Act V: The Prince's Expedition (Part 8)
eight
The three were awakened by young Batur at the crack of dawn. “Father is waiting for you,” he said in Latin as if reciting a memorized sentence. “He said the pigeons are about to be released.”
They trudged sleepily to the top of the hill, even Schumeer too lazy to utter a word. It was the coldest time of day, and the wind felt like knives cutting into their skin. They had to hunch their necks like the local shepherds, burying their faces in the fur collars, each finger tucked into the wide sleeves—now Yubi understood why the sleeves of his robes were so long. After walking this stretch, even the strongest drowsiness was swept away by the wind.
Little Batur led them into a suite of military tents, to the innermost part.
It was a council tent—Yubi could imagine it filled with barbaric Tatar soldiers, but now it was nearly empty. Tables, chairs, writing implements, and ink were laid out on the carpet in the center, and behind it hung a vast, detailed, enormous map, almost filling the entire felt wall. They could see the entire Black Sea and Sea of Azov on it: the Dnieper River to the north stretching to the ice sheet, the Caucasus Mountains to the east. And to the south, on the Bosphorus Strait, their destination was marked with a dazzling, shining symbol: Constantinople. But the writing looked like oddly shaped twigs, and Yubi couldn't understand a single word. He thought it must be Turkic.
Batur stood alone, looking quite energetic, before the map, holding a steaming cup of milk tea. "This is freshly brewed," he said, waving his hand. Immediately, servants brought trays to them, insisting that each person take a cup before leaving.
“Try it, it will warm you up,” Batur said.
Yubi sniffed the rim of the glass; a salty smell filled his nose, making him frown. "Thank you for your kindness," he said, discreetly setting the glass down.
"There's no meat or oil mixed in, is there?" Schumeer took a big gulp before remembering to ask the question. He awkwardly corrected himself, "Uh, it doesn't matter if there is. By the way, your map is really large and magnificent."
"Where are we on the map now?" Yubi asked, frowning and warming her hands with her cup.
The Khan walked forward with a relaxed air and traced a line along the Carpathian valley from south to north with his fingernail. “You came from the monastery the day before yesterday, following this road.” His fingertip paused there. “We are somewhere south of here.”
Yubi stepped forward, his eyes fixed on the neat fingertips, where a vast grassland stretched out to the west of the Black Sea, on the north bank of the Danube. He glanced down at the dazzling, gleaming markers on the strait, then secretly looked up to trace the path he had taken—Yubi realized that in just one month, he had traveled such a distance on horseback, making the destination, Constantinople, suddenly seem less distant.
"Could you tell me your name?" Batur's question suddenly brought him back to his senses. Yubi turned around and saw that the Khan had already walked to the table, picked up a quill pen, and asked, "How should I introduce you to Ambikia?"
Ubi suddenly felt a strange tension, like someone who had run too fast in the forest and gotten lost, but he had to keep going. “Ubi,” he said, “Ubi de Noctenias. I am the youngest brother in the family.”
“It’s not a common name.” Batur’s pen scribbled across a small piece of cotton cloth. “How should it be spelled?”
“Hmm…” Yubi leaned closer and saw that Batur was trying to write in Greek. “Cyrillic would be better. I’ll write it.”
He put pen to paper, and his name was drawn in red ink. Batur stood to the side, studying it intently.
"May I ask who named you?" he suddenly asked.
“It’s my mother.” Yubi handed the quill back.
“Your mother must love you very much.” Batur’s eyes narrowed with a smile.
Yubi looked at him in surprise. "Why do you say that?" A secret and melancholy sadness was suppressed in his heart.
“You said you’re from Transylvania, where many people speak a language quite different from Hungarian, written in Cyrillic script.” Batur took the pen. “I don’t know much about that language, but I know another language written in Cyrillic script.” He turned and smiled at Yakov, who was standing silently beside him. “That’s Yakov’s mother tongue. It’s a pity he can’t read.”
Yubi's eyes shifted to his blood slave. The tall Slav was lurking like a shadow behind the curtain. The ashes of his burning rage made him look like a dark ghost, full of hatred and malice.
“Your name means love,” Batur said. “In Slavic languages, it’s called Lyubov.”
They quickly finished a short letter, which Batur copied many times—"A Tartar boy who torments himself daily with Latin and Greek." Schumeer couldn't resist any longer and whispered to Yubi, "If I can make it to Constantinople alive, I'll paint this scene and story and sell it. I can make a fortune from it."
“This is such a strange subject,” Yubi replied, covering her mouth. “How could it possibly make a fortune?”
