Fear and His Servant

by Mirjana Novakovic; Terence McEneny

  ‘Evidence that the regent was a traitor or that the count was a vampire?’

  ‘The two are not mutually exclusive.’

  The moon had come back out.

  ‘You wouldn’t really seize a vampire as evidence and take it back to Vienna?’

  ‘Certainly. How else to prove the existence of vampires other than by showing the emperor a genuine specimen?’

  ‘But then the vampires would spread!’

  ‘Ah, but we’re men of science and would keep matters under strict control. But we could never allow science and emperor to be deprived of such an important discovery.’

  ‘Keeping that control would give you the very devil of a time.’

  ‘The Devil is beyond our purview. You mistake me.’

  ‘You …’ I sputtered. ‘If you were to find another vampire, you mean you would pack it up and ship it off to Vienna?’

  ‘Without a second thought!’

  ‘Why didn’t you then, when we found Sava Savanović?’

  ‘We couldn’t, not in front of all those peasants. But that’s why we ordered Schmidlin not to cover the vampire’s mouth with his hand so that the leptirak could fly free and …’

  I jumped on him and seized him by the neck, shouting. ‘You … madmen … turning the whole world into vampires … the final judgement … final judgement …’

  He was thrashing about, trying to kick me away, to bite me, but I squeezed and I squeezed and I squeezed. My hands and fingers hurt. I gritted my teeth. My nostrils flared. I hated him. He struck at my head with his fists, his wig fell off, and I was strangling him. Let the vampires out of Serbia. Conquer everything in their path. And I should come to an end for science! My whole world come to an end!

  Wasn’t it Socrates who said Ego scire me non scirem, meaning ‘The science did not teach me anything’?

  He didn’t struggle long. The moment came when he just slumped. I let go of him, and he fell to the ground and lay there.

  The vampires are not getting out of Serbia, not while I’m still alive.

  THREE

  The Convocation

  1

  How could Alexander believe Schmettau and leave me to the mercy of the vampires and the Serbs? I felt sick. I wanted to retch. I covered my mouth with my hand. The tears wouldn’t come. Neither would the words. All I could feel was the sweat that had broken out on my face and body. Enormous beads of sweat. I was soaking wet. I was trembling, shaking.

  The red count was saying something.

  ‘There must be a gap in the defences somewhere. A place where we can slip in or break through, by force of arms if need be.’

  ‘You’re mad!’ shouted von Hausburg. ‘Mad! From the moment I set foot in Belgrade everyone’s been going on and on about how impreg nable the fortress is. All the Turks in the world couldn’t take it. A pigeon couldn’t land inside the walls without permission. We’ll never get in. And we don’t even need to. I think we should just keep going right around the city, find a place to cross the Sava and then we’ll be in Europe. Once we’re on the other side, we’ll figure out what to do next. We’re all counts and princesses here. I’m sure we’ll manage.’

  ‘That’s out of the question,’ I said. ‘My regent is in the city. I won’t leave him. I want to show him that I’m not a vampire. I want to prove that Schmettau is a liar and a madman …’

  ‘If we do make it inside your husband will be waiting for us, stake in hand, to give us the same welcome he gave Wittgenstein.’

  ‘What Wittgenstein?’ I asked.

  ‘I think the princess is right,’ said the red count, speaking up again. ‘We must get back to Belgrade. We’re not vampires. If we flee to Austria they’re liable to issue a warrant for us, or whatever they do for vampires. We have to show them that we’re not vampires. And we have to do it in Belgrade. Because it’s from Belgrade that the news of vampires will spread. And it’s only in Belgrade that we can stop it.’

  ‘I know a way into the city,’ said Novak.

  Von Hausburg glared at him but said nothing.

  ‘There’s an old Roman aqueduct, partly above ground and partly under, that runs from Mali Mokri Lug, a village to the east of here, all the way to the heart of the fortress. It’s still in use and passable all the way. When I was a boy I used to play in the tunnel. The water runs through a channel cut into the bottom, and the walls are only a bit lower than the average man’s height. We’ll just have to stoop a bit. From the outside, no one will be able to see us, and on the inside there’s nobody at all.’

