It was a dark November evening, and the last remaining sheds of light quickly vanished below the hilltops. The rain pattered lightly on the top of the tent and water crept in beneath the draughty flaps of the settlement. The year was 1514 and it began to grow cold in the eastern European lands, I breathed a sigh of relief as the gunfire finally stopped. Living in the midst of the battle of Orsha was a scary life. It had been a very busy day. So many men had been into my quarters. To watch so many people die changes you, even if you had killed a few in your time.
I was lighting my candle as I felt the presence of a man behind me. As I turned around I realised it was one of the soldiers; I could tell by his royal blue and deep red uniform. I was not familiar with his face. The man was tall and clearly well built. His delicate dark curls fell neatly over his sculptured face. He had smooth and full pink lips that held an intriguing lopsided smile that lightly wrinkled his rosy cheeks, of which the right on had a small scar. He had a pale complexion that contrasted with his deep green eyes that seemed to dilate in the golden candle light. His youthful innocence was at odds with the cynical look in his eyes and his gaze pierced me to my very soul. As he said my name and called my attention to him I became accustomed to his voice. He had a strong, very articulate, southern English accent that had a deep commanding tone. Not many of the men who fight out here were British. As he spoke his lopsided smirk continued to stay of his face and his pearly white teeth were revealed as it blossomed into a grin. I said nothing. The grin on his face faded, his eyes narrowed and his eyebrows dropped.
"Robert." He repeated.
"Sorry." I replied. "What was it you wanted Mr...?" He interrupted me accordingly.
"Yorke; Harold Yorke, though most of the men call me Hal." He paused. "I was told by the captain to come and see you about my hand?" Raising his eyebrows, he spoke with an inquisitive tone and lifted up a deeply cut palm; his dark ruby coloured blood trickled from the graze and found its way down his hand and past his wrist.
"Oh. I see. Come here." I beckoned him over whilst I looked through my notes and bottles of different treatments. "Take a seat Hal" I smiled. The man sat down on a crude wooden chair in the corner further in my tent. He looked around taking in his surroundings.
"I see you have more adequate living conditions that the rest of us." He spoke in a critically sarcastic way. I let a small laugh slip. The bottle I was looking for finally met my grip. I turned abruptly to find him analysing me with his all of his senses before once I meet his well-trained stare.
"Give me your hand" I demanded. He obligingly reached out his arm and placed his hand in my palm. I uncorked the bottle in my mouth before pouring the ointment onto his wound. He took a sharp intake of breath as the gloopy liquid penetrated the incision. I held his wrist firmly to stop him snatching his hand away. I paced over to the other side of the room to find some slightly blood tinged rags to cover his injury with before returning to Hal. "So what's your story?" I asked him. His eyes were raised from his wound to my face. I began to tie the scraps of fabric around his hand. His face became engrossed in thought as he took a second to consider what he was going to say. I interrupted the awkward silence with "Not many of us are English out here; it's only me, Herrick, Ivan, Wyndham and Jacob, we're such a long way from home." I could sense his heartbeat pick up a little. As I finished tying his bodge-job bandage he swiftly got up.
"Maybe another time" He said hesitantly before making a swift exit.
Over the course of a month I got to know Hal a bit better, he seemed to pick up various injuries on the battlefield and come to visit me often proudly displaying his scars that he had picked up, he was such a young and skittish lad.
One snowy evening when the silence finally fell he was once again escorted to me with a long slash down the back of the leg right through his red army trousers. The blood gushed from his leg and I began to feel slightly tormented by my dark thoughts but managed some self-control. I quickly shooed away the other man as I helped Harry limp to the chair in the corner as he writhed in agony. His eyes watered before he finally spoke with a cripple tone as if he could barely get the words out through his pain
"Will it get infected?" He gasped. I rushed around my make shift lab knowing time was of the essence.
