The Restoration of Rome: In the Name of Augustus

Chapter 164 The Roman Empire's Plea for Help

Chapter 164 The Roman Empire's Plea for Help (Part Two)

The argument lasted for fifteen minutes without resolution, leaving only a growing sense of frustration.

Baldwin finally raised his hand, and the hall gradually quieted down, all eyes turning to the throne, awaiting the king's seemingly impossible decision.

"So," Baldwin said weakly, "we are burdened with an unbreakable covenant, yet we face the crisis of our own destruction. We cannot help, nor can we help with all our might. So, who can tell me how to find a way out of this desperate situation? How to fulfill our vows without plunging Jerusalem into the abyss?"

No one answered.

At that moment, Lyon raised his head, stood up abruptly, and took a step forward.

All the lords' eyes instantly focused on him.

"Your Majesty," Lyon said hesitantly, "perhaps—there is a possibility."

Baldwin nodded slightly, his gaze behind the mask as sharp as ever: "Go on."

"We can send an army, but not the kingdom's vassal army," Lyon said confidently. "I will represent the royal family and lead a small but absolutely elite expeditionary force, entirely employed by the royal treasury, to Constantinople. It will be small, requiring only the five hundred crossbowmen I personally assembled and trained, one hundred Danish knights, three hundred Bohemian soldiers, and two hundred Catalan skirmishers, totaling one thousand one hundred men."

A suppressed gasp and gasps filled the hall.

"This army," Lyon continued, seemingly oblivious to the commotion around him, "is entirely composed of mercenaries and royal crossbowmen, without drawing upon any of the knights or conscripts from the lords' ranks, thus ensuring that it will not weaken the defenses of even a single fortress within the kingdom. Its existence and actions legally separate the kingdom from the Empire's war. My mother is a princess of Komnen, and I myself am related to the Imperial royal family by blood. My leadership of this army represents the highest level of political posturing the royal family can make, demonstrating our commitment to the alliance and responding to the Empire's pleas."

"absurd!"

Baldwin almost growled.

He leaned forward, his tone authoritative: "Lyon, do you know what you're saying? You're only eleven! The battlefield isn't a simulation; it's a mountain of corpses and a sea of ​​blood! As the crown prince, the future king, how can you personally risk your life to go to a strange battlefield thousands of miles away? If you leave, what if—"

"Otherwise, what other choice do we have?" Lyon countered. "From the most realistic perspective, an elite mercenary force of a thousand men would have a negligible impact on Saladin's potential large-scale invasion. But for the Roman Empire, which is caught in a five-way tug-of-war and desperately needs a reliable fresh force to stabilize its position, it could be a lifeline, enough to change the course of the local war and buy them time to regroup and redeploy."

Earl Raymond and the lords stroked their beards, lost in thought.

Baldwin slowly shook his head.

"Lyon, we truly have no other choice." The King's voice held no praise or criticism, only a heavy scrutiny. "But that doesn't mean we have to make this choice. Your idea is good, but haven't you forgotten something?"

Baldwin stared at Lyon and said, enunciating each word clearly, "In Jerusalem, you have Balian, Jacob, Guy, Raymond, and even—"

He looked at Reynald, who had been sitting obediently in his seat ever since his punishment and confinement: "Even this guy sees you differently. These people acknowledge you, support you, and are willing to protect you with their swords and their lives."

But what are you in Constantinople, in the Balkans, in Anatolia?

His voice suddenly turned stern: "You are an eleven-year-old child, not yet an adult, without a formal title or land. You lead a band of mercenaries—Danes, Bohemians, Catalans! These men fight only for the clinking dinars and silver coins! On a peaceful march, with ample provisions, they might obey your commands, their paying patron. But when the war drums sound, arrows rain down, the heavy spears of the Hungarian cavalry press in like mountains, or the arrows of the Turkish light cavalry blanket your heads, in that hell of flying flesh and blood, where life and death hang in the balance, how much weight will your orders carry? What prestige do you possess that would make these desperados loyal to you to the death in dire straits, instead of scattering and even turning their guns against you?"

"Commander, you must be on the front lines, sharing death with your soldiers." Baldwin's tone softened, but became even more earnest. "Balian must guard his fiefdom and command the royal guards; Jacob—he also manages the affairs of the Knights Templar; Guy and Reynald must keep an eye on the kingdom's borders, especially Ageron, who must be ready to assemble troops to deal with Saladin's offensive at any time! As for Raymond, he's an even busier man, overseeing almost all the kingdom's affairs; he doesn't have time to play war games with you—none of them can abandon their territories and duties to follow you to the distant Balkans or Anatolia for an extended period. So, are you going to have yourself, an eleven-year-old child, stand on the front lines, commanding these mercenaries who only care about money, against seasoned Hungarian hussars or fierce Turkic warriors?"

The lords nodded, their gazes towards Lyon now tinged with worry.

The king is right. Without their help, if this kid were to take command on the battlefield, the consequences would be unimaginable.

Lyon's face paled slightly; he could feel the worry and regret in the many eyes behind him.

But he took a deep breath, forcing himself to stand even straighter, the fire in his eyes not extinguished.

"Your Majesty, you are absolutely right. Every word you speak is indeed to the point," he admitted, but his tone remained confident. "Therefore, for this choice to be valid, there is one indispensable prerequisite. I need a true commander, one who not only possesses outstanding military talent but also a formidable reputation and personal charisma sufficient to intimidate any arrogant or fierce general. A hero who, simply by standing under his banner, can silence even the most unruly mercenaries and inspire courage in the most timid recruits."

Baldwin narrowed his eyes: "Besides the lords present, who else do you know? Such a commander is one of a kind in the entire Levant and even in Europe."

The curiosity of everyone in the hall was piqued.

Lyon's network of connections over the past three years has been astonishing, ranging from Robert, a previously unknown but now incredibly successful businessman and farmer in Acre, to Zahir, the former pirate captain who converted to Christianity, and many other mysterious figures whom Lyon keeps secret but which almost all the lords have a vague sense of.

But he was clearly referring to someone who could influence the strategic level.

Lyon slowly and clearly uttered a name that was somewhat unfamiliar to most of the Frankish nobles present, yet vaguely carried a legendary air: "Alberto da Giuzano."