Act XI: The Promised Land (Part 7)
seven
Every pilgrim has dreamt of this holy city, a place shrouded in countless legends and myths, where countless miracles and myths have been witnessed. They envision how they will walk the road to Jerusalem, how they will be moved to tears, and how they will passionately express their longing for this sanctuary.
But it was just a small town nestled in the mountains, Yubi thought, and it couldn't compare to the prosperity of Constantinople at all.
They entered the city just in time for the morning prayers of the [unclear - possibly a religious figure]—Yubi had already seen the worship of the guests from Isfahan. In Constantinople, Azad still needed his exquisite water compass to find the way to Jerusalem; but here, no one needed to. Only, Jerusalem was under Christian rule, and there were more [unclear - possibly religious figures] outside the city than inside. Yakov led his caravan across the gravel, passing the worshippers—merchants, scholars, farmers and servants working in the surrounding villages, Saracen nobles passing by, all prostrate in the swirling dust. Regardless of status, they all appeared humble and devout, kneeling and praying towards the golden cross.
“Inside the mosque is the boulder where Muhammad ascended to heaven.” Yakov led Yubi’s camel to kneel down. “Don’t think they are worshipping the golden cross; it’s just gold leaf that was peeled off the dome of their mosque and poured onto it.”
Yubi dismounted, dumbfounded, and hid under Yakov's umbrella. "So now these bastards are worshipping the headquarters of the Knights Templar?" he asked.
“Otherwise, how could there be a war? Everyone is fighting for this one and only holy site.” Schumer was also helped down from the camel by Nuk. “In fact, it was originally King Solomon’s temple, the place where the Ark of the Covenant was kept, and the origin of the Knights Templar.”
Why must all these miracles be crammed into one place? Yubi thought with discontent and blasphemy. Yakov saw his distressed red eyes but smiled. “The war is not caused by this,” he said firmly. “I have said before that these are merely pretexts for war; or rather, manifestations of war.”
Jerusalem is tiny, but it's filled with churches and throngs with pilgrims from all over. Yakov told me it used to be divided into four districts: the Christian district, the Protestant district, the Jewish district, and the Armenian district. But the Crusaders came and slaughtered all the pagans in the city. After that, the four districts became the Catholic district, the Greek Orthodox district, the Syrian Christian district, and the Armenian Apostolic district, and it was forbidden for any other totem in the city except the cross. Now, that terrible Saladin has forced the king to sign an agreement allowing Protestants to enter the city to worship their distant mosque: this only adds to the mixed and eclectic character of this famous ancient city, just as described in history books and scriptures.
The guide sent by the king wore an exquisite sky-blue robe embroidered with five golden crosses—one large and four small. He led them and the Romans into the city through the Gate of David. Near the gate, Ubi saw a magnificent tower, which Schumer told them was the Tower of David, built a thousand years ago as a palace by Herod—now, of course, the royal palace of the King of Jerusalem. Every building in the city was extremely old, and the roads were narrow and crowded, unlike the wide avenues and squares built by the Romans. Pascal led them through low porticoes and awnings towards the final stop of their pilgrimage—the site of Jesus' tomb, where a bloodstained stone lay, with a row of candles hanging above it, and in front of it murals depicting people praying for the Son; further in was the place where the True Cross was placed: a small box inlaid with gold and silver, said to contain fragments of wood soaked in Jesus' blood.
Yubi and the others touched the stone and prayed before the box. The pilgrimage ended, and the Byzantine general was taken to the Tower of David to discuss the Egyptian campaign with the king; they were finally temporarily free. "If you wish, you can walk the Via Dolorosa again. Walking along the path where the Son carried the cross will greatly benefit your piety," Pascal said, leading Yubi out of the corridor and pointing towards the Mount of Olives to the east of the city. "If you have time before going to Egypt, go to Bethlehem in the south. That is where the Son was born and the Magi offered their gifts; there you can touch the stone manger that served as the Son's cradle."
Yubi, seeing the Hospitaller's excited and fervent face, was almost moved to tears; the vampire then turned to look at Eudosia behind him—the girl seemed to have been moved by the pilgrimage and had figured something out. Her listless mood vanished, and she quietly examined the octagonal cross behind Pascal.
