Act VI: The Bitter Sea (Part 5)

five

"Why do you insist on burning ambergris?" Schumeer wore a pained expression, as if he were burning his own ambergris. "If I burn it for fifteen minutes, I don't know how many gold coins will be gone!"

“Mother said that if you light it on the beach, you’ll see sea monsters!” Yubi hung his cloak on it to smoke, stubbornly refusing to care about the exorbitant cost. “It’s actually the saliva of monsters, accumulated over many years!”

"What are you doing seeing a monster! It will stir up storms and capsize our ship!" Schumeer said, his face turning pale with fright. "I've heard similar stories; only one in ten thousand survives!"

Yubi frowned, thinking that there was indeed some truth to it. He reluctantly tried to blow out the candle, but Yakov stopped him. "Where did this monster come from? You can't be scared by a children's book." The Blood Slave looked impatient. "The ship is about to dock; how could a monster chase us to the shore?"

Reminded by these words, Yubi looked up. "Can we go down and take a look too?" he asked. "Is there a market in Constanta?"

“Go ask that eunuch,” Yakov said nonchalantly. “If he doesn’t refuse, I’ll take you to see him.”

The four men, exuding a luxurious and expensive fragrance, disembarked from the ship and arrived at the dock—Seleman had come with them. Or rather, they were allowed to accompany Seleman to purchase goods and supplies. But this made little difference to Yubi; he was still extremely happy.

He looked up and saw a continuous stretch of stone walls and towers. Scattered archers stood guard, watching over every ship, large and small, in the harbor. A red flag flew from one of the towers, bearing a golden eagle with two heads, one on the left and one on the right.

“The symbol of the empire,” Schumeer explained to him, “one head looking west, the other looking east.”

“The sea here is almost surrounded by rocks.” Yubi pointed to the large black rocks piled up on the beach and asked, “Is this how the coastline has always looked?”

“That’s a dam,” Yakov said. “It was built and repaired by people.”

“This will reduce the waves in the harbor,” Schumeer added.

"Amazing!" Yubi exclaimed. "Just one port, how many people and how much effort did it take to build!"

Yakov dismissed this small act of empathy. "It's nothing compared to your mother's castle in Transylvania," he clicked his tongue. "That would require far more people and more effort."

Just as Yubi was about to show his displeasure, Seilman spoke up. "The completion of a port can benefit a city for generations to come, providing a livelihood for the descendants of those who built it," he said. "The more complex and robust the project, the greater and more beneficial it is."

Yubi responded with a half-understanding. He turned to look at Yakov and found that the Slav had already fallen silent and looked away.

The docks were a hive of activity, with countless people bustling about. The port was incredibly busy during the day, ships moored within the black seawall, and sailors and barge haulers of all skin colors toiling away, unloading cargo. Some even traded right there in the harbor, even though the market was just a street away. The cries of vendors and the high-pitched, dense calls of seagulls rose and fell. Yubi sniffed—this market smelled different from the markets in inland Brasov. This place sold countless kinds of fish and caviar, fruit stalls displayed blueberries, plums, and prunes, and taverns offered salted yogurt, rice pudding, hummus, and cured meats. But what attracted Yubi most were the seafood boats on the docks. They sold oysters, mussels, lobsters, and crabs, as well as soft, slimy little octopuses grilled on charcoal grills, sprinkled with herbs and garlic, and squeezed with lemon juice, their aroma filling the air.

"It looks terrifying!" Yubi said, but drool was already dripping from the corner of her mouth. "Is it tasty? Yakov, have you ever tried it?"

"You want to eat random things again?" Yakov grabbed his hand and pulled it back. "You've only recovered from seasickness a few days ago, and you still dare to think about these things?"

Before Yubi could even complain, Seleman had already ordered the lobsters, mussels, and oysters to be bought and paid for himself. He hung the lobsters, mussels, and oysters in wicker baskets on the horse's back, and then rolled the grilled baby octopus into spinach leaves and handed them to Yubi. "Since he's interested, I'll buy them for him," Seleman said with a faint smile. "It's always good to be able to try them."

Yakov watched him with a sullen face, and heard Yubi cheer happily. "On the contrary, I've become the bad guy, caught in the middle and suffering from both sides," Yakov thought, "just because the mark doesn't hurt that eunuch."

They wandered the streets, buying goods. Sellerman bought a barrel of olive oil, a barrel of thick, white cured pork, a sack of barley bread, and a sack of wheat biscuits. He gave them the location of the ship he boarded, and someone from the shop delivered the goods directly to the port, saving them the trouble of carrying them back. Finally, the four of them arrived at a grape shop—selling grape wine and vinegar. The shopkeeper, in a rather gimmicky manner, set up wooden barrels at the entrance and had several strong young men stomp on the fresh grapes inside barefoot. The juice flowed from a specially made trough inside the barrel, collected in jars, and awaited fermentation.

"This is a bit disgusting..." Yubi looked at the endless stream of people trading with the shop owner, a puzzled expression on her face. "Grapes that are stepped on, and then drunk. Aren't you disgusted?"

“It’s cleaner than seawater and river water,” Yakov said curtly. “What else can people drink?”

“This has always been how wine has been made,” Schumacher said, crossing his arms and no longer being as picky as usual. “Only the treaded is authentic.”

