The Vampyre (15 page)

‘“Byron. My Byron.”

‘I stirred.

‘“My Byron!”

‘I opened my eyes.

‘“Haidée.” I sat up to kiss her. She held me tight in her arms, then rose to her feet. She was more beautiful than ever, but pale, deadly pale. “I must go back to him,” she whispered, “but tomorrow - tomorrow we leave.”

‘“Have you been - are you all right?”

‘“Yes.” She smiled, then kissed me again urgently. “The supplies,” she asked, still kissing me, “are they ready yet?”

‘“Your brother has them.”

‘“You must tell him, tomorrow morning, that we are leaving at midday.”

‘“I'll do my best, but there's a problem - a slight obstruction.” Then I paused, and stared at her in sudden surprise. “You got past Yannakos,” I said.

‘Haidée glanced at the door. “Yes,” she said. She bent down and picked up the crucifix. “Kill him,” she said without emotion, handing it to me.

‘I took the cross. “I've tried before. He seems to survive any wound I can inflict on him.”

‘“In the heart,” whispered Haidée. She walked across to the door. “Yannakos,” she called softly. “ Yannakos.”

‘Like a shambling bear, the creature answered her call. Haidée sang to him, stroking his cheeks as she gazed into his eyes. A faint look of bewilderment creased the blankness of the creature's stare. A single tear fell, down Haidée's cheek and onto Yannakos's hand. He stared at it. Then he looked up at Haidée again, and he tried to smile, but it was as though his muscles had atrophied. Haidée nodded to me; she kissed the creature on either cheek, and then I stabbed him with the crucifix deep into the heart.

‘Yannakos screamed, a terrible and unearthly sound, as a fountain of blood sprayed the balcony. He fell to the floor, and there, before our very eyes, began to decompose, the flesh shrivelling off the muscles and bones, the intestines melting into a hideous soup. I watched, revolted. “Now,” said Haidée softly, “throw him into the river.” Holding my breath, I wrapped the corpse up in a tapestry; then I flung it over the balcony into the Aheron. I turned back to Haidée. “What was he?” I asked. “Who was he?”

‘She looked at me. “My brother,” she said at last.

‘I stared at her appalled. “I'm sorry,” I said at last. “So sorry.” I held her in my arms. I felt a single shudder pass through her body, then she looked up at me, and walked across to the door. “I must go,” she said in a distant voice.

‘“Tomorrow,” I asked, “where shall I see you?”

‘“In the village - you know the ruin of the old church?”

‘“The great basilica? - yes.”

‘“There - have the supplies sent there - and I will be with you by midday. We must escape in the sunlight.” She raised my hand to her lips. “And then, dearest Byron - we must pray to Liberty, and hope that she will smile on us.” She kissed my hand again, then turned, and before I could hold her, she had disappeared. I didn't follow her; there seemed nothing I could say or do to help. Instead, I walked back across to the balcony. All my tiredness was gone. Over the eastern mountains, the first pinks of dawn were touching the snows.

‘As soon as it was day, I slipped out to the stables, and then down the road. The three gates were open, and no one tried to stop me; I reached the village without being seen. I tethered my horse outside Gorgiou's house, then walked inside and called out Petro's name. A small boy stared at me from a corner of the room. His face looked pinched and white with hunger; I offered him a coin, but he didn't move, didn't even blink. “Is your father here?” I asked. I bounced the coin up and down in my palm, and suddenly the boy darted across the room to snatch it from me. As he took the coin, one of his nails scratched my hand; he froze at once, as a tiny trickle of blood welled up from the scratch, and I licked it with my tongue. “Your father?” I asked him again. The boy continued to stare, then tried to seize my hand; I smacked him lightly across the head, and I almost thought that he was going to bite me back. But then Petro walked in; he shouted at the boy, and the child ran into the shadows of another room.

‘Petro watched him leave, then turned back to me. “My Lord?” he asked. His voice sounded strange, almost distant, but his eyes gleamed as brightly as they had ever done. I told him what I had come to say. Petro nodded, and promised that everything would be ready for us.

‘“In the old basilica?” I checked.

