novelSusiti Chapter 70 Alberto da Giuzano
Chapter 70 Alberto da Giuzano
"Three...three thousand?!"
Zahir's breath hitched, and he stared at Leon in shock. He instinctively reached for his ear, wondering if he had misheard.
Balian made the sign of the cross with a sigh, muttering, "May God forgive our arrogance..."
However, an even more unexpected reaction came from Alberto. He turned sharply to Lyon, his eyes filled with disbelief: "Robert? You mean Mr. Roberto Visconti of Milan?"
Lyon raised an eyebrow, equally surprised. "Indeed. You know him too?"
"It's more than just knowing him!" Alberto's voice became excited, the shrewd calculation of a mercenary leader replaced by urgent emotion. "He's my family's benefactor! I've been searching for him for years, but he always seems to be avoiding me. If you can really get him here, the price for these mercenaries is negotiable!"
He waved his hand, pointing to the Danish knights and Bohemian soldiers behind him, "Everything is negotiable as long as Mr. Robert is willing to see me!"
After receiving confirmation from Lyon, Zahir, who was standing beside Lyon, mounted his horse and rode away in a cloud of dust.
The atmosphere in the camp became subtle, with the three groups maintaining a temporary calm while waiting.
In this delicate calm, Lyon glanced at Alberto and hesitated before speaking, "May I ask if you could reveal your connection with Robert? Oh, it's not that I'm deliberately trying to pry into your private affairs, but Robert has quite a few... not-so-good friends in Venice, so I have to be careful."
Alberto's gaze drifted into the distance, lost in memories, and his tone softened considerably: "My lord, you may not know this, but my real name is not Alberto da Giuzano."
He paused, his voice lowering: "My original name was Henry, the son of a Bohemian blacksmith."
Lyon nearly jumped up as if he'd been electrocuted—what the hell? You're also called Henry? Bohemia? The blacksmith's son?
"At that time, my family ran a small blacksmith shop in Prague. Due to the infighting and framing of our competitors, my father had to take my mother away from our hometown and wander all the way to Milan. When we were penniless and had no relatives or friends, it was Mr. Robert who took my parents in. He not only gave my father a shop to live on and my mother a job in his textile workshop, but also gave our family dignity. And I was born and raised in Milan."
Alberto—or rather, Henry—unconsciously clenched his fists, his face, which had been filled with emotion at the memory, now contorted with hatred: "I will always remember that winter of 1162... Milan was breached by the Redbeard's army."
His voice trembled violently: "My father... he was just one of many soldiers defending the city... they... the red-bearded soldiers, who took the heads of the Milan garrison..."
He ultimately couldn't recount all of Redbeard's atrocities, but Lyon knew that historically, these defenders had their heads cut off and used as footballs.
"Mr. Robert risked his life to hide my mother and me in the cellar of his estate, which saved us from the purge. Later, my mother died of illness caused by fear and anxiety. Mr. Robert treated me like his own son. I longed to avenge my father, but he firmly disagreed, only wanting me to inherit my father's business and manage the blacksmith shop. We had countless arguments about this."
A complex expression crossed his face, a mixture of gratitude and rebellion: "Until 1176, on the eve of the Battle of Legnano... I stole money from Mr. Roberto, bought armor and a sword, and under the alias Alberto da Giuzano, threw myself into the great battle that would determine the fate of northern Italy, and ultimately survived, becoming part of the legend in the eyes of the citizens of Milan."
"He blamed me for joining the war and cut off all contact with me." Alberto's sigh was filled with helplessness and longing. "I just brought these brothers back from Prague, and I never expected to receive news of Mr. Robert so soon after returning. What's more, you know him too! This must be God's will!"
Then, he composed himself and introduced two mercenary leaders to Lyon.
The Danish chieftain Thorfinn, a massive man nearly six feet tall and as robust as a bear, sensed Lyon's curious gaze, raised his giant axe, and declared in a booming voice that as long as gold, silver, and fine wine were plentiful, their battle axes would cleave through any obstacle for those who paid.
Fritz, the leader of the Bohemians, remained silent, merely nodding slightly as he sharply scrutinized Lyon. His attitude was identical to that of the Catalans of Catalonia; clearly, they were shrewd mercenaries who would only fight for a worthy commander and were unwilling to make pointless sacrifices.
