And do you trust me? He straightened a bit; his voice became stronger, a
little more confident, as the prince returned. There was something so hypnotically
soothing in his demeanour that I calmed like a dog beneath its beloved master's
hand.
I knew he thought me entirely mad - and at the moment, I believed him correct,
and yearned for his help.
Yes, of course.
Then trust me to see that the matter is resolved, he said, his confidence
now entirely returned. Trust me to see that no harm comes to you or your family.
You must believe me, Arkady - I would die myself before I would let harm come
to you. I will keep you safe - I swear it upon our family name! You have been
through enough with your father's death, and your own illness; and you have
a baby coming soon. You are distraught and need rest; you have had two terrible
shocks. You do not need any other worries. Please. Let me take this terrible
burden from you. He stroked my hand; his own was cold, but I found myself relaxing
further at his touch.
Stay with me, Arkady. For your wife's sake, for the childs, for mine. Let
us work now, and you will see it is the best cure for your concerns. Let us
talk no more of leaving.
What could I do? What could I say? I worked with him. Together we wrote to
a London solicitor with whom I had an acquaintance, inquiring whether he might
represent V.s interests in searching for some property in the London area,
and possibly some resort areas as well; and I also wrote a letter for him to
a newly married couple touring Europe on their honeymoon, which he directed
me to give to Laszlo as I left the castle, that he might post it in Bistritz
the following day.
It all seemed very reasonable while I was with Uncle, writing the letters;
but as I left and headed down the long, spiraling stone staircase which led
to the servants quarters, where Laszlo alone slept, I came suddenly to myself.
What idiocy was this, asking Laszlo to post a letter which would merely bring
fresh victims? Uncle might trust him, but I could not; nor, I realised, could
I even bear the idea of setting eyes on his face again.
The thought came to me most clearly, for some reason in Uncle's voice, as though
he had whispered it in my ear.
You must go to Bistritz yourself. For the good of us all
Yes. It became blindingly clear: Grief-stricken I might be; distraught and
shaken I might be - but the time had come, for the sake of my family, to collect
my wits and do what was best for us all.
And so I slipped the letter into my pocket and, rather than knock on Laszlo's
door, continued outside and quickly drove the caleche home.
Once safely back at the manor, I wrote a different letter to the honeymooning
bride and groom, informing them of a death at the castle, and apologising for
the fact that their visit must be indefinitely postponed.
The other I shall throw on the fire - if I can bring myself to do so. I will
post my substituted letter and the one addressed to the solicitor when I go
to Bistritz tomorrow - to tell the authorities there of the murders.
The Journal of Mary Windham Tsepesh
17 April.
The great clock in the hall has just struck two, but I still cannot sleep,
despite the fact that Arkady insisted I take a small sip of the laudanum. He
took a great deal of it himself, being as agitated as myself, though he tried
to hide it because he was trying to comfort me in my terror. That was shortly
before one oclock. Now he is snoring loudly, while I struggle against the unpleasant,
helpless dreaminess induced by the drug. It has the opposite of its intended
effect: I fight to stay awake, for I prefer to have my wits about me in critical
times.
I am so frightened. Writing is the only thing that calms me these days. My
hope that we would soon leave Transylvania was short-lived. Arkady returned
very late from speaking with Vlad yesterday evening, and this morning he would
give no details of that encounter, but only said that it would be a little
while longer before we are able to take our holiday.
I know what that means. In a little while longer, I will definitely not be
able to travel. It is already risky enough as it is. I could tell from Arkady's
subdued demeanour that Vlad has refused our request, and they have had an argument,
and my good husband could not bring himself to tell me. He spent the day traveling
to and from Bistritz, then went directly to the castle, and returned home quite
late, after I had retired.
He did not come to bed, but remained in his study. I knew this because I could
not sleep, in part because I was bitterly disappointed about the postponement
of our holiday, but also because I felt a growing uneasiness over Zsuzsanna.
