Act VII All Roads (Part 8)

eight

Seilman gave Yakov a set of Western-style chainmail that was neither new nor old. It was a little small, making Yakov's fingers feel cramped inside his gloves, and his long hair had to be uncomfortably tucked into his hood. "Bear with it," Seilman said, checking him over and having him put on a dark-colored robe, then hanging the ruby-embroidered longsword he had brought on his belt. Yakov noticed a crooked cross sewn onto his shoulder, made of strips of cloth.

"Why won't you let me wear the robe I came in with?" Yakov asked, pointing to the cross. "This is much more shabby than that."

“That’s a Templar’s ​​cloak,” Seyleman answered him frankly. “You’re not a Templar now.”

Yakov thought this made sense. What if people realized he wasn't a real Templar Knight? Thinking about it carefully, it seemed he no longer needed to maintain the disguise. "Does it really have to be this cross?" he asked Seyleman, still unconvinced. "Why won't you give me the same lamellar armor as you?"

“Then people will think you’re from Varangian’s guard.” Seleman led him out of the room. “That would be bad.”

Yakov didn't quite understand what he meant. He vaguely recalled Schumacher discussing with Yubi how those mercenaries from the North were a bunch of annoying barbarians. He also suspected with displeasure that Seilman was subtly mocking his Slavic appearance.

In the entryway, the two warriors' masters were waiting for them—even at night, the glittering jewels and gold and silver threads still shimmered with a luxurious light, making the siblings look like statues adorned with gold leaf and jade in a church. "Not bad, not bad at all." Anbichia, holding Yubi's jeweled hand, calmly surveyed Yakov's surroundings. "Let's go."

The group hurried along the quiet night road, lanterns in hand. Yakov followed the crowd, unable to speak to Yubi—his master was being held high in his sedan chair, being constantly instructed by Ambikia. Yakov couldn't help but wonder: how could a vampire, unable to see the light and only able to go out at night, navigate so freely among nobles and officials? But soon, his doubts vanished.

They arrived at a magnificent mansion even more illustrious than the Kanakakis's—it was late at night, and the city was silent due to the curfew, but this place was packed with people. Some servants remained by the carriages or palanquins to await their masters, while others followed them to the kitchens and storerooms. The rest followed their respective masters into an incredibly spacious and brightly lit banquet hall: the ceiling was extremely high, like a temple supported by marble columns at its four corners. Numerous splendid mosaics adorned three walls, depicting saints and mythological stories. Yakov examined them closely and discovered that genuine gold and jewels were embedded in the walls, and large swaths of extravagant, intense paint were recklessly wasted in the coatings, making it impossible for him, neither able nor daring, to estimate its cost. The banquet hall also contained chaise lounges and long tables, but these were three long tables, each with three chaise lounges facing it, extremely spacious. The tables were laden with tableware, bowls, plates, cutlery, cups, and saucers, each piece shimmering and exquisitely crafted—truly expensive works of art. Hundreds of candles lit on gilded candlesticks on either side dispelled the lingering chill of early spring. The room was open and airy, and sheer curtains fluttered gracefully beside the stone pillars, causing the jeweled pendants adorning them to jingle. Yakov suddenly thought of Camilla's castle—could there be other vampires here?

"I still feel sleepy." Yubi was tired of all this dazzling stuff. He sneaked up to Yakov and confided his nervousness, "What if I fall asleep? I don't even know who I'm going to see!"

“Then take off your ring.” Yakov frowned.

“But once the ring is off, the food tastes awful!” Yubi complained. “How uncomfortable and boring that is!”

“Good idea.” Ambicea suddenly appeared behind them, snatched Yubi’s wrist, and said, “Take off your ring.”

Before Yakov could react, Yubi was led by her sister to the chaise lounge on the right—Selman had taught her that the left side was for the host, the middle for the most distinguished guest, and the right side for the rest: the less distinguished guests. Yakov thought dismissively that Ambicya sometimes sat on the right chaise lounge; yet this thought also filled him with apprehension: just how distinguished were the people they were about to meet?

A choir dressed in church robes entered the hall with light and graceful movements, their voices rising and falling in a melodious tune. Yakov noticed that some of the voices sounded too young for adult men—he soon discovered that there were several young and beautiful castratos hidden among the choir.

As the song began, more richly dressed "masters" took their seats. Yakov was astonished to find that the "gentlemen" and "ladies" attending this prestigious gathering were surprisingly young, making the event resemble a children's playful amusement. Two very young girls sat in the central seats of honor, supported by ladies-in-waiting, reclining languidly to their left. To their left, in the host's seat, sat a boy no older than Yubi. Everyone possessed an air of refined manners yet decadent and licentious behavior, conversing merrily in Greek.