  ‘Schmettau knows all that, too, because he told me himself that when a city is preparing for a siege, you block off all access, any secret tunnels and mine them so no one can get through,’ said von Hausburg, all in one breath.

  ‘They can’t cut off their own water supply,’ I objected.

  ‘Yes they can,’ von Hausburg answered. ‘They’ve got a whole cistern full of water, as you know perfectly well. They certainly won’t be needing fresh spring water piped in from Mali Mokri Lug.’

  ‘I’m going through the aqueduct,’ I said.

  ‘So am I,’ said the red count, joining me.

  ‘Me, too,’ said Novak.

  Von Hausburg shook his head furiously. He said nothing.

  ‘Lead the way!’ I said to Novak.

  He nodded. He rode forward on his horse then stopped to think. He headed east and we followed. I turned around once more while we were still on high ground, at the top of the hill, to look back at Belgrade. It seemed to be burning in the morning light. An unnatural gleam lay over all. The city seemed to be ringed with a protective fire that was keeping out the rest of the world.

  We rode for more than an hour. Novak could not find the aqueduct. We were going in circles, as we had done when searching for the vampire. Novak spoke with some peasants. Then we wandered some more. Wherever we were going, it wasn’t towards the city, for I never caught sight of the walls again. Perhaps we were going further and further away instead of coming closer. Meaning that when we finally found the tunnel we’d have a longer trek ahead of us. Again Novak stopped to talk with the Serbs. Again we urged the horses forward. Then we slowed our pace, realizing we still hadn’t arrived. I thought we must be in the area where the aqueduct runs underground, and that’s why we couldn’t find it.

  However, I said nothing. No one spoke, except for Novak. Von Hausburg was silent because he was offended and sulking, the red count was silent because he was afraid and I was silent because I didn’t know what else to do. I no longer remember all the thoughts that were passing through my mind just then. I felt both spent and invigorated at the same time.

  Novak spoke to a peasant woman then turned to us. ‘It appears the place is guarded,’ he said.

  ‘Guarded!’ we all exclaimed.

  ‘True, the aqueduct has no guards as we know them. No matter how closely we look, we shall see no armed young men, whether in uniform or not. The guards are none other than peasant women at their washing near by, lanky children playing leap-frog, a lad and lass trading looks as they mowed, two or three scowling old men, then traders from Ottoman lands with their bundles of flying carpets, genies in bottles, books printed from right to left, hashish and halva, then yet more traders from Austrian lands, and others still from Novi Pazar, whose wares compare not unfavourably with those of the West, and a handful of gypsies, and even a lady from the city, with a great number of those who can read and write, and a priest besides, and several deacons, some cantankerous old crones and, finally, above them all, by night, the moon and the evening star. These stand watch, and guard the entrance to the aqueduct and to the city.’

  ‘Quite the crowd,’ observed the red count.

  Von Hausburg hissed. ‘Quite the speech! What was that supposed to be? A purple passage? Who cares who they are? They can’t do a thing to stop us, except possibly the priests and deacons.’

  ‘I don’t understand any of this,’ I said. ‘All of those people are there to prevent anyone
from getting into the city?’

  ‘No, Princess,’ answered Novak. ‘They’re not there to stop people getting in; they’re there to stop anyone getting out.’

  2

  Mary Magdalene. I knew she’d come. On that terrible night. My hour was nigh. I pretended not to see her. Let her come to me, I figured.

  There she stood, shining in my eyes. Mary Magdalene, a soul that once was mine. Everyone gathered around her. Asked her questions. She was answering. I couldn’t hear what, and I wasn’t listening. There was wailing and whispering and great commotion, as if they had lost their nearest and dearest one. He is everyone’s nearest and dearest, Novak would say – but you still won’t be saved by your connections, I would add. They couldn’t seem to make up their minds. Should they be angry? Start a riot? Seek revenge, mourn, despair? Resign themselves? As though it really affected them.

