Act Ten: The True Knight (Part 8)

eight

The following evening, when Daoud returned to the Knights' headquarters, Yakov was washing horses in the stable. "Have you finished your business?" He tossed a foam-covered brush to his servant and rinsed his thick, hairy arms with water.

"Thank you for the holiday, sir!" Daoud grabbed the brush and quickly continued Yakov's work. "The matter is finished..."

Yakov turned and stared at the boy's face—his tone suggested he wasn't done with it. But Yakov sniffed the air and found nothing but the stench of horse manure—the servant's hidden spices had been disposed of.

"I heard the emperor's army is returning to the city tomorrow," Daoud muttered, trying to make conversation. "There's a celebration in the city."

"You want another day off?"

"No, no..."

The knight, not wanting to concern himself with the matter any further, simply sat down on a nearby wooden tub and watched his squire diligently groom the horse's mane. "We're going to Yubin again tonight, and we have important business tomorrow," he said. "Do you have a clean robe to change into?"

“I washed it yesterday, and it’s clean,” Daoud poked his head out from behind the horse’s high rump. “What is it, sir?”

Yakov gazed towards Golden Horn Bay outside the stables, watching the eerie purple sunset. "His sister is going to throw a welcome feast for the returning centurion," the knight said, his eyes filled with a weathered mix of emotions. "You'll need a clean burqa."

Daoud secretly rejoiced. Lord Jubius had many servants who would save him a lot of chores, provide him with all sorts of delicious food, and allow him to see Nuk immediately. "I'll take it in a bit," the servant said, fiddling with the brush. "Just call me anytime."

Yakov was a little puzzled as to when the two boys had started playing together. He walked from the stables toward the drawing room and saw his servant and Yubi's slave huddled furtively around the fireplace in the garden, chatting surreptitiously, seemingly discussing something. But it would be strange if boys of similar age didn't play together, Yakov thought matter-of-factly, as he entered the ornate porch.

He could faintly hear Schumacher and Yubi talking outside the reception room.

“Don’t call me that.” Yubi’s voice was muffled by the sound of the flowing spring. “Are you unhappy with me?”

“I have no complaints, Lord Jubius…” Yakov had never heard Schumeer’s voice sound so old. “Please don’t hold any grudges and feel that I am distant…”

What were they talking about? Yakov stopped. Perhaps it was Shumel's long-standing self-deprecating attitude that finally made Yubi unable to hold back his words. He thought, there's nothing that can be done, a blind man will always be self-deprecating. The Blood Slave was pondering how to resolve this matter when he suddenly realized that he wasn't the only one eavesdropping—Naya was already staring intently at him from the other side of the doorpost, silent, standing there like a silent statue. What was wrong with this female slave? Her terrifying gaze sent chills down Yakov's spine. The knight froze for a moment, staring at her in a confrontation.

“You are not my slave, Schumer. You are my friend,” Yubi’s voice came from next door, decisive and clear. “Not only do I think so, but Yakov thinks so too. Isn’t that right?”

Yakov had intended to hide behind the gatepost a little longer. Yubi's words brought him back to his senses, and he realized that the vampire should have already sensed his movements, smelled his scent, and heard his voice when he rode back. He had no choice but to emerge from the corridor.

“It seems you guys argue even when I’m not around,” he said.

Schumacher shook his head and sighed upon hearing his voice. "...I still have other debts to settle." He picked up his guide cane. "Excuse me."

Yakov watched the Jew flee towards the library, a sense of unease creeping into his heart. His master was wearing a large, heavy black turban with gold patterns, adorned with beaded chains that hung long down his back, swaying like long hair and wrapping around Yakov's hands. "Does it look good?" he smiled sweetly as soon as he saw Yakov. "I'll wear this out tomorrow, what do you say?"

"Why have you taken a liking to these Saracen things again?" Yakov frowned as he stepped forward, casually lifting the expensive fabric. "...How are you going to go out tomorrow? Aren't you afraid of getting sunburned?"

“I have to wear these Saracen things so I can go out,” Yubila said, pulling up the veil around her head and looking at him. “They’re meant to block the sun, aren’t they?”

Naya emerged gracefully from behind the door. She went to help Yubi straighten the wrinkles in her headscarf, smoothing them meticulously without interrupting their conversation. Yakov recalled with some displeasure a saying: the best servant is one whose master is unaware of his presence. He watched Yubi put on the heavy, cumbersome robes, and thought of Ambikia's attire at the Easter celebration five years ago—where people praised a woman for her piety and modesty when she tucked her hair into a headscarf and wore a veil—it seemed too bizarre for Yubi.

“People will think you have leprosy.” Yakov circled around him, looking at him with disapproval, commenting on his tightly wrapped hair. “They’ll think your face is all rotten under the veil.”

“If I'm exposed to the sun, I'll be no different from a leper.” Yubi sighed as she put on a pair of suede gloves and tightened the closure. Naya put a thick, heavy gold coin chain on Yubi's wrist, from which hung a delicate little sachet filled with spice balls. “My sister used to wear this too, so she could go out during the day.”

