“That would hardly be fair,” Vlad observed, “since they didn’t know of my arrival. It is I who should be flogged for abusing your hospitality.”
Again, his voice held civil apology, his expression regret, and yet Ilona thought his eyes flashed a challenge. Dare to flog me; just dare.
Whether it was the words or the unspoken challenge that held both older men speechless, the silence grew.
“I climbed over the wall,” Vlad explained.
Hunyadi stirred. “May one know why?”
“Because I was fairly sure I wouldn’t be admitted through the front door.”
Hunyadi blinked. But her father’s lip twitched. “There’s a hint in that knowledge that you failed to follow,” Mihály Szilágyi observed.
Vlad transferred his difficult gaze to the speaker. “I think we all understand the adage, ‘needs must.’” He smiled faintly. “Besides, if I had taken the hint, I would never have had the honour of meeting two such great soldiers. And your charming children.”
László made a sound of irritation in his throat.
Ilona’s father said, “I trust my daughter didn’t injure you?”
“Your timely intervention saved my skin.”
Ilona tried to swallow the rising giggle. It was as much released tension as amusement, and it didn’t help that Vlad’s gaze flickered to her as he spoke. Or that one of his eyes closed so speedily that it might have been merely a twitch.
“And did you walk alone into this lion’s den?” her father enquired.
“I did. Although my cousin may well be at the front door as we speak. Stephen of Moldavia,” he explained, as though anyone had any doubts.
“We regret the death of Prince Bogdan, his father,” Hunyadi said formally.
“I’d hoped you would say that,” Vlad confessed.
The two older men stared at him. Ilona’s father began to smile in a lopsided sort of a way.
Hunyadi said faintly, “You broke into my brother’s castle to ask for my help in restoring Bogdan’s son Stephen to the throne of Moldavia?”
“And Vlad’s son to that of Wallachia.”
Hunyadi exchanged glances with Mihály Szilágyi. Amid the astonishment, there might have been a hint of humour. Mihály said, “For so bold—if ultimately useless—a stroke, the least I can do is offer you refreshment.”
***
It was only later it struck Ilona that Stephen, Vlad’s companion, never appeared—whether the servants forbade him entry at the door or whether he simply gave up and went away when Vlad failed to return. It left Vlad alone to be entertained, the centre of all curiosity, whether veiled or blatant. The air of Horogszegi seemed to crackle that day. The images, the conversations stayed with Ilona in vivid detail long after.
Taking full advantage of her childhood status, Ilona lurked and observed without any of the burden of conversation or the need to impress.
Of course, Vlad’s need in that field was greatest, and he managed to impress without apparent effort. Despite the shabby clothes, he held himself with a pride that should have been laughable and yet wasn’t. Whether he stole the centre of the stage or accepted it from the wily Hunyadi was hard to tell, but he certainly retained it—and shone.
Without raising his voice or veering from his respectful attitude, he conversed in perfect Hungarian on all manner of topics thrown his way, from the current weather to learned treatises. He seemed to have acquired more than a smattering of education in the classics along with vast stores of knowledge from doctors in the Ottoman lands where, of course, he had been a hostage for many years.
“Then you acknowledge an affinity with the Ottomans?” Countess Hunyadi enquired. She alone maintained her barbed attitude to her brother’s uninvited guest for most of the day. In her middle years, Aunt Erzsébet was formidable, authoritative, and still beautiful. She bore her power as the great Hunyadi’s wife not with lightness but with regality.
“Affinity?” Vlad repeated, surprised. “No. Though I like many of them, there are some I hate with a loathing. Others, I learned a great deal from.”
“And into which category do you place those who helped you invade Wallachia?”
“Under a separate category,” Vlad said serenely. “That of ‘useful.’”
“Needs must?” murmured Ilona’s father.
Vlad smiled.
“I take it the sultan is no longer of that category,” Hunyadi said. “When you have not received further help.”
