Blood and Gold (47 page)

We could do nothing but weep for the longest time and then I took her home to the shrine, and comforted her, combing her hair as I so loved to do and trimming it with her slender ropes of pearls until she was my perfect lovely one.

“What did I mean to say?” she implored. “I don’t know. Of course you could not have trusted any of them. And had you shown them the Queen and the King some horrid anarchy might well have come from it!”

“Yes, you have said the perfect word,” I answered, “some awful anarchy.” I glanced quickly at the still impassive faces. I went on. “You must understand, oh, please, if you love me at all, understand what power exists within them.” I stopped suddenly. “Oh, don’t you see, as much as I lament their silence, perhaps it is for them a form of peace which they have chosen for the good of everyone.”

This was the very essence of it and I think we both knew it.

I feared what might happen if Akasha were ever to stand up from her throne, if she were ever to speak or move. I feared it with all my reason.

Yet still, that night and every night I believed that if and when Akasha were ever waked, a divine sweetness would pour forth from her.

Once Bianca had fallen asleep, I knelt before the Queen in the abject manner which was so common to me now, and which I would never have revealed to Pandora.

“Mother, I hunger for you,” I whispered. I opened my hands. “Let me touch you with love,” I said. “Tell me if I have been in error. Should I have brought the Satan worshipers to your shrine? Should I have revealed you in all your loveliness to Santino?”

I closed my eyes. I opened them.

“Unchangeable Ones,” I said in a soft voice, “speak to me.”

I approached her and laid my lips on her throat. I pierced the crisp white skin with my teeth, and the thick blood came into me slowly.

The garden surrounded me. Oh, yes, this I love above all. And it was the garden of the monastery in spring, how wondrous, and my priest was there. I was walking with him in the clean swept cloister. This was the supreme dream, for its colors were rich and I could see all the mountains around us.
I am immortal,
I said.

The garden dissolved. I could see colors washed from a wall.

Then I stood in a midnight forest. In the light of the moon, I beheld a black carriage coming down the road, drawn by many dark horses. It passed me, its huge wheels stirring up the dust. There came behind it a team of guards all clothed in black livery.

Pandora.

When I woke, I was lying against Akasha’s breast, my forehead against her throat, my left hand clasping her right shoulder. It was so sweet that I didn’t want to move, and all the light of the shrine had become one golden shimmer in my eyes, rather the way that light would become in those long Venetian banquet rooms.

At last I kissed her tenderly and withdrew and then lay down and placed my arms around Bianca.

My thoughts were troubled and strange. I knew it was time to find some habitat other than the shrine itself, and I knew as well that strangers were coming into our mountains.

The small city at the foot of our cliff was now thriving.

But the most dreadful revelation of this night was that Bianca and I could quarrel, that the solid peace between us could be violently and painfully ruptured. And that I, at the first hard words from my jewel, could crumple into mental ruin.

Why had I been so surprised? Could I not remember my painful quarrels with Pandora? I must know that in anger, Marius is not Marius. I must know and never forget it.

30

T
he following night we hunted down a pair of brigands who were traveling the lower passes of our mountains. The blood was good, and from this small feast we went on to a little German town where we could find a tavern.

Here we sat, a man and his wife, one might presume, and over our mulled wine we talked for hours.

I told Bianca all I had ever known of Those Who Must Be Kept. I told her the legends of Egypt—of how the Mother and Father had centuries ago been bound and ill used by those who would steal their Precious Blood. I told her of how Akasha herself had come to me in a vision begging me to take her out of Egypt.

I told her of the few times Akasha had ever spoken to me in the Blood. And I told her finally, finally, of what a pure miracle it had been that the Divine Parents had opened the door of the Alpine shrine when I had come to them too weak to budge it.

“Do they need me?” I asked. I looked into Bianca’s eyes. “I can’t know. That’s the horror. Do they want to be seen by others? I am in ignorance.

“But let me make my final confession. I became so angry last night because centuries ago when Pandora first drank the Mother’s blood, she was full of dreams of bringing back to the Divine Parents the old worship. By that I mean, a worship that included the Druidic Gods of the Grove, a religion that went back to the temples of Egypt.

“I was furious that Pandora could believe in such a thing, and on the very night of Pandora’s making I broke her dreams with my forceful logic. And I went beyond that. I pounded with my fist upon the Mother’s very breast and demanded that she speak to us.”

Bianca was amazed.

“Can you guess what happened?” I asked.

“Nothing. The Mother gave no answer.”

I nodded. “And there came no rebuke or punishment either. Perhaps the Mother had brought Pandora to me. We could never know. But please understand how I fear the very notion that the Divine Parents might ever be worshiped.

“Bianca, we are immortals, yes, and we possess our King and Queen, but we must never for a moment believe that we understand them.”

To all this she nodded. She weighed it all for a long time and then she spoke:

“I was very simply wrong in what I said to you,” she told me.

“Not in all of it,” I answered. “Perhaps if Amadeo had seen the King and Queen, he would have escaped the Roman blood drinkers and come back to us. Yet there is another way of looking at it.”

