This my small attempt to explain Nick's comment to Aristotle. 
  
  
The Battle of Hastings 
  
      Nicholas sighed as he watched the flames dancing in the 
huge fireplace.  Where was Aristotle?  The relocation expert had 
promised to come to the chalet before the new moon, and it was 
unlike him to be late for an appointment; Aristotle prided himself on 
his efficiency.  Nicholas was greatly tempted to make a break for 
the ship without the documents he needed.  His absence had surely 
caused LaCroix irritation by now, and very soon, the older vampire 
would be searching for his wayward child.  Nicholas harbored no 
illusions that he could lose himself permanently, but with Aristotle's 
assistance, he would have a better chance at a few decades of 
freedom.  It was almost sunrise, too late to leave the chalet now, 
but this evening-- 
      Sudden, frantic banging on the chalet door brought him out 
of his chair with an oath.  "Nicholas!  Are you there?  Let me in, 
quickly!"  Although the words were barely whispered, Nicholas had 
no trouble recognizing the hysteria in Aristotle's voice.  He moved 
with unhuman speed to the heavy door and lifted the massive 
crossbar with one hand.  As the door swung open, he gripped 
Aristotle's jerkin with his free hand, yanked him into the room, then 
slammed and rebolted the door with a single motion.  Aristotle 
collapsed on the floor, shaking.  A red sheen of sweat colored his 
brow and his eyes were full of terror. 
       "What is it, Aristotle?  Has someone found us out?  Are the 
villagers coming with torches?"   It was too near sunrise to flee if 
mortals were the danger.  Nicholas shot rapid questions at the 
quaking figure on the floor, but received no reply except incoherent 
moaning.   Impatiently, Nicholas knelt and grabbed Aristotle's 
shoulders, shaking the vampire until finally the other looked up and 
met his eyes. 
     "It's over, Nicholas, it's over.  He's found me and I can't 
escape this time.  Oh, how has this come to pass!  I was so careful!" 
A sob escaped his lips and he shook his head hopelessly.  As 
Aristotle began moaning again, Nicholas shook him harder. 
    "Stop this, now!" he hissed.  Aristotle slumped in his grasp 
and began quietly sobbing.  Nicholas was puzzled as well as 
exasperated.  He had only seen Aristotle a few times in the two 
centuries he had been a vampire, but the mousy little paper expert 
had always seemed to be in full control of any situation.  His 
profession required intelligence and a calm competence, two 
qualities that Aristotle had always seemed to posses in full measure. 
Something was terribly wrong here--mortals would not cause this 
quivering terror. 
     "Aristotle," Nicholas began quietly.  "Listen to me."  He 
waited until the other quieted and raised his head.  "Now, I would 
like to help you as you have helped me and many others of us over 
the centuries.  But I cannot help you unless I know what is wrong. 
Tell me, Aristotle, *what is wrong*?"   He waited, trying not to 
show his impatience.  Finally, Aristotle drew a shuddering breath. 
     "It's the end for me, Nicholas.  I'm sure he won't bother you, 
it's only me."  At Nicholas' glare, he swallowed audibly.  "I'm sorry, 
of course, you don't know.  It all began almost four hundred years 
ago at the Battle of Hastings..." 
****************************************************** 
      The sun had risen when Aristotle finished his story.  He 
looked up at last to find Nicholas staring at him in disbelief.  "Do 
you mean to tell me that this Griffith has been hunting you for four 
hundred years because of a...a puppy?" 
     Aristotle bristled.  "It was not *just* a puppy, Nicholas.  It 
was the last purebred litter of Irish Maeve and Galway Curragh. 
The way those barbarians were slashing and destroying everything 
that lived...That bloodline was superb, and I could not let it just 
fade away, as it were."    He managed a slight smile.  "Bloodlines 
are so very *interesting*, aren't they?" 
     Nicholas shook his head disbelievingly.  "So this Griffith 
wants to destroy you because you stole some puppies out from 
under his nose.  Aristotle, I've heard many strange stories through 
the centuries, but never anything like this.  There must be more to it 
than puppies."  He paused as a thought struck.  "What happened to 
them?" 
