Act XI: The Promised Land (Part 5)
five
“I made a bet with you long ago,” Yakov said, lying comfortably on the bed. “This is ‘love’.”
"You're so cold-blooded and heartless!" Yubi paced back and forth in the luxurious room, but the wind and waves outside made him unsteady on his feet. "What if he's been kidnapped or murdered? How do you know it was him who abandoned Eudosia?"
“If that girl loved him, how could she not even know his name?” Yakov raised an arm behind his head. “It doesn’t matter who her lover is.”
"Then why was she so heartbroken?"
"Because she lost her love."
"Without a lover, where does love come from!"
Yakov didn't answer, but laughed again. He put on an irritating yet subtly profound expression, making Yubi suspect that he was mocking his own foolishness.
“Even if we knew his name, you can’t let the army waste a day just to find a servant. There’s no other way,” Schumeer interrupted their argument. “No one would bother to kidnap a runaway servant. If Diophantus wanted to capture him, he would capture Eudosias as well.”
“That kid is a smart man. If he doesn’t run away now, he’ll get into trouble sooner or later.” Yakov added, “You’re thinking of Eudosia, but you haven’t thought of this servant.”
Yubi was torn between worry and anger by their conversation. "What am I going to do with Eudosia?" he said helplessly, pulling up his wide sleeves and crossing them over his chest. "They said they'd elope, but now she's all alone!"
The fleet departed Rhodes and sailed into the vast, deep Mediterranean. They sailed along the Anatolian coast towards Cyprus: the legendary birthplace of the goddess of beauty. General Condor Stefanos arranged a second brief stop at Famagusta, a Venetian port city—of course, those money-grubbing merchants had been expelled. The days on board grew hotter each day, as if they were heading straight for the sun. Yakov skillfully folded linen into triangles, draped them over his chainmail hood, and rolled up the edges, so that the scorching sun wouldn't turn his iron cap into a torture device.
“You said I dressed like a Saracen, but you are now.” Yubi reached out and touched the top of his hat, which had been exposed to the sun all day, and found that his pampered hand had been burned. Luckily, he was a vampire, so he couldn’t get wounds and didn’t feel pain.
“When we get here, we’ll either be dressed like Saracens or get roasted by the sun.” Yakov adjusted his hat with his rough fingers, turning the cross to the front—a behavior that Yubi found distressing. “We’re still in the port now; it’ll be even hotter in the mountains and deserts.”
“Cyprus is so hot, let alone a holy site,” Yubi exclaimed. “How could people choose such a hellish place as their holy site?”
“Now that you’ve arrived at the holy land, be careful not to let anyone hear such blasphemous words.” Behind them, Schumeer tapped the ground twice with his cane.
Yubi gave a dismissive, perfunctory reply. His gaze shifted to Yudosia on the deck—the girl's condition was extremely worrying. She had finally cried all her tears, leaving only a dry, numb look in her eyes. She hadn't eaten or drunk anything for days, remaining silent. She was leaning precariously against the railing, looking as if she might throw herself into the sea at any moment.
"Aren't you going to comfort her?" Yakov asked nonchalantly. "Aren't you the best at this?"
“I’m waiting for it to get dark.” Yubi rolled her eyes at him, reluctantly pulling a small glass bottle from her sleeve. “I also wanted to give her this perfume; I blended it myself a while ago, hoping it would cheer her up…”
Yakov's gaze changed imperceptibly. "Let me see." He removed his iron gauntlet and opened his palm.
Without much thought, Yubi placed the glass bottle directly into Yakov's hand. It was a shimmering, narrow-necked bottle, sealed with a soft oak stopper, no larger than the knight's palm. Yakov carefully pinched the stopper and opened it, and a delicate scent of Damask rose wafted out, its fresh fragrance filling his nostrils.
"How is it?" Yubi asked, craning her neck. "The girls should all like the smell."
“Not bad.” Yakov casually stuffed the cork back in and handed the bottle back to Yubi. “You can go now.”
