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

by Reggie Oliver

  When Alexander saw us he at once realized that it was I who had played the ghost which had so terrified Mircea and he favoured me with a look of hatred, but Mircea who was still suffering from shock understood nothing. Razendoringer meanwhile was leaping up and down trying to get at the levers of the secret door in the carving above the fire place. I had explained to him how it was done and he now insisted that he should open the door himself. At length Vlad and I put a table and a bench at his disposal. He stood on these to perform the task.

  “What do you propose to do?” asked Alexander in level tones.

  “Rescue the Lady Dolabella,” I said.

  “And then?” he asked. I hesitated. “I advise you not to interfere any further,” he said. I looked at Vlad who was scrutinizing his brother. The incident had somehow redressed the balance between them and matched them equally. I saw the realization come into Vlad’s head that he was not simply a younger brother, he was a rival. Alexander looked at me again.

  “These matters are not for you,” he said. “You have been warned.” Then he turned on his heels and left.

  “The keys,” said Vlad to his brother. “Give us the keys to Dolabella’s shackles. We will free her whatever you do. Come, this is one battle you cannot win.” Vlad was going to make the very most of his new ascendency.

  Mircea stared long and hard at all of us, then threw the keys on the table. But he did not move from the chair.

  We took candles into the Old Queen’s apartments. Never since her own time, I suspect, had there been so many people there. Mircea followed us in sullen silence. When we entered the bedroom we found the Lady Dolabella peacefully sleeping, propped up against the side of the great bed, my reassurance having allowed her to rest. Razendoringer ran to her and began to unlock the shackle on her leg. Vlad took in the scene and then turned to his brother who hovered in the shadows.

  “What was the use of this, brother?” he said, pointing at the discarded shackles. It was a curious and somewhat chilling remark to make, and one that I was to remember.

  Dolabella awoke to find her leg released and Razendoringer beside her. It was an ecstatic reunion for them both. I turned away to give them some privacy and saw that Vlad was now looking about the room in fascination. No doubt he knew the story of the Old Queen, but it had not filled him with horror. At that moment the arras beside the bed stirred. Rozelinda entered the room and Vlad ran to her with a cry of triumph.

  “How did you find your way here?” I asked.

  “Never mind that,” she said. “They’re coming up.”

  “Who?”

  “The Queen and Ragul. They’re coming this way.”

  “Why?” said Vlad, and at that moment they entered, holding hands, intent on some private conversation. They stopped short when they saw us. Everyone was silent for a moment. It was a curious scene, somewhat like the last moments of an old Roman comedy. Then from the shadows Mircea began to laugh.

  I saw Vlad looking at his mother and Ragul, then at Mircea, and a look of rage came into his eyes. He began to tremble slightly. Rozelinda held onto him tightly as if he might break in two if she let him go.

  “Well,” said Mircea, “it seems as if the last laugh is mine. Am I right in thinking that we have more than one bastard among us this night?”

  With one movement Vlad had sprung across the candle lit chamber. I saw his hands reach for Mircea’s eyes. Mircea was thrown off balance by the attack and they rolled over in the dust. But Vlad was still no match for his brother. Quick and wiry as he was, he was much lighter and had acquired none of the strength and muscle of Mircea. I shouted for them to stop but they did not hear. Mircea was now on top of Vlad and starting to pound his fist into the boy’s face. Rozelinda screamed. Razendoringer rushed forward and grabbed at Mircea’s arms from behind. Small as he was, he was immensely strong and Mircea could not shake him off. I was conscious of a need to do something but could not think what.

  At that moment there was a commotion at the other end of the room and Alexander entered first, then two guards, then the King himself. He looked around the room at the assembled company. Mircea, Vlad and Razendoringer separated themselves rapidly.

  “What are you all doing here?” said Xantho. “Do you not know that these rooms are forbidden to all?” He said this in a breathy, blustering voice, no doubt aware of what an absurd statement this was; after all, how can you forbid access to a place whose very existence is unknown or denied? I suspect that he was merely giving himself time to take in the diverse elements of the situation. Alexander pointed to me.

