‘It is finished.’
8
‘That’s what he said?’
‘That’s what he said: It is finished. And then he died. I turned around again, and there was the city. Just as it had been. To the west, the untouched palaces and villas of the Romans, Pharisees and Sadducees; to the east, the houses of the poor. The groves on the Mount of Olives unscathed. The temple unchanged in its power and glory. The air was filled with sounds. All the sounds that exist, the softest and the loudest: cocks crowing, tax-collectors threatening, judges passing sentence, all the unbearable, harsh and terrible sounds. Just like in Hell, I couldn’t hear myself think. But I understood: nothing had happened. On that Friday, nothing had actually happened.
‘I know that, master. What happened on Friday, that wasn’t the most important part. The most important thing happened on the Sunday. Isn’t that right?’
‘Are you looking for another argument? Nothing happened on the Sunday either. So there.’
‘If nothing happened on that Sunday then what are you afraid of?’
‘The story! That’s what, oh servant of mine. The story that something did.’
Part the Third
THE CISTERN
ONE
First, into the City
1
I don’t know why it took us so long to realize that the servants were gone. None of them had waited for us: not my two maids, not the Chinese cook, not the various other attendants we’d brought with us. They were simply gone. Von Hausburg said only one word – ‘Schmettau’ – although he probably meant to say more. I had no doubts myself, although the thing made no sense. We only believe absolutely in what we can never understand.
Eternal salvation?
I wouldn’t go so far as to say that Count Schmettau was on a par with the divine in our inability to comprehend him, any more than I would compare his running away with our servants to an act of God. Even so, Schmettau’s actions certainly had an effect on my eternal salvation. Certainly more than the actions of my nearest and dearest.
Oh yes, of course, it’s coming back to me now. Von Hausburg said afterwards how the banishment from the Garden of Eden must have looked just like our departure from Belgrade.
‘But we haven’t done anything wrong,’ I answered, ‘and we left of our own free will.’
‘The matter of sin is beside the point. And as for our leaving voluntarily, it’s not true. Each of us is here because he must be. Just as each of us came to Belgrade because he had to.’
I tried to argue again, but he wasn’t listening.
But getting back to the plot. When we saw the situation we were in – no servants, no food, surrounded by hostile peasants – we decided to take turns keeping watch overnight. The first watch, from nightfall to the second hour after midnight, fell to von Hausburg and the red count. The second watch, until daybreak, would be the blond count and Vuk Isakovič.
I had trouble sleeping. I dozed off quickly enough but woke up soon after. Something had disturbed my light sleep, some noise I couldn’t identify in my tired state. After that it took me a long time to get back to sleep. Normally I’d read for a while, but I hadn’t brought a book with me. Besides, there wasn’t enough light for reading. True, the moon was bright in the sky, but the peasants had covered up the tiny window with a cloth. The cloth made a poor curtain, and a thin ray of moonlight still found its way in, landing on the floor not far from where I lay.
I was alone in the room, with nothing to break the silence but my own movements and the occasional creaking of the old house around me. Such a lonely night. I don’t know how long it was before I fell asleep again, but I think the stillness and the occasional noises gave me no rest. I might still have been awake just after midnight.
2
When I opened my eyes, it was already morning. Outside I could hear voices and the usual morning bustle. I confess I was reluctant to get up, having slept so poorly. I had not yet left the room when I heard the scream. Without stopping to think I ran outside. The first thing I saw was von Hausburg and the red commissioner. Beside them was Novak, kneeling. I moved towards them, and only then did I see the two bodies. On his back lay Vuk Isakovič, a sabre jutting from his chest. His white shirt was clotted with blood. Face down beside him, as if reaching out towards him, lay the blond commissioner. He had no wounds, at least not that I could see. Novak turned him over, looked at him, then returned him to his original position, on his stomach. Again his face was concealed.
Von Hausburg looked at me and said, ‘Enough. We’re going back at once!’
The red commissioner murmured that we must bring the bodies to the city. I knew right away that we would neglect this duty and that von Hausburg would recommend sending someone from the fortress to retrieve the bodies later. And so it was. Novak hurried to saddle the horses. We spurred them on and galloped away. None of us spoke. I didn’t know what to think. The two deaths seemed unrelated to the vampires, and I couldn’t see the connection. It was then that I felt the desire to discover what lay behind these sinister happenings – felt it even more strongly than the urge to be back behind the thick walls and never ask another question.
But still I drove my horse onwards, riding at breakneck speed not because I wanted to reach Belgrade, but because I didn’t. I was afraid of my own self.
We seemed to ride for hours. My legs were sore, and my hand was stiff from gripping the reins.
We made our way to the top of a hill – unnecessarily, as we found out later, for it was not the shortest route to the city. Even though we were following a sort of road, we had gone out of our way. It may have been deliberate on the part of whoever was leading. I never found out who it was. The baron was dead, Isakovič was dead, and the only ones left were a guest, a foreigner and myself – and I’d never been outside the city walls. Novak rode behind us, I noticed, and I wanted to ask why he wasn’t leading the way. But I didn’t.
