The Vampyre (17 page)

‘“Petro!” I heard Haidée shout. “Petro!”

‘Then I felt saliva dripping on my face, and I knew that I couldn't hold him off any more. I prepared for death - or rather, the living death that had been the village's fate. But then there was a thud - and a second thud. Petro rolled off my body. I looked up. Haidée stood there with a heavy stone. It was wet with blood and matted hair. Petro lay still at her feet; then he began to stir again, clawing with his fingers towards her, and Haidée drew out the crucifix from underneath her cloak, aimed at her brother's heart, and drove it in as hard as she could. Petro screamed, as his brother had done; a soft fountain of blood welled and bubbled up from his chest. Haidée pulled the crucifix out from the corpse; she lay down beside it; she began to weep, in racking, tearless sobs.

‘I held her; then, when her tears began to flow at last, I took her gently by the arm and led her back towards the horse. I said nothing - what could I have said?

‘“Ride hard,” Haidée whispered, as I shook out the reins. “Leave this place behind us. Leave it for ever.” I nodded; I spurred the horse; we began to gallop down the mountain road.'

 

There was a brief pause; Lord Byron gripped the sides of his chair, and breathed in hard.

‘And did you leave it?' Rebecca asked impatiently. ‘For ever, I mean?'

Lord Byron smiled faintly. ‘Miss Carville, please - this is my story. You have been very good so far, allowing me to tell it as I wish. Don't let's spoil things.'

‘I'm sorr y . . .'

‘But?'

Rebecca smiled in acknowledgement. ‘Yes -
but
- you haven't said what happened to the village. At least tell me about that.'

Lord Byron raised an eyebrow.

‘How could they all have changed so soon, I mean? Was it the Pasha? Was it Gorgiou?'

Lord Byron smiled faintly again. ‘Those were questions - you can imagine - that weren't too distant from my own mind at the time. I didn't want to press Haidée - didn't want her thinking - remembering - what had happened to her family. But then again, as the storm grew worse, I was also desperate to find some shelter - I needed to know if it would be safe, or whether we should continue to ride on through the night.'

‘Your horse - if he was carrying both of you - he must have started to flag, I suppose?'

‘No. We met someone, you see - by the same bridge where we had met Gorgiou before - we were riding over it, when suddenly a horseman loomed out of the rain, a second horse in tow, and called out to me by name. It was Viscillie. He had been waiting for me. “Desert you, My Lord?” he asked, grinning beneath his huge moustache. “Just because a
vardoulacha
bribed me to?” He spat, and abused the Pasha gloriously. “Didn't he know,” Viscillie asked, “that a bandit loves his honour as a priest loves gold and boys?” He launched into another volley of abuse, then pointed to a shelter he had built among the rocks. “We'll ride at dawn, My Lord, but for now - the girl needs rest. There's fire, and food” - he winked - “yes, and raki too.” How could I argue with him? - it was hard enough just thanking him. Remember - look to a robber if you want a good-hearted man.

‘Even Haidée seemed to revive, once we were camped around the fire. She still hardly spoke, but after our meal, I began to ask her about our prospects for escape - would the creatures in the village pursue us, did she think? Haidée shook her head. Not if the Pasha were indeed destroyed, she said. I asked her what she meant. She paused, then, in a halting voice, began to explain: the Pasha, when he made a
vardoulacha
from a man, created monsters that seemed to have no existence at all beyond their thirst for human blood. Some of these creatures were mere zombies, dependent entirely upon the Pasha's will; others were transfused with animal ferocity, infecting those they drank from with a craving as desperate as their own. She supposed - and then she paused, and Viscillie handed her the raki flask. Haidée drank from it. She started again. She supposed, she said, swallowing, that her father had been made a creature of the second kind. She looked up at me. Her eyes were gleaming with passionate hate. “
He
would have known what would happen, then.
He
would have done it quite deliberately - to inflict a living death on my father, on my family, on all the village. But Byron - if you did kill him, then the creatures he made will start to die as well, and we are safe from them.
If
you killed him.”

‘“What do you mean,
if
? I shot him, I saw him die.”

‘Viscillie grunted. “You shot him through the heart, My Lord?”

‘“ Yes.”

