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The Dracula Chronicles: For Whom The Bell Tolls Page 3


  “Mihail Basarab has much power and influence in Brasov,” Mihail Dobrul added. “His being here would suggest that Ion is right.”

  Dracul had long respected the opinion of this man. But this time he was not so sure. “Mihail is barely a man. I do not feel threatened by him.”

  “He has a lot of power,” Dobrul argued. “It is not wise to ignore it.”

  “I have taken it into account,” Dracul assured him. He turned his attention once again to the villagers. “Who else was here with them?”

  They revealed a host of names. Boyars such as Georghe Silvu, Albu Taxaba and Adrian Pirvu all received a mention.

  “This is not good,” Dancu said. “That group of men could do a lot of damage. It is good that we acted on the information we had.”

  Dracul again addressed the husband of the first woman to speak. “Your wife said they were here this day?”

  “Yes, my Lord. That they were.”

  “When did they leave?”

  “It was not long before you arrived.”

  “Did you hear where they were going?”

  The man shook his head. “We were not privy to much that they discussed.”

  “They spent most of their time in the tavern outside the village,” the woman said.

  “Alin, send some men to check the tavern,” he told his captain.

  “But you knew their faces?” Dancu asked.

  “Yes,” the man affirmed, nodding his head slowly. “We have seen them before. They are familiar faces in this part of the world.”

  “Set the old man free,” Dracul ordered. “I know what I came here to find out.”

  In that moment a series of sickening noises filled the night air. Dracul felt the legs buckle beneath his horse. He crashed to the ground with it falling beside him. It landed on his trailing leg, causing him to cry out.

  Several of his men dropped down around the small square. For each man the crossbow bolts found their target. More bolts sought out the elder and the two men standing close to him.

  Dancu was quick to react and jumped clear of his horse. “My Lord!” he cried out, seeing Dracul go down.

  Rodrigul acted fast too, but to the threat around them. “To the trees!” he shouted.

  Two dozen of the men followed the direction of his sword and headed for the trees. It was there the enemy soldiers had set up the ambush. The rest followed him as he rode off for the tavern, his speed of thought preventing a second wave of the deadly bolts raining in on them.

  The enemy soldiers saw the advance of his men and ran for the dark interior of the woods. There they hoped to make good their escape.

  Dracul’s men chased them with great fervour. Once in the trees they dismounted and continued the pursuit on foot. These men had not come to fight. Theirs was a hit and run attack, the aim to take him down.

  One of them saw the great Dracul fall. He grinned with satisfaction and sloped off, content that he had completed his task.

  His men caught them one by one and slew them in the trees. Their cries filled the night air as each man met a merciless end. Dracul’s men either ran them through or cut their throats. They left the bodies where they fell to rot.

  The villagers ran for the safety of their homes amid the confusion. One or two of them had stood in the path of the deadly bolts. A woman dropped to her knees screaming. In her arms she clutched the lifeless body of her child.

  Dancu ran to the aid of Dracul. His lord and commander had hit the ground hard, but remained conscious. “Are you hurt, my Lord?” he asked, with real concern.

  “My leg,” he gasped. “It is trapped.”

  Dancu called to two of the others to help. They lifted the dead horse just enough to pry his leg free. He cried out when they moved him, but at last he was clear.

  His friend examined the injured the leg. “How does it feel?”

  “It is only bruised, I think,” Dracul said, wincing at the pain. He rubbed his shin and ankle. “I shall be fine. What happened?”

  “An ambush was awaiting us in the trees, my Lord. It looks as though they wanted to kill you. It is clear they knew you were coming.”

  Dracul looked up at him. “It is not my day to die.”

  “You!” the mother of the dead child screamed. “This is your doing!”

  The two men turned to see the woman clutching her child to her breast. The arms of the little girl hung limp at her sides.

  Dancu looked at the woman’s husband and watched as he stood over his wife and child, a hand to his face to try and shield his grief. “Take her inside. It is not safe out here.”

