CHAPTER 63: THE CENTER OF POWER

Chapter 63: The Center of Power

Count Thierry’s face flushed crimson, and he slammed his cup onto the table, saying angrily, "Insolence! How dare you insult my liege lord, the great Augustus, King of France!"

’Insult him all you want, but don’t do it in front of me!’ he thought, his heart pounding.

Count Thierry knew of this Guy of Lusignan’s reputation; he was an exceptionally skilled swordsman, known for his ferocity in single combat, and Thierry himself was no match for him. According to protocol, he should now challenge Guy to a duel to defend his lord’s honor, but the problem was, Count Thierry didn’t dare risk the humiliation, or worse.

Guy sneered contemptuously. "Back when I was fighting for the freedom of France and, with my brother, attacked Eleanor of Aquitaine, you were still licking the boots of the German Emperor."

Just as the conflict was about to escalate into drawn steel, Count Raymond, who had been silent all along, said angrily, "Step down! For whatever reason, you must not slander the devout heart of a king in this hall."

Guy snorted and returned to his seat, leaving Count Thierry both embarrassed and somewhat at a loss, his face still burning under the gaze of the other nobles.

The nobles present looked grim, their own anxieties now laid bare. It was all the fault of those damned Apennine people (Italian City-States)! Why did they have to resist taxes? Now they had given Emperor Henry a pretext to march on northern Italy.

How could King Philip II of France, who was already in a weak position, be willing to stand by and watch Emperor Henry so easily take the wealthy northern Italy?

If Philip II didn’t move, Richard the Lionheart, who held vast French territories and whose authority in France even surpassed that of Philip II (whose decrees didn’t extend beyond Île-de-France), also dared not move.

England in this era was of limited development; Richard the Lionheart’s core territories were still on the continent. Richard, as a second son, owed his ascent to the throne in no small part to Philip II’s aid. So, even though Philip II and Richard were currently in a "honeymoon period," in the game of power, for a king, no one was absolutely trustworthy.

Count Thierry looked somewhat embarrassed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. In reality, he had little loyalty to Philip II. Legally, though he was subordinate to Philip II, due to geographical proximity, he often flirted with the Emperor of Great Germania. But in terms of kinship, Count Thierry was clearly closer to Richard the Lionheart of England.

The originally lively welcome banquet had fallen into a dead silence. Thierry’s presence quickly plummeted from the moon surrounded by stars to rock bottom.

In these past few years, the vast majority of Crusader nobles had already realized that without aid from the Continent, Saladin was an opponent they could not possibly overcome. Even the Lord of Oultrejordain, Count Raynald, and the aggressive Grand Master of the Knights Templar, Gerard, who constantly clamored for war with Saladin, only proposed to actively engage Saladin under the premise that their side could receive a continuous stream of Crusader support from the Continent.

Just then, the Regent, Prince of Tiberias, Count Raymond of Tripoli, spoke again, "His Majesty has another matter to announce at this banquet."

Raymond glanced at the contents written on the paper, his expression changing slightly, then announced loudly, "In the name of the King of Jerusalem, I appoint Baron Lothar of Jorgklusburg as Grand Master of the Royal Knights of Jerusalem. Furthermore, Baron Godfrey of Ibelin is appointed Commander of the Knights of Jerusalem, to assist Regent Raymond in handling all affairs of the Order."

The moment his voice fell, a noble in a red robe raised his hand and shouted, "Objection, my lord!"

Raymond shouted, "Baron Reginald, on what grounds do you object?"

Baron Reginald de Grenier of Sidon spread his hands, looking around. "This Baron Lothar, I must admit he is an outstanding knight and also possesses a good hand at training troops." His tone shifted, and he shouted, "But he is by no means an outstanding cavalry commander, because he has no cavalry under his command whatsoever!"

After he finished speaking, a wave of laughter instantly erupted in the great hall.

Cavalry was not something everyone could afford to maintain. The training cycle for an elite cavalryman was measured in years, and how long had Lothar even been in the Holy Land? It was an unknown whether that barren fief of Jorgklusburg could even support his armored sergeants.

