“And that is what you did?”
“Yes, I killed my enemies both in my own country and in Transylvania to the north. Then I made the country strong. I brought back wealth to the people and built a strong army.”
“Yet they did not love you?”
“No, they did not love me. Then, I never imagined they would. They feared me, though, and they respected me as much.”
“It is not the same. Every ruler wants to be loved by his people.”
“Not I. Fear and respect were enough for me.”
Machiavelli continued to write while Dracula spoke.
“Fear keeps people alert. I drove out the weak and the lazy. In their place, I made the people work hard for what they had. I made them respect the laws of the land. This made them stronger, and it made Wallachia stronger as a result.”
“So to achieve this, a prince has to be beyond reproach?”
“Yes, he answers only to God.”
“And it is acceptable for him to commit acts of evil for the greater good?”
“If you want to call them evil, then yes.”
“Are they not evil, then?”
“I do not think so, but other men may differ in what they believe. This is why you must write this. You must build a valid argument.”
“You agree, then, that these actions are wrong, if for personal gain?”
“Yes, I concur with that. It is for the greater good, not for the gain of one man. I did amass wealth, but I did it in an honest fashion. I did not tax the people to the brink of poverty, and I did not punish anyone who did not deserve it.”
“Good. Then why did you impale so many people? Surely it is better to make your justice swift and effective?”
“It set an example, and that is why I used it. What man or woman would ever infringe against the state after witnessing that?”
He wrote it down, although he did not agree entirely. “That leaves your basic argument as…?”
“The ends justify the means. I was not a cruel man. I agree that I was brutal at times, but it was all for the preservation of my country. I was a product of my time, the age in which I lived.”
“My inkwell has run dry.”
“It does not matter. I have said enough.”
“I have written it all down.”
“Good. Make a thesis from it, but never give mention of my name.”
“I shall not mention you. I already gave you my word on that.”
“Think of a suitable title for it, but nothing that hints at your source.”
“I have already decided upon one.”
Dracula quickly scanned his mind. He smiled when he saw his host’s idea. “Yes, I like that. The Prince is a perfect title. Do your best, Niccolo, for the day I read it. I shall read it.”
“I shall make a strong argument. Have no fear.”
“There is one other thing. The woman you call Piera.”
“Yes?”
“Forget her. You have an exciting career ahead of you. Put her out of your mind. She can bring you only heartache, and it shall affect your work.”
Dracula stopped him before he could argue. “I mean it, Niccolo. Never cast your eyes upon her again. I shall be watching you.”
When Dracula had left, Machiavelli spread some fresh parchment on the desk. He dipped his quill into the last of the ink and wrote about the demon that had come to his house.
Chapter 11
TUSCANY. THE HOME OF RODRIGO BORGIA
AND VANNOZZA DEI CATTANEI IN FLORENCE.
JULY, 1489.
Dracula went in search of Piera the following evening. By the time he awoke at sunset, she had long since left her home. He used her scent to track her. Her trail took him to one of the more plush residences in the city.
He knew right away to whom it belonged. Rodrigo Borgia rarely had the time to leave Rome. As the most powerful member of the Roman Curia, the politics of the Church kept him there. His mistress, Vannozza dei Cattanei, was not so restricted. She liked to come here with their four children.
She had needed to get away from Rome. Florence gave her some respite from the vicious gossips there. Borgia had developed a passion for a newly-wed girl of fifteen. Her name was Giulia Farnese. She had just married Orsino Orsini, who was the son of a cousin of Borgia’s. With him being four times her age, it made for quite a scandal.
It was rare for these rumours to not have substance. She took the children away at once. He sent a messenger after her, but she ignored his letter and the demands in it. This only served to fuel his rage. He doted on them with a greater passion than he did his mistresses. His eldest sons, he was grooming for great things.
Dracula found his way to a balcony high in the house. It took him to a window outside the room where Piera was playing. He looked through it and watched her. She played the harp with such grace, it proved a great release for him to hear it.
The young Borgias sat huddled on the floor. They also found her music captivating. He studied them for a time. These were the children of the mighty Rodrigo Borgia. He wondered how similar they might be to his own.
His gaze fell on the eldest, Giovanni. The young Borgia had not taken his eyes from Piera once in all the time she had been there. His interest was with her, and not the music she played. Piera had noticed this, too, but did her best to ignore it. His mother paid her well for her services and she did not want to lose this income.
Cesare looked to the window and saw him there. He got up and ran over. Dracula rose to the rooftop at once and found a quiet spot up high. With a grin on his face, he settled down out of view.
“What are you doing, Cesare?” his mother asked him. “Sit down at once while Piera is playing for you.”
“I saw a face at the window, Mama.”
“What nonsense! I shall hear none of it!”
He ignored her and pushed open the doors to the balcony. She got up when he stepped out onto it. “I saw him, a man, standing right here.”
