After an extremely satisfying meal, the friends sat back and listened to their host unfolding his narrative. Drawing a heavy gold seal ring from his finger, the comte placed it on the table. “This seal carries the crest of my familyit is carved with a lion for strength, a dove for peace, and a knotted rope for union, or togetherness. The family of Bregon have always tried to live by these principles. We have held these lands for countless ages, trying to live right and taking care of all under our protection. I was the elder son of two born to my parents, but I had the misfortune of never being married. I was the scholaronce I had ambitions to enter a monastery and become a monk, though nothing ever came of it. My younger brother was far more popular than I. Edouard was a big man, very strong, and skilful with all manner of weapons. When our parents passed on, we ruled Veron together, But Edouard left all the affairs of the village and the management of this house to me. He would go off on adventures, sometimes not coming home for long periods of time. One day he rode off south, alone. Edouard loved adventuring. He went toward the Spanish border, into the Pyrenees, intending to hunt. Whilst he was in the mountains, he suffered an accident, a fall from his horse, which left him unconscious, with a head wound. My brother was found, though, and was taken in by a powerful family called the Razan.”
Dominic leaned forward, his voice incredulous. “The Razan!”
The old man’s eyebrows raised. “Ah, my young friend, so you have heard of the Razan?”
Dominic nodded vigorously. “Over the mountains, in the Spanish town of Sabada, where I come from, folk talked of little else. Honest men would make the sign of the cross at the very mention of their name. When horses or cattle went missing, sometimes even people, everyone would whisper that it was the work of the Razan. Mothers would use their name to frighten naughty children. ‘The Razan will get you!’ Yet nobody really knew who they were. Our priest said that they were evil magicians from Algiers who knew the dark ways of wizards and witches. But I’m sorry for interrupting you, sir, please carry on with your story.”
Stroking his wispy beard, the comte continued. “One hears all manner of tales about the Razan; some say they are from Africa, others, from the mountains of Carpathia. I think a lot of these things are fables, put about by the Razan themselves to instill fear in ignorant peasants. I myself have had reports of them putting spells on folk, turning men, women and children into fishes, beasts or birds. They prey on superstition and rule simple minds by terror of the unknown.”
Returning the signet ring to his index finger, the aged nobleman sighed. “My brother, Edouard, was frightened of nothing. Whilst he was being nursed by the Razanwho must have known who he was, or they would have slain him just for his horse and weaponsEdouard was smitten with love for a Razan girl. She was the only daughter of the Razan, and very beautiful. Ruzlina, for that was her name, would have none attending Edouard but herself. Her mother, Maguda, must have seen the possibilities of allowing them to be together. It would be an easy, and legal, way for the Razan to gain a foothold in Veron, a village they had long coveted. Together, Ruzlina and Edouard went through a form of ceremony that passes for marriage among the Razan. He brought his new bride back here when he was fully recovered. How that girl had lived among such a wicked brood as the Razan, I’ll never know. She was honest, true and gentle-naturedI could readily understand why my brother had fallen in love with her. They both lived happily in this place for nigh on two years.
“Then tragedy struck the house of Bregon.” Here the comte paused, as if finding it difficult to continue.
Ned went to him, laying his head on the old man’s lap and gazing up at him with soft, sympathetic eyes as he contacted Ben. “The poor fellow, see the sorrow in his face?”
Ben nodded and placed a gentle hand on their host’s shoulder. “Tragedy, sir?”
Dabbing his eyes with a kerchief, the comte explained. “Ruzlina died giving birth to her first child. It was a son. Edouard was so stricken with grief that he could not bear to look upon the child. He locked himself away in his chambers. Mathilde and I cared for the newborn baby, christened Adamo. It was a sad household, my young friends, full of sorrow and mourning, as if a light had gone from all our lives. Then, not more than three days after Ruzlina’s death, her kin, Maguda the mother and four of her brothers, appeared as if by magic on the steps of this house. I have never beheld a more sinister or barbaric-looking woman than Maguda Razanshe was the very picture of a witch. Dressed in black weeds of mourning, with her face painted in strange symbols, she pounded upon my door with her staff. Edouard would not leave his rooms to talk or even look upon her. She claimed the body of her daughter to take back to the mountains for burial in the Razan family vault. I could not refuse her this request. But it was her other demand that I could not bring myself to grant. She wanted little Adamo!”
Dominic stared at the old man anxiously. “You didn’t let her have him, did you, sir?”
A defiant glimmer entered the comte’s eyes. “No! I would not give up a newborn infant to murderous robbers, never! Maguda and her brothers departed with Ruzlina’s body in a casket. The brothers were silent, but Maguda Razan screamed like a wounded tigress. She called down all manner of curses upon Edouard, me and the house of Bregon. The villagers were so frightened that they ran away and hid. She made smoke and fire appear from the air, yelling vengeance and death, blaming my brother for the loss of her daughter. Then the Razan were gonethey vanished, leaving behind only smoke clouds and burning ashes.”
Karay could not help but ask, “So was that the end of it, sir?”
Shaking his head, the aged nobleman answered her. “No, child, that was only the start. Bregon was plagued by thefts and fires and all kinds of wicked doings. No matter how I barred the gates or stationed guards on the walls, the Razan would find their way in. However, I surrounded this house with armed menI would not give up my nephew, Adamo.”
Ben smiled. “I wager you were very fond of him, sir.”
The comte resorted to wiping his eyes; his voice went husky. “Fond? The child meant more to me than life itself. He was raven-haired and dark of eye. Even as a baby, Adamo had a huge physique, strong and big-boned. But he was a calm child, very very silent. He never cried, or laughed out loud, or even chuckled. Doctors looked at him and assured me that he had the power of speech, that he was not born mute. Yet he never made a soundwell, hardly. Sometimes he would call Mathilde ‘ ‘Tilde,’ poor little fellow. My brother Edouard could not bear to be in his own son’s presence, can you imagine that?”
Ben felt he had to ask the question. “What became of Edouard?”
The comte turned the ring on his finger. “This ring belonged to Edouard. He wore it on his little finger, yet it is far too large for my index finger. This will give you an indication of his size. However, he was brought down by a single sip of wine. It was the work of the Razan, I’m sure of it. Somehow, one of them entered this house, got into his rooms and poisoned the wine. This took place two years to the day after his wife died. Now, let me tell you the final, and most awful, part of this sad story. On the day we buried him, Mathilde was preparing food whilst I was at the funeral. It was a bright warm afternoon, and she let little Adamo play on a rug out in the garden, where she could see him from the kitchen window. But the moment she looked away, he was gone!”
Ben spoke as the thought from Ned crossed his mind. “The Razan!”
The comte nodded, then leaned forward, resting his forehead on both hands. “That was eighteen years ago this summer. I have not seen the boy since, nor heard news of him.”