Act XII: The Destruction of Sodom (Part 4)
Four
“I’m so sorry, Yakov.” Yubi said sincerely, but Yakov still felt that the apology was insincere. “Nuk and the others were also in the hall. There were so many people, I couldn’t recognize him at first glance…after all, the markings are all exactly the same.”
“He will come again.” The knight, using only the light of the oil lamp, buried his head in wiping his longsword. “I don’t need your help; I can catch him myself.”
Yubi couldn't tell if it was the truth or just an angry outburst, so he moved closer to Yakov to see his expression. The vampire's shadow loomed over the already dim light, forcing Yakov to lower his sword and helplessly stare at his master.
“Don’t be angry, Yakov…” Yubi lowered her voice, sounding aggrieved, and moved a candle over. “This is the first time we’ve held a court hearing for a petition, and I actually think it’s not bad.”
"Not bad?" Yakov's voice was flat yet stern. "What if I weren't here?"
"...So are you angry about the Yesau incident, or about the court incident?"
Yakov's brow furrowed again. He thought for a moment, then said, "It's neither." "I'm just angry at your attitude."
“My attitude?” Yubi looked into his eyes in surprise. “You might as well be angry with Schumeer and blame him for making things up!”
“Nonsense? There’s nothing wrong with what he said or did.” Yakov reprimanded him with a stern face. “It’s you who doesn’t take anything seriously.”
"How could I not care!" His young master was so angry he almost jumped up from behind the table. "You're really accusing me. You have nowhere to vent your anger, so you're putting it all on me!"
“You neither care about Yesau, nor do you feel the need to value rule and power.” Yakov remained unmoved by his rebuttal, grabbing the sword again and scrubbing it fiercely. “It’s as if you came here just to have fun, leaving everything to me and Shumel. It’s as if you don’t take anything seriously, living like you’re in a dream. It’s as if…”
He suddenly stopped talking. Yubi stared at his tightly closed lips. "Like what?"
"It's nothing." Yakov sheathed his cleaned sword. "It's my fault, it's my responsibility."
"How did it become your responsibility again?" Yubi looked at the knight in surprise as he stood up and called the slave. "...So you're not angry anymore?"
Yakov didn't answer him at all, but instead told his errand boy to urge Shumel again immediately—Nuk said that this Jew had gone to a farmer outside the city and was determined to buy a donkey; he was possessed by some strange force. Yubi sat cross-legged at the low table, resting his chin on his hand and fiddling with the flowers and plants there.
"I'm so sorry." After a while, Schumeer finally arrived with a smile, "I'm late."
"Don't apologize, get to the point." Yakov sat down stiffly and heavily at the table. He cut to the chase, "This can't go on. If I'm not here, the courts and petitions can't be held, which is absolutely unacceptable. We don't have many soldiers to begin with, and if we give some to the churches, we won't have enough men for patrols. If you have any ideas or solutions, tell us now."
He hoped the cunning Jew would give him a passable answer soon—but Schumacher just kept his mouth shut, gesturing awkwardly to his mustache.
"...What do the lords in other places do?" Yubi asked tentatively. "They all have countless soldiers under their command?"
“The Holy Land is different from other territories. As you saw in Montgisa, the army here isn’t very large,” Schumacher said, spreading his palms. “All the rulers here are outsiders, and their reigns are short-lived. They all face the same dilemma as you—their rule involves both Christians and non-Christians, leading to frequent conflicts and friction. If they were to truly expel all the non-Christians, the few pilgrims and monks alone could not manage it; but to give the non-Christians too many benefits would be to compromise with the infidels, seemingly undermining Christ’s rule. Many things are neither right nor wrong, and even law and morality are powerless to judge them, so we can only consult the gods.”
“So this isn’t a military matter.” Yubi shifted his gaze to Yakov’s face.
“I have no interest in any of these matters of right or wrong, law, morality, or divinity,” Yakov said sullenly, pointing at Yubi’s face. “Just tell me how to keep him in prison and how to stop us from worrying about him day and night.”
“There’s no such thing as a permanent solution to governance!” Schumacher raised his hand in exasperation and anger. “Governing and toil are the same thing: an endless cycle of resolving disputes and maintaining stability! That’s the responsibility of a ruler!”
“If all the rulers in the world had fulfilled their responsibilities, I might agree with you,” Yakov said with an ugly smirk. “But aren’t they all just sitting idly in their positions, profiting from their rule? If they can do it, why can’t Yubi?”
"I didn't mean to shirk this responsibility!" Yubi interrupted him, getting up abruptly. "How can you expect me to just hold a position without doing any work?"
"Then tell me, who is bearing this responsibility now?" Yakov looked at him coldly. "You want to take it, but can you? Are you capable of taking it? What can you do alone, lead troops into battle, or keep accounts and enact laws?"
