The Restoration of Rome: In the Name of Augustus

Chapter 59 The Trip to Venice

Early May, 1182 (Julian calendar), Mediterranean Sea.

The Mediterranean breeze billowed the sails as Leon stood at the bow, toying with a uniquely shaped brass cylinder. This was the first "telescopic vision" born in his laboratory. Although the edges of its field of vision were still somewhat blurry and distorted, it was enough for him to clearly see every flap of a distant seabird's wings and the outline of the Venetian spires and domes on the horizon, a full half hour earlier than the naked eye.

"It seems your 'little toy' is indeed useful." Balian's voice came from behind. He had been personally assigned by Baldwin to protect Leon's safety, and a lingering worry always clung to his face. He didn't quite understand why Leon wanted to travel far away at this sensitive time, but he chose to obey the king's orders.

"Oh, Balian, you're always so serious. If my uncle were here, he'd sing my praises to the heavens. You believe me?" Leon put down his binoculars and teased Balian behind him. "We're going to Venice for vacation, have fun!"

Lyon couldn't tell Balian that he knew the city-states of Northern Italy would defeat the Holy Roman Empire and usher in a golden age, and that Jerusalem needed to prepare in advance. This trip was both an investment scouting trip and a necessary opportunity for revenge.

In the distance from their Calais ship, another ship was sailing in a different direction—Count Raymond of Tripoli, carrying a marriage proposal letter written by Bishop William on Baldwin's orders, embarked on his voyage to Constantinople.

Zahir was in command of Lyon's ship. He was now dressed in the short chainmail commonly seen on Jerusalem soldiers, and although the roughness of a pirate still remained in his demeanor, the wildness in his eyes had been greatly subdued.

The reason was simple: it wasn't because of Leon, but because of the knight next to Leon who had originally been wearing an Ibelin cloak but was now revealing chainmail. Zahir knew he couldn't defeat him.

He walked over to Lyon, pointing to the approaching Venetian Lagoon, his tone complex: "This is it, Your Highness. This is where I met that merchant named Daniel last time." According to Zahir, it was this Daniel who hired Zahir to attack Robert's caravan, attempting to cut off the trade route between Jerusalem and Italy.

Robert himself stood to the side, his hairy face showing both excitement at returning to his business roots and a hint of resentment.

"Although Daniel himself doesn't have much power, he has recently ingratiated himself with several councilors in Venice. Your Highness, we..." He hesitated, worried that it might cause trouble.

Lyon nodded: "No rush, let's see how it goes."

As the boats glide into the Venetian Lagoon, the entire cityscape unfolds before you.

The dense brick and stone buildings seem to have grown out of the sea, with canals of all sizes carving winding patterns between them, and hundreds of bridges stitching them back together. The air is filled with the salty smell of the sea, the damp wood, the asphalt, the spices from the East that drift in from afar, and the aroma of cooking fires rising from the crowd.

The canals are like the city's lifeblood, with all kinds of boats shuttling back and forth. Gondolas and cargo ships navigate the spiderweb-like waterways, the shouts of gondoliers mingling with the sounds of unloading cargo at the docks and the hammering of blacksmiths, creating a vibrant cacophony.

There is no sacred sorrow in Jerusalem, no oppressive grandeur in Constantinople, and no mesmerizing exoticism in Cairo; instead, there is a pure, surging vitality.

The streets were now teeming with people of all kinds of attire, from fishermen covered in the stench of fish to merchants in silk, from loudly hawking vendors to hurried artisans. The most prominent were not the knights adorned with coats of arms, but the shrewd-looking citizens in dark wool robes, who held the fate of this water town in their hands.

"What a... place without a king," Balian murmured, a hint of unease in his voice.

Lyon felt a strange sense of familiarity; the atmosphere here was, in some ways, closer to the modern commercial society he remembered.

He, along with Balian, Zahir, and Robert, merged into the surging crowd.

On a street lined with artisan shops, Balian suddenly stopped, his gaze fixed on a shop with a simple facade. Unlike the other shops with ornate signs, this one was marked only by an old but well-preserved cross-handled sword hanging at the entrance.

"Leon, you've been practicing swordsmanship with me for so long, it's time you had your own sword," Balian said to Leon, a rare smile appearing on his face. "Before I came to the Holy City to inherit my father's title, I heard the knights who accompanied me talk about this shop—they raved about it. Now, go in and pick one out, I'll give it to you."

Hey, the usually taciturn Balian has suddenly become friendly.

The shop was dimly lit, filled with the smells of coal, metal, and grease. The walls were covered with various weapons, most of them simple and unadorned. The shop owner, a taciturn old craftsman, his fingers covered in burns and calluses, was polishing a section of a sword by the light streaming in from the window.

Lyon's gaze swept past the ornate daggers and short swords, landing on a longsword hanging in the center. Its hilt was a simple cross shape, the counterweight resembling an unrefined lump of iron, but the blade's lines were fluid, gleaming with a cold light.

"May I try it?" Lyon asked the old craftsman. The old craftsman nodded silently and took down the sword.

Lyon took it, and his first impression was its weight—a solid, substantial feel. He gripped the handle with both hands, and with a casual swing, the sound of it cutting through the air was steady and sharp, as if it could easily slice through the air.

"The center of gravity is perfect," Balian commented from the side. "Even though it's a bit heavy for you right now, it ensures that every bit of force you put into your swing is used effectively."

The old craftsman picked up a piece of old ship cable from the corner, which he used for testing, and lifted it into the air. Lyon took a deep breath and swung it down at an angle with all his might. A flash of cold light appeared, and the resistance he felt in his arm was much less than expected. The ship cable snapped cleanly.

"So sharp!" Leon couldn't help but exclaim.

A barely perceptible hint of pride flashed across the old craftsman's face as he spoke in heavily accented Latin: "Use good steel, forge it repeatedly. It's not pretty, but it's durable. As long as you don't use it to chop stones, it can last you a lifetime."

"This is it." Leon hugged the heavy longsword to his chest, the cold blade against his arm, and its weight gave him a sense of security and confidence in this era.

They left the shop and walked onto the street, rejoining the crowd and gradually heading towards the city center.

"Your Highness, what's next..." Robert, whose face had been full of worry, hesitated as they got closer and closer to the city center. "We're getting closer and closer to Daniel's Chamber of Commerce."

Lyon looked up at Robert, then glanced at Balian and Zahir, a sly smile spreading across his face. "Next? Next, we'll proceed according to plan!"