She joined him there. “How could anyone be out here?”
He shrugged at her question. “I do not know, Mama, but I saw him.”
She peered over the edge. “Look,” she said. “There is no way to get here but through the music room. Come back inside at once.”
Cesare stood in the same spot where Dracula had stood, when she went inside. He looked up in the direction of the eaves, right at Dracula’s hiding place. Dracula gazed down into his eyes from the darkness, knowing the boy could not see him. Cesare had turned thirteen years of age now. Even so, Dracula could sense something very sinister in him. He liked what he saw of the boy and thought this might be one he could use in the future.
“I do not know where you have gone, but I know you are there,” Cesare whispered. “You may hide, but I know you can see me, and hear me.”
“Close the doors, Cesare,” his sister, Lucrezia, urged him. “You are letting in the draught.”
He closed them and sat down again. A servant pulled the drapes across.
“Shall I finish for the night, signora?” Piera asked. “It is quite late, and I sense a chill in the air.”
“Yes, Piera. It is time my children retired to their beds. Thank you for coming. You played very well, as always.”
She paid Piera for her night’s work. Giovanni stood up to walk out with her. His mother shot him a sharp glance. “Fredo can show her out.”
Piera stepped out into the night. There was a chill in the air, which she had not imagined. A fair wind blew through the narrow streets. It carried some odours from the river that she did not find pleasant. She pulled her shawl tight around her, and began the lonely walk home.
She wondered if she might see her young admirer tonight. Every night for two weeks, he had lurked on street corners. It had unnerved her at first, but as she saw him more frequently it offered her some comfort on her journey.
The young man made her feel safe. She thought of him as her guardian angel. These quiet streets presented many dangers for a lone woman
at night. Until she had noticed his presence, she dreaded walking at this late an hour.
She walked for a while. A couple of times she looked around to see if he was there. Tonight, there was no sign of him, and she began to worry. Has something happened to him? He is always there. She pressed on. Every little sound she heard made her jumpy.
A man crossed the street behind her. She turned and gasped, fearing that he would accost her. He shot her a quick glance and continued on his way. “Stupid damn woman,” she heard him mutter.
Piera broke into a slight run. She turned a corner and pulled her shawl tight again. When she came to the bridge, she hesitated. The Ponte Vecchio attracted all manner of strange people at night.
“Good night,” a voice said from close by.
It startled her. She turned and saw Dracula emerge from the shadows.
“Do not be afraid,” he said, smiling. “I shall not harm you.”
“Who are you?” she asked, suspicious of him.
Her heart pounded in her chest. She recognised him from the night before. It worried her that he was here again.
“I am a friend,” he assured her.
“Why are you here? Are you following me?”
“I came to see you home safely.”
“Someone else does that usually.”
“You mean, Niccolo?”
“Yes, Niccolo. He walks me home every night.”
“I know.”
“Where is he? Has some ill fate befallen him?”
“No, he is well.”
“But he is always here, without fail.”
“The signora sent him on business to Rome. He should be gone for some time.”
“Signora dei Cattanei? So he does work for her?”
“Yes, he is one of her men.”
Piera sighed with relief. She had wondered long and hard about it.
“He asked me to come in his place, so it rests with me to see you get home safely this night.”
She was not entirely convinced. Though when she studied him, she saw a sword hanging from his waist. He appeared too well-dressed for a soldier. Therefore, he had to be a noble, or a nobleman’s bodyguard. “Then I thank you for your trouble.”
“Come, it is late. Let us walk.”
They met this way every night after that. Machiavelli heeded the warning and never came again. He did not put his quill down for weeks. Much of what he wrote, he based on what he knew of Dracula. The rest, he made up. Over time, he produced reams of work.
Dracula never saw or spoke to him again. He knew he had captivated the young Florentine. Once he had got past his fears, he was totally intrigued. Dracula was sure he would write and write.
Piera wondered about him for the first few nights she did not see him. After that, he slowly faded from her mind. She grew to like her new escort. His stories of the world left her wanting to know more. She never asked him who he was. He never offered to tell her. They became friends, but remained strangers.
Chapter 12
TUSCANY. THE PONTE VECCHIO IN FLORENCE.
SEPTEMBER 1, 1489.
On the first night in September, Dracula waited for Piera again. She smiled when she saw him by the Ponte Vecchio. The days remained warm, but the nights had turned colder.
The Borgia children had returned to Rome to their father. Dracula was glad of it. He did not like the fascination Giovanni had with her. Piera now played for other nobles in the city on the recommendation of Signora dei Cattanei.
“It is turning cold,” she said, when they met.
“Yes,” he agreed. “I smell the winter already.”
“I am sure you are accustomed to the cold, though.”
He looked puzzled. “Why do you say that?”
“I only ever see you by night.”
“Yes, I love the night.”
“I often wonder over that.”
“Why do you? What is there to wonder?”
