The Restoration of Rome: In the Name of Augustus

Chapter 195 Death is like a cool summer night, allowing one to sleep peacefully without worry (Part 1)

pain!

it hurts!

Excruciating pain!

That was the only sensation Leon had when he regained consciousness.

The back of my head hurts as if I've been hit hard by a battering ram.

All I could see was a blurry darkness, and my ears were ringing. I could vaguely hear a monotonous, continuous sound.

Splash—splash—

Is that the sound of water? But it doesn't sound like raging waves; it sounds more like the rhythmic sound of oars.

He tried hard to think, but his thoughts were like mud, sinking into nothingness.

Storm — The ship capsized —

Henry!

The last fragment of memory is Henry's silhouette as he bursts out of the hatch and the earth-shattering impact.

His eyelids felt as heavy as lead, but he forced himself to open them a tiny crack.

The lighting was dim, as if I were in a low, enclosed space, possibly a cabin, but much smaller and more rudimentary than the previous cabins.

The air was polluted and smelled musty.

He lay in the corner of this cramped space, with rough burlap and hay beneath him.

The worst part was that he felt his hands and feet were tightly bound by strong ropes, and he couldn't move.

Just as he was trying to adjust to the light and see more clearly, a blurry figure entered his field of vision through the slit.

The man sat on a low wooden barrel less than three steps away from him, his back to the faint light, facing his direction, forming a silent silhouette.

Lyon couldn't see the other person's face clearly, only a general outline.

It is an adult male of medium build, motionless.

Lyon's heart clenched, almost leaping out of his chest.

It doesn't look like Henry!

He immediately closed his eyes tightly again, suppressed his breathing, and pretended to still be in a deep coma.

He needs to figure out what's going on.

Time passed slowly, as if an entire century had elapsed.

A sharp pain shot through the back of his head, but he gritted his teeth and endured it, focusing all his attention on his hearing.

Just as he was trying to endure it, a voice broke the silence, coming from a little further away, probably from the direction of the cabin exit. The voice was clearly tired and complaining: "Boss—I, I really can't row anymore—my arms are sore and painful, and my fingers are shaking—can I take a break?"

Just a little while!

The voice was unfamiliar, high-pitched, and sounded like that of a burly man.

The figure sitting in front of Lyon stirred, and then a voice Lyon instantly recognized rang out: "Useless! How far have you rowed? You haven't even left the Sea of ​​Proponents! You want to rest? Come here, watch this little prince, I'll row!"

It's Stephen! It really is him!

"Yes, yes, boss!" the unfamiliar voice replied hastily, footsteps sounding, accompanied by a sigh of relief.

Immediately afterwards, two sets of footsteps moved.

Stephen walked out of the cabin, and another person came in, plopped down on the wooden barrel where Stephen had just sat, and let out a satisfied groan.

The guard has been replaced.

Leon maintained the illusion of being unconscious, but his ears were perked up like those of the most alert rabbit.

The sound of more vigorous paddling came from outside, clearly indicating that Stephen had taken over.

Inside the cabin, the subordinate seemed to relax and began to speak casually: "Boss—I mean, do we really need to be in such a rush?"

His subordinate, catching his breath, asked with a hint of confusion, "The convoy carrying the Crown Prince of Jerusalem ran aground and sank in a storm; that's quite a big deal. But Constantinople might not know the full story so quickly, right? And even if they did, so what? The Imperial Navy—well, let me tell you, it's only so-so. I've heard most of it is tied up with Venice and Sicily, those two eyeing us like hawks. How many men could they possibly spare to investigate some accident on the vast ocean, or even—find someone?"

The sound of oars outside paused for a moment, then Stephen's voice came through: "What do you know? Fool. This little prince isn't just the heir to Jerusalem; he's related to the royal family by marriage, an ally personally invited by the Emperor. Such a man, who went to great lengths to help us, only to be shipwrecked in imperial waters while under our escort, his body never recovered?"

He sneered, "What does the royal family, especially that face-conscious young emperor and his high-ranking officials, value most? Face! The dignity of the empire! Once this is confirmed, they'll feel like they've been slapped in the face. At that point, let alone the tension on the coast, even if we really go to war with the Venetians, they might turn around and turn the Proponentia and Aegean Seas upside down, demanding to see them alive or dead! So we must be quick, before they react and spread their net, we must slip away."

