‘There have been rebellions against vampire rule in Gaul and Walachia. They have always failed.’
Edmund nodded. ‘But there are three million commoners in Grand Normandy,’ he said, ‘and less than five thousand vampires. There are no more than forty thousand vampires in the whole Imperium of Gaul, and no greater number in Walachia. I do not know how many there might be in Cathay, or India, or in the heart of Africa beyond the Mohammedan lands, but there too, common men must outnumber vampires very greatly. If commoners no longer saw their masters as demons or demigods, but only as creatures more sturdily made, the vampire empires would be frail. Vampires say that the centuries through which they live give them a wisdom which common men can never attain, but that claim has become increasingly difficult to believe. All but a very few of the new things in the world are the work of common men: Dutch ships and Dutch looms, Norman cannon and Norman glass. Our arts mechanical have outstripped their arts magical, and they know it.’
‘Would not the vampires argue that such devices are only useful to make the world more comfortable for common men - that our mechanical arts are but a poor substitute for the magical power to remake ourselves, which they have and we do not?’
Edmund looked carefully at his son, with a certain pride. He was glad that the boy knew how to handle a disputation. He had given Noell to other teachers at an early age, thinking it best to keep himself apart from the boy. In these last few weeks of closer association, though, he had seen much in the boy’s conduct which reminded him of his own habits and inclinations, and it had pleased him – affection for his son had never been lacking in him, but circumstances had not allowed him to bring it to a proper fruition. It seemed likely that they never would. Perhaps this, was his only opportunity to pass on that fraction of the knowledge he had gleaned which he had never dared trust to another.
He hesitated. But there could be no harm – could there? – in a discussion and disputation such as scholarly men engaged in for amusement.
‘Vampires have a power,’ agreed Edmund, ‘which we call a magic power. But what do we mean by a magic power? Is it magic when we design the sails of a ship so that it makes headway against the wind? Is it a magic power which is in the vacuum which we use in pumps to draw water from our mines? Is it magic which allows silver to dissolve in mercury as sugar dissolves in water? All these tricks were magic when they were shown to people who did not known how they were done. Magic is simply that which we do not yet understand.’
‘But a vampire is very different from a common man,’ insisted Noell. ‘It is a difference of the soul, nothing to do with mechanical art. The soul which animates the body of a common man is much less powerful than the soul which animates a vampire body, and no mere physick will grant it that power.’
‘No mere physick,’ echoed Edmund. ‘And yet, I wonder. That wizard earl, Harry Percy, who was locked in the Martin Tower for so many years, laboured to make an elixir of life which would make us all the equal of the vampires. Richard’s knights looked on in amusement, and called him the mad earl – but they watched him very carefully for all that. Richard was fascinated by his experiments in prophecy and his studies of alchemical texts. Had Percy’s researches ever come close to the means by which the vampires make themselves, they would have killed him most expeditiously.’
‘The Gregorians believe that vampires are the devil’s creation,’ said Noell. ‘They say that the vampires hold sabbats at which Satan appears, and that vampires are more powerful than common men because they are possessed by the souls of demons, which Satan puts into their bodies when they have renounced Christ and sworn to do evil.’
Edmund was momentarily alarmed by this speech. It was not wise to speak that heresy within the Tower walls, for fear of being overheard. Pope Gregory’s condemnation of the vampires might be reckoned a more damaging rebellion against their rule than any armed insurrection, and the vampire princes knew it. They had been quick to force a new pope to condemn Gregory as the foulest of heretics, and had now gone so far as to place a vampire on the throne of St. Peter, but they had not entirely stamped out the notion of their demonic status, and perhaps never would. It was such a fine and lurid story – the kind of forbidden slander in which every man delighted, whatever he might really believe.
‘The orthodox view is that the vampire estate was ordered by God, as were the estates of common men,’ Edmund reminded his son. ‘The Church now tells us that the vampires were granted long life upon the earth, but that this is as much a burden as a privilege, because they must wait all the more patiently to enjoy the bounty of Heaven.’
