The Dracula Chronicles: For Whom The Bell Tolls Page 25

  “I have no love for them.”

  “Such a weakness has been the ruin of Dracul. Should it happen with you too, your fall from power would be as swift as your rise.”

  “I understand. How do you plan to remove him? He has grown strong.”

  “He looks stronger than he really is. The true power there lies with the boyars. They are loyal to me in the main. As soon as I give the word, they shall rise up against him. Our victory should be a swift one.”

  Basarab smiled in triumph. It had been a long four years.

  “You must ride with a contingent to Bucharest. The main part of our army shall be under the command of your brother, Mihail.”

  “And you would not rather have him on the throne? As opposed to me?”

  “No. He is a great soldier. You are the better politician.”

  Basarab nodded that it was true. Mihail had only ever cared to master the art of war. That is what he had trained for all his life and where he excelled now that he had grown into a man. He had never shown an interest in matters of diplomacy. That he left to his much older brother. Basarab was a clever man and well educated in the affairs of state. He knew how to fight, but was no great soldier.

  “Mihail shall march to the north of Tirgoviste.”

  “You have planned this with him?”

  “Yes, we have discussed our strategy at length.”

  “Why has he never mentioned it to me?”

  “Like I said, he is the soldier. You are the politician.”

  “Very well, but I do like to know when there is such a major development. It is of concern to me after all.”

  “You have been informed.”

  Basarab felt he was irritating him. He bowed and said, “I thank you then, my Lord.”

  Hunyadi began to talk more of his plans. “That area to the north of Tirgoviste is where those most loyal to Dracul are to be found.”

  “Yes, he is strong there. It is why he made it his capital.”

  “That is why our main focus should be on that location.”

  “Where shall I be in all this?”

  “You are going to Bucharest, remember?”

  His face turned a deep shade of red. “Oh yes, of course. Forgive me.”

  Hunyadi sighed, weary of him. “I shall march on Tirgoviste with the remainder of the army. The boyars are awaiting my arrival. When they know I am there, we shall rise up and take the city.”

  “It sounds like a great plan. Is it enough to remove Dracul?”

  “I do not expect the plan to fail. But much depends on your brother. If he hems Dracul in it gives us a clear run at the city. You must block any reinforcements that may come from the south.”

  Basarab smiled. “When do we leave?”

  “As soon as my men are rested.”

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

  LATE NOVEMBER, 1447.

  Word reached Murad even as Hunyadi arrived at Brasov. There could be no doubt he was about to invade Wallachia to try and depose Dracul.

  This would deal a major blow to the interests of his empire. If Hunyadi had control of Wallachia, it closed all doors in the region to the sultan. He would have the buffer he wanted to protect his own state. Worse still, it gave him a firm platform to launch another crusade. And he would make the best use of it.

  Murad knew the details of the inquest at Dobruja. Like Dracul, he could not believe Hunyadi’s reprieve. His first thought when he heard was that his enemy had as many lives as a cat. He knew the White Knight wanted revenge. It ate at him like a cancer the way it would any man in power who was close to losing it. He wanted to settle the score with Dracul and his son. If he succeeded in that, then his mind would turn to avenging Varna. The man’s ego would demand it.

  If only Dracul’s son had left him to die at Varna they would not have to face this situation today. Murad feared now that they may all pay the price for the young man’s valour.

  It worried Murad that he had no large body of troops west of the Black Sea. Even if he sent an army now to aid Dracul, it would arrive too late. Hunyadi knew this and had picked his moment well. He knew Dracul had to stand alone and fight.

  He sat down with his advisors and debated the problem for hours. No solution they offered could save Dracul. But they had to find a way through this. Dracul could not lose his throne.

  An idea then occurred to Kodza Hazar. He had become the sultan’s most trusted aide since he had helped save the day at Varna. “Perhaps we should speak with the young Dracula.”

  “Why?” Murad asked. “What are you thinking?”

  “I know he is aware of the most recent treaty we signed with his father. He would know it binds us to support Dracul.”

  Murad looked upwards in despair. “That is what we have been discussing for three hours!”

  “Yes, Sire. Hear me out, if you will.”

  “What good would it do to speak with him of it? It would only serve to vex him again and stir up trouble. I am sure he still bears a grudge over the flogging I gave him. It would pain me to have to administer another.”

  “The young Vlad might soon become heir.”

  “He is only second in line,” Murad reminded him.

  “Of course, Sire. His father and brother may well lose their lives in this coming conflict. Hunyadi is intent to kill them both. If that happens, we have to show that we kept our word.”

  “But we shall not be able to mobilise an army in time to save Dracul.”

  “I realise this. That must not stop us acting to the terms of the treaty.”

  “And how do we honour it?”

  “We could allow Vlad to return home with say, three hundred cavalry.”

  “What would that achieve? He is not yet sixteen.”

  “We all know he is more than able. I have watched him many times. His skill with sword and bow astounds me. He is the best student we have and a born leader. I am sure he could make it back in quick time.”

  “Even so? What could he do with a force so small?”