“I did not ask for further help. The price would not have been right.”
“There is a price for loosing the infidels in a Christian land?” Aunt Erzsébet sounded outraged.
“And if you didn’t ask,” Hunyadi pursued, “why did you return there when you lost the throne?”
Vlad’s lower lip claimed the upper for a brief instant. He stretched out his hand to the goblet on the table and took a sip before he answered. “My brother was still there.”
It wasn’t the answer they’d expected. They didn’t even know if it was true. But Ilona knew, just because she understood his difficulty in saying it.
And her mother picked something of that up too, for she leaned forward to say with compassion, “Do they treat him well?”
Did they treat you well? He’d been younger than Ilona when his father had been forced to leave him and his brother as hostages with the sultan. Had they beaten him, mistreated him? At the very least he must have been terrified, especially when his father had broken his word and aided the Christian army against the Ottomans. For no greater a crime, the similarly hostaged sons of the Serbian, Brankovic, had been blinded. And their sister was the sultan’s wife!
Vlad laid down the cup. “He has no complaints.”
“But they would not let him leave?”
Ilona had the impression that only massive willpower stopped him wriggling with discomfort. Interestingly, this was one subject he did not wish to discuss.
Ilona’s father said, “I’m sure they wish to hold on to at least one possible candidate to the Wallachian throne.”
Mihály Szilágyi had given him a way out, but again, just as he’d refused to blame the servants for his stealthy entrance, he wouldn’t take it.
He said, “My brother did not wish to come with me.” It was careless, spoken with a shrug. Only the stillness of his mobile face betrayed him. “Radu,” he explained to Countess Hunyadi, “believes he has discovered an affinity with the Ottomans.”
With surprising gentleness, Hunyadi said, “I’m sorry.”
Vlad flicked one hand to dismiss the whole issue. “He is young, barely fifteen when I saw him last.” He switched the conversation then, but Ilona didn’t notice the subject. She was too intrigued by the discovery that Vlad was secretly hurt by his brother’s refusal to join him in exile. In Wallachia, a brother was more likely to be a rival than a friend, and surely this formidably intelligent young man was aware of it.
So what then of that other brother? Mircea, whom he couldn’t have seen since he was eleven years old, who was buried alive by Prince Vladislav’s noble supporters. They said Mircea had been Dracul’s favourite. What did Vlad feel for him?
His restless gaze shifted suddenly and discovered her staring at him. Just for an instant, she felt paralysed, unsure whether to smile, drop her eyes, or continue to stare with defiance. Before she could decide, he looked back at Hunyadi.
***
It was left to the women to tell her off.
“What were you thinking of?” fumed her mother when the men had gone for a walk in the gardens, no doubt to talk politics and possibilities. Ilona would rather have been with them, but this was one scolding she couldn’t escape. “A lady does not play tag with her uncle’s—or anyone else’s!—visitors! One certainly does not do so with an uninvited stranger who could easily be a dangerous enemy!”
“I’m sorry,” said Ilona. She had no choice but to plead guilty to unladylike behaviour. “It was just a—distraction.”
“To take his mind off kill
ing us all?” Aunt Erzsébet said drily.
“Well, László,” Ilona corrected.
Both women stared at her, mouths ajar. “He was going to kill László?” Erzsébet demanded.
“Well, he might have, if László had attacked him,” Ilona said reasonably. “You see, László didn’t know he wasn’t a threat.”
Her mother closed her mouth, clearly still speechless. Erzsébet, without any of the expected sarcasm, said, “And you did?”
Ilona nodded.
“How?”
Ilona sighed. “Lots of things. If he was going to kill anyone, he’d have done it quickly, before he could be discovered. Also…” She broke off, trying to find the right words. “He wanted László to think he was a threat. To frighten him. Why would he want that if he actually was one?”
“Why would he want it anyway?” asked her mother faintly.
