Act XI: The Promised Land (Part 10)
ten
“I have some news,” Yubi said. “I heard that the Count of Flanders refused to go to Egypt because the king refused to marry his sister to his son. He wants the co-rule of Jerusalem but dares not lead the expedition, which has angered the people.”
“Some say it’s because the king can’t afford the supplies.” Pascal took a sickly little child from the nun’s arms and skillfully patted and rocked him in his arms. “The Roman fleet’s expenses are too huge, and the emperor has long lost the ambition to go on a campaign since his defeat against the Turks.”
Eudosia was sitting beside them. Pascal, surrounded by children, seemed to have touched her; she gazed at the kind and handsome knight with a mixture of pity and longing. "Are you also going north with the Count of Flanders?" she asked anxiously. "Is the entire Hospitaller Knights going with you?"
“…This is my mission.” Pascal turned his head away awkwardly when he met the girl’s burning gaze. “I obey the Grand Master’s orders.”
"Then you must be careful!" Eudosia almost shouted. "I'll wait for you to come back!"
The entire monastery fell silent for a moment, as if a voice had been ripped from its walls. Yubi coughed lightly beneath his veil. "...Are you happy with where you're staying?" he changed the subject. "What kind of business do you plan to pursue in the future?"
The girl lowered her head upon hearing his words. "I..."
Her voice was so soft, like a mosquito's buzz, that no one could hear her. "...Could you say it again?" Yubi asked with concern. "If you have any difficulties, you can ask me for help again."
“…There’s a pig market to the west.” Eudosia’s voice finally rose a little. “I live over there, and I plan to…”
"after?"
"From now on... I'll make some homemade cured pork to sell..."
That was a grueling job, requiring long hours from dawn till dusk, and Yubi recalled the muddy markets and savage butchers he had seen in Brasov. He immediately understood why Eudosia was ashamed to talk about it—the noblewoman of the Philaxtus family would never have done such hard labor. He and Pascal exchanged glances, both wearing worried and bitter expressions.
“…If you need more money, I can lend you some more,” Yubi said softly. “Don’t you have any other ideas?”
“I think this is a good idea, sir.” Eudosia blushed and bit her lip. “Think about it, there are many Greek speakers, and everyone likes cured pork…” She mustered her courage and rattled off a string of words, “At first, we can sell cured pork, then we can save up enough money to open a small tavern, and then we can open an inn! With so many people coming to the Holy Land for pilgrimage, we won’t have to worry about not having business!”
"This business is extremely tough, I'm worried..."
“I’m alright, sir.” The girl’s delicate hands gripped the hem of her skirt tightly. “I don’t want to rely on you for shelter forever. I want to become independent and self-reliant as soon as possible, just like you did when you started from scratch in Constantinople…”
Yubi said no more. He secretly admired Yudosia's courage, and felt a mixture of relief and shame about his privileged situation—he thought, he had never truly started from scratch. Even during his time as a fugitive in Transylvania, he had his mother's wealth and the protection of Yakov and Shumel; not to mention that in Constantinople, he had lived a life of luxury every single day.
Pascal sighed and placed the child in his arms on the hospital bed. "...How can it not be a good business?" he said through gritted teeth, with admiration. "Selling cured pork, at least you don't have to worry about dealing with the police!"
Everyone laughed at these words, and the girl shyly lifted her headscarf to cover her blushing face.
“My lord, although I don’t want to borrow more money from you…” Eudosia mustered his courage, grasped the hand of the female slave beside him, and raised his head. “But I beg you to give Naya to… no, lend her to me… please? With her daughter too! Naya is excellent at making cured pork; she can be of great help to me. I will definitely save up enough ransom to repay you!”
"What?"
Her words startled Yubi. He looked up in shock—his first blood slave, whom he had personally created, stood behind the girl, silently pursing his lips. Naya looked at him with an expression of fearlessness and helplessness, showing no opinion or joy, waiting for his answer like an object.
