The Restoration of Rome: In the Name of Augustus

Chapter 66 Prince Rom, Merrick Kilijer

In early June of 1182 in the Julian calendar, the setting sun, as intense as blood, bathed the Turkic camp at the foot of Adrassoburg.

The winding Turkic military camp below the fortress was submerged in twilight, the air thick with the sweet, pungent smell of dust, sweat, and rotting wounds.

A group of Turkic soldiers were staggering back from the direction of the fortress, dragging broken ladders and supporting their groaning comrades. Each of their faces was covered in blood and an inescapable sense of dejection.

An hour earlier, the offensive, personally commanded by the Sultan’s eldest son Merik Kilij, was once again repelled by the defenders’ dense rain of arrows and accurate crossbow fire, leaving nothing but more corpses on the steep slope in front of the castle.

Twenty-seven-year-old Merrick Kilijer stood outside the main tent, his anxious gaze sweeping across the scene. He saw the blood-stained rags piled up outside the medic's tent, heard the suppressed cries of the wounded soldiers, and sensed the low morale in the camp.

His leadership this time was not only a military operation, but also an opportunity to demonstrate his abilities to his father and his ambitious brothers. If he couldn't even take down this fortress, how could he command respect and rule Konya in the future?

At this moment, outside the gate of the Turkic camp, two sentries stopped a dusty caravan.

"Halt! This is military territory. Trespassers will be killed!"

Malik, the stationmaster of the Assassin stronghold in Jerusalem, dressed in a red silk short-sleeved robe and looking every bit the shrewd businessman, calmly spoke in fluent Turkic: "Please inform His Highness Merrick that a merchant from Trabzon requests an audience, bringing greetings from a friend in Venice, as well as the keys to the Astrazorg of Adrasso.

"Venice?" The sentries exchanged bewildered glances. Just then, Malik had his men carry in a heavy chest. The moment the lid was opened, the gleam of dinars shimmered in the setting sun, along with a piece of extremely precious Venetian scarlet velvet.

The sentry's attitude immediately became much more respectful: "Wait here, I'll go and report right away."

Inside the main tent, Merrick frowned slightly upon receiving the report from his guards. Trabzon? The Venetians? What were they planning to do here at this time?

He pondered for a moment, then ordered, "Bring them to me, but search them thoroughly."

Moments later, Malik was led into the commander's tent. Malik sat high on a lion-skin chair, flanked by generals whose gazes were sharp as knives. The tent reeked of a mixture of mutton, leather, and blood.

"Merchant, you've got some nerve," Merrick said, toying with his scimitar, his tone languid yet sharp. "A Trappist, carrying gifts from Venice, walks into a camp about to raze a Roman fortress. Tell me, how can you convince me you're not a Roman spy?"

Malik bowed deeply, his posture humble: "Your Highness, may God grant you wisdom and victory. I am Daniel, a merchant from Trabzon. I have come on this perilous journey to bring greetings from my Venetian friends, and perhaps a small possibility that may help you conquer this fortress sooner."

Merrick asked curiously, "Merchants? When did the Venetians become so interested in the Anatolian mountains? Don't they prefer the gold coins at sea?"

Malik met his gaze and said frankly, "Your Highness is wise. Antalya Port is indeed a place where gold flows."

He pointed outside the tent towards Adrasosburg: "That stone fortress is in your throat, isn't it? The port of Antalya behind it is the lifeline of us Latin merchants. The local governor, under the pretext of supporting Adrasosburg, has been forcibly seizing our goods and extorting heavy taxes, causing my Venetian friends to suffer heavy losses."

He timely expressed just the right amount of resentment: "Our friends in Venice hope that in the future Antalya, there will be a manager who...respects business rules more. They are willing to offer you some conveniences while you are fighting the Romans."

"Convenient?" Merrick leaned forward, his interest piqued. "Stop beating around the bush. Can the Venetians help me take down that damned castle?"

“Of course, Your Highness,” Malik lowered his voice. “Our Venetian friends can ensure that no Roman ships from the sea will interfere with your rear when you decide to launch the final assault, leaving Antalya Port with no time to spare. Of course, even without supplies and reinforcements from Antalya Port, taking this castle will not be easy.” He paused, observing Merrick’s reaction. “Therefore, we request that your army cooperate with the Venetian fleet in a land and sea attack to capture Antalya Port. After the success, we will provide you with some mercenaries skilled in siege warfare, as well as… blueprints for siege weapons that the Romans have never seen before, which may help you breach this castle.”

Merrick suppressed his excitement and remained calm: "That sounds good. But what do the Venetians want? It can't just be about doing business in Antalya, can it?"

"Your Highness is straightforward," Malik said, bowing slightly. "Our friends in Venice hope that, after this matter is settled, they will obtain trade privileges in the port of Antalya that are superior to those of the Genoese, Pisaians, and Lombards, and participate in the port's... management. Of course," he emphasized, "the Sultan's authority is supreme, and the port's tax sovereignty still belongs to Konya. Venice only asks for a fair and stable business environment."

Merrick didn't rush to agree, but repeatedly pressed for details regarding the feasibility of Venice's promised naval support and the so-called new siege weaponry. He showed little interest in the port's commercial operations, waving his hand dismissively: "As long as you can prevent the Roman ships from arriving, the port is negotiable. But everything is contingent on my army breaching this fortress!"

Several senior generals in the tent looked worried, and one of them couldn't help but speak up: "Your Highness, this military alliance with a foreign land at sea is of great importance. Shouldn't we first inform the Sultan and let His Majesty make the decision?"

"Report? How long will it take to travel to and from Konya? Opportunities are fleeting!" Merrick flatly rejected the idea, his confidence overflowing. "Three months ago, without informing my father, I lured the enemy deep into our territory and annihilated the Roman governor's legion. It proves that the Romans are all bark and no bite. I think they're a bunch of self-important fools and incompetent idiots! They don't need us to scheme against them; they'll fall into chaos on their own. That's what happened during the Constantinople uprising a year ago, and I think it will be the same in Antalya this time!"

"I will prove to my father my abilities and Rome's weakness. Once we capture Pamphilia, our bows and steeds will be able to sweep through the Roman Empire, trampling the emperor's purple robes underfoot and using his skull as a bowl!"

Merrick clenched his fist and said confidently, "If these useless Greeks can call themselves 'Rome,' I think Rom might just be Rome too!"