torches. Colonel Stanga emerged from his tent.
It was fifty-two years since Iuda had last met Zmyeevich face to face, but the great vampire had not changed. The high, domed forehead was hidden under a military cap, but was still unmistakable, as were his bushy eyebrows and arched nostrils. The iron-grey moustache was neatly trimmed. His skin was young and unwrinkled; he had eaten recently. He wandered down the line of officers, talking amiably about his plans for the siege, pausing at each man, looking him squarely in the eye and shaking him by the hand.
Until he drew level with Iuda.
He came to a halt and stopped speaking, staring intently down into Iuda’s eyes. He took Iuda’s hand, his grip firm. Iuda remained impassive, hoping that time enough had passed for Zmyeevich not to recognize him. Zmyeevich began speaking again, keeping to the subject of military tactics, and Iuda thought he had succeeded, but still he gripped Iuda’s hand. And as he moved away, Zmyeevich twisted his wrist, forcing Iuda’s hand down and revealing the back of his own and the ring that he wore – and had always worn, whenever Iuda had seen him. It was the figure of a dragon, with a body of gold, emerald eyes and red, forked tongue. He was making sure that Iuda recognized him, and knew that he in turn was recognized.
If Zmyeevich had chosen to kill him there and then, he had the strength to do it, and to slay every soldier who tried to stop him. But Zmyeevich remained calm. He continued his speech, moving on to the next man and the next. When he was finished he asked if there were any questions, but none came. Colonel Stanga dismissed the men.
Iuda fled; fled the camp, fled the army and fled the country. He lived as best he could, like vampires had done for years in these parts, sleeping in churchyards and feeding off peasants. And as he fled south so the Russians advanced south, and with them came Zmyeevich.
Finally, like most of the sultan’s army, Iuda was trapped in the south-eastern extremity of Europe. There was only one city in which he could hide: Constantinople. He went by his real name of Cain and spoke English like an Englishman. A year before, at the Constantinople Conference – the Shipyard Conference as they called it locally – Britain had been keener to do a deal favourable to Russia than to the Ottomans, and so the English were not universally popular. But at least Britain had not joined in the war on Russia’s side. And Iuda did not come empty-handed – he brought with him the gift of information.
It took only the mention of Zmyeevich’s name – not in its Russian translation, but in a form known better to the Turks – to allow Iuda access through the layers of administration of Ottoman government and into the Sublime Porte. He was granted an audience with His Imperial Majesty, the Sultan Abdülhamid II, Emperor of the Ottomans and Caliph of the Faithful, in the throne room of the Dolmabahçe Palace. The Grand Vizier – the Greek, Ibrahim Edhem Pasha – stood at his sultan’s side. He was by far the wiliest of all those in the room; apart, of course, from Iuda – or so Iuda had thought.
Ibrahim Edhem did the talking.
‘So you’re aware of our empire’s history with Ţepeş?’ Even then, they dared not use Zmyeevich’s full Romanian name, and stuck to that short epithet.
‘I know much of him – especially of his dealings with your enemy, Russia.’
‘Then you understand he is no friend of the Romanovs?’
‘He would like to be more than a friend.’
Now the sultan himself spoke. ‘You understand the blood curse he holds over them?’
Of that, Iuda knew more than anyone but Zmyeevich himself. He knew of the bargain between Zmyeevich and Pyotr the Great, and of how Pyotr had broken it. He knew that Zmyeevich had drunk Pyotr’s blood, but that the tsar had not reciprocated. And he knew how every other Romanov was thus vulnerable to the possibility that he might one day drink Zmyeevich’s blood, and die with it in his body, and become a vampire, subject to Zmyeevich’s will. And if that Romanov were to be or to become tsar, then Zmyeevich would rule Russia. And then where would these Ottomans be?
‘I know that if he takes Russia,’ said Iuda, ‘your throne will be next. He will make their armies victorious.’
Ibrahim Edhem glanced at his sultan,