Act VIII: The Mother Goddess and the Queen (Part 3)

three

This was Yubi's third visit to the villa, but the first time he had the opportunity to fully explore his new home. He ran eagerly, pushing open doors and curtains, searching drawers and cabinets, admiring the columns and window sills. He explored from the entrance hall to the long corridor, from the kitchen to the dining room, from the bedroom to the study. Venice was a city without land, and its people didn't build houses as spacious and extravagant as the Romans, but it was enough for Yubi alone. His footsteps followed the red marble tiles from Egypt, and he once again entered the stunning drawing room. Yubi discovered that at dawn, the view was even more magnificent than at night—the dazzling Golden Horn lay like a moving painting on the balcony, its waves sparkling like countless diamonds. In the nearby fresco, the goddess of love and beauty also had long, wavy hair, her eyes shining with a gentle light no less than diamonds, gazing upon her little Cupids.

Yubi turned his head and saw the clean spring pool in the center of the hall again—this place reminded him of the bathroom he used to live in as a child, and of bathing with his mother. He couldn't resist reaching out to touch it, but the water was ice-cold. This was no place for a bath, Yubi thought. He groped along the damp edge of the pool, following the water pipes to the outside, where he found a hidden door next to the kitchen that led to a small basement.

It was dark and quiet inside. Yubi lit a candle and descended the stairs, holding his breath. Soon, he found himself in a boiler room—a short, dark-skinned figure huddled beside an extinguished stove, a young Egyptian slave. Seeing Yubi, the young slave grinned shyly, revealing a toothless smile.

Yakov's voice came abruptly from the entrance. "Leave the trunk and the horse, everyone get out!" he grumbled, threatening the ladies and servants from the Kanakakis mansion. "Go back to Selman! Go!"

He shouted out the few Greek phrases he had just learned, shooing everyone away. The crowd didn't bother with him much and quickly turned and left, looking rather dejected. Watching the group of "walking corpses" disappear around the street corner, Yakov felt a heavy sense of relief. He closed his eyes, squatted down on the steps, and took a deep breath of the damp, salty sea air.

“Everyone’s gone, who will take care of us?” Yubi walked down the corridor to Yakov’s side, looking surprised. “This is the city; you can’t hunt or camp here, and you can’t clean such a big house by yourself. If Helen or Eftalia came to visit, you wouldn’t be able to receive them!”

Hearing this, Yakov couldn't help but frown, deepening the wrinkles between his brows. "I can't be your butler and cook, gardener and groom all by myself," he said sullenly. "I sent them away simply because they were Ambikian."

"Then what should we do?" Yubi asked in surprise. "Where are we going to find servants?"

“Let’s go to the market,” the Slavic voice suddenly sounded much more weathered. “We’ll buy our own slaves.”

Yubi fell silent, a stillness flowing like a river. "...I thought you wouldn't want to do this," he said in a very low voice after a long pause.

Hearing this, Yakov let out a long breath, as if trying to unleash his anger and resentment like fire. "You're right." He raised his eyelids in displeasure, immediately spotting a child hiding behind Yubi, and pulled him out. "Who is this?" he asked, holding the thin, dark-skinned Egyptian boy.

“He said his name was Nuk and he worked in the boiler room. Without him, there would be no hot water in the hot spring in the hall.” Yubi winked at Yakov, already prepared, and put on a pleading look. “That Venetian merchant didn’t want to take him with him and abandoned him. Let him stay here.”

"Let him stay here, spending his days like a rat surrounded by coal, sawdust, and straw, just to heat your bathwater?" Yakov released the timid young slave and couldn't help but sneer. "He's not even half your age."

"You talk as if you take cold showers every time!" Yubi angrily pulled Yakov's hair. "If we throw him into the street, he'll starve to death!"

"It's not like I made him a slave. It's none of my business if he starves to death somewhere!" Yakov angrily accused, clutching the lock of hair that Yubi had pulled painfully. "If you didn't insist on soaking in the hot springs every day, the boiler room wouldn't need slaves!"