Yubi stopped talking. He sat back down, pursed his lips, lowered his head, and pulled his headscarf to his chest, staring intently at the beaded pendant under the intricate embroidery.
Schumer sighed heavily at the corner of the low table. “Don’t be so harsh, Yakov. Without Yubi, no matter how powerful a knight-general you are, or how brilliant a scholar I am, wouldn’t we have nowhere to use our talents or make our mark? That’s the order of the world; everyone should be in their place.” He coughed twice and raised his head. “Yubi’s presence here is his greatest contribution. Every nobleman, lord, and king—whose title doesn’t come from bloodline and favor? Who dares to say they are born noble and capable, that their pampered body contains the most valiant or wisest soul? Power and ability are not the same thing, Yakov.”
The person being addressed only gave a hollow, indignant sneer. "Don't give me that useless, outdated advice," Yakov pressed. "I'll only ask you one thing: do you have any way to solve this mess?"
“I’ve explained the situation clearly to you. If you insist on a quick fix, that’s impossible.” Schumer shrugged helplessly, making a speechless expression. “However, if Ubisoft helps, there are always some more miraculous solutions…”
“I’ll find a way to get more soldiers,” Yakov suddenly interrupted him. “I’ll go to the surrounding villages to recruit more soldiers and capture more prisoners.”
"I don't want you to go to the desert again!" Yubi grabbed his hand. "You're going to fight with the [redacted] again!"
"If I don't do it, we'll be forever controlled by others, living in constant fear, while Christians and *** argue like a raging fire in your courtroom?" Yakov laughed angrily. "Once I have a larger army, I'll take a few more cities from *** for you!"
"I am already the lord of the city, Yakov!" Yubi finally shouted, unable to bear it any longer. "What do you want? Do you want me to be king, to be emperor? Even the leper king was exhausted from worrying all day long, and the Roman emperor was often criticized and ridiculed. Do you really think that if you seize a few more cities for me, I will be free from being controlled and can live in peace? Stability and freedom are not obtained in this way, Yakov!"
"Then tell me, where is the peace and freedom?" Yakov stood up from behind the table, his Slavic face looming over Yubi. "The lack of peace and freedom has become your excuse for not striving or thinking, for just being lazy and wasting your days?"
Yubi was rendered speechless, his brows trembling and furrowing. The room fell silent, and Schumeer retreated into the still air.
"...I just want you all to enjoy yourselves to the fullest, that's enough," their master murmured. "I want you to eat the freshest meat and drink the finest wine every day. Especially you, Yakov. I want you to wear fine armor, sleep in soft beds, ride fine horses, and wield sharp swords, no less than any other powerful knight..."
“I want to build my own house here, with a hot spring pool just like the one in Golden Horn Bay, but bigger and more spacious! I want you to have servants to wait on you every day, so you never have to go out to sea or do dangerous work in the desert again… Yakov, from today onwards, you should stay with me every day, just like Shumel!”
Yakov's lips and brows twitched and trembled at these childish words, unsure whether to relax or furrow. A bittersweet feeling welled up in his chest, like tiny insects crawling through his veins and across his body, threatening to burst forth as angry tears—but Schumeer across from him grinned broadly.
“Building a mansion is a good idea.” The Jew picked up a date from Yubi’s table.
“No.” Yakov said coldly, his body stiff, his voice low. “Building a mansion after only a month here will only invite gossip from the nobility and make the common people despise you.”
“That’s not right,” Schumacher shook his head. “It’s more like this is something only a great philanthropist would do, and it could be considered ‘Zakat’.”
“‘Zakat’?” Yubi turned around in surprise and asked, “What is ‘Zakat’?”
“The wealthy are required to provide relief and charity to the poor according to religious doctrine; this is called ‘Zakat’,” Yakov replied warily. “This solves nothing; it’s just a sweet poison thrown down by those in power, designed to make people willingly waste their lives in lowly positions and consolidate their rule.”
Yubi stared at him with her mouth agape. "According to you, a stingy and cruel city lord is better, isn't he?"
Yakov frowned and thought for a while, then fell silent.
“I knew you stubborn folks would think that way. Let me explain it to you.” Schumeer’s shoes swayed under his robes. “Building a magnificent new house will firstly demonstrate your power and command respect from visitors; secondly, it will facilitate the circulation of wealth, ensuring that all the hardworking laborers in the city can have enough to eat; and thirdly, it will free up this monastery to house more patients and orphans. If you are worried about staffing, you can personally oversee the process—that way, the Knights Templar won’t think you’re just lounging around here and send you back to headquarters to find extra work for you. This also fulfills Yubi’s wishes.”
Yakov rose anxiously and paced back and forth. He leaned against a brick pillar by the door, stroking his bearded chin incessantly. Yubi watched his footsteps with great anticipation, tilting his head back to await his reply.
"Do we have enough money?" he asked. "Enough to build a new house and pay all the craftsmen's food and wages?"