"...I...I need to go back and think about this carefully..." Yubi stammered, sounding troubled. The image of Yakov scolding him flashed through his mind. "Since the expedition has been cancelled, it's hard to say when we can leave the Holy City...I must ask Yakov what he thinks. Until then, you can keep her and the other female slaves."
Eudosia sighed softly in disappointment, then exchanged a glance with Naya. "You don't know when you'll be able to ask him," Pascal said helplessly, clenching his fist. "Your knight has been working like a madman these past few days... running around for you."
“Ever since he went to the Tower of David, I haven’t seen him once…” Yubi looked out the stone window at the bustling street. “He won’t tell me anything.”
Yakov traveled for two days through the desert and rocky plains, exhausting a fine horse to reach Acre, but he was still slower than the messenger.
“The general has given orders to sail the entire fleet back,” Selman said with a smile. “Since the king has no intention of launching an expedition to Egypt, the fleet is of no use whatsoever.”
Yakov felt like he was grinding his teeth to powder. The sight of the "eunuch's" indifferent, lukewarm demeanor made him want to tear him apart. "This is a breach of contract!" he roared, his brows furrowed, barely managing to suppress his scream. "The Emperor promised us a city in Egypt, how can we retreat now?"
“It was the people of the Holy Land who broke the agreement first,” Oleg joined in the commotion, carrying an axe behind him and rubbing his heels on the sand. “It was the leper king who couldn’t reach an agreement with the Frankish count; how can you say the Romans broke the agreement?”
“If your rotten foot makes another sound,” Yakov yanked the chainmail of the Varangian guard captain, “I’ll cut it off!”
Oleg innocently pursed his lips and raised his hands. The irritating noise finally stopped. Yakov angrily shoved the big man to the ground, sending him sprawling upside down and kicking up a cloud of dust.
“I completely understand that you’re angry right now, there’s nothing I can do about it,” Seleman said calmly, a slight smile playing on his lips. “But you should think about it carefully. The city the Emperor granted was a reward for a successful expedition. Now that the expedition is canceled, it can’t be said that the Emperor has wronged you. Everyone involved has wasted resources and manpower; you’re not the only one who has suffered losses. The Emperor’s fleet also came here from Constantinople for nothing, and the sailors and soldiers were paid for nothing. Who isn’t a victim?”
"A bunch of damned, freeloader idiots, liars, and pigs! Heartless robbers!" Yakov finally roared, "We paid the Emperor a full fifty thousand gold coins as the Cumans' military pay!"
“Then you should be thinking about how to talk to Thurana about this, instead of trying to get us to stay.” Seleman said helplessly, pointing to the cluster of tents outside the city. “Only the Cumans came on your ship.”
Yakov mounted his horse without looking back. He didn't want to say another word to Seleman and headed towards the city gate, his back covered in sweat.
“Our pay is with the Emperor, and we haven’t received it yet.” Turalya looked at him with narrowed eyes, seemingly still resentful of his stingy payments of supplies. “If you don’t want us to go back to Rome, then give us another fifty thousand gold coins.”
Yakov felt as if he'd been hit on the back of the head with a hammer, and nearly fainted. "...I can also choose not to let you board my ship." His eyes were even more sinister than the terrifying woman opposite him. "Without a ship, you have no way to get back to Constantinople, and you won't get your pay."
"You stupid beast, do you think we have no savings?" Turalya sneered. "If you can't come up with 50,000 gold coins, we can hire an Italian ship to go back at our own expense. It'll be more cost-effective to get military pay from the emperor then."
"Aren't you afraid the emperor will say you didn't participate in the war, returned empty-handed, and won't receive a single penny of military pay?"
“That’s still much better than staying in this wretched place.” The Tatar woman grabbed some sand from the tent and let it fall from her palm. “Look at this land, not even grass can grow, and cattle, sheep, and horses can’t survive. If we don’t go south to Egypt and stay here, what good battles can we fight?”
