Act XI: The Promised Land (Part 6)
six
By a careful calculation, Pascal must be about thirty years old. This Hospitaller Knight, like his comrades, had grown a beard, a thin layer spread across his cheeks, trying to add a touch of mature reliability to himself—unfortunately, this ruggedness did not make him look as terrifying as Yakov; instead, it shrouded his handsome face in a layer of weathered, melancholic mystery, making his green eyes under his thick eyebrows appear even deeper and more captivating.
Yubi, recalling his past scandals, felt that something terrible was happening around him—the runaway young lady from the Philaxtus family was staring intently at the knight beside him, mouth agape, eyes gleaming—Yakov seemed completely oblivious, simply grabbing a thick cloth and covering Yubi's head, tying it tightly. He insisted on doing this himself to ensure he was at ease.
“It’s been a long time, Pascal.” Yubiten extended his hand to Pascal. “I’m glad. It seems Yakov was right. You’ve had a pleasant time in the Holy Land these past few years.”
“Life wouldn’t be considered pleasant. But you’ve suffered misfortune; you can only go out during the day wearing a veil and headscarf.” Pascal grasped his gloved hand, his brow furrowed, speaking with polite yet pitying sorrow—Yubi felt the girl’s gaze beside her growing terrifyingly intense. “I have already conveyed my concern to Yakov, and I will repeat it to you again. May God bless you, and may you recover someday.”
Then, the Hospitaller turned gracefully. "May I ask who this beautiful young lady is?"
Yubi tensed up immediately, even forgetting the ugly knot Yakov had tied in his hair. "...My name is Eudosia." The blonde Greek girl blushed instantly, her words stammering and her Latin clearly not as fluent as her Greek, sounding somewhat awkward. "It's so rude of me to see you like this..."
“You didn’t give your surname, so I suppose it’s inconvenient for you to tell anyone.” Pascal still unconsciously exuded his captivating charm. He knelt down, his eyes looking up, clear and moist like a dog’s. “I see there are still tear stains on your face; you must be burdened by something heavy.”
Eudosia's gaze shifted downwards, landing on the robe he wore embroidered with an octagonal cross. "I'm...I'm sorry..." For some reason, a look of utter despair suddenly appeared on her face—the girl offered no explanation, heartbroken, and ran off, rushing into the cubicle and slamming the door shut. A moment later, the sound of wailing seeped out from behind that door.
Yakov then realized the absurdity around him. He turned his head and saw Pascal's bewildered, dumbfounded face—the Templar Knight had grabbed his cloak and lifted him up. "Are the Hospitallers' rules this lax?" he scoffed. "You shouldn't be talking to women."
“Our rules aren’t as strict as yours,” Pascal blinked innocently. “We not only fight, but we also care for the wounded. How can we work without talking to the nuns?”
But when Hospitaller looked around, everyone on the ship glared at him reproachfully—"You brought this on yourself." The only blind Jew could only taunt him with words, "...You should really consider living with a mask on, like Yakov used to."
Pascal was finally jolted awake by these sharp gazes and words. He gaped in shock, as if waking from a dream, only now realizing the foolishness of his actions. "...But I'm clearly an old man with a full beard!" he cried, making the sign of the cross in despair. "Father, Son, Holy Spirit, I didn't mean it...Please punish me, don't let me hurt any more hearts!"
Yubi sighed and picked up a small Venetian hand mirror. Only then did he notice how Yakov had wrapped him up—the blood slaves had tightly bound his veil and headscarf together, creating unsightly lumps of cloth piled on his head, leaving only his eyes showing through their sockets, making him look like a desert bandit. Just as he was about to complain, he saw Yakov pull out a small, dark box from somewhere and start poking at it with a small stick.
"What is this?" he asked in a muffled voice from under the tight fabric that made it hard to breathe.
“Bedouin cosmetics.” Yakov pressed his face down and pried open his eyelids with his fingers. “Apply this and the sun won’t hurt your eyes.”
Yubi realized he was about to shove the thing into his eye—he held his breath in terror, but then remembered he was no longer afraid of pain—while Yakov stopped, throwing the small stick away with a pained expression. The blood slave dipped his finger into the paint-like substance in the box and smeared it haphazardly on his master's eyelids. Yubi dodged his movements while constantly glancing in the mirror. "...You've made me look like I've been beaten!" he complained loudly, "Who uses cosmetics like that!"
“If you don’t do it, you’ll have to stay in the closed sedan chair the whole way and won’t be able to ride a camel,” Yakov said, already prepared. “Which do you choose?”
Yubi was speechless—he thought riding the camel was more important. The vampire resigned himself to his fate and closed his eyes, letting Yakov's fingers rub his eyelids a few more times.
