Act VII All Roads (Part Two)
two
“To the west lies Europe, to the east Asia; to the north the Black Sea, to the south the Mediterranean. Everyone who has ever sailed the Bosphorus has heard this saying!” Schumeer stood at the bow, introducing the magnificent scenery to Yubi and Yakov. He stretched out his arms, pointing everywhere, busy as could be. “That’s the Hagia Sophia, that’s the Great Arena. And that palace is the Grand Palace, the residence of those born in the Purple Chamber.”
“What does it mean to be born in the Purple Chamber?” Yubi’s eyes were glued to the view. His mouth was agape.
“Purple is a symbol of nobility, reserved for royalty.” Schumeer raised his chin, as if this made him proud. “Being born in the Purple Chamber signifies that a person is of noble and legitimate status, and is born with the right to inherit the throne.”
“Oh…” Yubi’s attention was quickly drawn to something else. He pointed to the towering pillars in the arena and asked, “What are those?”
“There are three pillars in the Grand Arena: the first is the Serpent Column, topped with a golden bowl surrounded by three serpents, which is 1500 years old; the second is the obelisk, a trophy brought from Egypt, purchased from a pharaoh 2500 years ago; and the third is the Wall Column, entirely gilded and adorned with statues. You can't see them clearly from this distance.” Schumer sighed, stroking his mustache. “Later, you can ask Yakov to take you there to watch the chariot races, and perhaps even see some members of the royal family on festival days. You can bet money on the chariots and horses, guessing which team will win. Sometimes it's a good way to make money.”
“I don’t really recommend you go there; there are always all sorts of fights.” Sellerman had been listening quietly behind them for who knows how long. “During large celebrations, hundreds of thousands of people fight, and the scene is chaotic and difficult to escape.”
"One hundred thousand people?" Yubi's jaw nearly dropped to his chest. One hundred thousand people crammed together in front of him—he couldn't even imagine what that would look like. "If a single arena can hold one hundred thousand people, how many people are there in Constantinople in total?"
“About half a million people,” Seymour replied casually.
Half a million people—the population of a city was as large as that of a nation. Yubi looked again incredulously at the densely packed houses. From the sea, the rows of dwellings resembled a honeycomb, interspersed with magnificent churches and palaces. Roads crisscrossed, connecting monument after monument and wide square after square. He suddenly noticed that the sunrise here was a different color from that of Transylvania: the damp clouds were bathed in sunlight, turning a brilliant crimson, giving the sea and city a romantic and gentle quality. Numerous seabirds circled the towering domes, adding a touch of sacred solemnity to the morning. The cathedral's bells rang out melodiously, carrying far across the open sea—Yubi realized that there were many more ships sailing in the strait than just theirs—even this magnificent vessel, which seemed enormous to him, was not particularly outstanding among the many ships. Countless ships, large and small, hoisted sails of all kinds, flying flags and emblems of various colors.
Yubi looked up at the top of the mast of his ship and saw that, in addition to the previous fancy cross flag, another flag had been hoisted. The flag was purple, with six intersecting lines and a curved section at the top, making it look like a letter.
"What's that painted on the flag?" he asked, tilting his chin in surprise. "Isn't it said that only royalty can use purple?"
“That’s the Kelvin symbol, representing Christ and the Empire,” Seleman answered him patiently. “The Kanakakis family is also considered part of the royal family, so we can use a purple flag to represent our status.”
"What?" Yubi turned to look at his brown face, her expression a mixture of fear and confusion. "Is my sister also royalty?"
Just then, Helen arrived belatedly, giggling as she emerged from the cabin. "Look at you, always talking like that, you've scared him!" She affectionately put her arm around Yubi's shoulder. "These days, which Roman noble isn't related to the emperor? Everyone has to include Komnenos in their surname to sound prestigious. Even if you've married a blood relative from three generations of the emperor's collateral line, you're still considered royalty!"
"Komnen?"
“The empire has belonged to the Komnen family for over a hundred years,” Helen said. “You are Ambikia’s brother; you shouldn’t be unaware of this.”
Yubi realized he had made a fool of himself again out of ignorance, and could only shrink back, his face flushed, amidst the laughter. He looked pleadingly at Yakov, who had been standing silently beside them for a long time. Only then did he notice that the Blood Slave was staring intently at the red and white walls of the coastal city, biting the dead skin off his lip—he knew that Yakov looked like this when he was nervous and anxious.
“Yakov?” Yubi rushed over to him from Helen. “Your lips are bleeding from being bitten.”
