Act XII: The Destruction of Sodom (Part 3)
three
When Yakov saw Yubi again in Lud, it was close to the New Year.
"The negotiations went smoothly, and I was able to handle the minor issues." Schumer took off his scarf, which was covered in sand, and shook the dust off his cap. "The Ibelin brothers didn't give us any trouble. Compared to the inheritance of the Holy Land, this small town, which is under the jurisdiction of the bishop, is nothing. We just need to collect taxes for the neighboring Ramree every year and allow the Knights Templar to be stationed here."
“That way you can stay here!” Yubi removed her veil and grabbed Yakov’s hand. “I don’t want you to suffer in Gaza and Ashkelon anymore!”
“I’m not staying here to enjoy myself,” Yakov said, his face still stern, pointing to the dusty land outside the city walls. “Now that you’re the city lord, we have to make decisions on everything, big and small, inside and outside the city. Since Saladin fled, there hasn’t been a single assembly or court session for over half a month. If this isn’t dealt with before the New Year, the rule will be meaningless.”
Yubi listened to the admonitions with difficulty and reluctance. "Why do we have to handle this too?" he complained in a childish voice. "Can't we just do the same thing we did before we came?"
“No.” Yakov’s eyebrows shot up instantly. “You are the city lord, and the city lord must do this!”
"How could I possibly be a judge!"
"You have to do it even if you don't know how!"
"Quiet, quiet!" Schumer interrupted their rising voices. "It certainly can't be like this anymore, Yubi. We have to tell people that a new lord has arrived and that they accept your rule; but a lord doesn't have four heads and eight hands, and one person can't do so many things. Yakov, do other lords and kings do nothing but govern every day?"
Yakov shut his mouth with a gloomy face; Yubi's fingers were twisted together as if in a knot.
"Who handled the assembly courts here before?" Schumacher asked.
“In the past, the bishop was in charge of all matters, big and small, in this city,” Yakov said irritably. “The courts held meetings once a week.”
The Jewish man straightened his back. “Then leave this to me,” he volunteered. “I was born and raised in a republic where justice and wisdom reign supreme, and I’ve heard and seen many strange and bizarre cases. A small town court probably doesn’t have that many difficult cases to handle; it’ll be a piece of cake for me. Just sit in on a couple of hearings and pretend to be interested, that’ll be enough.”
“But you’re already working on the tax laws here!” Yubi’s voice trailed off. “I also wanted you to draw for me…”
“Nuk is helping me, so there’s nothing to worry about,” Schumacher grinned. “However, the painting project has to be put on hold.”
“That way you won’t just be thinking about having fun all the time,” Yakov said. “It’s all about the law, so it’s all interconnected.”
Yubi stroked his chin, thinking for a moment. Clearly, the young vampire had no better idea in his head. "Alright, I trust you," he decided quickly. "So, when shall we hold the assembly court?"
“Tomorrow,” Yakov said decisively. “There’s no going back.”
“I’m fine.” Schumer shrugged.
“You’re so reliable, Schumeer!” Yubi said with a mixture of pity and relief. “Then this matter is settled.”
“There’s something else, about that blood slave named Yesau.” But his knight frowned again and said, “I went to Mongisa these past few days, and he’s been following me around all day. I don’t know what he’s up to.”
Yubi and Schumacher looked at each other in bewilderment.
"Actually, I have an idea about this, but I'm not sure if it's good or bad..." the vampire said cautiously, "Since we can't find out anything about this person, shouldn't we ask my sister... ask Ambicea? There are messengers in Jerusalem; if we write a letter and send it to Constantinople, we should get a reply after a while..."
“Do you think she’ll tell you the truth?” Yakov crossed his arms in dissatisfaction. “You took her place on the Egyptian expedition, and she took your mother’s ring. I thought you two would never speak to each other again after you boarded the ship.”
“You’re right…” Yubi said, adjusting her headscarf. “I’m too embarrassed to contact her again…”
"Excuse my bluntness, gentlemen," Schumacher interrupted them, "the Egyptian expedition has failed. Even if Lord Ambicea had participated, he would have returned empty-handed with the Roman fleet. This is no one's fault, nor is it anyone's fault for taking anything from anyone else. Now we have Lud, entirely due to our own favorable timing and location. Why do you feel as if we have broken ties with her and can no longer cooperate? There are no permanent friends, but there are also no permanent enemies."
Yubi stared at him, and Yakov shut his mouth again.
