The Dracula Papers, Book I: The Scholar's Tale
Page 29
Before we reached it we began to hear a strange sound, a multitudinous squeaking, like a million twittering birds in a cathedral and when we came to the Rat King’s chambers we saw why. The floor, indeed every available inch of space that was not absolutely vertical, was a sea of grey and black rats, and in the middle of them, mother naked, stood the Rat King himself.
“Here I am,” he said. “I have summoned my armies, as you see. Which is the greater, Prince? Your army or mine.”
“Yours will be the glory, O King of Rats,” said Vlad.
At that the Rat King, on careful feet, tripped across his army to the ring in the wall, opened the hidden door and let his stream of rats flow down the steps towards the entrance to the outside world. For a moment I contemplated the possibility of escaping forever from Castle Dracula. If only I had attempted it!
The passage which led out of the castle went by a swiftly flowing culvert which carried a stream of fresh water through the castle rock. It also drained the waste from the castle which, despite its many shortcomings, was a clean place to live.
The army of rats, with their monarch, had gone on ahead of us so that we were undisturbed. But none of us, except Vlad and Ragul, felt sure of the enterprise we were undertaking. No-one spoke; each of us consulted his own private terrors.
As we approached the hidden opening to the world outside, the passage narrowed and separated itself from the stream; its sides ceased to be rock and became earth. We felt a breeze of fresh air on our faces, then we were struggling through a belt of undergrowth, and at length found ourselves by a pool in a hollow of the woods under the stars. It was the same pool where I had seen Vlad pay his last farewell to the Lady Rozelinda.
Nearby we heard the noises of a great encampment in slumber and the air was pink with innumerable camp fires. Our men struggled up the side of the hollow. A guard shouted at us and Razendoringer shouted back in Turkish. I asked Ragul what was to happen and he replied that at any moment the rats would begin to attack the Turkish encampment. In the confusion our false Janissaries would pass through the army till we reached the guns in the artillery park. Verney would then explode the barrels of the guns with petards, after which we would make our way back, killing as many Turks as we could during our progress. I inquired how we were to find our way back. Ragul bound a strip of white linen round one of the trees. Every fifty yards he would do this until we were in the camp. But we all needed luck to return alive, he said.
We marched in silence through the wood, encountering a few sleepy outposts as we did. There seemed no danger of our being suspected in such a vast encampment. Razendoringer muttered something to one of the Turkish sentinels about being the relief garrison for the guns and the man obligingly pointed the way for us. Our progress was made simpler because all Ottoman camps are constructed on a grid system with broad dirt highways bisecting the various regimental divisions while in the centre there is always the commander’s tent with its luxurious appurtenances. We were able to go quickly at first along the straight paths, though Ragul would occasionally slow us down fearing to arouse attention, but the world was asleep and the night was clear and silent. I envied the Turks their situation. I would rather have been with them in the open than shut up in the mad darkness of Castle Dracula.
I was walking in front with Vlad and Ragul. Vlad stepped lightly, his eyes sparkling, as fear was a stranger to him, but Ragul was beginning to fret. He began to mutter about the rats: when would they begin to overrun the camp? He should never have trusted that madman.
At that moment we arrived at a crossroads and it was there that we heard the faint screech which we knew to be the call of the Rat King. Ragul merely nodded and pointed to a track which ran at right angles to the path on which we had been travelling. We began to follow this road.
Just as clouds will suddenly begin to mass in a clear sky, then become grey and heavy, then boom with thunder and begin to discharge their watery load, all in the space of time that it takes to sing a round, so events in the Turkish camp suddenly began to turn rapidly from calm to storm. We heard a disturbance at one end of the camp, shouting and some cries of terror. Then, like some unfelt wind, the unease began to spread. Turks rose from their sleep. They jabbered at us, perhaps asking what the agitation was about, but we merely shrugged and passed on.
