The Dracula Papers, Book I: The Scholar's Tale

by Reggie Oliver

  “Do you not know?” he said. “Too near the Old Queen’s apartments.”

  “Who was the Old Queen?” I asked. Razendoringer looked at me quizzically, cocking his head to one side, a habit of his; then began his story.

  “Xantho’s father was Vasil, and Vasil’s father was Mircea the Old who ruled over Transylvania for more than fifty years. In his old age Mircea took a young bride called Nyela of the house of Barthory. Her skin was white, but her hair was jet and she was most beautiful. Many remarked on the redness of her lips. She bore him Vasil and was the delight of his old age, but as he grew older, increasingly she seemed to rule over him, demanding that a great suite of rooms in the castle be put at her exclusive disposal, and that none should be allowed to enter it, not even the King, except by her permission.

  “Her servants there were slaves, bought from the East, mostly blackamoors and all, save for one eunuch who was her steward, were dumb, their tongues having been cut out at the roots in the Eastern fashion.

  “So the King grew older but still would not die, and she, miraculously it seemed, remained the most beautiful woman at the court. Her black hair showed not a thread of silver and her skin seemed, if anything, whiter and smoother, and her lips redder. Though many disliked the power she wielded and the strangeness of her personal retinue, no-one could find anything against her. With Mircea in his dotage and her still young and beautiful it might be thought that she would take some young courtier to herself, but she had no favourites, and this in itself counted against her.

  “At this time there were many children in the castle, mostly the illegitimate offspring of boyars. They ran wild about the place and were fed in the kitchens. Less notice was taken of them than the hunting dogs that gnawed bones in the Great Hall. But some account was kept because they earned their keep by taking messages and running other errands. Sometimes they were even loved and cared for.

  “It was noticed that from time to time one of them would disappear without trace, and this began to happen with greater frequency.

  “So Mircea died and Vasil ruled in his place, but Nyela was still Queen and her influence was as great as when she had been consort. Many times the boyars tried to set Vasil against the Queen Dowager in order to destroy her power, but in vain. They began to call her “The Old Queen” as a kind of insult, even though she seemed as young and as fresh as ever.

  “Finally one boyar, who was more subtle than the rest, saw that the only way to depose this woman’s influence was by means of another woman: Vasil must marry. But he seemed in no hurry to do so. Suitable candidates were sought out and put forward, but each time the Old Queen’s machinations and the Young King’s indifference dissipated the scheme. And during this time it was noticed that Vasil would spend many hours in the Old Queen’s apartments.

  “Then one day an embassy came from Prince Nicholas Hunyadi of Hungary, calling for a defensive alliance against the Turk. Now Transylvania and Hungary are always at odds, particularly over the ownership of certain passes and fortress towns in the Carpathian Hills. The peace was to be made on terms very favourable to Transylvania, and to seal it the daughter of Prince Nicholas, Teodelinda, was to be married to Vasil. The moment had come and the Queen saw no way of opposing such a match without prejudice to her own position, so she bowed to the inevitable and even showed enthusiasm for the union.

  “Nevertheless she did not travel to Buda with Vasil to see him united to Teodelinda in St Stephen’s Cathedral. She remained in the castle saying that she was preparing it for the arrival of a new Queen. During that time two more children went missing.

  “And so Vasil, father of Xantho, returned with his bride, pleasant enough to look at with brown curls and blue eyes, but no match for the beauty of the Old Queen. She stood at the gate of the castle to meet the young pair in scarlet velvet with a circlet of gold in her ebon hair. She greeted her daughter-in-law effusively and for some months all seemed well, but during that time Teodelinda began to show the strength of her character. She had none of the charm and skill of her mother-in-law but she had a kind of resolute stubbornness, and her position as Vasil’s wife was inviolable. Vasil, torn this way and that, seemed to have no will of his own. Meanwhile Teodelinda began to forge firm alliances with the boyars. The Old Queen, isolated, made as much use as she could of her formidable allure. Whenever she emerged from her apartments all eyes, including those of her son, were upon her.