  “He can at least have a hand in trying to save his father, with our men at his side. I believe he would make the best of it.”

  Murad smiled. “It means we honour our end of the treaty.”

  “Yes, Sire,” Hazar said with a strong voice, to show his belief in his own idea. “That we do. At the very worst, we lose three hundred men.”

  “And our grip on Wallachia!”

  “But for the purpose of future events, we showed that we did honour the treaty.”

  “I agree it is our best option. What do the rest of you think?” he asked his assembly.

  They conferred for a minute or so. Then one of them stood up to speak for the group as a whole. “We agree it is a good idea, Sire.”

  Murad clapped his hands together. “Good. Send for the boy!”

  Vlad was no longer a boy. As his sixteenth birthday drew ever closer, manhood was fully upon him. The same way Mircea had gone into battle at this age, he too was more than able.

  Hazar could see it in him. He had not seen such mastery since the time he had spent in the Far East many years ago. Only there had he known any man to wield a sword with such speed or grace. Yet Vlad was not even fully a man. His body would grow stronger still, and his skills would improve further. The prospect almost made his mouth water. He himself was a master of the art and it excited him no end to see it in another. Vlad would rule one day, of that he had no doubt. And when that day came, they would not want him as an enemy. They had to allow him the chance to save his father. He would remember it, and know they had been on his side. It was a gesture that could one day save countless lives.

  Vlad was reluctant to go at first when summoned. But what the guard said piqued his interest too. The Sultan and his advisors would like to speak with you. The more he thought about it, the more he realised it could only be a good thing for him. They had treated him well over the last two years. He no longer behaved as he did in the early days, and his captors had
rewarded him for it. They provided him with the best tutors to learn and the best soldiers to train with. Over time, he began to attain greater favour. He was smart enough to consider they might be grooming him for something. What he did not know was they already talked about him as a future candidate for his father’s throne.

  Vlad still looked a little guarded when he first walked in on the meeting. He never felt at ease when he saw Hazar, with his mad eyes. On this occasion, he did not feel any different.

  “Come, come, Vlad,” the sultan urged him. “We have business to discuss that is of great concern to you.”

  “What might that be, Sire?” He thought back to his flogging at the hand of Murad and was never one to be too trusting of him.

  “We are aware of an imminent coup on your father’s throne.”

  “Led by whom?” he asked, worried. His immediate concern centred on the welfare of his family.

  “It is Hunyadi,” Hazar informed him.

  Vlad could only meet his gaze for a moment before turning away. “Are you going to help him? You are bound by your treaty with my father to do so.”

  “That is what we have been discussing,” Murad assured him. “We fully intend to honour our treaty.”

  “Then there is no time to lose.”

  “Remain at ease, Vlad,” Hazar urged him. “These situations call for a cool head.”

  He could not. “How can I keep my calm? My family is in danger.”

  “We are aware of this.”

  “Do you have an army ready to send to Wallachia?”

  “That is the problem. We fear by the time we get an army there, it may already be too late.”

  “There are none of your forces posted along the Danube?”

  “Nothing that would be of any use to your father.”

  Vlad looked both worried and afraid. “So, is there a solution?”

  “Only one that we can think of,” Murad said.

  “Then, Sire, tell me. I beseech you.”

  “We are thinking of sending you there with a cavalry unit. You would arrive in a quarter of the time of an army.”

  Vlad perked up at the idea. The chance to return home, and lead an army in the process, was more than he could have dreamed of. “How many men?”

  “We can give you three hundred.”

  Vlad thought about the figure for a moment. “You know I can do it.”

  “Yes, Vlad,” Murad agreed. “We have every faith in your ability.”

  “But there is something?”

  “Only one thing concerns us,” Hazar said. “It is all that prevents us from letting you go.”

  “What is that?”

  “No matter what the outcome in Wallachia. Whether you fail, or succeed…”

  “Tell me!” he yelled at Hazar.

  “We need assurances that you shall return.”

  “Is that all?”

  Murad looked to Hazar and then to Vlad. “You would come back?”

  “Do you wish me to swear an oath? You know I shall honour it.”

  “No, Vlad,” Murad smiled. “Your word shall be enough. Do we have your word that you shall return here?”

  “Yes, Sire,” Vlad implored him. “I swear by Almighty God. No matter what happens there, I shall return.”

  “Then go,” Murad urged him. “With the grace of Allah, go and save your father’s kingdom. Before it is too late.”

  WALLACHIA. TIRGOVISTE.

  EARLY DECEMBER, 1447.

  Hunyadi marched south through the Carpathians with his army. The snows made his progress slow. Once through the passes he split his force in two. He sent the larger part with Mihail Basarab to patrol the area north of Tirgoviste. Then, with the remainder, he marched with Vladislav Basarab on the capital.

  Dracul’s spies on the border returned to the city with news of the approaching army. He had the gates of the city secured before mobilising his forces.

  He sent riders to various points between there and Bucharest. It was his hope that the boyars he knew he could trust, would come to his aid. He also had men stationed at some of these points. They were to gather at a location to the east of the capital. He would join them there and then lead them against the invading force.