‘“You are certain of that, My Lord?”

‘“Damn you, Viscillie, I can split a walking stick at twenty paces, how would I miss a human heart at two?”

‘Viscillie shrugged. “Then we have only the Tartars to fear.”

‘“What, the Pasha's guards? Why would they be bothered chasing us?”

‘Viscillie shrugged again. “To avenge the death of Vakhel Pasha, of course.” He looked up at me, and smiled. “Loyalty is something they share with bandits, you see.”

‘“
Share?
No - they couldn't approach such loyalty.”

‘Viscillie grinned at the compliment, but he had clearly not been begging it, and so his warning disturbed me. “Surely,” I asked, “the dead things will have fed on the guards as well?”

‘“Let us hope so.” Viscillie took out his knife, and stared at it. “But if I was a Tartar, I would have torched the village, and then waited for dawn.”

‘“The sun can kill those creatures?”

‘“That is what we are taught, My Lord.”

‘“But I've seen the Pasha in the light of day.”

‘“
He
can survive anything,” said Haidée suddenly, clasping her arms around herself. “He is older than the mountains, and more deadly than the snake - are a few rays of sun going to threaten
him
? But it is true, nevertheless - the sun does weaken him, and he is feeblest of all when there is no moonlight to restore him to his strength.” She took my hands, and kissed them with sudden passion and exhilaration. “That is why we must travel at first light tomorrow - travel as hard as we have never done before.” She nodded. “Then we will win our liberty.” She smiled at me. “Did you pray to the goddess, Byron, as I asked you to?”

‘“ Yes.”

‘“And is she with us?”

‘“Of course,” I whispered. I kissed her lightly on her brow. “How could she not be?” And I told her to sleep.

‘Viscillie, who seemed made of rock, spent the night on watch. I tried to stay awake with him, but I was soon nodding, and before I knew it, he was whispering in my ear that it was almost dawn. I looked out at the sky; the storm had long blown over, and the early morning air was soft and clear.

‘“The sun should be hot today,” whispered Haidée, joining me in the road.

‘I looked at her. Her cheeks seemed as fresh as the dawn in the east, and her eyes gleamed with the light of the coming day. I could see that at last, through all the horror of her memories, she was glimpsing a freedom only dreamed of until now. “We'll make it,” I said, squeezing her hand. She nodded shortly, then stepped up into her saddle. She waited until Viscillie and I were ready in our own; then she shook out her reins, and cantered down the track.

‘We rode as hard as we could, while the sun grew hotter, and rose higher in the sky. Occasionally, Viscillie would dismount and climb up the sides of cliffs or ravines; when he rejoined us, he would smile and shake his head. But around midday, as he clambered down hurriedly from the top of a crag, we saw that he was frowning, and when he joined us he muttered that he had seen a cloud of dust, a long way off, but moving.

‘“This way?” I asked.

‘Viscillie shrugged.

‘“Would they be riding faster than us?”

‘Viscillie shrugged again. “If they were Tartars, they might.”

‘I swore softly, staring at the road ahead of us, then looking back over my shoulder at the cloudless blue sky. “Where do we have to get to, Viscillie?” I asked slowly. “To be safe?”

‘“The limits of the pashalik. They wouldn't dare pursue a noble foreign lord beyond that - not when he is a friend of the great Ali Pasha.”

‘“You are certain of that?”

‘“Yes, My Lord.”

‘“Where is this limit?”

‘“The Missolonghi road. There is a small fortress there.”

‘“And how long will it take us to reach it?”

‘“A couple of hours. One and a half, maybe - if we ride hard.”

‘Haidée glanced up at the sky. “It's almost midday. From then on, the sun starts to sink.” She looked back at me. “We must ride more than hard. We must ride as though the Devil is at our back.”

‘And so we did. An hour passed, and we heard nothing in the stillness of the heat but our horses' hooves, pounding the white dust of the track, carrying us ever nearer to the Missolonghi road. We paused by a brook, a pleasant spot of green amongst the rocks and crags, to allow our horses to drink; Haidée dismounted, but then, as she filled her water bottle, she glanced round and saw a faint cloud of dust rising in the distance.

