Lord of the Vampires (2 page)

Elizabeth Miller

Professor of English

Memorial University of Newfoundland

PROLOGUE

Memorandum of Vlad III, Prince of Wallachia

Bucharest, Curtea Domneasca, 28 December 1476.

Outside, the promise of snow; the weather has turned bitter and the sky leaden, cloaking the overhead sun. Yet the air tingles, as if with unhurled lightning. It dances upon my skin.

We wait.

He comes Basarab is coming

I smile up from parchment, ink, and quill at my trusted aide Gregors face, draped with shadows from the torchlight. Child of
boiers,
the Roumanian nobility, his features are minesharp, hawkish nose and chin, large heavy-lidded eyes, raven hair falling to his shoulders. No doubt we are related by blood, distant cousins at the least; he is at most half a thumb taller, so close are we in height.

The resemblance ends there, for the intelligence possessed by our forebears flows in my veins alone. Look at him: The fool cannot resist peering from time to time through the curtains, at the city spreading out below us, at the high, fortified walls built at my command. At what lies what
will
lie soonbeyond those walls. He thinks I do not know.

Laiota Basarab with an army of four thousand Turks, come to murder me inside these stone walls and steal my throne, so recently reclaimed. And I with but half as many men, and my champions returned to their northern kingdoms.

The traitor comes

You know all that can be known of treachery, do you not, Gregor? Oh yes, you return my glance with the most fawning of courtesies, but I see your heart; I hear your very thoughts. You swear fealty to me, the
voivode,
but your loyalties lie with the inconstant
boier,
the nobles who will again deliver their country into the hands of Basarab, lover of Turks, for the sake of a mercenary peace.

All this did the Dark One reveal to me last night within the Circle. I doubt it not, for I have of late acquired further talents unknown to common mortals: the reading of the thoughts and hearts. As Gregor paces uneasily before the curtain, I see now his guilt as clearly as I see the words scrawled here before me.

I know treachery myself too well, having been often betrayed. Betrayed by my father, when he surrendered my brother and myself, both of tender age, to be the sultans hostages. Betrayed by my fair brother, Radu, lover of women and men and the sultan Mehmed, on whose account Radu seized my throne from me. .

(And you are dead now, are you not, my dear younger brother? Killed at last by the womanish acts that won you Mehmeds heart and armyand thus my kingdom. Those beautiful eyes the colour of blue-green sea are closed forever; those full red lips, which sought the breasts of women with the same fervour that they suckled at the sultans lap, shall never kiss again. May your syphilitic Turkish lovers follow you soon!)

Betrayed even by my one trusted friend, Stefan eel Mare, whose kingdom I helped him win. (You play the friend once more, my Stefan, now that it falls to your advantage. But I will not forget or forgive your maneuvers that put Basarab in my place. I take your help now that regret overtakes you; but the time for recompense will come.)

Still quiet. No cries from the watch tower, just the hiss of the fire, the scratch of the quill against parchment, the silence of imminent snow. And the scuffle of Gregors boots against stone as he paces; I am far too entertained by his anxiety to give him leave to sit. An hour ago, I bade him: Send to the stable for horses, one for each of us, and a days provisions.

Ah, the look of ill-concealed terror in his eye, at the thought the
boiers
scheme might go awry! Where shall we go, my lord?

Had I been in my usual humour, I would not have deigned to reply with more than a scowl (nor would Gregor have dared to ask, had his desperation not been so great). As it was, my amusement was such that I answered, Riding.

And, as he backed away, bowing, towards the door, his expression one of comical dubiousness, I addedloudly so that those standing watch at the entry would hear: And send in two guards. I am not of a mind to wait alone.

They heard and entered without waiting for Gregors relaytwo fine strong Moldavians, one dark and the other golden, both tall and armed with swords, both left behind as tokens of Stefans guilt over past infidelities. This I did so that Gregor might not, should he arm himself in his absence, return and indulge his anxiousness to see me destroyed.

Later, when he returned, cheeks and nose reddened and glistening from the cold, to report that the horses should be ready within the hour, I sent him straightway on another errand: Fetch clothing for me and yourself and bring it here, to my private chambers. We shall go disguised as Turks.

