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  The Dracula Chronicles: Bound by Blood - Chronicle 3, Volume 2

  Copyright © 2007, 2012 Shane KP O’Neill

  All rights reserved. Shane KP O’Neill has asserted his moral rights in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Published by

  Shane KP O’Neill

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9556701-2-1

  ISBN-10: 0-9556701-2-8

  Visit the author at:

  www.draculachronicles.co.uk

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  and email the author at:

  [email protected]

  I acknowledge that in the 15th Century the New Year fell on or around March 22nd. I only use January 1st for purposes of simplicity. I would also like to acknowledge the fact that Vlad Dracula was most probably born an Orthodox Christian, despite being depicted as a Roman Catholic for all of his mortal life in this series of novels.

  I would like to thank my dear friend, Dr Peter Cutler, for inspiring me to write this book and for giving me the drive to see it through. And I give my thanks to all my friends who have believed in me as a writer. My thanks also go to all the people who have assisted me at one time or another; Adrian Thomas, Andrew Nisbet and Peter Hodges. And most notably to Tone Wenes O’Neill, Matthew Creed, Vivian Thomas, David Evans, Blue Harvest Creative, Robert & Julie Johnston, Laura Cutler and Linda Goodman.

  Shane O’Neill

  This book is dedicated to,

  My dearest Tone

  With whom, together, we both

  enjoyed our happiest times.

  Saxony. The Augustinian monastery at Wittenberg.

  Two hours before midnight. October 30, 1517.

  Dracula and Ilona returned to the centre of the town. Two hours had elapsed since his chance meeting with Luther. Now that he had fed Dracula sought him out. His wife sensed the excitement in him and felt it too. She wondered at the scheme brewing in his mind. It was not something he had shared with her as yet.

  “That is where he is,” Dracula said, eyeing the monastery.

  “What is your plan?” his wife asked.

  He shrugged. “I do not have one.”

  “So what do you hope to achieve? You must have an idea?”

  “I do not know,” he said in all sincerity. “What I do know is that he is the key. I have to see him.”

  “Then I wish you luck, my love,” Ilona said. “I shall wait here until your return.”

  He changed his form into that of a bat. Ilona watched him fly off for the monastery. It always took her breath away when she saw him transform his image. She had never done it herself. He made his way into the building with relative ease. Luther’s scent had stayed with him. He used it to guide him through the dormitories until he arrived at the room he sensed belonged to the man he sought.

  The door was slightly ajar and he clung to it with his claws. Flapping his wings hard he gently prised it open some more. Striking his wings against the wooden frame caused him much distress. The door opened a touch and he flew inside.

  Luther saw the bat enter his room. He set his quill down and rose from his small desk. It flew in close to his head. Ducking out of the way he grabbed the pillow from his bed. He waved it at the bat in an attempt to drive it out.

  The bat grew in size. He watched in fear as a man materialised before him. Dracula closed the door and turned to face him. He did not move with his usual ease and fluidity. The change had sapped his energy and his joints ached all over. It would take a time before he regained his strength in full.

  Luther stood there with his rosary beads in hand. It angered Dracula when he saw them. He stooped his head and hissed at the monk.

  “The Lord is my Shepherd,” he began. “I shalt not want.”

  He hissed again, only more vehemently this time.

  Luther stared straight at him. “He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside still waters.”

  “You would be advised to put that away, monk.”

  “He restoreth my soul.”

  “I did not come here to harm you.”

  “He leadeth me in the path of righteousness for His name’s sake.”

  “Were I here for that purpose you would already be dead.”

  “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.”

  The stranger vanished before his eyes. He went on, his voice trembling. “I will fear no evil.”

  He felt two strong hands press against his temples. The demon was behind him.

  “I could crush your skull between my palms. But then you would miss out on your chance of greatness.”

  Luther stopped. The pain Dracula caused him was too much to bear.

  “I could so easily make good my threat,” he heard the demon say. “Now sit down and pick up your quill.”

  Luther was a very complex and troubled man. He joined the Order in 1505. His time as a priest began two years later. It was an escape from a torturous life both at home and in school. There he had suffered much cruelty. This way of life gave him some peace. Here he could nurture his faith and his own great asceticism.

  But his suffering did not cease. Doubts about his way of life troubled him always. The rules he had to live by also provided a source of discontent. He would often disregard them. This led him to think he was wicked and corrupt and he punished himself severely as a result. His attitude of mind left him feeling despondent. Just as he did growing up, he fell into another long depression.

