Act Ten: The True Knight (Part 10)
ten
A light, flexible sword was forcibly shoved into Isaac's hand. With every movement, the blade wobbled softly—the frail nobleman couldn't wield a heavier weapon, forced to use this childlike toy. "This is no good." Fear ignited in his pupils, causing his long-lifeless eyes to dart nervously. "If the Emperor finds out, my whole family will have their eyes gouged out..."
“He won’t know,” Anbicia said, popping grapes into his mouth one by one. “What are you afraid of?”
“If you want to punish me, you don’t need to do it this way…”
“I can do whatever I want.” Anbicia laughed sharply. “You’re afraid of the emperor, but not of me?”
“Please don’t worry, just do as I say.” Seleman pulled him, whose sleeves were adorned with embroidery and jewels, to the center of the stage in the courtyard, where they were surrounded by a group of burly, savage warriors. “Nothing too outrageous will happen.”
Yakov noticed that the nobleman named Komnin was trembling uncomfortably, his legs shaking incessantly. He wondered if something terrible had really happened. The Blood Slave couldn't help but doubt the true father of the child in Anbikia's womb—this frail man might not even deserve such an honor. He was merely a fine garment for Anbikia, a mask she wore to conceal her identity when she went out.
“…As you wish,” Isaac said weakly. His eyes returned to their lifeless state, like those of a dead fish.
Moonlight streamed down from the courtyard, illuminating the crystal-clear fountain in the garden. The actors, under the pine trees adorned with candles, lined up according to Seilman's instructions. "The Emperor's company was originally surrounded by the main army," Seilman explained, "but upon entering the mountain valleys, the hundreds of thousands of troops were forced to spread out in a long, single-file line, stretching for kilometers. The Antiochian army, originally on the right flank, became the vanguard." He pushed Yakov's back to the front, "followed by the left-wing supply train, then the Emperor's company, and finally the rearguard of the armored paladins."
The army stretched out like a long snake in the narrow canyon. Yakov frowned at the mere mention of it. He drew his sword, looked at Turalya, who was eagerly guarding the pie in front of him, and then turned to see Oleg, Isaac, and Seleman lined up behind him.
"The first to engage in a fierce battle with the Turks were Antioch's army," Seleman said.
Before Yakov could even get into position, the fierce Tatar woman charged at him, brandishing her scimitar. Startled, he parried the first blow with his sturdy longsword, then quickly twisted the blade with his thumb against the guard to block the second. Seeing this, Turalya attacked with both scimitars in a scimitar-like motion, striking from both sides. Yakov knew she was trying to trap his longsword, so he quickly retreated, clearing the tip of his sword from her trap. The Blood Slave adjusted his breathing, gripped the hilt of his sword, and lowered his center of gravity.
“Your slave has become much more composed.” Amidst the flashing swords, Yakov seemed to hear Anbichya whispering to Yubi at the dining table, “He has improved a lot compared to before.”
I'm worried...
"What are you worried about? It's just a joke."
Hearing these comments, Yakov no longer thought it was a joke. He raised his longsword, assumed a striking stance, and thrust it forward with the tip—the longsword was longer than a scimitar, and with only the tip pointing forward, it was difficult for his opponent to block. "Prince Baldwin of Antioch led his army deep into enemy territory, and his bravery is commendable," Seleman explained from behind, "but he overpursued them, fell into an enemy encirclement, and his entire right wing was annihilated by the Turks, their corpses lying across the valley."
Yakov was in the heat of the fight and was furious when he heard this. "He said you're dead, lie down," Turaly grinned. "You didn't really believe him? If you want to fight, there will be plenty of opportunities in the future."
The longsword hesitated for a moment before being lowered. Yakov thought to himself that he didn't want to fight with a woman anyway; winning or losing wouldn't be very dignified. He looked at Yubi—Turana's scimitar feigned a thrust into his side, and he fell to the ground to rest.
Seilman looked at Yakov with considerable appreciation for his sensible demeanor. "Then the left-wing supply train was pushed into the battlefield." He gestured with his eyes to the captain of the Varangian guard.
Oleg began his performance in an extremely exaggerated and nauseating manner—dragging his axe as if it weighed a ton, groaning as he slowly made his way along the ground. "The Turks just carried their livestock to slaughter, blocking all the carts and oxcarts in the mountains!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide, then suddenly comically covering his groin with his hands, looking like a jester. "The Turks also scalped and mutilated the corpses scattered all over the mountains!"
This was an undeniable insult to the Byzantines, yet it was soldiers who were carrying out this insult, Yakov thought; perhaps such a performance could only be seen here. Turalya was clearly disgusted by the sight. She struck Oleg's chainmail a few times with the back of her scimitar, having had enough of the large man's affected, grating groans. The female warrior circled behind him, staring into Isaac's eyes.
