Many times at the end of the work day I would survey the Garden alone. It was my private domain, owned by someone else. I could pretend its beauty existed only for me. On one stroll I noticed a spider web on the backside of a rose bush. The intricate symmetrical web hidden was from view in the leaves. I bent over; intent on destroying the little invader in my well-manicured world when something stayed my hand. I remembered my father told me spiders were essential to the health of a garden, they captured insects which harmed the plants."
“The spider was methodically repairing its web which had been damaged by a rain storm earlier in the day. I stood and watched it diligently and instinctually rebuild the world it knew. It had an innate gift to create a geometric web knowing nothing of geometry. This web was house and larder for the spider. I watched it until the sun set. I returned to the rose bush many times over the next few weeks. The spider was my special charge. I looked to see what it caught, which insects were wrapped in its silken webs. It set the trap. Insects would blunder into its web willingly, blindly, not knowing what they had gotten themselves into.”
“One day I looked and noticed the spider web was missing. I queried my crew and one man admitted to destroying the web. I admonished him, telling him the world needed spiders. In some places of the garden they could remain unmolested. Not everywhere, not in places the delicate ladies would see and react unfavorably to them, but they could remain in the shadows of leaves. He apologized and said he would come to me before destroying a web in the future.”
“Life progressed normally for a Master Gardener like me. Work filled my days with aphids, bushes, trees to prune or plant, topiary to amuse the Medicis; things of that nature. There was always work to do somewhere in the garden. When I was twenty eight, something dreadful and yet wonderful happened, my mother died in her sleep. Natural causes it seems. She was around fifty and for a woman she was considered old. She didn’t become infirm over time like my father. She was just gone. When she died I was her only surviving child, at one time I had a brother and two sisters, but the age was cruel and life was short and hard. They died of things which can now be cured by something from a drugstore. Being her only surviving heir, I inherited much more than I ever knew my mother possessed. She feared being destitute so she hoarded what she earned. We never went hungry but the situation could have been more comfortable for us had she spent somewhat more than she did. But now her frugality became my surprising windfall.”
“Since it was winter I decided to leave the garden to my assistants and go to Rome for a month. There was little to do and what needed to be done in the garden could be done without me. I had never been far from Florence so the trip to Rome was a great adventure. The city thrilled me more than I can express. It was a frightening yet fascinating place. My first night there I spent time walking around in kind of a daze. I had lived a sheltered life. I knew Florence and my Gardens, but I never ventured far beyond the protective walls of my city. I had seen maps of Italy and the other parts of the known world, but I didn’t think I would ever go there. Most people stayed with what was familiar and safe. Going nearly two hundred miles to Rome was world shaking.”
“Travelers, merchants, and religious pilgrims came through Florence often. I listened to their stories whenever I had the chance, but to see Rome in person was overwhelming. It took a tragedy to get the dirt off my shoes and set me on a road I’m still traveling. Rome is a far different place today than it was four hundred years ago. When I was there fifty years ago I was dismayed by the condition it was in. My acute senses were assaulted by the fumes from engines, the noise from cars and the glare of street lights. I was upset by the damage that the shortsighted mortals had wrought. The grandeur and beauty which had been Rome was tarnished by man’s progress. Pollution in the air marred buildings and ruins. Cats, literally hundreds of cats had taken over ruins and tunnels, wild eyed felines would peer out of the nooks and crannies where other creatures older and far more deadly used to reside.”
“One night I went to see Pope Sixtus the V give Mass at the Pantheon. This in itself was incredible for any devout Catholic to witness. The Pope himself gave me communion! But what happened on the way back to my lodgings was even more astounding. It was a late Mass, starting after sundown and ending around nine o’clock. I left the smoky light of the Pantheon, my mind still exalted by the service. I didn’t notice the stares following me as I went on my solitary way into the night. A few old women crossed themselves as they passed by me, hastily continuing on their way. I didn’t see it at the time, but everyone was walking in pairs. I had received the sacrament from the Pope and nothing else mattered. I couldn’t wait to tell those at home, they would be so envious.”
“I walked in the night air, it was late November. The skeletal hand of winter was tightening its grasp. I walked back to the pensione, the moonlight above was my only illumination. Slashes of light from shuttered windows lanced into my path. I could hear muffled voices behind doors. The city was silent and foreboding, afraid of the darkness. As I neared my pensione, I felt a presence at my side. A handsome man appeared out of nowhere and was keeping pace with me. I hadn’t heard his footsteps nor his approach. I had no idea how long he had been my shadow. In the moonlight his skin had a rosy luminescence, his eyes burned like the embers of a fire.”
“Good evening, my worthy young fellow. Where are you going this fine night?” he asked.
“I’m returning to my pensione,” I replied. My inexperience in the world made me an easy mark, I guess. I didn’t look at my surroundings and assess who might be trying to do me harm.
“Are you now? The night has only begun to suckle the breast of darkness. I have an idea. Why don’t you come to a drinking establishment with me? I could use company. I do so hate to drink alone.”