Yakov froze, then was quickly pulled by Seleman to stand behind the siblings against the wall. Slaves and servants bustled about in front of them, carrying small portions of food, attending to the young people without a moment's rest. "Who are these people?" Yakov whispered to Seleman, "...Are they all vampires?"

Seymman couldn't help but laugh. "No," he said, "you'll see in a moment."

Yakov, unable to understand Greek, could only stare intently at Yubi. His master, initially delighted to be playing with his peers, was curiously trying to communicate. But after a short while, the innocent face turned surprised and bewildered, and he shrank back, falling silent, leaving everything to Ambikia to do. This made Yakov incredibly eager to understand. He thought, it's time to ask Yubi when he'll teach him Greek.

The gathering had been going on for a short while when a simple old man, well past sixty, slowly entered through the door. He was dressed in a simple linen robe, but his whole body was clean and tidy. He stood tall and straight, and his gray hair was cut very short—this was not a poor man, Yakov thought, probably a saint or ascetic from the church.

"Your Highness, may you and your newborn princess enjoy good health." He spoke in Latin, which Yakov could finally understand. "And, Your Highness Lady Caesar, may you also have a son soon." The old man stood in the center of the long table and bowed to the two young girls on the chaise longue in the center.

Yakov suddenly understood why Yubi couldn't communicate freely with these people—Your Highness, who was Her Highness, who was Lady Caesar, those two limp little girls on the chaise longue? Were they already of childbearing age? "Thank you for your blessing, Grand Master," the slightly older of the two girls replied shyly. Yakov suddenly remembered her face—this was the other girl whose conversation he and Yubi had interrupted when they first arrived in Ambichia. Apart from remembering her asking about Hungary, Yakov knew nothing about this girl.

The elderly man with gray hair bowed to each of the nobles present, then sat upright in a single chair pulled up by a servant, squeezing into a corner of the table, and began chatting with everyone about anecdotes from his expedition to Egypt. "Where is she a queen?" Yakov couldn't help but ask. "Does everyone here have the surname Komnin?"

“This is the Queen of Jerusalem, and the wife of the Crown Prince of Hungary.” Seleman recited these names as if chanting a mantra. “The Queen of Jerusalem is the Emperor’s grandniece, but she is actually the Emperor’s illegitimate daughter. The Emperor originally intended to marry his eldest daughter to the Crown Prince of Hungary, but after having a son, he made the Crown Prince marry the Princess of Antioch, who is the Queen’s half-sister.”

"What?"

“We are now at the home of the Emperor’s nephew.” Seleman turned to look at him. “His wife is one of the Emperor’s mistresses. The child on the left seat may be the Emperor’s illegitimate son or his grand-nephew. But in any case, he is surnamed Komnin.”

Yakov's mind was a complete mess from this illogical and absurd statement, and his previous fear of power crumbled considerably. "Then what are Anbichya and Yubi doing here?" he asked blankly, "playing around with this bunch of...this bunch of kids?"

“We’ve come for you, Yakov,” Seleman said suddenly, very seriously.

Yakov's mouth, hidden beneath his beard, gaped open. "What does this have to do with me?" he stammered after a long moment of astonishment.

“That man,” Seyleman discreetly raised his finger, pointing to a simply dressed elderly man in his sixties at the corner of the table, “is the former Grand Master of the Knights Templar, who is on a diplomatic mission to Constantinople with the King of Jerusalem.”

Yakov's gaze shifted to the short-haired old man, staring at him unfocused for a moment. His thoughts swirled in his mind, forming a tangled knot, chaotic and cluttered. He moved his fingers, the zip-lock gloves digging painfully into his fingernails. He turned his head and caught sight of the carelessly sewn cross on his shoulder. Suddenly, he understood Seleman-Ambichai's intention. "You want me to actually join the Knights Templar?" he gasped, "to live the life of a monk?"

Sellerman neither nodded nor shook his head. "It's up to you," he said softly. "Whether you choose to live like a monk after joining the Knights is also up to you. It's all your freedom."

A terrible surge of resentment, like wildfire, engulfed Yakov. "Glorious freedom!" he thought. They had lured him to this prestigious place, placed him under the watchful eyes of countless powerful figures, and only now revealed this to him. They had forced him to choose with invisible shackles, making him a pawn, yet claiming it was his own choice. Control freaks, fraudsters, hypocritical villains! They wanted to control him, to enslave him!

Yakov's mark began to throb with intense pain, causing his entire body to tremble uncontrollably. "I disagree," he said, gritting his teeth as he turned and stormed out of the banquet hall, bumping into a group of slaves collecting and setting out dishes.

"Who is that tall man?" the old man asked. "He looks like a knight."

“That was a Slavic slave my younger brother redeemed; he’s quite skilled at fighting.” Anbichia sipped his drink, placing his hand on Yubi’s back to stop him from looking towards the door. “He’s hesitating about becoming a knight and even wants to join the Knights Templar. But he’s a Slav, born a slave, and feels lowly, unworthy to fight for God.”