"What am I supposed to do with this piece of trash?" she asked ominously.
Isaac's wrists trembled, and his knees shook. He gripped the soft sword between his fingers, hesitant to raise or lower it. "Your Majesty, what do you intend to do?" Seleman asked, feigning seriousness as he leaned close to his ear. "If you ask me, we should rush forward and rescue the supply convoy. Your soldiers need their rations and weapons!"
"I, I..." Isaac stammered, completely trapped in the snare of his words. "I am not the emperor!"
“You are the Emperor! Komnen’s glory rests on your shoulders!” Seleman’s voice rose. “No one but you can save them!”
For the first time, Yakov felt a pang of sympathy for this pitiful Greek nobleman. He lay on the ground, watching the emaciated body helplessly huddled beneath his fine clothes, his ethereal noble lineage now a convenient target for attack. Meanwhile, his vampire wife sat in her seat, nodding with sparkling eyes. "So that's how it is," Ambicea exclaimed with sudden realization. "No wonder the emperor is so dejected."
“Everyone urged the disheartened emperor to go to the rescue, but he hesitated. Half of his painstakingly built army had been lost here, and his wish to conquer Konya was now impossible.” Seleman pointed to the huge pie. “But in the end, he mustered his last bit of courage and led his rear guard into the melee.”
He grabbed Isaac's stiff collar—the poor nobleman, thinking he was about to be pushed out, dropped his soft sword in fright—and Seleman, carrying this cumbersome load, could still fight Thurana with one arm. Using only a short Roman sword, he swiftly parried the fluid attacks of the twin blades. Yakov, tired of playing the corpse, unconsciously propped himself up, carefully studying the skillful moves, wishing he could memorize them at a glance.
"Then came the widely circulated story of the emperor's battle," Seleman said with a smile, still able to retain some energy. "You must have heard of it."
"The cavalry saved him, didn't they?" Anbichia placed her warm hand on Yubi's hair, comforting her nervous younger brother beside her.
"Sister, don't let them hit us," Yubi whispered. "You're wearing a ring; if someone gets hurt, you won't be able to take it off..."
Ambicia looked down at him in surprise, as if she hadn't realized it at all. "Yes, you're right!" she couldn't help but laugh.
What does this mean? Yakov pondered for a moment—did it refer to the pregnant Ambikia, wearing the ring, having lost all her miracles and no longer able to heal her wounds and ailments? Just as helpless as Yubi had been when they first met? He thought blasphemously.
"The emperor's risky actions failed to save the supply train; all the equipment and machinery in the canyon fell into enemy hands." Seleman obediently gestured to Turana to stop. "The battle lasted until sunset, and the remaining troops desperately needed rest. But the next day, Sultan Arslan sent men to surround the emperor and his rearguard."
Thurana regained her composure and raised her scimitar—"They've come to negotiate peace." Seleman pressed the scimitar down.
"Boring." Turalya said disappointedly, sheathing her twin swords. "Is that all?"
"The Turks demand that the emperor dismantle the two border fortresses and allow the herders to graze their livestock freely there." Seleman loosened Isaac's collar, letting the limp nobleman collapse to the ground. "And so the battle ends."
This farce should end here. Yakov got up from the ground and brushed the dust off his burqa.
"This can hardly be called a good play." Anbicia narrowed his upturned red eyes. "After you've finished this play, each of you can share your thoughts on this battle."
Most of the blood slaves present were rough men. Hearing this, they looked at each other in confusion and silence, unsure how to react. "I think the emperor is incompetent," Turalya bravely answered first in her broken Greek. "If I had an army of 100,000, how could I have failed to conquer a small city and suffered a crushing defeat halfway through! So many soldiers and chariots, crowding into the canyon, weren't they just sending themselves to their deaths?"
“You’re right!” Oleg patted his bottom and sat back down in his chair, boldly breaking off a goose leg and stuffing it into his mouth. “Back then, the Turks poisoned the wells and burned the fields on their march, and dysentery was rampant in the camps. With so much trouble even before the war started, it’s no wonder they were defeated! Not only my soldiers, but even I was worried about whether I would come back alive!”
Anbichia's gaze shifted to Seilman's face, silently urging him to speak.
“These are common tactics in wartime and unavoidable.” The newly promoted general pondered for a moment. “The emperor only learned of the annihilation of the auxiliary legion when he saw the head of a Northern Army general impaled on a spear by the enemy. The lack of information led to low morale, which was a fatal mistake.”