When we got to the top of the hill all my suspicions vanished. Before my eyes lay the city, extending to the north. There was the first low wall, and behind it the huts of the poor, the gallows, the graveyard. The second wall was the Prince-Eugene line with its massive Baroque gates, its thick high ramparts running east and west. Behind it stood the larger, better residences, my palace, the Serbian church and several of our own churches. The third wall was the rampart of the fortress itself. I could make out the bastions, each named for a saint, and the two ravelins and the two curtain walls. Further than that I could not see.
I realized then that Belgrade was protected within three concentric circles, each one stronger and more unyielding than the last. Any outlander, any wayfarer, any enemy at the gates would have to conquer all three to reach the city’s heart.
And there, at the very heart of Belgrade, was my husband as ruler. Everything I desired was there. No vampires. The triple defences protected me and kept them at bay, whoever they were.
We sped forward on our horses. Down the hill they galloped. The trees on either side were thinning out. A branch or two lashed at me in passing. We were flying along and I no longer minded the chill in the air. Below us lay the city, and we were coming back.
I didn’t hear the first shot.
3
The horses stopped short. The red commissioner on his black mount nearly flew head over heels from the saddle. The next shot I did hear. Someone shouted.
‘Turn back!’
I saw where the shot had come from. The smoke was curling into the air above a guard on the wall. He was still aiming the musket at us. Some dozen yards from him, another guard also had us in his sights.
I turned my horse around. I dug in the spurs, but the beast could only struggle uphill, its sides heaving. We didn’t stop or say a word until we’d reached the top of the hill again.
‘Who are they firing at?’ asked the red count.
‘At the four of us,’ answered Novak.
‘But why?’ he asked.
‘Because!’ spat out von Hausbu
rg.
The red count looked at me, I looked at von Hausburg, von Hausburg looked at Novak and Novak looked at the red count.
‘They won’t let us in,’ I said at last.
‘But why?’ repeated the red count.
‘Because they’ve been given orders,’ said von Hausburg.
‘But why?’ he persisted.
‘Because they think we’re vampires,’ I said. To this day I don’t why it occurred to me to say that. At the time I thought I was speaking too hastily without stopping to think. I knew it was true, though. It just might not have been strictly necessary to say so.
‘Schmettau!’ said Novak.
‘Schmettau,’ I said, picking up where he’d left off. ‘Schmettau came back to the city, raving about Sava Savanović and Radetzky and Schmidlin and the leptirak and all the rest of it, and somehow convinced them that we’ve turned into vampires.’
But how could Alexander have believed it? I asked myself. How could my husband say nothing as I was left to fend for myself with Serbia and the vampires? How could he bar my way to safety? How could he leave me like that?
TWO
1
I wandered empty and alone. The moon was low in the sky, and my shadow trailed at my heels. But not for long. Soon the clouds gathered, blacker than the night, and it began to rain. A real spring rain, heavy and falling fast. Despite my hood I quickly became soaked to the skin. My wandering might have seemed aimless, but it turned out not to be. When I found myself in front of the tavern I knew so well I realized it had been my destination all along.
The rain was pouring down, and I made my way through sheets of water. I knocked three times with the heavy brass ring, waited, knocked again twice, waited, and then knocked twice more. The door swung back on its creaking hinges.
The faces were all familiar. I’d often seen them of a Friday evening. Just the right time for all those who have fallen away from faith and family. They might go drinking and whoring every night of the week, and probably did, but nothing was so sweet as breaking the Sabbath. They knew it’s not enough simply to sin: you have to plan your sinning not just go about it randomly. Not only do you need to justify your sinning in advance, you need to be angry that others don’t join you, and to believe that what you’re doing is noble and proper. And to keep at it until the need for sin – a need which, no matter what others may say, is not of the body but of the spirit – grows into a new religion with its own priests and its own philosophers who are responsible for thinking up yet more ways to sin.
Such people never repent. It’s easy to beat your breast over a night here and there, a woman here, a man there, a gold piece or two; it’s not at all easy to feel sorry because of the very meaning of your life.
I took a quick look around: some drunkards and whores, two sailors, some of Barabbas’s henchmen, one spy for the Romans and one spy for the Sanhedrin. I could tell they were spies by how well they were dressed and how poorly they were drinking: the service may have provided their tunics, but the drinks were coming out of their own pockets. The imperial spy was practically regimental in his crisp Caesar cut, while the spy for the Sanhedrin was trying hard not to break the Sabbath any more than necessary. He kept calling the tavern-keeper to fill his small clay goblet from the great jug of wine.
I sat at an empty table and ordered some sweet Samarian wine. The wench brought it right away. It was an inferior wine, watered down, and the night was only just beginning. I ordered more, for the longer the dark lasted, the less it would matter how much water and how much wine was served. That’s how it always goes, whether new wineskins or old.
