Act XII: The Destruction of Sodom (Part 5)
five
Schumacher received the letter, glanced at it briefly, and then silently tucked it into his sleeve.
"Is this letter really for you?" Yakov stared disdainfully at his sleeve pocket.
“It is indeed for me, nothing important.” Schumeer grinned. “Let’s go find Lord Jubius first and see the important one.”
Once out of Yubi's presence, he reverted to that unfamiliar yet dignified form of address. Yakov glanced at the "treasurer's" back with a mixture of annoyance and pity, discovering his room was a mess worse than a pigsty, faintly reeking of rotting food—mixed with the annoying cries of a baby. "...How could you be so foolish as to actually raise that child yourself? You should tidy up your room," Yakov couldn't help but criticize. "You dress impeccably in public, yet you leave your room in this state, and you expect to take care of a baby? If you don't have the time or energy, just have Yubi's slaves clean for you. Take the child away too; no one will know."
Schumacher took a single step and blocked his way. "I know, I'll tidy it up myself when I have time." The Jew smiled and pushed him back. "When you come back, I'll call Nuk."
Yakov, too lazy to ask any more questions, simply turned back. "You decide for yourself," he said, turning towards the corridor. "We'll deliver the letter first."
The two men passed several groups of hurried servants, traversing the monastery courtyard under the respectful yet fearful gazes of the crowd, to reach the most spacious and magnificent room—Sarasan windows were already small and narrow, with latticed panes, and now they were covered with curtains, allowing no sunlight to penetrate during the day, only letting in some moonlight at night. Before even pushing open the door, Yakov heard the faint, clear sound of a harp, like flowing water, resembling the chimes of bells and chimes.
"Decadent music," Yakov thought angrily. He remembered that Yubi had indeed summoned a Mecca-born musician that morning. Wasn't the boy enough of listening to music all night?
“Our musical scales are different from yours,” a woman’s voice spoke in Greek with an Arabic accent from behind the door. “Within an octave, there can be more than 50 subdivisions of notes. If we divide it into only 12 as Westerners do, many subtle variations cannot be expressed. Have you ever heard of a quarter tone?”
“A quarter tone!” Yubi asked with great interest. “I’ve always felt that the music from Constantinople sounds different from the style of my hometown. Is Greek music like that too?”
"Yes and no." The female musician spoke patiently and softly. "The Greeks used a musical scale called 'octave,' which is neither the Western twelve-tone scale nor the Eastern quarter tone scale, but only slightly similar."
“You know so much, Lay!” Yubi praised.
“Thank you for the compliment, esteemed master. This is all I have learned in my life,” the musician called Leili replied humbly and gently. “If you are interested, I can tell you more.”
They chatted for a while longer, when a unique, ethereal flute melody drifted from behind the door. The musician demonstrated a short Frankish song for Yubi, then played a Greek folk tune, and finally presented a flamboyant dance often used by Baghdad dancers. Her technique was skillful and her experience rich; in just a few notes, she could vividly capture the charm and spirit of music from various regions.
Yakov hesitated for a moment at the door, wondering whether he should get angry and teach Yubi a lesson for this—he and Schumerzhan were both busy with their own affairs, while this noble little lord could lie on a silk chair, indulging in useless hobbies all day long, and mingling with musicians and entertainers.
"A remarkable musician," Schumacher praised him from behind. "This is the first time I've learned this. Now I'll have something to talk about."
“Why don’t you come in and listen?” Yubi raised his voice. “Yakov, what are you waiting for?”
The knight reluctantly pushed open the door—Nuk stopped him, “Sir, you need to take off your shoes to be clean.” The slave nodded and whispered, “There’s spiced water for washing your feet.”
“That’s their custom,” Schumacher commented. “I’ve heard that they also have to take off their shoes and wash their feet when entering a mosque.”
“This isn’t a mosque, and we’re not a mosque.” Yakov forced open the door without a word, only to find the room covered with exquisite, intricate hand-woven carpets—Yubi’s room hadn’t looked like this last night. Clearly, while he was away, the vampire had sent people to buy countless trinkets. The boorish knight frowned, took off his sand-covered boots, kicked them casually by the door, and stepped barefoot onto the new carpet.
“No need to wash your feet.” He barged in and shoved the envelope he was holding into Yubi’s hand. “Anbichia’s reply has arrived. Tell anyone who’s not involved to leave immediately.”
"...Why did you read the letter I was supposed to receive first?" His master took the opened letter with an unpleasant expression, his eyes constantly glancing at his dirty toes on the carpet. "Don't be so rude, Yakov!"