Ilona shrugged. “Because he’s powerless and hates it; because László’s father killed his. Indirectly,” she added hastily, flushing under her aunt’s unblinking stare. She swallowed and wished she’d kept her mouth shut.
Countess Hunyadi’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not just a pretty face, are you, Ilona?”
“I wish,” muttered her mother.
Ilona smiled tentatively and took a step nearer the door. The women exchanged glances.
“Oh, go on, get out!” snapped her mother, and Ilona grinned, blowing both ladies a kiss as she ran.
***
She could hear the voices of the younger children playing in the garden. Hunyadi had just gone inside to speak to the women, leaving her father and Vlad alone on the terrace. Ilona, sitting on the ground behind a low wall, unseen and unthought of, imagined herself drifting on the breeze. She wondered how far it would take her. Was there only one wind, constantly circling the Earth in ever-changing direction and force? Or were there lots of little ones that were born and died like people?
Her father said, “He won’t help you, Vlad. He can’t.”
Who wouldn’t help him? John Hunyadi, of course…
“Without considering how I can help him?”
“He doesn’t know you. We have a friend on the Wallachian throne. Of course he won’t replace him with a young, untried prince he doesn’t know well enough to trust.”
“You believe the usurper Vladislav is trustworthy?”
For the first time, Ilona shivered at the tone of his voice. When he spoke the name Vladislav. Vladislav had killed his father, at best had allowed the horrific murder of his elder brother Mircea.
“No,” her father agreed. “But better the devil you know. Besides, you should be aware that we are negotiating a truce with the sultan. The terms are likely to maintain the present state of affairs in Wallachia, forbidding interference from either side should Vladislav fall.”
Vlad’s cause was lost before he even came to Horogszegi. And his silence said he knew it.
Mihály Szilágy said, “It’s not yet your time, Vlad. My best advice to you—for what it’s worth—is to prove yourself while circumstances change. As they will.”
“My country and my family are the play things of circumstance.”
It was unfortunate. Ruling a small state, buffered between the might of the Ottoman Empire and the encroaching Hungarian crown, Wallachian princes needed the goodwill—or at least the toleration—of both to survive. At least the strange young man understood that. But impatience surged beneath the even temper of his voice. He wanted to live, to do now, not when circumstances dictated.
“You have done yourself no harm here today,” her father said gently.
“And no good.” There was a short pause, then, “Apart from the pleasure of your acquaintance and his. Which is better than wealth.”
He’d made himself say it, to cover the ungraciousness of his previous words. And yet Ilona could find none of the hidden insolence she’d detected at various stages of the day. For some reason, she wanted to hug him.
Then the swishing of skirts heralded her mother’s voice, kindly inviting her guest to dine.
To Ilona’s disappointment, he turned her down. “I have abused your hospitality for long enough, lady. Tempting though your kindness is, I shall impose no longer.”
“Then wait one more moment,” Hunyadi said. “I have something for you.”
Ilona heard them move away and laid her head back against the wall. There came the sound of someone exhaling. Clearly, someone still lurked in the garden. Quick, light footsteps sprang across the terrace, and before she could register their direction, someone vaulted over the low wall and landed right beside her.
Vlad Dracula paused in midstride. “You again.”
“Are you leaving?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “You have a good family.”
“You sound surprised.”
His lips curved. “I didn’t expect to like them.”
“I imagine they can return the compliment.”
For an instant, his eyes searched hers. “You’ll dirty your dress and get into trouble.”
“I’m in trouble already.”
Unexpectedly, he stretched down his arm to help her up. Ilona gazed at his capable, long fingers, her breath catching.
She took his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet before she grinned with blatant triumph. “Tag.”
Vlad Dracula blinked. Then he threw back his head and laughed. He was still laughing as he walked away.
***
Count Hunyadi’s gift was a horse, but Vlad would accept it only on the terms of a loan, promising to return it. And all the Hunyadis and Szilágyis, including a sizable portion of their servants, stood around the doorway and steps to watch him ride out of the front gate—an upright and proud young man in shabby clothes and a borrowed mount, with no home and, surely, very little hope.