These horrifying reports made Yubi look worried. Yakov stared at him. His master knew very little about the real war and was very uneasy. Suddenly, he noticed that Anbichia's gaze had shifted from Seleman's face to his, waiting for him to speak—the blood slave broke out in a cold sweat.
“I wasn’t on that battlefield.” Yakov frowned.
“It’s alright.” Anbicia casually observed his awkward appearance. “Say what you want to say.”
What was this? A secret test, or a subtle compliment? Yakov couldn't help but swallow hard. "...The emperor wouldn't make such a basic mistake; there must be some reason." He chose his words carefully. "His army included Varangians, Cumans, and Antiochian vassals. The composition was complex, making coordination difficult, which naturally led to failure."
His words drew laughter from the crowd. "You're really glorifying him," Anbichia said, looking at him with the same affectionate gaze one would show a child. "Emperors are just mortals. They make the same mistakes that mortals make. No one is omnipotent just because they hold a high position; and those who consider themselves foolish are often the ones who can shoulder great responsibilities."
Yakov wished he could disappear into the garden floor to escape this humiliating lecture. He wondered if the vampire was showing off his great powers or mocking his ignorance.
"And what about you?" Fortunately, Ambicea didn't probe further and turned to ask Isaac. The poor nobleman lay on the ground, leaning against a pillar in silence. "My dear husband, what do you think of this distant relative of yours?"
Isaac clung tightly to his magnificent robes, as if the beaded fabric could ward off terrible demons. "...I never comment on the emperor's affairs," he said, his head bowed, his eyes hidden in shadow. "I don't know him."
“Tell me what’s on your mind.” Anbicia, supporting her back and aiding her pregnant belly, sluggishly stood up. “Do you really want to suffer this punishment?”
Yakov then noticed that Isaac's hand was tightly clutching a brooch on his left breast, his fingers white from gripping it, the intricate, sharp jewel digging into his flesh—the Blood Slave understood what he was enduring. He thought silently, someone was willing to suffer for refusing to answer such a question—but perhaps suffering for whatever folly was a noble act of defiance. A small sense of respect welled up within Yakov.
Unfortunately, Isaac was far less able to endure the pain than he was. "...The emperor is a spendthrift man," the nobleman finally uttered, his eyes vacant. "He once gave the Turks many treasures, but now he is no match for them. He must be regretting it now."
“That’s a different perspective too.” Ambikia finally let him go. The vampire’s eyes darted around, finally settling on Yubi beside him. “What do you think?”
Yubi stared, mouth agape, and looked up in embarrassment. "I... I don't know anything about these things... I only know that the fallen Prince Antioch was the Queen's brother..."
“Oh, I almost forgot about that.” Anbichia brushed a stray hair behind her ear. “If word got out that this defeat, it would ruin the emperor’s reputation.”
"It doesn't sound like a big deal..."
“It might not matter to others, but it’s different for emperors.” Anbichia ran his fingers along his cold cheek. “Emperors are always like this. They stand at the pinnacle of their respective powers, yet the struggle never ends. They struggle with everyone, with all emperors, with emperors throughout history. Humans are like that; they never stop. Once the struggle stops, it’s as if they’re dead.”
Yubi couldn't understand what she was saying; she only stared blankly at what seemed like flames flickering in her sister's eyes. The warmth of human body heat made her eyes even more intense and crimson.
The blood slaves in the courtyard were all silent. The sound of the spring water flowing in the courtyard echoed in the air.
"Ouch." Ambicia suddenly put her hand on her stomach. "I don't know if it was your nephew or niece who moved."
Yubi stared in astonishment at the bulging belly beneath the soft fabric. "It's moving!"
"Have you forgotten there's still a pie?" Oleg, his mouth glistening with grease and crumbs dripping onto his beard, jumped up from his seat. "Maybe the young master is hungry!"
"The vampire's child, when hungry, drinks blood," Yakov thought. He picked up his sword and walked towards the pie—he was closest to it and didn't want to get involved in the struggle for the golden apple. All that was heard was a soft, yielding sound—the blood slave had brought down his sword, cleaving the heavy pie, a symbol of Konya, in two. Dozens of chattering thrushes flew out, their wings smeared with grease and cheese. Feathers flew everywhere, and a stench filled the air.
"Is this what you're fighting over and protecting?" Yakov said disdainfully, pointing the collapsed pie with the filthy blade of his sword. "It's full of bird droppings; it's inedible."
Ambikia burst into laughter at the sight—she laughed, Yubi laughed, Seleman, Oleg, and Turalya laughed, all the servants and slaves in the courtyard laughed, and even Isaac and the poor English cook breathed a sigh of relief.
"The result is not important; the process is what matters," Anbichia said. "Victory is far more precious than spoils, and defeat is always more painful than loss!"
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