The Vampyre (35 page)

‘Ahasver bowed his head.

‘“Then let us press on,” I said, wheeling round my horse. “We still have an hour till we reach the next inn.”

‘For the length of the ride, I studied him. We talked. He spoke in English, but he would slip occasionally into other tongues, some modern, some ancient, some which I failed to recognise at all. I soon found out that he had been in the East. At supper, he dined with us, then retired early to bed. I did not sleep. I kept watch on his room. At two, I saw him slip out through the inn. I followed him.

‘He climbed the crags with impossible speed. He bounded over crevices of ice and up snaking glaciers. Ahead, jagged, like a city of death, the mountain peaks waited, as though in scorn of the works of man, but Ahasver was no mortal thing to be repelled by their walls. No. I knew what he was. I remembered the phantoms in Piccadilly, how they had changed their form before my very eyes. I remembered snapping the Pasha's neck, and finding I held a skeleton. What powers he had, and how changed, I didn't know - but I was certain of one thing - it was the Pasha I pursued up that mountain face.

‘He stayed within my eyeshot all the way. Was he leading me deliberately? I didn't care - one of us would die - I scarcely minded which. I reached the summit of a cliff. My quarry had been just ahead. I looked around. Suddenly, the rocks were empty and bare. I stared down below me, at the mists as they boiled round the glaciers. Then I heard a footstep behind me. I turned. There, facing me, the Pasha stood.

‘Like thought, I flew at him. He stumbled, and I saw sudden panic on his face as he began to slip. He reached for me and pulled me down, so that we rolled together by the precipice edge, the gulf seeming to beckon us. I felt the Pasha changing and melting in my arms, but I held on, smashing his head against the rocks, until blood and brains were flowing everywhere. Still I smashed the skull. The Pasha's struggle began to fade. At length he lay motionless - I paused - his eyes were still open, but they had the glaze of death. Then slowly, the shattered face changed. Now it was Ahasver staring up at me. I scarcely noticed. I stabbed him through his heart, again and again. I kicked his body. I watched as it plunged into the gulf below.

‘In a slow ecstasy, I walked along the cliff. I felt thirsty. I would return to the road, and have a traveller, drain him dry. Ahead, springing out from a gash in the rock, a torrent was falling - like the tail of a white horse streaming in the wind - the pale horse, on which Death is mounted in the Apocalypse. “Death.” I whispered the word, to hear the sound it made. “Death.” It was as though I had never heard it before. Suddenly, a frightening, strange, unfamiliar sound. “Death!” The rocks of the mountain echoed to my scream. I turned. Ahasver was smiling at me. His face was as smooth as before. Slowly, he bent his knee.

‘“You are worthy to be Emperor.”

‘I stared at him, where he stood, by the torrent's fall. “The Pasha . . .” I said. I frowned. Then I began to shake. “You are not him. He is dead.”

‘Ahasver's expression didn't change. “Whatever, wherever he may be . . . you are Emperor now.” He smiled suddenly and saluted me. “
Vive l'Empereur!
”

‘I remembered the shout from Waterloo. “All this time,” I said slowly, “since I left England - you have been pursuing me - mocking me. Why?”

‘Ahasver shrugged, then bowed his head in assent. “I get bored,” he said. “Eternity drags.”

‘“What are you? You are not a vampire.”

‘Ahasver laughed derisively. “
Vampire?
No.”

‘“Then what?”

‘Ahasver stared at the mists where they curled like distant seas. “There are forces in this world,” he said at last, “full of power and strangeness and sublimity. You yourself,
milord
, have evidence of this. In you, the twin poles of life and death are confounded - what man falsely separates, you unite. And you are great,
milord
- terribly great - but there are powers and beings even greater than you. I tell you this, both to warn and help you in your agony.”

‘He stroked my cheeks, then kissed me. “Ah,
milord
,” he said, “your eyes are as deep and beautiful and dangerous as mine. You are extraordinary - extraordinary.” He took me by my arm, led me along the top of the cliff. “I appear to men sometimes, to torture them with thoughts of eternity, but to vampires - who would understand me better, and therefore be more truly appalled - never. You though - you are different. I had heard the rumours, that the Lords of the Dead had a new Emperor. Then your fame began to fill the world. Lord Byron - Lord Byron - your name seemed to hover on every tongue. I was intrigued. I came to you. I tested you.” Ahasver paused and smiled. “
Milord
, I can promise you this - you will be an emperor such as the vampires have never known.

