by Tom Holland
‘“So Hades, then, is a greater god than Allah, in your view?”
‘“Oh yes.” The Pasha laughed softly. “Oh yes, indeed.”
‘“There are steps inside the kiosk.”
‘The Pasha nodded.
‘“I would very much like to see what lies beyond them.”
‘“Impossible, milord, I am afraid. You forget that the underworld is only for the dead.”
‘“So have you entered it yourself, Your Excellency?”
‘The Pasha’s smile was as cold as ice. “Goodnight, milord.”
‘I bowed my head. “Goodnight, Your Excellency.” I turned, and walked towards the staircase that led to my room. Immediately, Yannakos shuffled after me. I turned round again. “Oh, I was just wondering - the slave girl, Haidée - where is she tonight?” The Pasha stared at me. “Only I noticed,” I went on, “she wasn’t serving us. I was afraid, perhaps, that she might not be well.”
‘“She was a little feverish,” said the Pasha at last.
‘“Nothing serious, I hope?”
‘“Nothing at all.” His eyes gleamed. “Goodnight, milord.”
‘“Goodnight.”
‘I climbed to my bedroom. Yannakos followed me. I locked the door, of course, but I knew that he was outside, guarding, waiting. All most awkward. I lay down to sleep, then felt something under my pillow. I reached beneath it, and drew out Haidée’s crucifix. There was a note attached to it: “My dearest Byron, keep this next to you. I am well. Be brave, whatever happens.” She had signed it, “Eleutheria” - Freedom. I smiled, and lit a candle. I paused - then lit as many candles as I could find. I placed them round my bed, so that they formed a wall of light, then burned the note over one of the flames. I watched it turn to ash. As I did so, my eyelids began to droop. I felt a terrible weariness. Before I even knew it, I had fallen asleep.
‘He came to me in my dreams. I couldn’t move; I couldn’t breathe; there was no sound but the rhythm of blood in my ears. He was on me, a loathsome thing of darkness, heavy and taloned like a bird of prey, but as he fed on me, drinking from my chest, his lips felt as soft as leeches, fat and full with blood. I struggled to open my eyes; I had thought they were already open, but there was no sign of the candle flames, nothing but darkness, and it was suffocating me. I looked up and thought I saw the Pasha’s face. He smiled at me, a pale faint smile of desire, but then, when I looked into his eyes, there was nothing in the sockets, only pits of emptiness. I seemed to be falling into them. Darkness was eternal and everything. I screamed, but made no sound, and then I too was a part of the darkness. There was nothing else.
‘I was feverish all the next day. I slipped in and out of consciousness, so that I could never be certain what was real, and what was not. I thought that the Pasha appeared by my bed. He was holding the crucifix in his hands, and laughing at me. “Really, milord - I am disappointed! If I have contempt for my own religion, why should I show any respect for yours?”
‘“You believe in a world of spirits, don’t you?”
‘The Pasha smiled and turned away. I reached out after him. “You believe in it, don’t you?” I asked again. “You believe - in this castle - that the passageways are walked by the dead?”
‘“That is a quite different matter,” said the Pasha in a calm voice, turning back to me.
‘“Why?” I was sweating violently now. The Pasha sat down beside me, and stroked my arm. I wrested it free. “I don’t understand,” I told him. “Last night - I was visited by a spirit. You know that, don’t you, or is it just that I am delirious?” The Pasha smiled and said nothing, his eyes like silver water. “How can there be such things, then,” I asked, “and yet there be no God? Please, tell me, I am fascinated, I want to know. How can it be?”
‘The Pasha rose to his feet. “I do not say there is no God,” he said. His face seemed darkened suddenly, by a frown of melancholy and haughty despair. “A God may exist, milord - but if he does, then he has no interest in us. Listen - I have passed through horrors, and made myself familiar with Eternity. I have plumbed the interminable realms of space, and the infinity of endless ages; I have spent long nights in strange sciences, and measured the secrets of both spirits and man. World by world, star by star, universe by universe, I have sought for a God.” He paused, and snapped his fingers in my face. “I have found nothing, milord. We are alone, you and I.” I struggled to say something, but he cut me short with a gesture of his hand. He bent low beside me, and I felt his lips brush my cheek. “If you would share my wisdom,” he whispered softly in my ear, “then you must dive, as I have done, into the caves of death.” I felt him kiss me again. “Sorrow is knowledge, milord,” he whispered, and his breath was as soft as a breeze across my skin. “You must remember only this” - his lips caressed my own, so that his words were like a kiss - “the Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life.”