Someone from below immediately chimed in, "Exactly! He is just an upstart baron who has recently acquired a fief. How can such an important responsibility be entrusted to him?"

Godfrey’s expression turned cold. He coughed heavily and said, "If even Count Werner’s son is an upstart, then what are some of you who rose through marriage or distant kinship, without a shred of military merit?"

Baron Reginald said loudly, "Baron Godfrey, I have no intention of demeaning this Baron Lothar based on his status. But in the Knights Templar, even members of illustrious royal families can at most start as a sergeant major. The position of Grand Master can only be elected from among the highly respected masters."

Someone below immediately echoed, "Indeed! According to Templar tradition, the position of Grand Master should be elected by the Royal Knights themselves."

At this moment, members of both the Queen Mother’s Party and the Nobles’ Party were uncharacteristically united in their hostility. They were unwilling to let these outsiders easily seize one of the most powerful positions in all of Jerusalem.

Baron Godfrey shouted, his voice echoing slightly in the tense hall, "Baron Reginald, I must remind you, the Royal Knights are His Majesty the King’s private armed force! It is secular, not spiritual, and absolutely cannot be equated with the Knights Templar! As for you saying Baron Lothar has no experience commanding cavalry..."

Baron Godfrey’s tone shifted as he deliberately looked at the uncharacteristically silent Count Raynald. This Lord of Oultrejordain, known as the "King of the Dead Sea," a man of immense pride, knew things were bad the moment Godfrey’s calculating gaze fell upon him.

Sure enough, Baron Godfrey said bluntly, "Count Raynald, I hear there is a band of desert bandits in your territory that has run rampant for years, their plundered wealth enough to fill an entire castle. You have launched expeditions repeatedly but failed to eliminate them."

Count Raynald’s face turned shades of green and white. "A mere band of robbers is not worthy of too much of my attention. That’s why they’ve managed to barely survive," he retorted, his knuckles white where he gripped the arm of his chair.

A satisfied, wolfish smile appeared on Baron Godfrey’s face. He politely walked to the center of the great hall.

"Count Raynald, you need not use such words to brush me off. We all know how troublesome a troop of light cavalry that moves like the wind in the desert can be. This does not detract from your prestige."

"Indeed."

"That’s right."

Some nobles who didn’t know the full story nodded in agreement. The vast majority here had not paid further attention to the aftermath at that remote fief of Jorgklusburg and were unaware of what had recently transpired there. But they had, more or less, all experienced the trouble caused by swift-moving desert bandits.

Baron Godfrey held up one forefinger and announced loudly, "Only one day! Lothar, whom some people claim cannot command cavalry in battle, took only one day, leading his cavalry, to crush these bandits in a frontal engagement, and then immediately stormed their hidden wooden fort!"

"I must inform you all, Lothar not only possesses cavalry, but an elite cavalry force that is skilled in battle, at the very least no worse than the knights under Count Raynald’s command!"

Godfrey looked at Raynald, his eyes filled with open mockery, which instantly enraged the irascible Count of Oultrejordain. He nearly burst out cursing. This Count of Oultrejordain, who bore the moniker "Oath-breaker," though usually polite, would absolutely not consider so-called noble decorum when enraged.

Just then, the heavy, rhythmic sound of hooves on stone echoed from outside the palace gate.

"Men! Who is making a commotion outside?"

"Don’t they know riding horses is forbidden before the Royal Palace?"

"Drive them away!" someone shouted angrily.

The next moment, the grand doors swung open and a group of elite cavalrymen in shining plate armor, their movements precise and disciplined, strode into the palace. They escorted a young knight, who walked with an air of absolute confidence. The knight removed his helmet, revealing a spirited and heroic face.

"Gentlemen, good morning," he said, his voice calm yet carrying across the now silent hall. "I heard you were discussing my affairs, so I came uninvited. Pray tell, since when in Jerusalem does the King’s word require the consent of his subjects?"