‘Petro nodded again. “In the old basilica. The far corner, by the ruined tower.” I thanked him for his efforts; Petro bowed with a stiffness I hadn't remembered from before. I asked him if his father was well. Petro nodded. “Very well,” he muttered. I could see that he wanted to be left alone.

‘“Good,” I said, backing through the door. “Please give him my regards.” Petro nodded again, but said nothing more, as I mounted my horse and rode on down the path. Petro watched me go; I could almost feel his eyes in my back.

‘I remembered, as though understanding it for the first time, that Yannakos had been his brother. Had Petro known the truth? I hoped not. What could be more terrible, I thought, than to see your own flesh and blood transformed into such a thing? Better by far to have believed that he was truly dead. And yet Haidée had known - Haidée had lived by that creature day after day - and she a woman, and a Greek, and a slave. Yes, I thought, freedom burns brightest amongst dungeon walls - and the spirit is chainless which soars highest despite the weight of chains. I would pray to Liberty, as Haidée had told me to do - but the face of that goddess would be Haidée's own.

‘I rode down the mountain track, to make certain there was nothing which might obstruct our escape. All seemed clear; ahead, in the far distance, there was a wisp of black cloud, but otherwise the sky was azure with light. I glanced up at the sun. It was high above me now - midday already, I thought. I rode back to the village, and into the basilica. Through the main doorway, there was nothing but an empty shell; my horse's hooves echoed amongst the ruin. I saw the tower immediately: fifteen or twenty steps beyond a bare expanse of rubble and weeds, where once the altar had stood. No one else was there. I pulled out my watch - not quite yet twelve. I waited in the tower's shade, but still no one came, and I began to grow anxious, as the minutes passed away, and the silence seemed to shimmer like the heat before my eyes. “Damn it,” I swore. “Not even the supplies have come.” I climbed up into my saddle again, and rode to Petro's house. I rapped on the door. There was no answer. I walked inside, and called out Petro's name - still no answer. I looked around in desperation. Had the Pasha found out about our plans? Had Petro been arrested, and all his family? Outside, tethered to a post, I found a horse, a beautiful animal which Petro could only ever have bought with my gold. I untied it, then led it back to the basilica tower. I tethered it again in the shade of the steps, then pulled out my watch. It was now almost two. I climbed quickly back onto my horse, and rode as hard as I could up the castle road.

‘Again, it was empty. Not a living thing stirred, for the heat now was unbearable, and hung thick over the white rocks of the mountainside. Before I walked through the castle door, I glanced behind me; the horizon was bruised a deep purple, and along the margins of the coming storm was the gleam of electricity. We would have to hurry, I thought. Darkness, like some stealthy predator, was rising slowly to swallow the sun.

‘I hurried down endless, empty corridors. “Haidée!” I shouted. “Haidée!” But I knew, even as I called out, that there would be no answer - and every room, every passageway, was as empty as the last. I found myself in the labyrinth.

I stopped to check my pistol, then hurried on, calling out as before, while I felt desperation rising in my throat, and fear, that familiar, numbing fear, which seemed to breed in the air of the labyrinth, and drain all who dared to enter it. Yet I saw nothing in the shadows this time - no sudden flickers of movement as I had done before. I found myself by the mosaics of the demoness and her Christ-like child; I tried not to look at it, and stumbled on, through the awning and into the hall. I stopped again, and looked around. Above me rose the vast dome; around me were the pillars and the colossal dungeon walls. I looked at the stairways; they were empty. I looked across the stone floor; that too was empty of the hunched forms I had seen before. “Haidée!” I yelled. “Haidée!” I gazed in despair at the pyramid of fire, my eyes rising with the flames to its crown. Then my shoulders slumped; I lowered my eyes. I was staring at the kiosk in the middle of the hall.

