Act XI: The Promised Land (Part 8)
eight
As Naya heard the frantic beggar running through the city recounting the miracle, Yudosia held her arm tightly. The noblewoman, far from home, was extremely worried in this unfamiliar place and dared not leave her side for even a moment.
"That person said a miracle just happened at the foot of Temple Mount," Eudosia asked timidly, looking up at her. "Is it true?"
“Lord Eudosias, this is Jerusalem.” Naya smiled and soothed the girl’s tightly clenched hands—her cotton robe was already wrinkled from the girl’s grip. “It’s not surprising that miracles happen in Jerusalem every day.”
“…You’re right.” Eudosia trembled, making the sign of the cross with reverence. “This is the closest place to the Lord.”
This was the closest place to the Lord, but who was the Lord? Did He truly exist? Naya was about to ponder this when her young child ran past their feet and fell straight down on the stone steps—these trivial matters happened almost daily, leaving the slave girl no time to think about anything else. She had no choice but to hurry after her and pick up her clumsy daughter. Naya looked at the wound with heartache: on the child's knee was a bloody, sand-covered gash, a large patch of skin scraped off.
She frowned and slapped her daughter. "...How many times have I told you to be careful? Didn't your gambling father teach you how to walk properly?" But as soon as she finished speaking, she immediately felt she had done something wrong, which made her feel sad. "...Does it hurt? I'll go get some herbal medicine to put on it."
Unfortunately, this repentance came too late. Her daughter burst into tears, as if deliberately ignoring her, or perhaps flaunting her pitifulness and vulnerability. Naya lifted the child from the ground and awkwardly straightened the tattered fabric with her hands—the distinguished guest entrusted to her by Lord Jubius was still watching her every move.
"Don't cry," Naya said helplessly. "What do you want? I'll buy it for you."
"I want candy," the girl said, wiping her nose with teary eyes. "I want that candy!"
Naya turned her head and saw a Syrian man on the street seizing the opportunity to vigorously hawk his wares. "Baalbek horse brittle!" the vendor boasted in his broken Greek—Naya guessed it was a phrase he only knew in various languages—"made with grape honey, figs, sweet almonds, and fresh Aleppo milk!"
"How much?" Naya asked.
Sure enough, the Syrian merchant could only gesture with his fingers to indicate prices—Naya frowned. Her distressed expression deepened the fine lines around her eyes. She glanced at the horse-shaped candy, at the child beside her waiting to whine again, at the noblewoman behind her sizing her up, and at all the slaves who had followed her at Lord Eubius's command. She counted the number of people and calculated the coins Schumeer had given her in her purse.
"I want ten pieces of horse-skin candy." Naya took out a silver coin. "Please give me the ones that are individually wrapped in paper."
Each of them received a piece of molasses and continued their journey in the sweltering heat. Leaving the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, they walked a short distance towards the market, then Naya headed south, where she found herself surrounded by German-speaking gentlemen; she then turned north, where the area had become a Arabic-speaking community. In a short time, they had traversed half of Jerusalem, drenched in sweat. Where could they find Greek-speaking neighborhoods? Naya couldn't help but think how wonderful it would be if she were as knowledgeable as Lord Yakov. This was her first time leaving Constantinople to come here, and she realized she wasn't actually any stronger or more reliable than the delicate girl beside her. But to think that way would be to betray her master's trust.
“I’m so sorry to have made you come all this way. It was my fault.” Naya stopped under a date palm tree and sent someone to buy water for the girl to quench her thirst. “Please rest here in the shade. I’ll send someone to find a guide. I’ve heard there are quite a few Armenians who can speak Greek. I should have found one sooner.”
"You're so kind and considerate," Eudosia said, wiping the sweat from her face. "I've caused you so much trouble... You have to think about so many things all by yourself, and you also have children to take care of, but I can't help you at all..."
“It’s my duty,” Naya smiled respectfully at her. “Once the guide arrives, we’ll know which street is the Greek-speaking area.”
She didn't know why those words suddenly made the girl's cheeks flush. "...Actually, it doesn't necessarily have to be a Greek-speaking neighborhood." Eudosia held the water bowl, her blue eyes sparkling in the water. "Do you know where the Knights Hospitaller's headquarters are?...I'd like to live near there."
Naya immediately understood the girl's thoughts. She was both angry and amused: angry that she had wasted her time searching half the city, and amused by the naivety of this lovesick girl. "...Are you referring to that Pascal?" she tried to bluntly remind Eudosia, "Hospital Knights aren't allowed to marry and have children."
“I know this… God forgive my desires.” Eudosia slowly put down the bowl, staring at the rippling water. “I only discuss this with you, and only you can answer me… Look at Lord Eubius. He can have a Templar Knight revolve around him all day long, eating and sleeping with him… Why can’t I? I apologize for my disrespect first… I heard that when Lord Eubius first arrived in Constantinople, he was also a penniless minor nobleman.”
Hearing this, Naya had to try hard to control her expression, forbidding her brows from furrowing seriously or letting the corners of her mouth smirk—"Everyone has desires, which is understandable. But you are different from Lord Jubius, my lady, and I apologize for my disrespect." She earnestly and sincerely advised the girl, "There are many things that Lord Jubius can do that you cannot."
"Why?" Eudosia asked, her expression a mixture of stubbornness and hurt, "Because he's a man and I'm a woman?"
“That’s not what I meant… but it’s a reason nonetheless.”
"Lord Eubius made his fortune selling spices, so why can't I? Constantinople and Venice have plenty of female merchants, so why can't Jerusalem have them too?"
"It's not just about whether you can be a businessman..."