  When the man did not respond Dancu turned to two of his men close by. “Take them inside.”

  “Do not touch her!” the woman screamed at them. She held up a trembling hand to admonish them.

  They ignored her grief-stricken cries and dragged her back to her home. She screamed abuse at the men and cursed Dracul all the way. The child fell from her arms and they left her on her back against the cold stone of the village square.

  “This is not good,” Dancu said.

  Dracul could not take his eyes away from the little girl. “I know.”

  “I do not want to appear alarmist, my Lord. But this reeks of a plot to launch an attack against us.”

  “I know,” he whispered again.

  “What should we do?”

  “I shall think on it.”

  “Perhaps we should send word to Hunyadi?”

  Dracul took his eyes from the dead child. “I want to leave him out of this.”

  “He is right, my Lord,” Dobrul said. “Hunyadi is the power in this country. He is much better equipped to deal with this threat.”

  “I do not want to involve him. This border is my domain.”

  “This is no time to be proud, my Lord. This is a serious matter.”

  Dracul glared at Dobrul. “Do you think I do not know that?” He had his own ideas as to how he should deal with the threat and did not care for the way Dobrul shrugged. “It is I who shall deal with this.”

  He mounted a horse belonging to one of the dead men. “Let us return home. We have done enough harm here.”

  IN Nurnberg he had received the distinguished honour of Societas Draconis. This was the Order of the Dragon. Founded by Sigismund, it was a prestigious fraternity of knights. Their membership and honour bound them to protect the Catholic faith. The knights had to halt Turkish expansion into Europe and the spread of Islam.

  The ceremony, witnessed by many, took place on February 8th. Dracul swore an oath to defend the Cross and the faith. He also promised to wear the dark costume of the Order as a sign of penance. Upon this the insignia of the Dragon was emblazoned.

  Sigismund gave him a necklace made of two chains and a medallion. It bore the inscription “O quam is misericors est Deus...Pius et justus”—“Oh how merciful God is...pious and just.” He also made a gift of an awesome Toledo sword, a blade so fine that it made Dracul the envy of all who saw it.

  The Order also charged Dracul with the protection of Transylvania. Only Wallachia to the south separated it from Turkish-controlled Bulgaria. The primary concern was this border between the two states. The Order required someone strong and reliable to marshal that area.

  It identified the Ottoman threat here. They worried about the growing ambitions of Murad II. Sigismund and Hunyadi both knew of Dracul’s designs on the Wallachian throne. They promised this position would be the first step to realising his dream.

  Dracul’s father, Mircea, fought the Turks hard during his reign. He managed two famous victories over Sultan Bayazid I. In time, Bayazid’s son and successor, Mehmed I, defeated Mircea. This resulted in him having to pay large tributes. One of the conditions imposed forced him to give Wallachian boys to serve as janissaries in the Turkish armies. Both measures had been necessary to keep his throne.

  DRACUL approached the gates of his stronghold. For now he tried to put the events of the previous night out of his mind. It was an exciting time
for him as his wife was heavy with child. He only hoped he had not missed the birth of this, their second.

  An old woman stepped from the shadows and walked out in front of the horsemen. It forced Dracul to pull hard on the reins to avoid running her down.

  “Step out of the way!” Rodrigul shouted.

  She was not too imposing a figure, but stood firm. Hunched over, she leant against a stick for support. She slowly pulled back her shawl to reveal her face.

  Dancu stifled a laugh. “It is Valeria the Gypsy.”

  “I wonder what the old hag wants,” murmured one of the men.

  “Move aside,” Dracul ordered.

  She pointed a twisted finger at him. “I have words to tell you, Dracul.”

  “Lord Dracul has no time for this,” Dancu spat. “Move on.”

  “Wait,” he said, holding up a hand. “Let her speak.” He turned back to the old gypsy woman. “Say what you have to say.”

  “Your sins shall live beyond you,” she warned, still pointing at him.

  “What is she speaking of?”

  “She is mad,” Dancu said. “Everyone knows that.”