“Of course, I admit that Lord Ambicia’s words are unbelievable. But it’s always good to ask.” Schumeer shrewdly stroked his mustache. “She has invested a great deal in you, whatever her purpose may be—and whatever your purpose may be in accepting that investment. Since there is an opportunity for pleasantries, it’s best to take advantage of it to get what you need. That’s how social interactions work.”
Yakov's brow furrowed deeply. "I don't understand these things," he simply said.
Seeing that he had relented, and noticing Schumeer's sincere expression, the newly appointed city lord impatiently twisted his headscarf in his hands, and soon got up.
“That’s what we’ll do then,” he called out. “Naya, get me paper and pen!”
“My lord, Naya is still in Jerusalem, with Lord Eudosias, and hasn’t returned yet,” Nuk whispered to him from outside the door.
"Oh dear, I almost forgot about it." Yubi tossed her headscarf and beaded necklace behind her back. "Anyone will do, just get me some stationery!"
The next day, they faced their first day of handling government affairs—Ludl was a small city, with only one sturdy and beautiful church in the entire city. So the farmers and merchants from the city and the surrounding areas, along with the four villages they had previously negotiated with the Knights, gathered in the courtroom, which had been converted from a prayer hall, to await their new city lord and his officials.
Yakov, specially donned full armor, which made his already tall frame appear even wider, intended to be imposing and intimidating. His iron boots stomped into the church, where he saw Schumeer speaking to Bishop Domenico, while Yubi, completely wrapped in silk and cotton, piled up so that only his eyes were visible, leaned stiffly against a hastily made chair—clearly, a "frail and sickly" young city lord and a foreign Jew were hardly enough to reassure the crowd waiting to petition. Franks, Greeks, Saracens, Armenians—all mouths spoke noisily in various languages, and the entire prayer hall reeked like a chaotic, foul-smelling stable.
"You've finally arrived!" Nuk squeezed through the crowd, clutching the court records and a pen in his mouth. "Hurry up and do something, sir!"
Yakov found it absurdly laughable. "Was the courthouse here like a pigsty before?"
"That's why we're counting on you!" Nuk grinned, pulling at his gloves. "With you here, everything will be much easier!"
Yakov glanced ahead—ever since he entered, Yubi had been craning his neck silently for help from within that cocoon-like pile of fabric, his pitiful appearance utterly comical. So he raised the bright red cross on his cloak, and arrogantly displayed the longsword hanging at his waist, pushing his way through the crowd. The Slavic man's tall, broad frame and fierce, cold face had a significant effect at this moment; the people finally quieted down, making the atmosphere more solemn.
The object of everyone's fear and reverence first stopped in the center of the hall, solemnly bowing a knightly salute to the "weak" young city lord seated in his seat. Thus, this fear and reverence finally moved upwards, to where it belonged. Immediately afterwards, the knight slowly stepped forward, whispering with the visiting Jewish "treasurer," and then issuing orders to the cowardly bishop. Having completed this exaggerated performance, he stood behind his master, quietly serving as a guardian statue.
“Did Schumer tell you?” Yubi secretly tugged at his hand under her sleeve. “You don’t need to do anything or say anything. Just stay here.”
"And what about you?" Yakov asked with a half-smile on his face.
“…I have to do a little more than you.” Yubi suddenly straightened his back. “Schumel said that if he raises his left hand and says loudly, ‘I think,’ I will reply with a ‘yes.’”
If Yakov hadn't known that his job here was to put on a frighteningly sour face, he would have burst out laughing. The knight strained his eyes to look at the murals on the dome, forcing himself not to let a trace of a smile appear on his face. This wasn't a courtroom; it was practically a marketplace. But then he thought: what serious disputes could these farmers and small merchants possibly cause?
Schumeer and the Bishop of Domenico were engaged in repeated discussions about some important matter, barely reaching an agreement after a long and arduous debate. The bishop coughed twice and gestured for the petitioners to line up on either side of the hall. Schumeer, meanwhile, with his wide sleeves clasped behind his back, raised his chin and launched into a long, rambling speech in Latin, the contents of which were unclear to the audience. He began by praising Yubi's noble birth, spouting fabricated promises from the Roman emperor to the leper king, causing the minor lord in his seat to turn pale and then red with embarrassment. He then recounted Yakov's high position in the Knights Templar, his exceptional skills, the number of soldiers under his command, and the countless infidels he had killed on Mount Montgisa. Finally, he abruptly changed the subject, claiming to be a reasonable, kind-hearted, and harmless Jewish judge who never favored either Christians or traitors, caring only for the position of truth and justice.