  “That winter a young servant girl called Raisa disappeared. This might not have aroused much interest had it not been for the fact that Queen Teodelinda had taken a liking to the girl. Being dogged and stubborn by nature, Teodelinda instituted a thorough search of the castle, much to the disgust of the Old Queen who regarded all this fuss over the disappearance of a mere servant as undignified and a waste of time.

  “It was when Teodelinda ordered a search to be made in the Old Queen’s apartments that the last battle was joined. The Old Queen seemed to prevail at first and Vasil ordered that no-one should enter her apartments without permission. But Teodelinda was not to be rebuffed. She insisted that where the search was concerned no-one should be shown favour. Her persistence began to wear Vasil down.

  “Then one day it was Teodelinda who could not be found. Like Raisa she had vanished.

  “The scene in the Great Hall that day was strange indeed. Vasil sat alone on the dais, silent, gnawing his fingers, his courtiers at a discreet distance. It was clear that he knew more than anyone there what had become of his wife. The silence intensified, and with it the King’s torment. At last he summoned the guard to go with him to the Old Queen’s apartments.

  “There was a fierce struggle at the entrance to the rooms. The dumb slaves of the Old Queen fought with their bare hands until they were hacked to pieces by the guards. Every room was searched until they came to a door behind which a low murmuring could be heard like a chant.

  “Here Vasil hesitated for, though he had been in the Old Queen’s apartments many times, this was the one door which had always been barred to him. A kind of superstitious dread held him back. But the captain of the guard — who was Stanislaus’s father and I had it from him — turned the handle and opened the door.

  “The room was a bathhouse done up in the Turkish style. There was a great tessellated basin set into the floor and around it stood Nubian eunuchs in attendance with precious vases of ointment to hand. The chief eunuch in ceremonial robes stood at one end of the bath muttering an incantation. In the bath itself stood the Old Queen herself quite naked.

  “Never, said Stanislaus’s father, had she looked lovelier — at least for one brief moment. Her slender figure seemed rounder and fuller than usual; her pale skin was rosy from the heat and her lips were red. Then they noticed the little splashes of scarlet on her body and the water round her feet incarnadined. Above her was suspended, by an elaborate system of ropes and steel hoops, the white, drained corpse of Raisa the servant girl, her throat slashed, the wound no longer red but grey. At that moment Nyela was enjoying the last drops of her infernal shower bath. And in the corner the poor naked body of Teodelinda — plump and pleasing but no match for her mother-in-law — was being trussed up to provide a further supply of blood.

  “As you know, learned doctor, in some mystery religions of the East, particularly that of Cybele, the Mountain Mother, it was customary to be thus showered in the blood of bulls or goats as a ritual of initiation, but it was only the blackest of sects that believed that the blood of virgins and young children would restore youth and preserve beauty. Nyela had been initiated into one of these hellish cults for some time and, either through the release of a dark power or from more natural causes, her looks had been preserved.

  “Teodelinda was at once set free. The Old Queen’s unholy crew were taken out into the courtyard where they were at once impaled on sharp stakes, according to the custom of this country. As for Nyela, even as she was, naked and dabbled with her innocent victim’s blood, she threw herself screaming at Vasil’s feet an
d begged for mercy. The speech she made was the most terrible that Stanislaus’s father can ever recall hearing, for in it she confessed to the slaughter of many of the castle’s missing children. Why she incriminated herself it is hard to say, unless she wanted, pitiless and inhuman as she was, to relieve her conscience. But one phrase, repeated over and over again, remained in the minds of everyone present: ‘Remember the child! Remember the child!’

  “Vasil ordered that she be given a week’s supply of food and drink and then, even as she was, shut up in that awful bathhouse with one candle, and all entrances to the place sealed. It was a fearful sentence, her agony being prolonged because Vasil did not want to be immediately or directly responsible for her death.

  “Those who were appointed to brick up the entrance to her tomb remember that she never ceased to scream out for her son and to repeat that phrase: ‘Remember the child!’

