediately, then come with me; His Highness Lyon summons you!"

Zahir gave Bishop William a grateful look without saying a word, then gave Guy and Gerald a perfunctory bow, turned around and was about to follow Bishop William away.

Guy's face stiffened, and he forced out a sentence through gritted teeth: "Very well, Brother Zachary. Your loyalty... we'll be watching. Remember, honesty is a virtue."

He patted Zahir on the shoulder, not too hard, then exchanged a glance with Gerald before turning and leaving.

Guy and Gerald met Princess Sibylla under the columns outside the church. She wore a veil, but her tightly pursed lips and anxious eyes betrayed her feelings.

"How is it?" Sibylla asked anxiously.

"A cunning sea wolf," Guy frowned in disgust. "His words are so airtight that either he really doesn't know much, or he's been beaten and is afraid to speak recklessly."

Gerald said in a somber tone, "If Bishop William hadn't suddenly appeared, we might have been able to force him to say it."

Sibylla pondered, "Since we can't find evidence from the parties involved, we'll start elsewhere. A living person can't possibly leave no trace." She paused, then added, "We must use multiple approaches."

"First, send someone to Constantinople," Guy interjected, his thoughts becoming clearer. "Isn't Raymond about to be sent to Constantinople to arrange a marriage between the two countries? We should send some people with him to carefully investigate whether there were any illegitimate children of unknown origin in the monasteries or the Komnenos family during the reign of Emperor Manuel, especially those whose ages match Lyon's. Court records, the attendants from that time, the elderly... there will always be clues."

"Second," Gerald added, "contact our people in Alexandria. Although Hakim is dead, his family, the guards who were present, even the merchants in the market—perhaps someone remembers a boy in a purple robe and a strange priest. Focus on investigating why the Assassins would intervene; this is highly unusual."

Sibylla nodded. "I will use my influence among the ladies, and... my connections in the Church. Lyon's baptismal record is key. If it can't be found in Jerusalem or Constantinople, we can subtly sow doubt. We don't need to make direct accusations; we just need to make more people question the legitimacy of his succession."