He paused briefly and I could see his shoulders stiffen.
'But there was a slight difference. This redeemer lived and died not five versts from where we were camped. His castle was still there – in ruins, of course. Two of the Wallachians wanted to go up there – to beg for help – but the rest were scared, the one who'd been translating for me included. I went along with the two of them, not that I thought we were going to be saved by a four-hundred-year-old ghost, you understand, but I hoped these ruins might turn out to be defensible.
'The three of us clambered over steep, rough ground for ten minutes until we unexpectedly – for me, though not for the other two – came to a road. There was a bright moon to guide us and so, what with the road, we moved much more swiftly. I began to think that if the castle did turn out to be something we could use, then we might really have some chance of holding out until the Turks got bored. But as I cheered up, the two Wallachians' mood darkened. They muttered to each other and began to walk more slowly until eventually they stopped, and seemed to be discussing whether to go on at all.
'I thought, to hell with them, and just carried on down the road. It did the trick because before long, they'd caught up with me again. It was odd, though, the way they'd hang back a little way behind me, but always stay close. I couldn't tell whether they were looking to me for protection, or just making sure that I was delivered up to whoever we might find at our destination.'
Again Dmitry paused, lost in thought as he stared out into the distance.
'It was the reaction of the two of them that first told me we'd arrived. I didn't even see it, but suddenly one of them pointed and they both froze, looking. It must have been in plain view for ten minutes already but it wasn't until I looked that I saw. It was built into the mountainside – almost growing out of it – and it suddenly became clear to me that it was not a line of rocks that overhung the road we'd been walking down, but the walls of a vast, ruined castle, from whose tall black windows came no ray of light, and whose broken battlements showed a jagged line against the moonlit sky.
'We went up to the gateway of a courtyard. The whole place was utterly dilapidated, but it must have been unassailable in its time. I could certainly believe it dated back to the Middle Ages. Even so, it wasn't completely decrepit; across the courtyard I could see, set in a projecting doorway of massive stone, a great wooden door had survived – old, and studded with large iron nails.
'My two companions were muttering amongst themselves. As they finished, one of them made visible efforts to compose himself and then he marched hesitantly into the courtyard. The other raised a hand to tell me to remain where I was, though I needed no prompting. Inside the courtyard, the first one was staring up at a high window, his eyes fixed on an occupant that I could not see, and that I doubted he could either.
'He threw himself to his knees in front of the door and raised up his hands and shouted out what I took to be his plea for help, always staring up at that window. He continued to cry out, now beating at his breast, now tearing his hair until finally he flung himself forward and I could hear his bare hands beating against that heavy wooden door. At length the sound stopped and we waited. The Wallachian inside the courtyard just lay still, slumped against the door. The one with me glanced nervously around, his eyes coming to rest on each of the windows above us in turn, looking for someone who would answer his countryman's plea. But answer came there none.
'After perhaps ten minutes, the one inside the courtyard pulled himself to his feet and came back towards us, shaking his head dolefully as he looked at his friend. With no words passed between them, they turned and headed back down the road from which we had come. My plan had been that we might make some use of the castle, and though it had the makings of a strong position, I was in no mood to remain there alone. I briskly caught up with them.
'Our return was much quicker than had been the journey up to the castle. I might have become lost, but the others had no problem finding the camp. Those who had remained had sunk into a fatalistic silence, and it took no words from us to convey the failure of our mission. Ridiculous as it had seemed to me both before we set out and after we returned, there had been a moment when I had been half expecting to see their saviour emerge from the castle and come to our aid.
'The Turks were much closer now, and soon, as well as being able to see their torches, we could hear their shouts from one to the other as they spread out to surround us. We knew the time was close. I rose to my feet, and the others did likewise. I was armed with a musket, a pistol and a sword. Some of the others had swords, some merely knives. Through the trees I could now begin to make out the shapes of men, each in a pool of light cast by his own flame. And then we heard the sound.
'It was not an unfamiliar sound – the sound of horses' hooves galloping – but on that cold, barren mountainside, it was incongruous. The Wallachians with me were as bewildered as I as to its cause, but it soon became clear that it came from behind us – from further up the mountain – and that it was coming closer.
'The Turks hadn't heard it, or didn't care, and had continued to advance. Now they were in range. Shots fired out and two men near to me fell. I fired back with my musket and brought one down. All the time, the sound of hooves became more thunderous. I turned to look for what was causing it, but still there was nothing to see. The Turks were well armed and had no need to engage us hand to hand. They had stopped and begun to pick us off with their muskets. A Wallachian in front of me was hit and fell back on to me, knocking me over. I twisted and was facing back uphill just as the horsemen leapt into view.
'Zmyeevich came first, clearing the ridge that had hidden his approach atop a white stallion. He was terrifying – his eyes filled with hateful lust and his fangs bared. Immediately on his tail came ten others; Oprichniki, as we've called them – vampires of a lower caste than Zmyeevich. They galloped past – in some cases over – the Wallachians and down towards the Turks, and I remember noticing that, terrifying though the horsemen were, they carried neither swords nor spears – nothing with which they might attack the opposition as they charged them. It was only later that I made the association with Zmyeevich's wolf-like teeth. The Turks themselves might have laughed. Mounted though these new arrivals were, they were utterly outnumbered – and outgunned. You wouldn't have expected more than two of them to make it across the open space between us and to penetrate the enemy line. I certainly didn't, but then I didn't know them.
'The first volley from the Turks ripped through their bodies, but had no effect on their charge. More guns fired, but still the lesson hadn't been learned. Then some began to believe the evidence of their own eyes and realized that bullets would do nothing to stop these creatures. Now they aimed at the horses – flesh-and-blood horses that fell quickly under the hail of musket-shot. But it was too late. The horses had done their job and carried the vampires into the midst of the enemy. As each horse fell from under its rider, the rider would land on his feet and continue to run, falling upon the Turks in front of him.
'I couldn't see what they were doing. We could hear men screaming, but as each was attacked, his torch was dropped or extinguished and so we could see nothing of their fate. The men around me cowered in fear, and I decided that there was little to be gained by being heroic. Much like that time we watched the Oprichniki at work on the road to Borodino, weeks ago, we heard the shouts and screams of the Turks become fewer and more desperate. I expect you felt as I did, Aleksei, a mixture of horror and awe at the brutality and efficiency of the killers.'