“Tell me.”

“If he had known the secret of the Mother and the Father, he might have been forced to reveal it to Santino, and the demons would have returned to Venice, searching for me. They might have found both of us.”

“Ah, yes, all this is true,” she said. “I begin to see all of it.”

We were easy now with each other in the tavern. The mortals around us took no notice. I talked on in a soft voice, telling her the story of how Mael had once tried, with my permission, to drink Akasha’s blood and Enkil had moved to stop him.

I told her the dreadful tale of Eudoxia. I told her of how I had left Constantinople.

“I don’t know what it is with you, my love,” I said, “but somehow I can tell you everything. It was never so with Pandora. It was never so with Amadeo.”

She reached out and put her left hand on my cheek.

“Marius,” she said. “Speak freely always of Pandora. Don’t ever think that I shall fail to understand your love for Pandora.”

I thought this over for many long moments. I took her right hand in mine and I kissed her fingers.

“Listen to me, my love,” I said. “With every prayer, I ask the Queen if you might drink. But I gain no clear answer. And after what I witnessed with Eudoxia and Mael, I cannot take you to her. And so I shall continue to give you my blood in so far as it will make you strong, but—.”

“I understand you,” she said.

I leant across the table and kissed her.

“Last night in my anger I learnt many things. That I cannot live without you was one. But I learnt another. I can now cover great distances with ease. And I suspect my other powers have also increased beyond recent measure. I must test these powers. I must know how easily I can defeat those demons if ever they come near to me. And tonight I want to test my power of flight more than any other.”

“And so you are telling me that you want to take me back to the shrine now, and go off to England.”

I nodded. “The moon is full tonight, Bianca. I must see the isle of Britain in the light of the moon. I must discover this Order of the Talamasca with my own eyes. It’s scarcely possible to believe in such purity.”

“Why don’t you take me with you?”

“I must be swift,” I answered. “And if there’s danger I must be swifter still to escape it. These are mortals after all. And Raymond Gallant is only one of them.”

“You will be careful then, my love,” she said. “You know now more than ever that I very simply adore you.”

It seemed then we would never quarrel again, that such a thing was impossible. And it seemed imperative that I never lose her.

As we went out into the darkness, as I wrapped her in my cloak, I pressed my lips to her forehead as I took her into the clouds and homeward.

When I left her, it was two hours before midnight, and I meant to see Raymond Gallant before morning.

Now, it had been many years since my meeting with him in Venice. He had been a young man then, and perhaps middle-aged at the time that I wrote my letter to him.

So it did occur to me as I set out on my journey that he might no longer be living.

Indeed, it was a terrible thought.

But I believed in all he had told me about the Talamasca and so I was determined to approach them.

As I moved towards the stars, the pleasure of the Cloud Gift was so divine that I almost lost myself in the rapture of the skies, dreaming above the isle of Britain, plunging to where I could see the land perfectly against the sea, not wanting to touch the solid Earth so soon or roam it so clumsily.

But I had consulted many a map in recent years to find the location of East Anglia, and I soon saw below me an immense castle with ten rounded towers which I believed to be the very one engraved upon the gold coin which Raymond Gallant had long ago given me.

The sheer size of the castle gave me doubts, however, but I willed myself to set foot on the steep hillside quite close to it. Some deep preternatural instinct told me that I had reached the right place.

The air was cold as I began to walk, indeed as cold as it had been in the mountains which I had left behind me. Some of the woods had come back, which had no doubt been cut down once upon a time for the safety of the castle, and I rather liked the terrain and I enjoyed walking in it.

I wore a full fur-lined cloak which I had taken from one of my victims. I had my customary weapons, a thick short broadsword, and a dagger. I wore a longer velvet tunic than was favored at the time, but this did not matter to me. My shoes were new and I had bought them from a cobbler in Geneva.

As for the style of the castle, I figured it to be some five hundred years old, built in the time of William the Conqueror. I surmised that it had once had a moat and drawbridge. But these elements had long been abandoned, and I could see a great door before me, flanked by torches.

At last I reached this door, and pulled the bell, hearing a loud clang deep within the courtyard.

It did not take long for someone to come, and only then did I realize the curious propriety of what I’d done. In my reverence for this Order of Scholars I had not “listened” outside to discover who they were. I had not hovered near their lighted tower windows.

And now I found myself, a curious figure no doubt with my blue eyes and dark skin, standing before the porter.

This young man couldn’t have been more than seventeen, and he seemed both sleepy and indifferent as though my clarion had awakened him.

“I’ve come in search of Lorwich,” I said, “in East Anglia. Have I reached the right place?”

“You have,” said the boy, wiping at his eyes and leaning upon the door. “Can I say for what reason?”

“I seek the Talamasca,” I replied.

The young man nodded. He opened the door widely, and I soon found myself in a great courtyard. There were wagons and coaches parked within. I could hear the faint sound of the horses in the stables.

“I seek Raymond Gallant,” I said to the boy.