  They spoke in whispers, but she heard them clearly. It did not deter her from the message she wanted to deliver. “You may not pay for the wrong you have done,” she continued. “But your son shall.”

  “We have heard enough!” Rodrigul shouted, deliberately cutting her off. “Be on your way before I have you thrown in the stocks.”

  “You should not be so unkind,” she said to him. “The fate that awaits you is not a good one.”

  Her words had the desired effect. Rodrigul eased back in the saddle and went quiet.

  Valeria stepped closer to Dracul. “Dracul!” she said, raising her tone. “Two sons you shall sire this night. One is an angel, but the other a devil!”

  He did not take his eyes from hers. In that moment he wanted to run her down.

  “Are we too late?” Dancu wondered. “Has Lady Dracul had twins?”

  “You have had your say,” Dracul hissed. “I shall hear no more.”

  “Open the gates!” Dancu shouted to the guards at the garrison.

  Dracul steered his mount to the left to ride around her. Valeria moved to her right to block his way. “Dark days lay ahead, Dracul,” she warned. “Dark days for the family whose crest you bear! Dark days for all mankind!”

  The gates opened before him. It allowed him to gallop into the courtyard where he quickly dismounted. He felt a cold sweat on his brow. The words of the old gypsy woman had struck a nerve with him.

  Rodrigul stopped to speak to her. “If I see you in this place again I shall have you burned for the witch you are!”

  Ionel Lutu ran from his post to meet Dracul. He was the officer in charge at the garrison. “My Lord,” he said, a hint of urgency in his voice. “You must make haste!”

  The tone in his voice concerned Dracul. “What is it?” he asked.

  “It is Lady Dracul.”

  On hearing his wife’s name he feared the worst. Driven by that same fear he grabbed the officer by the collar and pulled him close. “What of her?”

  Lutu felt a little afraid at his glare. “Lady Dracul is in labour, my Lord,” he said. “She is about to give birth.”

  The words took a moment to sink in. When he realised his wife was well, he released his grip on the man. He took a deep breath and smiled. Lutu smiled too, relieved at the change in his master’s mood. Dracul turned and entered his home through a side entrance. It was the one used by the servants, but the nearest to hand.

  He limped all the way through the house to his wife’s bedchamber. His leg still pained him from the night before. There his wife, Maia, lay screaming on the bed. He burst in to see two midwives and several other female servants attending to her.

  “Push, my Lady,” one of the midwives urged her.

  Maia screamed again and pushed with all her strength. The second midwife left her side to confront him. He saw at once her annoyance at his intrusion. She forgot her station and pushed against his chest with both hands.

  “My Lord!” she beamed. “Out at once! This is no place for you. Go!”

  Despite his great excitement, he did as she asked and stepped back into the hall. The image of the pain etched across his wife’s face touched him deep inside. A moment later the midwife slammed the door shut in his.

  He waited in the corridor, his nerves a little frayed. Very soon a nanny appeared with Mircea; his only child. He was three years of age now and his father’s pride and joy. Seeing his little one helped put everything else to the back of his mind. Dracul dropped to one knee and smiled, reaching out to his son. “Mircea!” he called, excited to see his boy.

  The infant smiled too and ran into his arms. “Papa!” he cried, kissing his father’s cheek.

  Dracul lifted him up in his arms. He swirled the child around in the air a few times. It was something that always made Mircea laugh. “How is Papa’s sweet little man?” he asked, caressing his son’s cheek.

  “I missed you, Papa,” Mircea said, in his timid little voice.

  He closed his eyes and held his son close. “I have missed you too, my little one.”

  Alin Rodrigul joined him there. As his most trusted captain he was never far away. He still had a bad taste in his mouth from the old gypsy woman. They had always dismissed her as mad, yet he knew people often listened to the things she had to say. That was because many believed she could see into the future. What she said about his still unsettled him.

  Dracul passed his son to the nanny. “Give Papa a kiss,” he smiled.

  He gave his father a kiss before she whisked him away.

