by Dan Davis
I sighed, rubbing my eyes. “What?”
He smiled. “Best blood of all is blood of child.”
I kept my eyes on him but it was clear he did not speak in jest. “A child’s blood is stronger than a man’s? How can that be so?”
“Child’s blood hold’s all force of life. What child may become is in blood. Drink this blood, take whole life. A babe’s blood is best. From mother’s belly, from breast. Or blood of girl who soon becomes woman.”
“By God,” I said. “By God, I shall never do such evil.”
He snorted. “No. I know this.”
I knew what he meant when he said it. Weak.
“William drank the blood of my brother’s children,” I said, suddenly recalling it. “My half-brother who was the son of my mother. William killed him, and his wife, and he tore apart—” I broke off, unable to speak of the horror.
Priskos regarded me coldly. “William understand this. William will take what needs to be taken. He will travel path to greatness. To everlasting fame. To glory.”
“If doing evil is the price for your idea of greatness, I shall never pay it.”
“Then you fail.”
I nodded slowly, growing angry. “Because I am weak.”
His smile grew into a grin, showing big yellow teeth. “It is law. Weak die. Strong live.”
I shook my head. “As a knight, it is my duty to defend the weak from the strong.”
“Yes, yes,” he said, nodding. “This good, yes. This how we make our people safe. Our own people. Outsiders we destroy. This why to protect your people, you must become strong. Stay strong. Always.”
“Very well,” I said. “I understand.”
Priskos seemed doubtful about my understanding but he did not pursue it any further.
“Enough, now. You will learn this, or you will die.”
As I watched the woman, whose name I still did not know, bustling about the cave that was her prison, I resolved two things.
First, I decided that I would escape.
And I swore that I would rescue that woman and save her from her confinement at the hands of the monster who was my grandfather.
A true knight would save a maiden from the dragon. Arthur’s knights, Sir Gawain and Sir Percival, would have risked all to rescue a lady from imprisonment. Lancelot’s son, virtuous Galahad, would never have hesitated to do what was required.
One hundred and eighty years old, I was, and still a bloody fool.
14. Rescuing the Maiden
In the dark of the night, I lay awake listening to the steady breathing of the man who could kill me at will and trying to get up the nerve to make my escape.
After eating a fair meal with me in something close to silence at midday, Priskos had disappeared outside for hours.
I wondered then what he did to occupy his days. What purpose he had taken for himself. Did he spend his hours praying to his strange gods? Was he practising his skill at arms? Contemplating the great mysteries? Whatever it was, it seemed to be an empty life and a lonely one.
In his absence, I considered fleeing but did not know if I would run right into him in the woods outside. The woman would not speak to me and made an effort to be wherever I was not. Priskos returned before dark without a word and gestured that I should sleep on the floor again before he and the woman turned in.
I thought it likely that he would allow me to leave, should I ask it of him. But he had admitted to murdering his own sons and grandsons before and even more he had suggested that he felt it was some sort of duty to do so. He claimed that he had allowed William to leave but was that true or had William outwitted Priskos, as our grandmother had once done? And even if he had allowed William to leave, clearly he thought much less of me than he did my brother.
I was keenly aware that I was at his mercy, so fleeing in the night was a risk as it would certainly violate basic rules of hospitality to do so. Yet staying in the hope of being released may have been no safer and as taking action is almost always better than not doing so, I was certain that I would flee into the woodland. I believed that I could get miles away before sunrise, steal a horse and be away for good.
But the thought of leaving that woman there alone with him weighed heavily upon me. How could I in good conscience leave her in such a condition when I knew she was there against her will, facing certain death when he grew bored with her or when her belly swelled with a child?
And yet taking her with me would be an appalling risk. She would slow my progress so much that I doubted we could get away.
I knew what a chivalrous knight would do. But my noble act for that woman may well end up condemning my dear Eva and my closest friend Thomas to an agonising death. Back and forth, my mind went, playing through all the possibilities. Perhaps I could restrain Priskos in his bed? But if I failed then that would certainly seal my fate. I had considered poisoning his meal, as my grandmother had done but even if I could have found the correct plants, I had no idea how to prepare them so that their presence would go undetected in his beer. I knew that my best chance would be to dash his brains out with a rock while he slept, and then to perhaps burn his body so that he could not recover. But even though the man was clearly evil, I was not prepared to murder him in his bed.
Just as I was erring on the side of cowardice, she stirred in her bed and then climbed from it. I could see from the light of the single candle that she pulled a shawl around her shoulders and stepped by me on her way out of the cave.
I took it as a sign from God to do the honourable thing. It seemed as though He wanted me to save her, that He was testing my faith and my honour, and I resolved to do as the Lord commanded.
Priskos continued to snore, his breathing regular and steady. I carefully slipped from my blanket and crept after her. As I saw the light grey outline of the world beyond, I heard her passing water near the mouth of the cave. She was startled when I appeared and I held my hands out to show I meant no harm.
Still, she held herself very still.
