The Dracula Chronicles: For Whom The Bell Tolls Read online

  “Why not tell us, Dracul. How did your sons happen to become hostages of the Sultan?”

  Dracul knew where he was taking this and felt instantly backed into a corner. “I am not the only man here to have sons in his grip.”

  “Answer the question!”

  The room fell silent and it told him they were all awaiting an answer. He looked straight at Hunyadi when he gave it. “The Sultan called me to Gallipoli and seized them upon my arrival.”

  “So he summoned you and like the obedient dog you are, you went to him!”

  Dracul clenched his fist ready to drive it into his face.

  Hunyadi backed away a few paces. “Why did you answer his summons?”

  Dracul turned to the papal legate. “Is this man conducting this inquiry? I thought we were present to address the debacle at Varna.”

  “I would like to hear the reason,” the legate said, to his dismay.

  “I risked an invasion of my country if I did not go.”

  “Pray tell us why that was so.”

  “I had to answer for my lack of support for Sihabeddin.”

  “It is because he had signed a treaty with the Turks!” Hunyadi drilled the point home. “After swearing an oath to protect our faith he made a pact with those that would destroy it!”

  Hunyadi waited for his words to sink in. He had said nothing they did not already know, but this had provided him with the perfect opportunity to detract attention away from himself.

  When no one spoke, he took it as a cue to continue. “But what does he care for our faith? He swore his oath to our Emperor only so it would make him our candidate for the throne upon which he sits. But it is not so difficult to understand his reasons. For he is not of our faith and we should look upon him as the heathen he is.”

  Dracul eyed him with cold contempt. “So this is what lies at the root of your bias? You despise the fact that I am an Orthodox Christian. I had always thought you and your kind exorcised your prejudice on those not able to defend themselves.”

  The legate had heard enough of the argument. “We are not here to determine the religious inclinations of the Voivode however any of us might view them. It is an issue that has no place here. In the interests of this inquiry, it is not disputed that Voivode Dracul fights on our same side.”

  With that point settled the legate addressed Dracul directly on the original vein of the discussion. “This Council appreciates your feelings as a father. But you are the Voivode of Wallachia and a Knight of the Order of the Dragon. You swore an oath to preserve the faith from Moslem oppression, and you are bound by it.”

  Dracul bowed his head. “In my defence, my Lord,” he said. “The first occasion he called on me, he did so without need. The second time was out of sheer madness. There was nothing to be gained from going to Varna, except death.”

  “Your son came away with honour,” the legate reminded him. He turned again to Hunyadi. “You said there were two reasons?”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “So what was the other?”

  “The second was the dedication of our King. He believed to back out of the crusade would be an insult against God.”

  “With all respect to our deceased King,” the legate said. “He was a man of immense courage, and may God rest his soul. But he was young and had little experience in matters of war. His desire to fight was not reason enough to do so. Not where so many lives were lost with so little chance of success.”

  Hunyadi conceded the point with a nod, but would not let it go. “He was acting on the wishes of his Holiness, the Pope. And so I still believe we were right to follow his lead and fight.”

  “That may be so,” the legate acknowledged. “But this is why we rely on the input of men well versed in matters of war. Dracul is such a man. He should not have been so easily dismissed.”

  Hunyadi’s face turned sour. “My allegiance was to my King and the Pope, not to Dracul.”

  The legate did not allow the turn in his mood to deter him. “We are all but men,” he reminded him. “But men such as you control the destiny of so many lives, as you did at Varna. It is the reason that you, most of all, would be better served to heed advice from all quarters. You should have done so on this occasion, but did not.”

  The Council took its time to examine the events prior to Varna. Then it moved on to the battle itself. They had already documented the accounts of many of the men in the room. These gave a detailed and consistent picture of events until the collapse of the right flank. From that point on, there were differing views on what had happened. They had to clarify the true course of events before they could take any action or apportion any blame.

