Act X: The True Knight (Part 11)
eleven
Winter is a season of silence and indulgence. They spent another Christmas and Easter in the city, indulging in lavish spending after fasting, to welcome the arrival of the Grace of Spring. After the vigil at dawn, Yakov and Yubi came out of the cathedral. Just as they reached the fountain, Oleg suddenly appeared out of nowhere, bumping into Yakov with a wine bottle—this man seemed to have been waiting there for a while.
“Lord Jubius,” he stammered, a foul stench of alcohol wafting from his throat onto Yakov’s face—the Blood Slave was holding him back with his arms. “Do you…do you still want me to teach you Slavic?”
Yubi turned his eyes to look at Yakov's face. "Long time no see, Oleg." He winked. "The last time we met was just yesterday."
“Go home first,” Yakov winked at his master. “I’ll ask him what’s wrong.”
Yubi nodded, offering a polite smile. The young nobleman didn't linger, heading straight with his servants out of the church courtyard and into his carriage, ignoring Oleg's mumbled calls.
Oleg clung tightly to Yakov's back, afraid he would run away. "Do you want to come with me to the brothels in Kinmen?" As soon as Yubi left, his speech became surprisingly clear. "There are new girls here!"
“I have rules to follow.” Yakov dragged him around to the stables next to the church, pointing to the red cross on his cloak.
“Hey, we don’t care about any rules or regulations.” Oleg grinned. “If you don’t like it, how about we go to the tavern for a drink? Nobody cares about you during Holy Week.”
“I’ve quit drinking.” Yakov stopped and slung the bulky man off his back. “I know why you came here. Don’t give me that nonsense; it’s annoying.”
Two rosy blushes appeared on the Varangian man's cheekbones as he bent over and bowed deeply before Yakov. "Please, sir!" he pleaded in a strained voice, almost kneeling, "I want 20 silver coins this time!"
“I’ve wanted to ask you this for a long time,” Yakov said sternly. “The Varangian Guard’s salaries are paid in gold coins. Where is your money?”
"It's all spent."
"Even if you stayed in a brothel every day, you wouldn't need that much money."
"There are always other places to spend your money."
“Let me guess,” Yakov frowned. “You went to bet on the horses?”
Upon seeing the obsequious smile on the man's face, Yakov knew he was pretty much right. "It's way more profitable than horse racing!" Oleg squeezed onto his arm, his beard plastered against Yakov's robe, and pulled him along. "I'll take you to see!"
“I’m not going.” Yakov struggled to shake off his embrace for the second time. “You need to explain yourself first.”
Oleg grinned, revealing a set of mottled, yellow teeth. "It's not a bet on horses, it's a bet on men!" He whispered mysteriously in Yakov's ear, "I don't tell anyone else this. There are jousting tournaments being held all over the place lately; there's a lot of money to be made from them!"
Making money through gambling in knightly duels? Yakov thought of the old underground gladiatorial arenas. "Why don't you participate yourself? Capturing a few high-ranking nobles for ransom would be more profitable than gambling outside the arena." Oleg dragged him a few steps. "Is that legal?"
“Of course it’s legal!” Oleg’s eyes were crystal clear. “But I’m not a knight, I’m a member of the Varangian Guard. And I don’t know the rules of those Latin jousting tournaments.”
"You don't even understand the rules, yet you expect to win?"
"What's the point of rules! Just look at which noble family is richer and more famous."
"Then how did you end up penniless?"
"I... I'm just unlucky..."
Yakov raised his eyebrows. A knight, he suddenly thought, a knight himself.
"Why do you always come to me to borrow money instead of going to Thalerman?" he asked pointedly and indirectly.
Oleg stared at his face for a moment, then his expression gradually became exaggerated with sudden realization. "Him? He's no good man at all!" the Varangian shouted, his voice echoing throughout half the city, spitting heavily on the ground. "That stupid donkey's lackey! Let him learn a lesson, so next time he hears this, it'll be his master scolding me!"
Yakov was secretly pleased—but he maintained a stern expression. "Aren't you afraid I'll tell Lord Jubius?"
“Good brother, good compatriot.” Oleg tugged at his shaking finger like a frail little girl. “You wouldn’t do such a thing, would you? You’ve never betrayed me all these times. You’re a truly discreet and reasonable person!”
