Act VIII: The Mother Goddess and the Queen (Part 5)
five
Yubi and Yakov were awakened by a loud noise. When they opened their eyes, they found that it was already bright daylight, and the pleasant sunlight slanted in along the edges of the marble columns with the sea breeze.
"Stay here." Yakov got out of bed and strode to the balcony to look. "Don't move!"
"What happened..." Yubi covered his face with the silk blanket, looking distressed—he was clearly not that nervous. "I want to sleep a little longer."
Yakov leaned over the railing. Below, on the ground floor, was a beautiful and exquisite garden, planted with roses, lilies, and irises, the air filled with the freshness of the sea and the fragrance of plants. "Two ships are fighting at the dock," he said casually after watching for a while. "None of your business, but I guess you won't be able to sleep either."
"Really?" Yubi jumped out of bed, full of energy. He ran to Yakov's side, craning his neck to look towards the Golden Horn. "I've never seen ships fight at sea before!"
Yakov wanted to stop him, but after thinking it over, he felt there seemed to be no danger in this cozy little house. "I have plenty of chores to do. You stay here by yourself, watch your surroundings, and take care of yourself." He slowly sat back on the edge of the bed, quickly and efficiently putting on his clothes and fastening his shoes securely. "And that bald guy, don't let him take advantage of you!"
"I know!" Yubi's mind was clearly elsewhere. He pulled up a chair, intending to watch the spectacle unfold. "Go do your own thing!"
Yakov glanced at him from afar, then walked down the stairs, annoyed.
He wasn't lying. He did indeed have many chores to do today. Yakov had just come down the stairs when he bumped into the female slave named Naya waiting for him in the drawing room. She was speaking something in Greek, but Yakov couldn't understand everything. "Have you finished writing the accounts? Go to the study and wait for me!" he said, gesturing. "Don't block my way!"
Naya, seeing that he didn't understand her, lowered her head in frustration. Yakov ignored her and went straight to the kitchen to see if the two Slavic cooks were already at work—the female slaves, following his instructions from the previous day, had already bought food at the nearby market. The oven in the kitchen was lit, wafting the aroma of fresh bread; a pot of shrimp, clams, and beans simmered thickly, and chopped parsley was ready on the cutting board. But the two slaves weren't working; they were huddled together by the kitchen window, peering out and whispering. Upon seeing Yakov, they returned to their posts like startled birds, their eyes turning away timidly.
“I didn’t want to whip you,” Yakov said, deliberately giving him a menacing look. “Don’t force me to do it.”
He grabbed a piece of leftover bread from the stove and stuffed it into his mouth as he continued moving. Leaving the kitchen, he passed a hidden door and glanced into the basement—from there came rustling sounds; the boiler room was already bustling with activity. Satisfied, Yakov left, passed through the servants' quarters, and exited through a side door into the stable. The sun was shining brightly, the weather pleasant, and the Egyptian groom he had appointed the night before was lounging comfortably on a haystack. Just as Yakov was about to reprimand him, he saw him and Yubi's horse riding side-by-side—"Whoa!" he roared in anger, storming into the stable and determined to forcefully separate the two horses. "Lazybones, come help!"
The groom tumbled off the haystack in fright and ran to help pull on the reins, but as he pulled, he couldn't help but twitch his lips—"What's so funny?" Yakov wasn't sure if the Egyptian slave understood him, but he scolded him with a dark face, "Both are stallions, what's the point of riding them around? When they're in heat, you should be keeping an eye on them!"
The stable boy lowered his head and remained silent. Yakov shoved him roughly into the stable, rolled up his sleeves, and stormed off. He had one last slave to instruct—the entire estate was filled with lush plants, whose names Yakov didn't know, but he didn't care much about their lives; he only wanted the gardener to maintain a basic level of cleanliness and appearance. He followed a winding cobblestone path to the side gate—the diligent gardener stood beside it, carrying a dripping water jug. Upon seeing Yakov, he pointed hurriedly outside and called out.
Yakov immediately spotted two strangers standing outside the fence. He quickened his pace and found a man and a woman waiting there, both dressed in Venetian black clothing, the feathers on their flat caps fluttering. "Who are you?" Yakov asked cautiously, hoping they understood Latin. "What brings you here?"
“Thank God…is this Karnakakis’s residence?” The man breathed a sigh of relief. He anxiously held up a parchment covered in Greek letters. “We want to see your master. Tell him we’ll sell for half the price!”
"What are you selling?" Yakov stared at him, wide-eyed. "Does my master know about this?"