     Aristotle smiled proudly.  "I kept them and carefully bred 
them, judiciously adding other stock as necessary to keep the line 
strong.  They are champions to this day."  He leaned toward 
Nicholas confidingly.  "I have a small farm carefully hidden from 
the world where I go to relax.  It has been a joy to watch the breed 
improve."  His face fell.  "It's all been for naught, though.  Griffith 
will destroy me and when he does, he will learn of the farm.  He 
will then destroy the entire place and all that live there to complete 
his revenge." 
    Nicholas held up a hand.  "Wait, Aristotle.  It will not be 
dark for several hours.  You will be safe till then.  Let's get some 
rest and we can flee at sunset."  He coaxed Aristotle to settle back 
in the chair and sat in the other, thinking furiously.   He couldn't 
help feeling that there was more to the story than Aristotle was 
admitting, but it was apparent that Aristotle was truly terrified of 
this Griffith.  Well, whatever the reason, if Aristotle had brought 
the necessary documents with him, they could both leave the 
country.  The ship would leave with the evening tide, and luckily it 
was winter; night fell early. 
     Hours later, Nicholas silently slipped out the door and 
headed toward the stables.  He saddled his horse, fastened his bag 
of possessions to the pommel, and led the animal to the door of the 
chalet.  "Aristotle, come," he hissed.  The chalet door opened a 
crack and Aristotle peered out. 
    "Are you sure it's safe?"  His eyes darted left and right, 
trying to pierce the darkness.   "Do you hear anything?  He's silent 
as a ghost, and deadly, Nicholas.  Perhaps he is simply waiting for 
me to show myself." 
     Nicholas snorted.  "There's naught to fear if we move 
quickly.  Have you got your bag ready?"  Aristotle nodded and 
opened the door slightly wider.  Hesitantly he stepped out, jerking 
his head toward each imagined sound.   Nicholas motioned him 
closer impatiently.  "Mount the horse behind me and we'll be two 
mortals traveling together for safety.  This Griffith would expect 
you to be alone, would he not?" 
     As Aristotle stepped more confidently toward the horse, a 
voice from above cried, "Stop right there, thief!"   With a squeak of 
dismay, Aristotle flew to Nicholas' side.  Peering from behind 
Nicholas, he gasped and pointed upward.   Nicholas looked up to 
see a figure standing on the lower gable of the chalet. 
     "Who are you, and whom do you call thief?"  he shouted 
boldly.  In an instant the figure was standing before him.  Nicholas 
had to raise his eyes to meet the stranger's golden gaze.  The other 
vampire was tall and broad, with a shock of auburn hair.  He was 
dressed simply, but for the broadsword belted at his side.  Nicholas 
recognized a fighter's weapon, well-honed and deadly.  This man 
was a warrior, as well as a vampire. 
     "Stand aside, youngling," the other snarled.  "I've no wish to 
hurt ye, but that creature hiding behind you is mine!"   He backed a 
step and drew his sword with a flourish.  "Come, vermin.  It is time 
to pay for your crime!" 
     Nicholas put his hand on the hilt of his own sword.  "Hold, 
sir.  This man is a friend of mine and is plainly unable to defend 
himself.  Would you cut down an unarmed man?"  Aristotle was 
gibbering with fear behind him. 
     "This is not a man, it is a craven cur," Griffith replied hotly. 
"You seem an honorable man.  How can you defend such as he?" 
He stared at Aristotle contemptuously.  "I have searched for you 
for four centuries, with your death always in my dreams."   As he 
moved forward, Nicholas drew his sword.  Griffith snarled.  "I did 
not wish to kill you, stranger, but so be it!"  He leapt forward 
slashing at Nicholas' eyes.  Nicholas parried, but the other pressed 
forward, forcing him back step by step.  He had all he could do to 
defend himself; there was no question of pressing an attack. 
Nicholas considered himself a very competent swordsman after two 
centuries of practice, but this man was clearly his superior.  Griffith 
had a grim smile on his face as he parried and thrust with controlled 
ease.  Suddenly he twisted his wrist, slipped past Nicholas' guard 
and buried his sword deep in Nicholas' stomach.  Nicholas bent 
double and dropped his blade as Griffith pulled his weapon free. 
He sagged to the ground and closed his eyes, waiting for the blow 
that would end his eternal life.  A sudden scream, however, told 
him that Griffith had turned from him to Aristotle. 
