.: TWENTY-SIX:.
...
Hermannstadt, Sânziene 1620
Carmelia huffed as she waded through the meadow of tall grass – holding her posy of wild flowers high over her head to give a little shade and relief from the heat of the midsummer sunshine. She kept her blue eyes to the ground – peering through the bristling fronds as she prowled for the one flower she was missing from her bunch.
"…Have you found any yet?" Sorina shouted from the other side of the meadow.
Carmelia stopped and groaned. "Oh yes, heaps," she shouted back. "I thought I'd just carry on trudging around in the burning sun getting bitten by horseflies for nothing."
Sorina wrinkled her nose as she stared into the sunlight, drawing her lips back over her large front teeth. "…Really?"
Carmelia swatted angrily at the grass around her. "No, Rabbit! Of course I've not found any – have I! Gâscă! Don't you think I would have said if I had?"
Sorina shrugged as she brushed down her white petticoats – she wasn't sure of the answer to that question. "…Oh. Well, I don't know," she sighed as she began wading over – cutting a path through the long grass.
"Look, we might as well just give up; there's nothing left," Carmelia complained as she wiped the sweat from her forehead and aggressively waved away a horsefly. "There was nothing 'round the back of the church, nothing by the river – there was blankets of the stuff there last year! There was nothing by the gates, nothing in the woods near Turnișor – what a useless trudge that was! And now there's nothing here neither! Nothing!"
Sorina put on a brave face. "…It's still a fine pick, Melia. You've enough there to make a beautiful crown," she said as she reached out to touch her friend's bundle of blooms – a firework of dog daisies, purple pin cushions, buttercups, ransoms, cow parsley and scarlet corn poppies spitting from her fist. "…Maybe even two."
Carmelia twisted sharply, pulling it out of reach. She scowled, "This is your fault, Rabbit," she spat. "If you'd called for me on the eighth bell just as we planned, then I wouldn't have slept in, and all the other girls in town wouldn't have beaten us to it – would they?"
Sorina looked down at her own meagre handful of flowers, wilting in the heat. "…I know," she replied quietly. "I'm sorry… I told you, my măma needed help with the–"
"Oh, forget it!" Carmelia snapped. She frowned at her flowers, "You know this is all worthless without a sprig of lady's bedstraw! Without that, the Sânziană won't weave their magic and Radu won't blink twice at me!"
Sorina scuffed her shoes in the dirt. "…But, he's promised to Maria – the cobbler's daughter," she said. "Don't you think it's wrong to try and tempt him away?"
Carmelia arched a blonde eyebrow. "…From her? She's dull as ditch water – I'd be doing him a favour," she scoffed as she set off through the grass towards the track leading back towards town. "Besides, they're not married yet. He's fair game."
Sorina sighed and rolled her eyes. "But why him? You could have any man you want, Melia," she said as she hurried along behind her friend – bounding through the grass. "With or without the lady's bedstraw you're the comeliest girl in Hermannstadt – and you know it."
"I don't want just any man, Rabbit," Carmelia said. "I want one who's going to get me out of these peasant rags and take me as far away from this stinking town as possible."
She'd long decided that she'd rather die than spend another day as the butcher's bastard stepdaughter. She couldn't wait to be done with plucking chickens, scrubbing blood off the floor and rubbing animal fat into her hands just to keep them soft. She couldn't wait to get away from the stench of rotting meat – especially during the summer; the stench of it seemed to follow her – it seeped into everything. But most of all, she couldn't wait to get away from that cramped and sweaty garret, and her stepfather's wandering hands.
Carmelia shuddered and shook her head, "Radu's tata trades with the Turks," she said. "He's travelled all the way to the sultan's home many times. Can you imagine?"
Sorina frowned. "…Why would he want to trade with them?" she asked, panting in the heat.
"Because they're rich, Rabbit," Carmelia explained, tutting. She tucked a greasy strand of blonde hair behind her ear, "Have you not seen how Radu's măma dresses? All those silks and pearls? Lace ruffs and hoops and jewels. She even has a girl to curl her hair and buckle her shoes. I want that. I want to be someone."