Once outside the cabin, Yubi understood why Yakov had done that.
The ground was covered in fine, glistening sand, baked by the sun, reflecting a blinding light that made it appear as white as snow—Yubi dared not look at it for long, feeling a burning pain in his eyes. If Yakov hadn't wrapped his face and head tightly and blackened his eye sockets, he would probably be blind like Schumeer by now. His knight gripped his hand tightly, walking very slowly under the umbrella. "If you feel unwell, get into the sedan chair immediately," Yakov said sternly and coldly. "Don't try to be strong, understand?"
But Yubi had already spotted a camel caravan on the street. He figured the minor pain was bearable and he should keep it from Yakov. The young vampire was seeing real camels for the first time—he'd seen them in picture books before, but now he seriously doubted the artists had ever seen real camels themselves—they were both the same and different from the pictures. "I'm fine!" Yubi exclaimed in surprise, observing the wondrous creatures lying on the sand, twitching their ears and chewing slowly and contentedly. "It really does have two small humps on its back…it's much bigger than in the pictures!"
“Camel hump meat is delicious,” Yakov said. “You should try it if you have the chance.”
Yubi gave him a reproachful look and nudged his chainmail with his elbow. “Tell Pascal and Eudosia to stop having too many chances to talk…” he instructed anxiously as Yakov lifted him onto the saddle, “Tell them to line up further back in the ranks.”
"Shouldn't you think this is a good thing?" Yakov teased him. "Isn't this pure love?"
“…But Pascal is a Hospitaller Knight!” Yubi’s blackened eyes peered out from under her veil, dissatisfied. “He can’t marry and have children!”
“Nothing is impossible. He can just leave the group. At worst, he can run away and become a deserter.” Yakov lifted Yubi’s bottom and put him on the camel’s back. “No one can force someone to do anything—if they can, it’s because they simply don’t care.”
Yubi frowned, pondering the meaning of those words, and remained silent. The rider gently pulled the camel's reins forward. Yubi felt his docile animal suddenly stretch its neck and kneel up from the sand—the camel was already quite imposing when sitting or lying down, but it was even more astonishingly tall when standing, causing the inexperienced rider on its back to feel a sudden jolt, and he involuntarily gripped the saddle handles tightly. Yubi cried out in fright. "It's so tall!" the vampire shouted from behind his veil, "Such a gentle animal with such great strength!"
Yakov also covered his face with a linen and chainmail mask, and smiled discreetly. He handed the reins to the caravan guide, then looked around to make sure no one was missing. He circled back, asked Pascal a few questions, and returned to Yubi's camel's feet.
“The Romans have arranged the pilgrimage route.” Blood Slave looked up to inspect his master’s belongings—Yubi had a large umbrella behind his saddle, and his clothes were all fastened tightly, making him look extremely safe. “We will travel along the mountain path and arrive in Jerusalem in four days.”
Their procession followed General Condor Stefanos's large contingent, keeping a respectful distance. All the camels were led by ropes, their bells jingling in the long line, accompanied by servants and carriages. The guide explained that camels don't bellow; the bells are the only way to tell if they've strayed. Yubi's book had been replaced with an Arabic one, strangely turned from right to left—a farewell gift from Azad in Constantinople. Unable to decipher the crooked script, also written from right to left, he could only scratch his head, searching for the illustrations and comparing them to the surrounding scenery.
Perhaps compared to a true desert, it wasn't particularly arid; but compared to the forests of Transylvania and the bays of Constantinople, it was clearly not a habitable place. Yubi looked up and saw a vast expanse of pitted, uneven rock faces. The boulders, worn smooth by years of wind and sand, bore countless streaks, their shapes like the warped blanks of a potter's block. He looked down again: his camel had large, thick feet, its hairy toes trod on the fine sand, kicking up clouds of dust that the wind whipped up and stung his face. He hadn't walked for half a day when Yubi felt extremely thirsty. He had to call back to Naya, asking the slave girl to fetch him fresh blood to quench his thirst. He didn't know if it was because the sun was too scorching or the weather too hot. He could even taste the thirst in the blood itself.
Water, water truly is the most precious thing! Wherever a river flows, even the shallowest and smallest stream, it is always surrounded by a resilient green. But year after year, the rainy season passes, the riverbed changes, and those leaves and branches are dried and withered by the sun, a sight that evokes a pang of sorrow. Yubi couldn't help but glance at Yakov ahead of the group, remembering the blood slave's cracked lips, and silently wished he could urge him to drink more water. As they walked along the mountain path surrounded by olive and date palm trees, Yubi saw a shepherd driving his flock past—the sheep here were completely different from the Tatar sheep, each with a plump rump, waddling and trembling as they ran. The shepherd wore only a tattered woolen robe and carried a crooked cane, looking like a saint from a hagiography.