Yubi thought for a moment, secretly relieved that he didn't have to live on that stuff. But then he glanced at Yakov's hairy, scarred neck and suddenly felt that stepping on grape juice wasn't so bad after all. While he hesitated, he saw Seyleman squeeze into the crowd to talk to the shopkeeper—he had bought a barrel of Muscat wine and a barrel of Bosca.

“The soldiers have enough supplies.” He easily squeezed back through the crowd, straightening his lamellar armor and cloak. “We’re going to fetch someone onto the ship.”

These words caused the three to exchange bewildered glances. "Anyone else to pick up?" Yubi couldn't help but ask. "Didn't you come specifically to pick us up?"

“Of course not.” Seleman’s words were as calm as a still lake. “Originally, I was the one who was supposed to go to the Batur tribe to watch the battle.”

Yubi immediately felt a chill run down his spine, his hair standing on end. He suddenly thought, what would have happened if Seleman had led his soldiers to the steppe? He couldn't help but reach out and grab Yakov's arm.

"Who is that person?" Schumacher asked cautiously. "Where are we going now?"

“He’s a Genoese, a tailor.” Sellerman smiled faintly, his wrinkles deepening. “I guess he’s probably in the church right now.”

The church in Constanta wasn't as tall and imposing as the one in Brasov, but it was built of stone and looked sturdy and ancient. Yubi looked up and saw a cross on the top of the church. But its top wasn't pointed; instead, it was a heavy hemisphere supported by layers of arches.

“I can’t go in,” Schumacher said helplessly, pointing to the small braids at his temples. “You’d better come out quickly.”

Yubi and Yakov followed Seilman into the stone church. The seven days of the New Year had passed, and the holy water used for the Epiphany was still displayed in a basin in the center of the hall. Frankincense burned in the censers, a familiar scent that made Yubi feel as if he were back in a monastery in the mountains—but instead of a crooked image of the Virgin Mary and Child before the prayer hall, there was a vast mural made of intricate enamel, ceramic, and glass mosaics, covering the entire wall and dome. It depicted three figures—the Virgin Mary, the Child, and a man nailed to a diagonal cross. Yubi suddenly remembered the painting in his home—a work by Schumeer, similarly displayed high on the dome.

“Saint Andrew, one of the twelve apostles.” Seilman raised three fingers and made the sign of the cross. “He is the patron saint of this place.”

Yubi, mouth still agape, craned his neck to gaze at the magnificent church, admiring the intricately carved pillars as he walked inside. Yakov, however, frowned. "I don't understand," he murmured. "If others believed this, I'd just consider them foolish; but you're an immortal, vampire's blood slave." He stared into Seymour's similar blue eyes. "Why do you still believe this?"

“It’s very useful,” Thalerman replied calmly and without reservation. “The more people believe in it, the more useful it becomes.”

"That's utter nonsense, all pretense," Yakov sneered. "If you truly believed it, you wouldn't say such things, nor would you change your mind twice so easily."

“I’m not saying it works for me, it works for everyone,” Seymour continued. “Look at the people in the church.”

Yakov didn't understand his intention and could only turn his gaze to the center of the prayer hall. Since disembarking, he had noticed the diverse people of the empire: not only Greeks, Slavs, and Wallachians, but also Franks from the west and Turks from the east were praying and confessing. They had different hair and skin colors, and wore different clothing and accessories. Yakov thought, perhaps they were travelers, perhaps they were slaves or servants, perhaps they had come here to escape hardship. But why was this eunuch showing him all of this?

“This is a path to peace,” Sellerman said. “If you’re a Slav, you’ll naturally find the Tatars and Turks despicable because your customs are different and you can’t live peacefully together in one place. But Slavs are not all the same; there are the blond-haired, blue-eyed East Slavs and the more Greek-like South Slavs. The differences can be endlessly subdivided like this, without end, until everyone is at war with everyone else.”

“But within the empire, everyone is a Christian, a Roman.” Sellerman’s gaze turned forward, fixed on the cross placed on the altar. “It all depends on God. Whether it’s true or false is the least important thing.”

Yakov frowned, pondering the meaning of these words. "I don't think this counts as truly believing," he muttered after a long pause.

Smiles and wrinkles deepened on Seilerman's dark face. He spoke no more, but sighed very softly. The two remained silent, watching Yubi's inquisitive figure. A moment later, the curious little prince began talking to a lady who had just emerged from the confessional. She was a truly beautiful woman. She had a beauty mark under her left eye, and her thick, black curly hair was loosely tied back in a net, peeking through a light veil. Soft, flowing cotton fabric outlined her beautiful, voluptuous figure below her shoulders, and a patterned cloak swayed behind her. She was taking Yubi's left hand—Yakov suddenly tensed and rushed forward to interrupt their conversation.

“Yakov, this is Helen Bellini.” Yubi blushed, lowered his head, and withdrew his hand. “This lady said… said I’m pretty, um… she wants… wants me to come to her place to try on some clothes…”

“Hello! Oh, I thought all the Crusaders were Latinos!” The woman named Helen was slightly surprised to see the cross on Yakov’s body. But she immediately flashed a warm smile and greeted him in Italian—though it sounded rather exaggerated. “Are you with Seymour?”

Yakov was about to reprimand Yubi, but these words stifled his anger. He turned to look at Seilman. The dark-skinned centurion was walking steadily toward them. "Long time no see, Helen," he said with a smile, then explained to Yakov and Yubi, "She's the one we're taking aboard."