‘He was gone - and I slipped back into the swamp of my dreams. Time had no meaning for me, and hours, days perhaps, passed in a feverish haze. But Yannakos was always there, and whenever I returned to consciousness, I would see his cold eyes watching me. I began to recover. I saw, to my horror, that a thin wound ran across my chest; sometimes I tried to get up, to find Haidée, to confront the Pasha, but Yannakos would stand between me and the door, and I felt too weak to challenge him yet. Once, I almost made it past him, but his hands clutched me, and they were so cold and dead that I felt a shiver of fever running through my blood. I crawled back to my couch; tiredness was pressing on my eyelids again; I was asleep almost before I had reached the rugs.
‘In my dream, I was in the Pasha’s tower. He didn’t speak, but led me across to his telescope. I looked through it: I saw stars and galaxies, spinning away into eternity, and then it seemed that we were treading space ourselves, a dark wilderness of interminable air. The Pasha smiled, and pointed; I looked; behind us was a small blue dot, and as we moved onwards like sunbeams, it grew tinier and tinier, gathering a halo of light around it, so that it seemed like all the other stars, and then it disappeared, and there was nothing but a mass of innumerable lights. Our world is so little, I thought, stunned and intoxicated by all I was being shown. Onwards we swept through space, through a universe of endless expansion, and my soul ached, to see how beautiful it was, and unimaginable. The Pasha turned to me again, and his white hair was crowned by the blaze of countless stars; he smiled; I felt his fingers brush my own, and then his touch was gone.
‘At once, I was in darkness. The air about me now was fetid and dull. I was lying on my back. I struggled to sit up - I could just make out an archway in front of me, and see the vaulted roof above my head. I was in the labyrinth - I tried to scrabble to my feet, but the roof was too low, and so I began to crawl, until the weight of stone was pressing me flat. I felt something brush at my side, and for the first time, I realised I was naked. Fingers were holding my arm; I looked round and saw Yannakos. His white lips were like maggots. I tried to brush him away, but he began to feed on me, and then I felt other lips against my skin, and it was as though I were walled up in a pit of the dead, with nothing but corpses ahead of me, behind me, blocking out my breath. And all the time, there were the creatures’ lips, feeding with the greedy pleasure of grave worms on a living thing, and they were soft, and cold, and damp with my blood. I tried to move; the weight was too suffocating. I tried to scream; a creature’s tongue was coiling in my mouth. I prayed for death; and as the horrors began to fade, I half-believed I had been offered it.
‘I woke up weak, and staring down my body, saw that there were bruises all over my flesh. But I felt purged of fever, and when I opened my bedroom door, Yannakos did not stand in the way. He followed me, of course; I ate, served by the old servant-woman, and read, and occasionally dabbled in a bit of verse. I did not go near the labyrinth, and I did not see the Pasha or Haidée. Once, I tried to saddle my horse, but Yannakos, seeing this, made his views on my intentions very clear by starting to throttle me. I stumbled back from the horse; Ya
nnakos loosed his grip; at once, I turned round and punched him as hard as I could. I had boxed for Harrow; Yannakos staggered and almost fell. Almost - but not quite. Instead, he came back at me, and I, picking up a set of spurs, slashed with them across the monster’s throat. To my horror, the wound had no effect, except to stain my best shirt with the creature’s blood. All that day, I was in despair. How was I ever to escape such a thing? - a thing that could not be killed? That night, I saw it on my balcony, staring at the moon - it turned round to face me, and I saw that its throat was completely healed. I shuddered - and glanced up at the moon myself. It was crescent now, and I wondered if Haidée could see it too. The time was approaching we had agreed on for our escape - but was she even alive? And would I be alive for much longer myself?