Shameless bastard. Yakov was so disgusted by this behavior that he felt a chill run down his spine, and goosebumps covered his skin. However, he had to work hard to control the corners of his mouth, lest he reveal even a hint of smugness.
“I agree to go with you.” His boots stopped on the ground. “But I have conditions.”
"Tell me!" Oleg almost cried with joy. "I'll agree to anything you ask!"
"You'll agree to anything?"
"I'll agree to anything!"
“I’ll owe you this favor.” Yakov looked him over and finally smiled. “I’ll make it up to you when I remember.”
“My God, you are truly a great saint!” Oleg hugged his shoulders and wiped his snot on his robe. “You are my great benefactor!”
The two men took their horses and headed towards the Great Arena. There was no curfew during Holy Week, and the area was brightly lit and bustling with people. Yakov stopped his horse and saw that the streets were lined with vendors. Lent had ended, and all the bakers and pastry chefs were busy at work. The aromas of yogurt, nuts, ring-shaped bread, and hummus filled the air, and a few vendors selling seafood and roasted meat could be seen here and there.
“These used to be free during celebrations.” Oleg used the money Yakov had lent him to buy new wine. “Ever since we lost Egyptian territory, we’ve had to pay.”
“Yubi would like this place,” Yakov said slowly.
“Huh? How could he like a place like this?” Oleg uncorked the wine flask. “He has absolutely no interest in these kinds of food and drinks.”
Yakov frowned and shook his head, deciding not to bring it up again. "Where are you taking me?" the knight urged. "Why are you only thinking about food and drink?"
"Sigh, we need to fill our stomachs first," the Varangian said, his voice hoarse from the alcohol. "This way, we'll enter the arena from underground!"
Two tall, muscular soldiers squeezed through a narrow passageway beside the bathhouse. The passageway was so narrow it was suffocating; one had to squeeze through sideways. After a short while, the path turned into a downward staircase, with the whistling of the wind coming from it. "Didn't you say this was legal?" Yakov clicked his tongue. "This doesn't look legal at all."
"Well, whether it's legal or not is very flexible," Oleg joked. "If we're really going to be strict, the Church even forbids duels, but which knight would listen to that?"
"The rules of the Knights forbid combat."
"This is dehumanizing!" Oleg glared at him and punched him. "You're not a rigid person who follows the rules, don't pretend with me, you hypocrite!"
Yakov laughed at this. He followed Oleg slowly behind.
After walking for a while, the two burly men climbed the steps again and were able to see the light of day once more. It was Yakov's first time inside the Great Arena, and the vast and magnificent scene immediately caught his eye.
In the center of this vast and seemingly endless square, the most striking features are two towering columns, gleaming under the moonlight—one an obelisk brought from Egypt, the other a wall column inlaid with gold. Between them, three bronze serpents coil upwards, supporting a golden bowl from which water cascades gently, its sound as clear as bells. Countless stone columns and various statues are neatly arranged around this magnificent square, the ground in the center piled with sand, which stirs up dust with every breeze.
Yakov stared in disbelief at the miraculous building. The densely packed steps were all seats, but in the quiet night, no spectators were gathered there. He couldn't help but recall his first trip here by boat, when Seilman told him that it could hold 100,000 people to watch the same game. A strange thought took root in his chest, like a pigeon trapped in his ribs, wanting to burst free.
“Over here,” Oleg tugged at his arm. “The betting area isn’t on the field.”
Yakov withdrew his gaze, silently concealing his surging thoughts within his heart.
The two slipped through a hidden doorway—the arena was so vast that all the doorways seemed small and concealed. As soon as they opened the door, a pungent stench of alcohol and a deafening roar of noise assaulted their senses. "I've brought a new friend!" Oleg shouted boastfully, "A knight!"
“I just hope the friend you brought can pay off your debts.” The old woman selling wine glanced at him, then looked at the red cross on Yakov’s clothes. “You only gamble with your money and don’t pay your bills, so I won’t sell you anything.”
"Don't be so heartless, my beauty!" Oleg said, pulling Yakov deeper into the woods. "Once I win the money, I'll buy all your wine!"