"Why is everything being blamed on me again?" Yubi was so angry that her hair stood on end. "According to you, I didn't buy this slave, I abandoned him!"

A strange, light sound rang out beside Yakov's boots. He turned his head and glimpsed the thin, dark-skinned slave kneeling on the steps, his arms wrapped around Yakov's feet, kissing the muddy surface of his shoes. The poor boy kept muttering Greek—Yakov didn't know the meaning of the whole sentence, but one of the words was one Yubi had taught him. "Please," said the Egyptian boy.

A slave child knelt at his feet, begging for mercy—a scene that seemed strangely familiar to Yakov. Suddenly, he felt a lightheadedness, as if his body had become a cloud, soaring upwards, yet his limbs remained strong and powerful. His gaze shifted from Yubi's resentful eyes to the lush greenery of the front yard, then to the exquisite, expensive gateposts and corridor behind him. "If I drive him out, he'll starve," Yakov thought. "Now it's my turn to call the shots again." This thought filled him with anxiety and heaviness, arrogance and pleasure.

“Okay, I promise you,” Yakov said.

"What?"

“We will keep this slave.”

"real?"

"real."

"You should have figured it out long ago!" Yubi's displeasure vanished, and he jumped up excitedly. The gold jewelry on his body jingled coldly. "Nuk, you're staying here. Go back to the boiler room!"

The slave thanked him, his small figure disappearing humbly like a ghost through the hidden door leading to the basement. Yubi thought the hot spring water would be hot soon. He was about to turn back to the hall when Yakov stopped him.

“Young slaves are no good.” The Slav said sternly, pulling him to the horses waiting at the gate. “You should learn these things; they’ll come in handy later.”

They hadn't ridden in peace like this in a long time. Yubi, remembering the servants who used to surround them, couldn't help but ask, "Are all of my sister's servants slaves?" He asked, guiding the black steed.

“Not a slave, but a blood slave.” Yakov’s horse led the way. “It makes no difference.”

“I have a question,” Yubi leaned forward. “Sister, that’s one thing, but what about the servants of other nobles? They’re not like Batur, who has no army or generals in his mansion. They have hundreds of slaves in a large courtyard, and the masters are only a few. Why do the slaves willingly serve them?”

Yakov glanced back at him silently and slowed his pace. "We're in the city." He pondered for a long time before deciding how to answer the question. "The city has the Emperor Anza's garrison and the laws promulgated by the Emperor. If a slave disobeys his master's orders, he is breaking the law and will be punished by soldiers. In the city, every household, whether noble or commoner, manages its slaves according to the law."

"Isn't this a good thing?" Yubi asked. "The law is just."

“Laws are just rules made by people, convenient for management and oppression,” Yakov scoffed. “Anyone who truly believes in its justice is a fool.”

"So, according to you, there's not much difference between the emperor and Batur," Yubi said, bewildered.

“They’re not much different from vampires,” Yakov said sarcastically.

But Yubi didn't refute him. "Ah, if Schumeer were here too," the young nobleman sighed on horseback. "What would he have said about this?"

Yakov hadn't heard that name in a long time. He was momentarily lost in thought, and couldn't help but speculate based on Yubi's words. That Jew must think this was the essence of civilization and progress—but to Yakov, it was a laughable naiveté typical of intellectuals. However, Yubi's words both disappointed and comforted him. "I don't have time to think about these things," he said, but that was all he said. "I have plenty of other things to worry about."

The two first went to the port of Golden Horn—where, in theory, everything should be sold. Koyakov wandered around for a long time but couldn't find the slave market. "Go ask," he had to instruct Yubi to ask the sailors at the dock; "I don't speak Italian."

“Actually, Italian and Latin are quite similar; you can learn them quickly if you want to.” Yubi glanced at him, then added, “Wait for me here.”

