Act XI: The Promised Land (Part 3)
three
It is said that the emperor possessed over two hundred warships, making him invincible throughout the Mediterranean—the Romans called the Mediterranean "our sea," a title they had strived for centuries to truly live up to and restore to its former glory. Normally, these massive wooden behemoths were crammed into shipyards on land; but now, the empire propelled these colossi into the sea, filling them with oarsmen and soldiers recruited from all over, transforming what were once inanimate wooden machines into terrifying weapons of war.
Yubi peered out to sea from under his umbrella, counting the ships several times but still losing count. The luxurious vessels that had brought them there with Selman were now filling the harbor, lined up neatly on the shimmering water, like a city transported to the water. From a distance, they resembled strange insects, their triangular sails like wings and their densely packed oars like feet. Crowded together in such a large column, they were reminiscent of a swarm of water ants emerging from their nest.
Sancho had arrived, carrying his pack and wearing a helmet. He had brought with him a dozen or so young knights, lined up at the port under Daoud's command. Yakov had shown them the way and was returning to his master. He snatched the umbrella from Naya's hand impatiently and urged the slave girl back to the ranks of slaves.
"Are you still upset about that?" Yubi looked him up and down. "Is it my fault for letting Naya bring her child on board?"
“It would be better to leave her in Constantinople,” Yakov said sternly. “You shouldn’t take anyone who doesn’t obey your orders.”
Yubi's eyes crinkled into a smile behind his veil. "So, you and Schumeer are also people who don't obey my orders," he said, his light voice rising. "My own blood slaves are far more obedient than you."
Yakov shut his mouth. He thought of himself, and then of Schumeer's bandaged face, and felt that the words were both right and wrong, yet they filled him with a strange sense of pride—the Blood Slave simply moved the umbrella further toward its master.
"There aren't just warships here," Yubi continued, peering under the umbrella. "What's that big one?"
“A supply ship,” Yakov replied. “It carries food, fresh water, and weapons.”
"And what about the younger one?"
"Messenger ship. Used to deliver messages."
"What about those magnificent ships?"
"That's where the commander and the nobles are," Yakov pointed out from behind Yubi, a white cloak with a red cross covering the vampire's figure like a tent. "That ship is ours."
Yubi peered in that direction from behind his veil. He saw a massive, sturdy ship, far more extravagant and ornate than the red-lacquered vessel he had seen on the Danube. It not only had sharp rams but also strangely shaped dragon heads. The dragon's mouth was wide open, its tongue holding a protruding bronze tube. "What is that?" he asked curiously. "That ship is unlike any other."
“Guess,” Yakov said mischievously, looking down at him.
Yubi couldn't help but turn around and look at him. "I'm not a child anymore," he said, tilting his chin up and muttering reproachfully, "A sculpture?"
"no."
"...Is it a special kind of anchor?"
No, not exactly.
“If you don’t tell me, I won’t care about this anymore,” Yubi snorted. “I really can’t be bothered by your pranks.”
“You asked Seilerman before,” Yakov simply shrugged. “Think about it again.”
Yubi stared at him with a speechless expression, pursing her lips, seemingly annoyed that he was still arguing with Seilman. Just then, horns sounded all around, and the dark-skinned blood slave came into view—the newly appointed division commander was leading his troops to report to the overall commander of the expedition. Yakov was pleased to see that his face was still bruised—the knight, feeling smug, puffed out his chest, displaying an arrogant expression. However, this pride made him even more polite. Seilman and the overall commander finished reporting and led their soldiers to stand beside them. The two blood slaves shook hands peacefully.
"A long-range ship that can spew Greek fire," Sellerman exclaimed, bowing to Yubi. "Is that yours?"
Yubi looked up at Yakov in a daze—Yakov simply nodded calmly. A blush rose on the young vampire's face, and he looked away. "Isn't your sister coming to see you off?" he asked, allowing Seymour to rise.
“Ambicya is still recovering,” Seleman replied, half-jokingly and half-seriously, wearing an extravagant gold helmet. “Ever since giving birth to her daughter, her health has been poor, and she hasn’t been able to leave the house.”
What a load of rubbish. Why would a vampire who's taken off his ring have such worries? Yakov rolled his eyes discreetly under the umbrella. He thought regretfully of the ring on the baby's hand.
“I imagine you are not yet familiar with our Commander-in-Chief,” Seleman quickly changed the subject. “Lord Condor Stefanos is extremely experienced in naval battles. He led the Egyptian expedition eight years ago, and he also repelled the Venetian revenge fleet six years ago.”
"So he was the one who led the soldiers to eat palm leaves eight years ago," Yakov said.
"It seems you've put in a lot of effort to find out about this," Seilman commented with satisfaction. "You've done a thorough job of preparing for the expedition."
As they spoke, the bugle sounded again—this time, the Varangian Guard arrived carrying axes, and Oleg was among them, winking and making faces. The disheveled Slavic mercenary seemed to have won quite a bit of money from Yakov's victory at the Grand Arena; his boots and cloak were new, and his hair and beard, no longer braided, were oiled and styled. Yakov, remembering how Yubi had taught him Slavic, suddenly looked down and asked, "Do you speak French?"
"Why are you asking this?" Yubi looked up at him again from under her cloak. "My French isn't very good..."
"What about Arabic?"
“You know absolutely nothing about Arabic.” Yubi pursed his lips. “I’ve never met anyone who speaks Arabic since I was a child, you’re the first one.”