“Strange, yet it best satisfies the needs of the noble Romans.” It was unclear whether Schumeer was being sarcastic or seriously discussing the matter. “It’s like a pulp novel: a Christian warrior goes to a sultan’s city, goes through various adventures, wins the sultan’s princess, and somehow manages to convert all the prostitutes in the city.”
Yubi seemed to understand a little, yet also not quite. As he pondered, Batur cut all the cotton cloth into thin strips, dividing them into many portions. "Why write so many?" Yubi asked curiously, "They're all the same letter."
“Because this is an important letter,” Batur replied kindly. “The journey is long, and we don’t want any pigeons to be shot or snatched by eagles along the way. Isn’t that right?”
They carried the letters to the highest point of the hillside. Yubi saw a wooden wagon standing there, with rows of perches nailed to it, like a large house covered with smaller houses. Yubi, clutching the letters, suddenly felt them become heavy and chaotic. Once the pigeons were released, there would be no turning back. He thought with a mixture of joy and fear, was his expedition nearing its end? He should have been happy about it.
“Wrap the letter around its leg.” Batur reached out and grabbed a docile black pigeon, pinching its tail feathers and turning it upside down in his palm. “Like this, then tie it with a thin thread.”
Yubi ran his fingers through the thin cotton cloth in his hand. He couldn't resist reading the letter one last time. Little Batur's Greek handwriting was neat and beautiful, containing only two lines.
"Your brother, Yubi de Noctennias, is in my tent. He requests your help to travel to Constantinople. — Taras Batul"
The young vampire pursed his lips repeatedly. He hesitated, then looked up, his gaze meeting the carrier pigeon in Batur's hand. The fowl clucked softly, perched comfortably in the fingers that imprisoned it. It had empty, unfocused eyes, yet it could discern a nest a thousand miles away. Yubi thought, the nest—family and loved ones, a place one always returns to. He thought of his mother again.
"I understand." He also took a pigeon and buried his head in wrapping the strip of cloth around the thin leg.
The group worked together to bundle all the letters together. The sun was rising brightly from behind the hillside, its light reflecting off the gradually disappearing moon on the opposite side.
“Time’s up.” Batur lifted a large piece of felt from the trailer.
Eager to return home, the flock of pigeons took flight from their perches and enclosures. Yubi, captivated, gazed longingly at the flurry of feathers. In the clear, frigid air, the pigeons soared into the sky, quickly coalescing into a sharp, pointed formation, like a loose yet sturdy arrow. They circled a few times in the air before flying towards the distant southern strait.
Batur looked up as well, his smile as radiant as the golden sunlight beside him. "I hope she replies."
Yubi felt a pang of sadness settle in. He sighed, as if he were no longer a child. "I hope she replies," he said.
By the time the sun was high overhead, Yubi's anxious yet expectant mood had lessened considerably. He resignedly realized that he would have to endure the entire day before receiving any new information.
“What’s the rush, what’s the thought? None of that matters now.” Schumeer stopped painting recklessly; his timidity, ironically, brought him a sense of peaceful leisure. This time, he asked the Khan for a comfortable chair, sat under a large umbrella held up by a slave, and gazed contentedly at the bright sunshine in the distance. “No choices to make, no troubles to deal with. There’s nothing else to do but wait. This is a true Sunday.”
“You’re right, there’s nothing else we can do but wait.” Yubi, exhausted from pacing in circles on the grass, finally sat down. “Where’s Yakov?”
"Hasn't he been following you the whole time?" Schumer crossed his legs, his feet sticking out high and swinging back and forth. "Now he can't say that the Khan is taking care of us because of him. Maybe he feels ashamed and has hidden himself away."
Yubi looked down at the embroidered patterns on her boots. "He's shameless. He's not that kind of person."
“He’s either hypocritical or violent,” Schumeer said nonchalantly. “He must be one of the two.”
Yubi twisted his lips, pondering the meaning of those words. He recalled the old story that Ryyakov had told him the night before.
He looked south. Sheep huddled together on the sunlit plains. Two days of sunshine had melted the snow, and the white patches on the hillsides were fading, revealing the damp, muddy ground. Yubi felt a sense of calm in this pastoral scene, a respite from his anxiety. He thought, the shepherds, seeing this every day, should be serene and peaceful. Why, then, on the battlefield, did they transform into brutal, bloodthirsty Tatars, carrying bows and scimitars? What reason did they have to plunder others?
As if in response to this thought, a galloping cavalry suddenly appeared at the edge of the grassland, breaking through the previously leisurely and listless flock of sheep, like a pebble shattering the calm surface of a lake—Yubi jumped up in surprise, as if suddenly pulled back to reality. "Who is that?" he asked, "Is it Lord von Brunel's army?"