  They were play-acting.

  When they’d had their fill of sanctimony they invited her to sit with them. It was her tavern, her circle of friends, and soon they were drinking and talking just like any other night.

  I didn’t want to approach her. I knew it would be overplaying my hand; it would seem as though I were following her, hounding her. Carefully I measured out my sips of wine and kept quiet. More and more time went by. I called for a plate of falafel so the wine wouldn’t go to my head.

  The conversation was dying down. They’d been through it all, retelling the past, bemoaning the passing, predicting what was yet to come. In a matter of hours they’d used up all the tenses in their pride, their self-importance, and come to the end – or to eternity, which is their name for the end.

  They were all so sure of their predictions for this world. The Roman spy was prophesying the end of the empire. ‘It won’t be hordes of barbarians that bring the walls down – it’ll be the soul of Rome itself: once the rot has set in the gates will swing wide open …’ He hadn’t even finished speaking and already the others were agreeing with him. She looked over at me.

  It wasn’t an angry look, but it wasn’t a greeting either. She didn’t make any other sign that she’d seen me. She continued to listen to the others.

  ‘There will be no Jews,’ the spy from the Sanhedrin was saying. ‘The heavenly Jerusalem …’

  Hear, hear! the others chimed in.

  What did they need a city for? A city is a place that gives protection from attackers. Up there, in the heavenly Jerusalem, there will be no need for ramparts, for bastions, high towers, Greek fire, regiments or cannon. For who will ever launch an attack against it with catapults, battering-rams, siege ladders – what mercenaries, what crusaders?

  No attack and no defence either. No barriers, no walls, no boundaries, no form. When you do away with the walls that separate the city from the world, the city is the world. One city, the whole world. Everyone in it. And no one in it, with no way to tell the city apart from everything else. Or from nothing at all. And everyone crowding together in the same place, inasmuch as the world is one. And everyone far apart from everyone else, inasmuch as the world has no end.

  Isn’t that Hell itself?

  Somehow, I don’t know how, that madman Schmettau had seen the truth of it.

  From somewhere in Asia came the dawn, darker than the night. A ray of light cut into the earthen floor of the tavern. All was still, and most of the Christians were slumbering. Ishmael was muttering in his sleep. That story of his just wouldn’t stop until he got it all out.

  Poor fellow.

  The Tiberian spy had long since gone to submit his report. A report that would be glanced at by some sour-faced imperial functionary, who would then file it neatly away – never suspecting that there’s no better way to forget things than with a well-organized filing system. But every empire, every kingdom and princedom, every republic especially, will preserve an unshakeable faith in such systems, all those ingenious ways of classifying and shelving things to make them easy to find. And even easier to forget.

  All the rest of them were still there. His wine under lock and key, the tavern-keeper slept with one eye open, for you never knew with that crowd. I waited.

  And she did rise from her seat. With unwavering step she came straight towards me, her gaze sharp and clear. And impossible to read – because of the sleepless night, the events of the previous day, the fact that I had once known Mary, and she was different and yet still not different.

  She came and sat beside me. So close that I could feel her warm breath on my neck, so close that the air between us shimmered and became her skin, became her hand caressing me.

  She hadn’t even touched me.

  ‘There’s still hope for you,’ she said softly.

  ‘Hope? I’m celebrating my victory.’

  ‘All alone? And here of all places?’

  ‘I wanted you to see me. To see who was the last one standing. Who’s here, and who’s dead.’

  ‘Liar!’ she hissed, her old self again. ‘You’ve come here because you’re pitiful and lonely. You’ve come to be sorry. That’s why you’re here.’

  ‘Sorry? For you to see?’ I laughed, but carefully, to avoid waking the others.

  ‘That’s right. You’ve come to see me. It was me you were running from, and it’s me you’ve come back to.’

  ‘I wasn’t running away …’

  ‘Because I loved you.’

