Act VI: The Bitter Sea (Part 6)
six
"You want to bring women on board?" Schumeer grabbed a handful of his curly hair in disbelief. "No, that won't do!"
"You even brought a Jew on board?" Helen retorted sarcastically. "Oh dear, that won't work either!"
“Why can’t women get on the ship!” Yubi stepped forward and accused Schumeer indignantly. “You shouldn’t do this! It’s not fair!”
“My Lord, you understand nothing,” Schumacher lamented. “I’m doing this for her own good. Such a beautiful woman, squeezing onto a ship full of men! After one voyage, her reputation will be ruined! How will she ever marry and have children!”
Yubi found a certain truth in her words. Just as he was pondering it, he heard Helen behind him, shouting in that strange Italian accent, "Reputation?" she yelled, a stark contrast to her usual serene demeanor. "Is livelihood more important, or reputation? Eleanor of Aquitaine could go on a pilgrimage, Mary of Antioch could sail away to marry. Why is it that I, a mere tailor, have to worry about this inexplicable reason, not even allowed to board a ship, and unable to do business?"
"They are nobles, they have a king with military power as their relative!" Schumer shouted, enraged by the insolent woman. "Oh, why should I care about these wretched Genoese women! They are not related to me, so what if they can't get married?"
Helen seemed to have been waiting for those words, and immediately a satisfied, victorious smile spread across her face. Yubi, however, stepped forward timidly. "What if something really happens?" he whispered, his eyes filled with worry. "There are many soldiers on board..."
“It’s better than ordinary merchant ships.” Helen wasn’t as violent towards him as she was towards Schumeer. She gently stroked Yubi’s soft black hair. “Selman’s soldiers are also more disciplined than others.”
"Of course, because their commander is a eunuch," Yakov thought, rolling his eyes as he stood behind them.
“When we get to the shop, I’ll pick out some pretty silk ribbons for you, shall we?” Helen took Yubi’s hand again, holding it in her warm, soft palm. Yubi noticed that her beautiful fingertips were covered in calluses. “When we get to Constantinople, I’ll have a new dress made for you!”
Yubi, unsure whether to refuse or agree, looked to Yakov for help. Yakov, however, looked to Seilman instead. "It's fine as long as it doesn't take up space," Seilman readily agreed. "There's room on the ship."
Helen and Yubi strolled hand-in-hand along the cobblestone streets of Constanta, chatting like a young and cheerful mother and son. Three men followed behind them, whispering amongst themselves.
"Who is this tailor?" Schumacher muttered quietly. "And why is he on our ship?"
“She was a tailor, and also a fabric and fur merchant,” Seilman said. “Ambija loved the things in her shop the most in all of Constantinople.”
"So she also pays your boat fare?" Yakov asked, dissatisfied.
“Of course.” Seyleman looked ahead. “Every January, she has a shipment of furs brought in by the Rus’ people to be delivered to the Golden Horn.”
Yakov and Schumer exchanged a glance and fell silent. After a while, Yakov asked again, "How much does she know?" He pointed to the markings under his chainmail, "Does she have this too?"
“No, she didn’t.” Seyleman smiled for some reason. “She knows nothing.”
Hearing this, Yakov wanted to lash out in anger, accusing Seymour of dragging innocent people into the vampire vortex—or complaining that he was implying he had to keep his secret. But then he glanced at Schumeer and felt he had no right to say such things. He thought, vampires also live in the human world and have to interact with people. Even Camilla, who lives in seclusion in the mountains, cannot avoid interacting with people.
A hidden question slowly emerged in Yakov's mind: Why didn't they turn everyone into blood slaves and control the whole world?
As they pondered, they arrived at a gaudy and ornate fabric shop, its clean yet luxurious steps intimidating. They watched as Helen led Yubi across the threshold. "Where is the ship moored?" Helen suddenly turned and peeked out, "So I can tell the porters."
“Number one on the east side,” Seymour replied calmly. “There’s an octopus vendor next to it; it’s not hard to find.”
Helen winked at him in response. Then, she called out to the shop employees in Greek, Italian, or something else—Yakov could no longer distinguish these various southern languages. Helen, holding Yubi's hand, headed straight for the back of the shop. He wanted to follow, but inexplicably felt uncomfortable entering such a luxurious place. Schumer, already warily following them inside, gave Yakov's arm a sharp tug.
"What are you standing there for? Aren't you going in to keep watch?" Schumeer urged in a sarcastic tone. "Going in here won't skin you alive!"
The three of them walked awkwardly into the fragrant and patterned shop—inside was a tiny Greek-style garden, vibrant even in the winter in this relatively warm seaside city. Rosemary and lavender grew on the ground, and a young wisteria stood in the center, its branches enveloping a small shrine containing an ivory carving of the Weeping Virgin Mary.
“When spring comes, the garden will be full of wisteria blossoms.” Helen sighed deeply. “However, I don’t live here every year when they bloom, so the Virgin Mary can only enjoy the flowers.”
“Only men toil and struggle like this. Once you have a family, you can enjoy the garden every day,” Schumeer said, pursing his lips.
“That’s a life only rich ladies can afford. We commoners, if we don’t work hard, where will we get the money?” Helen’s sweet voice turned sharp and shrill again. “Why don’t you two sew this Jew’s mouth shut so he won’t vent his sour temper on me? What kind of impolite country bumpkin is he from?”
Yakov glanced at Seilman and saw the eunuch standing there unmoved, as if waiting for a good show. So he decided to turn his gaze away, as if it were none of his business—Shumer, his mustache bristling and eyes wide with rage at the remark. “You’ve really fed kindness to a donkey or a dog. A country bumpkin?” He pointed to his briefcase containing the governor’s documents, which he had kept close at all times these past few days. “I’m a Venetian, born and raised there. It’s none of your business, a Genoese tailor, calling me a country bumpkin!”
