The Vampyre (14 page)

‘“No one can be sure.”

‘“You have no theory yourself ?”

‘The Pasha shrugged. He looked into the candle flame again. “There are stories,” he said at last. “So far, in the ancient sources themselves, there is only one legend that I have been able to find. In that account, it is said that the damned rose back from Hades, and seized the temple for themselves. Oddly, the peasants today have a folktale that is much the same. They say that the dead inhabit this place. All who build here, all who live here, soon must join the ranks of the damned. They talk of demons - in fact, I believe you mentioned the word to me in Yanina - they talk of the
vardoulacha
.”

‘I smiled faintly. “Amusing.”

‘“Yes, isn't it?” The Pasha bared his teeth into a grin. “And yet . . .”

‘“ Yet?”

‘“Yet - those settlements
did
collapse.”

‘“Yes,” I smiled, “but there must be a more likely reason for that than all the settlers becoming demons.” My smile broadened. “Surely?”

‘The Pasha made no answer at first. “The castle,” he said eventually, staring into the shadows, “is far vaster than you would ever believe.”

‘I nodded. “Yes, I've seen something of its size.”

‘“Even so - you can have no idea. There are depths to it that even I have scarcely fathomed, miles of unlit stone, and what lives in such blackness - I would not like to say.” The Pasha leaned over, and pressed my hand again. “But there are rumours, glimpses of dark things. Can you believe that,
milord
?”

‘“Yes, Your Excellency - yes, I can.”

‘“Ah!” The Pasha raised an eyebrow.

‘“In the labyrinth, I can't be sure, but I think I caught a glimpse of something.”

‘The Pasha smiled. “The
vardoulacha
?”

‘“I wouldn't like to say.”

‘“What was it like?”

‘I stared straight into the Pasha's eyes, then glanced across at Yannakos. “Very like him, Your Excellency.” The Pasha's grip tightened, and his face, I noticed, seemed pale again. “We mentioned the slaves, who scrub in your hall. Very like them as well.”

‘The Pasha let go of my hand. He stared at me, stroking his beard, and a smile, like a livid bloom, slowly touched the paleness of his lips. “What an - imagination - you have,
milord
,” he whispered.

‘I bowed my head. “I have seen so many things here that really, I would have to be very dull not to wonder about them a little.”

‘“Is that so?” The Pasha's smile faded again. He glanced at a watch on a low table by his side. “I think, perhaps, it is time we were retiring to bed.”

‘I didn't move. “Your Excellency,” I asked, “in the great hall, I saw a kiosk. In the Arabic style. Did you build that?”

‘The Pasha stared at me. He pointed to the watch. “
Milord
,” he said.

‘“Why did you have it built? And in such a blasphemous way - with a woman's head above its door?”

‘A look of anger crossed the Pasha's face. “I have told you,
milord
, I am not bound by any petty laws of religion.”

‘“But why then did you build it?”

‘“If you must know” - the Pasha paused, then hissed - “to mark the most sacred spot in the ancient temple to the underworld. The point believed by the ancients to be the entranceway to Hades. I built the kiosk out of respect - for the past, and for the dead.”

‘“So Hades, then, is a greater god than Allah, in your view?”

‘“Oh yes.” The Pasha laughed softly. “Oh yes, indeed.”

‘“There are steps inside the kiosk.”

‘The Pasha nodded.

‘“I would very much like to see what lies beyond them.”

‘“Impossible,
milord
, I am afraid. You forget that the underworld is only for the dead.”

‘“So have you entered it yourself, Your Excellency?”

‘The Pasha's smile was as cold as ice. “Goodnight,
milord
.”

‘I bowed my head. “Goodnight, Your Excellency.” I turned, and walked towards the staircase that led to my room. Immediately, Yannakos shuffled after me. I turned round again. “Oh, I was just wondering - the slave girl, Haidée - where is she tonight?” The Pasha stared at me. “Only I noticed,” I went on, “she wasn't serving us. I was afraid, perhaps, that she might not be well.”

‘“She was a little feverish,” said the Pasha at last.

‘“Nothing serious, I hope?”

‘“Nothing at all.” His eyes gleamed. “Goodnight,
milord
.”

‘“Goodnight.”