  His state of mind deteriorated even further. In time he came to think that man was the epitome of all evil. He believed man was depraved and exempt of free will. Even the good he did was, in truth, a mortal sin.

  This caused an even greater conflict in his mind. Although he was evil, man could still ascend to Heaven. To justify this reasoning he had to invent a new concept. He thought that faith alone was enough to save man. It did not matter how bad his level of sin. As long as he believed in God and His teachings, it was enough to spare him from damnation.

  Now the Pope was selling a new idea to everyone. All he believed went against this. It made him think the Church had sunk to the depths in its level of corruption.

  For a year now he had thought of writing to the archbishop. The events of today made up his mind for him to do it. The confessions he had heard this very evening pushed him over the edge. The people in his parish admitted to going to hear Tetzel speak. It further aggravated his flagging state of mind. He was writing the letter when Dracula came into his room.

  Dracula eyed him curiously. The monk did not seem to fear him. In their earlier encounter he had only touched upon his thoughts. Now he
was able to scrutinise the complexities of his mind. What he saw excited him no end. He knew this was the chance to do something momentous. It was one he did not intend to forgo.

  “What do you want from me?”

  He put a hand to his chin. “Oh there is much for us to achieve tonight.”

  “I do not consort with demons. I will not be doing the Devil’s work.”

  Dracula laughed out loud. He stooped over the desk and looked Luther straight in the eye. “I thought you believed every man did that. Even you. So why be any different when you are faced by me?”

  “You are but another demon sent here to torment me.”

  “No, my dear man. Your demons are all your own.”

  “This is but a test. If you are even here at all.”

  “I am sure we have already established that.”

  “Then perhaps I am more insane than I was this time yesterday.”

  “I do not dispute that. But I am here all the same.”

  Luther tried to hint that he did not care. “A demon is a demon.”

  “You have such weakness.”

  “I am not weak! I have seen enough demons to think you are not so special.”

  “The way you doubt and condemn, you are an easy target for any of them.”

  “You come because you fear me.”

  He laughed at him again. “You are nothing, but a scared little man.”

  “You know my convictions are true. You all fear me for it. As a result you come. You hope that with your threats you can convince me to change my mind.”

  “On the contrary. I like your ideas.”

  Luther raised an eyebrow. “Then for what reason are you here?”

  “I am here as your muse.”

  “My muse? I am not a poet.”

  Dracula found it hard to conceal his amusement.

  “Do not mock me,” Luther said.

  “I am an instrument to help you express yourself. I will see you write reams before I leave here tonight.”

  “What is it I am meant to write?”

  “The things you have wanted to say for so long.”

  “I am not even sure of what they are.”

  “Yes you are. Rise above your doubts.”

  Luther dropped his head.

  “The things you think and feel are all true. Write them down. Or I will see to it that you do.”

  He walked around the desk. “The institution of Christ’s Church is rotten to the core. The stench is so foul it reaches as high as the heavens and to the depths below the earth. You think it too. But I know it is so.”

  “You want me to speak against the Church?”

  “Stand up and be counted. Say what you have to say.”

  “But I cannot speak against the Pope.”

  “Of course you can. He is but a man like you.”

  “He is God’s appointed head.”

  “A man whose head is turned by politics and wealth. He does not care for the reforms men like you are calling for.”

  “Yes. You are right. It has to change.”

  “So change it. What is the worst that can happen to you? Be called a heretic?”

  “I do not want that.”

  “It is but a loosely banded term spoken by ignorant men and used by the unscrupulous. The Pope might excommunicate you. Should it matter if he does?”

  “I will be damned.”

  “You know that is not true.”

  “And you would know that it is not?”

  “You have little affiliation left with your Order or even the Church. So let them do it. Start your own. Teach your own ideas. Salvation by faith alone. I like it.”

  His words startled Luther. “How do you know about that?”

  “I know all your thoughts,” Dracula said. “It is time the world did. So write.”

  Luther’s heart raced, as he put pen to paper. He turned everything Dracula had said over and over in his mind. It made it hard for him to concentrate at times. The hours passed. They stayed, as they were, long into the night. Luther penned ninety-five points. These attacked papal abuses and the selling of indulgences.

  Dracula did not speak once. Any time Luther looked up at him he continued to pace about. He did not need to prompt him any further. It was all there in his mind already aching to come out. He just had to help the monk to take that step.

  Luther finished soon before dawn. When he put down his quill Dracula peered over his shoulder. “Later in the day,” he said, “nail them to the church door here in the town.”

