Act Three: The Laws of Engaging with the World (Part Four)
Four
A few more days passed in a near-primitive, savage existence. Since falling into a mud pit during a fight, Yubi finally looked no different from any other filthy vagrant. He no longer applied perfume to his wrists every day, since no one knew anything about spices; he no longer avoided mud pits and bird droppings to avoid getting them on his boots, since his fine leather boots were now so filthy that they were unrecognizable; and when riding, he no longer avoided Yakov's dirty clothes and body odor, because doing so would leave him with sore legs and aching back when he dismounted to set up camp, unable to take another step.
But he still asked Yakov for that small Venetian hand mirror every day, sighing and tidying his hair while looking at his mud-covered reflection. His once neat and smooth hair was gradually turning into a bird's nest; if it grew any longer, it might become as messy as Camilla's.
"If my mother saw me like this, she would be heartbroken." Yubi put away the mirror and sighed sadly.
“There should be a bathhouse in town. If all else fails, we can borrow the bathhouse from the lord.” Schumeer scratched his scalp under his hat, sending up a cloud of dandruff. He suspected fleas had already made their nest there. “Just a little longer, we’ll be there soon!”
"The lord's family?" Yakov, who always wore his helmet and refused to take it off while traveling, questioned in a muffled voice from behind the metal cover, "You actually expect the lord's family to take us in?"
“My mother is the Grand Duke of Transylvania, and I am her son. Logically, all the land on the Shumel map belongs to us.” Yubi turned to look at Yakov behind him. “If we mention the name Noctenias, who wouldn’t welcome us?”
Not only Yakov, but even Schumeer laughed. "Look at your face, you haven't washed it in days, boy! Don't tell anyone about that!" Schumeer was tucking the two small braids at his temples into his beanie and wrapping two strips of cloth around his neck. He looked nothing like a Jew. "Hoping someone will take in a self-proclaimed nobleman of dubious origin is less desirable than hoping the cross on Yakov's body will bring us some benefits."
Yakov's mind was elsewhere. As they approached the crowds, he became worried again about the two chests carried on either side of his horse's hindquarters. His heart felt bound to these two piles of wealth, unable to move, and he couldn't eat or sleep. That morning, the forest path they had been traveling along merged into the main road. With market day approaching, caravans and people began to appear sporadically on the road. Large carts carrying stones and timber, farmers leading livestock, and horse-drawn carts laden with dozens of sheaves of wool all crowded together on the hillside. Yubi's red eyes darted around, observing all the men, women, and children from afar.
“What are they all saying?” Yubi asked. “Some of them speak Hungarian and Latin, which I can understand some of. And what about the ones I can’t understand?”
“Turkic and Slavic languages.” Yakov held the reins and pressed down on Yubi’s waist to prevent him from falling off the horse when he looked around.
“The language of barbarians.” Schumeer stroked his light, fluttering mustache again. “The language of those who do not believe in God.”
“Hey, Schumer, don’t be like that!” Yubi said, displeased, then turned to comfort him, “You know so much, Yakov! You even know the language of the barbarians!”
“Because he’s a barbarian!” Schumeer replied with a laugh. “It’s strange that he can speak Latin! Yakov, aren’t you going to tell us how you learned Latin?”
Yakov, however, didn't react to the teasing and simply led his horse on his way. Seeing his silence, Yubi sulked inwardly. Just then, an oxcart hurried past them, its shed piled high with soft straw, upon which lay a huge wooden cross.
“Look at that!” Yubi said. “What’s such a big cross for?”
Schumer frowned and thought for a moment. "Christmas is coming soon, so this might be something used for the celebrations," he guessed. "There will be more people at the market soon."
As they followed the crowd around a winding mountain path, a row of low wooden stake walls came into view in the distance. The city sat at the foot of the mountain, its walls enclosing small, brick-red houses, surrounding a taller wooden building—perhaps the lord's residence, but not particularly magnificent or imposing. Scattered streams of people and vehicles converged at the city gate, resembling ants carrying grains and breadcrumbs from afar. Clusters of small sheds set up at the foot of the walls served as their resting places, where merchants sold water and food, and others, baskets in hand, bustled about in the queue to enter the city, hawking their wares. Yubi stared intently at the scene—"What's it like inside?" he asked, his shoes kicking restlessly in his horse harness, his excitement palpable. "Yakov, Shumel, tell me!"
“Lots of people!” Schumacher replied with a smile. “The city is packed with people! The market only opens once in a long while, and people come from all over.”
"Stop kicking!" Yakov scolded Yubi, pressing down on the two wiggling legs. He peered under his helmet toward the city gate. Guards stood there, checking everyone entering the market. Yakov nervously pursed his lips.
“I know what you’re worried about, Yakov,” Shumel said, swaying as he leaned on his donkey. “Actually, I have an idea for you to take these things into town. But you might not be willing to do it.”
"What idea?"
“Don’t forget the burqa you’re wearing. We should make good use of it.” Schumacher gestured with his chin towards a few Jewish merchants on the street. “See my Hebrew-speaking compatriots? We can do what Christians can’t. I mean, some deposit and loan business. You can’t be as old-fashioned as a Christian, can you, Yakov?”
"You want me to exchange gold for a note?" Yakov said angrily.
“No, my idea is much smarter!” Schumeer twirled his mustache with two fingers. “The Knights Templar do this kind of business too, you know? They have special privileges.”
