The Dracula Chronicles: For Whom The Bell Tolls Page 27

  Hunyadi felt he had spent enough time there and gave the order to raze the city to the ground. Basarab preferred to make his capital in Oltenita, to the south and west of Bucharest. Hunyadi knew he could not leave Tirgoviste as it was. If he did then his enemies could use it to launch future attacks against him. So it suited him that it burned.

  The prisoners still left alive they had run through with the sword. The people of the city they drove out. Hunyadi allowed them to leave with nothing but the clothes on their backs. He sat atop his horse in the piata, indifferent to their pleas for mercy. The cold would claim many of them before the hunger did. He wanted the city to be a haven for no one and so, he did not care. In his eyes, these people were heathens. They gave their allegiance to a different church and so they were less than people. If they died now as a consequence of his actions, then they could die. He would not lose a moment’s sleep over it. Florescu carried out his orders and had his men torch the buildings in the nearby streets. The body of Maia Dracul still hung from the gallows, her skin purple and peeling. The crows had already plucked out her eyes and now begun to pick at her flesh.

  No words could console Dracul. He left his men and rode on alone to Snagov. It was one of the few places he found peace. The island also held memories for him of the two loved ones he had lost. He remembered a time he had spent there with his wife soon after his rise to power. Those were such happy times and he longed to have them back again. If he could, he would give up his years on the throne just to see her one more time.

  When he left the island monastery the next day, he found his men waiting patiently for him at the edge of the lake. The water had frozen over as it did every year. Even so, they knew three hundred of them on horseback could easily splinter the ice. Should that happen then they would all perish.

  “How are you, my dear friend?” Rodrigul asked him once he had negotiated the ice and made it back to solid ground.

  Dracul was forlorn and did not answer. He fell into Rodrigul’s arms and cried. There was no shame in it. His men fought back tears of their own as they watched.

  “We shall kill Hunyadi,” his friend promised him. “The men all loved Mircea. We are prepared to die, one and all, to even the score.”

  Dracul managed a faint smile and nodded. The mention of his enemy’s name brought the fire back into his eyes. “I shall kill that bastard,” he vowed. “Or leave the legacy to my surviving sons to do so.”

  “We must ride, my Lord. This is a well-used road. We do not want to alert him of our whereabouts. Not ‘til we are ready to fight him at least.”

  HUNYADI decided to head home once the fires took hold. Basarab’s fate he left in his own hands. “I have brought you as far as I can,” he said. “I shall leave you two hundred men to take you to Bucharest. Vintila shall ride with you and remain in Wallachia ‘til Dracul has been hunted down.”

  “Does Mihail still control the army you left in his charge?”

  “Yes, ‘til Dracul is dead.”

  “Thank you, my Lord,” Basarab smiled, offering his hand.

  They shook hands and parted company. Hunyadi turned north for home and Basarab south for Bucharest. He had family in that area that had lived safely under Dracul’s rule. As long as they kept the peace the voivode had allowed them to stay. This number included a sister, a niece and some cousins. It was only pretenders to his throne that Dracul had issue with.

  Mihail Basarab, with his larger army, patrolled the north of the country for a week. He did not encounter any of the resistance he had expected. It made him wonder what Dracul was doing. The capital and all around it was empty. He thought at first that Dracul might have left Wallachia. But his common sense told him otherwise. A man who had ruled for eleven years did not give up his throne without a fight. Not men like Dracul. He had to be here somewhere. But where? After a final search through the nearby towns, he decided to turn south. The road to Bucharest offered plenty of places to hide. It made sense for Dracul to have gone that way and meet up with any men he had in those parts.

  DRACUL intended to ride as far as the Danube. There, he hoped to seek support, or even shelter, from the Turkish garrisons in that region. He set up camp in the forests to the east of Bucharest. The location was remote and, he hoped, safe.