  “Two weeks went by, at the end of which Vasil could endure it no longer. He ordered that the bathhouse be broken into. This was done and there Nyela was found dead, not from starvation but from choking. The shock of her incarceration had brought on a pregnancy already sufficiently advanced and she had given birth to a child — whether boy or girl I was unable to ascertain. In the terrible pangs of her hunger she had begun to devour the wretched infant. A tiny hand which she tried to swallow whole had become lodged in her throat and she had been suffocated. Those who saw the features of the child swore that only her own son Vasil could have been the father. Of Nyela’s hair not a strand retained its natural blackness; it was all as white as the moon.

  “So the Old Queen’s apartments were sealed up, every room. As for Teodelinda, she never spoke to Vasil again, but she gave birth to Xantho and soon after, died. Vasil possessed the uncanny resilience of the weak. Like the feeble reed he bent before the storm but did not break and so lived on. And the Old Queen passed into legend. They say, of course, that the apartments are haunted, and her screams echo still in the empty bathhouse, but who has ever been in there to prove it? No-one either knows or wants to know how they can be entered. But your library is near enough to inspire terror by association. So fear is born out of knowledge tempered by ignorance, and ignorance haunted by doubt, as you have often had cause to remind me.”

  XI

  After Razendoringer had finished I said nothing for a great while. For it had struck me, not unreasonably, that Alexander of Glem’s unexpected arrivals in the library might well have been effected through some secret doorway to the Old Queen’s apartments.

  That evening I visited Verney who, with the encouragement of Xantho, greedy for gold, had set up an alchemical laboratory in one of the cellars. I noticed with some amusement that it had been adorned with the usual trappings thought necessary to add the right air of mystery to the alchemist’s work. From hooks in the low, vaulted ceiling hung animal skeletons, the stuffed corpse of a crocodile and bunches of aromatic herbs. In one corner was a table covered with books and manuscripts; and on the top of one vast vellum bound tome was perched, of course, a grinning human skull. No alchemist’s laboratory should ever be without one; though why, I shall never know.

  The cellar was lined with shelves on which were ranged all manner of glass containers, alembics, retorts, flasks, cupels and soapstone crucibles. Some of the flasks contained coloured liquids, some held murky objects, the corpses of animals preserved in spirits, or worse. At one end was a sand furnace and an athanor furnace together with a pelican and an aludel, used in distillation and sublimation, all of the very latest design and the finest manufacture.

  Verney was heating some liquids in the athanor while Vladimir beside him with a pair of bellows was acting as his “puffer”. Such was the depth of their concentration that they did not see me enter. Verney took out a retort full of a blackish liquid in which red lights darted and swam with quick, convulsive movements, like devils in hell. His eyes glittered as he watched them move, then he handed it to Vlad who laughed with delight as he took it. I coughed to attract attention and asked Verney for some powdered chalk which he gave me without questioning.

  At that moment Prince Mircea wandered in. I bowed, but Verney and Vlad barely acknowledged him. Mircea stared angrily at Verney. He took him by the ear as a schoolmaster might seize a recalcitrant pupil and forced him to bow. All this was done silently. The effect was impressive, but troubling.

  Then Mircea wandered over to where Vlad was. He took the retort from him, gazed at its contents, shook them violently and then poured them into the sand furnace. He strutted round the laboratory examining things in an idle way. He asked a few questions of Verney: What was this? ...and that? ...and that? Insolence was in every intonation.

  There was a heavy glass jar full of a clear, bluish liquid bubbling gently above some glowing coals in the athanor. I saw Vlad take the jar out of the athanor with a pair of tongs when Mircea was not looking. He laid it on a bench, then, as Mircea was passing, he made as if to take hold of the jar with his hand. Mircea thought to anticipate him and grabbed the jar himself. It was still fiery hot and Mircea dropped it with a shriek. He turned on Vlad with rage and hatred in his eyes. Vlad did not move; he did not blink or smile. I thought murder was about to be done, but then Mircea turned on his heel and walked out of the laboratory.

  I know of few twelve year olds who would have thought of such an ingenious trick. I know of no other who would have resisted the temptation to laugh and crow over a revenge like that. But Prince Vlad was like no other: the child was truly father to the man. I took my powdered chalk, bowed and left.