“It’s a pity in some ways,” Aunt Erzsébet murmured. “But that boy will ride straight to the devil. That’s the last we’ll see of him.”
She couldn’t have been more wrong.
Chapter Three
Visegrád, Hungary, 1474
Matthias Corvinus, King of Hungary, glanced up as his mother made her regal entry into his reception chamber. Waving away his secretaries, he rose to greet her.
“Mother. You are abroad early this morning.”
“I’m always abroad early. You just don’t normally see what I do.”
Matthias’s eyes narrowed. “And what do you do this morning, Mother?”
An alien expression flitted across Erzsébet’s paper-skinned face. So alien that it took Matthias several seconds to recognise it as uncertainty.
She said, “I need to talk to you about Ilona.”
Matthias waved one impatient hand. “She’ll do her duty as we all must.”
Erzsébet drew in her breath. “Find a solution to the problem of the principalities that doesn’t involve him.”
When he realised his jaw had dropped, he picked it up. “Believe me, I’ve looked. Stephen and Vlad are not just the best solution. Right now, they’re the only one. Why are you against it all of a sudden? I thought you went to talk sense into Ilona last night.”
“I did. And I realised what an unnecessary cruelty it would be to give such a pathetic, damaged creature to him.”
“She isn’t damaged, ” Matthias said derisively. “She’s merely ageing badly. Let herself go, if you ask me. But if Vlad wants the alliance, I’m more than happy to accommodate him. She won’t be the help to me I’d once hoped for in that position, but since he’s determined to stick to the bargain we made fourteen years ago…”
“Matthias, she’s your cousin! You were almost brought up as brother and sister! I am all for duty as you know, but I cannot countenance forcing my niece into this marriage. Not after what she’s been through. In our position, there is duty and there is politics—and there is sheer inhumanity.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic, Mother. She always liked him. More than she should have, if you ask
me.”
“Sometimes you are obtuse,” Erzsébet accused. “Do you really think that when she looks at him now she’ll see the engaging youth who dared to climb over her garden wall under the sentries’ noses, just to speak to your father? If he was ever truly that boy we imagined him to be, he certainly isn’t now, and she knows it.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Matthias said coldly. “In danger, one would suspect, of believing your own propaganda.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Stephen of Moldavia enter the room. “She was agreeable enough to the match fourteen years ago—in fact, as I recall, she was reluctant to give it up, even when commanded by her entire family! She should be doubly grateful for it now.”
“Maybe,” Erzsébet interrupted. “But fear could have motivated her then as it does now. Fear of him if she didn’t stand by him. And now, with the passage of time, fear of going back to him. Something happened to her in Wallachia, when the Ottomans invaded. She was never the same after that, was she?”
Something he didn’t want to think about prickled Matthias’s skin. His mother wanted to believe in Vlad’s evil as the alternative to her own guilt, to his. Neither suited Matthias at this moment. “Her mother died. Her friend died. You can’t blame that on him.” Deliberately, he summoned Stephen closer.
“Can’t I?” demanded Erzsébet, turning to glare down whoever Matthias was trying to shut her up with. Recognising Stephen, she simply carried on. “Something happened there that showed her what the rest of the world already knew. Tell me, Prince Stephen, would you give a female of your family to the Impaler?”
***
Count Szelényi’s duties were not arduous. There was a certain cachet in being the official keeper of such a notorious prisoner as Vlad Dracula, yet the task itself was far from unpleasant. He accompanied the prince on riding expeditions each morning, partnered him in sword practice, conducted him to the king’s very fine and constantly growing library whenever he wished, and to whichever social functions the king wished his “guest” to attend. In between times, he occasionally remembered to lock the captive’s door before going in search of his mistress or other amusements to be found at court.
A Prince to be Feared: The love story of Vlad Dracula Page 4