  Maia cornered him in one of the rare moments he ventured into the palace inside the fortress. “Vladislav! What is it? Has something bad come to pass?”

  “There is no time, Maia. Remain inside where it is safe.”

  “Then tell me why! For God’s sake.”

  “Hunyadi is marching on the city,” he said, his expression grim. “I have to get my men organised. There is no time to talk.”

  She grabbed a hold of his arm and kissed him. “Please exercise the greatest care.”

  “I shall be fine,” he assured her. “Ensure you stay inside.”

  “Are we going to survive this?” she asked, scrutinising him to try and ascertain his true thoughts.

  “It is hard to say. I do not even know how safe the streets are. You can be sure he has people in the city ready to rise up against me.”

  “Damn him!”

  “I wish it were that easy, my love.”

  “Go then. Stay strong and please, watch over our son.”

  He went outside where he found Mircea and Rodrigul organising the men.

  Rodrigul was red with anger. “It amazes me that he chooses this moment to attack, when our force is scattered around the country.”

  Mircea felt the way he looked. “It is no accident. This whole city is infested with his spies.”

  “Where is Florescu? He should be here. Did anyone see him leave?”

  Mircea screwed his face at the mention of the name. “You can be sure he is rallying support against us. We should hunt him down, Papa, before it is too late.”

  Dracul took a moment to figure out what to do. Hunyadi had timed the attack to perfection and caught him off his guard. But Mircea was right in that they had to find Florescu. Even so, he needed his son and captain here with him.

  As if reading his mind, Mircea smiled. “Leave it with me, Papa. I shall find him.”

  Dracul tried to argue with him, but Mircea did not give him the chance. He ran on towards the piata in the centre of the city. There he rounded up about fifty men and set off in search of Florescu and his cohorts.

  “Mircea!” he called after his son. “Wait!”

  He dismissed his father with a wave of his arm and continued on.

  Rodrigul put a hand on Dracul’s arm. “Let him go.”

  “I promised his mother I would watch over him.”

  “He shall be fine. Mircea is already a leader of men. He can take care of himself.”

  Dracul nodded. “Yes, you are right. But what do I tell his mother if anything happens to him?”

  A number of skirmishes had already broken out inside the city walls. Men who Dracul believed to be loyal to him had sided with dissident boyars. They took up arms against their friends and comrades to help bring Dracul down.

  Florescu had been hard at work. In the last two years he planned well for this night. He swayed the minds of many to his cause who had been above suspicion. A few pieces of gold and a vision of the future were enough. And now Dracul’s failure to act on sound advice was going to come back to haunt him.

  In a house only a few streets away Florescu met with a group of boyars. “It has begun,” he told them, with a cold smile.

  “You started without us?” Daniul Petrescu asked him.

  “Everything is in place. After tonight, Dracul shall be no more.”

  “So why have you called this meeting? Why are we not out there?”

  “I wanted to ensure each of you was ready.”

  “We have been ready a long time past.”

  “He wants to ensure our loyalty,” Georghe Silvu said.

  “You are a wise man, Georghe. Yes, I need to know you are all with me.”

  “And John Hunyadi,” Petrescu said. “Surely he is going to lead this coup?”

  “Yes
, he is taking the lead. We are the ones to pave his way into the city.”

  “You are really going through with this?” Adrian Rosu asked him.

  “But of course. Listen. Can you not hear the melee in the streets?”

  “I thought this was all bravado,” Rosu argued. “Little more than you enjoying the sound of your own voice, as ever.”

  “Do you have issue with this, Adrian?”

  “Yes, this is madness. You cannot overthrow the Voivode!”

  “I can. And I shall.”

  “Then I want no part of it.”

  Florescu stepped forward and placed a hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “It is too late for you to walk away,” Petrescu said. “You already have a part in it. Tonight it is do or die. Do not choose the wrong side.”

  “I never believed you were serious. I like Dracul. He is good for the country.”

  “Let him go, Daniul. We do not need him.”

  Rosu stopped to look Florescu in the eye. The two men had never been friends. “Good luck with your plan, doomed though it is.”

  Florescu lunged at him. Rosu groaned hard and looked down. The cold steel of a blade sat embedded in his stomach. His body trembled and turned cold. When Florescu grabbed him by the throat, he was powerless to do anything but look into his cold eyes.

  The others stood up and crowded around the two men, but Florescu ignored them. He pushed Rosu hard with his left hand. In the same motion, he withdrew the sword in his right, causing Rosu to fall down against the floor.

  Silvu looked stunned. “Why did you kill him?”

  “He is a traitor. You have all taken my gold and are either with me or against me. There is no middle ground.”

  They all looked at him for a moment.

  He took his eyes from the man he had just killed. Blood trickled along the blade he held and dripped from its tip. “Are you with me?”

  “Yes,” they all whispered, one after another.

  “Good,” he said, sheathing his sword again. “Then let us see this business through to its end.”

  Mircea failed to locate him. He became bogged down in a vicious battle a few streets from the palace. His unit found itself cornered and outnumbered two to one. The city had fallen victim to a full-scale revolt.