Empire of Fear

by Brian Stableford

  ‘Prince,’ said Dragulya, calmly, ‘we are here for precisely the reason that we must sign both our names to the things which we must do. Gaul and Walachia must act together now; they must be seen to have one mind and one heart. Otherwise, the world of which Gaul and Walachia are parts will crumble into the dust. We must stand together, and we must above all else be merciless. We must destroy Noell Cordery, and those who gave him shelter, and every man who has been his follower. We must make a festival of that destruction – a mighty spectacle to burn its lesson into the minds of men and vampires alike. Immortality is no longer our own preserve and firm guarantee of our authority. We must fight more fiercely now than we ever have before, to secure our rule. Yes, we must destroy them, every one. We cannot extirpate this evil which the alchemist has brought into our world, but we must do all that we can to contain its force. The new vampires must submit to us instead of forming ranks against us, and they will only do that if we show them what fate awaits them should they dare to practise rebellion.’

  ‘We cannot rule by fear alone,’ replied Richard, insistently. ‘Our empires are only safe while the great majority of men consent to our authority. What we have taken by force we must hold, at least in part, by persuasion. We must show that we are fit to rule, not only by our strength, but by the justness of our conduct and the honesty of our contracts. We can destroy Malta, and Britain too, but there must come a day when destruction is finished, and common men and vampires will live again in peace. There has been too much hatred in the world these last thousand years, and it is that hatred as much as Noell Cordery’s discovery which has brought us to this field.’

  ‘I know that,’ the voivode said, his voice a hard, icy whisper. ‘I know that very well. But we must secure our empire now, and that we cannot do, save by setting such terror abroad in the world as the world has not yet seen. We cannot rule by fear alone, but without fear we cannot rule at all. That is why we must use our power to the utmost, not simply to bring these rebels to defeat, but to bring them to a Hell which others in their train will do aught to avoid. Aye, it means slaughter; it means tortures which go beyond pain to inspire as sickening a dread as we can. This is no ordinary war, my fire-eyed friend, but a holy war, in which there can be no relenting. We have a thousand years of life before us, you and I, and we may spend that millennium as rulers of our empires, if we have the strength and the stomach for the task. But you must not dissent from that which I must do! Unless you join with me and share the riot of violence which I unleash, you have already cracked the mask of implacable iron which we must show to the waiting world.’

  Richard did not answer this. He felt, in truth, that he had no answer to give this cruel creature which could possibly satisfy or calm him. Honour, he believed, was something which had to be felt before it could be understood, and Dragulya was no man of feeling. The wintry east was not fertile soil for the summery conventions of propriety which Charles had tried to teach his empire, and a man content to bear the name of Impaler could never comprehend the heritage of a Lionheart. And yet, he wondered, how could he openly declare his opposition to the voivode’s plans? He had hoped to use the few hours of advantage he had in reaching Mdina to bring about a fait accompli – a surrender offered and accepted – which would force the Walachian to fall in with his scheme, but that chance was lost. Perhaps the bold defenders might now be deemed responsible for their own vile destruction, and Richard, having offered them a chance to save themselves, could justifiably stand aside and lend his name to whatever Dragulya planned.

  And yet …

  Blondel de Nesle appeared within the tent then, entering with some trepidation.

  ‘What do you want?’ asked Richard, waspishly.

  ‘Another messenger is coming, my lord.’

  Richard, surprised, glanced quickly at the Walachian warlord, but Dragulya said nothing, and his rugged face was quite devoid of expression.

  ‘Have the nobles of Mdina relented, then?’ asked Richard.

  ‘Oh no, sire,’ said Blondel. ‘This messenger approaches from the west, not from the direction of the city gates.’

  At this news, even Dragulya permitted himself a raised eyebrow, expressing curiosity.

  Richard hurried from the tent, and looked to the west, where a lone rider carrying a white flag was cantering across the parched grass in front of the serried ranks of Richard’s forces. Though he could hardly be unaware that a thousand pairs of eyes were upon him, the rider looked neither to the left, where the invaders were, or to the right, where the walls of the city stood above the terraced fields. His horse was obviously tired, slow in its paces despite the urging of hands and heels, and it was plain that he had come some way to bring whatever message he had.

  ‘What manner of man is that?’ asked the voivode, shading his eyes from the sun in order to view the rider more clearly. Certainly, the approaching rider was no ordinary herald. The messengers from the city had been neatly and gaudily dressed, as befitted servants of a Gaulish court, but this man was clad in a torn and bloodstained shirt, with dark britches such as sailors wore, and the white flag which he bore was tied to a broom-handle instead of a lance. His fair hair made it apparent that he was no vampire, and the manner of his riding implied that he was no practised equestrian.

  The commanders of the invading army waited patiently on their hill while the rider came to them. When the man slowed his horse to a walk in order to come up the slope Richard could see that his eyes were glazed with barely-controlled fear. This messenger knew that he was among enemies, and did not entirely trust to the safe-keeping of his banner.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked Blondel, who moved forward to meet the messenger when he saw that John, lounging against the pole which bore the Norman flag, was staring with open contempt, disdainfully refusing to recognise the man.