Yakov didn't care whether there was disdain in that gaze. He looked up and surveyed the room—the knight had assumed the women in Yubi's room would be either heavily made-up, jewel-adorned songstresses or conservative women veiled and covered—what else could a female musician look like? But the woman named Leili wore neither a solemn veil nor a magnificent shawl. She was quite old, dressed in a simple, elegant robe, with a sachet hanging from her waist, looking more like a scholar than a musician. A heavy, square lyre lay across her lap, a horn-tipped pick resting between the strings—the musician lowered her head, averting her gaze, and raised her henna-painted hand to her turban, offering a slight, respectful bow to the fearsome Templar Knight.
However, Yakov simply waved his hand forcefully, ordering the slaves to enter, remove all the musical instruments, and then told the musicians to leave in Arabic—Shumer sat comfortably behind him, dipping his feet into a basin of warm water.
The two watched as Yubi unfolded the letter—a long letter filled with pleasantries and polite phrases. As Yubi read, his brow furrowed, then relaxed, his lips sometimes drooping and sometimes curving upward.
“She said Yesau wasn’t her blood slave,” Yakov checked. “Do you think that’s true or false?”
“Wait a minute, I haven’t read that far yet!” Yubi said, annoyed by the interruption. “I’ve only read about my niece. My sister named her Ansopea… It’s a wonderful name, with both human simplicity and divine nobility!”
The mention of the baby brought back Yakov's displeasure at the thought of the stolen ruby ring. "Don't read about all that now," he said, untying the longsword from his belt and sitting patiently on the carpet. "We'll look at it after we've finished discussing the important matters."
"Sigh, this counts as a letter home!" Schumeer slowly approached after washing his feet. "Isn't the warmth and care between family members more important than the affairs of blood slaves and servants?"
Yakov felt a dull ache in his heart at those words. He glanced at Schumeer—the Jew was no longer as afraid of him as when they first met; he sat cross-legged on the cushion with a sly smile, like a fox, as if scrutinizing Yakov's discomfort and resentment—Yakov wanted to say something, but that look choked him into silence. He could only shift his gaze back to Yubi's face, wishing he could shove all the words from the letter into the vampire's eyes.
“My sister also mentioned Theophrastus…” Yubi pursed her lips in surprise and guilt, then relaxed them again. “We took Eudosias away. He was forced to return the betrothal gifts, my mother died of a serious illness from anger, the entire family went bankrupt, and we lost our official positions and seats in the Senate…”
“That’s not your fault,” Yakov said firmly. “You could only choose to save one of him or his sister.”
"Then how should I tell Eudosia next time I see her...?"
"Tell her she should be overjoyed, as if she's gotten her revenge."
Schumer couldn't help but laugh upon hearing this conversation. "Not everyone is as clear about their likes and dislikes as you are." He shook his head. "The young girl will definitely be heartbroken for a while after hearing this. It's best to keep it a secret."
Yubi sighed, put his worries aside, and continued reading.
“Then there’s Turalya…” His handsome eyebrows furrowed again, “After the Cumans returned, they only got half of their pay from the Emperor. My sister personally made up the other half…”
“The emperor pocketed half of our money,” Yakov clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction. “And he won’t give it back to us.”
“Ultimately, what we bought from the Emperor wasn’t an army, but a city.” Schumer spread his hands. “So, the deal was done.”
“I personally fought and fought to capture the city.” Yakov remained calm. “The emperor received tens of thousands of gold coins without having to do anything, while Anbichya only paid half the price to get a new army.”
“If it weren’t for the Roman Emperor’s endorsement, the Baron of Ibelin would have driven us away long ago!” Yubi reassured him perfunctorily, then changed his posture and continued reading. “Alright, stop talking, I’ve gotten to the part about the blood slaves.”
Both blood slaves fell silent, leaving the quiet for their master to read.
Yakov scrutinized Yubi's face closely. Yubi had eyes almost identical to his mother's—his appearance hadn't matured much over the years, but his eyes were becoming increasingly like Camilla's: they curved when he smiled, and when he was sad, the corners of his eyes would gather into endearing wrinkles. Yakov constantly tried to decipher the meaning of those wrinkles. He watched as Yubi's eyes narrowed, revealing a melancholy curve.
This was as he expected—Yakov was waiting for Yubi to read to the end of the letter. “What do you think?” he asked expectantly yet warily. “Is she telling the truth?”