“I am leaving, now,” I said, pointing at myself and then out into the dark woodland. “Will you come with me?”
Without hesitation, she grasped one of my hands and dragged me out into the world.
Dear God, I thought, give our feet wings and guide our way through the darkness.
We rushed headlong into the abyssal black shadow, our bare feet pounding the forest floor hard and fast and not caring that we cut our feet on the stones and twigs and thorns on the path. She seemed to somehow know where to go and so I allowed her to lead me for the time being, hoping as I did merely to get as far from the cave as possible before he began his pursuit, assuming he did do so. Would he wake once he sensed the warmth beside him turn cold? Or would he snore away in oblivion until the dawn?
Branches whipped my face and I stumbled on a rock, rolling my ankle and hobbling for a few steps until I recovered. She fell, later, and I helped her up to find her drenched in sweat and shaking from the cold and the exertion. How much further could she flee at such a pace? Her breathing was heavy and she fought for air. The unchivalrous thought that I should leave her was motivated by fear and I shook it off.
“Come,” I said, softly, “we must continue on. As long as we can.”
How much she understood, I still did not know, but she caught my meaning well enough. Soon, I was the one dragging her along as her pace slowed further and further. At last, it was unavoidable that I scoop her up into my arms so that I could keep moving with rapid, short steps. She buried her head in my neck but also I felt that she looked over my shoulder, behind me, watching for the pursuit that would surely come.
It was not long before my own breathing grew laboured and loud. While it felt as though I had run for uncounted hours, the sun was beginning to brighten the sky above the trees to the west. The shadows grew deeper even as the greys and purples of the pre-dawn edged the trunks and boulders all around.
“Is there a village?” I asked. “Near here? Horses? Where?”
For the first time in a while, she lifted her head and looked around with alarm. “Die klamm!” she said, pointing ahead. “The gorge!”
I had brought us to the edge of a shallow ravine. I could not see the bottom as it was too dark, though I could not hear a river below. Even if it was dry, I doubted climbing down into it would be the best decision.
“Which way?” I asked.
She pointed north and I hurried that way, being sure to keep the gorge on my right and to watch my forward step as best I could so that I did not stumble headlong into a side channel or some other fissure.
The sky grew lighter and my heart thumped in my chest like a drum. Although I did not wish to stop for long, I had to catch my breath for a moment and stretch my back while I put her down.
“Is there a village?” I asked, panting, “This way?”
“This way,” she said, echoing me. The daylight was growing with every moment and I saw the fear and the determination on her face.
“Very well. Are you ready, my dear?”
“Osanna,” she said, touching her fingers to her chest.
“A lovely name. Where is your own village? Is it far? Do they have horses for riding there?”
Before she could answer, something rushed from the darkness and struck me from behind.
I fell, hard. As I rolled and jumped to my feet I was smacked in the side of the head and my vision exploded. I drifted in and out of wakefulness as I was savaged and beaten bloody. It was so sudden that I felt little pain, just the sense of being thrashed. I had been trampled by horses more than once in my life and it was far worse even than that. Ribs snapped. It hurt to breathe. I lashed out and caught my attacker on his head and in response my forearm was grasped in a grip of iron and then my bones were snapped like twigs just above my wrist. I was screaming in anger and fear. My head hit a rock, or perhaps my skull was cracked with the back of an axe but I felt and heard the bones of my head breaking.
When I returned to consciousness, Priskos stood over me. I could barely move from the agony of my ruined body. It was light enough to see by but my vision was badly blurred. When I attempted to curse him, all I could manage was a strange moan. My jaw was broken.
He reached down and picked me up by the neck and held me in front of him. My arms did not appear to work and I was as helpless as a baby.
Without a word, he did something to my face, pushing his fingers against my cheeks. Only later, as I recalled the events, was it that I realised that he had pushed my left eyeball back inside my shattered eye socket.
Hoisting me up further, he twisted and threw me into the ravine.
***
A noise woke me. Some steady sound at the edge of my consciousness pulling me back into wakefulness. Perhaps it was the smell of blood that roused me.
Though the ravine was in deep shadow, it was full daylight high above.
I was face down in soft leaf litter. I knew I was dying. Pain held me rigid but I forced myself to lift my head and look around.
The sound was the wheezing breath coming from the woman lying near me.
Her throat had been cut or punctured and her chest was covered with blood. Her eyes were open and her mouth moved.
I groaned and her eyes flicked toward me.
Behind her eyes, I saw terrible agony and hatred for me, who had failed her so completely.
With great effort, I dragged myself through the leaf litter toward her an inch at a time. The smell of cold, damp fungus in the leaf litter filled my smashed nose.
Osanna might have died at any moment and yet she clung to life, even though she surely knew she had no hope.
She lay motionless on her back. Not even her fingers twitched. It was such a fall from the edge of the ravine above that it was likely she had broken her back in the fall, if Priskos had not snapped it himself before throwing her down. Her legs were twisted and perhaps her pelvis was broken.
Pulling myself up to her, I believed I knew why he had done this to her. He had even cut her throat for me.
