Act V: The Prince's Expedition (Part 5)

five

They walked to the largest and tallest tent on the hillside. Upon entering, Yubi was dazzled by the intricate and colorful embroidery: everywhere he looked—cushions, cushions, carpets, flags, even the felt used for the walls—everywhere that could be embroidered was covered in vibrant, multicolored patterns, a dazzling array. Yubi recalled the books he had read and the stories he had heard on his journey. Everyone said that the Tatar tribes were dirty, poor, backward, and rough. Yet their tables held Persian-glazed double-eared vases, and their people wore brocade from Constantinople and furs from the Rus' principalities. Maids and servants presented fresh grapes and dates to their guests. In the winter of the steppe, these were things that gold and silver coins could not buy. Yubi even thought of his former life back home.

The seating inside the large tent was arranged in a neat and orderly fashion. They took their seats to the left of the Khan's throne, in a warm position with a good view. Batur sat in the high, central seat, carefully examining Schumeer's work.

“This must be thanks to a pair of observant eyes,” he commented kindly. “I live here every day, yet I never noticed such beauty.”

Shumel ate almost half his fill of fruit alone, leaving a small pile of grape seeds and jujube kernels on the table. "The scenery is unique everywhere," he said, rising to greet the Khan. "Maps only mark the routes. Only when you see it with your own eyes do you realize how magnificent the landscape is."

Batur nodded in agreement, seemingly pleased with Shumer's skillful manipulation. "Yakov, you are fortunate to have such a friend." His smile, like a mask, turned to his old friend, the silent Slav sitting cross-legged. "I used to think you lacked the eyes to see beauty. I wonder if you have improved now?"

Yubi was watching the female slaves dancing gracefully on the carpet before him, studying their jewelry and perfumes. Upon hearing this, he couldn't help but glance furtively at Yakov's face. A terrible, suppressed tension lingered there, like the low, heavy clouds before a downpour, making it hard to breathe. Yubi thought the Khan's words had a hidden meaning, but he didn't understand the reason.

“Beauty is merely an embellishment,” Schumeer said, defending Yakov. “In terms of practical use, it’s not much…”

Batur smiled enigmatically. “Not at all.” He held up Schumeer’s painting. “Look, it depicts a complete mountain range, and the direction of the setting sun. You’ve drawn the road we came by, the mountain pass, the grassland, and my cavalry. Even the distant paths are clearly visible.” He pointed to the dense forest in the painting, his fingernail pointing to it. “An experienced person, like Yakov, could discern the location of the camp, the painter’s location, and even the location of my tents from this painting. How can this painting be useless?”

"You really can?" Yubi looked at Yakov in surprise. "That's an amazing skill!"

“My painting is beautiful, but I had no intention of using it for that purpose!” Schumeer suddenly widened his eyes and argued passionately. “I did it to express my gratitude for your hospitality. The food and service today are so much better than yesterday!”

“So that’s what you’re unhappy about.” Batur laughed with relief, but casually tossed the exquisite drawing into the stove, where the brittle paper instantly turned to ashes. “Tonight’s banquet will surely be a feast for the eyes and the palate of my guests.”

Schumeer finally sat back down. Yubi then noticed that his friend's forehead was covered in sweat, and his fingers were nervously clenched. Yubi didn't understand why. The young man's attention was quickly drawn to the center of the tent. The dancers left, and the carpet was neatly rolled away by servants, revealing the muddy ground. Two strong warriors, one after the other, carried a whole live sheep into the tent. The sheep was tied upside down to a stake, but remained motionless and silent, its tongue lolling out obediently. Only when someone raised a knife and sharply slit its throat did it realize its doom, and it symbolically kicked its legs twice. Deep red sheep's blood flowed from the wound, collected in a clay pot prepared below.

Yubi stared intently at the savage scene, swallowing repeatedly as if his saliva were as delicious as the fresh blood. Meanwhile, Schumeer beside him grew increasingly pale—the warrior was pouring thick blood from the jar into a bowl and placing it before him. The blood, like a red mirror, shimmered and swayed in the bowl.

