Chapter 71: How Could I Not Know Him?

“Hurry, hurry, close the city gates!”
The city guards of Gaeta hurried to shut the gates, the heavy doors groaning as they swung closed. The sound echoed with the flapping of sails in the harbor, casting a tense pall over the entire city.

Frightened citizens darted through the market, buying or snatching whatever they could, desperate to secure enough supplies before the dust settled.

“Give me back my things!”

“No stealing! No stealing!”

“To hell with you, it's all mine!”

After the clamor, a violent scuffle suddenly erupted in the street. Hawkers and townsfolk grappled fiercely, all for a single meal.

Just as the fight reached its peak, a small squad of soldiers appeared on the scene. Brandishing shields and short spears, they began to restore order.

“Move aside!”
The squad leader, Dionysus, tossed aside his weapon and pulled the two men apart.

Around them, townsfolk hurriedly gathered the scattered salted fish, then hurried home with their meager haul. The old vendor, tears streaming down his face, still wouldn’t unclench his fists, swinging them feebly at the townsman.

“You bastard! Bastard!”

“This is all I own! And you still steal from me!”

The townsman ignored him completely, stuffing the salted fish into his pockets before fleeing the scene.

This city had known too many wars.

Everyone understood that in times like these, nothing was more important than securing food. The vendor, a food merchant himself, knew this truth all too well, which made his rage all the more desperate. When the townsman was gone, he sat down in the street, clutching his head, and wept bitterly.

“I have a wife and children... They'll all starve to death...”

Dionysus heaved a sigh.

Looking at the vendor, he felt utterly helpless. Such scenes were far too common in this city; Dionysus could not possibly care for everyone. All he could do was help this one man as best he could.

“Here, take this.”
He reached out and pressed a few coins into the vendor's hand. The vendor snatched them up without a moment’s hesitation.

Then, he began to scour his stall, searching for any last scraps of goods.

“Captain, we should get going,” said one of the guards, coming over to pat Dionysus on the shoulder. Dionysus sighed and led his men down another street.

As they walked, the soldiers continued talking.

“To be honest, Captain, you’re too softhearted. That merchant is no good—you could tell by the way he grabbed for the money. He’s a greedy cur, willing to wag his tail and drool for the slightest profit, playing the victim whenever it suits him.”

“There’s no need to be harsh on these poor souls. The Holy Father watches over us. I’d rather not end up in hell after I die.” Dionysus replied.

Suddenly, a knight appeared at the street corner.

This domineering Norman horseman barreled through, knocking aside any townsfolk who stood in his way. The others quickly retreated to the sides of the road, terrified of provoking these walking disasters.

“Amelan again,”
Dionysus muttered discontentedly. “These northern barbarians can’t show a shred of courtesy...”

“Make way! The Duke is coming!”
Amelan galloped down the center of the road, splattering Dionysus with muddy water as he passed. Without so much as a glance, he thundered through the street.

Following him came Richard’s retinue.

The citizens hid inside their houses, peering cautiously from their windows as the ruthless conqueror strode arrogantly down the street. As he passed, Dionysus was forced to salute.

Only after Richard had gone did Dionysus lower his hand and glance curiously at his companions.

“Who is it this time? William of Montreuil, or Robert Guiscard?”

“Neither,” one of his men replied, shaking his head. “This time, it’s the Bishop of Pisa.”

...

“This city was built here to defend against Arab pirates. Two centuries ago, they could sail up the Tiber and raid Rome itself. But now, it’s the Normans dealing with them.”

Leo cast a glance at Ricardo.

“You know quite a bit. But by your logic, am I an Arab too? Am I in league with the Prophet?”

“No, no, not at all!” Ricardo quickly shook his head. “I’m just explaining, giving you some history of this city. After all, you assigned me this task, sir.”

Hearing his explanation, Leo nodded in satisfaction. Noticing Ricardo’s nervousness, he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Why so tense?” Leo said. “I don’t eat people.”

“Haha, yes, of course,” Ricardo scratched his head. “By the way, sir, a letter just arrived from Corezzola.”

Leo didn’t reply, but Ricardo unfolded the letter and laid it before him.

Leo picked it up and read through. There was nothing remarkable within: Helena had written at length, but it all boiled down to the fact that the Corezzola Abbey had expanded, building many new houses. A Venetian minter had arrived as well, though he currently had nothing to do.

Nothing to do was just as well.

Without the proper right to mint coins, any such activity would be illegal and considered counterfeiting. Leo was greedy, but not a fool.

“Draft a reply,”
Leo set the letter aside.

Ricardo picked up his pen, ready to write.

“One letter for Helena. Tell her she’s done well, to keep running things properly, and make sure that minter is well fed and cared for. Also, the production of Andalusian paper needs to be expanded—send some here, and some to Tusculum.”

“And another letter for the Holy See. Tell them we suffered a crushing defeat at Altina and have retreated all the way to Gaeta.”

Hearing this, Ricardo looked up, his face full of doubt. Leo shot him a glare.

“Just write,” he ordered.

Ricardo dared not protest. He lowered his head and scribbled busily, taking down Leo’s words.

“If the Holy See doesn’t want us to lose even worse, they’d best send supplies to the front—grain, horses, money, weapons, anything at all. Otherwise, the Normans will march on Rome. Make sure to send someone with a loud voice to shout it in the streets of Rome.”

After Leo finished dictating, Ricardo took a moment to complete the letters, then handed them over. Leo flipped through them, while Ricardo stood by, hesitating. At length, he voiced his concern.

“Sir, isn’t this a bit... improper?”

“What’s improper?” Leo set the letter aside.

“Aren’t we deceiving the Holy See? If they find out, the Pope will surely be displeased. What if he punishes us?”

Leo found his worries amusing.

He didn’t take Ricardo’s concerns to heart. Though Ricardo was intelligent and had a good memory, he lacked political cunning—or rather, the necessary flexibility.

“If we win, that’s when he’ll really worry.”

...

After pondering for a while, Ricardo gave up. He could understand each of Leo’s statements, but taken together, they made no sense to him.

“Don’t think so much,”
Leo patted Ricardo on the shoulder, then stepped outside the command tent.

He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun, gazing across the bustling scene before him.

Beyond the tent, groups of soldiers busied themselves building siege camps and preparing for the assault on Gaeta. Loads of timber and stone were brought in, the men working in perfect order.

The sight lifted Leo’s spirits.

“Enrique!”

Not far off, Enrique heard Leo’s call and hurried over.

“What is it, sir?”

“Who’s in charge of the siege this time?” Leo asked. “Is it still the men from Pisa?”

“Yes,” Enrique nodded. “He’s no ordinary man—very capable. If he’s leading the attack, there’ll be no problem.”

Leo lowered his hand, regarding Enrique with some skepticism.

“And how do you know that?”

“Heh, back in the day, my family’s castle at Bonifacio was taken by him. How could I not know?” Enrique offered a wry smile.