“Let’s talk about it tomorrow,” Yubi said, pointing to her headscarf and veil. “We’ve had a long journey, and the sun is so strong.”
“I’m sorry, I’ve completely forgotten about it… Please forgive me.” Pascal sighed in guilt and disappointment. “Please let me know where you’ve been staying these past few days. I’m at the hospital headquarters and will visit you when I have time.”
Upon hearing this question, Yubi looked around for his knight—Yakov was standing at the door, leading a camel, his back to Sancho, whispering something. “Where should we stay?” he asked, leaning closer, carrying his slave and umbrella. “We have so many people and so much luggage; we need a place to stay before we go to Egypt.”
“I’ve asked Sancho to arrange a wonderful place for you,” Yakov said, turning around. “The most magnificent place in Jerusalem, even better than the king’s residence.”
Yubi looked at him suspiciously with dark circles under his eyes, then saw Sancho smiling apologetically at him. "...You're not going to make me live in a church or a monastery, are you?"
“That suits you better.”
"Then show it to me?"
Didn't I show it to you when we entered the city?
"..." Yubi suddenly blinked, as if in a daze. "You want me to live in the temple?" His voice was filled with excitement. "Live with you?"
Yakov smiled, his expression indistinct beneath his white turban and chainmail. Yubi's excitement was veiled by a hidden unease under this ambiguous smile—"You guessed right." Yakov turned his head, glancing at the magnificent golden cross in the distance, "But I don't have time to watch over you every day. Also, you can't bring these slaves; women and children aren't allowed in the Knights' headquarters."
His finger pointed to Naya behind Yubi—the slave girl was holding her six-year-old child's hand, wiping her dirty hands with a handkerchief. The child, whose gender was unclear, was ill-mannered, kicking his legs restlessly on the church floor. Yubi understood Yakov's meaning: his knight disapproved of her irresponsible behavior and was making trouble again.
“Naya,” Yubi called to the poor mother, turning her eyes. “I have something to ask you to do.”
His blood slaves obediently came before him, bowing low and awaiting his commands; her children, imitating her, knelt down beside her, bewildered.
"Take all the women from these men and settle Yudosia in the city. Get the money from Shumel." Yubin winked at Nuk, and the boy whispered calculations in Shumel's ear. "Find a Greek-speaking neighborhood and find her a decent place to stay; let her choose. Before you leave for Egypt again, just take care of her daily needs; don't worry about me anymore. If anything happens in the next few days, go to the temple and inform Yakov."
“Okay,” Naya replied without any emotion.
Eudosia approached him and bowed. "Thank you, Lord Eubius, your arrangements are extremely thoughtful..."
Yubi accepted her gratitude and carefully considered whether there were any loopholes in his orders. His eyes were secretly glancing at Yakov—his demanding knight hadn't found fault with him. Yubi thought with relief and pride that he had arranged everything perfectly.
“Then it’s settled.” He adjusted his headscarf and veil. “We part ways here, and see you again before we depart for Egypt.”
The remaining men, leading the camel caravan, left the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. After walking a few steps south, past the hospital headquarters, they turned left onto Temple Street. Yubi first gave some loose change to the children by the roadside, then walked through a noisy market to buy some fruit and snacks. The gleaming golden cross and the rounded lead dome were getting closer and closer to him—it wasn't far at all. After climbing the stairs for a while, reaching the Temple Mount, and passing a dilapidated limestone wall covered in cracked grass, Yubi's group entered a spacious garden square.
This was unlike any other crowded neighborhood in Jerusalem. He immediately spotted the magnificent, orderly hall in the square—it was unmistakably a mosque, not a church. Yubi squinted in the sunlight, examining the intricate patterns and regular vaulted ceilings; the enormous cross atop seemed utterly out of place. “To the north are monasteries and churches, to the south are the temple and stables,” Yakov pointed, then south to a series of arched corridors. “Come with me, I’ll take you to your lodgings.”
"Why didn't the Crusaders demolish it back then?" Yubi suddenly blurted out. "They massacred the city, but they insisted on turning the place into a church?"
