Chapter 927 - 150: If Not Me, Then Who?
All the way into the residence, once she had shaken off the cheers and clamor that had followed them, Sibilla finally couldn’t help changing her expression:
"And you still have the nerve to come!"
"Why shouldn’t I?"
Losa reached out and took down an edition from the bookshelf; whether it was the calfskin cover inlaid with gold leaf and silver thread, or the snow‑white paper inside, all spoke of its considerable price.
"Tsk, is Jaffa and Ashkelon really so wealthy? A full set of deluxe editions—I thought only the princes and nobles of the Eastern Empire, who monopolize the silk‑weaving industry, would buy such flashy, impractical things."
"Utter shamelessness! Wasn’t it you who trumpeted that every coin spent at your bookshop would become a Sword raised against Heretics?"
Sibilla was furious: "You made it so that wherever your bookshops are built, even the Church’s Indulgence Certificates can’t sell anymore, and now you have the face to call this kind of thing flashy and impractical."
Losa was momentarily abashed.
It was indeed he who had instructed Marles, the man in charge of the print workshop, to use that promotional tactic; according to the Church’s rhetoric, Losa had gained a vast store of ’merits’ by reclaiming the Holy Land, enough to be allocated to the faithful to offset their sins.
In the process, he had repeatedly run up against obstruction from the merchants’ guilds and the Church’s invisible hand. In Europe, even Papal legates on local visitations had precedence of being murdered, let alone the print workshops Losa had set up.
The twists and turns of it could never be made clear in a few words, but by the time the news reached Losa’s hands, it was often reduced to a single sheet of "everything proceeding smoothly."
"In fact, I came this time in part to see you, Your Highness Sibilla. Do you perhaps not understand why His Majesty Baldwin would pass the throne to me?"
Sibilla flared up: "You already possess so much—why must you come and snatch what is mine as well?"
Losa now held the whole of Egypt, governing a population of several millions. The Nile Delta and the Nile River Valley were, in this age, fertile lands of plentiful water and grass, and he possessed Alexandria Port, a trade hub. Money, grain, manpower—he lacked none of these.
Jerusalem, if not for being the Three Religions Holy Land where Pilgrims came in droves every year, would be nothing more than a commonplace, desolate little town. The Kingdom as a whole, were it not for the constant Pilgrims from Europe and the support of the Crusaders, would have long since been flattened by the Ayyubid Dynasty.
Furthermore, the richest Port in the entire Kingdom of Jerusalem, Eira Port, the key to the Red Sea, was also in Losa’s hands. Sibilla truly could not fathom why Losa still needed to contest with her over a trifling throne of Jerusalem.
"Your Highness, Jerusalem does not belong to any one person or any one family."
Losa smiled faintly: "You speak of Eira Port’s wealth, but that Port was taken back by my own hand from the Heretics. Under my rule, the pirate bands that ravaged the Red Sea have been swept away, and Eira Port has become the largest Port on the Red Sea."
Sibilla gave a soft snort: "You have a Giant Dragon, you have those Witches, and you have a crack, elite army. If I were in your place, I could do the same."
She was perfectly aware that she was being deliberately unreasonable, but she simply refused to concede.
He rose to his feet, took a piece of cheese‑filled pie from the table, and set it down before himself.
"Your Highness Sibilla, you are in fact very capable. But all that you have learned and mastered has never been about baking more pies—only about fighting others to carve up one and the same pie."
"Your Highness, pray do not be impatient. This still is not the reason why His Majesty the King chose me to inherit the throne of the Kingdom of Jerusalem."
He pointed at it.
"When dividing a pie, sometimes it is not best simply to give oneself as large a share as possible. The water channels outside Jaffa City were destroyed already in the First Eastern Expedition, nearly a hundred years ago from today, and in that hundred years the Lord of Jaffa City has never once considered rebuilding them."
Losa did not give Sibilla the chance to rebut: "I know, this is easy enough to understand. After all, Jaffa City is a Port town; its greatest revenues lie in customs and commercial taxes. Even in wartime, its rulers count more on the city guilds to provide urban Militia than on recruiting peasants into the army."
"But if we follow the same logic, then in my own lands in Transjordan, aside from Eira Port, all should be a stretch of wasteland."
Sibilla was stunned. The Divine Tree in New Habsburg and on the Sinai Peninsula had long since become a famed Miracle of the Holy Land. Each year countless people came to venerate it; Fire Worshipers, Coptic Christians, Jewish believers, Catholics, and Eastern Orthodox Church followers all regarded that place as a Miracle of God.
Sibilla was, naturally, no exception.
Moreover, some time ago, Losa had organized a vast wave of migration. She knew clearly the changes taking place on that land: along the Oases, whole clusters of villages had sprung up; farmsteads, orchards, and estates now lined the landscape in dense rows.
New Habsburg, Alandler, and numerous other Castles and small towns had already developed the rudiments of cities.
Losa chuckled softly: "I set very low tax rates for them. From a purely utilitarian perspective, these lands, for me, have always been assets with negative returns. What I invest in them far exceeds the taxes I draw from them."
"Just as Belian did?"
Losa gave a light laugh: "Yes, just as Belian did. But on the lands of Transjordan, nearly every village’s Imperial Knight can do the same."
"So that is why you were able, in the beginning, to raise an army of tens of thousands to fight the Heretics?"
"Precisely. They are willing to fight to protect their own land, and willing to fight for me, who gave them a good life. And I, for my part, would never ignore the strain on the common people, would never treat them as a resource to be plundered at will."
Losa looked into Sibilla’s beautiful eyes and asked: "This is why His Majesty Baldwin chose me to be King of Jerusalem rather than you. He could not do it. You cannot do it."
Sibilla suddenly grasped the thinking of Losa and Baldwin. Her eyes widened: "You want to extend the system you use in your own lands across the entire realm? This is sheer self‑torture!"
Everything Losa had described was already far beyond the bounds of her understanding.
In all ages, for a Monarch, those one ought most to curry favor with, and least to offend, are the ranks of the nobility.
If you grind down the peasants, at worst a group of people who can no longer survive will turn bandit; the news may never reach the King’s ears before the local nobles have already joined forces to wipe them out.
But if you grind down the nobles, then you truly are liable to lose the throne beneath your backside.
"To tell the truth, at the start I didn’t want to take on this mess either. It’s just that His Majesty the King seems utterly set on it. Unless we put him under house arrest, I genuinely fear that if we look away for a moment, he will run off with his old servant to become a Ranger Knight."
Sibilla was so stunned by this statement that for a long time she could not find words.
Losa smiled as he finally voiced the thought in his heart: "But later I thought it over: if I don’t do this, who will?"
He bowed with modest grace: "Your Highness, I will assume the throne of Jerusalem, even if it means stirring up a civil war, because for this seat of power... who but me is fit to take it?"