by Cindy Winget
Victor couldn’t help but wonder what his dear mother would have thought about what had happened last night. Or even the venture that he had applied himself to. Would she approve? Would she be disgusted and outraged? Would she love him despite her limited understanding of what Victor was working toward or would she despise him as a sinner?
Then, a thought occurred to him. He couldn’t figure out where to go because he had never actually been anywhere. His father and mother had loved to travel, but generally the children had remained at home with the governess while they were away. The only place Victor could remember going as a child was Romania.
His father was a purveyor of the arts and a great lover of history and geography. As part of their education, he took Victor and the other children to Romania to visit the birthplace of his wife, and to gaze upon the rich tapestry of tradition and history there. His mother had desired them to gain an understanding of the culture that she had grown up in.
An idea began to percolate and form in Victor’s mind, and when it arrived in his consciousness, fully formed, he knew it was the right place for him to be. While in Romania they had visited the resting place of his ancestor, Vlad Tepes. How appropriate it would be to use the bones of his long-deceased ancestor to aid him in his work. The more he thought about it the more excited Victor became. This felt right. He would set up his new lab in Transylvania.
Chapter Nine
Transylvania was a wild and beautiful region of Romania. Far from the gloomy English moors, Victor felt invigorated. No more riots. No more short-sighted people. Here on this picturesque, wooded mountain range, he would make his mark on the world.
He gazed out the window at the sun glinting off the Arges River as the carriage took him through Borgo Pass through the western foothills of the Carpathian Mountains. Victor had always loved nature. He had spent countless hours outside, swimming in the lake by his home, or romping through the woods in search of wildlife with Elizabeth and Henry.
He took a deep breath of the fresh crisp air, enjoying the scent of the trees that met his glance at every turn. The trees were covered with thick green moss with bizarre looking wild mushrooms sprouting from the trunks. He made a sort of game out of identifying each type. There was birch, oak, beech, firs, and pines.
They turned off the main road and onto a narrow pathway with trees that arched over the roadway, forming a tunnel. He could hear the soft hooting of a nearby owl and the chatter of other night creatures as darkness began to descend.
His serenity was dashed as the sun dipped down behind the mountains and a howl met his ears. Then another and another joined the first. The stars twinkled into being as the wolves continued their melancholy cries.
Sensing his uneasiness, the driver spoke loudly for Victor to hear. “Do not be alarmed, sir. Wolves are prevalent in the Carpathians, but they won’t harm ye.”
Not long afterwards, Victor saw a blue light from the corner of his eye. It was there and gone again so quickly, Victor figured he must have imagined it. There it was again! This time it stayed longer and flickered like a blue flame. He had never seen its likeness in his life. He looked on in wonder as more and more blue flames winked into existence.
“Will-o’-the-wisps.”
“Beg your pardon?” asked Victor.
“They are called will-o’-the-wisps. Or ghost lights. Those blue flames. When a person dies out in the marsh they return as a blue flame in order to entice and lure unsuspecting people to their deaths.”
“Fascinating,” said Victor. He had actually heard of them from his studies, but having never seen one in person, he hadn’t recognized it for what it was. Will-o’-the-wisps were not actually ghosts. They were a phenomenon that happened over marshy ground when gas from decaying organic matter spontaneously combusts.
While in town, Victor had come across a dilapidated notice that a place was for rent up in the mountains. The location sounded perfect to Victor, who did not wish to be disturbed or to cause a riot like in England, should some like-minded people take offense to what he was doing. Being so far away from the town would make procuring the necessary materials for his work a bit difficult, but he felt that privacy outweighed inconvenience. Besides, the carriage ride was very pleasant, if a little bumpy at times.
He had inquired about the owner of the available building, paid six months’ worth of rent in advance, and stocked up on supplies to take with him.
Upon his arrival, he saw that the property—about twenty acres in all, he would guess—was surrounded by a high wall of heavy stone, which appeared ancient and in disrepair. The closed gates were of heavy iron, red with rust. The land had many trees upon it and a dark pond, fed by a good-sized mountain stream.
