‘And have you actually traced his name that far back? To Constantinople, I mean, in 1204?’ Something of his awe of the vampire – or his envy? – was evident in Dragosani’s voice.
Giresci cocked his head a little on one side; ‘Dragosani, how’s your history?’
‘Hardly brilliant. Fair, I suppose.’
‘Hmm! Well, many names came down from the Fourth Crusade, but you’ll be hard put to find a Ferenczy or Ferrenzig amongst them. He was there, though, be sure of it! How do I know? Well, it’s possible that you’re talking to the world’s foremost authority on that particular bloodbath, and I’ve discovered things which I’m sure many other historians have overlooked. Of course, I had the advantage of knowing what I was looking for – my objectives were specific – but in the process of tracking down the vampire I’ve naturally covered a deal of extraneous ground. Man, I could write a book on the Fourth Crusade – certainly from Hungary to Constantinople! And talking of Constantinople: Lord, what a hell that must have been! What a battle! And sure enough, right there in the thick of it – wherever the fighting raged fiercest – there was this man and the brutish horde he commanded. He was there too when the city fell, when he and his band of mercenary berserkers rampaged, utterly out of control. Yes, and his excesses spread like a cancer; the entire army joined in; they raped, pillaged and massacred for three long days . . .
Tope Innocent III had called the Crusade; now, aghast at what it had turned into, he was unable to regain control. The Crusaders had vowed to take the Holy Land, but Innocent and his legate were obliged to absolve them from that vow. He as good as washed his hands of the affair; but in secret communiqués he exercised what little control remained to him, ordering that those directly responsible for “gross acts of excessive and unnatural cruelty” must gain “neither glory nor rich reward” for their barbarism but that “their names shall not be mentioned, nor shall they be offered respect or high regard”.
‘Well, no need to look far for a scapegoat: a certain “bloodthirsty Wallach recruited in Zara” would fit the bill nicely. Nor was he blameless. At first the Crusaders had honoured and elevated him – perhaps, secretly, they’d even envied or feared him – but now he found himself stripped of all honours and disgraced, and his name was stricken from all records. In return he scorned them for their duplicity, and defacing the sigil of their campaign -the cross on his medallion – he took his band and went home, proud and fierce under the banner of the devil, the bat and the dragon.’
Dragosani chewed on his lip for a moment before saying: ‘Let’s assume that to all intents and purposes all of this is true, or at least based on the truth to the best of your knowledge. Still there are several important questions remaining to be answered.’
‘Such as?’
‘Ferenczy was a vampire. A vampire takes victims. When the hunger is on him he’ll kill as ruthlessly as a fox kills chickens, and just as thoughtlessly. Yet it seems his sheet was clean. How could he possibly live here through all those centuries without once arousing suspicion? Remember, Ladislau Giresci, the blood is the life! Were there no cases of vampirism?’
‘Around Ploiesti? None – not one – not as long as they’ve kept records, so far as I can discover.’ Giresci smiled grimly and leaned forward. ‘But if you were a vampire, Dragosani, would you take victims right on your own doorstep?’
‘No, I don’t suppose I would,’ Dragosani frowned. ‘Where, then?’
‘North, my friend, in the Meridionali itself! Where else but the Transylvanian Alps, where all vampire stories seem to have their roots? Slanic and Sinaia in the foothills, Brasov and Sacele beyond the pass. And none of them more than fifty miles distant from Ferenczy’s house, and all shunned for their evil reputations.’
‘What, even now?’ Dragosani feigned surprise, but he remembered what Maura Kinkovsi had had to say on the subject three years ago.
‘Stories linger down the years, Dragosani. Especially ghost stories. They take no chances, the mountain folk. If you die young up there and there’s no simple explanation, it’s the stake for you for sure! As to actual case histories: the last child to die of a vampire’s bite did so in Slanic in the winter of forty-three. Yes, and she was buried with a stake through her heart, like a great many ‘innocents before her. What? There had been eleven that year alone, in the villages around!’