Bishop Domenico summoned several monks who translated the words into French, Greek, Arabic, and Armenian. Yakov quietly discerned the faces of everyone in the audience, discovering that this small town was home to so many people of varying skin tones—just like all the towns in the Holy Land.
By the time Schumeer had rambled on and on until everyone was drowsy, the tense atmosphere in the hall had largely subsided. Finally, he called to the first petitioner: an olive-skinned woman with a tattered headscarf wrapped around her head.
"My lord, I am a poor widow!" she cried in Arabic. "My husband's brother has stolen my land!"
"How can this be your land? It's clearly my brother's land!" Another young man squeezed out from the crowd. "How can I let my brother's land lie fallow!"
"We got married and separated, so the land should belong to me!" the widow shouted, clutching her headscarf. "Sir, please act according to the law!"
The two began arguing openly and incessantly, and if no one intervened, it would likely go on forever. Each of their words had to be translated several times before reaching the bishop and Schumacher's ears. Schumacher stopped them halfway through the argument.
"When did your husband die?" he asked, stroking his beard.
“My husband died on Mount Montgisa!” the woman said. “When he went to the army, he said he could be exempt from taxes for a year!”
Schumer glanced at Yakov—the knight was sitting behind Yubi's seat, his lips pressed tightly together indifferently.
"Are you married?" he suddenly turned to the young man and asked, "Do you have someone you like?"
"Not yet, sir." The man's anger hadn't subsided. "And no girl would even look at me."
"In that case, would you be willing to marry your brother's widow?" Schumacher's eyes darted around. "The land will be yours, and it will be twice the size of what it used to be."
Before the astonished man and woman could recover, Bishop Domenico's expression turned troubled. "A widow cannot remarry so soon!" he said, a hint of anger in his voice. "It would be better if she donated her land and went to live in a monastery!"
Schumeer glanced discreetly at Yubi's face again—and sure enough, the young vampire was frowning helplessly behind his veil.
“A widow cannot remarry immediately, to prevent confusion regarding the bloodline of her posthumous child,” the Jew said firmly. He raised his left hand—gesturing to the city lord—“I believe this situation involves a property and land dispute and should be considered a special case. If both parties disagree, it would be best to have the widow donate the land to a monastery; if there are no objections, they can marry in four months and ten days, but the previously agreed tax exemption will be void. A response must be given in four months and ten days.”
The two people below the stage were speechless, each preoccupied with their own affairs, instantly forgetting all about the dispute.
“That’s brilliant,” Yubi whispered to Yakov. “They’ll definitely choose the latter; they have no choice but to get married.”
"Have you forgotten something?" Yakov stared straight at him.
Yubi turned his head blankly, suddenly realizing what the blood slave had reminded him of. "Uh..." the vampire cleared his throat, trying to lower his voice, "Yes!"
The plaintiff and defendant were led away in silence, their simple minds still unable to comprehend how the conflict could have been resolved so quickly. Beside the prayer hall, Nuk was diligently taking notes. Soon, the second defendant was brought forward—"Peace be with you," he said in Arabic, placing his hand on his chest—clearly a devout man.
“State your request.” Schumacher nodded. “We do not favor Christians here.”
The official said nothing, but pulled out an Armenian man wearing a fedora from the crowd. "He's a swindler!" he exclaimed, switching to Armenian with a heavy Arabic accent. "He said he was selling date syrup, but the jars were filled with wine, tricking me into breaking Islamic law during Ramadan!"
“This man doesn’t understand. I’m talking about wine!” The Armenian wine merchant stared wide-eyed in exasperation. “I sell date wine!”
“Evil Christians are trying every means to undermine my purity.” But he insisted, “This has been the case ever since the Crusades.”
The Crusades. The monk translating the term paused awkwardly. "...I think he's not wrong either." Yubi turned to examine the cross on Yakov's body. "In Latin, French, and Greek, it's called the Crusades, and in Arabic, it's called the Eastern Invasion."
“Land has always belonged to whoever seizes it,” Yakov said dismissively, turning his gaze to Schumeer. “Otherwise, should it simply be given to the Jews according to a few words written in the Bible?”
