The embassy bound for the capital of the Eastern Roman Empire—Constantinople—was assembled a month later.
Crates filled with gifts, Elixir, and coin were moved under heavy guard toward the ports.
We departed from Tyre and sailed to the port city of Tripoli to resupply.
Once provisions were secured there, we could depart directly for Constantinople.
"Ugh…!"
After several days at sea, I learned an unpleasant truth:
I got seasick.
How many times had I thrown up already?
My stomach was empty, my head spinning.
To think I'd have seasickness.
"Good thing I went to the army academy, not the navy."
If I'd gone navy, I'd have been kicked out during basic.
Or… maybe I wouldn't be in this situation at all.
"Please drink this, Your Highness."
Aig came up beside me and offered a cup.
I took a sip.
Salty, with a faint sweetness.
A familiar taste.
"Isn't this the electrolyte drink I made before?"
"Yes. I put something together in a hurry. I used honey instead of sugar…"
"Thanks. I feel a lot better. And it tastes fine."
I wiped my mouth and looked down.
Below deck, oars rose and fell in rhythm to drumbeats.
The Venetian ship we rode was a typical galley:
Two masts, lateen sails—
A system that used both oars and sail for propulsion.
"When are we arriving?" Hugh grumbled as he climbed onto the deck.
His silver mask glittered in the sunlight.
"At this rate I'll collapse before we even reach Constantinople."
"And the rumor that sea air helps lepers was nonsense too."
"We'll reach Tripoli's harbor soon."
I smiled.
Hugh's seasickness was as bad as mine.
Over fifty, and afflicted with leprosy—
In this era, that made him practically elderly.
There was no way this was easy on him.
"That Garnier brat dumps the work on his master and lounges in bed."
Hugh clicked his tongue.
"When we return, I'll give his backside a proper kicking."
"I'm curious whether Sir Garnier will accept that politely," Aig teased.
"You come too, boy. I'll need a witness so he can't deny it later."
I was laughing at their exchange when a sailor shouted—
"Tripoli harbor ahead!"
Men rushed to the bow and stared forward.
The docks were packed with ships.
In the 21st century, Tripoli would've been a Lebanese city, I think.
The ship slowed. Sailors threw lines and began docking.
The moment I stepped onto the pier, dozens of people surrounded me.
"Welcome, Your Highness! We have been awaiting you."
"Welcome to our city, Your Highness! If you have time today, allow me to treat you to our finest delicacies—"
Advance personnel, local officials, people who wanted their faces remembered.
I greeted them one by one—
When a familiar face appeared through the crowd.
Marco.
"Your Highness! Ignore these ruffians and come this way! Everyone, move aside! This man is here on official business—what are you doing?!"
He bulldozed toward me through the mass of bodies.
No one dared stop him—his sheer size saw to that.
"A ship arrived from Venice just yesterday," he said, nearly vibrating with excitement.
"We refitted everything, even rebuilt the sleeping quarters so Your Highness can travel in comfort."
He talked so fast spittle flew.
"Fresh from the Arsenale shipyard—a new model! Stable even in rough seas—"
I tuned it out until he paused to breathe, then cut in smoothly.
"I understand, Marco. It seems you prepared thoroughly."
Marco had been completely submissive ever since the Elixir negotiation.
Overly eager, like he'd give me his liver if I asked.
"We made every arrangement for Your Highness and the embassy. We even contacted Constantinople and secured travel permits."
His intent was obvious—he wanted favor.
But this level of work deserved a reward.
"You've done well. We brought more Elixir than we can comfortably carry—if you wish, we can allocate you a portion…"
"Yes—of course!"
Marco nodded furiously.
"We'll pay double what we paid last time! If you could spare even a little—"
"Then let it be so."
I smiled.
It's always easier when you have a carrot in hand.
"Once we finish resupplying, we can depart at once."
"Your Highness… there is one matter I haven't mentioned."
Marco scratched the back of his head.
"A problem?"
"Count Raymond of Tripoli is ignoring our request for resupply support."
"Of course we can purchase from the civilian markets," Marco continued, "but the volume is so large it will take far longer and cost several times more."
"Count Raymond refuses to support the embassy…"
I muttered.
Supporting a royal embassy was every lord's obligation.
For Raymond to evade it openly was no small thing.
"Understood. Then I'll speak to the Count personally."
The Count's fortress stood atop the "Mount of the Martyr."
Before its long walls, merchants hawked lemons, sugarcane, silk—everything imaginable.
Above the battlements, a banner fluttered: a yellow cross on red.
"The County of Tripoli…"
Tripoli and Antioch both acknowledged the King of Jerusalem as their suzerain.
Neither fully independent, nor fully subordinate.
A halfway state.
Why was Raymond acting like this?
It wasn't hard to guess.