Yakov stopped his horse by the street, watching as Yubi dismounted and went to question him. His master, since arriving in Constantinople, had gradually gained confidence and arrogance, no longer acting as foolishly as before—just as he was about to think this, he saw Yubi's face turn pale and red again after only a few words with the sailor. As he spoke, the boy even reached for his purse at his waist—Yakov angrily spurred his horse over. "Come back!" He noticed the four gold chains dangling from the back of Yubi's head and, for some reason, felt a surge of anger. "Who told you to take money!"

“He said he’d only tell me where the slave market was if I gave him a silver coin!” Yubi replied, looking aggrieved. “He also said that slave markets were hard to find.”

"How could that be?" Yakov's eyebrows furrowed in anger. "You're probably asking the wrong question. That person probably thinks you're going to some dirty place."

Yubi's ears turned bright red. "I didn't!" He mounted his horse, turning his head away so Yakov wouldn't see his face. "I only asked where the slave market was, not the kind of slaves!"

“Let’s keep looking.” Yakov spurred his horse on, urging it to gallop along the street. “Every year, dozens, if not hundreds, of ships come from the Black Sea to sell slaves. Why would we need to pay money to find out?”

They continued their search along the dock. Yakov spotted another Greek fishmonger. "Go ask this man," he urged Yubi to dismount, "The locals are probably not as cunning as the Italians."

“Fine.” Yubi reluctantly stepped off the stirrups again. “What a hassle.”

He spoke fluent and elegant Greek with the merchant—Yakov scrutinized the two, and this time it was the merchant who blushed and stammered, startling Yubi into a state of bewilderment. A moment later, the petty nobleman, having suffered a setback, returned to his horse dejectedly. "Whenever I asked him about it, he waved his hand and said he didn't know!" Yubi tossed the reins around in his hand, "as if I had asked something I shouldn't have."

“Then keep asking, keep searching.” Yakov frowned. “Things won’t be that easy to accomplish.”

The two continued riding along the bay. The concession was small, and before long, all the docks and merchant ships had been visited. Yakov began to wonder. "Perhaps the Venetians don't allow the sale of slaves in the concession," he muttered to himself. "After all, they abide by their own laws."

“Why don’t I go ask?” Yubi suddenly said from behind him. “Wait for me here.”

Before Yakov could turn around, Yubi jumped off his horse. Yakov wanted to stop him, but swallowed his words. "Vampires have a youthful, handsome appearance; they're unlikely to offend anyone," he thought. Yubi, in his beautiful new shoes, went towards a plump noblewoman. He bowed and began to chat. Yakov cautiously watched the woman's face, trying to decipher her expression, waiting like an arrow to catch Yubi—fortunately, the noblewoman was only slightly surprised, and said something to Yubi—when the conversation ended, Yubi turned back, his eyes filled with reproach. He climbed back onto his horse, looking displeased, and stared at Yakov's face.

"What did she say?" Yakov asked.

“The lady said that the slave trade was illegal throughout Constantinople,” Yubi repeated, disgruntled. “She also said that we should go to the guild to find free servants and just sign a contract.”

"Illegal?" Yakov's eyes widened. "There's still a slave in the boiler room in your new house. If it's illegal, where did he come from? There are so many slaves carrying your sedan chair, where did they come from?"

“How would I know…” Yubi thought of this and lowered his head again. “Maybe it was bought in Damascus.”

Yakov snorted heavily, suppressing his anger. He glanced around and dismounted. "Wait for me here." He shoved the reins into Yubi's hand and headed towards the dock.

He walked to a cargo ship selling quartz sand. The captain, a Slav, was sitting idly on the deck, waiting for his porters to return with their deliveries. Yakov stepped onto the ship with a cold face and stopped right in front of him.

“I need help,” he said in a low voice in Slavic. “Do you know where there’s a slave market here?”

Captain Slav raised his eyes, giving Yakov a wary once-over. "Why are you asking this?" he asked in a deliberately low voice. "Why should I help you?"

“I have a sixteen-year-old son who has been kidnapped by the Turks.” Yakov looked directly into his eyes without changing his expression. “I have to find him.”