"Will she go out on the street tomorrow?" Yakov sat down on a lounge chair by the hot spring. "She's pregnant, she doesn't need to go."

“That might not work,” Yubi sighed. “It used to work, but this time…”

"this time?"

"The Emperor returned from a terrible defeat at Milaeusephalon. The Prince of Antioch was also killed in action."

Yakov's brow furrowed again almost immediately. He wasn't thinking about the emperor, but rather about the centurion Ambikia had sent to join the army. "After such a crushing defeat, they still want to hold a celebration and force everyone to come and greet him?" he scoffed. "They want to make a fool of themselves even more than they deserve."

“No one would dare mock the emperor when the army returns to the city; everyone would only show pity.” Yubi removed his veil and turned to look at him. “Besides, although the battle was lost, Seleman is now a general!”

Yakov was picking up half a peeled pomegranate from the table when he heard this, so he threw the half back onto the table. He had completely lost his appetite for the pomegranate.

Constantinople's celebrations were numerous and elaborate, but after attending so many, they all seemed the same. Rome fed its people with bread and circuses, Yakov thought, and that had been the case for millennia. Early in the morning, Yubi, dressed in his heavy clothes, led his household servants and slaves to the harbor. At the crack of dawn, the citizens had already swept the cobblestone streets clean and scattered flower petals and spices to welcome the emperor—before the ships laden with troops even arrived from the other side of the Bosphorus, the legendary tale of the emperor's near-death experience was already circulating.

"I heard the Emperor's helmet was knocked askew by the Turks," Yubi whispered to him behind his veil. "His shield was studded with thirty arrows, and he charged out of the enemy's encirclement alone!"

So this is how they can fabricate a legend and gain sympathy even after a defeat. Yakov found it both laughable and pathetic. He simply held up the large parasol he was using to shield Yubi from the sun and casually replied, "Is that so?"

"Don't you think it's amazing?" Yubi looked at Yakov's absent-minded appearance with displeasure.

“He is the emperor, with the best armor and the best shield,” Yakov said dismissively. “Even if he stood still, few soldiers could hurt him.”

“That seems to be the case…” Yubi shrank further into the shadows under the umbrella. “It seems you’re not really interested in this celebration either.”

"I have to keep one eye on you to prevent you from slipping out of the umbrella, and the other eye needs to get a good look at the pregnant Ambicia. How could I possibly be interested in a celebration that's not much different?" Yakov thought irritably, gripping Yubi's arm tightly to prevent him from being exposed to the sun. The harbor was packed with people; citizens surged and swayed like waves under the guards, while nobles and officials crowded the limited square. Just then, a blond young man, accompanied by his family and servants, pushed his way to Yubi's side—it was Theophilus. This ostentatious nobleman's attire was even more extravagant and ornate than before, and he already possessed the air of a young patriarch.

"Look at your pathetic state," he said as soon as he opened his mouth. "Your family has really contracted a troublesome disease."

“Once we go to the library tonight, we won’t need to do this.” Yubi didn’t mind his rudeness.

“I have something to ask you, let’s say it here.” Diophantus glanced at Yakov’s stiff, uninteresting face. “Will the knight be alright if he hears this?”

“Of course it’s fine, he’s one of my men.” Yubi smiled nonchalantly. “Ask away.”

Two young noblemen huddled together under Yakov's umbrella, whispering amongst themselves about complex matters Yakov couldn't understand. Inheritance shares and the weight of gold coins, the spice market and transport ships, officer titles and marriage agreements—Yakov only vaguely grasped the gist, feeling both disappointed and relieved to find himself uninvolved. "My share remains unchanged. Tell that Jew to make it clear," Diophantus said, squeezing Yubi's hand under his glove. "The marriage to Yudosia is settled; proceed as agreed."

“Tell your family to remember Schumeer’s name,” Yubi shrugged. “Just make sure there’s no repeat of the trouble we had last time.”

“That’s no problem.” Upon hearing this, Diophantus released his hand. “I have nothing else to do. You stay here and take care in the sun.”

This arrogant nobleman actually had a day when he would fawn over Yubi? Yakov watched as Theophelos squeezed out from under his umbrella again, exchanging pleasantries with the others with a smile. "...What did you say?" he couldn't help but ask, "What agreement?"

“It was his sister’s wedding, and he wanted to use the dowry to invest the money in me.” Yubi looked up at him. “He also helped me get money from other nobles.”

"The money of other nobles?"

“He’s made so much money from me, who wouldn’t be envious!” Yubi’s eyes crinkled as she looked at the half of her face peeking out from behind her veil and headscarf. “The more they invest, the more I make!”

Yakov couldn't figure out why Yubi's business was already making money. He thought to himself, according to the script of the Jewish story of selling geese, shouldn't he only make a profit at the end? The Blood Slave kept this in mind, waiting to go back and ask Schumeer about it.

They stood in the sun for a while longer. In the distance, Yakov saw another large procession carrying canopies and parasols approaching—those with the surname Komnin always brought more and more cumbersome servants than other nobles. Yakov recognized the purplish-blue color of the procession as Isaac—Ambikya was coming.