After the noble council in Jerusalem, I had looked into Raymond more carefully.
He had planned to marry his younger sister to the Byzantine emperor.
Instead, the emperor chose a princess from Antioch.
Raymond's sister wasted away and died young from grief.
After that, Raymond even resorted to piracy against Byzantium.
"So he's trying to sabotage my mission."
But we had no time to indulge personal grudges.
Not now.
As soon as we reached the gate, knights came out in force—
As if they had been waiting for me.
At their head stood Raymond.
We exchanged an embrace.
"I heard you would arrive today, Your Highness. Welcome. It has been weeks since the last council."
"Thank you for your hospitality, Count Raymond."
I frowned slightly.
"However, I heard troubling news at the docks. That you refused resupply support."
"This year's harvest has been poor," Raymond said with an exaggerated sigh.
"We are short even for ourselves. We are gathering what we can, but it will take time."
"So that is how it is."
His emotions were clear.
Irritation. Refusal.
Not a trace of regret.
I spoke calmly, low enough that only he could hear.
"I understand you harbor resentment toward Constantinople."
The knights stayed at a respectful distance.
"But if you obstruct a royal embassy in this manner, His Majesty will not tolerate it."
"I am merely stating the truth—"
"And let me add one more thing," I said. "It would benefit you not to make an enemy of me."
Raymond's eyes cooled.
A silent contest of nerves.
"I'm not sure what you mean, Your Highness."
"If His Majesty were to pass away—this is only a hypothetical."
Raymond knew Baldwin IV could not live long.
"Then the next crown will go to my mother, to Guy… or to me."
I folded my arms.
"And if Guy becomes king—what then?"
"Not only I, but many nobles would never accept it," Raymond growled.
He truly hated Guy.
"Perhaps. But my mother—if she inherits—would soon hand it to Guy."
I smiled faintly.
In the original history, she did.
"And once Guy sits the throne, who will restrain Reynald? No one."
"If Reynald begins slaughtering Saracens…"
"Saladin will use it as justification to invade," Raymond said at once. "I know exactly why you stopped Reynald at Eilat."
Sharp mind. As expected of a moderate.
"Exactly," I said. "And then Saladin will first pacify the north, gather his host, and march to besiege Tiberias."
Tiberias—Raymond's lands.
"Guy and Reynald will insist we gather the army at once and march to relieve it."
As I spoke, Raymond's face grew rigid.
A concrete scenario had weight.
"That obvious a trap…"
"Anyone who calls it a trap will be branded a coward. And when the army marches to Tiberias…"
"The rest will be massacre," Raymond finished grimly. "If Saladin blocks the lake, there will be no water."
"By the time the army arrives, men and horses will already be half-dead from exhaustion."
I nodded.
"But however foolish Guy is—surely he wouldn't—"
"Would he truly make a rational decision with Reynald and the Templars at his side?"
I smiled.
Hattin.
The Crusader host would be shattered there.
Thousands would convert simply to survive thirst.
Only the Orders would fight to the end.
"A plausible hypothesis," Raymond said carefully. "But I still don't understand what you want."
"If you wish to prevent it—then you must help me."
I stepped closer.
His emotions had shifted.
Shock. Curiosity. Interest.
Mixed together.
"I don't have time to trade words here. The Byzantine matter is urgent."
"If you refuse resupply now, the responsibility will fall entirely on you."
"And the longer I remain in Tripoli, the more others will believe it too."
I leaned in slightly.
"That the lord of Tripoli held the royal embassy by the throat."
Silence.
Finally, Raymond exhaled and gave a thin smile.
"Very well. I will give the order immediately. I would like to host you until resupply is complete, but…"
"I accept," I replied with an equally thin smile.
And while I was at it—
Making one more ally wouldn't hurt.
***
Constantinople.
Hagia Sophia.
"We must act quickly. Once the emperor comes of age, we'll lose our justification for rebellion."
"Lower your voice. You're the one who said the walls have ears."
A man and woman whispered close together, bodies nearly pressed as they spoke.
Guards formed a ring around them.
"They're our men," the woman said. "You don't need to worry."
Princess Maria Komnene looked at her husband, Renier of Montferrat.
A husband obtained only after three refusals.
Yet for a woman of imperial blood, Renier was weak.
Mentally—and physically.
"Let's observe longer. Nothing is certain yet. Even if an embassy comes from Jerusalem—"
"The Franks could be our chance."
Maria's voice turned cool.
"We use those barbarians to draw out the citizens' hatred. Then we use that hatred to shake the emperor…"
Her lips curled.
"And seize the real power."
"It sounds like a dream," Renier murmured. "All the Empire's authority in my hands."
"Our hands," Maria corrected softly.
"Still a dream… for now."
She turned her head away so her husband could not see her smile.
"But soon…"
"It may become reality."