The Dracula Chronicles: Bound By Blood - Volume 2 Page 36

  “You have failed us!” Lucifer growled at him with real anger. “There is no reason I can give to the others to refrain from tearing you apart.”

  “To kill us would prove an even greater mistake than the one I have made.”

  It angered him even more that Dracula had spoken. He smashed the butt of the triton into both of Dracula’s legs. “I did not tell you to speak!”

  Dracula had to fight hard to contain his urge to cry out. He put up a hand in the hope he might deter Lucifer from hurting him further. “Hear me,” he gasped.

  Lucifer smashed the triton into his right shoulder. The force of the blow pinned him to the ground. It paralysed his whole body so that he could no longer move. Time was short. He had to convince Lucifer now or he and the others would die.

  He mustered all his strength to speak. “You chose me for a reason!” he cried. “I am the only way you can achieve your goals!”

  Lucifer readied himself to deliver the telling blow. He stopped and held the triton only a foot above Dracula’s head. The others saw him stop and grew anxious.

  “Do not show him mercy!” Adramelech shouted, in the coldest, most ghastly voice. “He has failed us!”

  This was the moment. Dracula had one chance to convince him. “Only I can bring down the Church,” he said. “And I will bring it down. Keep your faith in me, father. I will give you what you want.”

  Lucifer knew it was true. If he killed Dracula he would have to find another way. He had groomed Dracula for so long. And so far Dracula had delivered in all that he had done. But the pressure was on him now more than ever to cast Dracula aside. The others demanded it.

  “And why should I listen to this?”

  “No!” Ahriman shouted in a rage.

  “Because the key to everything is to separate man from God. You have always known that. Only when you succeed there will you draw the angels out of Heaven to fight you.”

  He was right. The others knew it too, though none of them wanted to admit it.

  “The only way to bring that about,” Dracula gasped. He had to fight for breath. “Is to bring down the Church. You chose me because only I can achieve that.”

  The speech sapped the last of his energy. His arms fell behind his head with his body devoid of strength. Lucifer brought the triton down one last time into his stomach. Ilona reached out to help him as the blow doubled him up. When she did, Lucifer gave her a taste of the triton across her jaw. It lifted her off the ground and into the air. She landed at Moloch’s feet. He stooped his head low to pick her up in his mighty jaws.

  Lucifer turned and pointed the triton at him. “Leave her be, brother.”

  Moloch glared at him. His eyes glowed the deepest red. “What did you bring us here for?”

  “It does not matter,” he said, calming a little.

  Moloch stamped his huge front legs into the ground. This time it really did shake. It caused a tremor that felled the trees for a hundred yards the other side of the roaring flames.

  Lucifer smashed the triton into the ground behind him. It opened a huge porthole. Knowing now that he was not going to kill the vampires, the Archdemons descended into it one at a time. Moloch was the last to go. He gave his brother a lingering stare and then passed through it.

  Mihnea wondered if he was to suffer the same. It was all his doing. He had forced his father’s hand.

  Lucifer looked straight at him. “Have no fear,” he said. “I have not forgotten you. Your love for Rome ends here. If you have any love for your father you had best heed my words.”

  He waved his arms to dowse the fires. In its place the ground smouldered and smoked. The trees for a half a mile around stood as black as coal. He looked down at Dracula once more, as he stood at the edge of the porthole. “Do not ever disappoint me again,” he warned. “This is the last time. If you do I will find another way.”

  Rome Province. The Library at the Vatican enclave in Rome.

  May 1612.

  Do you need anything more, Holy Father?”

  The Pope looked to his secretary. “No, Monsignor. Thank you. I want to spend some time here and relax.”

  He bowed and left the Pope alone. Paul loved to wind down in here. He often spent hours poring over old memoirs and documents. It was a welcome escape from the politics of Rome.

  Paul V had served as Pope for seven years now. Today was the anniversary of that. Where others would have celebrated the occasion, he wanted some time alone in his favourite place. And that was here in the Vatican Library. Before his reign as Pope people knew him as Camillo Borghese. Although born in Rome, he hailed from a wealthy Siennese family.

  He studied philosophy at Perugia and law at Padua. The conclave that elected him did so on those grounds. They saw him as stern and not one to yield easily. He was a lawyer rather than a diplomat. In a time of changing values many thought this vital in guiding the Church forward. Paul was not a man open to the corruption that had turned the heads of many pontiffs before him.

  On most days he allowed scholars and other men of note into the Library. But when he came here to relax he closed its doors to them. He eyed the thousands of manuscripts that adorned the shelves. There were so many great works by some of the greatest minds to have lived. It occurred to him that he needed to put some kind of a system in place. So many of these works and documents had no order. They lay in piles on some shelves. Others he saw chained to benches.

  He wanted to change all this. It would ensure that they survived the ravages of time. Perhaps with a decent log he might be able to find some items he wished to read with a little more ease.

  More than anything he liked to read the memoirs of those who had served here before him. These men had all passed on now. All that remained of them was their written words. Apart from their memoirs these came in the form of letters and bulls. He liked to read those too. It gave him a better insight into his role. With his existing knowledge of the past he often saw how better to do things.

