Act XIV: The Dance of the Seven Veils (XIV)
fourteen
Easter passed, and no news came. Yakov was forced to get used to prison life. Thalerman's reasons for him were excessively compelling, forcing him to choose between "freedom" and Yubi's life or death. As time went on, Yakov even felt that his lack of freedom represented something, like a noose around his neck; breaking it would seem naive, impulsive, and unreasonable. It was as if all mature and rational people had to give up their freedom to achieve this hard-won maturity and rationality.
If he himself decided to be imprisoned here, was he truly imprisoned here freely? Yakov pondered this question day after day, almost forgetting the passage of time. This question tormented him, making him delirious and struggling painfully, causing the sun and moon to futilely take turns passing through the narrow courtyard.
At first, Yakov noticed that Salman was giving him less naan and roast meat, and the onions and hummus were no longer fresh. He didn't ask anything or complain, taking this treatment as expected of a prisoner. Then, the drinks he drank tasted sour and were tainted. He didn't think Salman was deliberately mistreating him, because the annoying "eunuch jailer" seemed to be getting thinner and thinner, just like him. Then one day, he overheard Salman arguing with a Saracen merchant in Arabic outside.
"I can't come back!" the merchant shouted. "Money is not as important as life. No matter how much money you give me, I can't do this!"
Yakov lay on a simple woolen mat, tilting his head to avoid the sunlight streaming through the courtyard. He picked up a sharp stone from the sand—the Blood Slave quickly realized it wasn't a sharp stone at all, but a shard of ceramic. The ancient, hand-painted patterns on it were faded and worn, having been eroded by wind and sand for centuries.
“Alright, I understand.” He heard Seyleman sigh to the businessman. “I’ll think of something else.”
A moment later, the sound of horses' hooves and cart axles came from outside. "Yakov, I have to go on a long trip, it will probably take ten days." Seleman's face appeared in the courtyard, and he threw down a basket tied with a rope. "I'm leaving all the remaining food and water for you."
Yakov turned his head slightly. "Did Anbichya call you?" he guessed casually.
“That’s not the case.” Seleman’s voice seemed to come from near and then disappear. “With the recent war, the merchants who deliver food and drink are no longer coming. I need to find markets further away and a stable source of water and food.”
Yakov had no interest in the reason. "Hmm," he replied hastily, and went back to the wool shop.
Soon, Seilman's face was once again pressed against the ceiling. "I think you understand now, but I still need to tell you, Yakov, don't run away." He thought for a moment and added, "...and don't starve to death, do you understand?"
Yakov didn't want to reply, and just stared blankly at the stone wall. Reluctantly, he grabbed Yubi's old headscarf and covered his face, listening to the carriage creaking away outside the courtyard.
On the third quiet night after the carriage left, Yakov finally got up to check what was left in the basket to fill his stomach. To his surprise, and unsurprisingly, he found that the rats had stolen everything, leaving only scraps.
For a moment, Yakov thought he might as well just starve to death here and end his suffering. Perhaps it would be better for Yubi, giving him one less weakness, one less burden. Then, he heard his stomach growl, and the thought vanished instantly. Yakov silently berated himself for this absurd idea.
The Blood Slave finally raised his head and looked at the bright moonlight outside the courtyard.
Yakov lit a torch and tried to climb the well wall by grabbing onto the stones. But the prison was cleverly designed, the well was high and the slope was steep, and he fell down after only a few steps. He then found a rope, tied it into a knot, and threw it out, thinking that perhaps he could hook onto some tree branches or boulders for gripping. But after throwing it a few times, Yakov quickly discovered that outside was a bare stone path, with nothing to hook onto.
The Blood Slave sat down to rest for a while, wiping the sweat from his brow. He calmed himself, surveyed his surroundings, and found the traces of a pillar among the crooked rubble. When he was first brought here, Yakov knew nothing about this place, only that Seleman had told him it used to be a dry well; now, he thought it was more like ruins—like a palace. If it were a palace built in the desert, there must be underground reservoirs and warehouses—so the Blood Slave mustered his strength and got up again, tapping each suspicious spot with a stone, listening for any hollow sounds. Soon, Yakov found a loose, weathered rock.