  The two men locked arms in friendship. They then stood alongside each other with arms folded, as men do.

  “I am glad that you are here,” Dracul said.

  “Shall Lady Dracul bear you another son, do you think?”

  “She may bear me two if that old hag is to be believed.”

  “I would not pay her too much heed. She is mad. Everyone knows it.”

  “It is what we are hoping for at least. A son.”

  “Still, a daughter would be a fine thing too.”

  “Yes indeed. I care only that mother and child are safe and well.”

  “Yes, you have an heir. Any son born to you shall be but a bonus.”

  “It is always good to have more than one son.”

  “That would depend,” his friend cautioned. “It can lead to rivalry and the spilling of each other’s blood to win a birthright.”

  “No sons of mine shall ever war against each other,” Dracul said with a firm voice. “The love of their parents shall teach them unity and kinship.”

  “I wish you many sons then, my Lord.”

  “I thank you, Alin,” he said, a half a smile breaking the serious look on his face. “If God wishes it, so shall it be.”

  He fell silent when his wife screamed yet again. The memory of her labour with Mircea had stayed with him.

  “Relax, Vladislav,” Rodrigul said, trying to ease his friend. “Maia shall be fine. I promise you.” He put a hand on his shoulder. It was rare for him to address Dracul by his first name, but the situation warranted it.

  Dracul moved away from his friend and paced up and down. They did not speak for a time. He only stopped pacing when he heard more evidence of his wife’s pain.

  Rodrigul resumed the conversation. “While we are alone…” he paused to take in a breath. “There are matters we need to discuss.”

  Dracul looked at his friend. “What is on your mind, Alin?”

  “There is much for us both to think on. That said, my thoughts in this time are of the Wallachian throne.”

  “That is hardly a discussion to have at this time.”

  “I do not understand how you were passed over. It vexes me still.”

  “Well,” Dracul said with a sigh. He took a moment to choose the right words. “John Hunyadi supports the cause of the Danesti line. For that
reason he favours Alexandru.”

  “You know well how quickly things can change.”

  “Rarely where Hunyadi is concerned.” Dracul almost hissed the name.

  John Hunyadi was the Protector of Hungary. Despite starting life as a lowly peasant he was, in reality, the true authority in that country. Even though he had good cause to reward Dracul, he had neglected to do so.

  Rodrigul believed the snub was due to his father and the treaty he agreed with the Turks late in his reign. “You should petition your case to him.”

  “Why would I do that?” Dracul asked. “He cares little for me.”

  “You are a stronger man than Alexandru.”

  “What does that matter in the here and now?”

  “Because of your father it is certain more of the boyars would be loyal to you.”

  “You forget one thing. My father was his father too.”

  “It is no secret that Hunyadi is eyeing this country for himself one day. He loves Transylvania. It borders Hungary and more than that, it is where he is from.”

  “His ambitions do not hold a place for me.”

  “Wait. His only fear is of the Turks pushing through Wallachia to get to here.”

  “Perhaps he does not fear them as much as you think.”

  “Forgive me, my Lord, but I must disagree. If he heard the rumours of your brother talking with the Turks he is sure to act.”

  “You can be certain if we heard of it, then so has he.”

  “The Emperor promised you the throne upon your oath to defend the faith.”

  “Well that promise has been broken.” Dracul paused to clench his fist. “It is proof that Hunyadi is the real authority there.”

  “But you have taken to the field for Hungary. He has not forgotten that.”

  “Well it is not at the forefront of his mind at this time. He has made his decision and shall no doubt stand by it. He favours my half-brother.”

  “It is all wrong.”

  “When it suits him to give me my opportunity he shall do so.”

  “Let us hope your wait is not as long as I fear it might be.”

  Dracul went to answer, but stopped when he heard Maia scream again. He thought of the words of Valeria. She talked of the wrong he had done. What did she mean? She also said his son would pay the price for it. It made him wonder if his son might not be born healthy. He tried to think back through his past. The face of another woman drifted back from memory. Perhaps that is it?