“Haven’t we already captured a lot of Saladin’s deserters and acquired a lot of military equipment?” Yubi blinked. “Like other lords, why don’t we just exchange the deserters who can be ransomed for ransom, and sell those who can’t be ransomed into slavery?”
This sounded so familiar. Yakov closed his eyes tightly. He felt his eyeballs throbbing painfully in their sockets, like two stones. "We don't have any high-ranking prisoners; we won't sell them for much," he said.
Schumacher shook his head with a deep sigh, then smiled with a furrowed brow.
“Yakov, you’re really not bright,” the Jew tapped the table. “You’re a Knight of the Templars. If you’re short of money, why don’t you just borrow from the Knights for Yubi?”
Yakov turned to look at him. Yubi, standing to the side, was also speechless with astonishment.
"What if you can't pay it back?" the vampire asked, his voice simple yet anxious. "How can you lend money so easily?"
“People can’t eat gold. Money is useless when it’s not circulating.” Schumeer’s smile deepened. “As the lord of a city, are you worried about not being able to repay loans or collect taxes? Even if you don’t repay, are you really that concerned about the consequences of not being able to repay? As long as you have the ability to lend it out, it’s for the benefit of the whole city.”
Yakov bit his lip and remained silent. It didn't sound so evil or unreasonable anymore.
Yubi stared at him expectantly, awaiting his decision. Yakov nodded helplessly. His acquiescence brought a slow sense of relief to everyone in the room.
"Then we'll start preparing to build a new house after the New Year." Yubi clenched his fist.
“No problem,” Schumeer replied with a smile.
Just a week after New Year's Mass, recruitment was already underway at a feverish pace. Yakov discussed the foundation with the craftsmen at the chosen site—water was scarce, and a deep well was necessary to create a luxurious spa like the Romans'. They stood by the earthen mound, watching the obedient, sweating men wielding shovels and hoes: these militiamen and prisoners of war had transformed into diligent workers along the edge of a ditch.
"Why do you insist on sealing off the courtyard?" The skilled craftsman hired at great expense was puzzled. "Planting flowers and plants by the hot spring pool, with a courtyard in the middle, and pure sunlight streaming down from above, is the best kind of bright and spacious house."
"The courtyard must be sealed off," Yakov commanded him without room for argument. "The owner of this place suffers from a strange illness and cannot tolerate the sun."
The craftsman sighed and shook his head, making further revisions on his draft paper. "The cheapest and most convenient stone is the local yellow-white marble. There's no need to buy it from the quarry; we can use what we have." He pointed to the empty houses and ruins on the outskirts of the city. "Do you have any ideas for the interior design? Do you want the plaster murals that the Franks like, the mosaics that the Greeks excel at, or something more oriental, like glazed ceramic tiles? If you like those, Damascus has many painters who specialize in ceramic tiles; if you want something even better, you can go to Cairo or Baghdad to find a master, but it will take a long time to transport them, so you'll need to plan ahead."
Yakov was getting a headache from these aesthetic terms. "...Let's not worry about that for now," he said, adjusting the iron hat with a cross on it. "Let's lay the foundation and build the walls first."
"And what about the flowers, plants, and trees?" the craftsman asked, waving his pen. "The interior design of the building must match the landscape of the courtyard, but this soil can't grow many moisture-loving plants. You're a Christian, so you might like olive trees, fig trees, and pomegranate trees; but the Greeks also like these cedars and laurels; of course, everyone loves the famous Damask roses, paired with lavender and thyme, and with a trellis, it'll be a beautiful sight in two years, without the need for the kind of protection needed in the north..."
“I don’t understand these things,” Yakov interrupted him reluctantly. “You figure it out!”
The craftsman snorted in dissatisfaction at his sloppy and perfunctory attitude, then buried himself in his work, measuring various dimensions with ropes. This job of overseeing and repairing houses should really be done by Schumeer, not by this clueless, uncouth man, Yakov thought reluctantly—but Schumeer was already drowning in files and ledgers all day, and he was still counting on him to offer advice during the Yubi Guest Council meeting.
The knight stood idly by the craftsmen's side, lost in thought, occasionally scolding the workers who were slacking off. Until evening, Daoud rode his horse from the city gate onto the main road towards him. "My lord, a letter has arrived!" the squire shouted, "A letter from Constantinople!"
Yakov rushed forward and snatched the envelopes from Daoud's hand—two envelopes bound together with a lacquered hemp rope. The knight untied the knot in confusion. One envelope was beautifully decorated with the cross of Kanakakis and sealed in the finest parchment; the other was on papyrus, worn almost to shreds from the long journey, with traces of ink seeping through.
Yakov chose to open the tattered letter first. Inside were tadpole-like characters, dots and strokes, none of which he could understand, only barely recognizing what kind of writing they were.
The letter was written in Hebrew script—the script used by Jews.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
