Act V: The Prince's Expedition (Part 4)

Four

The Cumans wore long robes embroidered with intricate patterns, and their boots were sturdy and durable. Yubi was wearing this outfit for the first time; it felt thick enough to keep warm, yet light and easy to move in. The fur hat on his head kept his ears from freezing even on the windswept steppe slopes. It was just a pity the sleeves were a bit too long. He turned to look at Shumel and found the Jewish man's two small braids paired with the clothes unbelievably comical, laughing uproariously. He then looked at Yakov. The robes didn't look so strange on the Slavs. It was just that his blood slave's face always carried a look of humiliation, which was unsettling.

However, what was most unsettling was the situation of Little Batur and his slaves. They were allowed free movement within the Khan's camp, yet were guarded. A huge, round umbrella, like a dark cloud, served as a ostentatious symbol, following them wherever they went. The Tatars' military discipline was not very strict, and the guards openly mocked them, trying every means to express their contempt. Yubi thought it would be better to simply lock them in a room and not allow them to leave.

"Where are our horses?" Yakov was unwilling to answer, so Yubi imitated Yakov and asked little Batur, "And Shumel's donkeys."

"Don't worry." Little Batur's answer was practically meaningless, making one wonder if he had even understood. "Just tell me if you need anything."

Who knows if such a young child is just making excuses or genuinely naive? Yubi and Schumeer exchanged bewildered glances. "I'm a painter, I need art supplies," Schumeer said, rubbing his mustache as he tried to think of a solution. "Do you have any brushes and paints? Do you have any paper? If not, I'll go get some from my donkey."

"What?" Little Batur said with a smile, "Could you slow down and say it again?"

“I need brushes, paints, and paper!” Schumeer uttered the words one by one at the slowest pace. “Do you understand?”

The smile froze on little Batur's face. He looked at Schumacher politely but with a puzzled expression.

Schumeer tried several more times, slowly and reluctantly, but was unwilling to give up. "Translate for him!" Yubi couldn't contain himself any longer and finally grabbed Yakov's sleeve. "Tell him in Turkic that Schumeer wants brushes, paints, and paper! They're with the Muse!"

“He won’t take you there.” Yakov shook off his hand. “Don’t be foolish.”

“How is that stupid?” Yubi retorted stubbornly, “He just didn’t understand!”

"Didn't you understand?" Yakov replied impatiently. "Do you think a Tatar child is like you, locked up in a tower every day, ignorant and unreasonable? How could he just let his father's prisoner go so easily?"

“Wait, I really want a pen and paper! I didn’t get this kind of treatment yesterday!” Shumel suddenly muttered angrily. He was imitating the locals, tucking both hands into his sleeves to warm them. “Speak to this child in Turkic and make it clear that I just want paper and pen to draw, not to run away! I also want some hot mare’s milk wine, have the soldiers who tied me up yesterday bring it to me personally, otherwise I’ll complain to the Khan tonight. What do you say!”

“Batur only entertained you because of me.” Yakov’s chest heaved with anger beneath his robe. “You greedy Jew, how dare you make demands of the Tatars?”

“Didn’t the Khan say he wanted us to feel at home? You also said he used to be your master, your friend. With such a good relationship, you can’t even make this small request?” Shumel stood still, and the group stopped, even lowering the large umbrella behind them. “Either you translate these words to Little Batur, or you explain why you think Batur is untrustworthy, and that you can’t even accept paper and pen.”

“Actually, I also think Batur will agree.” Yubi said, his hands behind his back, his gaze shifting as he tiptoed, his boots creaking on the ground. “Thinking back carefully, he didn’t want the sheep from the monastery, and he left as promised last night. Maybe Mother Gianda and Pascal are happily celebrating Christmas in the church right now. Isn’t that all thanks to the Khan’s mercy?”

But then he suddenly remembered the whip marks on Yakov's back, and immediately pursed his lips and fell silent.

Schumer glanced at Yubi silently. Yakov stood opposite them, his blood boiling, his teeth grinding. He opened his mouth, as if something was about to come out, but no word came out. As if he had crushed something and swallowed it, he grabbed Schumer by the collar and brought him close to little Batur.

"What do you want?" he forced out the question, "Say it again."

"I want paper and pens to draw on, and hot mare's milk!" Schumeer's legs were weak on the ground, but he was still stubborn. "Tell the people who tied me up yesterday to bring them to me!"

The rest of the day was spent by the group in a spot with a stunning view. Schumeer's belongings were all delivered by the man he had asked for. It was a bald, scarred, fierce Tatar—he was required to watch the small brazier of hot milk wine, constantly pouring it for Schumeer, and bringing them lunch, keeping busy all afternoon. This arduous and humiliating work made him constantly glare, puff out his beard, and mutter unintelligible words.

“He’s insulting you.” Yakov looked at Schumer with a mixture of amusement and indifference. “He said he wants the skulls of your people to use as drinking cups.”

His painter friend was marveling at the golden-red grasslands and hills bathed in the setting sun, meticulously sketching them. "Don't interrupt me, I don't want to hear that," Schumacher said, admiring the scenery and the artwork. "At times like these, not understanding Turkic is an advantage for me."

"Aren't you afraid he'll actually do it?" Yubi asked worriedly. "What if he retaliates against you?"

"Did he expect this day when he tied my wrists so roughly yesterday?" Schumacher angrily raised his hand, letting the wide sleeves of his robe fall from his wrists to reveal the still-red welts. "You should say that to him!"

Yubi frowned, sensing something amiss with Schumacher's words, but couldn't quite grasp the meaning. He went to see Yakov, but Yakov wasn't in the mood to explain. The idle vampire could only rest his chin on his hand, waiting for the sun to set. Looking at the naan bread and roast meat, the wine and cheese beside him, he felt an unbearable hunger and restlessness—how he longed for a warm, fragrant cup of blood! These delicacies were delicious, but they couldn't satisfy his terrible bloodlust. His mind was tormented, unable to think, as if some wild beast wanted to tear its way out of his skin.

Before nightfall, someone finally came to deliver a message.

“Father’s feast is ready,” said Batur. “Come with me.”