  The man on the horse made no reply to Blondel’s question, and favoured John with a glance as mocking as the stare which the princeling aimed at him, before looking over Blondel’s head at the two warlords who stood side by side before the tent. He did not attempt to come any closer, but took from his shirt a folded piece of paper.

  Blondel, though he presented to the visitor a most ungrateful expression, reached up to take the paper. He unfolded it, and read what was written there. Then he scowled, and turned to look at Richard, plainly very uncertain as to what must be done.

  ‘Bring it to me,’ said Richard, sternly. He could not have explained why he did not ask Blondel to read the message aloud, but he had an awkward feeling in his breast, which told him that this might be a matter best dealt with quietly. Blondel brought the paper to his master, and handed it over without a word.

  Richard looked at the paper, and read the words written thereon.

  To Richard the Norman, called Lionheart.

  I had hoped to meet thee upon the sea, but missed thy ship among so many. I could not bring myself to go away and not see thee, and so I would beg leave to come to meet thee on the land. Once upon a time thou wouldst not fight me, because thou wert a prince of that realm which thou wert pleased to call Grand Normandy, and because I was not a vampire. Thou art a reigning prince no longer, nor am I a common man. I therefore challenge thee to meet me, before the walls of Mdina, so that all the knights of Malta and all the knights of England may bear witness to the settlement of our debt of honour.

  The paper was signed: Lucien Villiers, called Langoisse.

  Richard looked up, into the staring eyes of Blondel de Nesle, who was watching him anxiously. He did not look around, at the Walachian warlord who stood close by. What Dragulya would have him do, he felt sure, was to have the messenger seized and bound, and then to send a large party of knights and commoners to scour the western reaches of the island for this arrogant miscreant – and having found him, to murder him most expeditiously. Perhaps that would indeed be the wisest course.

  But Richard hesitated, nevertheless.

  For nearly sixty years the story had been repeated in his realm th
at a cocksure pirate had branded him a coward. It mattered little to the resentful English that a vampire was quite right, and honour bound, to decline a challenge from a common man; and that a prince of the realm could not legitimately be challenged at all. The slackmouths were happy to repeat the pirate’s slander, and laugh behind their hands because all the Norman navy could not catch the clever sea-dog, nor put an end to his nuisance.

  Richard had never quite been able to put Langoisse out of his mind, and the thought of him was never pleasant. That this creature should choose to repeat his challenge now was a typical audacity, and he knew that if he did not answer it forthrightly, and could not capture the pirate before he put to sea again, this tale would be added to the other, cursing him in the fictions of the common folk for as long as he might live.

  We have a thousand years of life before us, you and I. Dragulya’s words echoed in his mind. A thousand years, to bear the consequences of every decision, to regret every error that a man might make.

  And there was honour, too. Whatever the voivode Dragulya said, it was not merely the power of the vampires of Europe which had to be saved, but their hegemony. If he was not free to do aught but set his signature to the slaughter which Dragulya intended, he was at least free to handle his private affairs in any way that he wished.

  Mdina, he thought, has asked to be delivered to whatever fate will fall upon it; so shall it be. But first I’ll show this dark eastern legion how a prince of Gaul conducts himself, and what nobility the knights of Charlemagne have given to the world.

  Without saying anything to Dragulya, Richard walked forward, past Blondel, to the waiting horseman.

  ‘Tell your master,’ he said, ‘that I will meet him, as he asks, before the walls of the city. Tomorrow morning, after dawn.’ With his hand he pointed to a tract of land which lay between the camp of the invaders and the city.

  ‘I must have your word that there will be no treachery,’ said the rider, uneasily.

  ‘No treachery,’ said Richard. ‘I will come alone – mounted, armoured, and bearing no weapon but a sword. I doubt that your master has the use of a lance, and I would not have him come to the field bearing some ill-fashioned broomstick.’

  The rider bowed his head a little, then turned his horse, and urged it into motion with greater alacrity than necessity demanded.

  Richard did not wait for Dragulya to bid him back to the tent, but strode into its shade with such haughtiness that he did not seem to care whether the Walachian followed him or not.

  But when the voivode came in pursuit, there was no anger in his manner or his voice. ‘What have you done, O noble prince?’ he asked, mildly.

  ‘It is a private matter,’ replied Richard.

  ‘I have no doubt of it,’ replied Dragulya, ‘but I beg you to let me know what noble rival it is that you intend to meet on the morrow.’ His voice was sarcastic, but gentle enough.

  Richard passed the paper to him, but said as he did so: ‘There is a history in this matter which you do not know.’

  ‘I know it,’ said Dragulya, softly, as he read the letter. ‘I think they tell tales of my famous jests even in England, and tales of your own exploits are not unknown in the courts of Walachia. The kitchen-lads in your lost Tower of London probably tell the tale of how I set some noble robbers to boil in a cauldron, and the servants in my own great houses are gluttonous for rumours of the Barbary pirates and their histories. A man like this Langoisse should have been put out of his misery many years ago, and I pray that you will not let him tarry upon this earth a moment longer than is necessary.’

  Richard was startled by the other’s sudden willingness to play with words, and was more wounded by that levity than he could have been by the wrath which he had expected.