Yubi thought awkwardly for a moment, unable to refute. The two waited for Schumacher's questioning—the Jew had Nuk bring over an Arabic dictionary and an Armenian dictionary, which he unfolded in front of them, and then called two literate monks with mirrors to each look up in one of the books. "I want you to repeat what you said at the time of the transaction," he said, "not a single word or pronunciation can be missing."
So the two men began recreating the market scene in front of the hall, exchanging words back and forth. Before long, their conversation became completely nonsensical, and they started pointing fingers and hurling insults at each other. Schumer silently supervised the monk searching for the words, and soon found the source of the misunderstanding: the two men were mistaking the Armenian word for "wine" for the Arabic word for "sweet," each believing the other was speaking their own language. "Neither of you should blame the other. It's your own fault for not being skilled enough," he chuckled, extending his left hand. "However, I think that as merchants selling something as sensitive as wine, you must clearly label your stalls in various languages; or draw a drunken cat on the sign so even illiterate people can understand. You pay for this jar of wine, and that'll be the end of it; of course, you yourself must also learn Armenian properly."
“Yes!” Yubi remembered this time and quickly followed up with his reply.
“But he made me break the vow!” the woman protested. “That is blasphemy against God!”
“He didn’t do it on purpose.” Schumer turned to the monk and asked, “What’s the Arabic for ‘forgive me’? Let him apologize in person, and God will forgive you.”
The two men exchanged glances, seemingly finding this compromise acceptable. Soon, the Armenian wine merchant, bewildered, repeated the newly learned Arabic phrase—"I will donate your compensation to the mosque." The man finally gave up, saying, "It will restore my reputation."
And so, the second case was swiftly and gently resolved by Schumeer. “There’s still enough time for one more petitioner today,” Schumeer urged Nuuk to write and draw in the court register, pointing out a few grammatical errors. “Please come forward in order.”
The third woman was a mother holding a baby. She was well-dressed, with gold ornaments on her hands and neck, and looked more like a well-off noblewoman than a peasant or merchant. Yakov noticed that the woman wore a cross necklace—a Christian, he thought, dark-skinned Syrian Christians were not uncommon here.
“My lord, I wish to baptize my child and convert him to Christianity with me…” She knelt down. “His father is gone, and I should be allowed to decide this, but his father’s brothers are all threatening me against it. They even want to take me to Damascus and have me stoned to death…”
“Absurd.” Bishop Domenico crossed himself with pity. “Christian children should all be baptized and protected.”
Just as Schumer was about to say something, a group of men in trailing robes squeezed out of the crowd. The elder at the head had a long, snow-white beard, a neat white turban wrapped around his head, and a woolen shawl draped over his shoulders—Yakov's messy eyebrows relaxed for a moment before furrowing again, his fingers resting on the hilt of his sword.
“It must be the imam here,” he said in a low voice. “This is a difficult matter.”
“What is an Imam?” Yubi asked, looking up at him.
“He is the elder of the [unclear],” Yakov replied. “All the [unclear] listen to him.”
“Shouldn’t they listen to me?” Yubi blinked. “I am the city lord, and the bishop and the imam should listen to me.”
Yakov let out a long sigh of anger at these words. "You are merely the lord of the city," he solemnly admonished Yubi. "The lord of the city is the master of the land and the army, not the master of religion and morality."
“But don’t you think religion and morality are the most useless?” Yubi asked. “Land and the army are the only useful things.”
How should he answer him? Yakov was momentarily speechless. "Others don't think so," the knight could only hastily end his master's endless questioning. "Shut up and listen to what Schumeer has to say."
The two men turned their gaze to the Jewish "judge" standing before them, the undisputed figure. Schumer, still standing tall and proud, surveyed his surroundings with apparent ease, but subtly made a gesture from beneath his wide sleeves—Yakov knew this was a signal to call for soldiers to maintain order. Schumer gave him a look—and Daoud, who had been guarding the door, dashed out like a shot.
"The Jews say they don't favor either Christians or the 'rebels'," the white-bearded imam said bluntly, "yet he himself serves a Christian lord."
“A Christian lord who is willing to employ Jews will not treat □□ differently.” Schumeer showed no fear. “I have a way to convince both of your opinions. Listen to my explanation before judging my impartiality.”
“I’d like to see how you render your judgment,” the imam’s eyes widened beneath his white turban. “Will it satisfy both Christians and [the authorities]?”