The wait was short. When Zahir and Robert appeared at the edge of the camp, escorted by several burly guards and carrying several heavy wooden crates, all eyes were drawn to them.
The gleam of the gold coins almost shone through the box, eliciting suppressed gasps of amazement from the mercenaries, their eyes burning with fervor. Alberto moved faster than anyone had anticipated. He practically rushed to Robert, his emotions running high, completely abandoning any semblance of mercenary heroism.
Robert clearly hadn't expected to run into him here; his body stiffened, and he instinctively tried to back away.
"Father!" Alberto grabbed Robert's arm, his voice choked with emotion. "I've finally found you! Do you know how long I've been looking for you? Ever since Legnano, I..."
Robert struggled, his face a mixture of surprise, embarrassment, and anger. He lowered his voice, almost gritting his teeth, as he interrupted the other man: "Henry... let go! You... do you even remember how you left back then?!"
Alberto gripped the weapon tighter, tears streaming down his face: "I remember! I remember everything! Without you, my mother and I would have died that winter! You gave us a way to live! My father died at the hands of Redbeard, and I went to the battlefield not only to avenge him, but also to repay your kindness! I don't want to be a blacksmith my whole life; I don't want to be at the mercy of others anymore!"
The surrounding mercenaries, from Catalan, Thorfinn, and Fritz to the most ordinary soldiers, stared in disbelief as their dignified leader now resembled a child eagerly seeking the approval of his elders.
Robert remained silent, his face dark. He had heard these words countless times and had advised Henry countless times, but Henry always ignored him.
Seeing the awkward atmosphere, Leon cleared his throat and casually said, "Now that I've brought Kim Nomi, shouldn't we talk about the price of the service?"
Alberto, seizing the opportunity, turned to Lyon and said, "Of course, of course! But you really don't need to hire them all, and Kinnôse certainly doesn't need to spend so much. For a son of an earl like you..."
"The Earl's son?" Robert interrupted sharply. "His Highness Lyon is not merely the son of an earl; he is the Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, and his mother's surname is Komnen! How long have you been out gallivanting? Have you already forgotten all the skills I taught you to read people?"
"Crown Prince?!" The word exploded like a thunderclap in the camp.
Not only was Alberto stunned, but all the mercenaries—Catalans, Danish warriors, and Bohemian soldiers—were horrified, their eyes fixed on Lyon, and whispers spread like wildfire.
The Crown Prince of Jerusalem! This means they are not facing an ordinary nobleman, but a figure who could potentially decide the fate of the Holy Land!
Amidst the whispers of the crowd, Lyon strode to the center of the camp and proclaimed loudly, "As Robert Visconti said, my name is Lyon de Anjou. The war between Sultan Saladin of the Ayyubid and the kingdom is imminent, and the Holy Land of Christ needs the sword and courage of every true warrior!"
He pointed to the open chests of gold coins, their golden light dazzling in the setting sun: "There's enough Nomisma here to pay you your due reward and make your families wealthy! But I have much more to give you than just gold coins!"
His voice suddenly rose: "I will give you a chance to cleanse your sins and enter heaven! A chance for your names to be sung for posterity! Not as mercenaries selling your lives for money, but as warriors of God, fighting for the liberation of the Holy Land! Your deeds will be sung by the world, and your souls will be redeemed!"
Then he looked at the mercenaries and shouted, "Thorfin, your battle axe should be used to cut off the heads of infidels! Fritz, won't your battle axe and shield be wielded to defend the faith? Catalan, won't your javelin be thrown for God?"
His gaze swept over the crowd: "Join me! Not for myself, but for God, for Jerusalem, for the eternal peace of your souls! Tell me, will you choose to continue as a band of mercenaries fighting for gold, or will you choose to become crusaders to save the Holy Land, winning wealth, glory, and eternal life?!"
As soon as the words were spoken, the camp fell into a brief silence, which was then overwhelmed by a burst of frenzied shouts. The lure of gold coins, the call of faith, and the desire for honor ignited the passion of everyone in the camp like wildfire.