The Dracula Chronicles: For Whom The Bell Tolls Page 18

  He awoke sometime later aware he was no longer alone. Night had drawn in and darkness filled the cell. He attempted to get up, but cried out and fell back down on his stomach. “Who is there?” he asked, even finding it an effort to speak.

  His nose caught a scent of lilies and he sensed he was in the company of a woman. But what would a woman be doing here? When he received no answer to his question, he closed his eyes and tried to relax once more.

  “Hush,” a gentle voice whispered to him from the darkness.

  Vlad opened his eyes at once. He had not been mistaken. There was a woman, or a girl, in his cell. He tried to get up, but a gentle push against the back of his head prevented him from doing so.

  “You need to rest,” she said. “Do not get up.”

  “Who are you?” he repeated his question.

  “No one that you know,” she said, her voice soft. “Do as you are told. I must dress your wounds before they become infected. If they do, then you shall have cause to worry.”

  He was more interested in her now than in the state of his back. “Are you from the seraglio?”

  She laughed. “No I am not. I am no whore of Murad’s. If anything, he is mine.”

  Vlad was quiet while he tried to make sense of what she said. After a time, he gave up. “So you know him?”

  “Yes, I know him.”

  “Then I wish you to leave,” he said. “Did he send you here?”

  “No,” she assured him. “I am my own master.”

  Vlad was confused. Who is she, if not an odalisque? “How did you get in here?”

  “You ask too many questions,” she scolded. “You have such a curious mind. I have my ways and means. But try and rest easy so I can tend to your wounds.”

  He obeyed and relaxed for her to do her job. She treated the welts with great care, stopping any time he cried out. When she finished with that she pulled at his leggings to remove them.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, nervous and ashamed of the state he was in.

  She held his wrist when he reached down to stop her. Her strength surprised him. “I cannot leave you this way. Allow me to finish what I started.”

  “You must not go any further. What little dignity I have would be gone.”

  “Your dignity is intact, I promise you. Move your hands before I tie them.”

  He did as she told him, but then hid his face in them. She bathed him until he was clean and then dressed him with the fresh clothes she had brought. He did not thank her, but she knew he was grateful all the same.

  “You are most welcome,” she said, lying down beside him. She propped herself up on an elbow and began to stroke his hair.

  “You are very kind. I am not accustomed to such acts.”

  It soothed him to feel her touch. Only his mother had ever done that to him, and that seemed like an age ago. He drifted in and out of sleep. She continued with what she was doing, pleased that it eased his suffering.

  “You never told me your name,” he said, after a long silence.

  “That would be because I do not use one.”

  Vlad tried to stifle a laugh. He had not done so in such a long time. “You do not have a name?”

  “Make one up for me if you must,” she said. “I have been called many things. But I have no name that I go by myself. I am who I am.”

  He felt a little annoyed by how evasive she was being, though he tried not to show it. It was obvious to him that she wished to remain a mystery. “Everyone has a name. What sort of a mother did you have?”

  “I did not know my mother. Only my father, but He cast me away.”

  “Well, what did he call you?”

  “He called me His favourite,” she whispered, remembering another time. “That is how He addressed me. My brothers were so jealous.”

  “Then they must have had a name for you.”

  “They used to call me by some name or other. It is so long ago that I forget. Does it really matter?”

  “You know I have no faith in this fiction of yours.”

  She fell silent. Vlad had still not seen her face. Her voice was all he knew of her.

  “Lucy,” she said, after a long pause. “They called me something of the like.”

  “Lucy?” he repeated. “What an odd name. It is one I have not heard before.”

  “How charming,” she sulked, nudging him in the ribs. “I satisfy your curiosity only for you to insult me.”

  He cried out when she rubbed against one of his wounds.

  “Oh, you are like a baby,” she jibed. “Alas, it is time for me to go.”

  “You are leaving me already?”

  “Yes, I do not want to stay too long. You needed to know you are not alone.”

  “I have always been alone.”

  “Not any more. You have a friend in me.”

  “Thank you, Lucy,” he said.

  She was already gone.

  WALLACHIA. THE ROYAL PALACE OF VLAD DRACUL AT TIRGOVISTE.

  JANUARY 1, 1445.

  Mircea returned at last to Tirgoviste. He arrived home with Hunyadi and three and a half thousand of his cavalry. Vintila Florescu made the long trek back with them. He brought with him one of Cesarini’s lieutenants, Andrea de Palatio of Parma.

  His had been a lucky escape. He thought about it and the battle for the best part of each day. And then when he closed his eyes to sleep he thought of the dead. There was no escape from it, or from them. It left him drained each morning when he woke again.

  Hunyadi and de Palatio stayed as guests of Vlad Dracul in the weeks that followed. Living under the same roof fuelled the bad feeling between them. The distrust that the White Knight and the Dragon felt for each other was never more apparent than now. Hunyadi was desperate to get away from the city. Here he feared a knife in the back could come at any moment.

  It was at the turn of the year when matters came to a head. He stormed in on a private conversation between Dracul and Rodrigul.