  “It was he. This Doctor Bellorius, with his meddling pedantic ways, who first broke open the forbidden door.”

  “I was merely following in the footsteps of your grace’s first minister,” I replied.

  “Silence!” said the King who seemed thoroughly upset by the confusion of the scene. Like a child, he wanted everything explained all at once. He pointed to his wife. “My lady,” he said, “what is the explanation of your presence here?” There was a brief silence before Razendoringer intervened.

  “Sire, forgive me,” he said, “but this is all my fault. Some days ago the Lady Dolabella disappeared in mysterious circumstances. In my eagerness to find her — for I love her dearly — I involved many people. At last the learned Doctor discovered that she was being held here. Nothing could prevent me from flying to her rescue at the earliest moment. Your majesty—” Here he knelt and pushed the Lady Dolabella into the same posture beside him. “—I beg your forgiveness and most humbly ask your permission to take in marriage this noble lady of Bohemia, if she will have me.”

  “Your majesty, I will have him!” said Dolabella grasping his hand.

  Xantho was dumbfounded for a moment; then he burst into a guffaw of laughter which sounded like a thunderclap in that wicked old room. The anxiety of all present was eased. He raised the two dwarfs up.

  “By the silver buttock of Saint Gutruna, you shall have the finest wedding that was ever had by any two dwarfs! In this manner we shall seal the treaty between Bohemia and Transylvania. Count Cantemir and I will settle the details this very night and we will arrange the transport of the gold. By the buttock, this has been a night to remember!” And he laughed again.

  I had never seen him in such good humour. Saint Gutruna, I should point out, was a devout nun who one night, having nothing to give to the starving family of a garlic boiler, cut off her right buttock and roasted it for them to eat. This buttock was miraculously replaced on her body by one of silver which is now a most precious and holy relic in the Cathedral of Bistritsa.

  But that is by the way. Alexander was not so pleased by this hilarious turn of events, for he saw the possibilities of sowing intrigue and suspicion dying away. He tried to revive the King’s interest in the complexities of the situation he confronted, but Xantho merely waved him aside with a laugh. Then Mircea spoke up.

  “Sire, I too have a favour to ask concerning marriage. I request your permission to ask for the hand of the Lady Rozelinda, daughter of Count Demetrius Cantemir. The Count has already shown himself eager for the match.”

  I saw Vlad start forward only to be restrained by Rozelinda. Xantho looked at his son with a hard, almost penetrating stare.

  “1 am sure that the Count is eager to have his daughter marry into a royal family. Unfortunately, it is out of the question. When you are to be married, I will inform you. Please do not mention the subject again.”

  “But—”

  Xantho thrust his great bearded face into Mircea’s. His bulging eyes seemed almost to touch the other’s cheek. “Son,” he said, “I am in a good humour tonight, and there are questions I have chosen not to ask, so let us not spoil it, eh?”

  Mircea shook his head fearfully.

  XVII

  The King was as good as his word. The following weeks were taken up with preparing for a double celebration: the official signing of the treaty and the “Dwarfs’ Wedding” as it was called. The latter was regarded b
y almost everyone more as a comic entertainment than the ratification of a union between two deserving people.

  The day after our encounter in the Old Queen’s bedroom Ragul left to inspect troops on the frontier. He must have guessed that despite Razendoringer’s timely interventions it would not be long before Xantho began to ask questions. Before leaving, Ragul gave Razendoringer a ring and told him that he would be back for the wedding. In the meanwhile the gold from Rudolph had begun to arrive. According to Stanislaus the Captain of the guards it had been safely stored in a secret vault but none of it was yet being spent to pay for more troops or new defences and weaponry.