  ‘Why should I be afraid of love?’

  ‘It’s not love you’re afraid of. It’s losing love. That’s the beginning and end of all your fears. But you still came. So there’s still hope for you. Listen, it’s getting light. Go and get some sleep. Nothing will happen today. Tomorrow, Sunday, in the morning, at sunrise, come to the fountain at Gethsemane. I’ll be waiting for you.’

  3

  ‘What I figured, Princess, was that if we see anyone who matches that description, we’ll know we’re near the aqueduct,’ said Novak.

  ‘We’ll see hundreds of them,’ snapped von Hausburg, but Novak made no answer, only spurred his horse forward. I set off after him. The red count hung back for a bit, then followed along. Von Hausburg was the last to make up his mind and brought up the rear.

  We saw washerwomen and lads and lasses and children and old men and crones, even priests, peddlers of every description and gypsies, but the aqueduct was nowhere to be found.

  We rode for a long time, around and around and straight ahead, up hill and down dale, through fields and orchards. We were greeted by peasants, glared at by peasants; some gave us directions as best they could, others merely shook their heads. The day was fading, and we feared the coming night.

  Then, suddenly, it was as if the sun had risen anew. An otherworldly light broke over us from the west, blinding us. For several moments I dared not look. I felt as though I’d already been there once, although I could no longer see it. As if I knew that light, that squinting, as if I knew what was happening.

  When I opened my eyes the light was softer, gentler, and the air was shimmering and enfolding us like the soft touch of a loved one’s hands. Alexander’s. But Alexander wasn’t there.

  On a great cube of stone sat an angel. Attired in white. Neither male nor female. Nor something in between. One wing was bent downwards, the feathers at the tip almost sticking into the earth, while the other pointed upwards to the heavens. The halo shone like gold, if gold were made of air and had no weight and could never be used to buy and sell things. Rosy and greenish lights played over the angel’s face. It was sitting rather insouciantly, I thought: of good cheer, free of care. That’s when I recognized it. It was the White Angel, the one who met the women at Christ’s tomb.

  Pardon?

  How do I know it was that angel?

  I’d seen a fresco in Belgrade at a Serbian church. I was told it was merely a copy of the original fresco, which was somewhere deep inside Turkish territory. I remembered the face. A face serenely announcing the greatest of all victories.

  Sorry? I can’t hear you. You want to know how the Orthodox pa
inters knew what the angel looked like? I don’t know. You think I was just imagining it. That I’d think any angel looked like the White Angel. Ah, but that would only be true if the Serbs had managed to paint the White Angel as more beautiful than actual angels.

  But let’s continue.

  It was waiting for us. In its right hand it held a long staff. Its left hand rested in its lap. When we had drawn near, it raised its left hand and pointed to something on the right. On every finger it wore a ring of precious stones in all the colours of the rainbow.

  It was pointing the way.

  Into the aqueduct.

  A dark and empty place.

  None of us spoke. We didn’t so much as look at one another. We weren’t even looking at the angel any more. We dismounted and without a second thought stepped straight inside. I went first, then Novak, then the red count. Von Hausburg took up the rear.

  FOUR

  The Aqueduct

  1

  He lay there, strangled, looking up at me with wide-open scientific eyes. The red wig lay beside him.

  What should I do? I could raise the alarm by shouting Vampires! But it would be too straightforward, somehow not quite right, rather beneath me. And I’d nearly forgotten. There was the other count to deal with, too, the blond one. He was also a man of science, ready to destroy my world in his quest for renown and scientific truth. What was the best way to get rid of him? He was sleeping in the hut with Novak and Vuk Isakovič. Of course, Novak wouldn’t be any trouble. But Isakovič could wake up any moment, might not even be asleep. And the Serb was fierce and strong.

  I decided to lure the blond one outside, throttle him and go back to bed. Vuk Isakovič would either sleep through his turn at guard duty or wake up in time – and to find what? The two counts with their necks wrung in the night, a night teeming with vampires. And me, sleeping like a baby.