  He also sent word to Dracul Litovoi, seeking his help. Litovoi headed the Red Hand tribe. They were warrior Vlach, kindred for years to Dracul and his family. He knew he could rely on their aid.

  It was late when a lone man approached the camp.

  “It is not the best of nights to be on patrol. Dark and cold again,” he said to the sentries guarding the entrance to the camp. “One that cries out of sorrow and loss. Even the stars refuse to show themselves.”

  “Who goes there?” one of the sentries asked, taking guard.

  The man stepped from the shadows and towered over them. They noted at once he appeared strong and broad shouldered, with long flowing blond hair. It was a sight they did not see too often.

  “I am Dracul Litovoi,” he said. “Of the Red Hand tribe. I am answering the call of Vlad Dracul in his war with those that would steal his throne. Take me to him.”

  The sentry bowed out of respect and led him to his master’s tent. Litovoi enjoyed fame far and wide. “Wait here, my Lord, if you would. I shall inform the Voivode of your arrival.”

  When the sentry emerged from the tent, he had Rodrigul on his shoulder. The captain smiled when he saw Litovoi standing there. He recognised him at once, though it had been many years. They greeted each other in a friendly embrace.

  They broke away from each other when a voice spoke from behind Rodrigul. “So my fellow Dragon is here?”

  He stepped aside to allow the two men to embrace also. The sight of his friend brought a grin to Litovoi’s face the size of one of his mighty biceps. “Fellow Dragon? In whispers I hear they oft call me Devil. So it brings me no sadness to take Dragon over that any day.”

  When they stood apart again, they looked each other up and down.

  “You are looking well, great Dracul. In spite of your advancing years.”

  Dracul smiled at the jibe. “You are not so young yourself. Not anymore.”

  “Perhaps not,” his warrior friend said. He grinned and bared his arm to slap his huge bicep and emphasise his point. “But still as hard as steel or the ground upon which you stand.”

  “Where on earth does your strength come from? I have oft thought on it.”

  “It is from being a true warrior Vlach. And living off the land keeps you hard.”

  “But I am Vlach also,” Dracul smiled. His implication in jest was that he should share his friend’s huge build.

  “Yes, and a man of steel yourself,” Litovoi roared in his powerful voice. He slapped his ally hard across the shoulder in a way that made Dracul wince.

  He took a long look over the sleeping camp. “It is a sorry looking lot that I can see, unless my eye deceives me.”

  “Most of our men are dead,” Rodrigul said, his face grim all of a sudden.

  “Or have defected to the side of Florescu,” Dracul added. It left a bad taste in his mouth just to mention the name of the boyar who had turned on him, and led the revolt that brought him down.

  “A useless wretch of a man. I spit on his name and all that come from his seed.”

  “I shall not rest until he is dead,” Dracul vowed, his mood souring.

  “It surprises me that you allowed such a traitor to remain in your employ.”

  Dracul tried to think of a reason to justify it. “Oft times it is good to keep your friends close, but your enemy closer still,” was the best he could manage.

  “That may be so. I daresay the man who coined that phrase did not live so long.”

  Dracul fell silent while he contemplated the words of his ally.

  “It is as well for you that I have brought with me three hundred men.”

  “Three hundred?”

  “Yes, my finest warrior horsemen.”

&nbs
p; Rodrigul smiled. “You mean cavalry?”

  Litovoi offered him a sly glance. “I have no use for such fancy words.”

  Dracul smiled also. “Warrior horsemen they are.”

  “We are camped two hours ride from here, to the west.”

  “In the mood for a fight I hope?”

  “They have ridden hard and shall rest this night and for the morrow. Then we should be ready to ride again and fight. I suggest we meet near to Balteni. It is the best spot I know of if we are to engage our enemy. And it would not be too difficult for our enemy to find us there. But we follow your lead.”

  Dracul reached up and grabbed both of his shoulders firmly to show his appreciation. “Balteni sounds good. It is there we shall meet next and end this.”

