The Vampyre (42 page)

‘“Not as you have done.”

‘I frowned. “Then how can you know they exist at all?”

‘“There are proofs - faint - often doubtful - but proofs of
something
, nevertheless. Twelve hundred years,
milord
, I have sought them. And we must believe. We must. For what other choice or hope do we have?”

‘I remembered Ahasver, how he had come to me, and the strangeness of all he had revealed. And I remembered more. I shook my head, and rose to my feet. “He told me there was no hope for us,” I said, “no escape.”

‘“He lied.”

‘“How can you know?”

‘“Because he must have done.” The Pasha struggled to raise himself. “Do you not see?” he asked with feverish passion. “There is a way, somehow, to win immortality. True immortality. Would I have searched all these years, if I hadn't had hope? It exists,
milord
. Your pilgrimage may have a chance of an end.”

‘“If mine, why not yours?”

‘The Pasha smiled, the fever burning again in his eyes. “Mine?” he asked. “Mine too has the chance of an end.” He reached for my arm. He pulled me down beside him again. “I am tired,” he whispered. “I have borne the hopes of our kind for too long.” His grip tightened. “Take up the burden,
milord
. I have waited, for centuries, for such a one as you. Do as I ask now - release me. Give me peace.”

‘Gingerly, I stroked his brow. “So it is true,” I whispered, “I can give you death after all?”

‘“Yes,
milord
. I have been powerful, a king amongst the Kings of the Dead. Extinction for vampires such as you and I is hard - for a long time, I believed, impossible. But it is not just life I have been searching for these long centuries. Death too has its secrets. In libraries, in the ruins of ancient towns, in secret temples and forgotten graves, I have hunted.”

‘I stared at him. “Tell me, then,” I asked slowly, “what did you find?”

‘The Pasha smiled. “A way.”

‘“How?”

‘“It must be you,
milord
. You and no one else.”

‘“Me?”

‘“
It can only be a vampire I have made. Only my creation
.” The Pasha beckoned to me. I bent my ear close to his lips. “To end it,” he whispered, “to free me . . .”

 

‘No!' Rebecca almost screamed the word.

Slowly, Lord Byron narrowed his eyes.

‘Don't say it. Please. I beg you.'

A cruel smile wrinkled Lord Byron's lips. ‘Why do you not want to know?' he asked.

‘Because . . .' Rebecca gestured with her arms as her voice trailed away. ‘Surely you can see?' She slumped back in her chair. ‘Knowledge can be a dangerous thing.'

‘Yes, it can.' Lord Byron nodded mockingly. ‘Certainly it can. And yet also - do you not think? - it is a base abandonment, to resign our right of thought? Not to dare - not to search - but to stagnate, and rot?'

Rebecca swallowed. Dark fears and hopes were mingled in her mind. Her throat seemed dry with doubt. ‘You did it then?' she said eventually. ‘You did as he asked?'

For a long while, Lord Byron made no reply. ‘I promised him I would,' he said at last. ‘The Pasha thanked me - simply, but with courtesy. Then he smiled. “In return,” he said, “I have been keeping something in wait for you.” He told me of his legacy. Papers - manuscripts - the distillation of a millennium's work. They were waiting for me, sealed, at Aheron.'

‘Aheron? The Pasha's castle?'

Lord Byron nodded.

‘Why there? Why hadn't he brought them to give to you?'

‘I asked him the very same question, of course.'

‘And?'

‘He wouldn't answer.'

‘Why not?'

Lord Byron paused. He glanced again into the shadows that lay beyond her chair. ‘He asked me,' he said at last, ‘if I remembered the underground shrine to the dead. I did, of course. “There,” he told me, “you will find my parting gift to you there. The rest of the castle has been burned to the ground. The shrine, though, can never be destroyed. Go,
milord
. Find what I have left for you.”

‘Again I asked, why he hadn't brought his papers with him. Again the Pasha smiled, and shook his head. He took my hand. “Promise,” he whispered. I nodded my head. He smiled again, then turned his face against the wall of the cave. For a long while, he lay in silence. At last he turned back and looked up at me.

‘“I am ready,” he whispered.