“I think that you must sleep all through the day.”
“You would think right, then. I do sleep by day.”
“I have never heard of such a thing.”
“Have you not?”
“No, it is such odd behaviour.”
“To you, perhaps. To me, the night is everything. It is when I come alive.”
“It is no wonder you look so pale. You never see the sunshine.”
“My skin is averse to it. It has been for many years.”
“That is another thing I have not heard of before.”
“Then there is much you do not know. Such things do occur.”
“There is not much I know of you, I admit.”
“I thought that is how you wanted it. You never ask anything of me, or my life.”
“Perhaps it is time I did.”
“You only have to ask if you wish to know something of me.”
She stopped for a moment and studied him. When he offered a perplexed look, she smiled. “So, what is your name? Your true name.”
“It is Vlad.”
“Vlad?”
“Vlad Dracula, yes.”
“It is not a name I have heard before. Where does it come from?”
“To the east.”
“Is that where you are from?”
“Yes, I hail from the Romanias.”
“I am not familiar with that place.”
“You ought to be. It is so named after the Romans.”
“I spoke Latin when I was younger, but I was never one for history.”
“Why have you never married?”
She raised an eyebrow when he fired in the question. It was not one she had expected. “What makes you think I have not been?”
“I can tell it of you.”
“You have a keen eye, Vlad. I have never met the right man.”
“Then you are a beauty wasted.”
She blushed at his words. “You think I am a beauty?”
“Oh, yes,” he insisted. “Without a doubt, you are very beautiful of face. From what I can see, you are beautiful in heart and soul too.”
She laughed. It was the first time he had seen her do so. “You are such a rogue.”
“I cannot be a rogue for speaking the truth.”
“No, I grant you that. I did give my heart to one, many years ago, but I lost faith in Him.”
“And you have lived alone since?”
“Yes, I have never sought the company of another.”
“Might that ever change?”
“I imagine it might. Who is to say?”
They stopped and gazed at each other for a moment. Dracula delved into her mind and heart. For the first time, he noticed a difference in her. She had feelings for him, feelings that were very real. The way she looked at him caused a flutter in his stomach that surprised him. He had always wanted her, but she was like no other he had met since his change. To have her, she had to want him too.
He took her hands in his. She allowed him to gently pull her towards him, and fell into his arms. They embraced for a long time. When they broke from it, he leant forward and kissed her tenderly on the lips. He heard a groan work its way from the pit of her stomach as her lips responded to his.
Her eyes remained closed, even after their lips parted. “No man has ever kissed me, not till this moment.”
It surprised him to hear that, but delighted him all the same. She possessed a beauty, inside and out, that many men would kill for. He knew he would, too, should the need ever arise. “Then how did it feel?”
“It felt wonderful.”
“Would you like me to kiss you again?”
“Yes, I would.”
They kissed again, though it lasted much longer this time. Her lips searched for his with a desire she never knew she possessed. He felt her chest heave when he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in closer.
A thousand thoughts raced through her mind. Some scared her, but others warmed her inside. Her body felt and did things that were totally new to her. She groaned when his lips
touched her neck. Her nipples hardened and a moist patch developed between her legs. This is what it feels like to be close to a man.
When they broke from their kiss, she looked long into his eyes. Something in them warned her to exercise caution, but no man had ever made her feel like this. Right now, that was all that mattered to her. For the first time, she felt desire, need, and longing. She felt safe and, most importantly, no longer alone in the world.
Dracula knew what he had found here, a precious treasure that had remained hidden away for so long. To the right man, she could give more happiness and fulfilment than any amount of gold, or gems. Just by holding her in his arms, he knew this. He had the key to her heart in his hands. All he had to do was unlock her, and he would enjoy the most wondrous chest of delights. He knew it, and he knew, too, that nothing would ever compensate him should he lose her.
“May I take your hand?” he asked, holding his out to her.
She looked at him and smiled. “Yes, I would like that.”
He took her right hand in his left. She then leaned into him, her left hand holding his left arm. His muscles rippled through his clothes. It surprised her, but delighted her at the same time. They obviously disguised his physique well.
Soon they arrived outside her humble home. When they stood face-to-face again, she looked down at his feet. A little embarrassed, she asked, “Would you like to come inside? In this moment in time, I do not want to be alone.”
He smiled. “Thank you, I would love to stay with you awhile.”
She showed him inside, still holding her head low. It was sparse, but clean and tidy. She lived in one room, which contained a bed; a table; two chairs; a closet; and a fireplace.
“You deserve better than this,” he said, looking around.
The modesty of her home embarrassed her a great deal in his presence. “I am a simple woman, but I am happy enough with what I have.”
“No, you are a beautiful woman. I cannot fathom how you are alone.”
“It is by choice. I have never felt the need to be with another.”
“That is till this night?”
She smiled and blushed. “Yes, that was till this night.”
The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels Page 151