He heard everyone around him gasp in shock at the question, but Yakov beside him remained fearless, as if he were already used to his strange ideas.
“Think about it for yourself, and you’ll understand.” Yakov stopped and looked intently into his eyes. “What would happen if we demolished this magnificent building and destroyed the important relics inside?”
“…The whole world must be furious.” Yubi lowered his head.
"What if we keep it?"
"So that they can use this magnificent building to build a church themselves."
“It seems I don’t need to explain anymore.” Yakov turned back.
"...I thought war was all about fighting to the death, a fight to the death." Yubi frowned awkwardly. "If you're risking your life, what else is there to worry about?"
“Soldiers don’t necessarily die on the battlefield.” Yakov looked ahead calmly. “They either starve to death in poverty on the lord’s land or are killed by the enemy on the battlefield. The latter can earn some pay, and as long as they survive, they can plunder the spoils of war.”
A burning shame washed over Yubi. He shut his mouth, unwilling to presume to judge these unfamiliar things—but then he heard Schumacher sighing faintly behind him.
“What do you think?” Yubi grabbed his blind friend. “Tell me.”
“No one is happy to hear what a heretic says.” Schumeer simply patted the back of his hand. “I don’t need to say anything more.”
"Who said that?" Yubi's hands clenched even tighter. "I'm not happy to hear that either."
"You are different from others after all..."
"Then you can speak."
“Since it’s your request… I’ll speak.” The Jew said with a sorrowful tone, half ironic and half pitying, “If only the Romans had thought the same way when they demolished the Second Temple. The Franks just didn’t have the power to bear the consequences of their crimes. If they had, things wouldn’t be like this.”
Yakov turned back. "Why don't you say that the Jews of yesteryear didn't have the strength they have now to rival Rome and preserve their temple?" He narrowed his eyes in displeasure. "No one ever stops anyone from having a sword in their hand; only fools deceived by morality and law, thinking they live in peace and prosperity."
“You see, I knew I was saying that the words of heretics would be offensive.” Schumeer didn’t argue, only offering a bitter smile beneath his bandages. “You don’t have to listen anymore.”
“This has nothing to do with heretics,” Yakov said curtly. “If a person can use all sorts of reasons to not strive for improvement, ignore the law of the supremacy of power, and use morality and law to justify and comfort himself, insisting on blinding himself, then no reason can save him.”
“I know what you’re thinking, Yakov, you don’t need to say anything more,” Schumer murmured. He quietly withdrew his old, withered hand from Yubius’s palm. “I’m not trying to argue with you, just reminding you that swords aren’t the most powerful force in the world. Isn’t that right, Lord Yubius?”
The procession stopped. The two stood silently on the sun-baked stone pavement, neither willing to utter another word. "...It's all my fault. I shouldn't have brought it up." Yubi grabbed their hands again, forcing them together. "When we first met, you were strangers, yet you worked together for me... How come now that we're in Jerusalem, you've each taken on your own identities, and you're determined to ruin things over a dispute from our ancestors thousands of years ago? This is truly a cruel and heartless curse of the Holy City... What does it have to do with you? You were friends, and you were among my closest people!"
Hearing his words, the two resumed their steps. But neither of them uttered another word.
Yubi didn't know if they thought he was being childish and unreasonable, or if they were genuinely convinced by his words. After walking for a short while, the scorching sun made him parched again. The vampire felt as if ants were crawling on his back, as if his two original friends were dueling with swords, about to plunge their blades into each other's chests; as if they were all silently protesting and blaming him for his inaction.
“You can send the luggage away first.” Yubi personally took the giant umbrella from the slave’s hands. “The three of us will go later.”
The three descended the steps along the path they had come from, weaving through low porches and canopies. Yubi stopped in the shade. Yakov looked up and saw that they were standing beneath a tall limestone wall they had just passed. The wall clung to the Temple Mount, its bricks of varying sizes cracked and in disrepair. They were squeezed into the narrow space, having to crane their necks to see the top of the wall.
“This wall is the only remaining western wall of Solomon’s Temple, a holy site for Jews.” Yakov frowned. “You want him to weep here? I won’t drive him away like I did the other Jews.”