‘Would you have me believe that?’ asked Noell, who knew well enough that his father was an unbeliever.
‘I would not have you believe that they are devil’s spawn,’ said Edmund, gently. ‘It is unlikely to be true, and it would be a pity to be burned as a heretic for casually speaking an untruth.’
‘Tell me then,’ said Noell, ‘what you do believe.’
Edmund shrugged, uncomfortably. ‘I am not sure that it is a matter for belief,’ he said. ‘I do not know. Their longevity is real, their resistance to disease, their powers of regeneration. But is it really magic that secures these gifts? I am prepared to believe that they carry out mysterious rituals, with strange incantations, but I do not know what virtue or effect there is in such conduct. I often wonder whether they are certain in their own minds. Perhaps they cling to their rites as common men in Europe cling to the mass, and the followers of Mohammed to their own ceremonies, out of habit and faith. Clearly, they know what must be done to make a common man a vampire, but whether they understand what they do, I cannot tell. Sometimes, I wonder whether they are as much the victims as we of that superstitious terror which they try to instil in us.’
‘Do you believe, then, that there is an elixir – a potion which might make every man safe from all disease and injury, and delay death for many centuries?’
‘The alchemists talk of a secret wisdom which was known long ago in Africa, of which the vampires are now the custodians, but I do not know whether to believe it. If it were only a magic brew which made vampires, I think the secret might have escaped long ago.’
Noell stared at the instrument which was before him, lost in contemplation. Then he said: ‘And do you think that this device might somehow reveal the secret of vampire nature?’
‘I fear that Richard thinks so. He is very uneasy. The Imperium is troubled, and it is said that the Freemartin has confirmed rumours of a plague in Africa which can kill vampires as well as common men.’
His tone was very sombre, and he was surprised when Noell uttered a small laugh.
‘If we discovered the secret, and all became vampires,’ he said, lightly, ‘whose blood would we drink?’
It was a common remark – the kind of ironic jest which children liked to ask of one another. Edmund was tempted, for a moment, to be flippant in his turn, and turn the whole conversation in a humorous direction, but he knew that was not what the boy intended. Noell’s laugh had been a sign of embarrassment – an apology for introducing an indelicate subject. But if one had to talk about vampires, one could hardly avoid the topic of blood-drinking, however indecent its mention was supposed to be. Carmilla Bourdillon had not been ashamed to speak of it – why should the boy?
‘It is another thing which we do not understand,’ he said. ‘It makes us uncomfortable. It is not for ordinary nourishment that a vampire takes the blood of men; it does not serve them as bread or meat, and the amounts they need are tiny. And yet, they do need it. A vampire deprived of blood will go into deep sleep, as though badly injured. It also gives them a kind of pleasure, which we cannot wholly understand. It is a vital part of the mystery which makes them so terrible, so unhuman … and hence so powerful.’
He stopped, feeling embarrassed, not so much because of conventional ideas of indecency, but because he did not know how much Noell understood regarding his sources of information. Edmund never talked about the d
ays of his affair with the Lady Carmilla – certainly not to the wife he had married afterwards, or to the son she had borne him – but there was no way to keep gossip and rumour from reaching the boy’s ears. Noell must know what his father had been.
Noell took the flask again, and this time poured a deeper draught into his cup. ‘I have been told,’ he said, ‘that humans find a special pleasure too … .when they offer their blood to be drunk.’
‘Not true,’ replied Edmund, awkwardly. ‘The pleasure which a common man takes from a vampire lady is the same pleasure that he takes from a common lover. It might be different for the women who entertain vampire men, but I suspect that the unique pleasure which they claim to experience has more to do with the fact that male vampires so rarely make love after the fashion of common men. Then again, the mistresses of vampires have the excitement of hoping that they may become vampires themselves. They seem to be … favoured ... in that respect.’ Edmund hesitated, but realised that he did not want the subject dropped, now it had been broached. The boy had a right to know, and perhaps might one day need to know. He remembered how the Lady Carmilla had looked at the boy when she told him that he was like his father.