  The legate spoke up again. “It appears the right flank crumbled when the Croatian ranks wilted.”

  Talotsi cringed at mention of this, but could not dispute it. His men had not endowed any glory on his name.

  “Then I am to understand the Wallachian banner under the command of Mircea Dracula entered the field? And drove the Anatolian Spahis from it?”

  Hunyadi nodded that it was so. “They fought a great battle, my Lord.”

  “This may be true, my Lord,” de Palatio interceded again. “But they went on to absent the field. In doing so, they left our entire infantry exposed.”

  “And where were you during all of this?”

  “I was fighting under Cardinal Cesarini’s banner, my Lord.”

  “Am I wrong to believe your division was routed and running for cover?”

  De Palatio fell silent. Hans Magest wanted to have a say and stepped forward for the legate to see him. His mercenaries had fought on the right flank. The collapse there had left his troops to face the brunt of the enemy onslaught.

  He waited until the legate made eye contact with him. “My unit fought the right flank, my Lord. May I speak?”

  “By all means. We wish to establish all the facts. You are Hans Magest?”

  “Yes, my Lord. That I am.”

  “Then give us your account, if you please.”

  “After the collapse on the right side, my men were left brutally exposed.”

  “You did well, then, to survive.”

  Magest pointed to Mircea. “I have him to thank for that. The actions of he and his men saved and inspired us all. Behind them we were able to crush the Turks on our flank.”

  “Thank you, Hans,” the legate said. “Your testimony is duly noted.”

  “I am not finished, my Lord.”

  “I do apologise. Pray continue.”

  “The enemy tried hard to rally against us. It was for that reason the Wallachians drove them from the field.”

  “You are certain of that?”

  Dracul was pleased to see at least one man in the room not afraid of Hunyadi. He breathed with deep satisfaction on hearing of his son’s gallantry. Mircea had grown into a man who would make any father proud.

  “Yes, my Lord,” Magest argued in favour of Mircea. “Had Mircea not pursued them, I have no doubt they would have rallied and crushed us. He acted in no way improper that I could see. And I had a good view all the way up the Kamenar Pass.”

  Hunyadi felt concern at the way the inquest was going. Every good word spoken about Mircea made his position even more difficult. One of them would have to take the blame for the defeat. So he knew he would have to discredit Mircea in order to save himself. “My Lord,” he spoke up. “There are other actions by the Wallachians to be taken into account.”

  “Then you had best tell the inquest.”

  “They returned to the field laden with booty,” he claimed. “The time they took to plunder the enemy camp was a major factor in our losing the battle.”

  “Is this so?” the papal legate asked Mircea.

  “My Lord,” Mircea said. “We drove the enemy as far as their camp.”

  “Yes, young man,” the legate nodded. “That fact is not in question.”

  “My men seized on the chance to attack their reserves and dent the supply route to their front
lines. This we did to great effect and with great haste. On our return my men pillaged the camp. It served to crush the morale of the enemy.”

  “But we needed you on the field!” Hunyadi shouted.

  “Not as much as you suggest. After all, you left the battle also.”

  “My men were chasing the Rumelian Spahis from the field.”

  “So you were doing the same as I? Yet you condemn my actions.”

  Dracul seized on a chance to make light of Hunyadi’s argument. “Perhaps the White Knight feels the Rumelians were far more dangerous than the Anatolians.”

  Hunyadi heard a few chuckles from behind. He paused to think of another angle to attack Mircea. A brief lull ensued. Mircea took full advantage of this.

  “My noble Lords,” he said, facing the delegation. “Hunyadi seeks to slight my name to defend his own honour. He does this after I saved his life. And to that I say he has no honour. He is living on his past reputation, in the hope it might save him. It should count for nothing here as he led a disastrous campaign at Varna. This he did against good advice and it has hurt this alliance beyond repair. He must be held to account for it.”