“I stopped to stare at him for a long moment. Nothing in his demeanor gave me any reason to fear him. I was buzzing from my experience at the Mass and too excited to be able to fall asleep anytime soon. He seemed trustworthy, in fact I found something about him fascinating. “Alright, I will join you for a drink. I am, however, not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination.”
“Don’t you worry about funds. I’m flush with money this evening.” He smiled. “There is a place not far from here.”
“Lead the way.” I followed him down a few streets onto a thoroughfare I had passed in the daytime. Laughter and loud noises could be heard from one building when we turned onto the street. All the surrounding houses were shut tight, doors and shutters bolted closed. I thought I caught the pungent smell of garlic wafting on the night air as I walked with my new acquaintance. We stopped in front of the boisterous building and he knocked gently.
“Open the door you scoundrels,” he said in a voice no louder than normal speech. “I’m parched.”
“Instantly the noise inside stopped and footsteps could be heard approaching the door. How had he been heard over the din of voices on the inside? The door unbolted and swung open. A pasty faced man with a suspicious look peered out of the gap between the door and wood frame. “Ah, Gregori, you’ve returned and you brought a friend,” the man swung the door wide and admitted us into the building. The building was not a cafe or tavern, it was a private home. It was dimly lit with candles sparsely placed on the walls and tables.
“The occupants of the room silently stared at me with unnerving interest before returning to talk amongst themselves. The women were beautiful, far more beautiful than I had ever seen. My blood ran hot with thoughts of them. I knew women in Florence, but none looked like these wondrous specimens. I pushed those thoughts aside so I would have an easier time at my next confession.
“My host, whose name was Gregori, ordered drinks for us. We sat alone at a table and talked endlessly about many subjects. Others in the room would come by the table and join us in conversation. I wasn't aware of it, but the conversation was largely one sided. He asked me questions and listened to my long-winded self-important answers. When he did talk he proved
knowledgeable on any topics we spoke of. Nothing was beyond his realm of learning or experience.
“It grew late and I became weary.
“You should go home and retire.” Gregori said. He paused before continuing, he seemed to be waging a battle with himself I didn’t fathom at the moment. “Come back here tomorrow night if you like. I’ve enjoyed talking to you.” He finally said.
“I agreed to return the next night. I slept late that morning. I had no idea what time I got to bed. After I had taken care of my errands for the day, I returned to the house I had been at the night before. The door was locked and no one answered when I knocked. I looked around the street, the neighbors were watching me. They wore suspicious and fearful looks on their faces before they quickly turned away and shut their doors. Did they fear the house or did they fear me? I couldn’t imagine. Finding no reason to remain I left the street behind and waited for nightfall.
“After dinner I returned to the dark streets, my feet leading the way to my destiny though I didn't know it at the time. I arrived on the street with the house. The other houses were again silent. The undeniable smell of garlic floated on the air, too pungent to be an overly seasoned meal wafting on the breeze. I knew garlic was used to protect the superstitious from evil, but I didn’t make any connection to the house I stood in front of and the garlic; a foolish mistake to make.
“I knocked at the door. The noise from inside diminished, an anxious silence hung in the air. Gregori opened the door and stepped into the street next to me. He glanced behind him and shut the door. The bolt could be heard sliding into place, and merriment erupted again from the inside.
“Let’s walk. It’s a marvelous night, and I do not wish to be cooped up in there at the moment.” He took me by the arm and walked me into the night. Our direction led us to the Tiber River. We walked over a bridge, the dark, sluggish waters moving silently beneath us. We moved toward the huge construction project which would become St. Peter’s Cathedral. It was far different from what is now the Vatican. The cupola, the dome, of the cathedral had not been started. The old church office buildings blocked most of the new basilica from sight. The bell tower and dome of the old basilica were dwarfed by Michelangelo’s construction. They would be brutally destroyed in the years to come to make way for sixty more meters of the basilica to create the shape of a Christian cross. In the center of the piazza was the great granite obelisk.
“Gregori spoke as he guided us to the obelisk, its imposing size towering above the bronze lions forming the base. “I woke one night in mid-September and saw this standing erect, he said. “It had lain all summer on its side for Pope Sixtus V had decided it was too hot to place it where it now stands. I had seen the scaffolding they used to lift it over the pedestal for many months as I went about my nightly business.” He seemed distracted. “No one knows how long it stood in the circus of Caligula. It seems like it has always been there. Timeless, eternal.”
“What was it there for?” I asked, gazing upward trying to see the top of the spire in the dark.
“Story has it Nero put many Christians to death where it once stood. The inscription at the bottom, ‘Impio Cultu Dicatum’, A Dedicated Service’ was put there by Sixtus to remind us where it came from, what it stands for. I know you can’t see the top, but there is a ball at the pinnacle which contains the ashes of Julius Caesar.”
“Really?” I peered upward looking for the shape. Even I had heard of Caesar, he was a legend.
“That’s what they say.”
“I looked at the words. Latin was beyond my knowledge. It was the language of religion, the basis for Italian, but far enough away to sound holy and keep the clergy in command of the masses.