  Litovoi looked him straight in the eye, his words strong and proud. “I shall accept no other as my Voivode, unless it is your heir. But we are not quite ready for that.”

  Tears welled in Dracul’s eyes at the thought of Mircea. Now when he thought of his son, the images described by the messenger flashed through his mind as well.

  Why did my loved ones have to suffer such tortured and humiliating deaths? Surely if they had to die, their status afforded them a quick and painless end?

  “I need a few moments alone, Alin,” he said. “Would you tell our trusted friend of all that has happened? I shall join you again shortly.”

  Rodrigul ushered a concerned Litovoi inside the tent. Once they had gone, Dracul took a slow walk through the camp. He knew his time on earth was nearing an end. His enemies had gone this far to bring him down. They would stop at nothing now until he was dead.

  The images of Hunyadi and Florescu flashed before his eyes. His blood boiled with the hatred that ate at his insides. He had not anticipated their attack even though he knew it was certain to come at some point. And now it had cost him everything. Maia, Mircea and his city had gone. His throne, too, was no longer truly his. He clenched both his fists and shook them at the darkness. The thought of avenging their deaths was all that gave him the strength to go on. If he did not have that hatred in his heart to keep his blood pumping, he knew he would collapse and die.

  He left the men alone for the best part of an hour. In the time he allowed them, Rodrigul told Litovoi the whole story. He recounted it with every gory detail intact. Litovoi had to know the full burden Dracul carried on his shoulders.

  The great warrior could not hide his remorse. “I do not know how men can be so evil. I wonder if the history books record this great episode in the career of the White Knight. I hardly think so. You can be sure he has authority over what is written about him too.”

  Rodrigul found it hard to answer. The mere thought of Hunyadi sickened him. “It matters little what is written,” he murmured. “He shall get what he deserves in good time. He must meet his maker the same as us all.”

  Litovoi slapped him across the thigh and stood up. “All we can do, my friend, is ensure we win this fight. At least then the facts may be recorded with words that are true.”

  “Yes, with you at our side it is a fight we could well win.”

  Litovoi forced a smile. He was glad his presence offered at least some comfort to his friend. “Let us go and find our Voivode. I am beginning to worry over him.”

  The two men ventured out into the cold night air. Litovoi lived by his senses. With his keen eyesight, he picked the figure of Dracul out from among the shadows. He walked up to his friend and placed a comforting arm around his shoulder. “I am sorry, my friend, for your loss. Know that I grieve with you.”

  “Thank you, good friend,” Dracul managed, sighing hard and fighting the urge to cry. He had cried so many tears in the last few days. Now was the time to stand up and be a man and avenge those he loved.

  “My men and I passed by Tirgoviste on the way here. While it was a shame to witness such a sight, it tells me many things.”

  “Oh? Pray tell me.”

  “It tells me your enemies are deathly afraid of you. And so they should be.”

  Dracul was not so sure. “You really believe so?”

  “Yes,” Litovoi answered, raising his voice. “To employ such tactics, they recognise your power. That power is the love of your people. The only way to damage such a thing is through the use of real terror and hardship. He has cast them out of their homes so that they suffer. And he has made them think it is because of you.”

  “Well I am sure the tactic is paying dividends.”

  “That may be so. But I know two things. Basarab shall be despised the length of the land. He can never command the love of the people.”

  “I doubt it should trouble him too much.”

  “You shall always command their love, no matter what.”

  “What good shall it do me?”

  Litovoi did not like the negativity in his tone. “It means everything,” he admonished. “People do not forget. With every night you remain alive, it gives them hope. Life for them was better when you ruled. And that counts for much.”

  “And what of Basarab?”

  “He shall not be able to sleep. Not with the fear in his heart; his fear of you. He cannot have forgotten how you took the throne back from him before.”

  “Who is to say, my friend?” Dracul said. “As long as they burn in Hell for what they have done. I care little for how they sleep.”

  “You are not hearing me, great Dracul.”