Yakov remained silent, his hand on the hilt of his sword, surveying everyone around him. It looked like a hidden tavern, yet there was no counter or tables. The people walking around were a diverse mix, from nobles and officials to merchants and farmers. But the most striking were the knights and squires surrounded in the center—Yakov frowned. He noticed that these knights were nothing like himself and his order, who were known for their simple attire; each wore brightly colored robes embroidered with gaudy patterns. The cumbersome feathers and decorations on their helmets made them look like swaggering roosters—superficial, worldly knights, Yakov thought; he'd seen plenty of such fools in the Holy Land.
“I have a trick,” Olegra said, squeezing to the front of the crowd. “Look at who has the most magnificent and splendid clothes and armor; that’s the family with the most illustrious and wealthy lineage, and that person has the best chance of winning!”
“Nonsense,” Yakov said. “The fact that the armor is so bright and shiny is a testament to its infrequent use and lack of training.”
“…This isn’t just about skill!” Oleg nervously bit his braid, trying to identify the patterns on the knights’ costumes. “It’s all about luck!”
"Whose luck is it?" Yakov scoffed. "Your luck or theirs?"
Oleg thought for a moment. "It depends on their master's luck."
"You make it sound as if knights are slaves."
"There's not much difference."
Yakov watched the clownish knights. Each was passionately proclaiming their own bravery, recounting their victories and triumphs. One moment they were showing off their fine armor, the next they were toying with their brand-new weapons, then they were shamelessly boasting about their family's past, then they were bitterly mocking their opponents' cowardice. He thought to himself, if he were to predict which one would win, it would be like picking a treasure from a pile of rubbish.
"...If I were on the field," Yakov blurted out, as if possessed, "would you bet on me?"
Oleg's jaw dropped to his chest. "If you play, I'll definitely bet on you!"
"Why?"
"Because your master is Lord Jubius."
"Just because of this, and nothing else?"
"For no other reason than..."
Yakov recalled Yubi's still somewhat immature face, and the naive and foolish mistakes Yubi had made. "What if Seleman also participates?" he asked again. "Who would you bet on?"
Oleg looked at him awkwardly. "Do you want to hear nice things or the truth?"
"Alright, you don't need to say anything more." Yakov pushed the person in front of him away in dissatisfaction. "You've got the money, I'm leaving."
Oleg didn't even look at him, just waved goodbye. Yakov squeezed through the crowd, wanting to take one last look at the arena—as soon as he opened the door, he saw two boys in cloaks blocking the entrance, their faces bumping into the red cross on his cloak.
“Oh dear, who’s blind…” the child muttered under his breath in Arabic, but upon seeing Yakov’s burqa, he immediately fell silent in fright. Seeing this, the other child reacted quickly and grabbed his hand, pulling him away.
Why did that voice sound so familiar? Yakov's keen suspicion made him swiftly move aside, grabbing the hoods of the two children, one in each hand, and forcefully pulling them open—the children, terrified, threw off their cloaks and ran—Yakov noticed that both of them had dark skin. One wore a black cloak with a red cross sewn on it, identical to his own; the other wore a jacquard cotton robe, the kind commonly seen on servants in the Yubi household.
The sudden surge of anger nearly made Yakov faint. He took only two steps and caught the two men.
"Look what you're going to do with these two spoiled brats." Yakov kicked Daoud hard to the ground, then slapped Nuk across the face. "Caught gambling in the arena and you dare to run? Who taught you this?"
“But you went too!” Nuk cried out stubbornly, tears welling in his eyes, as he covered his burning cheek. “If you can go, why can’t we?”
Enraged, Yakov kicked the stubborn slave to the ground as well—he didn't bother to argue.
“Sigh, kids will always be ignorant at times.” Schumeer was leaning back in his chair in the study, his guide cane tapping the ground. “Punching and kicking are not good methods of education.”
"Then tell me, what is a good method of education?" Yakov, hands on his back, paced around the room for a while, then pointed at Schumeer's nose and shouted. "Isn't it you, you Jew, who's the problem? You tell stories about selling geese all day long, influencing the slaves around you, and even corrupting my servants!"