“If you look at the east and west sides, there are formulas for exorcism. This rock has been baptized." Gregori was amused by the fact a huge stone was sacred. "Evil isn’t in stone. Evil exists only in men.” He paused for a moment. “I would be considered an evil spirit by many.” Gregori looked at me, his bright eyes burning from under his shadowed brow.
“I was shocked by his words and began to back away. He grabbed my shoulder in a steel grip giving me no chance to escape. Was what he said true or was he playing games with a naive, uneducated, cloistered man?
“Surprised?” Gregori smiled, his sharp teeth gleamed in the wan moonlight. “Come with me.” He jerked my arm and he led me away from the towering stone. Fear and pain crowded out rational thought as I was being taken like a lamb to the slaughter. I should have cried out for help, there were people about who might come to my aid, but my voice was paralyzed.
“He took me from the piazza into a side alley with great alacrity. In the dark of a doorway he stopped. “I’m giving you two choices; essentially, life or death. I can give you eternal life, or I can kill you to sustain my immortal existence,” he said, his eyes burning fiercely.
Chapter 25
Life!
“I couldn’t answer. My throat was silent, constricted by fear. Gregori held me like a rag doll and lowered his mouth to my neck. The thin points of his razor sharp fangs carefully pierced my jugular and he began to feed on my hot blood. Pleasure and pain fired through my veins as my life was drawn from me. After he had taken most of my blood, my spirit courted Death in a hazy dance. I never thought of Death as waiting, but now as I was about to die, I sensed him. Through the haze and terror Gregori’s powerful voice brought me back to clarity.
“Life or death?” His voice was loud in my ear as his mouth was near my pulsing throat. It was a simple question cutting through the fog in my blood starved brain. I didn't know what life he was talking about but I could feel my heart failing and lungs straining. The fear of Death was palpable; I mouthed the word ‘Life,’ my lungs forcing my choice. The word hissed forth, a banshee cry in the night.
“Gregori drained me to the point of death then slit his wrist with a fang and placed the bleeding wound to my lips. I instinctively began to suck blood into my mouth. It coursed down my throat igniting a supernatural fire in my body. I drew deeply from him hoping this ecstatic feeling would never stop. I drank until he groaned in pain and he wrenched his arm away from my greedy mouth.
“When I looked about me I would have sworn it was daytime, the world was so bright! Colors crowed my vision like small children fighting for the attention, each squealing that they were the most beautiful and brilliant. I heard music in the distance as if it was right next to us. The melody became tangible, palpable. It could practically see the shapes of the sounds according to their pitch and timbre.
“Noticing the expression on my face, Gregori said quietly, hopefully, “Welcome to my world.”
He taught me everything I needed to know about my new life during the next few hours. When he told me I needed to kill humans to feed on their blood I was repulsed. He demonstrated hunting and killing. He badly needed to feed to replace the blood I imbibed from him. He caught an old man, killed him, and disposed of the body in the Tiber to be washed downstream.
“I cannot take human life!” I argued with him after watching him kill the old man. The very thought went against the religion I believed.
“Gregory merely shrugged, his eyes were rather sad. “Then you will starve and die. But wait until tomorrow night. The hunger you feel is growing; it may change your mind for you."
“Never.” I was adamant and ultimately wrong. .
I went to my pensione and gathered all my belongings. It would be impossible for me to stay there. Not now. An hour before dawn he took me to his resting place. It was in one of the catacombs used by the early Christians during their persecution. The walls were hewn out of the soft limestone and the tunnels seemed to go on endlessly. In the dark, without torches, he led me down a tunnel to a dead end. The barrier was newer masonry than the initial creation of the catacombs but still ancient compared to the life of a man. He knelt on the floor and pressed against a large stone. It moved easily into the space beyond. He pushed it to the side and crawled through the opening. I
kneeled on the floor and looked thru the hole. I pushed my meager belongings before me and crawled through the space.
“Inside was a vast chamber, an ancient depository for the dead. From floor to ceiling the walls had niches carved into them, many were filled with bones and tattered clothing from ages past. I looked around the gloomy interior despondently. Was this the eternity I had to look forward to? Sleeping among the dead in an underground tomb? It was not fundamentally different than what the mortals above ground lived in fear of, but I would be alive while interred. My eternity would have daily reprieve from the dusty slumber, but still, it was a bleak thought.
“Two niches in one wall were cleared of bones and debris. I was expected, or if not me, another chosen human who accepted his offer. A soft straw filled pallet would keep me off of the bare stone. I placed my bag on the floor near a niche. “Jesus,” I whispered, shaking my head. What would I do now? The reality of an immortal life was different than the promise.
“Gregori pushed the large block back in place. “It isn’t much but the sun can never reach it and mortals fear to come into the tunnels,” he said. “With good reason…” His knowing jovial tones were quieter. He needed me to stay. He needed company. Eternity was a lonely place.
“A good house could do the same thing.” I commented.
“Yes it could. But mortals could blunder in by accident.” He gestured toward the ceiling in reference to the outside. “The house you came to tonight was formerly a mortal’s abode. It has been used by... vampires for a few months.”
“That was the first time he said the word; vampire. I was a vampire. One of the undead.
Blood Stakes Page 24