     "No, please, Griffith!  I swear, I did not mean for it to 
happen.  You must believe me, it was an accident!"  Aristotle was 
groveling, begging for his life, but in vain.  Nicholas opened his 
eyes and saw Griffith slowly advancing on Aristotle with his sword 
raised.  Weakly, Nicholas reached for his own sword and dragged it 
nearer.  He grasped the hilt and drove the point into the ground, 
then using it as a support, forced himself to his feet.  He could feel 
his strength returning quickly; it was fortunate that he had fed so 
well the previous evening.  Staggering slightly, he began to 
approach Griffith from behind. 
     As he came within a sword's reach he croaked, "Griffith!" 
The other turned in surprise; with a sweeping blow Nicholas stuck 
the head from his body.   The headless body stood swaying slightly 
for a few seconds, then crashed to the ground.  Nicholas felt regret 
and a little shame at his victory.  Griffith had let *him* live, and he 
had repaid the man with a death that felt dishonorable.  He leaned 
on his sword and looked down at Aristotle, who was staring at 
Griffith's head in shock.   "Come on, let's get away from here," he 
growled at Aristotle. 
     "Nicholas, you saved my life."  Arisotle slowly rose from 
the ground, still staring at Griffith's corpse.   "How can I ever thank 
you?"   He looked as though he were going to try to embrace 
Nicholas, who backed away quickly. 
     "I think there was more to the story than you told me," he 
said slowly.  "Griffith seemed an honorable warrior who would not 
have pursued you for all this time over a litter of puppies.  What 
really happened, Aristotle?"   Aristotle would not meet his eyes.  He 
started to walk toward the waiting horse, but Nicholas caught his 
sleeve.  "I want to know why I had to kill this man." 
     Aristotle seemed to shrink at his tone.  He bowed his head 
and spoke quietly.  "The Battle of Hastings was a horrible 
slaughter, Nicholas.  Men, women, children, anything that lived was 
butchered by both sides.  I was newly turned at the time and you 
remember how the bloodlust was harder to control in your first 
years."   Nicholas nodded silently.  He did remember the insatiable 
thirst, too well.   Aristotle continued, "I was wandering the 
battlefield late in the night, in a frenzy.  It was like a banquet for 
me.  I fed heavily, but like a glutton, I wanted more.  I was drunk 
on the blood and I decided I wanted a live meal."  He swallowed 
and looked at his feet.  "I'm not proud of this, I want you to know 
that.  I would give anything to undo the events of that night.  I 
knew of the small farm where great dogs were bred, but when I 
arrived, the only life I found was that of the new litter of puppies.  I 
found them in the barn, nursing at their mother.  I don't understand 
to this day why, but I-I killed the female and drank her dry while 
the puppies crawled about crying for the warmth of their mother." 
    At Nicholas' intake of breath, he winced.  "It gets worse, 
Nicholas.  As I tossed her dead body aside I heard something at the 
door.  I looked up, dripping with blood, and saw a lad of perhaps 
sixteen staring at me in horror.   He turned to flee but I stopped 
him.  I  killed him, more from a reaction to his fear than any need of 
mine.  I fled then, disgusted with myself for my lack of control and 
even more for my lack of compassion.  All the death in the nearby 
fields and I had to add to it.  I returned almost immediately to take 
the litter, thinking in my maddened remorse to try to gain a small bit 
of absolution for my wickedness that night."  He gave a hollow 
laugh.  "Well, to make short shrift of the tale, Griffith was older 
brother to the lad I killed.  Griffith had  been brought across in the 
same year as I, probably by kin of my master, and he followed me 
ever after, vowing revenge for his brother's death."  Aristotle took a 
deep breath.  "I am so very sorry to have gotten you involved in 
this, Nicholas." 
     Nicholas silently mounted his horse, then reached a hand 
down toward Aristotle. 
"I'll be taking those documents you brought for me."  Aristotle 
reached down near his feet and opened his bag.  After a bit of 
searching he handed Nicholas a sheaf of papers.  Nicholas nodded 
and thrust them into his vest.  "Remember this night well, Aristotle. 
You've placed yourself deeply in my debt."    He cantered away into 
the night without a backward glance. 
  
  
idjmb@asuvm.inre.asu.edu