xymnovel Chapter 69 Even children don't make choices, I want them all.
Chapter 69 Even children don't make choices, I want them all.
At dusk outside Milan, the setting sun dyed the dirt road blood red.
Lyon rode in front, a docile mare, with Balian and Zahir following closely on either side. Their eyes frequently swept over the bushes on either side of the road, their hands always resting on their sword hilts. Twenty paces behind them, Catalan and his men trudged along, their boots caked in mud.
"Boss, are you sure you didn't misjudge him?" a young mercenary complained in a low voice, speaking in the Catalan dialect. "I thought he was a wealthy count, but he's just a brat! Look at him, he needs help to mount his horse!"
Another, slightly older mercenary spat, "My daughter is two years older than him. If those people in Sicily knew we were babysitting a child, they'd laugh their heads off."
Catalan glared at them, but his gaze involuntarily drifted to the small, thin figure on horseback ahead. The boy's riding posture was impeccable, his back straight, and his short brown hair gleamed in the setting sun—he certainly had the air of an aristocrat. But when he recalled the boy's childish voice from their first meeting, his heart sank again.
"Shut up, all of you," Catalan hissed. "He paid with real money, that's enough. But..." He trailed off, his voice even lower, "Keep your weapons handy tonight. If things don't look good, we're leaving tonight."
At the same time, Balian, on horseback ahead, turned slightly and said in a voice only Lyon could hear, "Your Highness, these Catalans are poorly equipped, greedy, and undisciplined. I've observed them; even their leather armor is incomplete, and their javelin heads are rusty. Forget about Saladin's Mamluk cavalry; they'd probably be routed by a single charge from Bedouins on camels."
Leon shook his head slightly: "Varian, don't underestimate them. The Catalans are skilled in mountain warfare, and cavalry is practically helpless in the mountains. With proper command, by using the terrain to limit the mobility of enemy cavalry, the Catalan javelins can pierce the chests of warhorses and the heavy armor of cavalry at close range."
In 1311, thousands of Catalan mercenaries like them annihilated the Frankish heavy cavalry in Greece with javelins and swords. They used the terrain to lure the cavalry into swamps, then attacked their legs from the side with javelins. Once the riders fell, they used javelins to pierce their heavy armor, rendering them incapable of fighting, and the knights became mere playthings in their hands.
At this moment, Zahir, who had been silent all along, interjected, "Although I hate to admit it, these mountain people are truly something else. In my naval battle with them, even with the speed advantage, the damage they caused by throwing javelins was still terrifying. If you equip these javelin throwers with advanced ships, they are simply devils in the face of naval warfare."
Lyon nodded approvingly. Historically, in 1282, Catalan mercenaries, aboard Sicilian galleys, decisively defeated the French and Neapolitan fleets off the coasts of Malta, Sicily, and Naples. The powerful javelins, combined with the Sicilian archers, were far superior to the Franks, who relied solely on Genoese crossbowmen. As for the boarding action on deck, few soldiers could contend with these fierce mountain men.
When the group arrived at the mercenary camp, the sight before them stunned everyone. The camp was much larger than they had imagined, with at least two hundred people sitting around a campfire, clearly belonging to different factions.
On the east side of the camp, Catalans huddled together haphazardly around several small fires, polishing their javelins and cleavers. On the west side, however, order prevailed, with two distinct groups: one comprised extremely burly, blond-haired, blue-eyed, and bushy-haired Nordic men, clad in heavy double-layered chainmail, their massive axes resting on their knees; the other group consisted of short-haired soldiers wielding broad axes and iron shields, silently polishing their weapons.
A man wearing chainmail, no helmet, and sporting a buzz cut stood between two groups, arguing about prices with a Catalan tribal chief in fluent Latin. Hearing the sound of hooves, he turned his head, revealing an extremely young, almost innocent face.
"Looks like the camp's bustling tonight." The man smiled as he approached Lyon, dressed in fine clothes, at the head of the group. His sharp gaze swept over Lyon's attire and entourage. "I am Alberto da Giuzano, a citizen of Milan, and the liaison for the Lombard Alliance mercenaries. May I ask who you are?"
Alberto da Giuzano?
Lyon felt the name seemed somewhat familiar, but couldn't quite place it.
He dismounted, his movements slightly awkward but maintaining a noble demeanor: "Lyon, son of a count in Sicily, is assembling his own guard." Although it sounded rather unbelievable, Alberto could tell from the demeanor of Balian's guards that he was indeed someone of considerable importance.
"What a coincidence," Alberto chuckled. "I was discussing employment matters with these Catalan friends." He glanced at the Catalans following behind Lyon, then changed the subject, "But since you arrived first, according to custom, you should speak first."
"You're also interested in hiring?" Lyon asked suspiciously. "I remember your alliance has made peace with the Redbeard, and there's no war going on right now."
Alberto smiled and replied politely but ambiguously, "The fact that there is no war within the alliance does not mean that there is no war within the city-states, nor does it mean that there will be no war in the future."
Lyon pondered Alberto's answer. The war he was referring to was most likely the trap he had set for the Doge of Venice. It seemed that Venice had indeed taken the bait.
His thoughts drifted back to the northern warriors. Each of them looked like a hero emerging from Valhalla, tall and imposing, their battle axes gleaming coldly. He then looked at the Western European soldiers, skilled with battle axes, their shields dented from countless battles, clearly seasoned veterans.
These two types of troops are clearly capable of fighting Saladin's infantry. If we could bring all three of these forces under our command at the same time...
“Perhaps,” Lyon said, trying to keep his voice steady, “we can make a bigger deal. Compared to the city-states you are cooperating with, these elite infantrymen might need more naval archers and crossbowmen; these foot warriors are clearly a better fit for me.”
Alberto laughed. "Kid, you don't need to beat around the bush. The rules for mercenaries are simple—the highest bidder wins." He looked at Lyon suspiciously. "But are you sure you can afford to support so many people? The Danes drink beer equal to their body weight every day, the Bohemians get double pay, and the Catalans…" He gave the javelin throwers a meaningful look. "Their javelins cost money."
Balian stepped forward and whispered, "Your Highness...Master, we may not have enough funds to hire three teams at the same time."
Lyon scratched his head awkwardly. He really didn't want to let go of these hard-won soldiers. After thinking for a moment, he said to Zahir, "Zahir, go to Robert's estate now and ask him to borrow them!"
"Two thousand gold coins, no, three thousand! Have him bring all the gold coins here, and quickly!"