“Besides,” said the Lady Dolabella, “what great men have failed to discover in a lifetime you are unlikely to find in a year.”
Verney looked at her darkly, but he paid attention to her plan of escape.
Presently we heard the sound of music floating up from the Great Hall. We put on our red cloaks and the red velvet masks with long noses and ventured out, as we hoped, anonymously. We were to thread our way through the crowds separately and reassemble at a point where Razendoringer had gathered some of our baggage and provisions. Two grown men and two dwarfs together might attract notice.
As I walked along the great gallery I was possessed by a powerful sense of unease. Laughing figures in scarlet cloaks and masks were heading hither and thither. I was struck by the aimlessness of their movements senselessly flickering about like flames round a rotten branch. I could also hear two consorts of music one from the great courtyard where torches blazed and the other from the Great Hall lit and heated almost to suffocation by a thousand tallow candles. The two musics, sweet in themselves, mingled together with a nightmare discordance.
I came into the open colonnade which runs around the top of the Hall and looked down upon the revellers. All of them were in red but not all of the same shade. Some were almost pink like cardinals, others dark and dull like dried blood. The dancers turned and skipped in time with the music. I thought at moments that I could detect patterns among the dancers but no sooner did they form but they seemed to dissolve again.
Through this crimson concourse moved one figure in white blazing with diamonds and silver thread. The top half of his face was surmounted by a white mask garnished with two tiny silver horns but I could tell from the pale yellow hair and the awkward gangling movements that it was the Emperor.
I walked down into the crowd for it was through this Hall that I had to pass to get to our meeting point. Strange to say in this confused and stifling throng I had the odd sensation of being watched. I pushed my way as inconspicuously as I could through swathes of sweaty satin. Once I looked up to the gallery and saw that it was now manned by armed guards, cuirassed, helmeted but still adorned with scarlet cloaks and masks.
I was the last to reach our meeting place, a vaulted passageway behind the kitchens. From there we could slip through a small courtyard and thence to the stables. The place was unnaturally quiet after the noise and revelry. Without a word we shouldered our burdens and put on riding boots. (The Lady Dolabella, I had heard, was an excellent horsewoman, having once earned her living by riding wolfhounds, goats and even sheep to entertain the vulgar.)
Then we slipped into the little courtyard behind the kitchens, unlit, but full of the growling noises of stable dogs chawing at discarded bones and cooking refuse.
Half way across the cobbles we heard a clattering behind us. Turning round we saw four armed men, and in the midst of them a dwarf leaning on a stick, peering slightly forward with a torch in his hand. Razendoringer was transfixed by the sight of him.
“Martok!” he exclaimed.
The dwarf, every muscle of his massive face livid and quivering with malice, hurled his stick onto the cobbles and tore open his doublet to reveal a blood-soaked bandage about his chest.
“It is I, Martok!” he screamed, “back from the dead. Seize them!”
The guards advanced and we turned to run, but not before Razendoringer had taken a knife from his belt and hurled it at Martok even as he shouted at the guards. The knife buried itself in his open throat and to the accompaniment of his final gurgling agonies we began to run.
A single glance behind me was enough to indicate that there were now more than four armed men behind us. Though they were impeded by weapons and heavy armour, we had baggage, and the dwarfs had short legs. The guards were gaining on us and we ran through the stable yard with no spare time to saddle and mount horses. All the stable dogs had by now left their bones and were barking enough to wake the dead.
As we were emerging from the stable yard the Lady Dolabella who, impeded by her skirts and the shortness of her legs, had found it hard to keep up with us, tripped over a cobble stone and fell. She gave no cry — gallant creature that she was! — so that we had run some yards before we noticed her absence. She had sprained her ankle, and when we looked back she was in the hands of the guards.
Razendoringer was for turning back, all unarmed, and hurling himself on her captors. But Verney and I knew it was useless, and the Lady Dolabella herself cried out:
“Save yourselves, good friends! Save yourselves!”
Verney and I seized Razendoringer, an arm apiece on either side of him, and began to run again. Outside the stable gates we found a number of horses, finely caparisoned and ready saddled, presumably belonging to some of the guests within. The grooms who should have been attending to them were either drunk or throwing dice. We took two horses and sprang into the saddle, Verney putting Razendoringer in front of him. And so we rode off into the streets of Prague and were precipitated on our final journey into Transylvania.
VI
After taking many false turnings we came out of the city at dawn, then we rode to the town of Targovic where we sold our stolen horses in the market. As they were fine specimens we were able to get a good price for them and purchase in stead three mules together with some extra necessities for our journey, including three grey pilgrim’s cloaks to make us less conspicuous.
During the next four days we continued on our way. Razendoringer spoke few words and treated us with a kind of frozen civility that was quite unlike his usual manner. I think he blamed us for having left his lady behind and for sparing him a useless self-immolation in the name of love. But it will be one of the pleasanter tasks of this narrative to relate in time how Razendoringer came to be reunited with the noble Lady Dolabella.