Schumacher's face immediately turned extremely ugly. "...I never taught him to gamble," he said in a low voice. "I only taught him how to find business opportunities and use his intelligence."
“I really don’t understand the difference.” Yakov grabbed Daoud and Nuk by the collar and lifted them up. “Tell me yourselves, where did you find out that you could gamble in the arena? Who told you, and where did you get the money to bet!”
Daoud was the first to cry out in fear at his ferocious appearance. Nuk followed suit and also began to cry.
"My lord, my lord, I was wrong..." His squire collapsed, tears streaming down his face. "Please don't tell the Knights, don't fire me... I beg you..."
“This has nothing to do with him, I was the one who took him!” Nuk said, his teeth chattering. “We…we went to the black market near Kinmen and heard…heard about it…”
"The black market." Yakov moved closer to their faces. "What are you going to the black market for?"
Both boys hesitated, neither daring to speak first.
"Speak!" Yakov's voice boomed.
"I'm so sorry, sir! I'm so sorry! It's all my fault!" Daoud cried out, his face flushed red. "I secretly bought some spices when I disembarked. I wanted to sell them on the black market to earn money to go home!"
“It wasn’t him!” Nuk shouted, trying to drown out Daoud’s voice. “I was the one who kept going there to resell spices; I forced him to go!”
Yakov closed his eyes, trying to calm himself, so he wouldn't throw them against the wall. His hands went limp, letting the two boys lie on the ground and cry their hearts out. He leaned against the wall, rubbing his face and forehead helplessly—spices, he thought, this was the root of it all. It was he who agreed to Schumeer's plan, it was he who brought back spices from the East, it was he who urged Yubi to have his own business—the Blood Slave stared blankly at his palms. Now he understood a little how Yubi had earned so much gold. It was all like a rumbling chariot charging down a hillside; anyone who tried to stop it would be smashed to pieces.
The study door creaked open. "It's Easter, what's going on?" The esteemed master strode in coldly. "Naya rushed back from the library looking for me."
Yakov remained silent, while Schumer sighed repeatedly. The two wailing children also fell silent, wiping away their tears and pretending nothing was wrong.
Yubi scanned the room and walked over to Schumacher—his blind companion rose shakily to make room for him in the most comfortable and spacious seat.
"Yakov, please tell me?" Yubi asked sadly.
“It’s nothing serious.” Yakov stared at the floor tiles, his brow furrowed as if locked in a lock. “I caught those two kids gambling in the arena.”
"Really?" Yubi asked in surprise. "Did they steal our money?"
"…No."
"So they stole someone else's money?"
No, not at all.
“That doesn’t sound like a big deal.” Yubi leaned back in his chair. “Honestly, I’ve never understood why gambling is considered dishonorable. People bet money, and if they lose, they just lose money. But businessmen gamble with their connections, officials gamble with their careers, and generals gamble with their lives. Is gambling for territory and power noble, while gambling for family and personal gain is despicable?”
“You shouldn’t say such childish things.” Yakov looked up at him. “It’s precisely because someone is making a bigger bet that a small bet becomes a sure loss.”
“If that’s the case, wouldn’t that force everyone to gamble on the biggest bet?” Yubi winked at him, her blood-red irises shimmering in the shadows. “Nothing in this world is certain, so everything is a gamble. In that case, what’s so shameful about gambling itself? You should criticize them for not seeing through the deception of the game, not for gambling itself.”
Yakov didn't know how to refute him. He looked at Schumeer—the Jew was unassailable, as silent as a statue.
“Look how terrified you’ve made these two children.” Yubi jumped up from her seat. “I have good news for you from the library. Please forgive them.”
"No good news makes me happy now."
“How could that be? You’ll be happy to hear this.” Yubi moved closer to him, looking up at him. “It’s about the war, about Egypt.”
Just hearing those two words uttered by Yubi sent chills down Yakov's spine. His fist clenched and unclenched, unsure whether to feel pleased or hesitant. "Go ahead and say it."
“I heard that Princess Sibylla’s husband, William Longsword, has contracted dysentery and is bedridden. The Holy Land is about to be without a successor.” Yubi revealed a sweet, devilish smile. “The Emperor and that leper king are preparing for the second Egyptian expedition. The war you’ve been waiting for, summer is coming!”
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