‘Each night, you see, I would feel the same drowsiness, and each night, my attempts to fight it would be in vain. The Pasha would show me strange wonders - the history of the earth, or the aeons of space, seeming to pass before my very eyes - but then I would find myself abandoned in the darkness of the labyrinth, and I would wake up with bruises across my skin. But as the moon waned, so also I noticed that the bruises grew less, and I wondered what Haidée had known, when she had warned me to escape beneath a moonless sky. At last, there was nothing of the moon but a sliver of light; and that night, when I slept, the Pasha did not appear to me in his tower. Instead, I dreamed that I was alone; above me stretched the dome of the colossal hall; in front of me, the kiosk, with its steps down into the dark. All was silent; I heard no voices inside my head, whispering of immortality, and yet I knew that the Pasha was summoning me, that I had to join him, in whatever it was that lay beyond the steps. I took a pace forwards; still nothing stirred. My sense of calm deepened, and I knew that I was near some great secret, some key, perhaps, to the riddles of life - yes, I thought, and maybe of death as well. For surely I was entering the depths of which the Pasha had spoken before, out of which grew the Tree of Knowledge, and its forbidden fruit? I began to hurry; there was a door, wide open, at the bottom of the steps; I would pick the apple, and eat of its flesh!
‘“Byron. My Byron.”
‘I stirred.
‘“My Byron!”
‘I opened my eyes.
‘“Haidée.” I sat up to kiss her. She held me tight in her arms, then rose to her feet. She was more beautiful than ever, but pale, deadly pale. “I must go back to him,” she whispered, “but tomorrow - tomorrow we leave.”
‘“Have you been - are you all right?”
‘“Yes.” She smiled, then kissed me again urgently. “The supplies,” she asked, still kissing me, “are they ready yet?”
‘“Your brother has them.”
‘“You must tell him, tomorrow morning, that we are leaving at midday.”
‘“I’ll do my best, but there’s a problem - a slight obstruction.” Then I paused, and stared at her in sudden surprise. “You got past Yannakos,” I said.
‘Haidée glanced at the door. “Yes,” she said. She bent down and picked up the crucifix. “Kill him,” she said without emotion, handing it to me.
‘I took the cross. “I’ve tried before. He seems to survive any wound I can inflict on him.”
‘“In the heart,” whispered Haidée. She walked across to the door. “Yannakos,” she called softly. “ Yannakos.”
‘Like a shambling bear, the creature answered her call. Haidée sang to him, stroking his cheeks as she gazed into his eyes. A faint look of bewilderment creased the blankness of the creature’s stare. A single tear fell, down Haidée’s cheek and onto Yannakos’s hand. He stared at it. Then he looked up at Haidée again, and he tried to smile, but it was as though his muscles had atrophied. Haidée nodded to me; she kissed the creature on either cheek, and then I stabbed him with the crucifix deep into the heart.
‘Yannakos screamed, a terrible and unearthly sound, as a fountain of blood sprayed the balcony. He fell to the floor, and there, before our very eyes, began to decompose, the flesh shrivelling off the muscles and bones, the intestines melting into a hideous soup. I watched, revolted. “Now,” said Haidée softly, “throw him into the river.” Holding my breath, I wrapped the corpse up in a tapestry; then I flung it over the balcony into the Aheron. I turned back to Haidée. “What was he?” I asked. “Who was he?”
‘She looked at me. “My brother,” she said at last.
‘I stared at her appalled. “I’m sorry,” I said at last. “So sorry.” I held her in my arms. I felt a single shudder pass through her body, then she looked up at me, and walked across to the door. “I must go,” she said in a distant voice.
‘“Tomorrow,” I asked, “where shall I see you?”
‘“In the village - you know the ruin of the old church?”
‘“The great basilica? - yes.”
‘“There - have the supplies sent there - and I will be with you by midday. We must escape in the sunlight.” She raised my hand to her lips. “And then, dearest Byron - we must pray to Liberty, and hope that she will smile on us.” She kissed my hand again, then turned, and before I could hold her, she had disappeared. I didn’t follow her; there seemed nothing I could say or do to help. Instead, I walked back across to the balcony. All my tiredness was gone. Over the eastern mountains, the first pinks of dawn were touching the snows.
‘As soon as it was day, I slipped out to the stables, and then down the road. The three gates were open, and no one tried to stop me; I reached the village without being seen. I tethered my horse outside Gorgiou’s house, then walked inside and called out Petro’s name. A small boy stared at me from a corner of the room. His face looked pinched and white with hunger; I offered him a coin, but he didn’t move, didn’t even blink. “Is your father here?” I asked. I bounced the coin up and down in my palm, and suddenly the boy darted across the room to snatch it from me. As he took the coin, one of his nails scratched my hand; he froze at once, as a tiny trickle of blood welled up from the scratch, and I licked it with my tongue. “Your father?” I asked him again. The boy continued to stare, then tried to seize my hand; I smacked him lightly across the head, and I almost thought that he was going to bite me back. But then Petro walked in; he shouted at the boy, and the child ran into the shadows of another room.