A sense of oppression and unease was overwhelming Yakov—the vast, beautiful, and tranquil city made him feel so small and out of place. He felt a profound fear, as if a destructive machine of power, like a heavy chariot drawn by ten horses, was hurtling towards him, about to crush everything he had. It was a monster he neither understood nor could match, one he could not contend with sword or armor—and now this monster appeared before him as the Queen of Cities. He suddenly remembered Schumacher asking him: "No matter how skilled you are in fighting, can you conquer a city by yourself, defeat an army by yourself?"
"Once we get off the ship, you're not allowed to leave my side for even a moment." He gripped Yubi's arm tightly, pulling her towards him, and warned sternly, "Do you understand?"
"Why would I leave your side? You're pulling me so hard it hurts!" Yubi struggled in pain. "Why are you so nervous? We're already here!"
“I need your promise.” Yakov’s messy eyebrows furrowed, his blue eyes glaring at the fair face. “You are absolutely not allowed to leave my side, not even for a moment.”
"Okay, I promise!" Yubi pouted, dissatisfied. "I never intended to do that!"
The large ship slowly turned right and sailed into the radiant Golden Horn. Passing the towers secured by iron chains, they entered the breakwater through an opening—the breakwater of Constantinople was different from that of Constanta. It was built with countless towers, and the stone arches were neatly arranged, enclosing the seawater tightly, making the dock completely calm.
Yubi quickly leaned half his body dangerously over the railing, looking up at the other ships around him. He noticed that most of their masts were flying white flags with red crosses, which looked very similar to the pattern on Yakov's cloak.
He pondered for a moment. "Are these all Templar Knights ships?" he asked, turning his head.
The question made Helen and Seilman laugh, and Yubi immediately realized he had asked the wrong question again, and lowered his head in embarrassment. "This dock is in the Genoa concession, and the ships that come and go fly the flag of the Republic of Genoa." Schumeer was not happy for some reason. "The Crusaders who came here from Genoa also flew this flag."
“What is a concession?” Yubi asked in a low voice.
“That’s not easy to explain,” Schumacher replied quietly. “You can think of it as territory leased to other countries, allowing foreigners to buy land and live there. If a foreigner commits a crime, he will be tried within the leased territory according to the laws of the leased country, and Roman law will not apply.”
These obscure terms took Yubi a while to understand. "This doesn't feel right... like one country is bullying another." He frowned. "Bye... can Rome be bullied too? Constantinople is so prosperous."
"They are neither good at nor interested in business. How can they make money if they don't lease their territory to other countries?" Schumacher shrugged. "But why do you sympathize with Rome? By nationality, the Noctenias family should be considered Hungarian."
Upon reflection, Yubi realized that he had seemingly never had a concept of nationality—his life in seclusion in the mountains made him more like an observer detached from the real world—and he regretfully recalled that he wasn't even considered human. Suddenly, Yubi also somewhat understood Yakov's anxiety: he was about to lose his right to remain detached and be completely swept into this vortex.
Everyone watched the ship dock. An Italian official stood guard at the port, verifying their identities and collecting berthing fees. Meanwhile, the large orange cat in the cabin had already jumped off and slipped freely past people's boots. Yubi listened carefully to the language; it sounded like Italian, yet also like Spanish, which he could barely understand—the official spoke with Seleman and Helen, while the centurion and the clothing merchant produced documents and seals, effortlessly resolving his and Yakov's identity issues.
“Seleman said you’re 29.” Yubi quietly tugged at Yakov’s hand, urging him to bend down. “He’s understated it by a full ten years.”
"So how old did they say you were?" Yakov asked.
“I don’t need to fake my age!” Yubi turned to look at him strangely. “I’ll keep growing!”
As the two were whispering, the Italian official suddenly told Sellerman and Helen to step aside, his eyes darting around. "Abraham Moshi, which one?" he asked in that fancy rolled "r" sound.
"Who is that?" Yubi looked up in surprise. "Is there such a person on our ship?"
“That’s a Jewish name,” Yakov said.
The two men turned their gaze to their companion—Schumel removed the beanie from his cloak, letting two small braids dangle from his temples. “It’s me.” He had been prepared for this, already holding the parchment document in his hand, and strode forward in his pointed shoes. “This is my pass.”
The official opened the paper and examined it with a grave expression for a long time. “A Venetian, and a Jew,” he said. “I think you can only stay in the city for a day. After sunset, you’ll have to find a gondola to Galata across the Golden Horn, to the Jewish quarter. I can’t make you stay in the Genoa concession, and I suspect the Venetian officials don’t have that authority either. Do you understand?”
“Of course I understand.” Schumacher managed a smile. “This isn’t my first time in Constantinople.”
“Very good.” The official handed the parchment back to him. “No problem, you can begin unloading.”
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