The hall was utterly silent. Everyone, including Yakov and Yubi, held their breath, staring at Schumacher's eloquent mouth beneath his mustache, as if waiting for it to spew out gold.
“A person’s faith should be decided by himself, and only by himself; that is true piety.” The Jew drawled out his words like a circus announcer, then raised his left hand. “I believe you should entrust this child to me—a Jew, neither Christian nor bastard—to raise. When he comes of age, let him decide for himself whether to be baptized or circumcised!”
Yakov gasped, and Yubi didn't dare say "yes." The entire prayer hall fell silent at first, then, as if the calm before a storm had ended, the crowd surged forth like a chaotic cloud, a cacophony of insults erupting from every crevice, like thunder threatening to tear the dome apart. It was as if a small war had been brewing there, ready to ignite into a raging inferno at the slightest spark. Yakov grabbed Yubi from his seat and tucked him under his cloak, swiftly drawing his sword—while Schumer, seeing this, had already crouched down and vanished behind the altar in an instant.
"Silence!" the knight shouted in Latin, then repeated in Arabic, "This is a courtroom!"
No one listened to him; it was as if faith had blinded them, making them completely disregard the blade in Yakov's hand. The initial swearing at the self-important Jews quickly turned into mutual insults. A moment later, they were wrestling and fighting: the imam's white turban was ripped off, and women's crucifix necklaces fell to the soles of others' shoes. Everyone spat, slapped, and hurled the most vulgar curses at each other in languages the others couldn't understand. Yakov understood the gist of it all—in the blink of an eye, he saw that Bishop Domenico had also stepped down from the platform, mingling in the crowd, holding a Bible and shouting something—it was unimaginable what this former courtroom had been like!
“It’s a complete quagmire.” Yakov grinned in disgust. “A bunch of idiots, living like donkeys every day.”
“Poor people,” Yubi said, clutching his burqa from behind. “If there were only one God, they wouldn’t have to fight like this.”
"What did you say?"
“What I mean is,” Yubi leaned forward, his veil close to his ear, “if everyone believed in me, none of this would happen.”
Yakov suddenly felt as if he were standing barefoot on the coldest ice. A tingling chill ran through him, making the hairs on his body stand on end, and he shivered violently. He flung his master away from behind, scrutinizing the innocent face beneath the veil as if looking at a strange monster. Countless thoughts swirled in his mind, causing the mark to erupt with an unbearable pain—the longsword in his hand fell to the ground, clanging against the church floor tiles.
"What's wrong with you?" Yubi asked in surprise, noticing the blood slave's trembling hands. "Yakov?"
His knight didn't answer him, but immediately averted his gaze from his master's body. He charged into the crowd without looking back, roaring like a madman. The Blood Slave first delivered a solid punch to the Imam, then snatched the Domenico Bishop's Bible and smashed it on the ground. Finally, he snatched the crying infant from its mother's swaddling clothes, holding the tender legs in his hands with an iron glove.
"My child!" the woman cried, kneeling at his feet. "My lord, please, believe whatever you want, just spare him!"
The room full of Christians and [unclear] finally fell silent again. All their eyes were fixed blankly and dryly on Yakov's hand, as if they expected him to smash the baby headfirst to death.
Yakov felt the iron hat on his head burning inexplicably, and sweat beaded on his forehead. He moved his chapped lips but couldn't speak, only looking around at the dirty, pitiful, and hateful faces of the crowd, carrying the baby—suddenly, he spotted a Slavic face among them: a blood slave face similar to his own, observing his every move with great interest.
The knight's senses finally returned, and he remembered his identity and situation. He turned around and found Yubi staring blankly at him, while Schumeer's eyes darted up from behind the altar. Yakov took two steps, grabbed the Jew, and stuffed the terrified baby, who was urinating all over himself, into his exquisite, wide sleeve embroidered with gold thread.
"Will you allow it or not?" He picked up the longsword at Yubi's feet and forcefully grabbed the vampire's slender wrist. "Speak up!"
Yubi looked at him awkwardly, her movements becoming hesitant. "...Yes." His voice timidly escaped from beneath the veil.
"This case is closed." Yakov's voice echoed through the dome as he ordered Daoud at the door, "Court is adjourned today. Get everyone out!"
He immediately turned to look for the blood slave hidden in the crowd. But the crowd was too chaotic, and Yesau's figure had vanished without a trace, shrouded in countless headscarves and robes.
Yakov wondered if he had misread it? Perhaps it was just a mirror?
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
