The Restoration of Rome: In the Name of Augustus

Chapter 78 Lance Competition

"What's all this commotion about?"

Prince Bohemond III of Antioch, accompanied by Count Raymond of Tripoli, strode out of his bedchamber. His booming voice instantly drowned out the noise from the sidelines.

Four strong palace guards followed closely behind, carrying the palanquin upon which King Baldwin IV of Jerusalem lay half-reclined, his silver mask gleaming coldly in the blazing sun.

The Antiochian knight immediately stepped forward, bowed to Bohemond III, and quickly reported in a low voice the details of the battle between Bohemond III and Raymond and Lyon.

Upon hearing this, Bohemond III's expression darkened slightly. His sharp gaze swept over his son, who was still glaring angrily at Lyon, before he waved his hand, signaling the knight to step back. The knight understood and silently retreated to Raymond's side.

On the palanquin, Baldwin’s weak but still clear gaze slowly swept across the room, finally settling on Sibylla, who was holding her young child tightly and whose face was pale.

He slightly raised his hand towards Guy: "Guy."

Guy seemed oblivious, lost in his own thoughts. That day at Jaffa port, he had practically laid his cards on the table for Lyon: Lyon commanded a formidable mercenary army. Now, or in the future, would Lyon be a threat to him?

"Guy!" Gerald had to call out in a low voice, his tone clearly showing his displeasure. "The King is calling you."

Gerald stared coldly at Guy. Guy had never been able to shake his impetuous and reckless ways; Gerald needed to reconsider the feasibility of continuing to cooperate with him.

The Knights were directly responsible to the Pope, and his cooperation with Guy was only for future profit. However, in recent years, he has not only gained nothing but has also had to pay Guy to help him.

Ever since Guy provoked the Assassins, Gerald has been unable to sleep soundly, always feeling like someone is watching him from the shadows. But so far, he is perfectly fine, while the treasures in his secret private wine cellar seem to disappear every few days.

Guy snapped back to his senses, looked at Gerald somewhat blankly, and then turned to Baldwin on the sedan chair.

Baldwin looked at his sister with concern and said softly, "Go see Sibylla and little Baldwin."

Guy paused for a moment before walking towards his wife and children with slightly heavy steps.

Count Raymond seized the opportunity to step forward and whispered worriedly, "Your Majesty, your health..."

"It's alright, Earl," Baldwin waved his hand. "I'm just physically weak, but my mind is perfectly clear. By the way, how are preparations going with the Queen Mother?"

"I've asked, it will take some more time."

"Well then, let's proceed according to the rules," Baldwin nodded. "Let the knights who are going to compete get ready."

Raymond nodded and then gave the order.

The long blast of horns heralded the imminent start of the jousting tournament. Baldwin IV's palanquin was positioned by the royal guards in the best-viewed northern section of the arena, surrounded by Jerusalem's nobles.

In the center of the arena, a waist-high wooden fence divided the track in two. Attendants carefully inspected the knights' lances for the dueling.

The lances used in these duels were made of fragile poplar wood, and the tips were not sharp spikes, but rather crown-shaped or cup-shaped without points, designed for impact rather than piercing.

The knights wore chainmail with heraldic cloaks over them, and an extra thick metal plate was riveted to their left breast to protect them from the fierce impact of lances.

Balian, dressed in the Ibelin coat of arms and chainmail, was the first to appear as the king's personal guard.

The match began, and Balian's warhorse started with a near-perfect, steady pace. In the instant he passed his opponent, his lance struck first, landing precisely on the center of the opponent's shield. There were no superfluous movements, only a crisp, cracking sound.

His spear tip shattered instantly, and his opponent was lifted off his saddle by a tremendous force, landing heavily on the ground.

Grand Master Gerald and the Knight of Antioch took turns appearing on stage. After defeating their respective opponents, they began to duel with each other. In the end, the Knight of Antioch was narrowly defeated by Gerald.

Guy had returned from Sibylla and Baldwin Jr. When the squire handed him the heavy knight's gloves, Guy's fingers trembled slightly.

Sibylla actually said she wouldn't fight for the throne? If Sibylla gives up the fight for the throne, what is her husband? A vassal with no right to inherit?

When the bugle call for the jousting began, Guy's anxiety had turned into a cold sweat that soaked his lining. His movements as he mounted his horse were somewhat clumsy, and he almost missed the stirrup.

His gaze swept over his opponent.

Jacob, a Templar Knight who had been converted from a priest, was casually weighing his training lance, as if he were choosing a suitable farm tool at a rural market.

Zahir, watching from the sidelines, burst into laughter: "Father, do you think this is drinking? Picking and choosing!"

"Zahir, what do you know? People are very busy when they're embarrassed." Jacob curled his lip. "I've only ever handled swords before. After joining the Knights, I've never been comfortable using these long things. It would be so embarrassing if I couldn't even hold them properly when I went on the battlefield."

Across from the Accord, a surge of humiliated anger welled up in Guy's heart: "Even a half-baked monk like this is worthy of competing with me?"

He hasn't avenged the sword fight from two years ago!

He suppressed his anger, waiting for the duel to begin. The announcer loudly proclaimed "Guy of Lucinian" and "Jacob of the Knights Templar," announcing the start of the duel, and Guy immediately launched his charge.

Unlike Guy's torment, Jacob was completely unconcerned about the match. All he wanted now was to finish it quickly and slip away to the Grand Master's wine cellar, which Altaïr had opened for him long ago.

As Guy charged at full speed, Accord was even mentally calculating: "Speaking of which... how many barrels of wine would it cost to break a single ash lance?"

"when!"

The deafening clash of the two gunshots interrupted his mental calculations. Jacob was surprised to find himself firmly seated on his horse. Guy's second shot was already fired, this time with obvious agitation and ruthlessness.

Accord instinctively sidestepped, his movements as clumsy as a young horseman riding for the first time, but by sheer chance, Guy's fatal blow missed once again.

Accord decided to loosen the reins. He recalled the scripture he had read during his morning prayers—"Under the sun, the swift may not win."

When Guy's lance trembled from the force of his thrust, Jacob casually tossed it aside as if picking up cow dung, and with a loud cracking sound, Guy was thrown from his horse.

"My God, what incredible luck I've had!"

Amidst the dust, Accord stared blankly at his perfectly intact lance, as if confirming that this wasn't yet another cruel joke played by God. Only when cheers erupted did he sheepishly scratch his helmet and grin sheepishly at the audience.

Zahir was stunned. Justification by faith is real! Even though the priest repeatedly blasphemed, he had never truly escaped God's protection. God doesn't look at the believer's words and deeds, but at their heart!

Leon silently gave a thumbs up. No wonder he's his uncle; he easily accomplished the impossible.

Guy, meanwhile, slumped awkwardly at the edge of the field, his face flushed, whether from the fall or from sheer shame and indignation, it was hard to tell.

Gerald sighed helplessly, quickly stepped forward to help Guy up, and then turned to the stands to say loudly, "Your Majesty, Sir Guy's old injury seems to have recurred, and this tournament may cause further problems. I humbly request Your Majesty's permission to take him back to his fiefdom for careful recuperation."

Baldwin's gaze swept over Guy's ashen face and Sibylla's anxious, concerned look as she looked at her husband. After a moment of silence, he slowly uttered a single word:

"Can."