‘Petro watched him leave, then turned back to me. “My Lord?” he asked. His voice sounded strange, almost distant, but his eyes gleamed as brightly as they had ever done. I told him what I had come to say. Petro nodded, and promised that everything would be ready for us.
‘“In the old basilica?” I checked.
‘Petro nodded again. “In the old basilica. The far corner, by the ruined tower.” I thanked him for his efforts; Petro bowed with a stiffness I hadn’t remembered from before. I asked him if his father was well. Petro nodded. “Very well,” he muttered. I could see that he wanted to be left alone.
‘“Good,” I said, backing through the door. “Please give him my regards.” Petro nodded again, but said nothing more, as I mounted my horse and rode on down the path. Petro watched me go; I could almost feel his eyes in my back.
‘I remembered, as though understanding it for the first time, that Yannakos had been his brother. Had Petro known the truth? I hoped not. What could be more terrible, I thought, than to see your own flesh and blood transformed into such a thing? Better by far to have believed that he was truly dead. And yet Haidée had known - Haidée had lived by that creature day after day - and she a woman, and a Greek, and a slave. Yes, I thought, freedom burns brightest amongst dungeon walls - and the spirit is chainless which soars highest despite the weight of chains. I would pray to Liberty, as Haidée had told me to do - but the face of that goddess would be Haidée’s own.
‘I rode down the mountain track, to make certain there was nothing which might obstruct our escape. All seemed clear; ahead, in the far distance, there was a wisp of black cloud, but otherwise the sky was azure with light. I glanced up at the sun. It was high above me now - midday already, I thought. I rode
back to the village, and into the basilica. Through the main doorway, there was nothing but an empty shell; my horse’s hooves echoed amongst the ruin. I saw the tower immediately: fifteen or twenty steps beyond a bare expanse of rubble and weeds, where once the altar had stood. No one else was there. I pulled out my watch - not quite yet twelve. I waited in the tower’s shade, but still no one came, and I began to grow anxious, as the minutes passed away, and the silence seemed to shimmer like the heat before my eyes. “Damn it,” I swore. “Not even the supplies have come.” I climbed up into my saddle again, and rode to Petro’s house. I rapped on the door. There was no answer. I walked inside, and called out Petro’s name - still no answer. I looked around in desperation. Had the Pasha found out about our plans? Had Petro been arrested, and all his family? Outside, tethered to a post, I found a horse, a beautiful animal which Petro could only ever have bought with my gold. I untied it, then led it back to the basilica tower. I tethered it again in the shade of the steps, then pulled out my watch. It was now almost two. I climbed quickly back onto my horse, and rode as hard as I could up the castle road.
‘Again, it was empty. Not a living thing stirred, for the heat now was unbearable, and hung thick over the white rocks of the mountainside. Before I walked through the castle door, I glanced behind me; the horizon was bruised a deep purple, and along the margins of the coming storm was the gleam of electricity. We would have to hurry, I thought. Darkness, like some stealthy predator, was rising slowly to swallow the sun.
‘I hurried down endless, empty corridors. “Haidée!” I shouted. “Haidée!” But I knew, even as I called out, that there would be no answer - and every room, every passageway, was as empty as the last. I found myself in the labyrinth.
I stopped to check my pistol, then hurried on, calling out as before, while I felt desperation rising in my throat, and fear, that familiar, numbing fear, which seemed to breed in the air of the labyrinth, and drain all who dared to enter it. Yet I saw nothing in the shadows this time - no sudden flickers of movement as I had done before. I found myself by the mosaics of the demoness and her Christ-like child; I tried not to look at it, and stumbled on, through the awning and into the hall. I stopped again, and looked around. Above me rose the vast dome; around me were the pillars and the colossal dungeon walls. I looked at the stairways; they were empty. I looked across the stone floor; that too was empty of the hunched forms I had seen before. “Haidée!” I yelled. “Haidée!” I gazed in despair at the pyramid of fire, my eyes rising with the flames to its crown. Then my shoulders slumped; I lowered my eyes. I was staring at the kiosk in the middle of the hall.