  “Yes, my Lords,” Dracul pressed, taking up the argument. “Who he is should count for nothing here at this inquiry. All that matters is the outcome of Varna and his great part in it. On that point, I wish to put forward a motion. It is that he be arrested, tried, and executed for his actions.”

  “Those are strong words,” the legate said.

  “It is a course of action that is justified by his gross misconduct.”

  Hunyadi glared at him. If he had had a weapon in his hand, he would have used it. The forum fell silent. Every pair of eyes fell on the legate for a response to what Dracul had said.

  The men in the delegation whispered amongst themselves for a time. After a few minutes the papal legate stood up again. “We have all the information we require. We shall discuss it at length and give our decision.”

  They deliberated for two whole days. The atmosphere in the town grew tense. A few times the animosity between the two factions threatened to boil over.

  Rumours began to circulate early on the third day that they had at last reached a decision. Those allied to Hunyadi stood close to Dracul and his guards outside.

  Hunyadi walked up to him. “If I survive this, Dracul, I shall bring you down. Sleep with one eye open from this day forward.”

  Dracul was about to rise to the threat when a spokesman for the Council called from the entrance to the forum. “You are requested, one and all, to return inside.”

  Mircea grabbed Hunyadi’s arm on the way in. “You are going to swing for this.”

  The papal legate stood to address the forum. “We have reached our decision based on the findings of this inquiry. I would like to thank you all for attending and for the testimonies given.”

  A brief pause ensued before he continued. “John Hunyadi. Please step forward.”

  Hunyadi did so. His every instinct told him the decision had not gone his way. He wondered now what fate had in store for him.

  The legate then spoke the words he had dreaded to hear. “This inquiry finds that you alone are responsible for the defeat at Varna.”

  Dracul beat his fist in the air in triumph.

  “We also feel your actions were swayed out of loyalty to our King. It is only just that we take into account your past actions in wars against the Infidel. It would then be unjust for us to further tarnish your reputation. You are free to return home.”

  Dracul had not taken into account the delegation knew there would be more battles and more conflicts with the Turks. Despite his defeat at Varna, Hunyadi was still the best general in the alliance. In that event, it would not be prudent to condemn or punish him. They would need his expertise again.

  “This is an outrage!” he fumed. “A bigger farce than Varna.”

  “Hold your tongue,” the legate warned.

  “Or what shall you do? From this day on, my banner shall have no affiliation with this alliance. I only hope I can wash the stench of this from my boots.”

  He turned and left in a rage, with his son close on his heels.

  One of Hunyadi’s men ran after them. When he caught them he stood across their path. “My Lord says he shall see you again soon.”

  Dracul climbed onto his horse and looked down upon the man. “Tell him I shall be waiting.”

  ANATOLIA. THE ROYAL PALACE OF SULTAN

  MURAD II AT ADRIANOPLE.

  DECEMBER 11, 1446.

  Vlad awoke to the image of Hazar standing over him. It startled him at first, but he hid it well. He never wanted to show any sign of weakness to those he considered his enemy. It was not cause for alarm as Hazar was the most capable man he had ever seen with a sword. The other boys had told stories that he had been the sultan’s private assassin and that he was most deadly in the kill. Should he have any desire to harm Vlad, he knew he would never have opened his eyes again.

  “What is it?” Vlad asked him, regaining his composure with his first waking breath.

  “I am advised it is your birthing day,” Hazar said, his gaze cold and penetrating, not showing the slightest hint of emotion.

  Vlad took a moment to think and realised it was true. “I believe it is so, yes.”

  “Then the Sultan wishes to make you a gift to mark this special day.”

  Although Hazar would never show it, Vlad sensed the man liked him. He knew Hazar to be a serious man who admired courage and honesty. Yet it was rare for him to receive any such nicety and he wondered at the motive behind it. “A gift? Why would I be endowed with any such thing?”

  “It is not customary to question any such gesture, though I do understand your apprehension. I would hope you exercise that same caution in all your future dealings.”