The house itself looked as though it had been around since medieval times. It was made with immensely thick stone, to rival even that of the surrounding wall. With only a few high barred windows, it looked like part of a keep.
With the help of the driver, Victor lugged his large and cumbersome wood and leather steamer trunk up to the house. He then spent a few days unpacking and familiarizing himself with the layout of the house, figuring out where it was best to set up his laboratory. He chose a room with at least two windows so that the sun could aid in lighting his work, for the dim lighting of candles and gas lanterns was not conducive to such delicate work.
As soon as he was settled, he wrote a letter to Elizabeth telling her of his new location. He was somewhat at a loss to explain what he was doing in Romania, so he made it sound as though he were on an extended holiday and wanted to get back to his roots and to feel closer to his mother. All of this was technically true, in its own way. She had written to him no less than a dozen times in the last six months and he felt he owed her this much of his time. He also made himself write to his father, as well as Jack and Jonathan, although they were rather short and to the point. He did not want anyone worrying after him. It would be a terrible distraction from his work.
That being out of the way, he once again plunged whole-heartedly into his venture. Now came the time to sketch out a plan for stealing the bones of Vlad Tepes. Being only a young child at the time of his visit, Victor couldn’t recall where his tomb was. So he resolved to ask the locals the next time he came down from the mountains to purchase supplies and mail his letters.
*****
Whenever he mentioned the name of Vlad the Impaler, the locals were all smiles. They went into great detail describing the many exploits of their hero prince of Wallachia, who had saved them from the invading Turks and refused to become another vassal to the Ottoman Empire. But oddly enough, whenever he got around to mentioning his desire to know the whereabouts of his burial site, they would cross themselves or clutch a string of rosary beads to their breasts.
Victor knew from his father how superstitious these people could be, yet as a naturally curious person, he was desirous to know why the people reacted this way. Surely there were plenty of tourists who made yearly excursions to the tomb of Vlad the Impaler.
After purchasing a loaf of bread, a wheel of cheese, and some sarmale—cabbage leaves stuffed with rice and pork—he glanced across the square of the marketplace and noticed an older woman watching him. She waved him over, so Victor walked to her stand and introduced himself.
“What is it you are seeking, young man?” she asked in heavily accented English, the colorful awning slightly obscuring her face in the shadows until Victor made his way underneath its shade.
“How do you know I seek anything at all? Perhaps I am just enjoying my first glimpse at a Romanian bazaar,” he told the woman.
She gave him a sly smile. “I have seen that look before. You are on a mission of some sort.”
Victor smiled back. “I seek information regarding Vlad Tepes.” He thought it might sound suspicious to ask directly about his tomb, considering how the inquiry had been met before, and so wisely used a different tactic. “I am doing research on a book I plan to write,” he lied.
“Well,
as luck would have it, I happen to be a bit of an expert on the subject, having always been fascinated with Vlad Tepes. What is it you wish to know about him?”
“I understand that he is hailed as a hero here, but in my own native land of Switzerland, he is thought to be a sort of villain.”
She was nodding, but seemed surprised. “You are from Switzerland, you say? But your features are so dark.” She glanced at his dark hair.
Victor explained that his mother was from Romania and a descendent of Vlad Tepes.
“Aw! Elena Basarab, from that noble dynasty that gained Wallachia its independence from Hungary. Yes, I have heard of her. She ran away to Europe when I was pregnant with my third child. Guess I know now what happened to her.” She gave out a wizened laugh before continuing.
“Books describing Vlad’s cruel acts were among the first bestsellers in the German-speaking territories, so it is of no surprise to me that people in your country have those attitudes towards him.
“He was a ruthless killer when it came to his enemies, and because of this, tourists get the wrong impression. Vlad Dracula’s penchant for impaling his enemies was deemed so horrific that even his own people began to fear him. But in time, as Vlad met with success against the Turks and Hungarians, his ruthlessness was viewed, not as a thing to be feared, but to be revered—a boon from God.”