"Not if I'm quick enough!" I forced a smile on my concerned face. I quickly threw together another dose of gunk to put on Hal. My hand was trembling. I rolled up one of his trousers to the knee before slapping on the sloppy concoction. I could see the pain on his face. "You should stay here tonight Hal." I said with a concerned voice, he nodded, not to object to the offer of a softer bed and warmer quarters. There were no more rags left, I found one of my clean shirts in the corner and haphazardly pulled off a piece and tied if around the knee to stop the bleeding before wrapping the rest of the shirt around his leg.
I had more writing to do at my desk so I pulled up my camp stool and started to continue my studies and to document my account of the war. Slowly the mans' groans began to fade and he drifted of the sleep in the corner. It had gotten to the early hours of the morning before I heard his heartbeat pick up again as he awoke. I turned to face him.
"A month ago you wanted to know what my story was, if you want I could tell you, now." Thought shrouded his gaze. I raised my head in agreement and showed my willing to listen.
"You have shared kindness with me lately, it's only fair I share something with you." He paused "I was born in a brothel, I didn't even know which one of the six illiterate whores was my mother, but as each one was slowly lost to disease or violence I mourned them like they were my blood." I tilted my head in curiosity and amazement, but he was not done yet. "I ran away to sea, ended up in Gdansk and then I fell here, into the battle of Orsha and ended up on the wrong end of a muscovite's lance today." My eyes widened in disbelief and the tent fell silent. The snow had stopped by these early hours of the morning but the cold still crept in. The wind raged at the delicate fibres that this tent was made of as if it wanted to tear it apart. "God didn't leave you much of your soul then." I replied.
Hal scoffed. "I don't know if I even believe in god. I've seen such terrible things in this world I don't see evidence that there could be a god." He spoke with an intelligent tone.
"The devil then?"
He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. I poured a glass of beautiful red liquid into my silver glass out of a canteen I had been carrying. "If I told you that there were such things as men who live forever, who were born out of grief like yours what would you say." He stayed silent. "What would you say if, I, could offer, you, eternal life?"
He sat silently and I could see the thoughts in his eyes. He looked intrigued and he had that same cynical look in his eyes that he did the first time he walked into that tent in November and he look me straight in the eye. "I would say, yes."
A cold fell over the tent and those words echoed in the silence. I took a drink from the goblet on my desk and tasted the sweet blood that the goblets contained pass my lips once more; there really were some advantages of being and army surgeon such as the means to acquire blood easily. "Are you afraid of death Hal?" I asked
"No." He replied faster this time. "I seek a way out of my brutal life."
"You need to get some rest Hal." I said concernedly.
"I know. I shall return to the soldiers barracks." He picked him-self up and limped to the exit and before leaving flourished a small salute.
Many months passed, more men died, the more difficult it got to stay sane. It was one day in a stormy February, I heard familiar shouts from one side of the camp, not another one, god no. I could hear footsteps getting louder and closer. My tent shook as the doors were violently pushed apart it was a man on a stretcher. The man was Harold Yorke. The men placed him on my operation table for accessibility.
He had a gushing hole in his chest cavity, the blood had tainted his royal blue uniform and he was gasping and coughing up blood.
"What happened!?" I asked knowing that his time was limited.
" A Musket bullet straight to the chest, sir." One soldier piped up.
I nodded in acknowledgement. "Leave; All of you." The men about turned and left hastily, they could tell I wasn't in a good mood.
Hal spluttered and coughed and was looking paler, his ebony locks had begun to gather sweat. His groans began to shape into words… "Is… Is this it, then?" I began to rush around for anything to stop the bleeding, rags, antidote of sorts, or anything to buy him time.
"It doesn't have to be. I just need your agreement." I changed my tone quickly.
"Agreement to what?" He croaked.
"Yes. Or No?" I stopped messing about and turned to him.
"Yes." His splutters began to become less clear and the blood continued to leak out and seep through his garments.