‘But perhaps it is true, in a way,’ Edmund went on. ‘When the Lady Carmilla used to taste my blood, it did give me pleasure. It pleased me because it pleased her. There is an excitement in loving a vampire lady, which makes it different from loving an ordinary woman … even though a vampire lady’s lover very rarely becomes a vampire – and never simply because he is her lover.’
Noell blushed, not knowing quite how to react to this acceptance into his father’s confidence. Finally, he seemed to decide that it was best to pretend a purely academic interest.
‘Why are there many more vampire women than vampire men in London and the other Gaulish courts?’ he asked.
‘No one knows for sure,’ Edmund said. ‘No common men, anyhow. I can tell you what I suspect, from hearsay and by reasoning, but you must understand that it is a dangerous thing to think about, let alone to discuss. You must know that I have kept many things hidden from you, and I think you know why. Do you understand that there is danger in this, if we continue?’
Noell nodded. The boy took another sip from his cup, as if to signify that he was ready for all adult responsibilities. He was eager to learn, and Edmund was glad to see it.
Edmund set his own cup down, and drew breath, wondering how much Noell might already know, and how much his knowledge might be confused by colourful fantasies.
‘The vampires keep their history secret,’ said Edmund, ‘and they have tried to control the writing of human history, though the spread of printing presses has made it impossible for them to stop the distribution of forbidden books. It seems that the vampire aristocracy first came to Western Europe in the fifth century, with the vampire-led horde of Attila, which conquered Rome. Attila must have known well enough how to make vampires of those he wished to favour. He converted Aetius, who became the first ruler of the Imperium of Gaul, and Theodosius II, who was then Emperor in Byzantium, before that city became part of the Khanate of Walachia.
‘Of all the vampire princes and knights who now exist, the vast majority must be converts descended from Attila and his kin. I have read accounts of vampire children born to vampire ladies, but they are probably false. Vampire women are barren, and vampire men are much less virile than human men – it is well-known that they couple very rarely, though they summon their mistresses nightly to take blood. Nevertheless, the mistresses of vampires often become vampires themselves. Vampire knights claim that this is a gift, bestowed deliberately by magic, but I am not so sure that every conversion is planned and deliberate.?
He paused, then went on. ‘It is possible that the semen of vampire men might carry some kind of seed which communicates vampirism much as the semen of common men makes women pregnant – perhaps as haphazardly. The male lovers of vampire ladies don’t become vampires; the female lovers of vampire men often do; logic suggests the conclusion.’
Noell considered this, and then asked: ‘Then how are new vampire lords made?’
‘They are converted by other male vampires,’ Edmund said. ‘No doubt the conversion involves elaborate rites and incantations, and perhaps an elixir such as the Earl of Northumberland sought, but I suspect that the old descriptions of the vampire sabbat which the Gregorians bandied about may have a little truth in them, if we only assume that Satan’s part is played by a vampire lord.’ He did not elaborate, but waited to see whether Noell understood the implication.
An expression of disgust crossed the boy’s face, followed by an expression of disbelief. Edmund did not know whether to be glad or sorry that his son could follow the argument through, but he was not surprised. The Gregorian accounts of the vampire sabbat, which described Satan enjoying unnatural sexual intercourse with his minions, were so thrilling as to be told and retold in scrupulous detail. Then again, there was a pillory outside the Lord Lieutenant’s lodgings, where disloyal servants were sometimes lodged; it was common practice for those yeomen of the guard who were so disposed to visit the pillory by night, to use the hapless victim while his wrists and neck were pinned. This too would be common knowledge among the youths and servants of the Tower, and Noell could hardly help but know what buggery was.