Yubi always felt that Yakov was hiding something from him, secretly plotting something, but he couldn't figure out what it was. The young nobleman just clutched the perfume bottle and went towards Eudosia. "...I hope this will soothe your wounded heart," he said thoughtfully. "There are still many beautiful things in the world. Don't be too sad for a lost lover and hurt yourself."
“I thank you, sir…” Eudosia accepted the gift without hesitation, her eyes never leaving the Cypriot harbor. “No need to comfort me.”
“Try this perfume.” Yubi awkwardly took the bottle back from her hand. “This scent should cheer you up.”
His fingers touched the bottle opening, only to find that the cork had been firmly pressed inward by Yakov. The embarrassing situation made Yubi's face flush with embarrassment, and he glanced reproachfully at Yakov—his knight had clearly done it on purpose, a smug smile playing on his lips as he scrutinized him. "...Sorry, it must have been too long since I'd opened it." Yubi turned the bottle upside down and slammed it down a few times, then tried to pry at the rim with his sharp fingernails. But the cork was firmly stuck, and his efforts were futile.
Eudosia's gaze finally fell on him, looking at his comical appearance.
"Go get me a screwdriver!" Yubi yelled angrily. "Yakov, look what you've done!"
He hadn't expected the girl beside him to chuckle—Yubi couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Yudosia smile. "You truly have a good knight by your side, so considerate and understanding in every way, helping you accomplish all sorts of things." The girl's words were ethereal and light as mist, like a sigh of self-pity mixed with admiration, "If only I had a knight like that..."
Yubi blushed even more upon hearing this. "...There will be. Even if there isn't, I wish you self-improvement and strength." He sighed deeply, easing his tension and relieved that the difficult matter had been resolved. "Once you reach Jerusalem, your new life will begin... I've said too much; whatever makes you happy is what matters."
Eudosia turned her gaze back to the harbor, to the swaying palm trees and the returning soldiers in the night. She looked at the departing fleet and fell into a sorrowful silence.
“You really don’t need to worry about me, sir.” She quietly lowered her eyes. “Words are so pale and powerless, I only ask the Lord to have mercy on me.”
From then on, the girl, having lost her purpose, became like a philosopher, spending her days devoutly burning incense and praying, lost in her own thoughts, making their journey dull and uninteresting. The journey from Cyprus to Acre was no longer far, and the fleet sailed south along the Syrian coast, arriving at their destination in the height of summer, September.
Yubi had initially believed it to be all desert, a claim he'd heard from Yakov and other Crusader knights; yet the Bible described it as the Promised Land, flowing with milk and honey, the bountiful Canaan. Only when he saw this legendary place, the closest to heaven, with his own eyes at sea did some doubts dissipate, but even more were born.
He first saw in the distance a range of mountains and beaches, all the yellowish-white color of limestone, sandwiched between the chaotic sea and sky, scorched by the terrible sun, with waves of heat churning up dust from the ground. It was like a barren land, yet not truly barren: Yubi could see plants stubbornly carving out soil and growing on the stony ground, adding some life to this place closest to God. When the fleet reached the great port of Acre, the rich and vibrant scenery finally became more apparent—Yubi saw Italian ships sailing again in the azure bay, no less numerous than those in the concessions of Constantinople. These shrewd merchants had set up markets in the Crusader fortresses, allowing local farmers to bring their harvested dates, almonds, and olives to exchange for money, then reselling the goods at several times the price to pilgrims from afar. Whether Christian, Muslim, or Jewish, they set no restrictions, only recognizing who had more gold coins in their pockets.
"I see that flag again!" Yubi, hiding in the cabin, pointed to a flag with two wings of a lion in the harbor outside the window and shouted happily to Schumacher, "That's the flag of Venice, the flag of your hometown. I haven't seen it in Rome for so long!"
The blind Jew simply nodded. He could see nothing and had no way to comment.
Yubi adjusted his headscarf again, then boldly peeked out the window, searching for Yakov. Their ship was docked at the Knights Templar's port. His knight had disembarked first and was currently on the shore, talking to many people at once, too busy to catch a moment's rest. Yubi heard a creak—Naya walked in behind him, saw his dangerous movement, and knelt down at his feet in fright.