His chance was fleeting, and he suffered a swift and devastating defeat—the Romans and Cumans, after only two days, resolutely sailed away from Acre together, almost as if in retaliation for the leper king's breach of contract. Yakov returned alone to the Temple Mount in Jerusalem for the last time at the end of October. He had also killed another fine horse. The knight threw down his linen turban and, like a man dying of thirst, took the water flask Sancho offered and drank half of it in one gulp. He poured the rest onto his chainmail, creating a sizzling spray of scalding water.
“I don’t want the tithes from four villages over four years.” Yakov slammed the contract between Yubi and the Knights onto the table with his rough, cracked hands. “I want the 40,000 Byzantines right now!”
“…There’s no going back on what we agreed on!” Sancho stopped him, while the monk in charge of the accounts opposite him cowered in fear. “I told you back in Constantinople that the Holy Land doesn’t have that much cash! Not to mention that the Count of Flanders and the Hospitallers took some with them when they left!”
Yakov let out a terrifying, bear-like roar, cursing in a Slavic language no one could understand. He clenched his fists and slammed them against the stone wall, his chainmail clanging loudly.
“…I know you’re upset.” Sancho held him tightly with his arms until his comrade was exhausted from venting before he dared to loosen his grip. “You fought so hard for this opportunity, and now it’s gone…Who wouldn’t be angry in this situation? The emperor, the king, and the counts may not mean much to them, but it’s different for you and your Lord Eubius…I sympathize with you too.”
“Compassion?” Yakov wanted to spit on the ground, but found himself too thirsty to even saliva. He spat out the words through gritted teeth in resentment. “If only compassion could turn into an army, into gold!”
"Don't hurt yourself!" Sancho stopped him from slamming his fist against the wall again. "Why don't you go back to Constantinople with the Romans?"
“Those Greeks are all our creditors. They dare not ask the emperor for their debts, but they dare not ostracize us!” Yakov cursed in Greek again in anger. “Damn it, we were kicked out of Constantinople by the emperor like dogs! He swallowed 50,000 gold coins from us… Damn it! He fooled everyone with just a few words! Not only him, but also that leper king who defaulted on his promise… Those rogue counts and princes, they insisted that the Crusaders go north to fight the enemy on the outskirts of their own city because they wouldn’t get any benefits from conquering Egypt! A bunch of short-sighted fools!”
The knights awkwardly averted their eyes upon hearing his words, pretending not to have heard anything. Yakov was even more enraged by their reaction. He was about to unleash a torrent of abuse on all those who had turned a blind eye and deaf ear when he saw a thin figure, heavily veiled and wearing a headscarf, rushing towards them from the direction of the basement, carrying a Jewish man—the Blood Slave forcefully suppressed his anger. The rage, trapped between his ribs, quickly transformed into a painful mix of guilt and self-reproach.
Yubi rushed forward and grasped his chapped hand through his glove. “I’ve heard everything, Yakov, you tried your best…” he murmured cautiously, “I can’t bear to see you tormenting yourself like this. I don’t even want Egyptian cities…”
The Blood Slave coldly withdrew his hand, turning his head away to face the gray stone wall. "I'm not just doing this for you, I'm doing it for myself too," he said. "We've lost not only our army, but also our gold."
“We’re out of 50,000 gold coins, so be it…” Yubi’s voice trailed off. “Even if we can’t come up with it from the Knights right now, we still have 50,000. That’s enough to live a very good life in Jerusalem…”
"How dare you let yourself be bullied like this?" Yakov turned back, his eyes as sharp as ice thorns. "Whether you want it or not, what was promised has been taken away. It has nothing to do with whether you want it or how much you want it!"
“But punishing yourself for something you can’t change won’t help! Whose fault is this? Whose fault is it?” Yubi anxiously grabbed his hand. “Why can’t you look forward and forgive yourself?”
Yakov withdrew his hand a second time. He stood up, like a wall of fire ignited by anger. "If you don't steal, if you don't pursue it, you'll have nothing!" He bent down, aggressively approaching his short master. "Do you want others to take everything from you, so you can appear magnanimous and kind? Just like your brother stole your mother's fiefdom, just like Ambikia stole your ring?"