‘“It is not too late,” I said. “You can be healed. You can carry on your search with me by your side.”

‘But the Pasha shook his head. “I have decided,” he said. He reached for my hand. He placed it over his naked heart. “I am ready,” he whispered in my ear again.'

Lord Byron paused. He smiled at Rebecca. ‘I killed him,' he said. He leaned forwards. ‘Do you want to know how?' Rebecca didn't answer. ‘The secret. The deathly, deadly secret.' Lord Byron laughed. It seemed to Rebecca, sitting frozen in her chair, that he had not been talking to her at all. ‘I sliced open his skull. I ripped apart his chest. And then . . .' He paused. Rebecca listened. She was sure there had been a noise - the same scrabbling she had heard before - coming from the darkness by her chair. She tried to rise, but Lord Byron's eyes were on her, and her limbs seemed made of lead. She stayed where she was. The room around her seemed silent again. There was no sound now but the thumping of her blood.

‘I ate his heart and brains. Simple, really.' Again, Lord Byron was staring past her chair. ‘The Pasha died without a moan. The mess I had made of his head was revolting, but on his face, beneath the gore, was a look of rest. I called Lovelace. I met him by the entrance to the cave. He stared at me, astonished. Then he smiled, and reached out to stroke my face. “Oh, Byron,” he said, “I am glad. You are really quite the beau once again.”

‘I frowned. “What do you mean?” I said.

‘“That you are beautiful. Beautiful and young as you used to be.”

‘I touched my cheeks. “No.” But they felt smooth and unlined. “No,” I said again. “I can't be.”

‘Lovelace grinned. “Oh, but you are. As lovely as when I met you first. As lovely as when you were created a vampire.”

‘“But . . .” I smiled, meeting Lovelace's grin, and then I laughed in sudden ecstasy. “I don't understand . . . How?” I laughed again. “How?” I choked with disbelief. And then suddenly I did understand. I looked back into the cave, at the Pasha's mangled corpse.

‘Lovelace too, for the first time, saw what I had done. He walked up to the body. He stared down at it, appalled. “Dead?” he asked. “Truly dead at last?” I nodded. Lovelace shivered. “How?”

‘I reached for him and stroked his hair. “Do not ask,” I said. I kissed him lingeringly. “You do not want to know.”

‘Lovelace nodded. He bent by the corpse, and stared at it in wonder. “And now?” he said at last, looking up at me. “Do we burn his corpse, or bury it?”

‘“Neither.”

‘“Byron, he was wise and mighty, you cannot leave him here.”

‘“I don't intend to.”

‘“Then what?”

‘I smiled. “You will take the corpse to Missolonghi. The Greeks must have their martyr. And I . . .” I walked to the cave mouth. The stars had disappeared, blotted out beneath black cloud. I smelled the air. A storm was coming. I turned back to Lovelace. “I must have my freedom. Lord Byron is dead. Dead in Missolonghi. Let the news be proclaimed across Greece and all the world.”

‘“You wish” - Lovelace gestured with his arm - “that -
thing
- to be taken for you?”

‘I nodded.

‘“How?”

‘I tapped on Lovelace's bag of coins. “There is no one like your Greek for the taking of a bribe.”

‘Lovelace smiled slowly. He bowed his head. “Very well,” he said. “If that is what you wish.”

‘“It is.” I reached across and kissed him, then walked from the cave and untethered a horse. Lovelace watched me. “What will you do?” he asked.

‘I laughed, as I climbed onto the horse's back. “I have a search to make,” I said.

‘Lovelace frowned. “Search?”

‘“A last request, if you like.” I spurred my horse forwards. “Goodbye, Lovelace. I will wait to hear the cannons over Greece proclaim my death.” Lovelace swept off his hat in an extravagant bow. I waved to him - I wheeled my horse round - I galloped down the hill. The cave was soon lost behind rocks and groves of trees.

‘The storm broke above me on the Yanina road. I paused for shelter in a tavern. The Greeks there muttered they had never heard such thunder. “A great man has passed away,” they all agreed.

‘“Who might it be?” I asked.

‘One of them, a bandit I guessed from the pistols in his belt, crossed himself. “Pray to God, it is not the Lordos Byronos,” he said. His companions nodded in agreement. I smiled. Back in Missolonghi, I knew, the soldiers would be wailing and sobbing in the streets.