This gave him great alarm, which he barely stifled. Did I know of the
boier
plot to send Basarab and the Turks to slay me and my army? Did I suspect him?

In his veiled eyes I saw the machinations of a traitorous mind. I had given no clear sign of suspicion yet; certainly I could have easily ordered the bodyguards to dispatch him had I discovered the truth. Was this one of the fearsome
voivodes
fatal gameswas I delaying his execution in order to savour itor was it chance that I had chosen this moment to leave my stronghold disguised, alongside the man who would play my Judas?

He left, and in moments returned with clothing: a peaked cap, tunic and wool cloak to shield against the cold. He assisted me with my dress under the attentive eye of the Moldavians, watched as I wound the turban round my head, and looked askance when I asked him:

Olmeye hazirmisin? Are you prepared to die?,
for I am as fluent in the speech of my enemies as I am my own tongue, having spent my youth as the sultans prisoner. I know their dress, their mannerisms, and can pass for one of them. And I laughed, for though he is their minionhe who serves the
boiers
serves the Turkshe understood not one word I had uttered. He laughed also, yellowed teeth flashing beneath the drooping mustache so like mine, thinking my mirth sprang from my successful impersonation.

Then I went over to the wall and lifted down from its place of honour a great scimitar, gleaming in the firelight, and with it a curving sheath. This I fastened to my belt, then said:

Dress.

He did so, and I looked on in silent approval at a body small in stature, but muscular, broad of chest and shoulder. His scars are fewerhe has not been tested in battle as often as Iand he lacks half a front tooth, but the similarities are enough.

After a time, a boy ran up to say the mounts were ready. But I would not be rushed. I had begun this entry and was obliged to finish itfor this will be my last remembrance as a mortal. I had learned from the Dark Lord in Circle the hour of Basarabs coming and knew I was still safe, and further, I was not inclined to end Gregors anxiety. Let him wait! Let him suffer in uncertaintywhich he does to this very moment, pacing in his Turkish robes, praying that I will change my mind and remain here, to be slaughtered.

Were the guards not here, he would risk killing me now. I know that the moment we are alone on horseback, he will seek the first opportunity; for that, I am ready.

I must not die now! Not so close to the touch of the Dark Lord, and Eternity

* * *

Snagov Monastery, 28 December.

To the north we rode upon black stallions, first along the banks of the Dimbovita, then across the frozen ground into the bare-limbed Vlasia Forest, tinged with evergreen. The air was grey with smoke and the approaching storm, and laden with a strange, fleeting smell: of lightning spent, of iron wielded; of blood and snow.

I galloped at full speed, wind stinging my eyes, keeping Gregor well behind mea danger, perhaps, but I had seen him dress and knew he carried no weapon save the sword at his waist. If he wished to kill me at that moment (and he did), then he would have to overtake me, throw me from my horse, slay me before I could draw my own sword. Perhaps the singular intent in my eyes frightened him; if so, he was wise to fear. He might have turned and hastened away to the south, returned to his beloved Basarab, and warned them of my escape to the northbut that action would have alerted me at once to treachery and bettered my chance of survival.

So we continued apace over hard earth and rocks and dead crackling leaves until at last we reached the banks of a great lake, frozen solidly, its surface opaque grey-white dirtied by swirls of dark suspended flotsam. At its center stood the island fortress of Snagov, the spires of the Chapel of the Annunciation emerging from behind high walls at the waters very edge.

I dismounted and unsheathed my swordwith a smile to ease Gregors growing trepidationand led my horse onto the ice. No need to draw your arms, I told my uncertain companion. Mine are sufficient to protect us. I nodded for him to precede me across the river to the great iron gate.

In his eyes I saw once more the moment of decision: Should he smite me now, and return to Basarabs army a hero? Should he hope for an opportunity inside Snagovs walls, and venture forth upon the ice? (It was my right as sovereign to require that someone else test the ices strength.) Why had I drawn my sword? Was this merely another of the princes eccentricities, or had I deduced his deception?

