Act VIII: The Mother Goddess and the Queen (Part 9)
Nine
Yubi knocked on the door of the cubicle. It was the smallest and most remote servant's room in the entire courtyard, dimly lit and poorly ventilated.
“Pascal has come to visit you,” he said softly. “Yakov, may he come in?”
"Tell him to get out of here," a muffled voice came from behind the door.
Yubi sighed silently. He was about to leave when a sound came from behind the door. "Let him in," Yakov's voice was hoarse. "He's in, but you're not allowed in."
"Why won't I come in?" Yubi asked, surprised and angry. "When did I stop me from even entering your room?"
"Then tell him to leave!"
“…You’re so weird!” Yubi complained. “Fine, you guys talk, I’m not listening.”
The young nobleman passed through the kitchen and storerooms, returning to the drawing room to wait for Pascal by the gently flowing hot spring. He would glance listlessly at the ships navigating the Golden Horn, then look eagerly towards the side rooms. After a while, the Hospitaller finally emerged from Yakov's small room—he had changed into a new robe, shaved, and cut his hair short; his face was clean and handsome again, and much of the French gentleness and affability had returned. "What were you talking about?" Eubi immediately grabbed him in the corridor, dragging him to the bench in the drawing room. "Why didn't Yakov let me listen?"
“Didn’t he want you to listen?” Pascal sat down on the bench, looking embarrassed. “We didn’t talk about anything special, just the Bible and God, and the Knights of Favonius… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you.”
“The Knights?” Yubi stared at him. “He asked you about the Knights?”
"Please stop asking, I shouldn't have said that!"
"I am his master, why can't I ask?"
Pascal rose and sat down again with some difficulty, pursing his lips as he tried to change the subject. "Actually, I came here not only to visit Yakov," he said with a forced smile, "but also because seeing that he is well, I can say goodbye in peace."
"Saying goodbye? Where are you going?"
“Now that I have found you, I need not linger any longer. I should head to the headquarters in the Holy Land and set sail with King Amalric,” Pascal said. “The King’s mission is coming to an end, and he will depart for Jerusalem at Easter. There will be a grand farewell ceremony in Theodosius Port. Have you heard?”
Yubi stared, mouth agape—he'd only just begun to memorize the jumbled list of similar names and marriage alliances—Amalric, Pascal's name for the King of Jerusalem, whose young Komnen Queen he'd met before. "You're going to Jerusalem?" he asked in surprise. "Isn't Constantinople nice?"
“I am a knight, I cannot always cower in the rear. How can I fight the infidels without going to the Holy Land?” Pascal smiled gently. “If you have the opportunity to go on a pilgrimage, come to the headquarters of the Knights Hospitaller and find me. If I am still alive then, I will certainly receive you.”
How could he say such a thing with a smile? Yubi felt a pang of sadness. "Don't say that, you won't die in battle."
“If it is a fight for God, then death has meaning.” Pascal also looked at the flowing, steaming hot spring pool, gazing at the ever-changing, clean water within. “To be able to give one’s life value is already a rare and precious blessing, one in a million.”
Yubi stopped talking. He thought of his sister's words, and then of his mother's death.
At dinner time, Yubi followed the female slave to Yakov's small cubicle. The slave put down the food and tactfully left, leaving Yubi alone. "Open the door, Yakov," Yubi knocked. "I'm the only one here."
The door opened. Yakov, his hand covered in ointment, reached out and took away tonight's dinner. Yubi slipped into the room, thinking that once Yakov finished his dinner, it would be his turn. "When are you finally going to come to my place?" Yubi stared at Yakov's bruised and swollen face, examining the gauze wrapped around his nose and watching him put food into his mouth. "Why do you insist on locking yourself in this little room?"
“That’s what Seyleman will do.” His blood slave didn’t even glance at him. “I shouldn’t have been walking with you all this time.”
"You really care that much about him being a eunuch?" Yubi raised her eyebrows angrily. "Enough to make you lock yourself up for days?"
"It has nothing to do with that."
"What does that have to do with anything? He beat you up and embarrassed you. You should hate him, why are you imitating him?"
“If I don’t learn from him, how can I surpass him?” Yakov raised his head. “How can I escape suppression? How can I take revenge and retaliate?”
“I think you’re not learning it right,” Yubi muttered. “You should be asking him for martial arts advice. Why are you making yourself sleep in a small room and not talking to me all day? What are you learning?”
Yakov swallowed the steak and vegetables in two quick bites, so fast that Yubi suspected he didn't even know how to chew. His blue eyes stared at Yubi's face, filled with countless twisted and complex emotions. "You're right," he said with a sense of relief, "That's too difficult. Everything I'm doing now is so that I can do this."
“Since you’re unwilling, it’s okay if you can’t do it…” Yubi looked at him. “Do you only feel at ease when you’ve defeated him and retaliated against him?”
“Yes,” Yakov said, “because power is freedom.”
Yubi felt he didn't understand what was being said, but he keenly sensed something painfully changing. As every night, the Blood Slave loosened his collar, revealing his scarred neck. Yubi removed his ring, leaned forward, and coldly sat in his lap.
The vampire's sense of taste confirmed his premonition—Yakov's blood tasted different. Yubi drew all his emotions from that wound. Like aged wine, the sour taste accumulated over the years, finally producing a spicy and cold flavor. Yubi wondered, what kind of emotion was this, and what to call it? It had a light undertone, but upon closer tasting, there were aftertastes of despair and sorrow, and a hidden trace of terrifying ruthlessness. This taste was like a huge curtain, burying all of Yakov's original sour and contradictory essence, allowing him to vaguely taste it only through memory.
A scarred hand rested behind Yubi's hair. Yubi sipped her drink, feeling the hand tremble very slightly.