‘“Is that what you saw?” she asked Viscillie. We both looked.

‘“They're getting nearer,” I said.

‘Viscillie nodded. “Come on,” he said, raising his horse's head from the brook. “We still have a way to go.”

‘The cloud of dust, though, however hard we rode, could not be shaken off. Just the reverse - it grew thicker all the time, so that soon it seemed to be overshadowing us. And then I heard Haidée gasp; I looked round, and saw a glint of metal, a horse's bit, and heard the distant thud of hooves. We rounded an outcrop of rock, and our pursuers were lost, before we could even be certain they had spotted us. But the road was descending now, straightening as the rocks and cliffs fell away, and we would easily be seen on the open plain.

‘“How far?” I shouted at Viscillie. He pointed. I could just make out, in the far distance, the white line of a road, and guarding it, a small fort.

‘“Castle of Ali Pasha,” shouted Viscillie. “We must reach there. Ride, My Lord - ride!”

‘Our pursuers had rounded the cliff now, and seen us. I heard their howls of triumph, and looking round, saw them start to spread out as they hunted us across the plain. I heard a shot fired, and my horse almost stumbled and fell, and I swore as I struggled to reach for my pistols from my bag.

‘“Just ride, My Lord!” shouted Viscillie, as another shot was fired. “Tartars cannot aim!” But they could ride; even as Viscillie was shouting at me, three of them broke from the others, and began to gallop towards us. One of them reached Haidée, and laughed as she swung vainly at him with a dagger. He toyed with her, feinting and wheeling, and as he did so, I managed to find my pistol at last. I had loaded it before; I prayed that it would fire. The Tartar took Haidée by the hair; she clung on desperately to her reins as he yanked at her. The Tartar broke, then closed in again, and this time, took Haidée's arm. He laughed - and then I fired, and the Tartar rose up high in his saddle, as though he were giving a salute, only to topple backwards, and be dragged by his ankles back along the road. As the startled horse galloped through their ranks, our pursuers paused, and I could feel my spirits rise now, for we could see the gates of the fortress being opened to us. The Tartars must have seen them too, for suddenly we heard yells of fury and derision, and the sound of their horses now was almost in our ears. I glanced round; was the Pasha with them? I couldn't see him. I glanced round again. He wasn't there. Of course not - he was dead, I had seen him die.

‘“My Lord, ride!” shouted Viscillie. Bullets whistled past us - and then there was an answering crackle of fire from the fortress wall, and some of the Tartars fell back. Most, though, did not, and I thought, as we galloped up towards the open gates, that we would not make it. I felt a hand on my arm. I looked round; a Tartar was grinning in my face. He reached for my throat, but as he did so, I dodged his grip, and my horse knocked his own, and the Tartar was sent crashing from his saddle. I looked round for Haidée; she had reached the gates.

‘“My Lord, quick, quick!” shouted Viscillie from ahead of me. I spurred my exhausted steed; the horsemen behind me fell away; as I rode past them, the fortress gates swung shut.

‘We were safe, for a while at least. But even behind walls, we felt uncomfortable. The commander of the garrison was surly and suspicious. How could he not have been, for our arrival and appearance had been strange enough, but there had also been the fury with which the Tartars had given us chase. I told the commander that they had been
klephti -
he gave me a look of frank disbelief. But he grew more polite when I emphasised that I was a close friend of Ali Pasha, and when he saw the letter of proof I bore, he grew almost Greek in his servility. But I didn't trust him - and after a short break to refresh ourselves and make certain that the Tartars had indeed returned to the hills, we pressed on with our journey through the afternoon. The Missolonghi road, although scarcely crowded, seemed a veritable thoroughfare after the loneliness of the mountain track, and being in better condition as well, it enabled us to make fairly good speed. Of course, we kept a careful watch on the distance we had crossed, but we saw no clouds of dust rising up in the sky, and after a while, we started to feel more secure. We spent the night in Arta, a pleasant enough place, and where we were able to hire soldiers, ten of them, to guard us on the journey that still lay ahead. Now I felt almost confident. We didn't start again until late in the morning, for Haidée was exhausted and slept for almost twelve hours. I didn't choose to wake her. Platonism too, then, continued undisturbed.