At the next table sat a sailor, regaling two drunkards and a whore with tales. What was he doing so far from the sea? Lying his way from one place to another in hopes of wine, something to do at night, passing the time – what else?
I knew she wouldn’t be there yet. How well I remembered her time, the late evening, after the day’s work was done, when she’d come to make merry. Only this day had brought no work. Nor would there be any merry-making. But I knew she would still come, for habit is a refuge like no other.
‘Call me Ishmael,’ said the sailor.
‘I know that story,’ I remarked. ‘It’s long and dull.’
He ignored me, continuing his tale. The others listened raptly.
I called for more wine. I didn’t want to get drunk, so I merely sipped it. But I was starting to get a headache. From the stale air in the tavern. From the change in the weather. It was always changing. And the sailor was going on and on. I stood up and spoke to the sailor’s audience.
‘Just so you know, the whale gets it in the end.’
He moved to strike me, but I dodged him. Everyone stood up. The tavern-keeper stepped between us. A jug fell. Curses flew. The other sailor came at me. A whore was laughing. Barabbas’s men had their hands on the daggers at their breasts. The spies were taking it all in. The whore laughed again. The sailors looked at each other and nodded. The tale-teller pulled out a crooked knife.
And then she was at the door. Hair unbound, wet. Dripping with rain. Her eyes with the same old fire in them. The hour was mine.
The sailor spoke her name in a low voice. ‘Mary.’
2
Mary. Maria. Maria Augusta. She lay there in all her helplessness. How does that Serb put it in that poem they’re always quoting? She sleeps, perhaps. / Her eyes outside all evil. But the vampire wouldn’t let her. And, outside, evil was standing watch. The red count sat beside me, quite unconcerned. He was twirling one of the many curls of his red wig.
‘Herr Graf,’ I said, ‘it will be easier to bear our guard duty with some conversation rather than in silence.’
‘But if we’re talking we won’t be able to hear the enemy sneaking up on us,’ he answered cannily.
‘The dangerous enemies are the ones who can’t be heard, and I dare say vampires move without making a sound. So let’s at least talk a bit, for fear is always sharper in silence. Why, all of these new stories coming out in German, the ones you call Gothic – the terrifying bits have no dialogue at all, just dark and stormy descriptions. As soon as the sun comes up or the characters pluck up their courage, that’s when you get direct speech.
‘What shall we talk about?’ he asked politely. ‘About Wittgenstein.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘The one who came to investigate the cistern.’
‘Ah, you mean Count Wittgenau.’
It’s all in the name, I thought; even a rose would reek if it were called stinkweed.
‘The count had discovered … Well, I think I can go ahead and tell you. I mean, it hardly matters now … So, the count had found out, don’t ask me how, that the regent had arranged with the Turks, in exchange for the right sum of gold, to deliver Serbia into their hands. He’d been told – Count Wittgenau, I mean – that the regent’s mistresses and hunting companions and drinking bouts were costing him more than he could wring out of Serbia in taxes. Serbia is a poor country…’
‘Mistresses and companions are rich indulgences,’ I said helpfully.
‘What? I suppose. I wouldn’t know. In any case –’
‘And the world is all that is the case,’ I added.
‘What? I don’t know that one. In any event, Count Wittgenau found out that the regent had hidden the gold in that cistern at Kalemegdan. Several times he tried to get to the bottom of it, in both senses of the word, but the cistern is well guarded. He quickly saw that it would be impossible to enter the cistern from the fortress. But he also quickly heard of the old Roman aqueduct that runs from some village near Belgrade all the way to the cistern at Kalemegdan. The aqueduct is partly underground and partly above. It’s encased in brick along its entire length, and is mostly a canal with water no deeper than the average man’s height. Some Serbs told the count where to go outside the city in order to enter the aqueduct, and what turnings to take along the various conduits in order to reach the fortress. One early morning the count rode o
ut of Belgrade. He was disguised as a tax-collector…’
‘Not a very wise choice.’
‘He was escorted by several soldiers. They went slowly, for it had to appear that they were travelling far from the capital, and yet they didn’t want to go out of their way. They spent the night at an inn not far from the watermill. The next morning the count was nowhere to be found, and the soldiers were drunk and seemed to remember nothing. The investigation, carried out at the regent’s orders, also discovered nothing. This came as no surprise to us in Vienna. What did surprise us was the sudden reappearance of Wittgenau’s body six months later at the same inn where he’d gone missing. The corpse was perfectly preserved, as though not long dead. In fact, it almost seemed alive. Vampire-like. Now do you understand? Myself, I’m just beginning to understand. The regent directed that the body be prepared for Christian burial, but, in fact, he ordered that a stake be driven through its heart, as we ourselves recently witnessed, and that it be burned. And so we lost our most important piece of evidence.’
Fear and His Servant Page 19