“Drink it, it represents our friendship.” Batur raised the bowl.

Schumer's fingers trembled uncontrollably. "I... I can't drink animal blood..." he finally succumbed, as if his spirit had been ripped from his soul. "It's against... against the doctrine."

“But we have our own doctrines,” Batur said, his eyes like a wolf’s. “Your faith is faith, but what about ours?”

A tense silence fell over the palace tent. "I'll drink it for him," Yubi resolutely turned his face. "Khan, may I do that?"

Batur's dark eyes gleamed as he looked at him. "Let's do it this way."

Yubi was overjoyed and proud. He immediately stood up and snatched Schumacher's bowl. He thought that although he had never drunk animal blood before, he had no other choice after being hungry for two days. What would sheep's blood taste like? He wondered, and secretly took off his ring—that way, the blood would taste sweet and delicious in his mouth, no longer fishy, ​​bitter, or salty—that was his idea. He brought the bowl to his lips and swallowed it without any hesitation.

Fear. That was the taste of fear. When it was faint, it was a perfect seasoning. But when it filled every part of his blood, the horrible taste filled his mouth and shot straight to his head. Yubi suddenly understood why his mother had never let him drink animal blood—the angry, resentful blood of Byakov was a hundred, a thousand times worse. The despair of dying, of being slaughtered, made this blood seem like poison. He choked, sheep's blood gushing from his nose, and he involuntarily put down the earthenware bowl, stealing a glance at Batur on the Khan's throne—the blood-drinking Tatar was lifting his bowl, bottom up, and drinking it all in one gulp. He looked more like a vampire than a vampire himself—Yubi gritted his teeth, picked up the bowl again, and forced it into his mouth. Could this blood, however awful, be worse than the taste of a human tongue? Unfortunately, it was pure torture, and the pain was undisguised on Yubi's face. He knew that Batur was watching him closely, and there was no turning back.

"How generous! You are young, but your courage is astonishing!" The Khan exclaimed in amazement when he saw him put down his empty bowl, yet a strange expression, one that was hard to tell whether he was happy or disappointed, appeared on his face. "Where are you from? What is your surname?"

“I come from Transylvania.” Yubi wiped his mouth, leaving a murky bloodstain on the cuff of his robe. He sat back down dejectedly. “…My family is just a minor noble family that nobody knows.”

These words made Yakov and Shumel look at him with new respect, but Batur burst into laughter again on the Khan's throne, causing everyone around him who didn't understand Latin to join in the laughter. Whether it was because he laughed too much or because the sheep's blood choked his throat, a violent cough seized him, making it almost impossible for him to breathe. The guards around him instantly stopped laughing, grabbed the weakened Khan, patted his back, stroked his chest, and poured tea down his throat. After a while, Batur finally calmed his breathing and sat back down in his seat. His face was purple, and his beard was disheveled.

"I'm fine, don't make a fuss." He straightened his fur hat and spoke seriously in Turkic, "Why did the music stop?"

Seeing that the Khan was unharmed, the musicians in the corner continued to play their instruments in silence, as if nothing had happened. Batur turned back to him with a smile. "We drank the blood of the same sheep, which proves that we are friends," he said to Yubi. "Friends should help each other and should not hide anything from each other."

The three sat there, holding their breath. "Are you alright?" Yubi asked tentatively. "Is your illness serious?"

“I have some old ailments, I’ve had them since I was a child. These ailments prevent me from leading troops into battle, and I get out of breath after riding a horse for a long time. I’ve seen many doctors, but they haven’t helped.” Batur spoke slowly and sincerely. “When Yakov was still here, he did these things for me that I couldn’t do.”

Yubi glanced at Yakov. Upon reaching Batur, the blood slave fell silent, as if his tongue had been cut out. "Were you... were you on good terms with Yakov before?" he asked impatiently. "What happened?"

“That’s a long story,” Batur said with a smile. “If you’d like to hear it, I could tell you all night long.”