He held his breath, picked up a large rock, and smashed it hard against the rock's weak corner. As he expected, it was actually a crumbling, aged brick wall, which collapsed in no time, revealing a spacious, empty room bathed in moonlight, from which a free and cold atmosphere emanated.
As Yakov crossed the ruins, he saw a skull lying quietly at the exit, placed in a rusty silver dish, as if it wanted to tell him something.
He stared at the empty, hollow eye sockets, ignoring them, and simply stepped over the skull, climbed the pile of rocks, and left the cage. The radiant waves of the Dead Sea suddenly came into view—Yakov found himself on a mountain peak, with a wide-open view and cool air. On the opposite shore of the Dead Sea, the golden cross of Jerusalem seemed within reach, shining like the North Star in the night; but on this side of the sea, the desolate land was barren, with towering, rugged mountains. Yakov was stunned by this free yet strikingly different beauty, gazing at it for a long time, until the feeling of hunger returned.
He returned to the courtyard and found a package where Seymour had been sleeping—it contained the confiscated longsword. The translucent ruby on its hilt shimmered brilliantly in the moonlight.
Blood Slave once again fastened the leather strap of his sword sheath to his waist and covered his face with a turban. He walked all night along a rugged mountain path and found an empty village at the foot of the mountain. "Where is this?" Yakov asked an old man by the roadside in Arabic, "Do you have any food?"
“This is called Mukavir.” The old man gave him a hard piece of bread and pointed to the hillside where Yakov had come from. “The people here are all gone. The Christians killed us. You should go too.”
Yakov thanked him and continued on his way.
He walked along the salt flats of the Dead Sea, and four days later, he reached the walls of Jerusalem. Two days later, he arrived at the gates of Ludwig. People were talking about the news of the deaths of monarchs: the once cruel and bloodthirsty Roman emperor had been mutilated and tortured to death in the Colosseum; King Baldwin, who had leprosy, had also died and was to be buried in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre; even Saladin, who had always been a warrior on the battlefield, had fallen seriously ill and had to return to Cairo to rest. In such chaotic times, no one would remember a down-on-his-luck fellow who had been expelled from the Knights of the Order years ago—Yakov thought to himself as he walked through the simple city gate.
The former captain of the knights knew these streets like the back of his hand. Yakov gazed at the avenue leading to St. George's Church, observing the shops and vendors, and surveying the patrolling soldiers around him. Everything was different now, he thought. He didn't see a single familiar face among these familiar signs and houses, which wasn't a good thing or a bad thing. The Blood Slave walked north from the corner of the church, his legs following the memories of years past, without needing to think or recall—after walking for a while, he stopped in front of that magnificent mansion.
Above the doorway, Yubi's emblem had been replaced, leaving no trace of its former glory. The doorway was wide open, with porters and workers coming and going, and a strange, pungent odor emanated from within. Yakov peeked inside—the octagonal pavilion in the courtyard had been demolished, its interior now filled with silks of various colors, drying in the sun; the once charming and tranquil fountain had been converted into dye vats, from which all sorts of unpleasant smells wafted.
"Do you want to find work?" a gatekeeper asked Yakov.
“I’m looking for someone,” Yakov replied. “Who did this house come from? I’m looking for the former owner of this house.”
"This house was first mortgaged to the Knights Templar to pay off their debts, and then we were asked to buy it at auction." The gatekeeper shook his head and waved his hand. "Go ask the Knights."
These words sent a chill down Yakov's spine. He gripped his sword sheath tightly, looking around hesitantly. A group of female workers, barefoot, waded through the purplish-red ditch, carrying wet bundles of silk, passed by him—"Ah, you've finally come!" Suddenly, an older woman squeezed in front of Yakov, grasping his hand tightly with a blister-covered, wrinkled one. "I knew you would come; I've waited so long!"
Yakov took a while to recognize the face and her Greek accent: Naya's face had aged considerably, and her once clean and soft hands were now covered in dead skin and blisters from the burns, making it almost impossible for her to hold a pen.
“What about Nuk and Daoud?” Yakov asked. “Didn’t they stay?”
Naya led him to a low house outside the city, which Yakov had to bend over to squeeze into. "After Lord Jubius removed the seal, they went to Egypt together," Naya said. "Both boys look like Egyptians and speak Arabic. They are young, strong, and quick-witted; perhaps they will achieve great things there."
