2

Bernhard stared into his beer and all he could see were the ripples caused by the trembling of his hands. He released the mug, shaking those hands and looked around the beer cellar where the great man, Ludwig van Beethoven had brought him after he had taken his beloved Hilde's head. Shorn it from her shoulders with one swipe of his curved sabre.

The Maestro, himself had disappeared only moments ago, stating that he needed to relieve himself, leaving Bernhard alone with his thoughts, his regrets and his guilt. He doubted he could ever forgive himself. What he could even begin to tell Hilde's father, he could not imagine. Though, as he thought about it, it would probably be for the best were he to leave Vienna for good. Fingers would point his way. Accusations would cross every tongue.

"I just peed as high as my head!" The Maestro lifted a leg across the bench and planted himself down, pulling his mug of beer towards himself, still adjusting his breeches with his other hand. "Oi! Darling! Two more beers over here, and your lovely big bum for my knee, eh?"

The Maestro winked at the serving woman half his age. Bernhard lowered his gaze. He had never seen such impropriety, especially for one so lauded as the Maestro. For certain, Beethoven had not served his legend well. A great man, a wonderful man, filled with passion and such untouchable talent and here he sat, flirting with serving women and struggling to adjust himself.

"Maestro, I appreciate your intervention. Had you not appeared when you did, I very much doubt I would have lived to see the sunrise." He glanced up and then away once more as the Maestro groped the serving woman as she brought their beers. She didn't seem to mind, but still. "But, I must insist that I leave. This is not the time to carouse and ... and ... I must retire to a church and fall upon the mercies of Our Lord."

"Bollocks!" The Maestro slapped Bernhard on the shoulder than pushed the mug of beer before him. Bernhard hadn't finished the last one. "Get this down your neck and let your hair down. You've seen it, tonight. Life's too short, mate. And it's Luddy, or Beety, by the by. None of this 'Maestro' malarky!"

Beethoven lifted his beer and began to drink. He continued drinking and Bernhard wasn't certain that the great man even breathed between gulps. His throat expanded and contracted with each swallow and, when he had finished the entire mug, he gave a well-satisfied sigh, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. The mug slammed back onto the table and the Maestro shouted for two more.

Bernhard took a long sip of his own beer. It tasted flat and far warmer than cellar temperature, but he drank, nonetheless. Partly because he hoped that drinking would drown the thoughts of his wickedness from his mind and partly because he did not wish to disappoint the Maestro. Even now, Bernhard could see the Maestro's keen eyes watching him.

They had walked from the church square, the Maestro leading his white stallion, leaving the dust remains of his beloved Hilde behind. The Maestro had assured him it was for the best. Not to look back and always, always keep in mind the vision of the beast that had taken Hilde from him. The Maestro had insisted upon that. Remember the face of the Vampire Lord. Commit it to memory and remember, forever, who the true creature responsible for Hilde's death was.

"She was to be my wife. I had loved her from the very first moment I laid eyes upon her. A woman of such exceptional grace and beauty and I felt privileged that she would even look my way, let alone consent to marry me." He took another drink, the Maestro silent as Bernhard spoke. Before he knew it, he had emptied the mug. "When ... when she came to me, telling me of the man in black and scarlet, that invaded her dreams and promised her life eternal, I scoffed. I did not believe her. Not until it was far, far too late."

"We never do, mate." The Maestro clapped Bernhard on the shoulder once more and shrugged his own shoulders, giving a half-hearted smile. "Never mind, eh? Best move on. Get drunk, pay for your leg over and wake up in the morning for a fresh start. No point moping about it, eh."

Bernhard couldn't believe his ears. It was as though the Maestro had no empathy at all and it led Bernhard to wonder why Beethoven had helped him in the first place. The man's cold demeanour angered Bernhard and he tried to stand, reaching for the sabre at his belt, but the Maestro's fingers dug deep into his shoulder, forcing him to sit once more.