“But you told me that the Knights Templar belong to the Pope,” Yubi leaned out and asked Schumacher, “They should be the most devout Christians, how could they do such a business?”
“Rules only bind those without privilege, Yubi. To me, it’s just a natural right, a right everyone should have. Who says merchants who engage in lending are lowly?” Schumer gritted his teeth, but a smile remained on his face. “The Knights were originally established to escort pilgrims and their valuables. As this business grows and the number of outposts increases, is it better to have a caravan loaded with gold, nervously watching for months, or to exchange it for a convenient promissory note and cash it upon arrival? Besides, although interest is an evil thing, if you’re willing, you can always find some benefits…” He narrowed his eyes. “For example, manipulating foreign exchange rates, diverting funds to manage real estate, collecting taxes for royalty and nobility…”
These terms left Yakov dizzy. He stared at the words under his helmet for a moment, thankfully no one saw his dumbfounded expression. "You want me to use the Templars' name to start a lending business?"
“That’s up to you. This is a new territory, and I don’t think there will be any Knights’ property here. So you’ll be the first, whether it’s true or not.” Schumeer’s amber eyes darted around shrewdly. “However, I’m just giving you a reason so you’ll have something to say when the guards question you.”
“If these tricks had really worked, you wouldn’t be in this state today.” Yakov urged the horse to walk faster. “I’ll think about it.”
Schumacher laughed awkwardly, then spurred his donkey to catch up.
However, Schumer's advice was of no use. The city gates were packed with people; few were getting in, many were waiting, and they hadn't been in line for long. The guards, patrolling and inspecting them, noticed Yakov's white robe with a red cross, whispered among themselves, then said something Yakov couldn't understand, and held out his palm. Yakov froze, unsure how to react.
“They said they wanted two gold coins for the toll,” Yubi turned to remind him. “That’s German.”
Yakov was taken aback, frowning as he thought, "Is money really that easy to earn?" Schumeer earned one gold coin for each painting, and the guards earned two. At this rate, the two chests of valuables wouldn't last long. He glanced at Schumeer's expression, seeing his urging look, and reluctantly counted out two gold coins from his purse. The guards didn't check his chests or make him remove his helmet; instead, they took the money, removed the three of them from the queue, and let them into the city. This sparked a chorus of complaints from the people in line, but it didn't evoke any pity in Yakov.
"Damn robbers!" Yakov felt no gratitude for the preferential treatment, only cursing inwardly, "This is what robbers are like, the biggest robbers."
"Thank goodness they didn't check you!" Schumacher comforted him. "Look at that group of Hungarian speakers behind you, they'll probably be waiting for ages, maybe not even getting in all day!"
Yubi paid no heed to these troublesome adult matters; his mind was entirely focused on the town and the market! There were so many people, shoulder to shoulder, horses crawling along like pebbles in a river. Yakov dismounted to lead the way with the bit, Shumel kept watch on the chests to prevent pickpocketing, while Yubi himself sat idly on the top saddle, spared from the jostling of pedestrians and the need to search for anything. His only pastime was gripping the handles and looking around. It was a bustling market, the cries of vendors mingling with the sounds of various animals, along with the loud shouts of magicians, musicians, and beggars. Yubi looked around and saw a street filled with the tops of heads, rising and falling like waves.
"They have everything!" Yubi's voice was drowned out; she had to shout to get their attention, and soon her throat was hoarse. "There are so many people! All sorts of people! People wearing hats, people wearing headscarves, people wearing nothing at all, and even bald people!"
“That’s nothing!” Schumeer shouted back with a laugh. “When you get to Constantinople, that’s when you’ll see real splendor! You’ll meet Arab scholars, Persian dancers, and spice and porcelain merchants from India and Seres.”
Yubi thought, "Isn't this what you call bustling?" His eyes couldn't take it all in. He saw farmers selling pigs, chickens, and cows; merchants selling milk, cakes, and honey; and peddlers with carts laden with fruit—all kinds of pears, apricots, apples, and cherries, a dazzling array. Shops lined the street, buildings packed tightly together, with shacks squeezed in between, leaving no empty space. Blacksmiths, carpenters, stonemasons, tailors, taverns, and—what was that? A strange alleyway filled with women, all with curtains drawn.
“Hey, kid, don’t look at this!” Schumeer yelled.
"Is he still young? Others his age already have several children!" Yakov led his horse forward, his tall figure and dirty chainmail causing the crowd to avoid him.
"What kind of place is this?" Yubi asked, craning her neck.
“They are prostitutes,” Schumeer sighed. “This is a place where sex is sold.”
"Selling out women? Why are there only women involved and no men?"
"Of course you see it! You just didn't see it." Yakov yanked hard on the bit, causing the horse to take a large step forward, nearly throwing Yubi off. "Stop looking!"
Yubi couldn't help but ponder this matter. He couldn't help but think of his mother's blood slaves. "They sell their bodies, so do they sell their blood?" He leaned down and whispered to Yakov, "If I could turn people into blood slaves myself someday, where would I find people?"
Yakov didn't answer him, but simply led his horse forward. Further down the alley was the slave market. Some men with fierce appearances—Yakov knew these were nomadic Tatars who made their living through raiding—were leading a group of shackled men and women, calling out prices for their sale. Yakov's gaze peeked through the holes in his helmet. Most of the thinly dressed refugee slaves, exposed to the cold wind, shared similar blond hair and blue eyes with him.
Yakov felt a suffocating pain. He slowly exhaled, skillfully calming himself down.
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