  ‘I will defeat him,’ he promised. ‘You may be sure of that.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said the Walachian, with contempt which showed through the polite veiling of his tone, ‘this silly madman rides to his death, I know. I do not suppose that he doubts it, else he is a greater fool than any I have known. He must hate you very much indeed.’

  ‘I think he does,’ said Richard, ‘though the fault was always his. In truth, I am not the guilty party.’

  ‘It is ever our own faults,’ observed Dragulya, ‘which distress us most. This Langoisse must have many, to have chosen such a name.’

  SEVEN

  All night long the road from Valetta to Mdina was thronged with men and horses, wagons and artillery. There was nothing in the procession to give the least encouragement to the defenders of the city, who had a clear view along the road from the ramparts. Dragulya knew that their sentries posted in the dome of the cathedral could see for several miles, and he was well aware that they could see nothing but what must teach them the futility of their cause. Those Walachians who had been wounded when the Grand Harbour had been stormed were safely left in the hospital which had been the raison d’être of the Order of St. John.

  Dragulya knew that the appearance of the legion creeping along the road was to some extent a sham. His forces had not troubled to storm Fort St. Elmo and Fort St. Angelo, and had indeed encouraged the vampire knights arrayed against him to take shelter there, where they might be bottled up by a relatively small force. But that did not affect what Durand’s men could see, and what they saw was a great army of fit and ready fighting men, come to destroy them.

  The voivode was prepared to gamble that the knights of St. John who had been set to defend Valetta, no matter how sincere their support might be for Cordery’s cause, would be well content to wait in their strongholds rather than launch themselves into a suicidal assault on a far superior enemy. With la Valette and other important commanders still at sea the knights defending the Grand Harbour had leaders likely to float with the tide of affairs. Just as the courts of Gaul were full of incipient traitors in the form of ambitious men whose dreams of glory were frustrated by the longevity of their masters, so the Order of St. John must have high-placed underlings who coveted the title of Pillar or Grandmaster, and would turn their coats again if the chance were offered. Dragulya knew that he could manipulate such foes as cynically as he pleased, and take care of them at his leisure. His immediate concern was to see Mdina crushed and Noell Cordery secured.

  Dragulya went to his tent in the early hours, but he slept only for a short while. He had Michael Beheim wake him again before sunrise, because he was anxious to be present when the upstart pirate attempted to pay off his ancient score against the prince of Grand Normandy. He looked to this affair to afford him some amusement, and he had some preparations of his own to make in respect of the duel.

  In the cold darkness before the dawn the voivode rode on a tour of inspection of his troops, who were occupying the land to the east and south of the city. He told them to build their fires high, so that the fighting men in the besieged town could witness the tightening of the strangling knot by which they were contained.

  When he was satisfied with what was being done he selected out a score of his best musketeers, and bid them form a guard around him, to accompany him to the barren strip of land which lay between Richard’s famed bowmen and the walls which they were appointed to storm. He arrived there, with these men, while the attendants were putting Richard’s armour on, and hooding his horse.

  Dragulya watched these preparations with cool disinterest.

  Richard had put on a helmet of chain-mail, and a coat made of light overlapping scales of the new iron which Simon Sturtevant had first made half a century ago. That iron was stronger than any cast iron had previously been, and it made fine cannon, but Dragulya thought it far too heavy for a vampire’s armour. A vampire, though far less prone to fatal hurt than a common man, was not one whit more powerful, and heavy armour slowed a vampire knight just as much as a commoner. Dragulya would far rather risk a cut and preserve his own agility, but this was the fashion in which Richard had been trained to fight, and there was no use in the Walachian offering advice for which he would
not be thanked.

  Dragulya judged from Richard’s face that the deposed prince had not slept at all. His copper-coloured eyes were restless, and his lips were tightly pursed. It needed two men and a deal of patience to get him up into his high saddle, though the charger he was to take into the duel was as quiet and biddable as could be expected. Finally, they handed him the weapons which he was to carry: a great broadsword, carefully edged on either side, and a shield marked with his coat-of-arms. The sword, like the armour, would be of Sturtevant’s metal, and would not break or easily lose its edge – but Langoisse would surely be armed likewise, and would not suffer any crucial disadvantage.

  When Richard moved to take the field, Dragulya and his men moved casually in front of the rank of bowmen, taking up the best position from which to watch the fight. Because the ground was rising, they blocked the view of the men behind them, but Dragulya dismounted, and commanded his men to assume a kneeling position, their guns laid to rest upon the grass, with the result that they were not too much in the way.

  Richard’s bay walked carefully away, to a distance of fifty yards or so, before the prince reined in and turned to face the west. He was almost close enough to the walls to be reached by the best of their artillery, but it would have taken a miracle to aim such a shot, and none was fired. All eyes – those on the walls as well as those in Richard’s battle-lines – turned to the west, looking for the pirate. When he came, Dragulya observed, he would find his royal adversary standing within the arc of the rising sun, limned by its silver light.

  ‘Would it not have been wise to stop this, my lord?’ asked Michael Beheim. ‘Should Richard fall, it would serve our cause ill.’