‘I climbed to my bedroom. Yannakos followed me. I locked the door, of course, but I knew that he was outside, guarding, waiting. All most awkward. I lay down to sleep, then felt something under my pillow. I reached beneath it, and drew out Haidée's crucifix. There was a note attached to it: “My dearest Byron, keep this next to you. I am well. Be brave, whatever happens.” She had signed it, “
Eleutheria
” - Freedom. I smiled, and lit a candle. I paused - then lit as many candles as I could find. I placed them round my bed, so that they formed a wall of light, then burned the note over one of the flames. I watched it turn to ash. As I did so, my eyelids began to droop. I felt a terrible weariness. Before I even knew it, I had fallen asleep.

‘He came to me in my dreams. I couldn't move; I couldn't breathe; there was no sound but the rhythm of blood in my ears. He was on me, a loathsome thing of darkness, heavy and taloned like a bird of prey, but as he fed on me, drinking from my chest, his lips felt as soft as leeches, fat and full with blood. I struggled to open my eyes; I had thought they were already open, but there was no sign of the candle flames, nothing but darkness, and it was suffocating me. I looked up and thought I saw the Pasha's face. He smiled at me, a pale faint smile of desire, but then, when I looked into his eyes, there was nothing in the sockets, only pits of emptiness. I seemed to be falling into them. Darkness was eternal and everything. I screamed, but made no sound, and then I too was a part of the darkness. There was nothing else.

‘I was feverish all the next day. I slipped in and out of consciousness, so that I could never be certain what was real, and what was not. I thought that the Pasha appeared by my bed. He was holding the crucifix in his hands, and laughing at me. “Really,
milord
- I am disappointed! If I have contempt for my own religion, why should I show any respect for yours?”

‘“You believe in a world of spirits, don't you?”

‘The Pasha smiled and turned away. I reached out after him. “You believe in it, don't you?” I asked again. “You believe - in this castle - that the passageways are walked by the dead?”

‘“That is a quite different matter,” said the Pasha in a calm voice, turning back to me.

‘“Why?” I was sweating violently now. The Pasha sat down beside me, and stroked my arm. I wrested it free. “I don't understand,” I told him. “Last night - I was visited by a spirit. You know that, don't you, or is it just that I am delirious?” The Pasha smiled and said nothing, his eyes like silver water. “How can there be such things, then,” I asked, “and yet there be no God? Please, tell me, I am fascinated, I want to know. How can it be?”

‘The Pasha rose to his feet. “I do not say there is no God,” he said. His face seemed darkened suddenly, by a frown of melancholy and haughty despair. “A God may exist,
milord
- but if he does, then he has no interest in us. Listen - I have passed through horrors, and made myself familiar with Eternity. I have plumbed the interminable realms of space, and the infinity of endless ages; I have spent long nights in strange sciences, and measured the secrets of both spirits and man. World by world, star by star, universe by universe, I have sought for a God.” He paused, and snapped his fingers in my face. “I have found nothing,
milord
. We are alone, you and I.” I struggled to say something, but he cut me short with a gesture of his hand. He bent low beside me, and I felt his lips brush my cheek. “If you would share my wisdom,” he whispered softly in my ear, “then you must dive, as I have done, into the caves of death.” I felt him kiss me again. “Sorrow is knowledge,
milord
,” he whispered, and his breath was as soft as a breeze across my skin. “You must remember only this” - his lips caressed my own, so that his words were like a kiss - “the Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life.”

‘He was gone - and I slipped back into the swamp of my dreams. Time had no meaning for me, and hours, days perhaps, passed in a feverish haze. But Yannakos was always there, and whenever I returned to consciousness, I would see his cold eyes watching me. I began to recover. I saw, to my horror, that a thin wound ran across my chest; sometimes I tried to get up, to find Haidée, to confront the Pasha, but Yannakos would stand between me and the door, and I felt too weak to challenge him yet. Once, I almost made it past him, but his hands clutched me, and they were so cold and dead that I felt a shiver of fever running through my blood. I crawled back to my couch; tiredness was pressing on my eyelids again; I was asleep almost before I had reached the rugs.