‘“And therefore I warn you. If I have been mocking your hopes, then it is to remind you that you cannot escape your own nature. To imagine otherwise is to torture yourself. Do not trust in mortal science,
milord
. You are a creature beyond its power to explain. Do you truly expect it to save you from your thirst?” Ahasver laughed, and gestured with his hand. “If the abysm could vomit forth its secrets . . .” He waited. Below us, the chasm was as silent as before. Ahasver laughed again. “Deep truth is imageless,
milord
. What I know, you cannot. So be content with the immortality you have.”

‘“Do you drink blood?”

‘Ahasver stared at me. He didn't reply.

‘“Do you drink blood?” I repeated bitterly. “No. How then can you tell me to be
content
? I am cursed. How can you understand that?”

‘Ahasver smiled faintly. In his eyes, I thought I saw a gleam of mockery. “All immortality,
milord
, is a curse.” He paused, and took my hands. “Accept it, though - accept it as it is - and it becomes a blessing” - his eyes widened - “a chance,
milord
, to walk amongst the gods.” He kissed me on my cheek, then whispered in my ear. “A curse must live off its victim's self-hate. Do not hate yourself,
milord
, and do not hate your immortality. Welcome the greatness which is ready to be yours.”

‘He pulled away from me, then gestured at the mountains and the sky. “You are worthy to rule - more worthy than any of your breed before. Do it,
milord
. Rule as Emperor. This is how I help you - by telling you to abandon your ridiculous guilt. See! - the world is at your feet! Those who surpass or subdue mankind must always look down on the hate of those below. Do not fear what you are. Exult in it!” Below us, the clouds boiled white and sulphury, like foam from the ocean of Hell. But then, as I stared, I saw them thin and part, and the deep abyss was opened to me. My spirit, like lightning, seemed to dart across the void. I felt the rich pulse of life fill the heavens. The very mountains seemed to stir and breathe, and I imagined the blood in their stony veins, so vividly that I longed to tear the rocks apart, and feed on them, and all the world. I thought this passion would overwhelm me - this passion of immortality - and yet it did not - for my mind had grown colossal, expanded by the beauty of the mountains and my thoughts. I turned to Ahasver. He was changed. He stretched away, high beyond the peaks, into the sky, a dark form of giant shadow, meeting with the dawn as it rose above Mont Blanc. I felt myself rise with him, moving on the wind. I saw the Alps stretched out far below. “What are you?” I asked again. “What nature of thing?” I felt Ahasver's voice repeat within my thoughts: “You are worthy to rule - exult in it!” “Yes!” I shouted, laughing. “Yes!” Then I felt rock beneath my feet. The wind moaned and cut across my back. The air was cold. I was alone again. Ahasver was gone.

‘I returned to the road. I killed the first peasant I met, and emptied him. I felt how dread I was, how fathomless and alone. Later, with Hobhouse, I rode back past my victim's corpse. A crowd was gathered round it. A man was bent over the dead man's chest. As we passed, he glanced up and looked into my face. It was Polidori. I met his stare until he looked away. I shook out my reins. I laughed, to think that he was following me. I was a vampire - didn't the fool understand what that meant? I laughed again.

‘“Well,” said Hobhouse, “you seem damned cheery all of a sudden.”

‘We descended into Italy. On the way, I killed and drank remorselessly. One evening, outside Milan, I captured a handsome shepherd boy. His blood was as tender and soft as his lips. As I drank it, I felt a touch on my back.

‘“Zounds, Byron, but you always did have a good eye. Where'd you find such a pretty trull?”

‘I looked up and smiled. “Lovelace.” I kissed him. He was as golden and cruel as he had been before.

‘He laughed as he embraced me. “We have been waiting for you,” he said. “Welcome, Byron. Welcome to Milan.”