“Crying over a wall is useless.” Schumacher just stood there stiffly, holding his guide cane. “If crying could win the favor of the gods, I would have no eyes and no tears long ago.”
“I’ve been thinking about this all the way here,” Yubi suddenly said. “If I give you back your eyes, you can cry.”
Yakov paused, the soft words deafening him. His mark suddenly burned, urging him to rage—an emotion so intense it seemed unreal, not settling in his heart, but soaring in the sky. The knight dragged Yubi away from the wall, leaving Schumeer, a blind man, all alone there. He pulled the vampire back to the stairs, stopping in a deserted corner. The knight gripped his iron gauntlet tightly, his large hand shoving the thin shoulder roughly against the wall with considerable force.
But Yubi stubbornly raised her face to look into those icy blue eyes, refusing to back down in the slightest.
Yakov wanted to unleash a torrent of abuse on him. But his lips, trembling beneath the beard, opened and closed, unable to speak; his unruly eyebrows twitched and trembled, sometimes rising, sometimes falling—he couldn't utter a word. He realized with horror that he had no right to say anything at all.
“I know you won’t agree,” Yubi said first. “Tell me.”
The blood slave knelt down humbly. He took the umbrella from Yubi, looked up at his master, then wrapped his arms around him. "You did this on a whim?" Yakov swallowed his anger, trying to make his words sound more earnest, and spoke cautiously. "...Because I contradicted him on the Temple Mount, you're doing this? You want to punish me?"
“You’re overthinking it, Yakov. This is something I’ve thought about carefully.” Yubi just stared at him. “From the very beginning, you were the one who taught me to wield power. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”
“If you make Schumer your slave,” Yakov said painfully, pointing to his left breast, to the searing mark beneath his chainmail. He wished Yubi could see the weight of that mark in his heart. “He will become like Naya, unable to disobey you by a single word!”
“Yakov, that’s because of power, and power isn’t just about imprinting.” Yubi lowered his eyelids. “You once said that power would drive people away from me—I think, since I’ve had this power, whether I use it or not, it makes no difference to Schumacher.”
“He’s still a free man for now, and if one day he wants to leave you and find his own way, he has the right to choose,” Yakov’s voice growled in a low, guttural tone. “But if you really give him the mark, who knows when you’ll have a chance to regret it!”
“But he willingly traded his freedom for his eyes. He didn’t want to be blind; he’d rather be a slave. Not everyone is like you, Yakov,” Yubi said. “If you really care about someone, you should care about their own thoughts, not just your own likes and dislikes, shouldn’t you? It’s like the difference between loving ‘a person’ and loving ‘love,’ which is what you said.”
Yakov could hardly breathe. He pressed his hands on Yubi's shoulders and closed his eyes to ease the pain—his head was throbbing as if someone were tearing his tendons apart, the pain making his ears ring and his vision blur, as if he had been thrown into hell. This wouldn't do, he thought; he couldn't expose his pain and vulnerability, it wouldn't convince Yubi.
“…I don’t think you can handle this. You’re not qualified.” Yakov felt his lips trembling beneath his mustache. He tried to suppress his trembling, to make his voice steady, as if he still had everything under control. “Listen to me, you’re too young. You don’t understand many things. You’re just easily swayed by pleas, arrogant and weak, thinking that by knowing some bluffing tricks and healing the sick you’ve become a god. But that’s not the truth. Your heart is as fragile as anyone else’s, do you understand? You’ve been kidnapped, forced.”
He couldn't bring himself to look Yubi in the eye. He knew Yubi was staring at him like a judge. But he didn't realize that he was like a monk kneeling before an altar, pleading and repeating these old, stale things numbly over and over again.
“Even when I’m most vulnerable and powerless, no one has ever been able to force me to do anything,” Yubi said with pity and gentleness. “If they could, it would just be because I don’t care at all.”
Yakov thought that if he believed in God, he would now be blaming God for punishing him like this. What heinous things had he done to deserve such retribution? How could he have uttered such cruel words? How could Yubi have so cruelly pierced his heart with those words? How could his master remember everything? How could he remember all his words?