He meant for me to drink from her.
If I did nothing, she would certainly die and then I would die also.
That did little to make me feel better but my choice was really quite simple. Did I want to live or did I want to die?
I shifted myself, inch by inch, up to her throat and clamped my mouth over her wound. She was already cold to the touch and her blood sticky and thick about the wound but when I sucked, the hot blood flowed into my mouth.
It was not very long before her breathing stopped and her heart ceased beating. My belly was full enough and I turned over. Already, I felt the blood working in me and still I lost consciousness.
“Sir Richard,” a voice said. It had been saying it repeatedly but I had been unable to respond. A hand slapped my face lightly.
I was cold and I shivered. It was late in the day and I had lain in shadow for hours in no more than a bloody undershirt.
“Walter?” I said, my voice a harsh croak.
Walt was alive? How could it be?
“Thank the Lord,” Walt said. “Thought you was a goner, sir.”
“Help me up,” I muttered.
He had already carried me away from Osanna’s body and he had mercifully laid a cloak over her face and chest.
“I saw you die,” I said to Walt.
“And die I did, sir. Then those fellows, Peter and his giant brother Christman, poured a great cup of hot blood down my throat and then I was dead no longer. Peter told me some fanciful tales, so he did, and then later he told me my master needed me. Told me to take you home. Brought me nearby, gave me back our horses and even packs with supplies and pointed me to you. The horses are up there, sir, if you can try to stand?”
Priskos was up there somewhere, likely already back in his cave. After all he had done, I wished nothing more than to find him and kill him. Then again, he was stronger than I could have imagined. Attempting to take revenge on him would have certainly led to my death. And he had allowed me to live when he could so easily have killed me. Through that act, I sensed that he had gifted me life. I would be foolish to throw it away.
I got to my feet.
“Let us be gone from this damned black place.”
It was a long way back.
To strengthen my blood, I had to find men, kill them, and drink their blood.
According to Priskos, if I killed enough of them, I would be able to save the lives of Eva and Thomas with the power of the blood in my veins.
15. Becoming the Dragon
I wanted to be gone from that evil land, with its close hills and black shadows beneath unnaturally upright trees.
On and on it went.
It seemed to me that we were followed and watched, from the darkness of twisted roots and moss-covered rocks beside the winding tracks. I pushed us onward, allowing little rest.
Every other step, I saw the dying face of Osanna, staring at me in condemnation of my failure.
Walter had died for me but he had been reborn as an immortal. I owed him a frank and full explanation of what that meant.
“What fanciful tales did Peter tell you?” I asked. “Why did they bring you back from the point of death? They must have done so immediately.”
Walt shrugged. “Peter said you might need a strong servant, if his father ever decided to let you go.”
“What if he did not let me go?”
“Funny, sir. That’s what I asked the fellow. Peter said if that happened, they would just have to kill me along with you.”
“He explained that you needed to drink human blood from now on?”
Walt scratched his chin. “He said a lot of stuff what sounded like drivel. Lot of talk about living forever and whatnot. Wasn’t following the fellow all that close, truth be told, sir. I never put much stock in the tripe that priests babble on about. I kept asking that giant what it was all about, on account that innkeepers tend to be the salt of the earth, but I reckon that big lad was simple. Proper simple
. Never said nothing.”
“What about when they let you go? When they gave you these horses?”
“He said you had gone and betrayed his father and you deserved death but you had to be saved. He was right angered about it. Bitter fellow, that Peter. Still, told me to do my duty and get you out.”
It took a few days to explain it all to Walt, going over some of my life story a number of times before we left the Schwarzwald proper.
He took it rather well.
I did not, however, trust Walt with the knowledge that the blood of infants and young women was the most potent of all. He was not an evil man, far from it, but commoners have always lacked the restraint that comes more naturally to the better-born.
“So, he said you had been too good, sir?” Walt said, furrowing his brow. “You been too chivalrous and honourable and the like and so the blood what is in your veins lacks the strength to heal them? That what he said, then, is it, sir?”
We had ridden far to the north and the Rhine valley was down to the west. I was searching for a route down from the hills so we could head back to the lands of civilised Frenchmen who I could murder.
“Not in so many words. But yes.”
“Bit of a surprise, that, though. Seeing how you killed about three score men before my own eyes since I first met you, sir.”
“Perhaps I should have drunk their blood before I killed them.”
“Can’t see that sort of thing going down well with old King Edward, sir.”
“No.”
“But what if he was wrong, sir? The ancient gentleman. Perhaps it is not that your blood is weaker than his but this plague is worse than anything he has seen before in all his long years?”
“It oft surprises me how your profound ignorance does not hinder your ability to reason.”
He picked something from his nose. “Yes, sir.”
“I cannot know whether it will work. Yet there is nothing else but to try.”
“You mean we have to kill some strong fellows and drink their blood, sir?” He curled his lip into a disgusted snarl as he spoke. He was not one to shy away from a little murder when necessary but the thought of drinking a man’s blood was anathema even to a man like Walt.