“How could they get here so quickly?” Schumacher stood up from his seat, squinting. “What’s behind them?”
Yubi followed Schumer's gaze and found a banner. Embroidered in gold thread was a wolf's head, with nine braids cascading down its back, exactly like the ones hanging in Batur's tent. Only the color was slightly different—this group's wolf-head banners were all red, while the ones they had seen were all black—and from behind the flamboyant banner emerged a large contingent. Their hands and feet were bound by iron chains, long and intertwined, moving slowly like worms.
"Slaves!" Yubi exclaimed. "Has the Khan captured new slaves again?"
He strained to see clearly. The group included men and women, young and old. Some were dejected and ragged; others argued vehemently, maintaining their dignity—soon a whip lashed the one who had stood out, forcing him to face reality. Yubi's gaze followed the whip, scanning the cavalry. He quickly realized that the leader was not Batur.
"...Was that a woman?" he asked in surprise.
“As far as I know, Tatar women are not suited for this kind of work.” Schumer crossed his arms in confusion. “I’ve heard that their daughters cannot inherit property, and a man can marry many wives. Women work at home so that men can go out and plunder.”
“Granny Kejianda said that the Khan with whom she made the pact was a woman,” Yubi said. “Could it be the Khan of another tribe?”
He examined the figure on horseback more closely. To be honest, the person was quite tall. But the people of the grasslands all wore heavy robes, making them appear broad-shouldered and burly. However, this person's robe was embroidered with more patterns, and her armor was adorned with colorful beads—such a distinguished officer should be a commander, yet this person wasn't wearing an iron mask. Instead, a headscarf and beaded chains swayed brightly beneath her iron helmet. She had ten horses to ride, with two junior leaders leading them.
Just as he was pondering this, little Batur, who had been playing absentmindedly behind him, suddenly looked alarmed. The child scrambled to his feet and ran off, splashing mud all over himself. "Where is he going?" Yubi asked. "What's wrong with him?"
However, the slave holding the umbrella couldn't understand a word he was saying. Yubi looked at Schumeer again, and his painter friend could only shrug helplessly.
“I’m going to find him.” Yubi brushed the grass off his robe. “I need to find Yakov.”
“Well…” Schumer complained as he stood up. “Looks like I won’t need my chair today.”
Yubi, carrying the reluctant Shumel, dragged the ornate, enormous umbrella as they ran. They looked around, communicating with the disdainful Tatars using gestures. After enduring many glares and jeers, the two finally arrived at a dilapidated tent. "Yakov?" Yubi lifted the curtain, finding it dark and gloomy with no skylight, and emanating a foul stench. "Are you in there?"
His response was a broken, low growl, sounding weak and fearful, trembling timidly.
"This is the bear enclosure?" Schumeer jumped back from the doorway in fright. "I'm not going in!"
“I saw him.” Yubi lifted her foot to cross the threshold, but Schumacher grabbed her.
"Are you crazy? Aren't you afraid of him, afraid the bear will hurt you?" His Jewish friend clung tightly to his robe. "Ignore him!"
“He can’t hurt me.” Yubi pulled his hand away. “Don’t worry, the bear can’t hurt me either.”
The curtain slipped from his hand, blocking out the sunlight and Schumeer's sigh. Yubi's fingers pressed against the ring, nervously stroking the ruby. The air here was thick with the smell of wild beasts, filthy and sweltering, so different from the vibrant, gleaming world around him. The clamor and danger were all veiled by the felt, becoming a blurred, receding noise. It felt like being back under the blankets last night, Yubi thought. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light.
“Yakov?” he asked softly, moving closer to the figure sitting in front of the iron cage. “I need to ask you…”
The grizzly bear, whose territory had been invaded by a stranger, growled a warning, but only lightly patted the iron cage with its paw.
"There are other people here," the familiar, cold voice said.
"It's just a bear, not a person."
“I’m not talking about it, there’s someone here.” Yakov stood up, revealing a large wad of blood-soaked bandages mixed with rotting herbs in his arms.
Yubi suddenly understood why he had come—from behind the grizzly bear's massive body emerged another man. A Slav, with blond hair and blue eyes like Yakov, a beard, a square jaw, and a large nose. He was brightly dressed and carried a whip—it was the bear tamer. Upon seeing Yubi, he immediately knelt down, looking haggard and numb, pressing his entire body to the ground with his forehead, muttering words Yubi couldn't understand.
“He said he wished you good health and a long life.” Yakov grabbed the man by the neck and pulled him up, “Don’t disturb us while we’re working.”
