Act XIII The Last Supper (15)

fifteen

Yakov left Yubi's room, welcoming the rare refreshing morning. The weather in the Holy Land was too hot during the day and too cold at night, with only brief moments of comfort at the turn of the sun and moon. He ran into Naya—the long-absent female slave stood helplessly by the door, head bowed, not daring to look at him.

“Sir,” she asked, “what other work can I do?”

"Don't ask me, go ask Nuk." Yakov tightened his belt with a stern face. "Maybe he can arrange for you to guard the door."

The female slave bowed to him and timidly disappeared from his sight. The knight took a few steps toward the courtyard, his gaze drifting toward the rooms of Ambikia and Ansopea—the distinguished guests had been staying there for two weeks without mentioning when they would leave. Yakov was thoroughly fed up with the way her blood slaves moved around in Yubi's house, and loathed their lifeless faces: frankly, they were no different from Yubi's blood slaves.

It was this shared trait that fueled Yakov's hatred to the core. He couldn't help but wonder, had Yubi become like Ambichai? Had he become like the other blood slaves?

The knight picked up his sword and went into the small garden in the courtyard, trying to numb himself with rigorous training. He had just gotten into position when he saw a strangely dressed boy awkwardly approaching from the corridor—Yakov looked closely and realized it was the Ibelin family's little girl. "Why are you dressed like that?" he stared at her, "Did you cut your hair?"

“…From today onwards, I will train every day.” Margo produced a wooden short sword from somewhere and was holding it in his hand. “I will train with you.”

Yakov scrutinized her determined gaze with disdain. "...You want me to teach you?"

“It would be best if you taught me. If not, I’ll practice on my own.” Margot had already stormed over to him, her messy short hair sticking up everywhere, her two thin arms holding up that wooden lump. “I just hope you won’t be like others, insisting that I can’t do it and telling me to give up.”

Yakov fell silent, picking up his sword and sitting to the side to watch. Margot was now as tall as when he first met Yubi, barely reaching his shoulder. She clearly knew she was an amateur, all show and no substance, yet she displayed an unyielding spirit to Yakov—and after a while, Yakov couldn't stand it any longer. He picked up the scabbard, tapped the wooden sword lightly once, and the sword slipped from Margot's grasp, rolling to the ground.

"Grip it tighter!" he scolded sternly. "You can't even hold a sword properly, and you want to fight?"

The little girl burst into tears at his terrifying voice, tears welling up in her eyes. But she immediately grabbed her sword and swung it again with renewed vigor. Yakov kicked her legs apart, telling her to stand with her legs spread. "Lower your body," he instructed, "Stand firm!"

Margot listened to him earnestly and tried to do as he said. But her posture was so comical that Yakov laughed. The knight raised his foot and struck her knee, and she fell into the flower bed, sword and all, her face slashed by the thorns of the Damask roses.

"Do you still want to train?" Yakov asked. "If you regret it, it's not too late."

"You're so annoying!" Margot grabbed the petals and scrambled to her feet. "How can you teach people like that!"

"So you're not going to practice anymore?"

“…Practice!” Margot gritted his teeth and got back into position.

“Learn from me.” Yakov raised his sword and made a clean, crisp swing forward. “Like that. Swing it a thousand times today.”

"Huh? A thousand times!"

“I’ll bring you back a heavier iron sword tonight,” Yakov said calmly. “You’ll swing it a thousand more times tomorrow.”

Margot finally realized that the boorish knight wasn't joking, and could only bite her lip and lower her head solemnly. "...Did you train Lord Jubius in the same way?" she asked tentatively. "Did he suffer these hardships as well?"

Yakov burst out laughing at the question. "No," he answered without hesitation, "he hasn't suffered at all."

"Then why should I suffer all this?"

“Because I am his knight, not yours.” Yakov sheathed his sword and sat down to one side. “With me here, what suffering does he have to endure?”

Margot stood there hesitantly, seemingly contemplating whether she should become a knight or find one of her own. Yakov watched her decision, wondering if she would choose the easier path—to his relief, the girl finally picked up her sword and began the first of a thousand swings.

For some reason, this sense of relief caused his mark to inexplicably begin to itch again.

“Lord Yakov,” Nuk’s voice suddenly rang out from behind the pillar, “come with me, please.”

Yakov frowned and turned his head. "What's wrong?"

"Come with me quickly, sir." He noticed that the little blood slave's face was completely drained of color, and his dark skin had a pale, ashen hue. "To the monastery."

Yakov left without even putting on his helmet and headscarf. In a short while, the sun had risen high in the sky, so bright it was blinding. "Judith has been kidnapped," Nuk said quickly and briefly, "just this morning during the monastery's almsgiving."

The knight thought for a moment before he understood. "...Schumel's sister, going to collect Yubish's money?" He quickened his pace, his mind heavy with suspicion. "Who's kidnapping her?"

“I don’t know what’s going on, sir.” Nuk’s voice trembled. “When I found out, everyone was gathered around, saying, ‘The lord is colluding with the Jews to lend money to everyone in the city at exorbitant interest rates.’”

"What?" Yakov's mind went blank, thinking he had misheard. "What Jew? Where is Schumacher? Does he know?"

“Lord Schumer’s mark has flared up.” Nuk quickened his pace, now jogging. “As soon as I told him, he collapsed in the copy room, in too much pain to get up.”

Yakov felt a wave of dizziness wash over him, almost collapsing to the ground. The mark seemed like a cold-blooded executioner beside him, sword drawn, awaiting his solitary execution. In a flash, the knight grabbed Nuk's clothes. "Go back," he said, gripping Nuk's thin shoulders tightly. "Don't let any of them know about this, especially Yubi, understand?"

“I understand.” Nuk nodded earnestly at him.

Yakov released him, and he ran quickly back to Yubi's mansion. The knight, supporting himself on his knees, caught his breath. Once the cold sweat on his body had dried in the pale sun, he straightened up, turned around, and headed towards the city gates and towers where the soldiers were on guard duty.