  The monk did not seem so keen. “That will provoke a serious reaction.”

  “That is what you want. It will be read and your voice heeded.”

  “I could be arrested.”

  “You will not be. Doing this will allow you to move forward and affirm your beliefs. You have the chance to be remembered for all time.”

  That idea appealed to him. He did want his message to reach the people. Until now he never envisaged he could share his ideas with the masses.

  “Do as I say and it will be so,” Dracula vowed. “I will check the door of the church to see if you do it. I pray there will be no cause for me to return here again.”

  “I will do it.”

  “Perhaps if you blessed the ground here you might not encounter so many demons. Have a long life, Martin Luther. I can tell it will be an interesting one.”

  He left. Luther finished his letter to the archbishop. In it he explained his ninety-five theses. He stressed he would concede every point to the Pope if Leo affirmed the gospel. The undertone of this was that salvation was justifiable by faith alone.

  The monk nailed the document to the door of the church the next day. Neither he nor Leo could have foreseen the effects of this simple action. It caused a huge rift within the Church. Millions heard his message and broke away from the Catholic Communion. They elected to follow new interpretations of the teachings of Christ.

  Dracula had dealt his first real blow to Catholicism. It would see Christian fight against Christian. Luther’s simple act changed the course of history forever.

  Burgundy. The tent of Emperor Charles V.

  The road between Dijon and Beaune.

  June 1521.

  It was less than four years since Dracula met Luther. In that time Europe had turned into a political minefield. His ideas had spread far and wide. It caused a real divide within the Church. Now France and Spain were on the brink of war again.

  The two great nations were at odds over the Italian states. They disputed too the sovereignty of Navarre and Burgundy. Both provinces lay within French borders, but belonged to Spain.

  The great Ferdinand of Aragon died in January 1516. His teenage grandson, Charles of Burgundy, succeeded him. Charles was the son of Philip of Burgundy and Joanna of Aragon. This made him a grandson of Ferdinand and Isabella. But more important still he was also the grandson of Emperor Maximilian I.

  Charles’ father died when he was only six years of age. His aunt, Margaret of Austria, acted as his regent. She was one of the powerful Hapsburgs. Charles came of age in 1515. His family deemed him able to rule Burgundy. This was despite only being fifteen years old.

  At this time the nobility sought an alliance with France. They wanted to break Margaret’s grip on power there. On the down side this would increase French influence in Burgundian affairs.

  Charles left there in the autumn of 1517. At the same time that Dracula met with Luther he went to Spain. He went to ascend the thrones in the kingdoms of Aragon and Castile. However, some of his policies caused unrest among the people.

  One night the following summer he walked up to the battlements of his palace in Madrid. He looked out over the sleeping city. His trusted advisor, Michel du Pont, joined him there.

  “Are you well, Highness?” he asked.

  Charles still eyed the streets below. “What do I do to make them happy?”

  “Knowing that comes with age, Highness. You are still young.”

  “But I do not w
ant to be so unpopular with my people.”

  “Then you have to make them feel as though you are one of them.”

  “I wish I knew how.”

  “You can do it.”

  “But we are Burgundian.”

  “Learn their language. You speak enough of them. Learn theirs.”

  “Yes. I ought to. But is it enough that I do that?”

  “Their main gripe is that you give positions of authority to other Burgundians.”

  “Is that so wrong?”

  “To them yes. They feel they should fill positions of civil rule in their country.”

  “They even call me French.”

  He spat the word as though it were the worst curse.

  “Then make them happy, Highness. It is within your power to do so.”

  “I have other things on my mind.”

  “That wretch William of Chievres?”

  “Yes. Look at what he has done in my absence.”

  Du Pont had referred to Charles’ chief advisor. He was the true authority in Burgundy while Charles was in Spain.

  “He has made the alliance with France,” Charles growled.

  “It will keep the nobles happy for the now.”

  “I do not need Francois meddling in my affairs.”

  “He is always going to be a thorn in your side.”

  “My grandfather is dying. He is sure to try and replace him as Holy Roman Emperor.”

  “He will never be elected.”

  “He has the Pope on his side. He could be elected.”

  “Yes, Highness. That is true.”

  “We are sure to cross swords over that and many other things.”

  “When your grandfather does pass on that will be the least of your problems.”

  “I know.”

  “The empire you will inherit will be vast.”

  “I can barely manage what I have. What do I want with Naples or Milan?”

  “Not to mention Sicily or Granada and Sardinia, Navarre and your interests in the Americas. Many men would kill to have all of that.”