'They told me I would live for ever,' he announced.
'Is that what attracted you to it?' I asked him.
'No. They said I would know no fear. Fear was my worst enemy.' He glanced towards me. I could not have been a very intimidating sight. I was unarmed and exhausted, my body slumped forwards and my arms resting on my knees. I could scarcely lift my head to speak to him.
'Fear of what?' I asked. Behind him, I saw the Italian roll on to his front and raise himself to his knees.
'Of consequence,' replied Varfolomei, with an ambiguity that implied he had thought about this many times before and chosen the word with care. The Italian was on his feet and was creeping towards Varfolomei with drawn sword.
'So you fear consequences?'
'I used to fear the opinions of my peers.' He raised his eyes from the dust in his hand and looked at me. 'Now I have new peers.' His hand slammed out to his side, hitting the Carabinier's chest and knocking him to the floor. It was a moment's distraction for Varfolomei, but long enough for me to shoot out my hand and grab what I needed.
'People like you used to despise me,' continued Varfolomei, rising to his feet, 'and I can tell you still do. But do you know what's changed? I don't care any more.' Behind him the soldier had risen to his feet. He did not bother to recover his sword, but began to shadow Varfolomei's steps as he approached me, always keeping a safe distance behind.
'You talk as if you care,' I said, rising to my feet. The reason that the soldier had not picked up his sword became clear. He was not stalking Varfolomei, but creeping towards the door. Now that he was within reach, he made a dash for it. He made his escape without interruption and we heard his feet race up the steps to freedom.
In his hurry, he had neglected to shut the door behind him. A fragile beam of the dawn's earliest sunlight shone through the door and into the cellar, a little way behind Varfolomei. He glanced behind him and his jaw tightened slightly, almost imperceptibly.
'And there seems to be something else you're frightened of,' I said, taking a step towards him. He could not move away from me for fear of stepping into the sunlight. There was, of course, little reason why he should move away. I could present no threat to him, but the army whose retreat is cut off will always have a greater fear of its attacker.
'It is nothing in comparison to what you have to fear.' There was no false bravado in his voice. He believed it and he was right. I could feel my own pulse in my neck as my heart attempted to prepare me for what was about to come. I took another step forward.
Varfolomei could either retreat or attack – and he could not retreat. I had deprived him of choice, and choice is a potent weapon of war.
Trapped, he launched his attack and threw himself at me with all his strength. I fell backwards, but as I did so, I raised my hand, presenting to his chest the sharp, pointed splinter of wood that I had snatched up earlier.
I hit the floor heavily, banging the back of my head against the ground hard enough that I feared I might lose consciousness, but throughout I kept the wooden stake pointed towards him. He fell upon me like a wild dog, his eyes ablaze with hatred and craving. I saw his mouth wide open, his fang-like canines descending towards my throat, preparing to rip it out, as I had seen Matfei do earlier. Then I felt an aching thump against the right side of my chest, almost like a stab wound, as the momentum of his body imparted itself to the stake and thence into me. But I had the blunt end of the stake to my chest, and although it might bruise, it did not pierce.
Since my body would not yield and nor could the wooden splinter itself, there was only one alternative. Varfolomei's body continued to descend towards me and I felt the wind punched out of me as his full weight landed, but his teeth made no attempt to connect with my throat; his eyes no longer looked on my face with either wrath or hunger. He was already dead. For his body to reach mine, the stake which I held out had been forced to pass through it. I had already learned by Matfei's death that the stake didn't need to be hawthorn; it just needed to pass through the heart. Varfolomei's death was mere confirmation.
I felt the weight of his lifeless body draped on me like an exhausted lover. Almost immediately, the load began to lighten. I heard a hissing sound, like running water – the dusty remains of Varfolomei's decayed body cascading off mine on to the floor. Just as they had with Matfei, the years of decay since his first, true death had come to his body in seconds. His head remained intact for a brief moment longer, his face staring into mine without even those basest and most basic of emotions which the Oprichniki could display in life. Then it collapsed, leaving only his empty clothing clinging to my body and filling my mouth with a dust that I leapt to my feet to spit out, wishing that I had a canteen with me to rinse away the taste. Not that it had much taste. It was the concept that I needed to wash away.
I left the cellar quickly, walked up the stairs and climbed back over the fence and on to the street. I walked a little way until ahead I saw a patrol of about half a dozen French heading towards me. At their head was a dishevelled young man who was shouting at them in an Italian which they little understood.
'It's this way. There were two of them. They were fighting over who should kill me.' It was the young infantryman who had just escaped from the cellar. I slipped down a sidestreet. As for the two that he thought had been fighting over him, I had escaped, and of the other he would find little but dust.
CHAPTER XIV
I WAS ABOUT AS FAR FROM MY BED AS IT IS POSSIBLE FOR ONE THING to be from another in Moscow. As I headed back across town, the air was heavy with the stench of smoke. Buildings were ablaze everywhere – perhaps half of the city was burnt or burning. Even south of the river in Zamoskvorechye, houses were on fire.
The flames had not reached the stable where I had been staying, but I felt no inclination to be caught asleep in a wooden building if the fire did reach it during the day. I was desperately tired, having been up all night, and I suspected that the night that was to come would require similar exertions of me. Across the street was a small church, abandoned by its priest and his entourage before the French arrived and, crucially, made of stone. I gathered up what few possessions I had left in the stable and made my way over. It was a matter of little trouble to break into the crypt and I slipped inside.
It was cold and dark. Outside, even though it was now midmorning, the city basked in an eerie twilight caused by the thick smoke that hung over it. Somewhere through it, I could just make out the disc of the sun, shining brightly, but lessened in its power by the smog that the fires all around constantly replenished. Within the crypt, it was darker still. It was an ideal place for anyone who wanted to sleep undisturbed during the day.
I paused, remembering that there were still seven others in the city who needed a dark, secluded place to sleep through the hours of daylight. What if, by some unlucky chance, one or more of the Oprichniki had chosen this very place to secrete their coffins? Would I awake to find that I had slept alongside the very creatures that I hoped to destroy?
On the other hand, there were many, many churches with crypts in Moscow, and many other similarly safe places that weren't crypts at all. It would have surprised me if the Oprichniki could even go near a holy place such as a church, although I immediately remembered that Foma and Ioann had met me outside one less than two days before. But I was very, very tired. For all I knew, the smoke outside was so thick that the Oprichniki might be able to wander around in the open without need to fear the sun. I lay down, using a stone step as a pillow, but despite my exhaustion, I could not sleep.