  “How long must I remain in this cesspit?” he said, the contempt in his tone showing a complete lack of respect for his host.

  “I see you have forgotten your manners as well as your roots,” Dracul said. He liked to remind his rival of his humble beginnings as a lowly peasant.

  “I am Transylvanian yes. But I have no affinity for or with this place. I am not here by choice. Hungary needs me. Our King is dead, or has that fact escaped you?”

  “Hungary is a long way off. I doubt you shall be seeing it for a while.”

  Hunyadi lost his temper almost at once. “You intend to keep me here longer? What is your motive for such treachery?” He ripped open his shirt to expose his bare chest. “Why not stick me with a blade and be done with it? Save yourself the trouble of plotting my demise.”

  “Have you lost your mind?” Dracul fumed. The insinuation was the cause of great offence. “You show such little gratitude.”

  “What do I have to be grateful to you for?”

  “To Mircea!” Dracul snarled. His face reddened with anger. “My son risked his own life to save yours. Were it not for he and my men you would have been food for the crows.”

  “It was the least he could do. He had to atone somehow for leaving the battle.”

  Dracul rose from his chair in anger. If he could have driven a blade into Hunyadi’s chest there and then he would have. “What is it you are implying?”

  “He left the field. As a result our infantry was left exposed.”

  “Is it not the truth that he saved the right flank of your army?” Dracul pointed out. “He chased the Anatolian Spahis from the field.”

  “That point is not in dispute. But the fact remains that he and his cavalry rode on to plunder and loot the enemy camp. They did that when they should have returned to the field.”

  Dracul ran at him and rammed him into a wall. Hunyadi was a powerful man and was surprised at his host’s strength. He cleared his head and consoled himself with the fact his rival had caught him off his guard. When he
looked up he found himself looking Dracul straight in the eye as Dracul pressed his face against his.

  “It is as well for you that I am a humane man,” Dracul hissed at him.

  “Yes, so humane that you keep a man against his will.”

  Dracul ignored it. “I have heard it said that you also left the field of battle.”

  “I gave chase to the enemy as any good leader would do.”

  “And I always believed a leader’s place was to lead. On the field of battle.”

  Hunyadi did not react, but just continued to meet his gaze.

  Dracul took it as his cue to go on. “Perhaps I am not as wise as I thought myself to be. Aid me here if you will. You gave chase to the enemy, as did my son. I cannot see the difference from his actions to yours.”

  “He allowed his greed to come first. One does not loot until the battle is won.”

  Dracul pressed harder against his chest. “The debacle at Varna lies at your feet. Do not dare to try and tarnish my son’s honour to save your own. I shall see you dead before his name is dragged through the mud.”

  Hunyadi grinned at him, almost fiendishly. “We shall see.”

  “We could end this in the courtyard if you were man enough to face me.”

  “I would relish a chance to run my sword through your gut.”

  Rodrigul could see the situation begin to escalate out of control as it threatened to every time the two of them met. He stepped in to prevent his sovereign going too far. “Leave him be, my Lord,” he urged. “He is not worth your anger.”

  Dracul glared long into Hunyadi’s eyes, but he did heed the words of his closest friend. “You are free to leave any time you wish,” he said to the White Knight. “But you go as you are. I offer you neither transport nor provisions. You leave my city on foot. But be warned; the next time you storm into my quarters and provoke a fight I shall have you put in restraints.”

  He released his grip on Hunyadi’s torn shirt and stepped back. His rival left the room with de Palatio in tow.

  Florescu had not long entered the room. “I had better speak with him,” he offered. “I know him well. I can calm him.”

  Dracul nodded to him, but waited for him to leave before speaking again to Rodrigul. “I want to know what they are saying. I need to know if they are in league with each other.”

  Rodrigul bowed and left the room. He sent one of his men to keep an eye on Florescu. The man picked for the task moved swiftly through the palace. He slipped into Hunyadi’s room and hid in a closet. Florescu and his two companions entered soon after.

  “What shall you do, my Lord?” de Palatio asked.

  Hunyadi kicked out at a chair, one of its legs breaking as it toppled over. “Damn him to Hell!” he cursed. “He knows well I could not survive a day outside the city walls. The snows are here. To leave on foot would be suicidal.”

  “Try and keep your calm, John,” Florescu said to him.

  The spy in the closet raised his eyebrows. The two men were on first name terms. He could tell even then that his master had good grounds for his suspicions.

  “How can I keep my calm when I am so provoked? Why did I ever support his claim for the throne?”

  “I often wonder that myself. Still, it is not too late to remedy.”

  “Indeed,” he agreed, keen to know what Florescu had in mind.

  “Lie low for the now. Wait for the thaw and return home to Hungary. You have much to do there with the throne vacant.”

  “Yes, I need to be there.”

  “All the power lies with you, John. Resolve any problems you have at home and then think again about Dracul.”

  “Yes, you are right.”

  Florescu placed a hand on his shoulder. “You did not get where you are by being rash. I have never known you to enter a battle in such a way. Give it some deep thought. You shall see the way. Then when you are ready to make your move, so shall I be.”