As expected, Yakov saw the captain's eyes waver slightly. "...Let's search near the Golden Gate," the captain said. "That's all I know."

Thank you.

Yakov tossed out those words, feigning a hurry, and turned to leave. He returned to Yubi, disdainfully stepped into the stirrups, and took the reins. "Let's go," he said, urging his horse to turn around. "I found out where the slave market is."

“So fast? That’s amazing…” Yubi was extremely surprised. He mounted his horse and followed closely behind Yakov—but after a while, he realized something was wrong and reined in his horse. “But why are we still going to the slave market? Shouldn’t we be looking for the servants’ guild?”

“A contract can’t control free men; they can betray you at any time.” Yakov’s back was to him, so he couldn’t see his expression. “Only slaves. They have nothing, and that’s when they are most loyal.”

Yubi couldn't fathom what Yakov's feelings were when he said those words. The boy's dark face in the boiler room resurfaced in his mind, crashing against his nerves. He could only silently follow Yakov's horse along the Via Messer.

They arrived at the southwest edge of the city. For some reason, Yubi recalled his days in Brasov. He craned his neck to look beneath his horse's hooves; the stench of black mud and sewage rose up. He then looked around at the narrow, crowded alleyways, each doorway dark and cold. The city's queen turned her back, and Yubi noticed that her skirt wasn't entirely adorned with bright flowers and pearls; there were also shocking traces of ashes and blood. The other side of the city had finally unfolded before him.

Ahead of him, Yakov leisurely rode his horse, leading him through winding streets into a secluded, cave-like, dimly lit alley. There were many Slavs there, and Yakov spoke fluently in his mother tongue. He finally seemed less tense than he had been lately, Yubi thought, like a fish in water, a bird soaring into the sky, as if this were his homeland. When he spoke a language Yubi couldn't understand, Yubi felt the distance between them grow both far and near: far because of the language barrier, near because of their similar circumstances. Yubi suddenly sighed—when everyone around him spoke a different language, and communication relied entirely on translators, one could feel so humble and helpless, as if deprived of the right to be human, a completely ignorant fool. He thought of the story of the Tower of Babel in the Old Testament.

Yakov dismounted at one point and then told him to dismount as well. Guided by a black market merchant, the two passed through a low archway and arrived at an enclosed courtyard. They walked through a long, dark tunnel and finally saw the light of day—Yubi, seeing the scene, grabbed Yakov's arm tightly.

The courtyard was filled with a vast expanse of slaves, varying in shades and heights, standing lifelessly in the sunlight. Yubi had never felt the sun so cold, illuminating every unsightly detail of humanity. Each slave had eyes like those of a dead man, moving like fake glass beads. Men, women, and children wore only aprons covering their bodies, as if this were a primitive tribe far removed from civilization, a realm of savagery and debauchery—yet Yubi clearly saw that their faces were no different from ordinary people. Human dignity at this moment was distinguished solely by clothing.

“Wait here,” Yakov said.

“Shouldn’t I be with you?” Yubi grabbed him, not wanting him to plunge into the line of slaves. “The slaves were bought for me.”

“But you don’t know how to choose slaves,” Yakov said sharply. “Wait here.”

Yubi was stopped by his shout. The young nobleman had to stand in the shadow of the eaves and watch Yakov walk alone into the pale sunlight. A strange sense of déjà vu washed over Yubi—he felt like a spectator in an arena, watching a trainer enter a labyrinth of iron cages, selecting the beasts to be wrestled in. Yakov's movements were practiced. He moved swiftly, glancing at each slave in turn, occasionally stopping to examine their fingers or pinch their jaws to check their teeth—Yubi didn't understand what he was doing. After observing for a while, an unknown emotion propelled him into the courtyard, determined to inspect and select the beasts himself.

There were many slaves here. Yubi strolled around leisurely, observing their faces and expressions, searching for someone he liked. He stopped in front of a slightly hunched middle-aged man—a blond, blue-eyed Slav who bore a resemblance to Yakov.