She seems quite improved, and her colour is better than it was when I first
arrived at the manor. She was even up and about today. When I visited her in
her bedroom, she was dressed and sitting in the window-seat, gazing out the
open window to her left, at the forest in the distance. As I entered, she glanced
over her shoulder at me, briefly, with a child's smile, then pointed excitedly
at the distant pines.
Look, there! Do you see it?
I crossed the room and stood behind her to squint, and saw nothing but forest,
so far away that the trees were really quite indistinguishable from each other.
What is it you see, Zsuzsanna? I asked pleasantly, and without thinking, placed
a hand upon her shoulder.
An owl! she exclaimed. Can you see him? There, to the right - up in the very
highest branches.
I could, of course, see nothing, and stammered a reply about her eyesight being
quite remarkable, which seemed to please her, though really I knew it had to
be the product of fancy. She could have made out nothing at that distance.
It was not her imaginary sighting which troubled me, but the sudden realization
that my hand rested upon a shoulder which was normal - as perfect and healthy
as its mate, and indeed, her entire spine, which was now quite straight.
She turned, and, trying not to ogle, I sat beside her on the window-seat and
we had a brief conversation about how much better she was feeling. Her only
complaint was that she did not have much appetite. I finally told her that Arkady
had been sick but was entirely well now, and she seemed politely concerned,
though not upset by this news. I also told her that one of the servants dogs
had recently had puppies, and hinted that the best of the litter could be reserved
for her, if she wanted, but she was not at all interested. She seemed preoccupied,
and kept glancing out the window as if looking for something.
At the end of our talk, she rose and saw me to the door. It was not my imagination:
she was taller, and walked without a trace of her formerly pronounced limp.
This worried me. I know it did Dunya, too, for when I relayed this to her,
her lips pressed together tightly, and she shook her head, saying: I do not
understand,
doamna.
It is not a good sign.
I then asked her to explain more fully the covenant, the
Schwur
of
which she had spoken. She would not do so until I took her to my bedroom, and
locked the door; and even then, she kept glancing nervously at the window. Her
tale was so simple yet eerily elegant that I made her stop and speak slowly,
that I might record it here, in her own words:
The Testament of Dunya Moroz This is the story of the covenant with the
strigoi,
which my mother told to me, just as her mother told her, and her
mother before her.
More than three hundred years ago, now almost four, the
strigoi
was
a living man, Vlad the Third, known to most as Vlad Tsepesh, the Impaler,
voievod
of Valahia, to the south. He was greatly feared by all for his
great ambition and his bloodthirstiness, and for his crimes he came to be known
as Dracula, the Son of the Devil.
There are many stories of his terrible cruelty, especially to those guilty
of betrayal or deceit. Adulteresses would have their womanly parts cut out,
then were skinned like rabbits, and their skins and bodies hung from separate
poles where all in the village could see. Sometimes a stake would be driven
between their legs until it emerged from their mouths. Those who politically
opposed Dracula died horribly as well, skinned alive or impaled. Sometimes he
impaled guilty mothers through the breasts and speared their unfortunate babes
onto them. He could bear no insult to his pride. There is a tale told that a
group of ambassadors came from Italy, and removed their hats; beneath were skullcaps
which, according to their custom, they never removed, not even before the emperor.
Good, said Dracula, then let me strengthen your customs, and he ordered
the caps nailed to the men's skulls.
Despite his cruelty, Dracula was respected by his people, because during his
reign no one dared be dishonest, or to steal, or to cheat another, because all
knew recompense would be swift. It was said one could leave all one's gold in
the village square and never fear it would be stolen. Dracula was admired, as
well, for his fair attitude towards the peasants and his courageous fight against
the Turks. He was a skilled and brave warrior.
But the day came when, in the midst of a campaign, one of his own servants,
in truth a Turkish spy, betrayed and slew him.