  In this period my hold over the princes’ scholastic progress weakened still further. Mircea, more surly and aggressive than ever, simply refused to work. He spent most of the day hunting and his nights in drinking or whoring. He insulted Rozelinda whenever he could, and having heard — almost certainly from the Count himself — about the book, would invariably ask her to tell him the Story of the Egg. This was poor fooling and should have been ignored but the girl was young and sensitive. Though the power of the Count and his book had been largely exorcised, the wound to her mind remained so that when she saw Mircea coming she would often run and hide in tears.

  Vlad was enraged by his brother’s actions but was afraid to speak out. It was left to Dolabella to ensure that some retribution came to Mircea and it came about very strangely. This was what happened.

  I have not mentioned what was the fate of the musicians who fell with me into the hall. With various injuries to their instruments and their persons they all survived. The most badly hurt was Signior Giardini, the music master, who was severely bruised and broke a wrist, which meant abandoning his playing of the virginals for the time being. The little man was so incensed and indignant about the whole affair that he wanted to leave for Italy at once; though from this he was dissuaded, partly because winter was approaching, but chiefly because he was commissioned, at some expense, to write music for a great spectacle that was to be put on in honour of the treaty with Bohemia. He was less happy to discover that I was to write the words (in Latin) for it.

  I was myself not confident about how I should fare as a dramatist, only having written Latin verses before as an exercise, never ones to be sung at a court masque. But Alexander was insistent that I write it, so I asked him what it should be about.

  “Peace. The glories of Xantho’s reign,” he replied, “and it must involve a flying tortoise.”

  “A flying tortoise? In God’s name why?”

  “Because I have already built one. It is a most ingenious engine, large and strong enough to carry a man on its back and to hold one within the shell to operate the extremities. This tortoise must fly in at the climax of the masque to great applause. I aim to astonish everyone present. It will be a most wonderful occasion. See that you write your verses quickly so that Signior Giardini can set them to music.”

  I puzzled about what I should do and finally came up with this solution of which I am justly proud. I set the masque upon Mount Olympus. The Gods are in dispute as to who is the greatest monarch upon the earth. Pallas Athene sings the virtues of Elizabeth, the virgin queen of England; Mars praises Philip of Spain for his warlike soul; Apollo extols Rudolph of Bohemia for his wise counsel and his love of all branches of natural philosophy and the liberal arts. They appeal to Jupiter for his judgement, and he says that it must be decided by a mortal man for they know best what it is to be ruled by men. They discuss whom they should summon to pass this judgement, and here I must boast of my stroke of genius. The Gods decide it must be a man both valiant, wise and moreover a great poet, one who died honouring the gods. And so they summon—

  I am sure the reader has guessed it. Yes! They summon the poet Aeschylus! Now you will endorse my claim to genius in this instance. What could be more natural than that the poet should arrive in Olympus from the Elysian fields on a flying tortoise? Why? Because, as you all know, Aeschylus died from having a tortoise dropped on his head from a great height by an eagle who mistook his bald cranium for a rock on which to crack open the shell!

  Well, Aeschylus arrives thus in the gods’ abode, riding on the instrument of his own demise. And he gives his judgement. No, it is none of the monarchs that the gods have mentioned who is the greatest. It is Xantho of Transylvania. Aeschylus recalls how he himself fought the Persians at Marathon and makes so bold as to remark that Xantho is equally valiant in defending Christendom from the infidel Turk. Moreover Xantho is wise, generous, noble-hearted and so forth. To conclude the work, all the gods unite with the poet to sing the praises of Xantho:

  “All hail great Xantho, lord of war and peace!

  The Gods shall bless thee now from Fortune’s store;

  The paean in thy praise shall never cease;

  Thy glories shall be sung for evermore!”

  O, vanity of vanities!

  But to return to my story. This scheme, together with my humble verses, found favour. Alexander even relented in his hostility towards me enough to commend my crafty use of his wonderful tortoise. Signior Giardini applied himself to the composing of his best music for the event and the hiring of fine singers from Italy.