Just as the two merchants were about to explain, a powerful sound wave suddenly swept in like a gust of wind from the shore. It was so close, it felt as if a towering building were collapsing overhead, and a tsunami were surging before them. Yakov tried to find the source of the sound, turning back to look at the surface of the Golden Horn. But the man's hand reached through the railing and, without a word, shoved the parchment into Yakov's arms. "Go quickly, slave!" he cried in terror, "There's no time to lose, go quickly!"
Yakov took the parchment. He didn't recognize many characters and didn't understand what was written on it—the document had a cross and a Keller symbol at the top, proving it was a valid contract—and suddenly Yakov understood: it was a land deed.
He looked up at the streets of the concession and saw that there were more Venetians rushing around in a panic.
Yakov let the couple in and told Naya to lead them to the drawing room. Just as he was about to relock the door, another Venetian merchant inexplicably came knocking, forcing him to unlock it and let them in. This happened several times, and Yakov couldn't help but silently count the number of people in his mind. Could the hall hold so many? Would they cause trouble? Thinking this, he stopped the next merchant who was shoving a land deed at him and locked him outside the iron gate. "Stay here and guard," Yakov said, grabbing the gardener and placing him at the door. "Don't let anyone in."
The gardener nodded as if facing a formidable enemy. Yakov put away the key to the gate and hurried off.
He found Yubi in the study next to the drawing room—the young nobleman, dressed and ready, was whispering with the balding notary, Cicero. Yakov, his temper flaring, rushed forward—but Yubi, seeing him, grabbed his arm. “How much cash do we have?” his master asked anxiously, looking up. “Cicero is asking me about that!”
“How much cash do we have?” Yakov’s eyes darted between Yubi and Cicero. His brow furrowed, but a mocking smile played on his lips. “Even if we buy it, the new deed will bear the coat of arms of Kanakakis. Why are you asking about our cash?”
Yubi frowned and turned to Cicero to repeat what he had said. The two spoke in Greek, sometimes shaking their heads, sometimes sighing. Yakov, unable to understand the garbled financial jargon, could only stare intently at Yubi's expression, searching for any subtle clues, fearing he might be jumping into an unknown pit of fire. "Tell him that if he's truly a capable notary, he should find a way to get your name on the new land deed, and that the land be yours to use," Yakov's voice grew louder. "If he can't, this is off the table!"
“Cicero said that if my name is on the land deed, the emperor will levy huge taxes every year!” Yubi explained reluctantly. “We can’t afford that!”
“That means he’s not capable enough!” Yakov was either angry at him or Cicero, it was unclear. “It’s all leased land, but the Venetians can get tax exemptions, while you can’t?”
"You're so arrogant and selfish!" Yubi exclaimed angrily, releasing his arm. "Can you earn more than the Venetians? The Emperor can give them tax exemptions, and he can also bring them to this state!"
"What will be the outcome?"
“Cicero says the emperor wants to arrest them all and confiscate their property!” Yubiao raised his head, chin held high like a true Greek nobleman. “From tomorrow onwards, the Venetian concession will cease to exist!”
The news acted like a key, unlocking many of Yakov's doubts. In the reception room, separated by a wooden door, Venetian merchants waiting to sell their properties whispered amongst themselves, buzzing like a swarm of restless wasps. Yakov looked up from the stone floor to the eaves, his gaze sweeping across the radiant Golden Horn beyond the balcony. He saw the sea blocked by heavy iron chains—he realized that he and Yubi had somehow become butchers wielding sharp knives, about to cut open the flesh of trapped beasts and slaughter them; while the true gourmets, knife and fork in hand, drooling, awaited their harvest.
Just as he was lost in thought, the gardener hurriedly pushed open the door and rushed into the study. "I told you to stay there!" Yakov angrily rebuked him. "What do you want with me!"
The gardener muttered in Arabic, repeating a name Yakov recognized. He and Yubi moved to the entrance hall and immediately saw the dark face at the gate—Selman had arrived with a whole caravan of horses, the carriages loaded with countless heavy boxes. He pushed through the Venetian merchants gathered at the railing and smiled at Yakov and Yubi.
"It took us quite a bit of effort to get into the concession," he said in his calm, even voice. "But you definitely need me."
Yakov had nowhere to go but to stand in the corner of the study, his legs aching. Seleman's chest was filled with disc-shaped gold coins. So many coins, Yakov thought; he had never seen so many in his life, such immense wealth terrified him. The gleaming gold was weighed quickly by Cicero on a scale like cheap vegetables, distributed like flowing water. The door was open, and merchants lined up according to the size of their properties, the long queue stretching from the study all the way to the hot springs in the drawing room. One by one, people approached Yubi with documents, handing them to him. At first, some wept and hesitated, lamenting the loss of their ancestral property. Yubi, remembering Yakov's instructions, carefully examined each parchment, asking questions at the top of his lungs; but with so many merchants, so little time, and so many complex terms, Yubi's eyes and mind quickly grew weary. “They’re all the same, I drafted them myself!” Sweating broke out on Cicero’s forehead again, but his voice was extremely cheerful. “You don’t need to look at them one by one, just stamp them!”