Yubi stopped complaining about being interrupted. The vampire pursed his lips and handed the letter to Schumacher. The Jew, his mustache twitching, quickly read it through, then slowly opened his mouth, only uttering a sound after a long pause.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, "It seems you have an evil older brother!"
“Hmm…” Yubi cast a pleading and ashamed look at Yakov.
Seeing their shocked expressions, Yakov clicked his tongue in displeasure and snatched the letter back from Schumeer's hands. He then carefully examined the few understated but alarming words at the end of the long letter, a faint smile playing on his lips:
"That knight is neither my blood slave nor yours, but belongs to either Mother or Inarth." The elegant Greek letters fluttered across the paper. "Mother is gone, so I deliver her message to you:"
“Inard has been estranged from me and my mother for a long time. He is violent by nature, deeply closed off and stubborn, possessing most of the world’s prejudiced and narrow-minded characteristics, which makes him prone to hysteria, domineering, incompatible with everything, and unable to live in harmony with himself. Since your birth, he has become more and more unpredictable, like a flood or an earthquake, and finally broke off his family and left home. I do not know where he is hiding now.”
“If you are not convinced by this, I will tell you about Inard’s childhood ramblings.”
He once said that it would be good to make all the people in the world his blood slaves.
"Now that you are an adult and independent, you should be able to see the absurdity of this matter. Therefore, I hope you will be cautious and wise in your dealings with this matter and this person."
Yakov followed Schumacher's shoes all the way to his messy room. "My advice is simply to remain still," the Jew said, opening the door and blocking the way. "He's in the dark, we're in the light. If you're going to do anything, try to conceal your purpose."
“Then I’ll have Daoud investigate that knight for me first.” The knight pressed down on the door, and heard faint babbling sounds coming from behind him. “Where’s your letter? What did it say?”
Those amber eyes dimmed and shrank into the shadows. "It's nothing, just a letter home," Schumeer said with a smile, stroking his mustache. "Go back to Lord Jubius."
“He’s young and doesn’t understand. He should have told me, if not him.” Yakov, however, held the door firmly, refusing to let him close it. “If you keep this from me, who will be responsible if something goes wrong? Do you have some kind of grudge against me?”
A look of indescribable pain appeared on Schumeer's face, as if a swarm of ants were gnawing at his heart. The Jew hunched over slightly, sighing deeply, as if he had returned to the state of blindness and become listless. Yakov hated his appearance and was about to rudely push open the door and barge in when he saw him loosen the door knocker and give in.
“I’ve never told you about my family, have I? My parents had four children, two died young, and one left home.” Schumacher pointed to his heart. “My mother died in childbirth when she gave birth to her fifth child. I still have my father and younger sister in Venice.”
"I received a letter from my younger sister. She told me of our father's death and the family's dire straits. She was all alone, with no one to turn to. A Jewish woman alone in Venice, unable to find a livelihood, struggling to survive..."
“I personally dispatched a ship of the Knights of the Order to bring her from Venice.” Yakov’s beard twitched. “This little problem isn’t hard to solve?”
Schumer opened his mouth slowly, carefully choosing his words. "...I don't want to cause Lord Jubius any more trouble," he said.
“What’s the big deal?” Yakov’s anger flared. “If you get upset over something this trivial and start holding a grudge against me and Yubi, that’s the real problem!”
Schumer's lips curved into a smile beneath his mustache, yet his brow furrowed, his upper face a mask of tears and his lower half a smile—a truly awkward sight. "Yakov, the Holy Land is no good place. The paradise described in the scriptures has turned it into hell." He moved his lips, his tongue stiffly tied in knots. "This is a constant war, a never-ending conflict. We seem to have settled down here, but how long can this prosperity last? Is the promise of the Roman emperor more steadfast, the rule of the leper king longer, or Saladin's ambition more resolute?"
"Are you hoping to live a life free of ups and downs, to find a peaceful corner to enjoy your old age?" Yakov's eyes were as cold as an iceberg. "There is no such place in the world, and neither you nor I are qualified for it anymore."
Schumacher fell silent, angered by his harsh and cruel words. Just then, the child in the room toddled to the door and grabbed his trouser leg.
“You’re right.” Schumer looked down at the baby. “Yakov, you’re right.”
"Treat this as a good thing, don't look so gloomy like you've gone to your grave." Yakov pushed his door open and left with annoyance. "I'll have Nuk clean your room tomorrow and find a wet nurse for the child. You should also hurry up and write back to your sister."
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