But he didn't say anything.
The knight's hand fell limply to his side, like watching a bird that couldn't be caged fly away from his palm. He seemed defeated by the cruel world, all resistance withering away in vain.
"Do you have anything else to say?" Yubi coldly scrutinized his silent appearance.
"there is none left."
"So you agree?"
Even if I disagree, I can't stop you.
The red eyes behind the vampire veil curved into a joyful yet cruel smile. "There are no truly pure and flawless gods or saints in this world, Yakov, you said that too." Yubi cupped his face, soothing his brow like an angel, as if trying to smooth it out. He forced Yakov to look into his eyes. "You always disagree with everything, as if everything is contradictory, like an endless, erroneous cycle. But instead of constantly lingering in denial, it's better to take the first step. One shouldn't confine oneself just because one can't be a saint. Sometimes things aren't that complicated; simply following your heart is enough."
Yakov opened his mouth, unable to utter a sound as if poison had been poured down his throat. He suddenly thought of Yubi's mother—that distant, capricious terror was slowly and chillingly descending upon them.
"Do you agree?" Yubi asked him again.
The knight rose from the ground, retreating back into his solid and indifferent shell. "I agree," he said in a stiff voice.
His vampire jumped up happily and hugged him. "Yakov," Yubi sighed, "you're all I have left in this world!"
In the distance, a thunderous cry rang out. Yakov, led by his master in a daze, descended the stairs, rounded the corner, and came into view of a limestone wall overgrown with cracked grass. Dust swept across the narrow street, and a bald, ascetic draped in tattered burlap, his eyes stung by the wind, rose from the ground, leaning against the wall. He carried his worn shepherd's staff and followed the sound. Yakov, as if sleepwalking, stopped at the foot of the west wall, finding the source of the sound amidst the ancient ruins.
The Jew was kneeling at the base of the wall, his forehead pressed against the crack in the stone as he howled. Tears soaked the bandages covering his eyes, which he slowly removed, his hand pressed against his left chest, his back hunched. Wrinkles had crept around his eyes, and Yakov suddenly realized how old Schumeer had become.
"My eyes..." The newly formed amber eyes were filled with clear tears, "My eyes are healed!"
“It’s a miracle!” The ascetic, eyes wide, also prostrated himself on the ground, his filthy hands gripping Schumeer’s face. He screamed almost maniacally, “A genuine miracle!”
“It’s a miracle!” Schumeer grabbed a handful of dry sand. “My God has finally smiled upon me!”
Miracle. The word struck Yakov's heart like a hammer blow. He felt as if he had been standing for too long before a veiled icon in a gloomy church. Yakov dared not easily lift the veil, fearing he would see the true face of the deity, a face that would terrify him and push him away—yet gusts of wind kept blowing in, repeatedly lifting the thin veil. Yakov suddenly realized that he had already seen that truth many times before. The icon had come to life, finally shedding its disguise and revealing its true form to him, leaving him nowhere to hide.
Yubi took his hand. The two walked to the foot of the wall, to Schumeer's side.
“That’s wonderful!” the vampire smiled casually. “I should buy you some gifts to celebrate. What would you like, Schumeer? I can send you the best painting tools and paints!”
“…I don’t need any of that, Lord Jubius.” Schumer knelt at his feet, kissing his shoes with tears in his eyes. “If you would so desire…I only want a donkey-skin bag.”
“Don’t call me that, Schumeer,” Yubi said, pulling her foot back in annoyance. “From now on, we’ll be the same as before!”
Yakov saw Schumeer's eyelids twitch, his chest heave pause for a moment, and his fingers curl slightly. Then, their old friend rose from the sand and dust, straightened his back, and wiped away his tears. It was as if he had returned after six years of separation, still the spirited master painter. It was as if the blind beggar by the villa six years ago was not Schumeer, but the real Schumeer had just met them.
“Alright, Yubi.” Schumeer grinned, his mustache swaying on his lips. “We’ll go buy the best art supplies and paints right now!”
A dull, belated pain slowly descended, causing Yakov to turn his face away in agony. He couldn't bear to look at the horrific sight any longer.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