"Well, I can buckle my own shoes. Or, I would if they had buckles," Sorina sulked as she reached the edge of the track – the dusty road snaking its way through the surrounding fields and farmland back into town. "And I don't want to leave Hermannstadt. I can't imagine being anywhere else. I like it here."
Carmelia sighed, "It's a hole. Nothing interesting ever happens," she said as she glanced up and down the road, the sun blazing down upon it.
"I prefer it that way," Sorinna replied, twiddling her flowers.
"Dumnezeule, it's hot," Carmelia complained, dreading the walk back into town. She lightly fanned herself with her flowers, "If I was rich I wouldn't have to walk everywhere – I would have a carriage to carry me wherever I wanted to go. Spare my poor feet."
As if on cue, the distant sound of carriage wheels grinding over the dusty track could be heard – and when Carmelia turned her head, she saw a whole troop of them travelling towards them – all pulled by glossy black mares, kicking up dust as they went. The roof of each wooden carriage was piled high with ornate trunks and caskets, the drivers dressed finely in black, satin doublets.
Carmelia snatched Sorina's hand and dragged her a few steps backwards as the carriages flew towards them. They stood there on the side of the road watching wide-eyed as they clattered past, peering through the windows at fine ladies and gentlemen sitting inside – fanning themselves in the heat. There was one lady who rested the embroidered sleeves of her gown on the window ledge and reached outside to touch the flowing air – the intricate needle-lace of her cuff flapping in the breeze.
Carmelia's mouth dropped at the size of the pearls the woman wore around her wrist, and the size of the ruby she was wearing on her middle finger. She couldn't help smiling at such finery, but when she looked down at her bare knuckles – rough from chores – and the rolled sleeves of her bland, white linen dress, she seethed with jealousy.
After the carriages, came the procession of men on horseback – the soldiers and servants chasing them. All of them finely dressed and groomed, with long hair and pointed beards and swords swinging at their hips. Some of them smiled and doffed their hats as they galloped by – nudging each other to look at the pretty young peasant girls gathering flowers for Sânziene.
"…Who are they?" Sorina asked, gawking after them.
Carmelia smirked, swinging her hips and offering a curtsey to the men who waved at her. "I don't know, but they must be important," she replied as the last of the men on horseback thundered by – leaving clouds of dust floating in his wake.
Sorina stumbled into the road. "They certainly acted like it."
"…Maybe they've come from Gyulafehérvár – from Prince Bethlen's court," Carmelia muttered excitedly as she watched the carriages disappear around the corner. "Look, they're heading towards town; they've probably come to celebrate Sânziene…"
She hovered in the road for a moment, waving away the clouds of dust as she pondered a new path for herself. All at once, she forgot about Radu – that simple trader's son – and set her sights on a higher target.
"I've found some!" Sorina suddenly shouted from the other side of the road. "Over here!"
Carmelia picked up her skirts and hurried over. There, growing behind a tangle of thistles within a ditch at the side of the road was a golden clump of lady's bedstraw – the frothy yellow flowers like flames on top of long, green stems. She shoved Sorina out of the way and quickly scooped up a large bundle for herself – inhaling the familiar, honeyed scent of the blooms as she tucked them into her colourful posy of wildflowers.
Now that it was finally complete, she grinned. "Come on," she said. "Let's go and find some shade by the river. We've got crowns to make."
Come nightfall, once the sun had slipped beneath the horizon – taking with it its heat and leaving behind a blush coloured sky – the cobbled streets and squares of Hermannstadt were full of people, the whole town – young and old, rich and poor – having come together to celebrate a night of love and magic. In the middle of the Piața Mare, a huge bonfire blazed – the embers floating upwards and joining the slowly emerging stars in the night sky. Girls in white petticoats and flower crowns danced around the flames, while young men spun torches and leapt daringly through the flames.
Carmelia floated on the excitement. She'd spent the entire afternoon getting ready – washing the dust from her white chemise in the river and carefully plaiting her long, blonde curls – determined to look her very best. Sorina had helped her weave together a vast crown of flowers that even the Queen of the Iele would have been jealous of, and when she placed it on her head and peered at her reflection in the still waters of the weir, she decided that she'd never felt more beautiful. With plenty of blooms left over, she'd slipped the last few blossoms of cow parsley into her hair, and had tucked the remaining few sprigs of lady's bedstraw into the long scrap of linen that she'd wrapped tightly around her middle to show off her tiny waist.