"Please don't do this..." she pleaded, trying to grab Yubi's clothes, but hesitated. "The sun here is harsh, unlike in the north!"
“You don’t need to be afraid of Yakov.” Yubi turned around, wisps of smoke curling from his hair. “He’s just saying that; he won’t actually throw your child into the sea.”
Kona's eyes gradually reddened. She clutched her left breast in anguish, unable to utter a single word—Yubi couldn't bear to see his blood slave mark flare up. He stood there, stunned, helplessly realizing that his words were pale and powerless, yet also arrogant. This thought infuriated him.
"Fine, I pity you." The vampire retreated angrily into the shadows. "I'm fine, don't worry."
"Are there pilgrims on your ship?" a Templar asked in French. "Is there cargo?"
“No, my ship is full of Cuman mercenaries.” Yakov grabbed Sancho’s robe and pulled him over. “Ask him about the Knights.”
"Where do you intend to settle the Cumans?" an official sent by General Condor Stefanos asked in Greek, standing next to Selman, "so that it is convenient to go to Egypt from here at any time, and the expedition cannot be delayed."
“We have too many men; there’s simply not enough room for everyone in this small town,” Turana said in Turkic, her arms crossed, her sunburned face even more swollen. “Where are we going to get supplies?”
“Take your own tents and horses and set up camp outside the city.” Yakov then pulled out a turbaned Armenian guide from behind him and asked him in Arabic, “Do you speak Greek?”
The guide in his hand could only nod blankly. "A little is enough. You two discuss going to buy things from the Italians." Yakov tossed him to Thurana, then turned and shouted towards the ship, "Daud, Nuk! Bring the counted money bags!"
The two boys, barely daring to breathe, carried the boxes swiftly from the deck, their expressions serious as if preparing for battle. But Yakov stopped them from afar. "What are you doing with so much?" The knight's unruly eyebrows shot up, sending chills down one's spine. "Just for one day, put it back!"
Turalya, seeing the gold coin chest back on the ship, also revealed a fierce expression. "Are we going to keep asking you for our supplies every day?" she demanded, grabbing Yakov's collar. Beside her, Borakhan's hand rested on his scimitar. "You gave it all at once!"
“I must go to Jerusalem with the Romans to join another Crusaders. I need to ask how long you will be stationed outside Acre.” Yakov shook off her hand, then turned and pulled over a Jerusalem nobleman who had been observing the situation—most of them were of Frankish descent, but all wore elaborate turbans, open-sleeved coats, and pointed, curved shoes. Were it not for the cross necklaces around their necks, they would have been mistaken for bastards. “Where is that Crusaders now?” Yakov switched back to French. “When will the expedition begin?”
"Are you referring to the Count of Flanders?" The nobleman looked troubled and brushed aside his rough hand. "You and the Romans have only just arrived here. We'll have to go to Jerusalem to discuss with the King and the Count when you'll depart."
“Then we can only provide supplies on a daily basis.” Yakov was furious when he heard this, and then turned to translate for Turana, “I will never shortchange you, and you shouldn’t try to take advantage of me.”
Turalya and her son had clearly exchanged some insults in Turkic, which Yakov understood but ignored. The group, sweltering under the blazing sea sun, had been arguing and sweating profusely, finally managing to reach a compromise and go about their own business. Yakov clenched his fists angrily, yet also felt a surge of exhilaration, a refreshing energy coursing through him—he was the one in charge, everyone had to consult him, and he could handle any problem perfectly and considerately. Power! Yakov thought, both intoxicated and wary, even this fleeting taste of power was so sweet, enough to make one lose oneself!
He stood tall and proud, about to return to the ship to pick up Yubi, when a familiar figure in black robes blocked his way.
“I came all the way here to pick you up. Luckily, you didn’t need to look for your boat.” Pascal’s smiling face shone in the sunlight, followed by a whole caravan of camels. “My friend, it’s been six months, and you’ve become quite a big shot!”
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