“Ah,” he replied, as if these were the magic words that he needed from me. And then he led me further inside and shut the giant wood door behind us. “I’ll take you where you might wait,” he said. “I think that Raymond Gallant is sleeping.”

But he’s alive,
I thought. That’s what matters. I caught the scent of many mortals in this place. I caught the scent of food that had recently been cooked. I caught the scent of oak fires and as I looked up I saw the faint smoke of chimneys against the sky which I had not perceived earlier.

With no further questioning, I was soon led by torchlight up a winding stone stairway in one of the many towers. Over and over again I looked out of small windows at the bleak land. I saw the dim outline of a nearby town. I could see the patches of the farmers’ fields. All looked so very peaceful.

At last the boy anchored his torch, and, lighting a candle from it, opened two heavily carved doors to reveal a huge room with sparse but beautiful furnishings.

It had been a long time since I had seen heavily carved tables and chairs, and fine tapestries. It had been a long time since I had seen rich golden candlesticks and handsome chests with velvet draperies.

It all seemed a feast for the eyes, and I was about to sit down when there came rushing into the room a spry elderly man with streaming gray hair in a long heavy white nightshirt who gazed at me with brilliant gray eyes, crying out:

“Marius!”

It was Raymond Gallant, it was Raymond in his final years, and I felt a terrible shock of pleasure and pain as I looked at him.

“Raymond,” I said, and I opened my arms, and gently enfolded him. How frail he felt. I kissed him on both cheeks. I held him back tenderly that I might look at him.

His hair was still thick and his forehead smooth as it had been so long ago. And when he smiled, his mouth seemed that of the young man I remembered.

“Marius, what a wonder it is to see you,” he cried. “Why did you never write to me again?”

“Raymond, I’ve come. I can’t account for time and what it means to us. I’ve come, and I’m here, and I’m glad to be with you.”

He stopped, turning from right to left suddenly and then he cocked his head. He seemed as agile and quick as he had ever been. He was listening.

“They’re all aware that you’re here,” he said, “but don’t worry. They won’t dare to come into this room. They’re far too disciplined for that. They know I will not permit it.”

I listened for a moment, and I confirmed what he had said. Mortals throughout the immense sprawling castle had sensed my presence. There were mind readers among these mortals. Others seemed to possess some keen hearing.

But I distinguished no supernatural presence here. I caught no inkling of the “infidel” he had described in his letter.

And I caught no menace from anyone either. Nevertheless, I marked the nearby window, and noting that it was heavily barred though otherwise open to the night, wondered if I could easily break through it. I thought that I could. I felt no fear. In fact, I felt no fear of this Talamasca because it seemed to feel no fear of me and had admitted me so guilelessly.

“Come, sit down with me, Marius,” Raymond said. He drew me near to an immense fireplace. I tried not to gaze with concern at his thin palsied hands, or his thin shoulders. I thanked the gods that I had come tonight, and that he was still here to greet me.

He called out to the sleepy boy who remained still at the door.

“Edgar, build the fire and light it, please. Marius, you will forgive me,” he said. “I’m very cold. Do you mind it? I understand what happened to you.”

“No, not at all, Raymond,” I said. “I can’t fear fire forever on that account. Not only am I healed now, I’m stronger than ever I was before. It’s quite a mystery. And you, how old are you? Tell me, Raymond. I can’t guess it.”

“Eighty years, Marius,” he said. He smiled. “You don’t know how I’ve dreamed of your coming. I had so much more to tell you. I didn’t dare to write it in a letter.”

“And rightly so,” I said, “for the letter was read, and who knows what might have happened? As it was, the priest who received it for me could not make much of it. I understand everything, however.”

He motioned to the door. Two young men at once entered the room, and I made them out to be the simple sort rather like the busy Edgar who was piling up the oak in the fireplace. There were richly carved stone gargoyles above the fire. I rather liked them.

“Two chairs,” said Raymond to the boys. “We’ll talk together. I’ll tell you all I can.”

“Why are you so generous to me, Raymond?” I asked. I wanted so to comfort him, to stop his agitation. But as he smiled at me, as if to reassure me, as he put his hand gently on my arm, and urged me towards the two wooden chairs which the boys had brought to the hearth, I saw that he did not need my comfort.

“I’m only very excited, my old friend,” he said. “You mustn’t be concerned for me. Here, sit down. Is this comfortable enough for you?”

The chairs were as heavily carved as every bit of ornament in the room, and the arms were the paws of lions. I found them beautiful as well as comfortable. I looked about myself at the many bookshelves, and mused as I have often done on how all libraries subdue me and seduce me. I thought of books burnt and books lost.

May this be a safe place for books, I thought, this Talamasca.

“I have been decades in a stone room,” I said in a muted voice. “I am quite comfortable. Will you send the boys away now?”

“Yes, yes, of course, only let them bring me some warm wine,” he replied. “I need it.”

“Please, how could I be so inconsiderate?” I replied.

We were now facing each other, and the fire had begun with a riot of deep good fragrance coming from the burning oak, and a warmth that I even enjoyed, I had to admit it.