  The spy in the closet listened closely to the plot they were hatching only a few feet away. He held his breath; fearful they might discover his presence in the room.

  Florescu pressed on with his scheme. It was clear his ambition burned as bright as any other man’s. “There are many boyars who would rise up against Dracul when the time is right.”

  “But he is popular in his own country. He has pushed the Turks out and his people have food in their bellies.”

  “He is not as popular as you may think. The boyars are a hard group to please.”

  “As long as their bellies are fat they, too, are happy.”

  “Taking the throne away from him would be easy. That I can promise you.”

  “I hope you are right.”

  “I would not say it if it were not true.”

  “I shall want more than to remove him from the throne.”

  “You are the power, John. Do as you wish.”

  “I want him and his family dead,” Hunyadi uttered through gritted teeth. “Each and every one of them. The day they are gone should be a good day for one and all.”

  “Yes,” Florescu agreed. “And I shall be there to see that day comes.”

  “Is not such a plan a little drastic?” de Palatio asked. “I know you and Dracul do not see eye to eye. But to kill his entire family?”

  “It runs much deeper than that. I cannot trust him to stand against the Turks. If he should ever find the nerve to fight, I daresay it would not be on my side.”

  De Palatio could see the hatred in his eyes. “He may be reluctant to side with you. But it is true to say he has not acted against you either.”

  “Andrea, listen to me,” Florescu implored him. “If Dracul gives way to the Turks they would have free passage to march on Hungary. If Buda was to fall I assure you that Rome would soon follow. It would be a matter of time.”

  He thought about it. “Very well. If you see fit, then that is the course you should follow. But who would you have replace him?”

  “There is always a Danesti on hand to take the throne. A new puppet is never too hard to find.”

  “Or you could have the throne for yourself, John.”

  Hunyadi raised a smile. “Perhaps, Vintila, I might even give it to you. To show that I do recognise your loyalty.”

  Florescu’s face flushed at the prospect. “I am always honoured to serve you, my Lord.”

  Hunyadi laughed at him. “It is my Lord when I offer you the throne.”

  Both men laughed until de Palatio raised a hand to caution them. “We should not speak of such things in here. Walls can have ears. I say we go outside and talk.”

  The spy waited for a good while after they had left. When he was sure it was safe he exited the room and reported all that he had heard.

  “I think you should kill them,” Rodrigul urged his master once his man had left the room. “You may not get a second chance.”

  “You know I would love to, Alin,” Dracul said, thinking of that exact scenario. “But it is not the way.”

  “It is called survival. Kill or be killed. I am certain it shall come to that.”

  “If any harm came to them here in my care then I would be held to account. I have no doubt it would give my enemies the excuse they want to invade. And I do not doubt my spat with Hunyadi at Nicopolis and his subsequent defeat in the field shall have made me any friends.”

  “There are ways around it.”

  “And what might they be?”

  “We could spread the story that Hunyadi and Florescu had a raging argument.”

  “And why would they argue?”

  “The ruse would be that Florescu was bitter about Hunyadi giving you the throne. He despises you and wanted it for his own family. In the quarrel he kills Hunyadi, and then de Palatio to cover his crime.”

  “And what would we do with Florescu?”

  “We execute him for killing the other two.”

  “No,” Dracul said. “I cannot do it. That plan involves the murders of three men.”

  “You must consider it. They
want to kill you and your wife and your sons. If we do it my way no one could say different.”

  “God would know. I still must answer to Him.”

  “Then what do we do? They are conspiring under your own roof to kill you!”

  “Rest easy, Alin. It is not like you to be so ill at ease.”

  “It is not every day I have the chance to kill the sworn enemy of my sovereign.”

  Dracul smiled. His friend’s loyalty was a great comfort to him. “No, we should wait. There shall be another opportunity.”

  “When? You are only ever afforded one chance like this.”

  “There is sure to be an inquiry into the debacle at Varna. That is where I shall get him. The defeat was all his fault.”

  “You have no way of knowing the outcome of that, my Lord. At that inquiry Hunyadi shall have his friends all around him.”

  “He has to answer for Varna. His friends would not be able to spare him that.”

  “And what shall you do with Florescu? He poses a real threat to you.”

  “I shall deal with him. You keep your eye on him for the now.”

  “Very well. We shall wait.”

  “My dear, Alin. There is always more than one way to skin a cat.”

  ANATOLIA. THE ROYAL PALACE OF SULTAN MURAD II AT ADRIANOPLE.

  APRIL, 1445.

  Murad released Vlad from his cell in the spring of the next year. Once again he afforded him the freedom of the palace and all his old privileges. Vlad pressed on with his studies and his training with even greater vigour than before. He had a burning need to be even better. When the day came for him to rule he knew he would have to be the very best. To that end, he now took a keen interest in all things Turkish. The surest way to beat your enemy was to know them as well as they knew themselves.

  Vlad realised he would remain a hostage for some time. He decided then not to dwell on it, but to use it to his benefit. It would allow him time to study them: the tactics they employed in battle; their mannerisms; and the way they thought. In time, it grew into an obsession for him. He wanted to know them inside out for the day he would wage war against them.