“What else could it be?” Eudosia bit her lip and blinked. “He had his sisters to help him back then, and I have them to help me now. If I could spend a few years building my own wealth and power like him… couldn’t I find a way to get Pascal around me too?”
As soon as she finished speaking, the girl realized what shocking things she had just said. She immediately blushed, lowered her head, and lifted her headscarf to cover her face.
Suddenly, Naya felt an overwhelming surge of envy and sorrow welling up within her. She gazed at the innocent, lovely, and ambitious girl before her, feeling as if she were watching a tender, vibrant seedling sprouting from an oasis, completely unaware of the scorching drought that awaited it, threatening to wither away its verdant new leaves. Yet, a seedling in a desert oasis always evokes a sense of poignant emotion and pity, Naya thought; anyone would be moved by such vibrant life. It was like watching a tragic drama, everything setting the stage for a heartbreaking final act.
“…That will be very difficult.” She pondered, offering a sincere yet risky assessment, “It will certainly be much more difficult than it was for Lord Jubius back then.”
“It’s not hopeless, is it?” Eudosia seemed encouraged by her words. “Will you help me?”
"My lord, in a few days I will be going to Egypt with them..."
“What if I were to ask for you?” Eudosia suddenly grasped her rough, calloused hands, raw and scarred from labor. “I will ask for you and your child together. Lord Eubius is a kind man; he will agree! You are a good slave, capable of doing many things for me; I will certainly not mistreat you!”
Naya stared in shock at those pure, clear blue eyes, then finally burst into laughter. She laughed so hard she almost fell over, causing Eudosia to awkwardly release her hand. "The better slave I am, the less Lord Eubius will let me go," she said, her face crinkling like flower petals. "If you really want me, you should hope I'm a terrible slave."
“…But we have to try.” Eudosia clutched the hem of her silk skirt under the swaying date palm tree. “I will try my best to make your life and your child's life better than it is now…I desperately need someone with me. How can I survive here alone? I know nothing!”
Naya felt her eyelid twitch suddenly, and the bun on her head suddenly felt incredibly heavy. A presumptuous thought, a huge fork in the road, surfaced in the blood slave's mind—would she be better off if she left Lord Jubius's side? Did her master really need her that much? Where could her child be better off? Did she want her child to one day also become a blood donor for vampires?
The thought made her mark throb with pain. Naya clutched her chest, kneading her heart with practiced ease. She looked up and saw her lively daughter running and laughing in the shade of the trees. A scraped knee meant nothing to a child; she'd forget about it in a moment, and it didn't stop her from playing. She thought, small wounds always heal on their own; perhaps a miracle wasn't necessary. God is capricious, and miracles aren't always readily given—but who would give up such a terrible temptation? And who could guarantee that all their wounds in this life would heal on their own?
Naya offered no explanation. She swallowed all her questions. "My lady, let's talk about this later," the slave girl said, trying to calm her racing thoughts. "If you remember..."
“Alright…” Eudosia turned her head from under the tree, “Look, it seems they’ve brought the guide.”
Naya stood up and, following her words, turned to look at the bustling narrow street. But instead of an Armenian guide, a strangely familiar figure approached, one that sent a chill down her spine—the man wore a white robe with a red cross, and his face was covered by a headscarf in the sun. A Templar Knight? Naya watched his gait, judging the weight of his steps. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, moving powerfully through the crowd, a longsword inlaid with a red gem hanging at his waist. The slave girl trembled with fear, nervously lowering her head.
The voice sounded familiar to her. "I heard you can't find any Greek-speaking neighborhoods," a deep, husky male voice with a Slavic accent said in Naya's ear. "Come with me."
“I’m sorry, Lord Yakov,” Naya said, frowning and not daring to look up, “I’m sorry to trouble you with this.”
"...Who is Yakov?" the voice asked.
Naya rolled her eyes, scanning upwards from the white robe emblazoned with a red cross. The Templar Knight removed his turban, revealing his face. He had messy golden eyebrows, wolf-like light blue eyes, and a broad, long nose. A Slav, Naya gasped in astonishment. A face so distinctly Slavic, yet subtly different from the one she knew: this man's skin seemed to have been tanned by the sun for years, a sunburn-like red; his hair was also thicker than Lord Biakov's, his beard disheveled, covering his lips and peeking out from his chainmail, making him appear much older.
"I'm sorry, I mistook you for someone else." Naya bowed cautiously to the knight.
Eudosia leaned closer to her. "...Do we really have to find a Greek-speaking neighborhood?" the girl asked softly. "...Where do you think I should live?"
Naya recalled Lord Euboeus's orders. She realized that her master had personally instructed her to obey Eudosia. Now that Eudosia was seeking her opinion, the burden of the choice rested on her shoulders.
She felt a breeze blowing through her brown curly hair, tickling the old wound on her neck.
“…We need to find a place closer to the headquarters of the Knights Hospitaller,” Naya said softly. “It doesn’t have to be a Greek-speaking neighborhood.”
The Templar Knight, acting as guide, chuckled. “But the Greek-speaking streets are right next to the hospital headquarters,” he replied gently in his deep voice. “Wealthy Greeks like to live around the Holy Sepulchre, and the Hospitallers’ monastery and orphanage are right next to the Holy Sepulchre on the south side.”
Yudosia breathed a sigh of relief, her eyes darting around as she tugged at Naya's sleeve, excitedly tiptoeing. "...That's wonderful, sir. Please take us there," Naya reassured the jubilant girl beside her. "We are grateful for your help. May we ask your name?"
"If you want to repay me in the future, there's no need. I shouldn't talk to women."
"Let it be so that your piety and kindness can be remembered."
“Very well, if you choose to stay here, perhaps you will see me again in the future,” the Templar Knight said. “Call me Yesau. Yesau Zashchtnikov.”
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