Then we saw the first of them: a small rat slipping into a cooking pot to sample the leavings; soon we were seeing hundreds, then thousands, gnawing at the guy-ropes of tents, tearing up clothes, maddening horses, raiding food stores. The Turks, who are for the most part a very clean people, were enraged by this invasion. They tried to beat them off with sticks and swords, but the rats were too nimble for them. Now the whole camp was in an uproar. Several tents had been set on fire to rout out these beasts. Ragul hurried us on our way.
The track which we had chosen led directly up to the palisaded enclosure where the guns were kept and this was more carefully guarded than other areas of the camp. One of the officers came out of the enclosure to request our authorization for entry but his throat was instantly cut and our men poured into the artillery park.
Now our men revealed themselves: they tore off their moustaches and set about slaughtering the artillerymen. It was not long before we held the artillery park as a stronghold, though the camp was in such an uproar over the rats that the Ottomans were hardly aware of the seizure.
This was Verney’s moment. With him we went round every gun, ramming it with a petard which is an explosive charge constructed so as to blow inwards, down the barrel and destroy the gun. The laying of each petard took time, during which news had reached the Turks that the park was in enemy hands. Owing to the confusion there was no concerted attack and our men were more than holding their own, but this could not last. Ragul shouted to Verney to light the charges. We would break out during the explosions.
But Verney took pride in his work and was not to be hurried. The barrels were carefully primed and sealed, then the carriages were smeared with naphtha so that they would burn. By this time one of the Turkish commanders was directing a squadron of heavily armed Spahis against the palisade. We were utterly surrounded; moreover if we delayed a fraction too long in the park we would be blown up with the guns ourselves.
Presently a corps of madcaps, whose religious sensibilities had been particularly enraged by the advent of rats, were taking a battering ram to the gates of the palisade. Ragul shouted frantically to Verney to light the charges. Vlad was calmly mustering men at the gate ready to break out as soon as the guns were near to exploding. Each time the ram hit the gates we could see them sag inwards as the wooden bars groaned. Meanwhile Verney was lighting the fuses. The gate began to split under pressure from the ram.
Vlad called the men off the palisade ramparts. The fuses were now burning. Suddenly the gates of the palisade toppled sideways off their hinges, finally broken by the madcaps’ ram.
Not waiting for any command Vlad led his men straight at the advancing madcaps, the rest of us merely following. The madcaps dropped the ram and were overrun by Vlad’s charge, but waiting behind them was a regiment of Spahis. We ploughed into them, but met determined resistance. There were five hundred of us in a camp of a hundred thousand; it was only a matter of time before we were overwhelmed. I myself was in the middle of a press of our men, unable even to draw my sword, still wearing my wretched horsehair moustache which I had forgotten to remove. As I tore it off I remember thinking how absurd it would have been to die in this disguise.
Suddenly the sky and the earth were split apart with thunder and flame. Metal and wood were thrown high in the air and rained down on friend and foe alike. The explosions had been all but simultaneous, perhaps one setting off another. The Spahi regiment before us shrank in terror and amazement, almost to a man. Our men, who had been expecting this event, were less taken aback and so were able to seize the advantage. We charged through the Spahis, killing more in our rush than with our swords. After this it was every man for himself.
The Turkish camp was in utter confusion. The blast had not only woken everyone who was not already fighting rats, it had also thrown burning debris everywhere. Numerous fires had started. A store of powder kegs blew up and caused further confusion. The confidence of the great Ottoman army was turned to dismay and confusion. I heard later that some regiments even began fighting each other, the rumour having got around that a group of Turkish soldiery had turned traitor.
As for me, I simply ran, putting as much distance between myself and the explosion as I possibly could. That night I saw many strange things and many faces of fear, for fear, when it unexpectedly visits a victorious, all-conquering group of people, is doubly fearsome. As I ran I saw a great bonfire on the top of which a white-haired man danced and shrieked. His legs and his white hair were already black. It was the Rat King who had finally been caught. He was calling on his rats to aid him, but they were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they too had been terrified by the explosion.