A flicker of fear again crossed his features. I was, after all, Dracula, the son of the Devil, the passionate fighter whose madness and boldness knew no limits. I had ridden at night into Mehmeds very camp and slaughtered a hundred sleeping Turks with the sword I now grasped. If he drew his weapon now and openly challenged me, would he be the survivor?

With the softest of sighs he swung down from his horse and led the creature onto the frozen lake. So we made our way toward sanctuary, the horses hooves ringing hollowly against the ice, displacing small clouds of mist. At last we arrived at the great stone wall I had built during my reign, which had transformed the island monastic village into a more suitable fortress for guarding the treasure of the Wallachian realm. Ringing that wall were trees, their naked limbs clawing at the stones as if pleading for entry.

A cry came from the watchtower as the sentinel spotted us; I cupped my hands round my mouth and called a reply which echoed off the stone. We moved toward the high wooden gate, studded with pales, and waited on the ice uneasily, I maneuvering myself so that I stood behind Gregor. The indecisiveness, the tension, the guilt, could easily be read from the cant of the mans shoulders. We stood without speaking and watched the first snowflakes sail silently down, stinging my cheeks like cold tears.

At last the great gate creaked open on its rusting hinges and we were received by two armed guards, who immediately bowed low when they confirmed that their guest was, indeed, the Prince of Wallachia. I ordered one to take our horses to the stable and have food brought; the other I bade accompany us, ostensibly to build a fire. The three of us walked together on the ice-and-mud road past the high watchtower, the beautiful chapel, the great monastery, up towards the beautiful palace I had erected in better days. The thought evoked a flare of anger: Gregor did not deserve to set foot in this place built by the blood of loyal subjects, a sanctuary dear to my heart and which I would never again see after this night.

But I held my temper and walked together with my traitor into the palaces private chamberswhich, being long unused, were so cold that our breaths still hung in the air as mist. I moved into my private dining-room, which looked onto a small cell with an Orthodox shrine to the Virgin Mary. The accompanying soldier, a strong young man, set at once to the task of building a fire.

With a flourish, I removed my cape, belt, and sword, setting them all down on the floor near the hearthand the soldierand motioned for Gregor to do the same. I saw his swift secretive glance at my weapon, then at the soldier, then back at me; in his eyes shone the reluctance of the coward. Slay me he could, but at the cost of his own life.

Gregor, my friend. I motioned for the now-tired man to sit across from me at the ancient dining table. I was cordial, conciliatory. It is only right that you know the reason for our swift journey. I have need of funds, and so I came here to avail myself of some of my treasure. There are few I can trust with such a task, even at the castle and so I did not speak of it to you. We shall be returning shortly to Bucharest, but in the meantime, rest, and eat.

I saw the mercenary light in his eye which I had hoped to evoke. He could wait until the treasure was in our hands, and once he and I were alone in the Vlasia Forest

After a time the fire grew, and the room began to warm. I bade the soldier stay with us and stand guard. A white-bearded monk with fewer teeth than I have fingers entered with a tray of fooda cold roasted chicken, a flask of wine, bread, cheese. He served us most capably, reaching out to refill our goblets with a hand so gnarled by age blue veins standing out in bas relief beneath a parchment-thin layer of pale yellow skinthat I was astonished it did not tremble. Even more laudably, he showed no fear, no cringing, before the great prince, only silent dignity. This I found agreeable, for I am usually tended by fawning fools, but his singular self-possession may well have been sparked by disdain for my heresy. (I had spent years under house arrest in Hungary; the only way to gain King Matthias trustand regain my thronewas to convert to Catholicism. It was a political move, nothing morein Turkey I was forced to kneel upon prayer rugs facing Mecca and pray to Allahbut an unfortunate one, for it has earned me the contempt of my own people.)

Should I have chosen death instead?

No. There is nothing noble about death, even that of a martyr.

Yet the old monk feels I have betrayed God, and therefore deserve His punishment, just as Gregor deserves mine.

Perhaps the monk would be surprised to know that I indeed fear God. Fear Him because I know His heart is like mineblackened by power, thrilling at the ability to dictate the hour and fashion of mens deaths; reveling in their suffering.