Act Two: Crossroads (Part Five)
five
Many things in the world can flow between different people. If you want to make money, become a businessman; if you want to seize power, try joining the army; if you want knowledge, study in a monastery; if you want a beautiful encounter, work on dressing yourself up. This is a very simple truth, and Yakov understands it too. He considers himself a pretty capable person, determined and ambitious. But some things are unchangeable and unwilling to be abandoned. Like his bloodline. Yakov thinks it's like a card game. Theoretically, if you're lucky enough, you can get all the cards and play them beautifully. But in reality, most people are born with only a few cards they can't discard.
“Let me guess.” Schumeer paced around the room, frowning, but a smile played on his lips. “A Slav. You should have been a mercenary.”
Yakov thought the Jews weren't entirely wrong. Most men of his race were indeed mercenaries. They were either already in the armies of the Byzantine emperor or some sultan, or on slave ships, waiting to become mercenaries. But he remained silent, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, and simply sat on the ground stuffing food into his mouth.
"So where did you get this outfit?" Schumacher continued to speculate. "Where did you find a Templar's corpse and steal his chainmail and cloak? A knight, ha ha, with a horse and a sword, and some clothes, anyone can be a knight!"
“Anyone can be a knight, so why can’t Yakov?” Yubi asked, craning his neck. “Why can’t a Slav be a knight?”
“Oh, Yubi. You’re still too inexperienced.” Schumeer stroked his shrewd little mustache. “What Catholic nobleman would knight a Slav? They have different beliefs, different languages, different social statuses. These days, a knight of commoner origin has to be loyal and romantic, let alone a slave.” He casually picked up the wine glass in front of Yakov, which Yakov had just added honey to. “And he’s wearing the uniform of a Templar. You know, to become a Templar, you first have to be a knight; second, you have to pass tests of status and piety, and you have to donate money to the order. What Slav can reach that point?” Schumeer picked up the wine glass and took a sip to moisten his throat.
“Finally, I must say something. Yakov, may I call you by your name? And what do you look like?” His beard glistened with the sweet liquid of the wine. “You are tall and large, and although you are a bit old, you are physically fit, healthy, and even somewhat educated. You could still fetch a good price on the market. Let me make another bold deduction. You have been a slave since birth, am I right?”
Yakov lost all appetite. He stared at Schumeer with his icy blue eyes.
“If you go north from here, to the Slavic settlements, most of the native villagers are weak and ignorant.” Seeing his reaction, Schumer thought he had hit the jackpot and continued to boast, “Where do the strong and tall men go? They are captured, put on ships, and become hot commodities in the market. The men are put into the army, and the women into the court. Then, strong and tall men and women are made to marry and spend the night together, and the children born can be sold for a higher price. Like Yakov, tall and big, he can do the work of ten men. Teach him a few things, and he can be sold to the Saracens for several thousand silver coins. It’s a very good business.”
“Yakov, is that really true?” Yubi leaned closer, staring at his face, as if trying to glean some distinguishing feature. “I’ve heard about these things, but I’ve never seen a real Slav.”
It felt as if a hand was gripping Yakov's throat, or perhaps he had eaten too much too quickly, a wave of nausea rose within him. But Yakov forced himself to swallow. "I am indeed not a true knight," he said, forcing himself to continue eating.
“It’s just as I said. So, Yakov, you’re now an outlaw.” Schumeer took another sip of the honeyed wine, leaving the glass half empty. With a final, decisive motion, Schumeer returned the glass to Yakov, placing it on the tray with a thud. “Now you belong nowhere and to no one. Oh, except Yubi.”
Yakov's chest throbbed with pain. He was already in a terrible mood, and this unreasonable punishment only made him angrier. He picked up the cup of mead he hadn't yet drunk and downed the remaining half in one gulp. Then, he staggered to his feet, shoving aside Yubi, who was watching him, causing Schumer to back away in fright.
"Look at you, all scared and begging for mercy." He said in a vicious, deep voice, "After all that I've said, you still know I can strangle you like a chicken."
"You can't!" Yubi blocked his way. "Schumel is my friend!"
“Please, I was praising you!” Schumacher said, avoiding his gaze and waving his hands in front of his face. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t a Templar Knight, not a Crusader madman. You wouldn’t harbor any ill will towards an unarmed person like me, and you wouldn’t make me a sacrifice for you to prove your faith! Right? Even an outlaw is better than a lunatic!”
Yakov thought he'd seen this kind of thing many times before. Sweet talk. If it weren't for Yubi stopping him, this Jew would be dead already. He sat back down dejectedly, shoveling the last few pieces of black bread into his mouth with the soup, spitting out a few grains of sand that grazed his teeth. The bowl and plate were empty. Fullness made him drowsy. Yakov remembered he hadn't slept for almost a whole day.
“We should bring Schumeer,” Yubi grabbed Yakov’s arm. The sudden physical contact startled Yakov, his arm jerking. “You’re not a real Templar Knight, so bringing Schumeer along won’t hurt, will it?”
Yakov pondered the question seriously. He thought that Schumeer knew a lot and should be able to help. "Have you been to Constantinople?" he asked.
“Hey, sir. Is the assessment starting already? Of course I’ve been there. That city at the center of the world!” Schumeer sat back down, his eyes darting around cleverly. “But now it’s not up to you to decide whether I want to join, it’s up to me to consider whether I want to join you. I have requirements.”
"What are the requirements?"
“First, you must guarantee my personal safety; second, you must pay for new paintbrushes, paints, and paper for me,” Schumeer listed the items methodically, like a true negotiator. “Finally, and most importantly, you must respect my beliefs and customs. I will not interfere with you, and you will not interfere with me.”
“I agree!” Yubi had barely finished speaking when Yakov pushed him away, pressing his shoulder. “No.” Yakov’s face was cold. “First, I can protect you, but if you cause trouble that involves me, I won’t be responsible. Second, I’ll only give you two gold coins; buy whatever you want, I’m not responsible for the rest. Finally, you can’t leave whenever you want. Unless you’ve already reached Constantinople, you can only leave with my permission.” He smiled sinisterly. “Do you think I don’t know that you’re the one with nowhere to turn, not me?”
Yubi stopped talking. He finally realized that he was the most foolish and least qualified person to speak in the room. He became sullen, frowning at Schumeer as if urging him to agree, as if blaming him for not actually taking him as the person in charge, and as if subtly pleading for his help.
“I have a question,” Schumacher said seriously. “Yakov, are you a Christian?”
"What do you think?" Yakov didn't answer him directly. "In your heart, what god should a slave believe in?"
Schumeer stared intently into his icy blue eyes, as if trying to find some trust within them. They locked eyes, using their gazes as weapons in a standoff, as if whoever looked away first would be the one to concede defeat.
“Honestly, you’re no better than a religious madman. Barbarian.” Schumer conceded. He took a slow breath and exhaled deeply. “Fine, fine! For Yubi’s sake, I agree. I had no choice, did I?”
"Great!" Yubi's furrowed brows relaxed. He cheered with joy.
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