In front of the fire, surrounded by a hedge of Janissary guards, stood a huge man, made all the vaster by the great turban on his head. He had a massive hooked nose and a grizzled spade beard and he was watching the death throes of this wretched old man impassively, almost solemnly, as if he were attending some religious rite. Despite my fear and haste I stopped to look at the huge Turk as there was something about him which commanded attention.
This, as I subsequently discovered, was none other than the Sultan’s Grand Vizier himself, Mehmet Sokolly. At that time he was one of the most powerful people in the world. He had been first aroused to anger than night when, in the very act of enjoying his favourite concubine, his tent had fallen on him, rats having gnawed through all the guy-ropes. Nothing that happened subsequently that night had done anything to improve his temper.
The spectacle so fascinated me that I lost all sense of fear and time until I felt a sharp tug at my sleeve. “Learned doctor, we must go,” said a familiar voice. It was Razendoringer, and for a few moments my joy at finding him knew no bounds.
“We still have some way to go before we come to the secret way back to the castle. People are calmer now. They will be more suspicious. Cover your eyes with this. I will lead you.” He produced a dirty piece of linen covered in blood which he made me tie over my eyes.
Thus led in darkness by the dwarf I reached the secret entrance to the castle. Whenever we were stopped Razendoringer would say that I had been blinded by the explosion, and I would cry out in pain. Invariably the Turks would show compassion and ask no further questions.
By the time we reached the hollow just beyond the Turkish camp, grey dawn was beginning to show above the line of trees. At the entrance to the secret passage stood Vlad. His eyes were gleaming and a grinning set of teeth flashed in his grimy, bloodstained face.
“How many did you kill tonight?” he asked.
I replied that I could not say. He clapped me on the back. I did not feel that there was affection in that gesture, but there was a sense of triumph so abundant that it overflowed into goodwill. There was more than enough glory to go round for all of us that night, especially since little more than half of those who embarked on the expedition got safely back to the castle.
The next few hours are dim in my memory, but I remember hearing the following morning that Ragul, at the head of all the cavalry he could muster, had ridden into the devastated Ottoman camp and slaughtered many. Like the able commander that he was he had pursued his advantage to the very limit. I have no idea what the exact toll was, but there were rumours that the total effective fighting force of the Grand Turk was reduced by almost a half.
However that may be, it is true that the following day, Sokolly sent an embassy to discuss terms. This Xantho received with a great show of condescension in the Great Hall. I should say that, by this time, Vlad and Ragul had become the heroes of the hour. They could have taken over the kingdom such as it was unopposed, yet both wore their laurels with a great show of modesty, natural perhaps in the case of Ragul whose bitter experience had deprived him of self-esteem; but Vlad I knew was glowing inside from his first taste of glory. He even asked me to help him to pen a letter in Latin to the Lady Rozelinda giving an account of his exploits. How he expected this missive to reach her I could not say.
The jealousy that these events aroused in Xantho, and particularly Mircea, was considerable. Mircea complained bitterly that he was not consulted about the raid on the guns and even threatened to have Ragul arraigned for acting without his permission as commander of the garrison, but Alexander persuaded him not to adopt this course. His real hatred however was directed against Vlad who had stolen the glory that was rightly his as the oldest Prince of the blood.
The Turkish embassy offered honourable terms to Xantho. The Ottomans would not enter the castle and its inhabitants would be allowed to keep their weapons. In return King Xantho would formally admit the Sultan’s sovereignty, allow free passage for his troops across Transylvanian land and pay an annual tribute. It seemed to me that Xantho was very eager to accept these conditions, but Ragul made it clear that he scorned them and that he would not tolerate any compromise from Xantho. As I have said, Ragul was no politician but at that moment he had nearly every able bodied man in the castle on his side. Vlad kept his own counsel.