When she strolled into the square with Sorina at sunset, she'd felt her heart pound with every glance she stole – especially from the noble men and women who gathered on a large, canopied platform outside the town hall. Rumours circled that Prince Bethlen himself had come to see the festivities, and that at midnight, his young bride Catherine, would choose the Dragaica – the purest and most beautiful girl in Hermannstadt, who would lead the other girls in dancing the hora around the bonfire.
Carmelia set out immediately to sabotage her competition. She ensured that the tall and willowy Elena Florescu – who had come proudly wearing her dead grandmother's intricately embroidered wedding skirt – was sloppy with her cup of wine; a slight shove and the girl spilled the red liquid all down the front and sobbed that she'd ruined such a family treasure. An outstretched foot was all it took to send Iona Albu and her famously thick, black curls headfirst into a horse trough. And as for Maria – the cobbler's daughter and Radu's betrothed – a little crumbled blood sausage dropped down the back of her blouse was all it took to make her irresistible to every crazed and starving stray dog wandering the square for scraps.
When the church bell finally tolled midnight and Carmelia lined up with the other girls in front of the platform, she held her breath and pleaded with God and the Sânziană to let her win.
The Princess made her way slowly down the line – her tiny frame drowning within the hooped black gown she wore – heavily encrusted with pearls that shuddered with every step.
Carmelia frowned; the girl couldn't have been more than fifteen and she was already married, and to a Prince no less! It wasn't fair.
"…Such pretty ladies," the princess observed shyly, blinking at Iona's limp and dripping locks. "…The men of Hermannstadt are blessed to have such brides."
Despite her inner contempt, Carmelia kept her eyes low, and when the scent of lavender and orris root from the Princess' dangling pomander pricked her nostrils, and the jewels and pearls that she wore glinted in the corner of her eye – she dropped into the deepest, most graceful curtsy she could manage without falling over.
"…What's your name, girl?" the princess asked.
Girl!? Carmelia's blue eyes flashed upwards – lingering over the elaborate lace ruff framing the Princess' heart-shaped face like petals, before dropping humbly. "…Carmelia, your majesty."
"A beauty as rare as her namesake flower," the Princess observed, neatly folding her tiny jewelled hands.
Carmelia's heart pounded as she eyed the size of the diamond that the girl was wearing on her knuckle. "…You're the flower here tonight, your majesty. Not me," she replied as she slowly rose to her feet.
The Princess smiled – her pink cheeks dimpling. She nodded, "Beautiful, modest and kind – you shall be our Dragaica and lead the dance."
Carmelia could barely contain her joy as she danced around the fire for everyone to see – swirling and swaying with the flames and casting her blue eyes out into the crowd in the hope that she'd find the heavy gaze of some nobleman staring back at her. Some man who'd claim her as his own and take her far away – so beguiled by her beauty that he'd lavish her with whatever she wanted.
And she did.
Off to the side – away from the clapping and cheering crowd – was a man leaning against the well, and he couldn't seem to take his eyes from her. She could tell he was a man of quality from his clothes – from the polished riding boots and the fitted black, satin doublet he wore – unbuttoned to the waist to reveal a clean white shirt and ruffled collar. Well-groomed, he had long dark hair with a pointed beard and mustache and wore a single white pearl in one ear. He was handsome, with high cheekbones, curling lips and eyes that promised mischief.
Carmelia felt a thrill at being watched; she grinned when she caught his gaze and gulped when he seemed to smirk back at her. She threw her arms up into the air and spun – dancing with abandon – dancing for him. She felt as though she were on the tips of her toes, reaching up for something – stretching every muscle in her body to get it – sweating from the heat of the fire blazing beside her.
When she turned however, the man seemed to have vanished and she worried that she'd behaved too brazenly and driven him away.
After midnight the bonfires began to dwindle, and the streets began to clear. Young couples kissed and made promises to one other beneath the midsummer moon, and girls threw their flower crowns up into the air and over the roofs of their houses – hoping that when they finally crawled into bed that they'd dream of their future husband.