‘In my dream, I was in the Pasha's tower. He didn't speak, but led me across to his telescope. I looked through it: I saw stars and galaxies, spinning away into eternity, and then it seemed that we were treading space ourselves, a dark wilderness of interminable air. The Pasha smiled, and pointed; I looked; behind us was a small blue dot, and as we moved onwards like sunbeams, it grew tinier and tinier, gathering a halo of light around it, so that it seemed like all the other stars, and then it disappeared, and there was nothing but a mass of innumerable lights. Our world is so little, I thought, stunned and intoxicated by all I was being shown. Onwards we swept through space, through a universe of endless expansion, and my soul ached, to see how beautiful it was, and unimaginable. The Pasha turned to me again, and his white hair was crowned by the blaze of countless stars; he smiled; I felt his fingers brush my own, and then his touch was gone.

‘At once, I was in darkness. The air about me now was fetid and dull. I was lying on my back. I struggled to sit up - I could just make out an archway in front of me, and see the vaulted roof above my head. I was in the labyrinth - I tried to scrabble to my feet, but the roof was too low, and so I began to crawl, until the weight of stone was pressing me flat. I felt something brush at my side, and for the first time, I realised I was naked. Fingers were holding my arm; I looked round and saw Yannakos. His white lips were like maggots. I tried to brush him away, but he began to feed on me, and then I felt other lips against my skin, and it was as though I were walled up in a pit of the dead, with nothing but corpses ahead of me, behind me, blocking out my breath. And all the time, there were the creatures' lips, feeding with the greedy pleasure of grave worms on a living thing, and they were soft, and cold, and damp with my blood. I tried to move; the weight was too suffocating. I tried to scream; a creature's tongue was coiling in my mouth. I prayed for death; and as the horrors began to fade, I half-believed I had been offered it.

‘I woke up weak, and staring down my body, saw that there were bruises all over my flesh. But I felt purged of fever, and when I opened my bedroom door, Yannakos did not stand in the way. He followed me, of course; I ate, served by the old servant-woman, and read, and occasionally dabbled in a bit of verse. I did not go near the labyrinth, and I did not see the Pasha or Haidée. Once, I tried to saddle my horse, but Yannakos, seeing this, made his views on my intentions very clear by starting to throttle me. I stumbled back from the horse; Yannakos loosed his grip; at once, I turned round and punched him as hard as I could. I had boxed for Harrow; Yannakos staggered and almost fell. Almost - but not quite. Instead, he came back at me, and I, picking up a set of spurs, slashed with them across the monster's throat. To my horror, the wound had no effect, except to stain my best shirt with the creature's blood. All that day, I was in despair. How was I ever to escape such a thing? - a thing that could not be killed? That night, I saw it on my balcony, staring at the moon - it turned round to face me, and I saw that its throat was completely healed. I shuddered - and glanced up at the moon myself. It was crescent now, and I wondered if Haidée could see it too. The time was approaching we had agreed on for our escape - but was she even alive? And would I be alive for much longer myself?

‘Each night, you see, I would feel the same drowsiness, and each night, my attempts to fight it would be in vain. The Pasha would show me strange wonders - the history of the earth, or the aeons of space, seeming to pass before my very eyes - but then I would find myself abandoned in the darkness of the labyrinth, and I would wake up with bruises across my skin. But as the moon waned, so also I noticed that the bruises grew less, and I wondered what Haidée had known, when she had warned me to escape beneath a moonless sky. At last, there was nothing of the moon but a sliver of light; and that night, when I slept, the Pasha did not appear to me in his tower. Instead, I dreamed that I was alone; above me stretched the dome of the colossal hall; in front of me, the kiosk, with its steps down into the dark. All was silent; I heard no voices inside my head, whispering of immortality, and yet I knew that the Pasha was summoning me, that I had to join him, in whatever it was that lay beyond the steps. I took a pace forwards; still nothing stirred. My sense of calm deepened, and I knew that I was near some great secret, some key, perhaps, to the riddles of life - yes, I thought, and maybe of death as well. For surely I was entering the depths of which the Pasha had spoken before, out of which grew the Tree of Knowledge, and its forbidden fruit? I began to hurry; there was a door, wide open, at the bottom of the steps; I would pick the apple, and eat of its flesh!