The country that we passed through became gradually wilder. The rolling and fertile meadows around Prague were replaced firstly by sheep-strewn hills, then by shaggy gorges and thick, silent woods. Icy streams rushed across our path, and, but for the sure-footedness of our mules, we might have been lost many times. The natives of these parts, however, were friendly and hospitable. They possessed a grave and simple piety which responded warmly to the information that we were pilgrims on our way to Jerusalem. It pained me to deceive these good people, but Verney and Razendoringer played their parts with gusto.
We were warned of two things as we approached the borders of Transylvania and Wallachia, the two kingdoms over which Xantho ruled. Firstly, that there were brigands in the mountain passes over which we had to travel; then that the Ottoman Turks were once more menacing the Eastern frontiers. There had been a time not so many generations ago when they had reached the gates of Vienna itself. Now under the great and terrible Sultan Murad II they were regaining their old strength.
This information did not greatly disturb me for my instructions from Ragul specified that I would be met at the Gorvora pass by an escort, though how it was to be alerted to my presence I had no idea.
On the seventh day out from Prague we sighted from a ridge of low hills the blue and white peaks of the Carpathian Mountains in the distance. Beyond that range lay the land that was our destination. We were filled with elation at this fair spectacle though I do believe that had we known of the tribulations and horrors that lay ahead we would surely have turned back there and then. But it is good that we do not know the future; for ignorance is the handmaid of courage.
The foothills of the Carpathians are wild and trackless regions, well supplied with game and occasionally frequented by hunters but by few other honest men. The path which we took wound under precipices and through tall pine woods, each turn offering a fresh prospect in a frame of luxuriant vegetation. The distant peaks grew daily nearer by slow gradations. The skies were often blue, it being high summer, but just as often, with disconcerting rapidity, they were filled with racing cloud and muffled thunder. These faraway mountains became a talisman to us, a Grail which, if once attained, would offer all the deli
ghts of peace and ease.
The map and guide which Ragul had given me were exhaustive in their detail. This did not always prevent our becoming lost, but by and by we always somehow managed to find our way back to the twisting path. There was something carefree and yet purposeful about our journey. Razendoringer slowly recovered some of his former spirits; though there were times, in particular towards evening, when he seemed to hug to himself the pain of his loss. His skill with the crossbow ensured that we were never short of excellent game: rabbits, hares, partridges and roe deer. Yet it was perhaps these nightly banquets of cooked meats that caused our next misfortune.
One evening we were encamped in a deep ravine on the very skirts of the Carpathian Mountains. It was an admirable spot: a lawn of mossy grass on an outcrop of rock beside a stream. The stream descended from the hills above in a series of cascades, forming pools at regular intervals and then hurrying between smooth rocks and over polished pebbles. The sun having been hot all day we bathed gratefully and washed our clothes, laying them out to dry on the rocks.
Razendoringer brought back two hares which we skinned and stewed with bay leaves and wild cabbage. In the shadows of the evening our fire was bright and a column of aromatic blue smoke wove its way upwards, unviolated by any wind. It was a moment of perfection which owed its charm not to preceding incidents, nor to those that followed. It was complete in itself. I have had experiences like this throughout my life and I know both their value and their danger. They give one a powerful but perhaps illusory sense that this extraordinary beauty is the very essence of life. This was the way of things, one feels, before the Serpent began to weave his spells about Eve. And this is the immediate and simple existence to which we will all return when the world is mended by the Second Coming. This was happiness, but sharp and clear, as pungent as the wood smoke, and no paradise of fools.
And yet, we are never content with the fullness of that one moment; we want to prolong it, and therein lies the danger. For that desire breeds complacency and the loss of reality. And so it seemed as we lay there in the warm twilight that we were holding our breath so that time would stand still and leave us suspended in that exquisite instant.
Our sense of reality was rudely reawakened by a rustling in the bushes. We turned round, wondering if one of the mules had escaped its tether. But the mules were nowhere to be seen. Instead, standing about us, bows and pistols poised, were a dozen of the most savage looking ruffians I have ever seen. Their faces were grimy and their clothes were such a collection of patches and oddments that one doubted whether they had ever been real garments at all.
There was a long silence while we stared at each other. I suspected that the brigands were looking for a fight and that our best hope was to stay calm. Seeing Razendoringer’s hand stretch towards his crossbow I commanded him to leave it. I then addressed the one who seemed to be the leader of the group, a slender, beardless youth who stood straighter than the others. I spoke in Latin which was still the lingua franca among those with any education in Europe.
“Good evening,” I said. “You are welcome to share our supper, though we have little left.”
When the youth spoke it was in the unmistakable tones of a woman. I looked at her again with renewed interest. There was no great beauty about her, for the face was long and horselike and the eyes protruded a little. But she had a vigorous and alert bearing.
She asked us where we came from and we replied that we were pilgrims on our way to Jerusalem. Then she asked us why we had come by this route which was not the safest nor the quickest to the Holy City, at which we tried to give an impression of ignorance and confusion. But she ordered that we and all our possessions should be seized.