"How old are you?" Yubi asked nervously, his hands behind his back, in Latin. "What can you do?"

Unfortunately, the man looked embarrassed. He didn't understand Latin—which was normal. Yubi tried again in Greek. "How old are you?"

The man still didn't answer; it seemed he didn't understand Greek either.

Yubi was a little disappointed. He pursed his lips and continued walking. After a while, he stopped in front of a young woman with dark skin. "What kind of work can you do?" Yubi asked again, "How old are you?"

The woman spoke, but in a language Yubi couldn't understand, at an extremely fast pace—it sounded like Arabic, which Yubi knew nothing about. The syllables in those words reminded him of some cruel stories of the Saracens, causing him to continue walking as if fleeing.

This was Constantinople, but the slaves spoke neither Latin nor Greek. How were they supposed to survive here, and what kind of work could they possibly do? Yubi continued pacing with apprehension. This time, he stopped in front of a woman with curly brown hair. “My lord, I speak Greek,” the slave girl interjected before Yubi could even speak.

Yubi was startled and stammered, "Where...where are you from?" He forgot all the questions he had prepared in his mind. "What's your name?"

“My name is Naya,” the slave girl replied. “I am from here, and I am a Christian.”

"Then how did you get here? Christians cannot be slaves..."

"My husband went into debt gambling on horse racing and sold me here." The slave girl suddenly burst into tears. "My lord, please save me!"

Yubi stood there, stunned, his fingers twisting together behind his back. He suddenly remembered a saying he often heard: to serve the noble Noctennias family was an unparalleled honor. He hadn't understood its meaning before, yet he had enjoyed it without reservation; but now that he understood, it made him hesitant. Yubi wondered, if I buy her, will she be saved?

Yakov had somehow moved closer to him—two female slaves and two male slaves were now following behind him. Yubi dared not speak, watching him manipulate the hands of the female slave named Naya, even prying open her lips to examine her teeth. Yakov's actions were so rough that the female slave's eyes filled with fear. "This is a well-mannered slave," Yakov said as he examined her, "Perhaps she can do some clerical work."

"How do you know about this?" Yubi couldn't help but ask.

“Her hands have no calluses, and her teeth are all intact; she grew up eating refined grains.” Yakov pulled her out of the line. “Only people with a comfortable life can be cultured.”

"Wow, that's impressive," Yubi thought to himself. But this time, he didn't dare say it to Yakov—he wasn't sure if it counted as a compliment.

The two bought five slaves for a total of two hundred deniers. The Greek female slave was the most expensive, while the Egyptian and Slavic slaves that Yakov chose were much cheaper—supposedly due to the war, which had led to an increase in prisoners of war from Egypt; and the Slavic slaves were always very cheap.

Yubi's heart was heavy. He thought of the land deed he had signed a few days ago. A small villa in the Golden Horn, the owner had inexplicably sold it for a pittance, yet it was still worth tens of thousands of gold coins. Land in Constantinople was incredibly valuable, far more valuable than the lives of the people living there.

The slaves, dressed in worn-out straw sandals, followed on foot behind their horses. Yakov went to the market again and bought them some decent clothes to change into. This made Yubi feel much better, as if they weren't slaves but ordinary servants. The group walked along the entire Via des Messer, across most of the city, back to their exquisite villa in the Venetian concession by the Golden Horn. Exhausted from their journey, they saw their new home as the sky was once again bathed in the bay's unique rosy sunset.

A figure stood waiting at the gate, seemingly having waited for them for quite some time. Yubi spotted him from afar. "Who's that?" he asked Yakov amidst the distant, indistinct tolling of bells. "Is it Seleman?"

“If it were him, I’d tell him to go back,” Yakov said, frowning.

Yubi stared intently, and the figure gradually came into focus. He was balding, dressed in a long robe, and appeared to be middle-aged. "It's Cicero!" Yubi recalled his disgusting, sweaty palms. "It's that notary!"