“So, he was, and is, well-beloved by his people?”
“Oh yes. Vlad Dracula was cunning and brutal, ruling as Voivode of Wallachia three different times between 1448 and his death in December of 1476. This pattern of being deposed and yet always managing to make it back into power, proved to the people of Wallachia that his resourcefulness would always lead to victory over the hated heathens that oppressed them. So long as they stayed on his good side, that is.”
“What do you mean?” Victor stepped closer as a fellow patron of the market bazaar walked by.
“Well, it is said that upon gaining power, Vlad Dracula started a purge of the boyars—the Wallachian nobility—in order to strengthen his position. Up until then, the rulers of Wallachia – all male members, including illegitimate offspring—were chosen from the Basarab House from a council of boyars, usually based on the military might exercised by the candidate. After the rule of Alexandru Aldea, Basarab House was split into two houses who competed for the rule of Wallachia, the Danesti House and the Draculesti House, both of which claimed legitimacy. After many years, Vlad II finally came into power.
“When Vlad Dracula’s father and oldest brother, Mircea, were assassinated, not knowing who of his father’s boyars had betrayed him to Hunyadi of Hungary, Vlad III threw a big party and feast at his home for all of his father’s men and had them killed. He impaled the older ones and had the younger ones that could work, sent to hard labor building his fortifications. He worked them so hard and for so long that their clothes tore and fell off their bodies as they labored. He then had them impaled as well and placed around Bran Castle. It was rumored that these men were impaled right at the dinner table, and Vlad dipped his bread in their blood as it dripped out of their bodies. Therefore, he had avenged his father’s death and secured his new position as the next Voivode of Wallachia.”
Victor shuttered at the gruesome description. “Why do you keep referring to him as Vlad Dracula?”
“Hmm?
“Vlad Dracula,” Victor repeated. “Why do you call him this?”
“Have you not heard the name? Vlad Tepes’ father was called Vlad Dracul because of his affiliation with the Order of the Dragon, of which both he and his son were members, and therefore Vlad, using the old patronymic system, became known as Vlad Dracula, or ‘son of the dragon.’ But in Romanian the word dragon has always been closely associated with the Devil so at times the boyars of Romania would refer to him as ‘son of the Devil.’”
“Order of the Dragon? What is that?”
“Goodness! You really do need to do some research don’t you?”
Although true, Victor was a bit offended by this, but he tried to shrug it off nonchalantly.
“The Order of the Dragon was founded in 1408 by Sigismund Von Luxembourg, King of Hungary. This order was fashioned after the chivalric military orders of the crusades and consisted of a group of people devoted to defending the cross and fighting the enemies of Christianity, the Ottoman Empire in particular, with the support of the Holy Roman Empire.”
“So, that is why Vlad Tepes fought against the Ottomans so ferociously? Because of his induction into the Order of the Dragon?” Tired of standing, he sat down upon a corner of the stand, careful not to squash her wares.
“In part. But life is rarely so simple. It was Sigismund who recognized Vlad II as the rightful ruler of Wallachia and allowed him to settle into nearby Transylvania, for he could not claim his rightful place in Wallachia while his half-brother, Alexandru Aldea, sat upon the throne.
“But upon Aldea’s death, Vlad II seized Wallachia with Hungarian support. Then, following the death of Sigismund and the uprising of the Transylvanian peasants, Hungary’s position weakened, forcing Vlad II to reconcile with the Ottoman Empire. He went to Edirne to swear fealty to Sultan Murad II, but the diplomatic meeting did not go well and he and his two youngest sons, Vlad III and Radu, were captured. In his absence, John Hunyadi, Voivode of Transylvania and regent-governor of Hungary, invaded Wallachia and made Vlad II’s cousin, Basarab II, Voivode.
