The Rose Demon

She dresses in white and haunts dark and lonely places. If you see her or hear her terrible wail it’s a sign of approaching death.’ She glanced across at Fitzgerald. ‘They say she’s been heard recently in Dublin, howling like a moonstruck wolf.’ She shook her head. ‘I do not think Symonds’ venture will meet with success.’

    ‘What is the Dearghul?’ Matthias asked.

    He told them about the incident the previous evening. Mairead smiled bravely but Matthias could tell she was frightened whilst Fitzgerald sat uneasily on his stool.

    ‘They are the blood drinkers,’ Mairead replied slowly, her eyes never leaving his. ‘The Undead. Tell him, Thomas!’

    Fitzgerald hawked and spat into the flames.

    ‘I was born in Ireland,’ he began. ‘The Dearghul, as the bonny Mairead says, are the Undead. Now, I thought they were childish stories to frighten the weak-minded as well as keep the children in their beds. According to these legends, the Dearghul are Strigoi or vampires. If you get bitten by one they draw blood from your body and replace it with their own. To all intents and purposes you die but, when darkness falls, those who have been given this new, macabre life rise from their graves and look to spread themselves.’ He shrugged. ‘Those are the legends. Now, sixteen years ago, with no wars in Ireland and Edward IV strong in England, I travelled to France but there was peace there. I joined the Swiss, giving my sword against the Burgundians and, when that war ended, I travelled further east. I joined a party of Teutonic knights, Crusaders moving south towards Greece to fight against the Turks.’ Fitzgerald scratched at his chin and played with the black patch over his eye. ‘We crossed the Danube and entered Transylvania. Oh, boyo.’ He looked at Matthias. ‘You think Ireland is dark and full of woods. Transylvania is a land full of shadows, deep valleys, the sides of which are covered in the darkest and thickest of forests; wild, noisy rivers; a land of perpetual night. The prince of that country, or Voivode as they call themselves, was Vlad Tepes, Vlad the Impaler. He was more popularly known by his nickname “Drakulya”, Son of the Dragon. He hired our swords.’

    Fitzgerald stretched out his hands towards the flames. ‘We did not stay there long. Drakulya’s soul must have been made in Hell. Never once did he show any compassion to prisoners, and to those who opposed him, he was cruelty itself. His palace at Tirgoviste was surrounded by a forest of stakes, and on each stake were impaled alive men and women, Turk and Christian, Greek and Arab, anyone who opposed his will. Now, for me he had little time, but Drakulya became very fond of our leader, a young German knight, Otto Franzen. Otto was a brave warrior - he feared nothing - a superb horseman, a redoubtable fighter. Drakulya said we could all leave if we wanted to, but Otto, he begged to stay.’ Fitzgerald sipped from his cup. ‘The young German refused. He was sickened by the bloodshed, by the soul-crushing terror of Drakulya’s court. We made to leave. Drakulya could not stop us. Then Otto fell ill, not a fever or some sickness, just a weakness. Drakulya sent his best physicians. We were kept well away but Otto died. It was too far for us to take his body back home. Drakulya became all courteous and kind. He promised us that Otto would be buried in a princely cemetery outside his own chapel at Tirgoviste, so we agreed.’

    Fitzgerald rolled the wine cup between his fingers. ‘Five days later we left Tirgoviste. I remember riding down the narrow, cobbled streets towards the city gates. There must have been thirty or forty of us: a long trail of pack animals and sumpter ponies. Drakulya had given each of us a purse of coins and provisions for our journey.’ Fitzgerald paused.

    ‘Go on,’ Mairead urged.

    ‘Now, it was late in the day when we left, the heart of winter. Darkness was already falling. Voivode Drakulya paid us the supreme compliment of being present at the gates of his city as we left.’ Fitzgerald held a hand up. ‘Heaven is my witness, I don’t lie. I was on the outside of the group. The path leading down was steep. I could see the gates were open. The thoroughfare on either side was packed with Drakulya’s troops. Torches had been lit and placed on iron stands. From where I rode I could see the Voivode himself, surrounded by his officers. As I passed him I looked. At first I couldn’t believe it.