“Is that so?” Yakov smiled smugly for some reason.
"You haven't answered me yet!" Yubi tugged at his clothes. "Why are you asking me this?"
“People in the Holy Land either speak French or Arabic.” Yakov patted him on the shoulder. “Although I can’t read or write, I’ve learned to speak both languages in the last few years and can understand them.”
Yubi stared at him in disbelief. "You're a language genius, Yakov!" he frowned. "Some people in this world are just physically strong and quick-witted. Maybe you'd do just as well in a monastery as you did in the Knights..."
Yakov was pleased with the admiring praise, and his smile deepened. He looked up and saw his own army—Turana and her stocky son—leading the promised thousand Tatars and a thousand horses toward the port. The procession carried two banners, one red with a wolf's head, the other a black and white mourning banner—Yakov's gaze shifted to Turana's left hand—it was missing a ring finger, the wound bare, revealing a round, pink scar.
The Blood Slave's heart felt as if it had plunged into icy water, yet then gently rose onto warm clouds, peaceful and light, as if he had finally shed a tangled mass of heavy baggage, allowing him to travel light on his journey. He looked around and felt as if all the power in the world was gathering in his palm, at his command, awaiting his orders—just like in his dreams. It was as if his decades of suffering had finally been recognized by the gods, rewarded, and granted mercy, no longer a meaningless and futile endeavor.
"...May he rest in peace." Yubi lowered his head and murmured with pity.
"May he rest in peace." Yakov also bowed his head. He skillfully made the sign of the cross on his chest.
Everyone boarded their respective ships at the port, and the sea became heavy, somber, and noisy. General Condor Stefanos stood on the deck of the flagship and issued the first command—the riders waved purple flags with the symbol of Keller, and the musicians changed to a more stirring melody and blew their horns.
"As God desires!"
"For the Emperor and for Rome!"
The harbor echoed with deafening roars, reverberating from ship to ship. The fervor of war raged like wildfire across the bay, soldiers raising their weapons and striking their shields in unison.
The massive, cumbersome fleet slowly and laboriously set sail from the port toward the Sea of Marmara.
Yakov had prepared a more luxurious and comfortable room in his cabin than the one on the original Zeleman's ship, and was planning to show it to Yubi. Unfortunately, before their ship could even move, he heard Diophantus's annoying voice faintly echoing in the harbor. What scheme had that treacherous nobleman come up with to slander them now? Yakov didn't bother with it: since they would never return to Constantinople, even the most vicious words would do no harm.
However, Yubi's hearing was much better than his. "He's looking for his sister," the vampire asked, looking up in confusion. "Did you see Eudosia at the port?"
Eudosia? Yakov was unfamiliar with the name. He had only briefly seen the blonde girl once before, during a hunt. "I don't know her," the knight replied. "His family isn't in the expeditionary force. What is he doing here looking for his sister?"
Just as Yubi was nervously scanning his surroundings under the umbrella, Yakov spotted a head of dazzling, wildly flowing golden hair weaving through the crowd seeing them off at the dock. The knight shoved the umbrella handle into Naya's hands, moved to the pier, and blocked the path from the pier to the deck—the Greek girl's face was far less repulsive than her brother's, but she was disheveled, disheveled, and rather rudely dragging a handsome young man along. Lifting her long skirt, she desperately pushed through the crowd towards Yubi's ship.
The girl hurried along, losing a shoe in the process, and was stopped by Yakov. "Lord Jubius, take me and my lover aboard!" she cried weakly, her makeup smudged with tears. "Please... don't let my brother take me away!"
Yakov looked at her with disdain, then at her timid and fearful "lover"—the boy whose wrist was being pulled was clearly a servant. His lips trembled, his eyes darted around, and he was frozen in fear. "The battlefield is not a place for noble ladies to play," Yakov said, easily blocking their path like a wall. "If you want to make a pilgrimage, choose a peaceful time."
"What are you doing here, Eudosia?" Yubi called out in surprise from under the umbrella. "The ship is about to depart!"
“…Diophantus wants to marry me off to a 60-year-old man for gold coins!” Eudosia knelt before Yakov, clutching his robe tightly. “He wants to separate us. Please let us onto the ship!”
Yakov, too lazy to listen to these childish love stories, wanted to throw her back onto the shore and ignore her. But when he looked up, he saw that Diophantus had already noticed the commotion and was coming toward them, cursing and rolling up his sleeves; he also glanced at the cowardly servants beside Eudosia who remained silent and only knew how to kneel down.
The Blood Slave turned his face to see Yubi's reaction.
"Let them on board, Yakov!" His master, as expected, softened and couldn't resist pleading.
Yakov closed his eyes and stepped aside to make way. The girl and her young servant immediately scrambled past him onto the deck. Seeing this, the sailors, with perfect understanding and swift movements, stowed away all the planks, closing every passageway from the ship to the shore. Diophantus rushed ashore, enraged and spewing profanities, insulting his own sister as a shameless whore and cursing Euphemia and his knights as filthy and wicked heretics. The vile words were so offensive that everyone looked away in embarrassment.
"Sell your own sister to an old man?" Yakov mocked him from the deck. "You might as well let the old man play with your peacock."
The ship was swept away from the shore by the waves, and Diophantus wept helplessly on the dock. "Have you forgotten, Eubius!" he cried, kneeling down and clutching his face and hair. "I've helped you so much... You can't do this! You can't take my sister away!"
His sobs faded into the distance, soon drowned out by the cries of seagulls, and could no longer be heard.
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