"You don't understand! You callous drunkard!" He tried to swipe Beethoven's hand away, but it remained, gripping his shoulder tight. He could tell he had raised his voice far too loud, but he didn't care. "She was everything to me! Everything! If ... if I could meet that beast once more, I'd ... I'd ..."

"You'd what? Kill him? Better men than you and me have tried, mate." The Maestro leaned forward, catching Bernhard's eyes and holding them, the sparkle of supreme intelligence radiating from them. "I do understand, better than you think. I had a beloved, a love so deep it pained me even to see her smile and he took her from me. I didn't have the chance to end her suffering, as you did with your beautiful Hilde. Something I've regretted ever since."

With a gulp, Bernhard found himself trying to tear his gaze away from the Maestro's eyes, but they held him like a moth to a flame. After a few seconds, Beethoven released Bernhard's shoulder. The release of pressure sending tingles down his arm. In the corner, a man played upon a battered fiddle. A raucous, shrieking accompaniment to the beer cellar's festivities, and Beethoven glanced that way, grinning.

"I want ... I want revenge!" He picked up another mug of beer and began to drink. No longer sipping the beer as the Maestro nodded his head in appreciation of the fiddle player's music. "I want to see that creature burn."

"I've spent three years out for revenge against that blood-drinking bastard." The Maestro stood, one leg either side of the bench. He downed another mug of beer and called for more before adjusting his breeches. "And I'll get him, don't you worry. But you? You should move on with your life. Leave the revenge to bitter old gits like me, eh?"

He swung his leg over the bench and began to weave through the crowd and everyone seemed to know exactly who the great man was. As he passed them by, people held out hands to shake. Women pulled him down to their lips, running fingers through his wild hair and the Maestro loved every second of it, every bit of the adulation.

As he reached the fiddle player, Beethoven pulled a coin from somewhere, tossing it to the man, the gold glittering in the light of the oil lamps and candles until the fiddler caught it in mid-air. He passed his fiddle and bow to the Maestro and smiled as Beethoven began to tune the strings, pressing the body of the fiddle to his cheek as he did so.

And then he began to play. And it was beautiful.

Bernhard had never heard 'Für Elise' played upon a violin before. At first, the Maestro plucked the strings, mimicking the notes one by one, then he drew the bow across the strings and the melody took on a different tone. It became haunting and the fiddle sounded nothing like it had in the hands of the other man. The notes sounded sombre and deep, as opposed to the shrieking of before.

Then the tempo began to rise. The Maestro began to play faster and the crowd, mesmerised, began to bob their heads in time with the music, tapping knees and thighs with fingers, feet clicking upon the wooden floorboards.

Before Bernhard knew it, the music had transformed entirely into a loud, whimsical whirl of music that had the patrons of the beer cellar jumping to their feet, almost as one, and begin dancing along. Stomping feet, lifting dresses and twirling around. Laughter and whoops and hollers began to fill the entire space, but none of it managed to drown out the music coming from that worn, old fiddle in the hands of a master.

It was like nothing Bernhard had ever seen, or heard, before. A serious piece of music turned into a barroom jig, sending the patrons into fits of rapture. Then, the Maestro began to slow the music down and the music changed until Beethoven had slid, without pause into the strains of the second movement of his seventh symphony, until he brought it to an end, a little smile as he allowed the last note to linger in the air.

The crowd erupted and became a seething mass around the great man and he devoured every last drop of the adulation. And Bernhard felt himself clapping and cheering along with everyone else. He had seen and heard something masterful and he would cherish the memory to his dying day and, when Beethoven passed the fiddle back to the incredulous owner, weaving his way back to the table, he couldn't wait to tell the Maestro how much he admired him.

"Bloody hell! I'm parched! More beer!" Beethoven swaggered to the table and jumped up on the surface, facing the crowd. "And I'm horny as hell after that. The line starts here, girls, and I can go all night!"

The crowd cheered again and Bernhard tried to hide his disappointment and embarrassment at the man thrusting his groin and his tongue out at the people gazing up at him in adoration.