  It was during the final rehearsals for the piece that the incident happened. The weeks of preparation had turned into months. There were rumours that Rudolph himself was coming to celebrate the treaty but it was now winter. Everywhere was cold except the few public rooms, which were kept almost stiflingly hot with blazing log fires. The singers had arrived and were being coached in their music by Giardini, and on this particular day in January the flying tortoise was being tested out for the first time in the Great Hall.

  The minstrel’s gallery had been rebuilt and with it, on Alexander’s instructions, a great wooden baldachin or canopy extending outwards into the Hall with a stage beneath it. I have seen similar structures in the public theatres of England. This was situated directly opposite the dais where the thrones were, so that on special state occasions the monarch would have the best view. Into the baldachin Alexander had incorporated many winches, pulleys and other ingenious devices for the manipulation of stage engines, and in particular the flying tortoise.

  Many of us were gathered in the hall, for warmth chiefly, but also to see the tortoise fly for the first time. Razendoringer had volunteered to ride the tortoise itself, and his affianced bride was looking on anxiously as he took to the air. Dolabella and he had been almost inseparable since their betrothal, and she exhibited the tenderest solicitude for him on every occasion. Standing next to her was Rozelinda who clapped her hands, her eyes sparkling at the wonder of it all.

  “Oh!” she said, “I have always longed to fly. How I would love to ride the tortoise through the air.”

  “No, my lady,” said Dolabella, “do not think of it. These engines are most untrustworthy. It makes me shudder even to look at them.” Nevertheless she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the diminutive figure of her future husband who was seated on the back of the tortoise, negotiating it with some skill as it soared into the air.

  “Oh, how I would love to fly the tortoise.” She turned to me. “Doctor, I know you are the writer of this piece; could you not persuade Alexander to let me ride in it?”

  “I will see you ride in the tortoise if you let me ride with you,” said a voice behind us. It was Mircea. Rozelinda immediately walked away.

  “She does not love me!” said Mircea with a mock sigh.

  “Your Highness,” said Dolabella just as he was about to go, “would you like to ride with her in the tortoise?”

  Mircea laughed. “That I would. To bruise a young girl’s virginity while suspended in mid-air. That would be something to sing about!”

  To my surprise the Lady Dolabella laughed. “It may be possible to arrange,” she said. As she spoke her eyes never left Razendoringer who had safely landed at the front of the stage and was now opening the shell to let out the engineer who had been working the strings inside it. There
was just enough space for two within.

  “Why should you want to arrange it for me?” said Mircea suspiciously.

  “Do you not think my mistress is too haughty for her own good?” she said.

  Mircea laughed. “Have you felt the rough edge of her little tongue, then?” he said.

  “Her only fourteen!” she said. “A mere slip of a girl!” Mircea laughed again.

  “If it’s revenge you’re after, I think I can help you,” he said.

  Dolabella nodded. “We meet here again an hour after the end of supper in the hall. We will have some sport. No more now, Your Highness. We should not be seen together.” Mircea smiled, put his finger to his lips and moved away much delighted with himself.

  “What game are you playing, Dolabella?” I asked her.

  “Revenge, as the Prince said. Will you help me?” I looked at her resolute little face and nodded.

  This is the comedy of human nature: that all our wit deserts us when we begin to believe what we want to believe. There was in this Mircea a longing for Rozelinda, it had been pulling at him for some time; true, it expressed itself almost purely in lust and cruelty, but there was no-one he so much wanted to be lustful and cruel with, and so the fish was easily hooked.

  That night, after feasting in the Great Hall, Dolabella, Razendoringer and I lingered. Razendoringer showed me how to negotiate the ropes so that the tortoise flew. It required considerable skill, but little strength because it operated on an elaborate system of counterweights. We were all a little afraid that Alexander might come in to inspect his precious invention, but he was occupied with state business. At length the last of the scullions and sweepers had left the Hall; the great fire still blazed and we were alone. I began to have doubts about this escapade, but kept them to myself.