I blew out the already flickering candle and felt my darker side emerge before finding my way to his neck. Little did I know at the time what I was creating? Who, I was creating. He did not cry out in pain, the deed was quickly done. And then he was put to sleep by the venom. I walked outside underneath the bright moon that hung in the sky and wiped my mouth clean and brushed aside my raggedy blond hair that sat untidily on my forehead and gazed up to the stars for a while. Was I going to regret this decision?
The next morning he woke up, he still looked pale, yet extraordinarily more healthy than normal, the thing is being what he is, his healing cycle is, now, much faster than usual.
"I feel… Strange. Different." He said unsteadily
"You said you wanted a way out, so I gave it to you." I replied with a very stern tone and let loose a part of me that hadn't seen the light for a while.
"Have you drugged me?" he hesitates and croaks.
"I haven't drugged you, your body is going through and extraordinary transformation. One that I went through many years ago." I paused for breath and time for thought. He looked at me questioning my words with his facial expression. "You feel nauseous because your blood pressure has dropped and your heart rate is about one beat per minute now, but you won't die, because of what you are; it's spectacular."
He look at me dumb struck, before he finally spoke up. "I'm thirsty." He clutched at his throat before finding the two puncture holes in the left hand side and tracing them with his fingers.
"Yes, but you don't want water. Since you awoke you've only been able to think about one word, only you're not sure why. If I told you some was beneath this floor, you would dig through the dirt with your fingers; accept it, and I can help you. But you need to say it."
I looked him in the eye and he tried to evade my gaze. He then returned his gaze from the floor to me and opened his mouth to speak before shutting it again with confusion of my knowledge. How I managed to define every thought in his head. I smiled reassuringly. "Think about someone you love Hal. Anyone, be it someone in your family or your woman. When you think about them, now, what do you think of?"
He thought long and hard and then spoke up with "I want to drain them dry." Before sharply clapping his hands to his mouth as if they were not the words he intended to escape and then deeply breathing in shock.
"It's okay, It's okay! That will fade, in time! In time, you will remember how to love someone but I need to help you first. You must stay here while I go to breakfast; do you understand?"
He nodded.
I left the tent and trudged through the sticky mud, I hated the feeling of it beneath my feet. I made my way over to the Major's Barracks to find Captain Herrick and bring him news of our new 'Recruitment'.
"Captain Herrick." I said and took a big bow.
"Robert!" He said in a welcoming way but I could tell I was interrupting. There were several other men gathered round a table, which had upon it, maps and navigation instruments. He grinned before making his way over and putting his arm round me and taking me to the edge of the tent. "What are you doing here!?" He hissed and his grin quickly transmuted into a disappointed frown.
"We have a new recruitment." I said quietly.
"Who?" He sighed.
"Hal."
"Yorke?" He replied and raised his eyebrows in surprise at my selective choice. "It's about time we recruited valuable young blood, he's quite a valuable asset to our forces, and he's rather impressive on the battlefield!" "Where is he?"
"Back at my tent." I said.
"Best keep a w-" He was cut off by a rather loud cry that echoed through the valley that clearly came from the western side of the camp. We both looked at each other with the same concerned look, for we knew what had happened. I rushed out of the tent ahead of him while he said his goodbye's to his senior officers. I knew what I was going to find. I sprinted and darted between tents I finally found my way to the edge of the encampment. There was a body, one of the more brutish and arrogant young men, I hadn't known him well but from what I had known of him, he seemed to be a bit tiresome. I bent over the body, he had no pulse but then I found the two puncture marks in his neck, there was not a single drop of blood left in his body. I looked out across the mountains and I could see a singular silhouette running to the west in the early morning sun. What had I done? Herrick caught me up and tapped me on the shoulder before I pointed to the west and he ran after Hal.
A few weeks passed and he was not found. I soon heard stories of whole towns found dead, hamlets and villages. Tales of bodies drained of blood. Now I realise the monster I had created. He was destined to be remembered as a murderous monster, he was destined to be a history maker.