“Venetians?” Helen laughed as if she had caught him red-handed. “You mean, the Venetians who dressed up black slaves as emperors on Corfu and mocked the empire?”
The usually eloquent Schumeer fell silent, glancing nervously at everyone around him—the shop employees were amused by his remark, and Seilman wore a strange smile. "No wonder you told me before that we shouldn't say the emperor is dark-skinned!" Yubi glared at him. "So that's why!"
Yakov was also amused and exasperated by the absurd scene. He finally grabbed Schumeer. "I never thought you'd end up like this," he whispered, "This will teach you a lesson."
Having once again triumphed in their verbal sparring, Helen led Yubi into the cluttered tailor's room. It was piled high with fabric and thread, feathers and lace, and all sorts of beads and brooches haphazardly stacked in baskets, looking less tidy than the outside. Yet Yubi's eyes lit up as if he had entered a treasure trove, rushing inside to examine each item. "So beautiful!" he exclaimed, both delighted and hesitant, twisting his hands behind his back as if afraid of being impolite. "I've never seen such patterns before!"
“You have red eyes, just like Ambikia.” Helen was standing on a low stool, rummaging through the cabinet and unlocking it. “Look at this, it’s perfect for you.”
She spread a large roll of deep red silk on the table, then hurriedly turned to look for others. Yubi stared in amazement at the shimmering fabric—woven with gold thread, featuring a subtle quilted pattern and beautiful, regular designs along the edges, resembling a string of cross-shaped seals, which upon closer inspection revealed gemstones embedded within. He couldn't resist touching it—the silk felt cool to the touch, smoother and softer than mink fur, and incredibly light and sheer. Helen then brought out a roll of off-white fine cotton fabric from the depths of the small storeroom, dyed with a similar deep red, regular pattern. "These two pieces together will make a decent dress, perfect for spring," she said, her smile radiant. "I'll put together the rest of the fabric for you when we get to Constantinople."
"That's wonderful!" Yubi's eyes were overflowing with admiration, but he glanced at Yakov's expression and asked, "...How much will this cost?"
“The cotton fabric isn’t expensive; consider it a free gift.” Helen crossed her arms, her beautiful eyebrows furrowing as she rattled off a list of items. “The lace, the embellishments, and the cost of the hand-cutting. I’ll also make you a tiara and sandals with the leftover fabric.” Her light brown eyes gleamed with a sharp, intelligent light. “Gold thread silk, deep red in color, a roll of which would cost about five hundred bijaits on the market. I’ll ask for seven hundred and fifty-eight bijaits, even cheaper than the price of a ready-made garment. How does that sound?”
Seven hundred and fifty-eight Byzantine gold coins. Upon hearing this price, Yakov nearly choked on his breath, blood rushing to his head and making him dizzy. How could there be such expensive clothes and fabric in the world? Enough for one person to feed hundreds of peasant families! Even if they plundered Camilla's entire castle, they couldn't buy more than a few sets! He disregarded all pride, grabbed Yubi's hand, and tried to drag him out of this terrifying den of extravagance.
“Okay.” But Seymour said in a calm voice, as if he were buying wine and pork, “I will pay you when we get to Constantinople.”
"Deal!" Helen immediately broke into a sweet smile. She locked the two rolls of cloth into a chest and handed the key to Yubi. "When we get to Constantinople, I'll be the first one doing this job. Pay me quickly, try not to waste a day!"
Yubi stood there, stunned, and tremblingly took the jingling key. The small piece of cold metal felt like a ton of weight in his hands. He didn't dare look Yakov in the eye, as if he felt guilty towards him—"You're going to pay for him?" Yakov asked Seyleman incredulously, warily. "I would never pay for that myself."
“It’s not me who’s paying, it’s Ambicya who’s paying,” Seleman said with a smile. “When we get to Constantinople, her brotherhood will need a dress like this.”
When the porters returned to the port, they saw soldiers collecting fresh water from a lion-head-shaped spring, and Yakov was filling his water bag there as well. Yubi didn't walk with Helen anymore, but timidly returned to Yakov's side, clutching his iron glove tightly. "I don't think the pattern is that pretty..." he muttered softly, "Couldn't you ask her for a lower price?"
“In the Imperial Market, everything is priced according to regulations. Even if she wanted to sell it to you cheaper, she couldn’t,” Schumeer said, arms crossed, surprisingly speaking up for Helen. Yet, his words carried a hint of jealous criticism. “However, in my opinion, the fabric is too intricate, with dense patterns, which detracts from its beauty.”
“In the end, we’re not the ones paying.” Yakov gazed at the magnificent ship, where Helen was loudly directing the porters to move the cargo to its proper place. “For them, it’s probably not a large sum.” He lowered his voice, speaking as if he were not entirely honest.
As the sun set and the sea turned pitch black, the archers guarding the city lit braziers on the towers. The firelight cast shadows on the sea, like a long, fiery serpent churning the waves. Yubi gazed at the light, lost in thought. Suddenly, he leaned against the dock, gripping the rope railing, and painfully vomited everything he had into the sea.
“I told you, you shouldn’t have eaten.” Yakov skillfully took a water pouch from his belt and handed it to him. “You’re feeling unwell now, and you can’t blame anyone else.”
"I don't blame anyone! I did it willingly!" Yubi rinsed her mouth, wiped it hard with her sleeve, and stuck out her tongue. "God, this water is so bitter!"
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