  It ailed him that so many of these appeared lost. He knew many documents remained in the Castel Sant’ Angelo. In time he hoped to move them here and log them all. But others he knew had perished during the sack of Rome in 1527. The German soldiers had pillaged the Library as well as the rest of the Vatican.

  He cursed them under his breath. Stupid barbarians. Did they not realise what they were doing? On reflection he realised they probably did. They just wanted to desecrate the institution that was Rome. Heretics. So many priceless items they had burned or used for other means.

  He always hoped he might stumble upon more of the memoirs of Alexander VI. The Borgias had always fascinated him. He could not believe that such a man had once held the reins of power here. Yet he still liked to read about him. More than that he loved to peruse over the written thoughts of his predecessor.

  But he had not seen much that Alexander had written in his later years. He naturally assumed the Germans had destroyed that too. It brought a deep sigh from him just to think about it. It was such a waste. There was so much he could learn from a man like him.

  Paul walked along the rows of shelves. He ran his eye over many of the volumes gathering dust. For a time nothing of note caught his eye. Then he saw a version of Virgil’s Aeniad and reached up for it. He had to tug at it to remove it from the shelf. That was another aspect he needed to change.

  His action dislodged something else. He caught it falling in the corner of his eye. Despite his best effort to step out of the way it struck him on the forehead. He dropped the volume in his hand and fell back onto his butt. For a moment he just sat there. He touched his forehead, feeling a little dazed. When he looked at his fingers he saw a trace of blood.

  But he forgot that when he saw the cause. Lying only a foot away on the floor was something that ate at his curiosity. He picked the object up and looked it over. It looked like a package at first. An old cloth held whatever was inside. He tugged at the twine that bound it together. But it would not give.

  He fumbl
ed inside his robes. Moments later he pulled out the small dagger he kept on his person. His excitement threatened to get the better of him. He had to know what the cloth contained. With the dagger he cut the twine until the whole package fell loose in his hand. Dozens of pages of the finest parchment fell all about the floor.

  Paul picked one of them up. At the top he saw a date that read June 14, 1502. He quickly browsed through a few others. They all bore dates on and around that same day. His heart raced when he saw the signature at the bottom of one of the pages. It belonged to Rodrigo Borgia, Pope Alexander VI.

  He gathered the bundle together and found somewhere to sit. The volume he had taken from the shelf first of all, he forgot.

  Paul could barely contain his excitement. He found a spot and began to look through the collection. In his hands he held Alexander’s memoirs from his last two years. Someone had hidden them on that shelf in the library. He believed fate had led him there. Or perhaps God had wanted it.

  Until now he had always thought these documents lost. His hands shook, as he flicked through one page after another. He decided in the end to read from the first date he had seen in June 1502.

  The contents he read gripped him. The hours passed like minutes. Only when the light became too dim for him to read did he notice. His secretary walked into the Library to check on him.

  “Are you still here, Holy Father?”

  Paul did not even look up. “Yes,” he said. “I am reading.”

  “It is so dark in here.”

  “Yes, you are right. It is. Please light some lamps for me.”

  He took a breather while the monsignor carried out his request. His eyes hurt, but he had to read on. He had uncovered the most incredible story. However much his eyes pained him he could not stop now. He did take a moment to rub them, but then read on.

  “You have not even eaten yet, Holy Father.”

  “I know,” Paul said, without looking up.

  “Then should I bring you something?”

  “Yes. Thank you. Some cheese, and perhaps a glass of wine.”

  The monsignor bowed. “As you wish, Holy Father. That must be very engrossing?”

  “What was that?”

  “Those documents. I have not seen you so engaged in a long time.”

  “Yes, yes. They have me intrigued.”

  “Might I enquire as to their content?”

  “No, Giuseppe. I will talk to you later.”

  “Very good, Holy Father. I will return with something for you to eat and drink and then leave you in peace.”

  “Thank you. Are there any guards around?”

  “Yes, Holy Father. There are a few outside the Library.”

  “Good. Ask them to wait inside here. I want them nearby.”

  Moments later four of his Swiss Guard entered the Library. They did not disturb him, but took up positions where they could keep him in view. Paul smiled at them and continued reading.

  He read Alexander’s account of his meeting with Andrei. The former pope had spared no detail. He had remembered and written down every word of their conversation. Now he too knew the whole story. His secretary returned with his cheese and wine and then left again. So excited was he, that he could barely hold the glass to his lips. It intrigued him to think that he was directly above Andrei’s crypt. Andrei had rested down there over a hundred years. Until this moment no one even knew that he had existed.

  Paul forgot his cheese and wine. He had to go down into the vault. It worried him about who would have to know about it. This information was far too delicate for the ears of just any man. He would have to keep it highly secret. To that end he could only share it with a very trusted few.

  The last words Alexander had written turned over and over in his mind. To whichever of my successors reads this. Do the right thing. So much depends on you. An old story he had once heard came back to him. He had never known until now if it was truth or myth.