For a long time Xantho and Alexander held a whispered conference. At one point Mircea was drawn over to consult with them. Then, in the most formal terms possible, Xantho rejected their offer. The ambassadors were then offered hospitality, which they declined, and soon after they took their leave. It was quite by chance that I noticed one curious circumstance. Six men had come on the Grand Turk’s embassy, but it seemed to me that only five left the castle.
It was something which I disregarded at the time because the following days were fully occupied. Xantho, it seemed, once more assumed control of the reins of government. He ordered Ragul to conduct no more raids into the enemy camp, but in stead everyone was to set about repairing the shattered walls, in which task we were utterly unmolested by the Turks. Ragul and Vlad chafed at this unwarlike activity, yet, though they continued to make plans of action, their loyalty to the King prevented them from putting them into practice.
Within two days after the raid on the Turkish cannon the walls had been adequately repaired. A strange, untrustworthy kind of stillness descended.
One evening, some three days after the raid, Vlad, Ragul and I were sitting in the guardroom by the Queen’s apartments. Ragul liked to be there, for it was near to his mistress, though he had been forbidden on pain of death to visit her. Suddenly the door burst open and Razendoringer entered the room.
“We are betrayed!” he shouted.
I had never seen him in such a state. This usually phlegmatic person was barely coherent, but at last we got his story from him. It was as follows.
He had been down to a storeroom on the lower levels to fetch certain herbs which the Lady Dolabella required as she was making a posset to soothe the troubled brain of the Queen. Coming away from the storeroom he heard two people coming down the passage and making for the former Rat King’s domain. Razendoringer hid behind a pillar, then followed them from a safe distance. The two were Alexander and Mircea.
They were talking in low voices and he could not understand what they were saying. When they came to the Rat King’s cell they went in while Razendoringer remained outside. Presently he heard a third voice talking with a strong Turkish accent. The dwarf looked in through the door and saw that the entrance to the secret passageway was open. Standing there with Mircea and Alexander was one of the Turkish ambassadors, the one, I guessed, who had secretly stayed behind in the castle.
Vlad had gone white with fury. The hand that gripped his sword hilt trembled, but it was Ragul who
seized the moment.
“There is not a second to lose. We gather as many men as we can and meet at the lower level. Even now it may be too late!”
The dwarf and I picked up torches and followed Vlad who had flung himself out of the door almost before Ragul finished speaking. We ran across courtyards and down steps and as we ran we shouted: “Enemy within the gates! Follow us!” By the time we were making our way downwards towards the lower galleries we had at least a hundred men with us. Vlad was leaping down the steps in front, risking a fall countless times, but that night he was as sure footed as a mountain goat. Razendoringer and I did our best to keep up with him, and it was a wonder we did not injure ourselves.
We had arrived at a landing just before the final descent into the low galleries when suddenly Vlad let out a cry. Standing below us was the figure of Mircea, a blazing torch in one hand, a sword in the other. At that moment he saw Vlad and a look of fear came over his face, almost immediately replaced by fury. He was just about to speak when Vlad, who had run down half a flight of steps, leapt at Mircea.
The torch flew from Mircea’s hand as Vlad landed on top of him. Vlad was by far the lighter and not nearly full grown but Mircea could not resist his fury. Vlad tried to slash at him with his sword but was unable to put strength into the blow in such a confined space while Mircea fought back with nails, teeth, feet, anything. The soldiers looked on astonished at the duel of the two princes.
Their mystification did not last long for round the corner at that moment came a corps of Janissaries, scimitars drawn. The situation was desperate.
In another instant Vlad would be overrun and killed. I drew my sword and, hoping the others would follow, charged down the steps. A huge Janissary had dragged Vlad off Mircea and was knocking his head against a wall. I stumbled into him, my sword by great good fortune piercing his vitals. The Janissary released Vlad who was pulled free by Razendoringer. In his agony the Janissary hurled me sideways with a tremendous blow of his sword hilt, deafening me for a time and causing the blood to flow from my temple. But he himself was then overtaken by the rush of our men. The last I saw of Mircea he was trying to crawl back wounded into the ranks of the Turk.