The bear tamer scurried back into the dangerous cage. He gripped the chain with one hand, while soothing the greyish-brown fur with the other. The wounded bear bared its teeth weakly and fearfully, its flesh heaving violently, expressing its pain and hatred towards the despicable and cruel humans—Yakov held its hind paw. He struggled to hold down one of the weak beast's legs, preventing it from moving too much. Many blood-stained bandages were being unwrapped from the fur, piling up in Yakov's arms. Yubi stepped forward to help tidy up the tangled strips of cloth.
“Like in the chapel of a monastery,” the vampire whispered, “like taking care of Henry.”
Yakov glanced at him, his hands never stopping. "It recovered quickly," he said. "Bears are much tougher than people."
“It didn’t have to suffer like this,” Yubi said, her eyes lowered. “If someone hadn’t stabbed it with a spear…”
“If someone hadn’t caught it from the hole,” Yakov frowned, “if someone hadn’t put it in shackles and locked it in a cage.”
Yubi knew that these words were loaded with meaning and had ulterior motives. "I understand what you mean... I just saw some new slaves arrive."
"Yeah."
“I saw someone whipping them,” Yubi asked. “Did Batur do that to you too? Is that how you got the scars on your back?”
Yakov fell into an ambiguous silence. Yubi studied him intently. "I know Batur is cruel and horrible," he muttered, "I understand your suffering..."
"You really understand?"
"Then tell me, what does it mean to truly understand?"
“You only know, you don’t understand.” Yakov suddenly turned his head and jabbed his left chest hard with his finger. “That makes you even more hateful, because I can’t blame you for it. Nobody can.”
The grizzly bear's paws began to wriggle, forcing Yakov to turn back and use all his strength to press down on it with half his body to calm it down. Yubi watched this scene, biting his lip, his eyes filled with resentment and guilt. A faint bloodstain remained on the chest of Yakov's robe from the earlier stabbing—he knew that was where the mark had been made.
"Have I done anything wrong to you?" he asked defiantly, tilting his head back. "Can't you even be my slave?"
"Just because someone is nice to me, does that mean I should willingly become their slave?"
"Everyone did it voluntarily! Like Christina!"
“Christina?” Yakov stared, “Tell me, what happened to her?”
“…But what can I do?” Yubi cried out angrily and helplessly. “I was born into this world, and this is who I am. Look, Batur bullies you, and you bully others. It’s like a giant cycle, and everyone has their place. Yet you think I’m hateful, that I and my mother bully everyone. But aren’t you the same?”
“Everyone has original sin,” Yakov sneered. “If you confess to a priest, he’ll tell you the same thing. If you believe these words, you can immediately rest easy, think you were forced into it all. Is that so? Do you really believe there is a God who redeems everyone’s sins?”
"What else can we do?"
“I told you so. Either you go along with it, or you become lowly and despicable.” Yakov ripped off the last bandage. “If you choose the former, don’t think you’re innocent.”
Yubi was speechless. He thought that if Schumeer were here, he might be able to brilliantly refute his blood slave, leaving this cynical Slav speechless like he was now. But was that really the case?
"There must be another way," he muttered, head down. "I don't want to bully others, nor do I want to be bullied."
"You want to be like your mother?" Yakov's brow furrowed like a lock. "Like her, run away from everything, abandon everything."
As if realizing what he had said, a sharp, tingling pain crept into Yakov's heart. Panic and self-reproach surfaced on his face, but he still held firmly onto the grizzly bear's struggling feet. He thought dejectedly, if he let this bear escape, would it tear all the military flags and tents to shreds, break all the spears and scimitars? Would it turn the world upside down and make it new? If so, would it be a good thing?
But Yubi's bright red eyes stared at him. "I will never be like Mother," he said resolutely. "I will figure it out myself."
How do you want to find out?
“I don’t know. But I’ll figure it out eventually.” Yubi reached out and grabbed the strip of cloth from his arms, stubbornly continuing to straighten it. “I’ll tell you when I’ve figured it out.”
How long will that take? Yakov wondered. But he didn't want to argue with that question.
They remained silent, re-bandaging the bear's wounds. The bear trainer thanked them in Slavic—in that uncomfortable, prostrate gesture. Yubi tried to help the poor man up, but he refused, pressing his forehead to the ground like a stiff old tree. Yakov stood there, watching the scene indifferently.
"What is he saying?" Yubi asked, embarrassed and anxious. "Why won't he get up?"
He said he wanted you to save him.
How can I save him?
“You can’t save him,” Yakov’s voice was like falling into icy water. “Even if you could save him, you couldn’t save all the slaves.”
"But he asked me for help, so I should do something..."
“Then remember this feeling,” Yakov said. “This may be the first step in you figuring things out.”
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