Once Carmelia said goodnight to her friends, she padded barefoot through the empty, petal-strewn streets towards home – finding the cobbles warm under her feet, holding onto the heat from the sun. Her skin felt hot too from being out in the sun all day and prickled when her clothes brushed up against it; she was sure her pale skin would blister by the morning.
When she finally reached her stepfather's shop and looked up at the closed shutters, she took off her flower crown and sighed; the blooms had all wilted in the heat from the fire and she felt like wilting along with them. Sânziene was over, and it had been wonderful – but she hadn't got what she'd wanted, and she wanted to scream from the loss.
She took a step back and suddenly hurled the flower crown as high and as hard as she could – watching as it spun through the balmy night air, snowing petals as it went. It flopped between the eaves and then slowly slid down the sloping roof, rolling off the edge before flopping lifelessly at her feet.
It was a bad omen; some believed that it meant death was lurking nearby.
Carmelia left the flowers lying where they'd fallen and then stomped off down the street – ignoring the worried voice in her head that told her it was dangerous to be out alone on Sanziene; nothing was worse than what waited for her inside that sweaty garret, anyway.
She made her way through the empty streets – following the trails of flower petals down the steps and out through the gate, making her way down to the river. As she bathed her feet and hot cheeks in the cool water – fresh from the mountains – she heard a twig snap behind her and suddenly stood bolt upright, like a startled deer.
"Who's there?" she shouted, glaring into the shadows around her.
She frowned when she didn't get an answer – only the bubbling sound of the river rushing over its rocky bed.
"…Radu?" she called. She folded her arms and rolled her blue eyes; she'd caught him staring longingly after her all night and now he'd come to find her, "You're not funny, and I'm not frightened – so you might as well show yourself."
When the man from the square stepped out from between the trees, she felt a thrill.
"…Oh," she sighed. She dropped a curtsy, "Sir."
He approached her slowly; his blue eyes sallow and frenzied in the way they stared at her – admiring and ignoring all at once. He looked as though he hadn't slept for a century.
Carmelia hovered. "…It's not safe to step out alone on Sanziene, you know," she warned, cocking her hip coquettishly.
The man stopped in front of her. He tilted his head, "And why is that?"
His voice was deep and rasping - like the hiss of a grass snake.
She looked at him. "Because the Sânziană are busy at their magic – they don't like to be disturbed," she told him, her eyes flashing between his steely gaze and the pearl swinging from his ear.
The man's lips curled. "...You don't seem too bothered by them," he observed as he hitched his boot on a log.
Carmelia glanced down at it. "That's because I'm a woman, sir," she replied, licking him from boot to brow with her bright blue gaze.
"…I can see that," he husked.
She breathed heavily. "They don't harm us women and girls," she explained. "…They protect us."
"Protect you?" he replied, stepping closer to her. "...From what, exactly?"
Carmelia gazed at the light sheen of sweat clinging to the surface of his pale forehead. He looked as though he were in the grips of a fever. "Men like you, I think."
The man reached out; he flicked her tangled plait of blonde hair roughly over her shoulder and cupped her neck. He was surprised; she didn't flinch, but she wasn't exactly frozen in fear either – motionless except for the soft rise and fall of her chest and fluttering eyelashes.
"And yet you seem strangely at ease," he said as he smoothed his thumb up and down her neck. "Don't I frighten you?"
She lifted her chin slightly. "I don't know you, sir," she replied. "Can't be frightened of what I don't know."
"Would you like to know me?" he rasped, leaning closer – his gaze strolling the length of her neck.
Carmelia swallowed; she glanced at his lips. "…I–"
The man's eyes flashed in the dark. There it was, finally. Fear. He smirked, "Because I know you."
"…You do?" Carmelia replied, blinking back at him.
"I saw what you did tonight – what you did to those girls," he told her. "I watched you."
Carmelia licked her lips. "…And were you entertained?"
The man frowned slightly, "I'm not sure I'd call watching a girl being ripped apart by stray dogs entertaining," he said – pulling her closer by the neck and peering carefully into her eyes. He swallowed uncomfortably, "Such a waste."