  Vlad knew it best to be straight with him. “I must wonder why the one who holds me against my will would show me a kindness.”

  “There is no hidden motive. It is your birthing day and the Sultan is genuine in his intentions. There are many who like and admire you and, most importantly, that is true of him too. Were you to refuse his gift, then he would surely take great offence.”

  “I do not intend to offend him,” Vlad said, sitting up in his cot.

  “Then dress in some fresh clothes and meet me in the corridor at your leisure. I shall await you there.”

  Vlad stood up as Hazar left the room. He did not want to keep him waiting and found some clothes he had not worn since one of Murad’s slaves had left them there. All the time he thought about what the gift might be. He knew it would be prudent to wear his very finest shirt and hosiery.

  “Follow me,” Hazar said, when he stepped out into the corridor.

  Vlad walked behind him to one of the more private areas of the palace. He knew of it, but had never been even close to it before. His heart raced a little now that he had an idea of what this gift could be.

  They stopped when they arrived at two very tall and ornate doors. Three of the largest men Vlad had ever seen, guarded them; one in the middle and one each to either side. When Hazar gave the man in the middle a slight bow, he turned and opened the doors for them to enter.

  Vlad walked into a vision of absolute splendour. It had to be the largest room he had ever seen, with monstrous pillars rising up forty feet to the ceiling in two perfect columns. Countless shrubs and hanging plants offered a contrast to the brilliant white and gold all around. Between the two columns he saw four very large hot spas with scores of beautiful women wearing very little or nothing at all.

  Some of them bathed, while others lay around the many luxurious sofas fixing each other’s hair, or applying coloured powders to their faces. The most pleasing fragrances filled the air from the perfumes used by the odalisques and from incense burners. It was enough to relax even the most nervous of entrants.

  Vlad grew instantly erect at the feast before his eyes. He tried to pull his shirt further down in as discreet a manner as he
could, to shield his embarrassment. When he looked all the way over to the right and saw the head odalisque, it made him throb.

  She lay on the hugest bed he had seen; nothing that resembled his cot in any way. It was large enough to accommodate ten people, he thought, and filled with the finest blankets and pillows. Beautiful drapes hung from the top on every side, held in place around bedposts made of solid gold.

  The Chief Black Eunuch or Kizlar Ağasi greeted them inside the doors. He was an Egyptian by birth, taken by the Turks when he was only six years old. As a man, he towered over Vlad and, naked from the waist up, he had the appearance of a carving sculpted from the finest ebony.

  He bowed when Hazar stood before him. When he stood straight and tall again he glanced over Hazar’s shoulder at Vlad. “Welcome to the seraglio, Vizier Hazar,” he said, his voice not at all deep as Vlad would have imagined, but also devoid of feeling. “Are you to spend your morning here with us?”

  The Kizlar Ağasi knew well in advance the reason for the visit. They had scripted the conversation earlier for Vlad’s benefit. As the most important of the eunuchs, he knew as much - or even more - of what went on in the palace, as the sultan.

  “I have with me a new visitor to the seraglio,” Hazar said, indicating that he was referring to Vlad. “It is the young Prince’s birthing day and the Sultan wishes to offer the seraglio to him to mark the occasion. You know what to do.”

  Hazar then turned to Vlad as he prepared to exit the seraglio for more pressing business. “I shall take my leave. Enjoy your gift, dear Prince. This is a privilege rarely afforded to anyone.”

  Vlad sucked in a deep breath when he faced the Kizlar Ağasi alone. The sultan had allowed him inside the seraglio, as a guest. As far as he knew, none of the other princes at the palace had received such an honour. He had to wonder still at the reason for all of this. There was a purpose behind all that the sultan did. It would not surprise him then, should the sultan want something at a later date. Still, what Hazar said was true. This was a rare privilege and he would be a fool not to make the most of it.