‘I waited for the storm to pass. I rode all night, and into the day. It was twilight when I reached the road to Aheron. By the bridge, I found a peasant. He screamed as I gathered him onto my horse. “The
vardoulacha
! The
vardoulacha
is back!” I cut his throat - I drank - I tossed his body into the river far below. By now, the moon was gleaming brightly in the sky. I spurred my horse on through the gorges and ravines.

‘The archway to the Lord of Death stood as before. I rode under it, past the cliff, and then, rounding the promontory, towards the village and the Pasha's castle on the crag. Before, it had loomed against the sky - but now, when I looked, it seemed melted away. I rode through the village. There was nothing of it left, save for odd mounds of rubble and weed, and when I passed the castle walls, they too seemed swallowed up into the rock, so that no one would have known they had ever been there. But it was when I reached the summit, where the castle had stood, that I sat frozen with astonishment. Strange twisted stones gleamed against the azure gloom, as though moulded like sand by streaks of rain. Slowly, I dismounted. Of the mighty edifice that had once been there, nothing recognisable remained. Cypress and ivy, weed and wallflower grew matted together over the stones - nothing else survived. The whole place was blasted and overthrown. I wondered if it was I who had destroyed it, I who had brought the curse upon the place, when I had stabbed my sword through the heart of its lord.

‘I searched for the great hall. There was no trace of the pillars or the stairways, nothing but the strange twists of rock everywhere, and I felt a mounting sense of hopelessness. Then, just as I was nearing despair, I recognised a fragment of stone behind some weeds. It too had melted, but I could just make out a trellis pattern. I remembered it from the kiosk, the one that had led to the temple of the dead. I cut my way through the weeds. A darkness opened up ahead. I stared into it. There were stairs, leading deep into the earth. The entrance had been almost totally concealed. I brushed the remaining weeds away. I started my descent into the underworld.

‘Down I went - down, down, down. The darkness began to be lit by red flames. As they grew stronger, I recognised frescoes painted on the walls, the same I had seen on my descent all those years before. I paused by the entranceway. I saw the altar and the chasm of fire, unchanged. I breathed in the heavy air. And then, at once, I tensed. I swept back my cloak. There was a vampire, ahead of me, I could smell its blood. What was such a creature doing here? I nerved myself. Cautiously, I walked into the shrine.

‘A black-cloaked figure stood against the flames. It had its back to me. Slowly, it turned round. It lifted the hood that was covering its face. “You killed him then,” said Haidée.

‘For an eternity, it seemed, I didn't reply. I stared into her face. It was wrinkled and dry, aged before her time. Only her eyes had the freshness I remembered. But it was her. It was her. I took a step forwards. I held out my arms. I laughed with relief, and joy, and love. But Haidée, watching me, backed away.

‘“Haidée.”

‘She turned.

‘“Please,” I whispered. She made no answer. I paused. “Please,” I said again. “Let me hold you. I had thought you were dead.”

‘“And am I not?” she said softly.

‘I shook my head. “We are what we are.”

‘“Is that so?” she asked, turning to look at me again. “Oh, Byron,” she whispered. “Byron.” I saw tears begin to line her eyes. I had never seen a vampire weep before. I reached for her, and this time, she let me take her in my arms. She began to sob, and kiss me, her dry lips pressing almost desperately, and still she sobbed, and then she began to hit me with her fists. “Byron, Byron, you fell, you fell, you let him win. Byron.” Her body shook with her anger and tears, and then she kissed me again, even more urgently than before, and held me as though she would never let me go. Her body still shuddered as it pressed against my own.

‘I stroked her hair, now lined with grey. “How did you know,” I asked, “to wait for me here?”

‘Haidée blinked her tears away. “He had told me what he intended to do.”

‘“That if I agreed - he would send me here?”

‘Haidée nodded. “He
is
dead? Truly dead?”

‘“ Yes.”

‘Haidée looked into my eyes. “Of course he is,” she whispered. “You are beautiful and young once again.”

‘“And you,” I asked, “he gave you the Gift as well?”