  When I reached the library I paused and listened hard, then, assured that no-one was near, I went round the outside of the room sprinkling a thin layer of chalk dust onto the floor nearest the walls, and in the inglenook of the great fireplace. I would soon know where Alexander had come from if he visited the library that night by any way other than the door. I resumed my studies.

  I must have fallen asleep over a book, for the next thing I knew my shoulder was being shaken and a round, smooth face was smiling blandly down at me. It was Alexander of Glem. I started up guiltily. Had he discovered my little plot? But it seemed he only wanted to talk.

  “Have you a moment? I wish to show you something,” he said, then he took me to a desk where he had laid out several parchments. On them were drawn plans of a network of pipes and pumps whereby fish from the moat and the neighbouring streams could be drawn directly from them into a fresh water aquarium in the castle kitchens. I was not sure whether such a scheme was practicable, or desirable even if it were, but I nodded appreciatively. He showed great excitement over his idea and occasionally the perpetual smile would fade from his lips as he pored over his scheme and another less mask-like expression would supersede. Perhaps for the first time I was seeing the real Alexander, eager, dreamy, like a child with its first story book. He talked almost without ceasing for an hour, then he turned and looked at me.

  “You think it is all so much foolishness?” he said. I turned away slightly and felt his hand on my own. “And do you think also that the Turks will come in force?”

  I murmured something ambiguous.

  “Murad will be here next spring. I know him. He is like a mountain lion who teases before he kills. You think then I should have supported Ragul in his demands for reinforcements? I have good reasons for not supporting Ragul.”

  Then he questioned me about the princes Mircea and Vlad. I told him as little as I could without being impolite. There are some who ask questions out of true curiosity, but others because knowledge is power. They give nothing back for what they ask and drain the wisdom out of you as the oupire drains blood from a living soul. The pure seeker of knowledge recognizes such people and hates them. He could see I was resisting him.

  “You are no fool,” he said, patting my arm. His touch made me draw back involuntarily. “But remember: a man with many secrets is a danger to himself as well as to others.”

  “Then you must have much to fear,” I said, look
ing into his eyes. His smile vanished for a moment. Pity replaced loathing in me. In the silence that followed there came a faint echoing sound — it may have been a cry — from behind the walls. I shut one of my books loudly, pretending not to notice. But I saw Alexander’s glance dart furtively toward the mantelpiece. We left the library together.

  Early the following morning I went to the library to examine the marks in the chalk. I looked first at the area around the chimneypiece and saw that a set of footprints did indeed emanate from it. They came from the inglenook, but I could find no door there, nor any signs of a crack in the masonry. The stone was polished and artfully dressed. This mystery made me fearful.

  And so it was that for several days I did no more to discover the secret way of entering the Old Queen’s rooms. A kind of foreboding suspended my curiosity and, besides, I was much occupied with the teaching of the two young princes.

  As I became less of a stranger to the ways of the castle, so these two youths became my first preoccupation. It was hard not to show signs of favouritism towards Vlad, especially as King Xantho’s partiality was directed towards his eldest son. Verney made no secret of his preference while Razendoringer kept his own counsel and seemed to favour neither.

  I was always astonished by the passivity with which Vlad received Mircea’s insults. Mircea, the stronger as well as the older, would often subject his brother to tests of physical endurance. Having the bigger horse he would compel Vlad to jump some fence with him which was too high for Vlad’s pony. The result was inevitably a fall. Once he contrived to leave him out all night tied to a tree with the knife that would liberate him just beyond his grasp. But Vlad made no complaints, perhaps because he knew that Xantho would overrule them. The chief reason, I was sure, was that Vlad was biding his time, as I had seen an instance of his vengeful cunning in Verney’s laboratory.

  Even in the matter of academic studies, where Vlad showed himself to be the master of Mircea, the latter contrived to make himself supreme. He would often spoil his brother’s work in some way, or even copy it and represent it as his own. When I began to detect this, I found I had no effective means of correcting it.