Yubi let out a soft "oh," his voice hoarse. He finally gave up on following Yakov's instructions, turning the pages one by one, and directly pressed off the seal on the ring.
Yakov's hands accumulated a thick stack of newly signed land deeds. He moved his lips beneath his beard, as if trying to say something—Yubi moved like a mechanical puppet stamping documents, as if this Golden Horn villa had become a shady pawnshop for the leased land. Seleman summoned the female slave they had bought the day before and ordered her to fetch some refreshing fruit and drinks for everyone. "May they successfully board the departing ship," Seleman said, popping a grape into his mouth. "May these poor people be spared undeserved misfortune."
Yakov gave him a cold look. At first, there was a commotion in the street outside, but now it was getting quieter and quieter. “An undeserved disaster? I don’t believe you think so.” He shook the heavy land deeds in his hand. “Even Yubi thinks that the Venetians are reaping what they sowed.”
"Who in this world doesn't reap what they sow?" Sellerman spat out the grape skins and seeds and placed them in his palm. "Everyone just chose to go with the flow."
Yakov had no rebuttal. The Slav's gaze swept along the direction of the column—only then did he notice that Greek soldiers had reached the gates of the mansion, where several Venetian merchants, who had just sold their property at a bargain price, were desperately clutching their cold gold, unable to leave. They wandered aimlessly around the courtyard like headless flies, but the soldiers had already surrounded the place.
“The emperor is in cahoots with you,” Yakov exclaimed. “You have completely exploited the Venetians.”
“The concessions are gone, but the land remains,” Seilman said. “Someone has to be in charge here.”
"There are still so many people left," Yakov asked. "What will they do?"
“I don’t know either,” Seleman replied honestly. “But in any case, we should be done with our work for today.”
Yakov felt a pang of sympathy, but he had little to offer in return, especially not for these Venetian merchants he had never met before. In the procession, the merchants craned their necks like geese, peering over the heavily guarded gate. When they saw the soldiers, the long, serpentine line disintegrated like pebbles thrown into a lake. Some abandoned their deals, clutching their land deeds, attempting to escape over the garden walls—but the merchants were no match for the soldiers, and they were quickly overtaken and subdued, their deeds rendered worthless. Many more huddled in the drawing room, pleading with Yubi for their help, no matter the cost.
“But I can’t stop the soldiers from ever coming in!” Yubi said, rising from the table with a mixture of helplessness and self-reproach. “All I can do is buy your land!”
Soon, the Venetians' pleas turned into vicious insults. They cursed everything from the emperor's infidelity to the Greeks' arrogance and baseness, and used vulgar language to curse the Roman nobles and army. Seeing this, Yakov grabbed Yubi's hand and dragged him from behind the table. He gestured to the gardener guarding the gate—the gate opened, and soldiers entered, spears in hand.
The merchants knelt on the ground, weeping. They were powerless to resist.
“Ambichia must have made a fortune.” Yakov handed the land title book to Seilman. “Take what you need and get out of here.”
“This should be placed with Yubi,” Seleman said. “This is Ambikia’s idea.”
"She wants us to be her tax collectors, to help her collect money?"
“These properties, along with this house, are also part of the loan to Yubi, and the proceeds will be used for your daily expenses.” Seleman smiled gently. “It’s getting late, and I shouldn’t bother you any longer.”
A mixture of wariness and surprise crept over Yakov. He slowly lowered his arm and stuffed the stack of land deeds into Yubi's arms. Seleman said nothing more. After the soldiers left with the Venetians, he instructed his men to carry the remaining gold coins and chests back to the carriage, and to take the half-bald notary with them—Yakov thought, "I wonder how much that sleazy man profited from this deal."
After a day of chaos, Yubi and he were both exhausted. The study and drawing room were covered in dirty footprints and mud, and Yakov thought he should have the slaves clean it up as soon as possible. Suddenly, his stomach growled—lunchtime was long overdue, but he had completely forgotten. Hunger roared at him like a beast.
“I told you, my sister truly cares about me.” Once everyone was gone, Yubi leaned against him, shaking her aching wrist. His voice was hoarse, like a crow's cawing. “We should have a feast to celebrate!”
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