He watched her expression sift from fluttering shock, to a sort of gluttonous look of excitement at having caused such a thing. The final shift was to a settled smirk of satisfaction.
"…She deserved it," Carmelia stated without even a flicker of regret in her cold eyes.
"For what?" he asked, bathing her face with his breath. "What could she possibly have done to deserve such a thing?"
Carmelia shrugged her lips. "She stole something from me."
The man tightened his grip on her neck a little. "What did she steal?"
"A boy," Carmelia replied with a slight frown.
He chuckled humourlessly. "…A boy? Somehow, I doubt you're starved for attention," he said, his eyes sinking between them – tracing her curves. His lips pulled downwards in disgust, "And what now? Hm? Now that you've ruined your rival – you'll take him all for yourself? Until something better comes along, no doubt…"
Carmelia shut her eyes and sighed dreamily. "You're right; you do know me."
The man sneered.
"And you can have me, if you want," she said, looking up at him through her lashes. "If you promise to take me as far away from this place as possible."
"You'd give yourself to a stranger?" he asked as he snaked an arm around her waist. "Just to escape this place?"
"You seem important," she answered, her blue eyes flitting sideways – watching his pearl earring swing in the dark. "I want to be important. I deserve better than what's waiting for me back there," she added, nodding in the distant direction of town.
The man grinned – drawing his lips back over his teeth. "Oh, I'll give you exactly what you deserve," he muttered. "You humans are no better than I..."
Carmelia's eyes dropped in alarm to his pointed canines a moment too late. She squeaked as she stumbled backwards and fell to the ground – her hands clawing back through the dusty undergrowth of leaves and twigs as she tried to get away.
But the man was stronger, and faster – in an instant he'd pinned her to the ground, kneeling on her arm and pressing her face to the side as he dropped his head to her neck and bit down, hard. Painfully hard.
Carmelia scrambled; she beat her free fist into his back and kicked her legs and feet – she tried to scream but found that any breath drawn from her lungs muffled by the large hand smothering her face - forcing her cheek down into the dirt. She continued to thrash as she blinked fearfully up through the dark canopy of leaves overhead – even when the blinding pain in her neck began to drain away and she felt herself growing dizzy and weak.
Unwilling to give up, with the last of her strength she snatched the heavy hand pressing into her face and bit down – right into the soft, stretched skin between the man's thumb and index finger. She felt her mouth instantly fill with hot blood and distantly heard his heavy growl before the sky swirled away to black.
Carmelia awoke with jolt to the sound of the birdsong, and the pale light of a quickly approaching dawn. She panted as she sat up and pressed her hands to her face and neck – walking her fingertips along her jaw and frowning when she found it sticky with blood. She grimaced at the sickly sweet and metallic taste of blood on her tongue, but when she dropped her fingers to her neck, she failed to find any welts or wounds.
"Să te fut!" she yelled at the trees around her – at the mysterious man who'd attacked her and left her to die.
Why hadn't she died? She'd felt the darkness of death – felt the life literally drain from her until she was nothing more than an empty shell of skin of bones. She was even more surprised that he hadn't raped her; her skirts were barely ruffled and she failed to feel any soreness or bruising between her thighs.
She was amazed at how easily she leapt to her feet, and yet more amazed at how quickly she made her way back into town – arriving long before the first rays of sunlight hit the square, and just as the church bell was tolling five of the clock. Parched with thirst and desperate to avoid a beating from her stepfather, she decided to go to Sorina's family cottage at the foot of the steps. Sweet, stupid Sorina. She'd surely feed her something and listen to her story.
Carmelia leapt the fence like a cat, startling the geese and chickens pottering in the yard as she crept in through the back door. She sneaked up the wonky staircase to the attic room that Sorina shared with her little sisters and found her friend snoring in the corner bed, her body curled around her youngest sister.
"Rabbit, wake up," Carmelia hissed, jabbing her friend's shoulder.
Sorina mumbled as she stirred. She opened her eyes slowly but startled when she saw Carmelia perching on the edge of her bed – her chin and throat mottled brightly with blood. "Melia!" she breathed, throwing a hand to her open mouth. "Dumnezeule! What happened to you?"