"You wanted a boat. Remember?"
"Um?"
“Ships used to transport spices,” Yakov said calmly. “The Knights Templar have ships. Their routes cover all over the world, and they can find spices from Iberia, Frankish, Italian, and even the Holy Land and Egypt.”
Constantinople is often filled with celebrations. On the day of a celebration, all the squares, triumphal arches and cathedrals are covered with spices and petals, the streets are filled with the scents of rosemary, roses and frankincense, and laurel wreaths are hung everywhere on the houses and shops.
At the crack of dawn, Yubi took Yakov to their lodging in Ambichia. They traveled during the sunrise, a symbol of Christ's rebirth, as candles were lit in every house for the night's vigil. He was astonished to find his sister awake during the day, dressed like him in heavy, jewel-encrusted robes. She wore a crown and her face was tightly covered by a veil and headscarf. Servants held a huge, beaded umbrella, ensuring that the already seldom exposed skin of vampires was completely shielded from sunlight. In the shadows, Yubi inexplicably felt that her face was even paler and weaker than at night.
“The Emperor, along with the other members of the royal family, will accompany the visiting king to the Church of the Holy Apostles for worship,” Anbicia said vaguely from behind a heavy veil. “Once they emerge from the church, the farewell procession will begin.”
“When is Mother’s funeral?” Yubi asked. “And when will Yakov be officially recognized?”
“Once the ship to Jerusalem departs, we will go to the Hagia Sophia for the investiture ceremony. The induction ceremony of the Knights Templar will be held at the same time,” Ambicea replied. “Mother’s funeral will have to wait until after that, don’t worry, my dear.”
Upon hearing this, Yubi glanced sullenly at Yakov beside him, then lowered his head in a wronged tone. "From today onwards, he can no longer come home with me?"
His sister suddenly laughed. "Who said that?" Her upturned red eyes glanced at the Slavic woman in a coarse robe behind Yubi. "Selman joined the army and became a centurion, and no one dared to stop him from living at my residence."
Yubi followed her gaze and looked back at Yakov's face. "You scared me again," he said angrily.
Yakov remained silent, his face expressionless, and offered no rebuttal.
Soon, the procession began. Citizens crowded both sides of the avenue, cheering and showering flowers onto the street. People craned their necks desperately to catch a glimpse of the royal family, trying to see if the rulers of this distant world were as ordinary as they were. Yubi and his sister stood on higher ground, bowing to the Emperor and King. He couldn't help but steal glances, wondering if the Emperor was as dark-skinned as the Venetians had described, and what kind of ruler could bring down a prosperous concession overnight; he also wanted to know what the guardian of the Holy Land looked like, and what made the Crusader leader, who had fought against the Saracens for so long, different from ordinary people.
He caught a glimpse of the protagonists of countless legends and stories, the instigators of wars and conspiracies. The distance was too great, and Yubi could only vaguely see their figures, but as soon as he saw them, the weight of disappointment in Yubi's heart lifted.
There were only two middle-aged men with stern faces, each standing with their young wives. They were high above, each of their young or old bodies wrapped in jewels and silk, like immobile puppets.
Yubi looked away. He thought, no one is different. But then he remembered his sister's words—we are different.
The procession grew longer and longer. The honor guard stopped at the harbor, firing fireworks and horns in unison. The large ship was already prepared at the harbor. Amidst the jubilant shouts of the citizens, the two rulers bid farewell, proclaiming the friendship between their nations, pardoning criminals, and offering their blessings. After the parade, it was time for the citizens to revel—performers and clowns worked tirelessly in the streets to earn money, merchants and vendors shouted their wares, and gamblers and drunkards wagered fortunes at the racetrack for the ultimate thrill. Amidst the frenzied clamor, Yubi rode forward on horseback, his back arched. The sunlight made his crown gleam.
"If you regret it, it's not too late." He couldn't help but turn back. "Are you really willing?"
“I do,” Yakov said, walking behind his horse. “It’s too late for me to regret it.”
They passed through square after square filled with laughter and noise, wandered among the gleaming or ancient memorial columns, until they reached the golden cross. The dome of Hagia Sophia was covered with pigeons, and when Yakov looked up, their round little eyes stared at him in the shadows, as if judging all his past and future sins.
A dreamlike sense of absurdity blurred his vision as he watched Yubi walk into the magnificent cathedral. The dazzling light hazily enveloped his noble figure, and the neat, towering skylights resembled the eyes of saints. Yakov seemed to hear the sound of angels flapping their wings in the murals on the pillars.
Yubi had already joined the crowd, waiting for Yakov's arrival with the priest and monks. Yakov saw many faces, some familiar, some unfamiliar. He staggered towards them. Light enveloped him.
"Kneel down," Yubi commanded authoritatively in his newborn, youthful voice.
Yakov lowered his head and knelt before Yubi. His knees rested on a prepared velvet cushion. He drew the heavy, ruby-inlaid longsword from its scabbard at his waist, held the blade in his palms, and presented it to Yubi.
His master raised the sword, carefully placing the blade on his shoulder, his voice trembling slightly.
"You will be faithful to your heart and to your Lord, and do righteous things."
You will cast aside all fear and timidity, and regard death as a friend.
You will be free from the burdens of the past and fight for freedom.
You will always cherish a tender conscience and know what love is.
This is your vow.
The sword tip spun heavily yet lightly on his shoulder, tapping three times to the left and right. Yubi raised the sword high and returned it to Yakov. Yakov sheathed the sword and looked up at his master. Under the silent gaze of the crowd, Yubi delivered a resounding slap to his cheek.
“So you will remember this oath,” he said. “A knight has risen, Yakov Zashchtnikov.”
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