‘Not all the women who lie with vampire men become vampire ladies,’ Edmund went on, ‘and that makes it easy for the vampires to pretend that they have some special magic. But some women never become pregnant, though they lie with their husbands for years. I am not certain whether I should believe in the special magic.’
‘It is said,’ observed Noell, ‘that a common man may also become a vampire by drinking vampire blood, if he knows the appropriate magic spell.’
‘That,’ said Edmund, ‘is a dangerous myth. It is a rumour which the vampires hate, for obvious reasons. They exact terrible penalties if anyone is caught trying the experiment, and I know of no believable case of anyone who became a vampire by such means. The ladies of our own court are for the most part one-time lovers of the prince’s knights – Richard, for all his legendary handsomeness, has never been interested in mistresses. We can only speculate about the conversion of the prince himself, which was probably a planned affair, done entirely for political reasons, but he is said to have been a favourite of that William who brought this island into the Imperium of Gaul in 1066. He seems to have been favoured above his father Henry, or that other Henry who was his great-grandfather, each of whom were made into vampires late in life. William may have been converted by Charlemagne himself.?
Noell reached out a hand, palm downwards, and made a few passes above the candle-flame, making it flicker from side to side. He stared at the microscope.
‘Have you looked at blood?’ he asked.
‘I have,’ replied Edmund. ‘And semen. Common blood, of course – and common semen.’
‘And?’
Edmund shook his head. ‘They are not homogeneous fluids,’ he said, ‘but the instrument isn’t good enough for detailed inspection. You’ve seen yourself how coloured haloes confuse the outlines of things, and the magnification is too weak. There are small corpuscles – the ones in semen may have long tails – but there must be more … much more ... to be seen, if I only had the chance. By tomorrow, this instrument will be gone; I do not think I will be given the chance to build another.’
‘You’re surely not in danger!’ protested Noell. ‘You’re an important man – and your loyalty has never been questioned. People think of you as being almost a vampire yourself. You are called alchemist or black magician, like the wizard earl! The kitchen girls are afraid of me, because I’m your son; they cross themselves when they see me.’
Edmund laughed, a little bitterly. ‘No doubt the ignorant suspect me of intercourse with demons. Many avoid my gaze for fear of the spell of the evil eye. But none of that matters to the vampires. To the vampires, I am only a common man, and for all that they value my skills,
they’d kill me without a thought if they suspected that I might have dangerous knowledge.’
Noell was clearly alarmed by this. ‘Wouldn’t …?’ He stopped, but carried on after a brief pause. ‘The Lady Carmilla … wouldn’t she …?’
‘Protect me?’ Edmund shook his head. ‘Not even if I were her lover still. Vampire loyalty is to vampires.’
He stood up, then, no longer feeling the urgent desire to help his son to understand. There were things the boy could only find out for himself, and might never have to. He took up the candle, and shielded the flame with his hand as he walked to the door. Noell followed him, leaving the empty flask behind, but could not resist the temptation to ask one last question.
‘But … she did love you, did she not?’
‘Perhaps she did,’ said Edmund Cordery, sadly. ‘In her own way.’
THREE
Edmund left the Tower by the Lions’ Gate, and crossed quickly into Petty Wales, looking behind him to see whether he was followed. The houses which extended from the edge of the wharf to the Bulwark Gate were in darkness now, but there was still a trickle of traffic; even at two in the morning the business of the great city did not come entirely to a standstill. The night had clouded over, and a light drizzle had begun to fall. Some of the oil-lamps which were supposed to keep the thoroughfare lit at all times had gone out, and there was not a lamplighter in sight. Edmund did not mind the shadows, though; he hoped that they might be to his advantage.
He discovered as he walked towards the wharf that two men were dogging his footsteps, and he dawdled in order to give them the impression that he did not care where he was going. When he reached the wharf, though, he was quick to find a waterman – the only one who was abroad at this ungodly hour – and gave him three penny pieces to row him across the Thames as fast as his boat could go.
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