Carmelia rolled her eyes. "Some lăbar attacked me in the woods," she tutted, her gaze drifting to Sorina's sister – still snoring softly in the small, cramped wooden bed like a little pig. She could hear her little heart fluttering – like a songbird trapped in a cage. Her skin looked so plump, soft and pink. "…I'm so thirsty, do you have any wine?" she muttered distractedly.
Sorina hesitated as she sat up and wiped the sleep from her eyes. "…Măma has some downstairs," she whispered, sweeping her long hair over her shoulder, "But we shouldn't, Melia – tata was so angry last time we drank it."
Carmelia's gaze drifted to Sorina's bare neck; she watched it pulsing – throbbing – the sound of it drowning out everything around her. And suddenly, she felt a thirst unlike any she'd ever felt – felt her mouth go dry with it. She swallowed hard and felt her teeth pinch into her lips.
Sorina blinked nervously at her friend. "…What is it?" she squeaked. "Melia, you're scaring me."
Carmelia leaned forward slowly. She shrugged and fluttered her lashes, "Nothing, Rabbit," she purred.
Hermannstadt, Ash Wednesday 1770
Carmelia grinned as she stepped over the peasant girl's body – lying face down in the alleyway, her throat ripped like silk. She drew a silk handkerchief from the pocket of her cloak as she strolled towards the square, licking the corners of her lips before neatly dabbing them with it.
Oh how she'd always loved the feeling. That feeling of power; it hadn't faded a shade since the first time. She loved the warmth of fresh blood as it slowly filled her; it reminded her of summer nights long ago – and of the way the sun's rays seemed to linger on the skin long after it had sunk below the horizon.
But as she stepped out onto the Piața Mare, she saw something that chilled her to the bone; so much so that she immediately took a step back into the alleyway.
She peered around the bricks and frowned as her blue eyes settled on the man who'd attacked her almost two hundred centuries ago – the man who'd made her what she was. Her eyes followed him as he emerged from The Governor's Palace and made off across the square - followed obediently by two familiar dark hounds.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wasn't going to get into Carmelia's past - but in the end, I just couldn't resist fleshing her out a bit and linking her backstory with Vlad's. Hope you enjoyed the flashback and that it added a little extra flavour (...as Carmelia would say). ;-)
I almost didn't post today - I've been so wrapped up in watching the news (and steadily falling into an anxious pit of despair) that time ran away with me a bit. But honestly, I think a little dose of escapism in between the heavy, scary doses of realism is just the ticket in time like this. Hope you're well wherever you are, reader - thank you so, so much for following and reading. xxx
Historical Notes:
Sânziene: Romanian summer folk festival - kind of like midsummer. Traditionally it's seen as a night full of magic - where the door between the mortal realm and that of the Iele (fairies of Romanian mythology) is easily passed through. Girls spend the day picking flowers and then dance the night away with their intended. :-)
"Gâscă": Romanian, "Stupid".
"Dumnezeule!": Romanian, "My God!"
Doublet: More historical fashion - this time for guys. Doublets were the high collared, buttoned jackets worn by men during the late 16th and early 17th centuries - usually with big ruffs worn around the neck. Think Tudors! We're still a few years away from the early three piece suit that becomes the mainstay of men's fashion heading into the 18th and 19th (and twentieth) centuries coming into fashion. ;-)
Gyulafehérvár: Hungarian name for the Transylvanian city, Alba Iulia. During Carmelia's time, it was the main administrative city for the Principality of Transylvania - and where the ruling Prince of Transylvania held court.
Prince Bethlen: Gábor Bethlen was Prince of Transylvania from 1613 to 1629 - and actually ruled Transylvania independently. By all accounts he was pretty damn at his job - during his time in office, Transylvania entered a "golden age". He kept the Habsburgs out, maintained a pretty good relationship with the Sublime Porte (the Ottomans/Turks), made sure that Serf children were allowed an education and maintained religious tolerance for all faiths. When he died, his wife Catherine became Princess of Transylvania and tried to hold onto the throne and rule with her lover - but she was forced out after a year.
"Să te fut!": Romanian, "Fuck you!"
"Lăbar": Romanian, I think the best translation is probably "Wanker".
