She pronounced the last words with relish, her eyes alight with some inner fire.
“Dragons?”
“Yes,” she told me proudly. “The name Dragulescu comes from the Roumanian word for dragon. It is said that long ago a dragon lived in the belly of this mountain and we subdued him to make his mountain our own. Folk said we harnessed the dragon and rode him over the sky, raining fire upon our enemies. Even now, it is said he slumbers for a thousand years beneath the castle, waiting to be awakened should we have need of him.”
“It must be lovely to belong to such a place with such history,” I mused.
She nodded thoughtfully. “But with that belonging comes responsibilities that must never be shirked. One owes everything to the land and the people, everything,” she finished fiercely.
Having seen for myself the hardship that such dereliction could cause, I could well understand the violence of her feelings. Such a feudal system could only possibly function if the lord and master oversaw his demesne carefully, involving himself in every part of his dependents’ lives. They must be able to rely upon him, as fully as children rely upon a father, to decide upon which crops to plant, when to harvest, which animals to breed and which to cull. Their very livelihoods depended upon his choices, the very lives of their children. I thought of the shuttered school and the boarded church, the flooded fields and the pitted street. I thought of all that had been left to fall to ruin in Count Bogdan’s time and how much labour and effort it would cost his son to put it right. One only hoped he was up to the challenge.
“And that is why my son must have the proper helpmeet,” she added, with such delicacy that I might have missed the meaningful glance she darted me. A tiny furrow had appeared between her brows, and I realised then the difficult position in which she found herself. She was my hostess and must be hospitable; still more she was grateful to me for the role I had played in persuading the count to fulfill his duty. But I must not be permitted to entertain hopes, I reflected bitterly, and the countess’s remarks were by way of warning me not to nock my arrow at that particular target. I was merely the granddaughter of an esteemed but impoverished scholar, and I earned my keep by means of my pen. I was unworthy of his attentions, particularly attentions of the matrimonial variety.
“Of course,” I said faintly, wishing the interview over, but understanding I had no power to stop it.
“I had hopes he would marry Cosmina,” she went on carefully. “The match would have finished what my union with my husband began, the bringing together of both branches of our family.” She reached for a handkerchief and dabbed at her mouth, and I believed it was so she would not have to meet my eyes. “Andrei has proven difficult, and of course, his happiness is so important to me. It would grieve my mother’s heart to think of him unhappily settled. But there is more to consider than his own inclinations. The name and the blood of the Dragulescus must not be degraded by his choice.” The clock upon the table gave a little chime. “Oh, dear. It is time for my medicine,” she said, waving the hand that held the great pigeon’s-blood ruby. “Will you be so kind as to fetch Frau Amsel?”
I rose, and as I did so, I realised it was merely a clever stratagem on her part to change the subject. She had impressed upon me that I was an unsuitable match for her son and had done so in a way that had been calculated to bring embarrassment to neither of us, and the timing was calculated as well, I suspected, with the need for her medicine a suitable expedient to make certain the conversation would not be continued. It was cleverly done, and I could judge from the satisfied expression upon her face that she was pleased with the results. I had offered her neither argument nor resentment, and both of us knew I lacked the courage to reintroduce the topic once it had been so definitively retired.
I hurried to find Frau Amsel bustling in the door. Doubtless she had been hovering outside, perhaps even listening to our conversation. She brushed past me to attend the countess, and I closed the door softly after.
My rapid departure and the countess’s remarks left me feeling a little unsettled. A hasty glance out the window revealed that the sun had finally appeared, banishing the storm clouds, and I hurried to my room for my stoutest shoes and a warm plaid shawl. A brisk scramble down to the village might well prove muddy, but escaping the close atmosphere of the castle was worth any untidiness, I decided.
Just as I passed through the court and out into the paved area beyond, Florian called my name. His eyes were deeply shadowed, and I smiled at him in sympathy. Broken slumbers seemed to be endemic at the castle.
“Do you mean to be going to the village?” he asked.
“Yes. I wanted some fresh air.”
To my surprise, he gave me a rueful, knowing smile. “I am seeing to the pigs, so I am bound that way also. We go together?”
His face betrayed nothing arcane, no hidden motive, and yet I could not help but feel a frisson of emotion, as if he were silently appealing to me.
“Of course. That would be very kind of you,” I said, inwardly chiding myself for being fanciful. I had wondered if Florian nursed a modest affection for me, but nothing in his gaze seemed admiring. He was distracted, perhaps not unreasonably so, given what we had seen the previous night. It had made us comrades of a sort, and when he offered his arm, I took it with a greater sense of ease than I had felt in his company before. Whether from his innate courtesy or his desire to improve himself, he insisted we converse in English rather than German, and although it hampered us a bit, I appreciated his efforts.
We said little during the descent, for Florian had judged it correctly, and the way was slippery with mud and rotting vegetation. At the foot of the mountain was a path I had not yet taken that paralleled the river, winding past the odd farm and dark copse until it ended at a piggery. It was a ramshackle stone building, mended and patched to keep the pigs warm and dry, and beyond it lay a large field, carefully fenced and furnished with a good stone trough and a tidy mud puddle for the fat porkers. There were a goodly number of the animals, snuffling and rooting about the field, and several of them let out squeals at Florian’s approach.
“They are handsome animals, your pigs,” I offered.
Florian smiled, his boyish face lit with pride, and his accent grew thicker with his enthusiasm. “The best in the valley. Almost ten years to make such a herd,” he observed with satisfaction.
“It must be very gratifying,” I said, thinking out loud, “to apply one’s self to a project and see such substantial results.”
“Count Bogdan trusted me only to keeping the pigs. But I always think I do this well and he will give me more to do.”
“And did he?”
Florian shook his head. “No, miss. Count Bogdan trusted no one. He tell me he gave me the pigs because he does not care if they live or die. But I care.”
“And they are thriving now,” I pointed out.
“Pigs are simple. They have only to be growing fat and content,” Florian said, pointing at the largest of his sows, a great solid creature with a train of plump piglets scampering after.
“We ought to envy them that, I suppose. Tell me, do you have more responsibility under the present count?”
I am not certain what made me ask it, but Florian did not seem to mind the intrusion. “Count Andrei does not think so much about these things. Farmers pay the rents, and this is all the count is caring about. He gives me the harvest this year,” he said, his complexion flushing with pride. His eyes were downcast, but it was apparent he was deeply pleased to have been given such responsibility.
“Perhaps the coming of Count Andrei will be the making of you,” I said lightly.
He did not respond, but gave a low whistle. A tame pig trotted up to have its ears scratched. Florian hummed a folk song as he rubbed at the pig’s head, and I ventured a question I had been longing to ask.
“Florian, what do you make of the ceremony in the crypt? Do you think Count Bogdan will rest now?”
His hand faltered on the pig, then resumed its gentle stroking. “I pray God he will. All that must be done, it was not done,” he said carefully, “but perhaps what is done is enough.”
“I confess I am rather glad it all stopped when it did. I do not think I could have borne seeing a man’s heart taken out-” I broke off, sickened at the thought.
Florian gave me a sad smile. “It is their way, miss. I have lived here very long time. Roumanians are different to Germans. The magic and monsters are being real here. They say the waters of the Carpathian rivers must be your heart’s blood to understand it.”
“I want to understand it. It is a very beautiful land,” I told him truthfully.
“Then you must stop the thinking that Transylvania is like other places. It is different here. See what is. Not