‘There were other vampires gathered in the city. They had come, Lovelace told me, to pay their respects. I did not find this strange. Their homage, after all, was nothing but my due. There were twelve of them, the vampires of Italy. They were deathly and beautiful, and their powers were great, like Lovelace's. But I was greater than them all - I could feel it so easily, as I had not done before - and even Lovelace now seemed daunted by me. I told him, in strange hints, of my meeting with Ahasver. He had never heard of such a being before. This pleased me. Where before he had been the teacher, now I commanded instinctively. He, and all the vampires, respected my order to leave Hobhouse alone. Instead, we hunted other prey, and our banquets ran red with living blood.

‘It was our habit, before such meals, to attend the opera. I went one night with Lovelace and a third vampire, as beautiful and cruel as either of us, the Contessa Marianna Lucrezia Cenci. As she descended from our carriage, and smoothed down the skirts of her crimson gown, she smelled the air - her green eyes narrowed - she turned to me. “There is someone out there,” she said. “He has been following us.” She stroked her gloves along the length of her arm, much like a cat when she cleans herself. “I will kill him.”

‘I frowned. I too could smell our pursuer's blood.

‘“Later,” said Lovelace, taking Marianna's arm. “Let us hurry, or we will miss the opera's start.”

‘Marianna glanced at me. I nodded. We took our places in our private box. The performance that night was of Mozart's
Don Giovanni
- the man who seduced a thousand women, and abandoned them all. As the opera started, our eyes began to gleam - it was a story written, it seemed, to appeal to us. Lovelace turned and smiled at me. “You will see shortly, Byron, how the rogue is confronted by his wife. He had left her, don't you know, because he had the itch of unrestrainable villainy.” He grinned again.

‘“A man after my own heart,” I replied. The wife entered - the Don ran away - the servant was left to handle things. He began to sing to the wife, describing his master's conquests around the world. “In Germany, two hundred and thirty-one; a hundred in France; in Turkey, ninety-one.” I recognised the song at once. I turned to Lovelace. “This was the same tune you hummed,” I said, “when we hunted in Constantinople and Greece.”

‘Lovelace nodded. “Why, yes sir, but my own list of victims is longer by far.”

‘Marianna turned to me, stroking back her long black hair. “
Deo
, but this gives me a killing thirst.”

‘At that very moment, there was a disturbance. The door to our box swung open. I looked round. A haggard young man was staring at me. It was Polidori. He raised his arm and pointed at us. “Vampires!” he shouted. “They are vampires, I have seen them, I have proof !”

‘As the audience turned in their seats to stare, Marianna rose to her feet. “
Mi scusi
,” she whispered. Soldiers came into the box. She whispered to them. They nodded, then took Polidori roughly by the arms. They dragged him away.

‘“Where have they taken him?” I asked.

‘“The cells.”

‘“For what offence?”

‘“One of the soldiers will claim he was insulted.” Marianna smiled. “That is how it is always done, My Lord.”

‘I nodded. The opera continued. I watched as Don Giovanni was dragged to Hell. “Repent!” he was commanded. “No!” the Don screamed back. “Repent!” “No!” I admired his spirit. Marianna and Lovelace both seemed moved as well.

‘Out in the dark streets again, their eyes burned bright and eager with thirst. “Are you coming, Byron?” Lovelace asked.

‘Marianna shook her head. She smiled at me as she took Lovelace by the arm. “My Lord has other business tonight.” I nodded. I called my carriage up.

‘Polidori was waiting for me. “I knew you would come,” he said, shivering as I walked into his cell. “Are you here to kill me?”

‘I smiled. “I have a policy of trying not to kill my acquaintances.”

‘“Vampire!” Polidori spat suddenly. “Vampire, vampire, vampire! Damned, loathsome vampire!”

‘I yawned. “Yes, thank you, you have made your point.”

‘“Leech!”

‘I laughed. Polidori shuddered at this. He pressed himself flat against the prison wall. “What are you going to do with me?” he asked.

‘“You are being expelled from the territory of Milan. You will go tomorrow.” I tossed him a bag of coins. “Here - take these, and never try to follow me again.”

‘Polidori stared at the coins in disbelief. Then suddenly, he flung them back at me. “You have everything, don't you?” he screamed. “Wealth, talent, power - and now, even generosity. Oh, wonderful! The demon who was kind. Well, damn you, Byron, damn you to Hell. You're a damned cheat, that's all you are, I despise you, I despise you! If I were the vampire,
I
would be the lord!”