The men — all the rest of this troupe of brigands were men — obeyed with alacrity and, I observed, considerable fear. We were trussed with strong ropes and set to walk up a mountain path behind the mules. I tried to communicate with Verney and Razendoringer but was forbidden to speak. I cursed the luck that should bring us in sight of our destination and then deny us the peace which I fondly imagined it would bring. I wondered what this bandit would do to us. Would she kill or try to ransom us?
Night fell as we scrambled up the stony mountain paths and presently — an unnecessary precaution, I thought — we were blindfolded. This made our stumbling progress all the more agonising. Finally, half awake, half in a nightmare, I found myself hurled onto a bed of reeking straw. The very next moment, it seemed — though it may have been several hours later — a bucket of water was thrown in my face. My blindfold and most of my clothes had been removed.
We appeared to be in a spacious cavern occupied not only by her men but a generous selection of livestock: sheep, pigs, goats, chickens and an undernourished-looking cow. The stench defied description.
“Why did you lie to me?” said a voice close to me.
“Who are you?” I asked.
Standing before me was the brigand chieftainess. I saw her in the glare of a torch which hung from a wall.
“You may call me Armida. You did not tell me you were going to the court of King Xantho.”
“Does it matter?”
Her reply to this was a harsh kick in my side. I could not conceive of being more miserable than I was. She turned and spoke to her fellows. I detected a certain amount of muted dissent among them, but her force of character seemed to be proof against it. She turned to me again.
“We intend to hold you and your companions up to ransom. Xantho is a cruel and dangerous man, but it seems that you at least, Dr Polymathus, are a valuable property. Meanwhile you and your companions must make yourself useful during your enforced captivity. Your servant and the dwarf shall cook and you will give lessons in the Latin and Greek tongue for two hours every day.”
And so began two of the strangest weeks of my life. Each morning before dawn Armida and a detachment of her brigands would leave the cave. They would return about midday with a sheep or a horse or a purse full of money. Once they brought back an eight year old boy whose feet they burned before a slow fire until he revealed the whereabouts of his father’s gold. Then they cut his throat and hurled him down the mountainside. At midday they would feast on roast meat and sleep swinishly for an hour or so. But there was always a detachment which kept a vigilant watch over us.
In the mid afternoon Armida would force her men to take their lessons in Latin and Greek from me. Armida was clearly intelligent and learnt eagerly. But the rest of them were a sluggish half-literate lot. Nevertheless I prepared my lessons thoroughly (on pain of death or worse) and such was my zeal that I made some progress. Verney assisted me, copying passages from Homer or Virgil for distribution, while Razendoringer sat by, absorbing the scene with his usual phlegmatic concentration.
Before recounting our next adventure I must say something of Armida who provided a remarkable instance of the contradictions inherent in human nature. Experience has taught me to be surprised only when a person is shown to have a soul with a single complexion, but notwithstanding this I have rarely met with a nature so sharply divided as hers.
Her origins were mysterious. I heard later that she was the illegitimate offspring of a Carpathian Boyar, or aristocrat, but whether this was true or not I cannot say. She was, as the incident with the child proved, capable of the most heartless cruelty. But it was a cruelty wholly unaccompanied by fiendish delight. Her sword had been dipped many times in innocent blood but only, as she saw it, from necessity. In this she differed from her companions who would often slaughter an animal for food in a lingering way out of sheer lustful cruelty.
Perhaps this absence of natural savagery made her crimes all the more horrible. But there was also in her something which strove for greater things; hence her desire for education which had a childlike innocence about it. She became peculiarly attached to the stories of the Odyssey, and she asked me once whether she did not strangely resemble Odysseus who roamed about with his companions pillaging and adventuring, denied always a sight of his
true home.
Where leadership was concerned, however, her skill and maturity were exceptional. In other circumstances she would have been acclaimed as a great commander instead of being reviled as a notorious criminal. Her sway over the others was absolute and undisputed. They relied on her for the cunning and daring of their enterprises, regarding her in every way as a man, for she took care to be intimate with none of them. In her dealings with them she was just, severe and uncapricious while they had enough sense to recognise her indispensable qualities. Under her rule they succeeded in terrorising the district for many miles around. Expeditions had been sent against them but always, acting on timely information, these brigands would disappear into the hills and the search had to be abandoned.
After a week it was made clear to us that there had been communication with the court of King Xantho and that negotiations were going forward for our ransom and release. I was relieved but Verney and Razendoringer less so as they knew that they were not essential to these transactions. Late one-night the dwarf and I spoke together about this in a corner of the cave. Most of the robbers were asleep; some were singing tipsily. Normally we were not allowed to speak together but this night, though the entrance to the cave was vigilantly guarded, we were not. Close beside us and fitfully lit by a guttering torch lay Armida, her long body gracefully stretched out, her face clean and placid, one hand over the entrance to her womb like a Venus of Titian. Amidst all the squalor and brutality of the cave it was a sight to move one almost to tears. I was stirred also by a longing which has rarely been strong enough in my life to prompt me to desert my single state.
“Do you believe that you will be ransomed?” asked Razendoringer. I noted his use of the word “you”.
The Dracula Papers, Book I: The Scholar's Tale Page 8