‘Slowly, deliberately, I cocked my pistol; I glanced around again; then I walked with measured steps towards the entranceway. I stepped inside it - and waited. But nothing happened - there was no creature there - no one to stop me from walking on down the steps. I stared at what lay ahead of me - as before, the steps disappeared into darkness. I began to walk down them, and with each step I took, my grip on my pistol grew tighter, and yet more tight. The blackness seemed as close as the stale dead air; I paused, to see if my eyes could adjust to it, but I had no choice, in the end, but to feel my way on. “The underworld,
milord
, is only for the dead.” The Pasha's words seemed to rise and echo in my ears. At that very moment, I felt something ahead of me; I raised my pistol; then I breathed in deeply, and lowered it again. I was by a door; I felt for the catch; I opened it. Beyond the door, the stairway wound on; but it was lit now by a dim light, flickering ruby-red, and I saw, painted on the walls, frescoes done in the Arabic style. The paintings seemed to illustrate the story of Adam and Eve; yet Eve stood on one side, pale and white as though drained of blood, while Adam was held in a second woman's arms, and she was feeding on him, and her face, I saw, was the same as the woman's above the kiosk door. I walked on, and the flickerings of the shadows across the stonework were growing higher now, and ever deeper red, so that I wondered if the ancients had been right, and I was indeed on steps that led to Hell. Then I saw them finish, and beyond them, there seemed to be a chamber of stone, and I realised, so deep inside the earth, that this could only be a burial place. I raised my pistol, ready to fire; then I walked through the doorway, and into the crypt.'

Lord Byron paused. Rebecca, having sat in silence for so long, was reluctant to speak, to hurry him on. So she remained motionless, watching the vampire, who seemed to be staring, not at her, but at whatever it was he had found those long years ago, in that chamber of stone. He stroked his chin with his fingertips, and his face was expressionless; yet his eyes seemed to gleam with a mysterious smile.

‘There were flames,' he said at last. ‘Flames from a chasm at the far end of the room, and in front of the flames, an ancient altar stood, with inscriptions to Hades, the Lord of Death. Haidée was by the altar. She lay on her back, lovely and desolate, her veils ripped, her tunic torn away from her breasts, and the Pasha was feeding on them, like an infant drawing on its mother's milk. Sometimes he would seem to pause, and stroke the girl's breast with his cheeks and his lips, and I realised he was toying with the flow of her blood. Haidée stirred and moaned, but she couldn't rise, for the Pasha was holding her wrists with his arms, and she was weak, of course, very weak. Yet how tenderly the Pasha drank from her; again, he stroked the side of her breast with his cheek, and he dyed her nipple red with the blood on his tongue. Haidée gasped suddenly, and her fingers tore at air; she clenched her legs around the Pasha's own. I shook. Steadying my arm, I raised my pistol; I took a step forwards; I placed the pistol against the Pasha's head.

‘He turned slightly, to look at me. His eyes gleamed silver; his cheeks were fat and full; dabblings of blood flecked his lips and moustache. He smiled, baring his sharp, white teeth at me, and I thought he was about to spring at my throat. Yet when I pushed the pistol harder against the side of his head, he teetered and fell, like a bloated tick being knocked off its host, and then I realised - of course - that such an image was nothing less than the literal truth. The Pasha lay on his side, ruddy, swollen, gorged on blood - and when he tried to lift himself, he could only rest his head on the altar's base. It was as though he were drunk, I realised, so intoxicated that he could barely move.

‘“Kill him,” Haidée whispered softly. She had risen to her feet, but had to lean upon my arm. “Kill him,” she said again. “Shoot him through the heart.”

‘The Pasha laughed. “Kill me?” he said scornfully. Yet his voice sounded remarkably beautiful in my ears, and even Haidée seemed almost entranced by it. But then she crossed into the shadows, and I saw her pick up a sword. She must have left it there earlier, ready for just such a moment as this.

‘“A bullet bites deeper,” I said. “Please, Haidée - put it down.”

‘The Pasha laughed again. “You see, my pretty slave? - your dashing liberator will never kill me - he's far too greedy for all I could reveal.”

‘“Kill him,” said Haidée. She screamed suddenly. “Kill him now!”

‘My hand on the pistol stayed as steady as before. “The basilica,” I whispered, “the ruined tower - wait for me there.”

‘Haidée stared at me. “Do not be tempted.” She reached up to stroke my cheek, then whispered in my ear. “Do not betray me, Byron, or you will be damned in Hell.” She turned, and crossed to the steps. “The ruined tower, then,” she said - and was gone. The two of us, the Pasha and I, were left alone. I crossed to him. “I will kill you,” I said, still aiming the pistol directly at his heart. “Do not delude yourself, Your Excellency, that I will not.”