  “I am sorry, my friend.”

  “It is a weakness we can exploit. And this is going to be a war without mercy. That is the gauntlet they have laid down.”

  “I am listening. Forgive me, for I have a heavy heart.”

  “I understand,” he said, squeezing Dracul’s shoulder with his mighty hand. “But if you mean to go on, you must leave it aside. You cannot win if you do not have a clear head. And you must win. Do not let them take away all that is yours.”

  Dracul nodded to let him know his words were getting through. “Pray continue. I want to hear your thoughts.”

  The big man gave him a half smile and went on. “Believe me when I tell you that this is a war my men and I are well capable of fighting. The question I ask is this. Would our enemies have the stomach for such a fight?”

  “You always inspire great confidence in all who ride with you,” Dracul assured him. “Your very presence here is a real comfort to me.”

  “You are my Voivode,” Litovoi said, his voice bursting with pride again. “I shall gladly fight and die in your honour.”

  Dracul smiled for the first time in a while. “I would prefer it if you fought and lived in my honour.”

  A large grin extended across his face. “I fear a great career as a court jester was lost when you became Voivode.”

  The three men laughed so hard that it woke many of the men sleeping nearby. Litovoi stepped away, briskly followed by the two others.

  “I should return to my men,” he said, once their laughter had ceased. “They shall be eager to hear the news of this meeting.”

  “Ride a safe path,” Dracul beseeched him. “These are dangerous times.”

  “It would take much to fell this Vlach.”

  “I know that well, my friend. Your mere presence fills me with hope.”

  He bowed. “I am honoured to be thought of in such high regard by you.”

  They exchanged a firm handshake before Litovoi headed once again for the shadows. “You may wish to increase the guard,” he said, before he was out of sight. “I was upon these two before they even knew I was here. Someone less honourable than I may bring you harm.”

  “I shall see to it,” Rodrigul said.

  “Good.” He raised his arm in salute. “Hail Dracul!” Then he was gone.

  Rodrigul brimmed with excitement once their friend had left. Dracul saw at once the renewed vigour in his heart. The Vlach were fierce warriors. Their presence in battle was usually enough to inspire the most timid heart.

  “It is amazing,” Dracul said.

  “What is
that, my Lord?”

  “The effect he has on men. He would make a great ruler.”

  “Litovoi does not care for such things. He likes to hunt his own food and sleep beneath the stars. But yes, he is a great inspiration.”

  “I see it in you already.”

  “I see it in us both.”

  Dracul nodded. “We should get some rest. The morrow may prove a busy one.”

  Litovoi rode west and crossed the Dimbovita River. He rode for another hour and a half across the plains. He set a constant pace until he reached the mountains. They ran north to south through the centre of the country from Fagaras to Glavacioc.

  His brave mount negotiated the trails that took him up high. The Vlach always preferred to camp in the most hostile terrain when away from home. It was a tactic that allowed no potential enemy easy access to them.

  He passed the word that they were to join with Dracul against the Danestis. The news pleased them to a man. They loved a good fight, especially if for a cause they believed in. Within moments, the first beat of a drum rang out through the mountains. It was one of the Vlach war drums they carried with them.

  It sounded again. Boom! The echo reverberated through the mountains and the passes that descended to the plains below. Soon it became Boom! Boom! Boom! The Vlach drums were in full voice. Boom! Boom! Boom! And again. Boom! Boom! Boom!

  It continued on. In the stillness of the night and from such a lofty height the drums echoed all over Wallachia. The sound travelled east over Tirgoviste as far as the border with Moldavia and to Bucharest. It made its way north to the Carpathians and beyond. The great booms found their way to the west to the Banat of Severin. It moved south beyond the Danube into Turkish Bulgaria. For hundreds of miles the drums echoed. Boom! Boom! Boom!

  A shout born of three hundred throats followed each chorus of the drums. A war cry of three hundred men fused into one terrifying sound.