A Matter Of Taste by Fred Saberhagen (best reads .TXT) 📗

me wistfully of her hope—it was scarcely any longer a plan—that she could someday convert Borgia to a vampire, perhaps even without his specific approval. Though this would necessarily mean the end of their passionate love, yet she thought it would save his life.

      She had evolved a scheme, she told me, in which Cesare’s death in a skirmish would be faked. He would then disappear and take up a new nosferatu life. All his breathing enemies would be convinced that he was indeed dead.

      “But your lover, I suppose, will have none of this.”

      “No, he will not,” Constantia admitted softly. Then she burst out: “Vlad, Vlad, will you help him?”

      I thought. “I make no promises,” I said at last. “At least I must speak to the man himself again before I can promise anything.”

      Half an hour later, arriving officially at Cesare’s camp in the guise of a breathing messenger from his sister in Ferrara, I found him living in a military tent again. It was a scene somewhat reminiscent of our first meeting.

      Michelotto, who had been with us then, was present once more, to improve the similarity. Corella from his first sight of me watched me warily, as I had known he must if ever we met again. But still he greeted me cordially enough and seemed ready to let bygones be bygones, to accept me once more as his comrade in arms if fate should so decree.

      And Cesare himself was—penitent. There was really no other word. I was reminded of the repentant Bogdan.

      As I entered the tent Duke Valentino rose from his folding camp chair, his dark eyes lighting up with joy at the sight of my face. “Drakulya! It has been many years—far too long a time! Not that I blame you—you have had good cause to turn away from me. But a man of your generous soul cannot forever hold against me what I said in fever, on the day of my father’s death.”

      I grasped the hand that Borgia extended toward me. “My lord is gracious,” I said, “to give me credit for a generous soul.”

      “But nonsense! Of course you have. Here, sit down. Michelotto, have them bring wine—but how foolish of me, I had forgotten.”

      “Drink your wine by all means, Captain General,” I said. “If you are moved to celebration.”

      “I am moved to rejoicing that you have come—but tell me, what news of Lucrezia? You bring me a message from her?”

      I handed over the sealed paper that I had brought, and sat silently watching Cesare as he broke the seal and perused the contents. I could well imagine that this man might have brooded long and darkly on what he perceived as my betrayal at a crucial moment. It was quite true that with a faithful vampire at his side, he might never have been brought to his present comparatively low condition. At the very least, he could have avoided his several bouts of imprisonment, or at least could have escaped from a certain castle without being forced to drop from a too-short rope, breaking several bones.

      During my visit with his sister I had taken great pains to make it plain to her that, beyond the immediate aid that I would give for her sake, I had no intention of ever going back to work for Cesare. Nor did his warm welcome in Navarre change my mind. When he made the effort, he could be charm personified. Otherwise he was—to understate the case—a very difficult man to deal with, and sooner or later we would be bound to have another falling out.

* * * * * *

      Before we parted, on that first evening in Navarre, I handed over to him also the jars of drugs with which Lucrezia had entrusted me.

      A moment later I wondered aloud whether one of the vessels contained the sweet-tasting drug so specific against vampires.

      He shook his head lightly; the question seemed to have no impact on him. “No. Alas, if only I could get along with my fellow breathers as well as I do with the nosferatu.”

      Dawn was not far off by that time. I was tired from my long journey, and it was time for me to seek my rest. I had had to carry my own earth with me on the trip, of course.

      Constantia spoke with me again briefly before I retired. She was anxious to discover how my encounter with Cesare had gone.

      “It went well enough,” I told her. “He seems, as you say, quite willing to let bygones be bygones.”

      “And you, Vlad?” she burst out, obviously in the grip of some emotion she could no longer repress. “Are you not willing to do the same?”

      “I have taken my solemn oath to Madonna Lucrezia,” I assured her, “that I will not harm this man, unless under the most dire necessity of self-defense. I take the same oath now, again, to you.”

      “Vlad, if I could only believe you!”

      I looked at her steadily for some moments. Then I said: “He has arranged with you to kill me, has he not? He has convinced you that I am planning to kill him?”

      She could not utter a word, but the stricken look in her dark gypsy eyes was all the answer that I needed.

      I gripped her hands, and was reminded of that first meeting, decades earlier, the young would-be witch and the apprentice vampire. I saw in Constantia’s eyes that the same memory had come back to her.

      “Go now,” I said “Tell him you have slain me, if you like. Tell him anything you choose. I am going to rest for the day, or through two days perhaps. After that I shall depart, and if the matter is left up to me, I shall never lay eyes again on Duke Valentino in this world. The oath that I have taken still binds me.”

      “Vlad!” And she kissed my hands before she hurried away.

      “Guard yourself.” I called after her, softly. I was sure that she heard me, but she did not turn.

*