Yakov sent his servants to buy two fat sheep. By evening, when they arrived at Nazareth—the first city on their pilgrimage route—the fat from the sheep's rumps, wrapped in fennel, pepper, and cinnamon, had been prepared into various delicacies: skewered meat dripping with oil, pilaf with raisins and almonds soaked in sheep fat, and fried chickpea balls. Yubi also saw Yakov holding a strange flatbread, hollow and bulging in the middle like a pocket. Yakov stuffed roasted meat and onions inside, biting into it until the fat dripped down his beard. Yubi stared, his mouth watering—he could probably imagine how delicious it must be, but he couldn't taste it at all.
"Eat more!" he said pitifully, standing beside Yakov. "Once you're done eating, quickly give up your neck!"
“Just you wait,” Yakov said, amused by his greedy look, laughing gleefully. “I haven’t had enough yet.”
The next day, after spending the night there, Pascal led them to Jesus' birthplace and fetched holy water from the Well of Mary in the Church of the Annunciation. The area had been damaged by an earthquake and was under intensive reconstruction. They then continued south towards Nablus—the biblical Shechem. The vampire not only listened to these biblical stories but also began examining the erased inscriptions. He grabbed Yakov, the Palestinian servant, and bombarded him with questions.
"Can you understand this book?" Yubi asked, bouncing along on the tall camel. "Can you read Arabic?"
“Sir, I can’t read…” Daoud awkwardly took the heavy book, forced himself to flip through a couple of pages, but his eyes lit up. “Ah, I know what’s in this book, I know!”
Yubi leaned forward and asked Daoud to point it out to him—the book depicted two beautifully dressed, mysterious sisters huddled together by a lamp—"They are both daughters of the Grand Vizier. The elder sister married a tyrannical king. Every night she tells her sister and the king endless stories to avoid being killed!" Daoud shouted happily, "Everyone who speaks Arabic has heard these stories!"
From then on, they had endless things to talk about. Yubi immersed himself in stories of magic lamps, thieves, and seafarers, listening to tales that were either fantastical or licentious. On the third day, he saw veiled, voluptuous Baghdad dancers on the street, their bellies as supple as snakes. Shepherds' canes and soldiers' scimitars had become their most alluring props, swirling between their swaying hair and nimble bare feet. Even the Crusaders were unwilling to drive away these beautiful infidels, allowing them to display their astonishing skills to the rhythmic beat of hand drums.
Pascal then took them to see Jacob's Well from the Bible—a well that, according to legend, Jacob himself dug, and where Jesus spoke with the Samaritan woman. The well was full of stones, all thrown in by passing pilgrims, and the water was crystal clear. Yubi was astonished to see Schumacher, helped by Nuk, throw a stone into the well. "You're a Jew," Yubi said softly, "Are you allowed to do this?"
“Jacob is the ancestor of the Jews,” Schumacher laughed. “Jesus was also a Jew; and the □□ also recognizes Jesus as a great prophet. In fact, everyone worships the same God.”
Yubi then remembered that they were using the same Old Testament—he had never bothered to think about such things before, and this was the first time he had pondered them carefully. A multitude of questions surged within him, but not wanting to upset Schumacher, he didn't ask a single one.
That evening, Yakov ordered sun-dried tomato and egg stew to be made again, with shallots from Ashkelon and fresh milk from Aleppo. He used a flatbread to crack open the egg and dip it into the runny yolk. Yubi could only taste the pleasure of these delicacies through his blood, unwilling to loosen his grip on his neck, and couldn't help but complain.
“I know what you’re up to,” the vampire said sullenly. “It’s all because you’re blaming me for abandoning my mother’s ring.”
Koyakov didn't refute him at all. "You know that's good." The blood slave obediently gave up his blood vessels, extremely calm.
Along the way, churches and monasteries became more and more numerous. The fingers of saints, the hem of the Virgin Mary's robe, the skulls of apostles—this land had so many sacred objects. Almost every river and every tree had a miraculous story, each worthy of being commemorated with a magnificent building, and villages and towns were built around these churches and monasteries.
On the fourth day, everyone looked up as they walked and saw a towering city wall on the hillside. A huge, round lead dome stood prominently at the highest point of the city, with a massive cross at its center. It was made of pure gold and gleamed brightly in the heat, making it difficult to open one's eyes.
"What place is that?" Yubi couldn't help but ask.
“It’s a distant temple built by [unclear], and it’s now the headquarters of the Knights Templar.” Yakov, at the head of the group, turned back to look at him. “We’ve arrived in Jerusalem.”
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