I don’t know why it took us so long to realize that the servants were gone. None of them had waited for us: not my two maids, not the Chinese cook, not the various other attendants we’d brought with us. They were simply gone. Von Hausburg said only one word – ‘Schmettau’ – although he probably meant to say more. I had no doubts myself, although the thing made no sense. We only believe absolutely in what we can never understand.
Eternal salvation?
I wouldn’t go so far as to say that Count Schmettau was on a par with the divine in our inability to comprehend him, any more than I would compare his running away with our servants to an act of God. Even so, Schmettau’s actions certainly had an effect on my eternal salvation. Certainly more than the actions of my nearest and dearest.
Oh yes, of course, it’s coming back to me now. Von Hausburg said afterwards how the banishment from the Garden of Eden must have looked just like our departure from Belgrade.
‘But we haven’t done anything wrong,’ I answered, ‘and we left of our own free will.’
‘The matter of sin is beside the point. And as for our leaving voluntarily, it’s not true. Each of us is here because he must be. Just as each of us came to Belgrade because he had to.’
I tried to argue again, but he wasn’t listening.
But getting back to the plot. When we saw the situation we were in – no servants, no food, surrounded by hostile peasants – we decided to take turns keeping watch overnight. The first watch, from nightfall to the second hour after midnight, fell to von Hausburg and the red count. The second watch, until daybreak, would be the blond count and Vuk Isakovič.
I had trouble sleeping. I dozed off quickly enough but woke up soon after. Something had disturbed my light sleep, some noise I couldn’t identify in my tired state. After that it took me a long time to get back to sleep. Normally I’d read for a while, but I hadn’t brought a book with me. Besides, there wasn’t enough light for reading. True, the moon was bright in the sky, but the peasants had covered up the tiny window with a cloth. The cloth made a poor curtain, and a thin ray of moonlight still found its way in, landing on the floor not far from where I lay.
I was alone in the room, with nothing to break the silence but my own movements and the occasional creaking of the old house around me. Such a lonely night. I don’t know how long it was before I fell asleep again, but I think the stillness and the occasional noises gave me no rest. I might still have been awake just after midnight.
When I opened my eyes, it was already morning. Outside I could hear voices and the usual morning bustle. I confess I was reluctant to get up, having slept so poorly. I had not yet left the room when I heard the scream. Without stopping to think I ran outside. The first thing I saw was von Hausburg and the red commissioner. Beside them was Novak, kneeling. I moved towards them, and only then did I see the two bodies. On his back lay Vuk Isakovič, a sabre jutting from his chest. His white shirt was clotted with blood. Face down beside him, as if reaching out towards him, lay the blond commissioner. He had no wounds, at least not that I could see. Novak turned him over, looked at him, then returned him to his original position, on his stomach. Again his face was concealed.
Von Hausburg looked at me and said, ‘Enough. We’re going back at once!’
The red commissioner murmured that we must bring the bodies to the city. I knew right away that we would neglect this duty and that von Hausburg would recommend sending someone from the fortress to retrieve the bodies later. And so it was. Novak hurried to saddle the horses. We spurred them on and galloped away. None of us spoke. I didn’t know what to think. The two deaths seemed unrelated to the vampires, and I couldn’t see the connection. It was then that I felt the desire to discover what lay behind these sinister happenings – felt it even more strongly than the urge to be back behind the thick walls and never ask another question.
But still I drove my horse onwards, riding at breakneck speed not because I wanted to reach Belgrade, but because I didn’t. I was afraid of my own self.
We seemed to ride for hours. My legs were sore, and my hand was stiff from gripping the reins.
We made our way to the top of a hill – unnecessarily, as we found out later, for it was not the shortest route to the city. Even though we were following a sort of road, we had gone out of our way. It may have been deliberate on the part of whoever was leading. I never found out who it was. The baron was dead, Isakovič was dead, and the only ones left were a guest, a foreigner and myself – and I’d never been outside the city walls. Novak rode behind us, I noticed, and I wanted to ask why he wasn’t leading the way. But I didn’t.
When we got to the top of the hill all my suspicions vanished. Before my eyes lay the city, extending to the north. There was the first low wall, and behind it the huts of the poor, the gallows, the graveyard. The second wall was the Prince-Eugene line with its massive Baroque gates, its thick high ramparts running east and west. Behind it stood the larger, better residences, my palace, the Serbian church and several of our own churches. The third wall was the rampart of the fortress itself. I could make out the bastions, each named for a saint, and the two ravelins and the two curtain walls. Further than that I could not see.
I realized then that Belgrade was protected within three concentric circles, each one stronger and more unyielding than the last. Any outlander, any wayfarer, any enemy at the gates would have to conquer all three to reach the city’s heart.
And there, at the very heart of Belgrade, was my husband as ruler. Everything I desired was there. No vampires. The triple defences protected me and kept them at bay, whoever they were.
We sped forward on our horses. Down the hill they galloped. The trees on either side were thinning out. A branch or two lashed at me in passing. We were flying along and I no longer minded the chill in the air. Below us lay the city, and we were coming back.
I didn’t hear the first shot.
The horses stopped short. The red commissioner on his black mount nearly flew head over heels from the saddle. The next shot I did hear. Someone shouted.
‘Turn back!’
I saw where the shot had come from. The smoke was curling into the air above a guard on the wall. He was still aiming the musket at us. Some dozen yards from him, another guard also had us in his sights.
I turned my horse around. I dug in the spurs, but the beast could only struggle uphill, its sides heaving. We didn’t stop or say a word until we’d reached the top of the hill again.
‘Who are they firing at?’ asked the red count.
‘At the four of us,’ answered Novak.
‘But why?’ he asked.
‘Because!’ spat out von Hausburg.
The red count looked at me, I looked at von Hausburg, von Hausburg looked at Novak and Novak looked at the red count.
‘They won’t let us in,’ I said at last.
‘But why?’ repeated the red count.
‘Because they’ve been given orders,’ said von Hausburg.
‘But why?’ he persisted.
‘Because they think we’re vampires,’ I said. To this day I don’t why it occurred to me to say that. At the time I thought I was speaking too hastily without stopping to think. I knew it was true, though. It just might not have been strictly necessary to say so.
‘Schmettau!’ said Novak.
‘Schmettau,’ I said, picking up where he’d left off. ‘Schmettau came back to the city, raving about Sava Savanović and Radetzky and Schmidlin and the leptirak and all the rest of it, and somehow convinced them that we’ve turned into vampires.’
But how could Alexander have believed it? I asked myself. How could my husband say nothing as I was left to fend for myself with Serbia and the vampires? How could he bar my way to safety? How could he leave me like that?