Yakov sat on a clean straw mat she had hastily prepared. He looked up, feeling resentful and bitter about the cramped room. "You didn't have to do this," the Blood Slave said, carefully tucking her headscarf around her neck. "He let you go, why don't you go back to Eudosia and reunite with your children?"
“I’m afraid of him, afraid of dragging others into these things.” Naya lowered her head and tightly clutched the amulet to her chest. “...I also feel guilty towards him.”
Yakov stared at her with disdain, waiting for her to repent.
“If you want to kill me to vent your anger after hearing these things, so be it,” Naya calmly recounted. “Before, I was afraid of him and afraid of you, so afraid that I was almost prostrating myself in fear. I could only survive by turning my fear into worship. After being afraid for so long, I always wanted to find a way out, to find freedom. Then, I met Yesau and went to their gathering… My lord, I was also involved in that incident. Yesau only had the opportunity to kill because I let him into the house.”
This no longer angered Yakov. "I guessed it," he said simply.
“I thought to myself, they were going after Lord Ambicea, they shouldn’t have hurt Lord Eubius… I made an even worse mistake, please hear me out. Lord Eubius was a kind man. Since he was kind, why couldn’t he live and rule with his brother? So, I found a way to connect the two gods, to arrange a deal between them, so that each could get what they wanted… I didn’t know that Lord Eubius would become like this, nor did I know that his brother could be so cruel and heartless… It’s all my fault, Lord, I should go to hell.”
Yakov's breathing grew heavier, his grip on the leather strap of his sword creaking—but compassion eventually calmed him down. It could have been someone else if not Naya, he thought.
"...What has he become?" Yakov asked. "Where is Yubi now?"
Upon hearing this question, tears welled up in Naya's eyes. "He's still in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, sir."
"To resurrect his mother? But Easter is long over."
“He… Lord Jubius is trapped in the church, unable to leave…” Naya wiped away her tears. “He’s surrounded by his brother’s blood slaves, harassing him daily, trying to kill him… I learned of this, but I can’t go to the church to persuade him, I don’t have the courage. I’ve lost my mark, I’m afraid of death. I’m clinging to this life, hoping only that you can return, end this cruel war for him, and end this agonizing torment for me…”
Yakov stood up from the haystack, intending to rush out the door and head straight for Jerusalem—but then sat back down dejectedly. The Blood Slave dug his fingers into his hair and pulled fiercely.
“I shouldn’t have come.” For a moment, Yakov even regretted it and wanted to go back to the prison. “What use is my coming? I’m a burden to him, his bait, and I’ll get him killed! He doesn’t listen to me, he didn’t before, and he won’t listen to me now. What good will it do you expect me to come?”
“Don’t say that, my lord.” Naya knelt at his feet. “He loves you! If it weren’t for you, no one else could have ended all this!”
With her chapped hands, she rummaged through the straw mat beside her and pulled out an old bundle, placing it on Yakov's lap.
"What is this?" Yakov looked up.
“After Easter last year, most of Lud City’s assets were used to pay off the Knights’ debts,” Naya said. “This is what I’ve left for you… Lord Jubius has kept it carefully all this time, and it will surely come in handy now.”
Last year's Easter? The chilling word sent a cold sweat down Yakov's back. How long had he been lying there in a daze in prison? The Blood Slave opened the package, and a crooked, hooded barrel helmet came into view, beneath which was a worn-out white uniform with a red cross—the same robe, helmet, and chainmail he had worn when he first met Yubi in Transylvania. Yakov hadn't seen these old things for over ten years.
“The nine-year-old king died in Acre, and his body is being escorted by the Templars. It will be some time before it reaches Jerusalem.” Naya stroked the helmet. “All kings are buried in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Wear this armor, say you are a Templar Knight named Zashchtenikov, and go to see Lord Jubius.”
“…A nine-year-old little king?” Yakov turned his head. “Isn’t he the king named Baldwin who has leprosy?”
Naya looked into his eyes with shock and pity. “My lord, that child is also named Baldwin, and he also has leprosy.” She lowered her voice. “The last king named Baldwin who had leprosy died fifteen months ago.”
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