  The story spoke of an attempt made by Pius III to enter the vault. He had not managed to do so. Both he and a guard had suffered injury in their efforts to get inside. Pius and Piccolomini were one and the same. It told him the story was true and that Pius had worked for the Dark Side. He drew some relief from this. Should the wrong person get wind of it, they would not be able to enter the vault.

  But he had one other thing to consider. Andrei had six sons buried somewhere in Transylvania. He would have to find someone to go there and retrieve them. They too needed placing inside the vault. An agent from the Dark Side could still interfere with that process. He knew he would have to exercise extreme care.

  He thought of whom he could trust this with. His secretary, Giuseppe Borghese, was a nephew of his. He trusted him above all others. The only other man was Cardinal Alessandro Ludovisi. Paul summoned one of the guards over. “Go and find Cardinal Ludovisi,” he said. “Tell him I need to see him at once.”

  While he awaited the arrival of his friend he shared the story with his nephew. Giuseppe was as amazed as he, but accepted it as the truth. He too felt desperate to see what was inside the vault.

  “From today I want the Library closed,” he said. “However long it takes I want it combed and every volume logged.”

  Giuseppe nodded that he would see to it.

  “I need to know everything that is in there. These memoirs have remained hidden on those shelves for more than a hundred years.”

  “I will do it, Holy Father.”

  Ludovisi arrived soon after. He was anxious to know the nature of the business the Pope had with him. “Is something wrong, Camillo?” he asked.

  He was one of the few men who addressed the pontiff by his real name, and only then in private.

  “Come, Alessandro,” he said. “I have something very important to tell you.”

  Ludovisi’s face lit up at the story. “It is as well this has found us and no other.”

  “Yes,” Paul agreed. “It is only because I know I can trust you both that I have shared this with you. We must maintain the highest discretion over this matter.”

  Ludovisi agreed. “If what you read is the truth then the destiny of this world could depend upon it.”

  “Come. Let us go to the vault.”

  The three of them walked to the vault with the same four guards. In his hand Paul held a bible. “I want every man present to swear on this book. Whatever you see or learn here tonight you never speak of to a soul.”

  Each of the six men with him swore an oath on the bible. Satisfied with that Paul turned to the most senior of the guards. “Open the vault please, Captain.”

  They did not have the same problems as Pius more than a century ago. The lock on the mighty door clicked open at the first attempt.

  “After today I want two men always on this door. For every moment of every day two men must stand guard here.”

  The captain nodded. He called the other guards to help him push open the door. When it did open he took a torch in hand and led Paul and the other two holy men inside. The other three guards remained outside the vault.

  “It is such a vast area in here,” Giuseppe said. “We might never find his crypt.”

  “Holy Father, the crypts are on this side,” the captain said. He held the torch up to show them the way.

  Soon they stood before a series of tombs.

  “Which one is it?” Ludovisi asked. “Few if any of them are marked.”

  Paul closed his eyes. Help me Andrei.

  The four men stepped back with a fright. A spark emanated from the centre of one of the crypt markers near to their feet. It grew into a bright blue flame. The flame burned for all of thirty seconds. In that time it chiselled a cross on the stone. When the flame snuffed itself out the cross glowed a bright and brilliant blue.

  They looked at each other in wonder. A sweet scent of flowers rose up with the trail of smoke. If for a moment in their lives any one of them had doubted the power of God, none of them did now.

  “We need to open it,” Paul s
aid to the captain.

  “I will get help,” he said.

  “Wait,” Ludovisi said. “There is no need.”

  They all looked down again at the crypt. The cement that sealed it began to crumble and fall away. A pronounced line showed all around the stone. Before any of them spoke it opened, as a long length of stone slowly pushed its way out.

  For a time each of them was too stunned to speak. Instead they looked down at Andrei. Despite his time there his body had remained perfectly preserved. His skin still showed the same colour as the day he died. It was as if he just lay there asleep.

  Tears welled in Paul’s eyes. He could not believe what he was seeing. The emotions he felt inside were way beyond words.

  Ludovisi broke the silence. “How long has he been here?”

  “Over a hundred years,” Giuseppe told him.

  Paul found it hard to speak for a moment. He wiped his eyes and took a deep breath. “One hundred and ten.”

  That fact amazed the cardinal. “He looks as though he was put here today.”

  They saw a box on the pillow beside Andrei’s head. His hands rested across his chest. In his grasp they saw a scroll. Paul stooped down and picked the box up. He held it for a short time in his hands.

  “You must open it, Camillo,” Ludovisi said. “We need to see what it contains.”

  Paul opened the box. The others crowded around him to peer inside. He pulled out a light shawl. “This is most sacred,” he told them. “Jesus touched this with His own hand. It is what the weapons to kill Dracula must be wrapped in.”

  They accepted his word for it. It was not the right time to ask how he knew this.

  “It will help ensure their sanctity,” he said.

  “What else is in there, Camillo?”

  “The seven vials. They are a mixture of holy water and Andrei’s blood.”

  He picked one of them up. It glowed the same brilliant blue at his touch.

  Ludovisi gazed at it in awe. “What is their purpose?”