After remaining silent for a long time, Schumeer finally coughed softly beside them. Yakov realized he had talked too much. Exhausted and irritated, he closed his eyes, leaned against the wall, and laboriously stroked his left chest. He couldn't tell whether it was the mark acting up or anger making it hard for him to breathe.
Yubi kept his head down, staring only at his own curved, pointed shoes. "...Let's go back to the room and continue talking." His voice, tinged with grievance, was muffled by his veil. "We have to find a way out."
What other way is there? Yakov thought desperately. The army and gold—power—are almost the hardest things in the world to obtain. The greedy use them to fulfill their ambitions, the weak use them to seek peace, and the distressed use them to yearn for freedom. Everyone in this world craves it, this panacea, this invincible holy grail. Yakov thought, he had thought he had a chance to grasp it, but it slipped through his fingers like quicksand. He mustered the courage to pursue and fight for this treasure, but was whipped and wounded by the unreasonable reality.
“…Okay.” He could only manage to utter this weakly.
Yubi carefully led his knight towards the basement corridor. The vampire looked up and, in his crystal-clear vision, spotted a very familiar figure standing in the temple hall. It was also a knight, just like his. They both wore white robes with red crosses, both had blond hair and blue eyes, and both had the broad, long noses typical of Slavs. They were both broad and tall, their blood flowing warmly. Those veins converged at the heart, that tireless organ. It was shrouded in a familiar symbol—like a smiling, evil mouth, revealing two sharp fangs, from which blood dripped.
The young vampire was momentarily stunned. He opened his mouth and rubbed his eyes. He glanced at the knight standing in the hall, then turned back to look at the knight he was leading.
Yakov quickly noticed his master's unusual behavior. "What's wrong?" he asked anxiously.
Before Yubi could answer, the Slavic man he had seen at the Tower of David, who bore a striking resemblance to him, strode forward. Yakov cautiously kept his mouth shut, watching as the man extended a hand in greeting—Yakov returned the gesture. He felt as if he were looking in a mirror. Only the man opposite him had redder skin, more hair, and looked older.
“…You two look like brothers.” Schumacher exclaimed in astonishment.
“I think so too,” the Templar Knight said. His voice and accent were very similar to Yakov’s. “I’ve heard about your predicament and am planning to help you.”
Yakov eyed the man warily, then expertly pulled the dazed Yubi behind him. "What's your plan?" he asked. "Why are you helping me? What reward do you want?"
“No need for payment,” the knight said. “It’s just an idea: your 40,000 Byzantines are now converted into tithes for four villages over four years. However, you can also negotiate with the villagers of the four villages to convert these tithes into military service. This way, the gold coins that cannot be withdrawn can be immediately turned into an army.”
“…The villagers have absolutely no skill in fighting.” Yakov frowned. “And now the battle that was supposed to be fought is over.”
The Templar Knight grinned, a smirk playing on his lips. Yakov found his expression utterly bizarre, as if he were seeing his own reflection in the mirror smiling—he had no idea what he was supposed to look like when he smiled. He never liked to smile in front of a mirror.
"Jerusalem has no shortage of wars," the red-skinned knight declared to the entire order of knights as he surveyed his surroundings.
"The Egyptian expedition was cancelled, so Egypt came in person. This is the news I just received from the Tower of David:"
"Saladin has led an army of 30,000 from Cairo. His army will only need a few weeks to cross the Sinai Desert, and we don't have much time to prepare."
Who wouldn't have thought of this? The internal strife and division among Christians was, of course, a golden opportunity for [the enemy/organization]! Yakov's mind was in turmoil. He felt a schadenfreude at this terrible news, as if he were the only one who could see among a group of blind men; yet he was also eager to try, as if he were about to prove his clarity and wisdom. Like a shot of adrenaline, the war he had longed for rekindled his strength, making his numb limbs nimble again. War, the ladder of advancement, justifiable violence—the only chance for someone like him!
"What's your name?" He opened his mouth, his bright eyes blinking a few times. "Where are you from?"
“My name is Yesau Zashchtytnikov,” the man opposite said. “My hometown is Novgorod, and I came here to fight this year from the Hungarian branch.”
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