The subordinate said "Oh," seemingly convinced, but soon a new question arose: "Then—boss, since you're so afraid of being investigated, afraid they'll find out it wasn't an accident, why didn't you just—find those crossbowmen who were following you, and that pretty good knight named Henry, when you were on the ship, and then—"

He made a throat-slitting gesture, though Lyon couldn't see it: "In that case, wouldn't it really become an accident with no survivors? Even if Constantinople wanted to investigate, they wouldn't have a single victim to blame, so they'd have to accept it."

Lyon, inside the cabin, felt his heart pounding.

Henry! Crossbowmen! Are they—still alive?

Outside, Stephen seemed enraged by the foolish question. The sound of his oars became heavier as he scolded, "You think I don't want to?! You think I don't understand this?! But do you think this is child's play, where I can just pick up whoever I want?!"

His voice carried a hint of lingering fear and frustration: "That ship—it was smashed to pieces by the wind and waves against the rocks! Pieces everywhere! I spent ages in the water, finally managing to pinpoint roughly where his cabin was. It was wedged in a crevice in the rocks, half submerged! I used my sword as a chisel, my hands were practically bleeding from the effort, to break open a loose plank and drag this guy out like a dead fish! The seawater was cold and dark, littered with floating debris, tattered canvas, and—corpses. Where was I supposed to find those crossbowmen and that knight who'd been swept away?! Finding this guy was a stroke of luck! And you're still spouting nonsense? If you have the energy and inclination for this drivel, come over here and take my place!"

Stephen's angry outburst silenced his subordinates, who quickly responded with obsequious smiles: "Yes, yes, boss, you've worked hard! You're brilliant! I'm coming, I'm coming!"

Footsteps sounded again, and the subordinates seemed reluctant to get up and take over rowing.

Lyon's heart sank.

The ship shattered — its body —

Henry and his crossbowmen are now missing and their fates unknown.

Sadness and anger welled up in his heart, but he forced them down.

Now is not the time; he must remain calm and gather more information.

From this conversation, he roughly sketched out the scene after the storm.

The ship ran aground and broke apart in the storm. Stephen seemed to have been prepared or was extremely lucky. In the chaos, he found himself unconscious and pulled him onto the small boat that was obviously prepared in advance.

Therefore, Stephen certainly did not act alone; he must have had at least one helper, such as this subordinate, and they had planned ahead, even preparing tools for escape and transportation.

His subordinates took over paddling and began to groan and strain, muttering under their breath, "Boss—"

Not to be rude, but you knew perfectly well that this trip was a long and arduous one, and that you should have had plenty of sailors on hand for safety, so why did you insist on—well, causing this whole mess of running aground? Now look what's happened, all the other sailors are probably fed to the fish, and it's just the two of us left. We're going to be rowing for ages before we reach Hungary—”

What? Hungary?

Are they going to kidnap me and take me to Hungary?!

Lyon was deeply shaken.

Why Hungary?

Stephen's voice rang out again, this time his tone calming down as his men seemed to have taken over rowing.

"The strong winds and the grounding were truly accidents," Stephen said slowly, as if recalling the past. "My original plan was to wait on the ship until nightfall and find a way to incapacitate those Jerusalem soldiers, or at least most of them, with drugged wine. But who would have thought that those crossbowmen were so incredibly disciplined? Their shift changes, meals, and rests were all perfectly organized. They didn't touch a drop of the wine provided on the ship, only drinking the water they brought themselves."

"If the wine doesn't work, I'll think that maybe we can find an opportunity to kidnap the little prince while they're off guard, hide him, and then move him when the ship docks or reaches a predetermined location," Stephen continued. "However, that knight named Henry is always by the little prince's side, never leaving his side. I proposed a duel, partly to test his abilities, and partly to see if I could create some chaos, or at least figure out his reactions and habits."

He paused, then said in a low voice, "The result—you saw it too. I was no match for him at all. All my tricks were like acrobatics in front of him. If it weren't for—if it weren't for that damned, sudden strong southwest wind that messed everything up, I really would have been—completely helpless."

So the storm was an accident for Stephen, but it unexpectedly helped him. It destroyed the ships and created chaos, allowing him to abduct the unconscious Stephen when Henry and the crossbowmen were unable to protect him.

Is this a stroke of luck amidst misfortune?

This at least suggests that Henry and his crossbowmen may still be alive, but they were scattered in the chaos.

As he rowed the oar, the man seemed to remember something and asked, "By the way, boss, didn't that Steward Isaac also compete with Sir Henry and lose? Why didn't you ask Steward Isaac about Henry's background beforehand?"

"That way we can be prepared, right?"

This question made Lyon hold his breath.