“I don’t think it’s his fault for being a slave.” The future Queen of Hungary from Antioch threw the bone on the ground, and servants immediately collected the trash. “Who says slaves are inferior? It depends on the master. If the master is noble, the slave is noble; if the master is base, the slave is base. Look at Aksukh, wasn’t he also the emperor’s slave? Yet the emperor was still willing to marry his niece to him and bestow the surname Komnen upon his descendants.”

“A slave who dreams of becoming emperor is doomed; but a knight who serves Christ is not without nobility.” Ambicia chuckled casually. “Cheer up, Yubi. Don’t worry about him all the time, look at you so distressed.”

“If he truly has a heart to fight for God and dedicate himself to the Lord, the Knights will not refuse him. That is a good place for poor and quiet contemplation.” The old man smiled kindly. “However, just like other knights who need to be tested and make donations to join the order, he is no exception. If you need a letter of recommendation, come to me. Don’t worry about it, child, may I be able to dispel your sorrow with my own strength.”

“Really!” Yubi looked up, then cautiously tidied her words. “That would be wonderful if you were really willing to do it. But somehow, I don’t think Yakov would agree. He…” Yubi pursed her lips guiltily, “He’s a bit self-deprecating and cynical…”

“Some slaves are like that,” the young Queen of Jerusalem gently comforted him. “When he truly becomes a knight, he will always be grateful and act according to his abilities, so that your efforts in exploring his future and cultivating his skills will not have been in vain.”

Yubi dared not contradict the Queen. "Thank you for your guidance," he said, bowing his head.

He suddenly noticed a large amount of messy food scraps piled on the ground, not very conspicuous among the fancy floor tiles—upon closer inspection, he realized that the tile pattern was actually bone fragments, fruit pits, fish bones, and wooden skewers. All the dirty and unsightly things, through this deceptive packaging, were transformed into beautiful patterns that could be displayed in a grand setting, allowing one to get used to these small, ugly things and eventually ignore them with composure and self-satisfaction.

“It looks like it’s going to rain,” said the boy on the left recliner. “Let’s light more candles so our guests don’t get cold.”

“Exactly. We’re all waiting to hear your story.” Ambikia’s upturned eyes narrowed like a fox’s. “What are Cairo and Alexandria like? How many fleets did the King take with him?”

Yakov felt as if he were walking through a terrible, suffocating nightmare. He left, and no one stopped him—all the noble masters and lowly slaves seemed blind, as if he were merely a beetle wandering aimlessly in the street, and no one cared where a down-on-his-luck knight was heading. He walked out the back door of the manor, the hustle and bustle of the banquet fading from his sight. The night finally quieted down, allowing his eardrums to clearly distinguish the sound of raindrops and the waves of the Golden Horn. The rain was light, muffled and restrained, yet it dampened his chainmail, making the lining stick uncomfortably to his skin. Yakov couldn't stand the ill-fitting gloves. He wanted to pull them off to ease the discomfort under his nails—but the chainmail gloves and sleeves were sewn together, only painfully constricting his wrists.

The sound of chanting drifted from the road ahead. Yakov looked up. In his blurry vision, he saw a hermit and a bard. Two familiar yet unfamiliar figures stood with their backs to him in the rain.

“Having nothing proves my holiness,” the ascetic said. “Poverty and celibacy are the paths to becoming a perfect person.”

“You see the king and nobles drinking and making merry, and hear the lords and bishops reveling,” the bard said. “But the moment you utter this petition to the heavens, God admonishes you that poverty is holiness, and celibacy is piety!”

“Despicable sinners!” said the ascetic. “They have committed heinous crimes, branding their souls with sin. God will reject them at the gates of heaven and condemn them to the fires of hell!”

"How do you know that they are living in heaven while you are living in hell?" the bard said. "Whose poor soul has been branded so that he can only vaguely hope for peace after death?"

“You are full of lies and mislead people!” the ascetic said. “You despise the gods and trample on order!”

"You're burying your head in the sand, and you have only yourself to blame!" the bard said. "You resist knowledge and confuse your thinking!"

"You are their accomplice and their glorifier!"

"You are their servant and their founder!"

They sang and debated, line after line, as if all the contradictions and wars of the world were condensed into this debate, as if nothing else in the universe mattered to them. Yakov's pain was intense. The words faded into the rainy night, leaving only the pattering raindrops on the stone pavement, their crisp, cold sound piercing his mind. Yakov wondered, what should he do? It felt as if whatever he did was wrong, as if this was his original sin, as if everyone had an original sin—but I have no original sin. Yakov gritted his teeth and got up. Why should everyone be born with original sin?

His legs were completely immobile. He collapsed there, sinking into a deep, dark dream.