His men believed him dead. But the truth was that Dracula saw his coming defeat,
for the Hungarian and Moldavian forces had recently departed, leaving him vulnerable
to the Turks. It is said that at that time he was so hungry for blood and power
he made a pact with the Devil to become immortal through blood-drinking so that
he might rule forever, and that he anticipated his own death, knowing that he
would rise soon thereafter.
Once undead and immortal, the
strigoi
brought his family north from
Valahia to the safety of Transylvania, where the Turks were not such a threat,
and where he was less likely to be recognised. He claimed to be his own brother,
but the truth of his identity came to be whispered on the people's lips.
He soon set himself up as
domnul
of a small village. He was fearsomely
cruel to those
rumini
who disobeyed, but generous to those who served
faithfully. But soon times became difficult for the villagers. Many died from
the
strigots
bite, and those in nearby towns were terrorised as well.
Soon the population dwindled, and the survivors discovered how to keep the
strigoi
at bay. Some brave souls even tried to destroy him, and the
strigoi
became frightened his evil existence would soon come to an end. It became difficult,
too, to keep secret all that was going on at the castle. He may control the
mind of one man, or two, or even more, at the same time; but he cannot control
the actions and thoughts of an entire village. And so he could no longer keep
secrecy about what was happening at the castle. The tales spread all over Transylvania,
and soon he was in danger of starving.
So he went to the village elders and made the covenant: He would not feed upon
any in the village, and would support them more generously than any
domnul
in all the land, and make certain the wolves did not attack the livestock, if
they in turn would protect him, help him to feed upon outsiders, strangers,
and keep silent regarding the covenant.
The villagers agreed, and the town prospered; no one was killed except those
few foolish souls who disobeyed. A generation ago, when the world was torn apart
and starving because of Napoleon's wars, we were safe and well fed. Because
of the
strigoi,
we have never gone hungry in a land that knows hunger.
Cattle and horses no longer died when wolves attacked in winter, and the
rumini
lived well - so well that it became the custom to offer voluntarily
those babies born too sickly or crippled to survive, of which there are many
now, for few outsiders settle in the village because word of the covenant has
spread throughout the countryside.
He also agreed: No
strigoi
but him, for the good of all. He pierces
their bodies with stakes, then decapitates them, so they will not rise as undead.
For all the good he has brought us, we villagers fear him; for there are many
stories of the terrible punishments he inflicts on those who break the pact,
who try to harm him or warn those chosen as his victims. No one who ever tried
to destroy the
strigoi
has survived. Many villagers grumble and wish
him harm; they grumble, and grow fat off the proceeds of the
strigoi
s
fields.
They say, too, he has a similar covenant with his own family, an agreement
that he will harm none of his own, and that the rest of the members may live
in happy ignorance of the truth.
At this point we were disturbed by a knock as Ilona came to change the linens.
Dunya started guiltily and left at once; I had wanted to ask her more about
the family covenant, but she is clearly reluctant to discuss it in the presence
of the other servants - and little wonder, for by speaking of it to me, she risks
a dreadful penalty - so I shall have to wait.
I thought about Dunyas strange tale tonight as I lay sleepless, worrying about
Zsuzsanna, about my husband, about my child, who would soon be born into this
strange and fearful house.
In the midst of my fretful wakefulness I fell into an abrupt dream-state, similar
but deeper and harder to shake off than that evoked by laudanum. At first I
thought sleep had come at last and welcomed it gratefully, for it was altogether
pleasant.
I floated in that blissful state for an unknown period of time until I became
gradually aware of a solitary, hypnotic image dominating my consciousness: Vlad's
dark green eyes.
I forced myself awake at once, and sat up groggily in the bed, my heart pounding
with anxiety. I knew -
knew,
though I could not explain how I had come
by such a revelation - that he was with Zsuzsanna once again. I rose and stole
on bare feet over to the velvet curtains. Light shone beneath the door, bearing
witness that Arkady was still across the hall in the study.