“Vlad II was eventually released, but he had to leave his two sons, as Ottoman hostages to show his loyalty to Murad II. The Sultan taught the boys science, philosophy, and trained them in sword-fighting. He tried to convert the boys to Islam, eventually succeeding with Radu. Vlad was different. He was defiant, and for this he was punished most severely.
“The Sultan forced Vlad and Radu to watch many executions, and possibly tortured the boys as well. For this, a deep hatred for the Ottomans had taken root in Vlad’s heart. So, when he was released and became Voivode, it was only natural that he would fight against the men who had abused him and oppressed his people. It is speculated that this may be where Vlad Dracula’s bloodthirsty nature came from. Whether these years of captivity were responsible for turning Vlad Dracula into the ruthless killer he became is a matter of historical debate. What is certain, however, is that once Vlad was freed from Ottoman captivity, his reign of blood began.
“In 1453, the City of Constantinople fell to the Ottomans, threatening all of Europe with an invasion. Situated between Christian Europe and the Muslim lands of the Ottomans, Transylvania and Wallachia were often the scene of bloody battles as Ottoman forces pushed westward. Vlad Dracula was charged with leading his army to defend Wallachia from invasion. For three years he strove to push back the Ottomans and in 1456, he was victorious. Legend holds that he personally beheaded the captain of the Ottoman forces, Vladislav II, in one-on-one combat.”
“Is it his battles with the Ottomans then that led people to believe that he was cruel? Aside from his revenge against the boyars, that is.”
“No. I am afraid not. Vlad made himself infamous through many means, but war is war. Everyone knows of its inherent horridness. Vlad was cruel in other ways. For instance, the Ottoman Empire sent diplomatic envoys to Vlad in 1459, wherein the diplomats refused to remove their hats, citing a religious custom. Commending them for their piousness and devotion, Vlad ensured that their hats would never again leave their heads by having them nailed to the diplomats’ skulls.”
Victor shuddered at the image this brought to mind. “Did he truly impale as many people as I hear?”
She nodded. “He did not receive the moniker Vlad the Impaler for nothing. Vlad and 10,000 of his men made a guerrilla run into outlying villages of the Ottoman Empire and impaled what is said to be 23,000 people, standing them up around his castle and the surrounding forest as a means to strike fear into the invading army of Sultan Mehmed II, who ruled the empire after his father, Murad. It worked. He never even had to meet the Ottomans in battle because when they saw the p
eople in the forest, dying of impalement, they turned back in fear and disgust, not wanting to venture any further into the forest. For you see, dying of impalement is not a quick death. It takes the tormented victims many hours, or even days, to eventually succumb to death.”
Not wishing to hear any more of Vlad Tepes’ horrible war crimes, Victor now felt it was time to inquire about Vlad’s death. “How did Vlad Tepes meet his eventual end?”
“He died nobly in battle, being outnumbered and ambushed.”
“And where is he interred?”
“At Comana Monastery in Bucharest. A monastery he actually founded himself in 1461.”
“Thank you, ma’am. You have been most helpful.”
She looked surprised. “Is that all the information you need? We have scarcely scratched the surface of this part of history.”
“Well, I have been diligently amassing information from other sources. In time, I may call on you again, but I believe I have enough to be getting on with for the moment.”
Chapter Ten
Victor trembled with anticipation as he entered the hallowed halls of Comana Monastery. It was past two o’clock in the morning and the moon was bright tonight, filtering in through the cloistered passageways. An owl hooted in an old tree, long dead, that had been planted in the heart of the inner courtyard. He walked quietly into the inner sanctums of the building, searching for the tomb of Vlad Dracula.
He came upon a plaque with the familiar image of Vlad Tepes in his famous red hat banded with pearls, a long mustache under his nose and a clean-shaven chin. He recognized him from books his mother had shown him as she talked about her heritage. The tomb was encased in slabs of white stone bricks. Luckily, Victor had anticipated this and brought appropriate tools to extract the coffin. Nobody lived at the monastery anymore, so he wasn’t overly concerned with the amount of noise he would make breaking into the tomb.