After their prayer has ended, my life returns to its miserable existence and enduring their cruel treatment and torture has become the substance of each day. My faith I will not allow to waiver. They will not break my will, nor will they take my God from me - for patience in plotting is the best punishment deliverable. The scars my body now bears shall be a testament to my will, to my faith, and to my God that Radu will never break me for instead one day I shall break him.
They speak with loose tongues and unguarded conversations not understanding I hear all that is said and have grown adept in their language. Much has been learned in the years spent here. Their military prowess is beyond repose, not because they are brilliant or exceptional, but because they study their opponents with great care, learning all they are able to use against their enemies. Weaknesses are sought and savored the way a man covets a beautiful woman. Be it a King who desires a profitable arrangement through marriage or protection from surrounding countries, the Ottomans find that which will aid them and offer such unto them. They accept or meet their death.
Mindful am I in what has been learned, for each behavior uncovered is yet another discovery that can be used against them. They are not cruel in warfare as one would expect, but are great in strength and numbers. The army is comprised of many elements - archers, swordsmen, infantry, and equestrians comprise the army of the Ottoman Turks. Their ranks are well constructed and fearless. It is a fact I will remember and hold close to my heart when the time comes.
5 March 1447
This day marks a day of great anger against Radu and the words brought to me by his bastard servants. Into a lair of deceit did he lead our brother, Mircea, and killed him. Great detail was given to relating his death to me. Hunyadi no doubt had his hand in the kettle and was instrumental in my Father’s death, but not Mircea’s, as my brother’s death was at the hands of the Boyars at Targoviste. My anger lies not with him, for in war traitors must be dealt with swiftly and surely. I understand the decisions Hunyadi made against Father for his betrayal of the Baserab and his treaty with the Hungarians. Keeping the throne, to him, was the only concern my father had and whom he claimed as his bedfellow to keep it mattered little.
With smiles both sickening and gleeful, they spoke to me of how Mircea’s eyes were burned out with a red-hot poker upon his capture. He was left to wander the swamp-filled lands of the hollow below Targoviste until he was buried alive. Father escaped their deadly deception only to be captured by Hunyadi and found his death for his betrayal at the hands of our own cousin. How fitting his death, yet I cannot say I am not angered. Imprisonment is what my father deserved with trial and death before those he betrayed in a public display to show the masses what befalls a traitor against our beloved homeland.
Their continuous gloating over the manner by which Mircea died shows in their eyes as I pass them. The satisfaction of showing anger or despair at my beloved brother’s death will not and cannot be displayed. My countenance must remain strong and unwavering. To them, I must appear the perfect vision of a Royal Prisoner until my release. Then all that I have learned, all that they have taught me, shall be used against them in manners so implausible they will believe their God has failed them, and the Devil is indeed real.
17 August 1447
My deception has been flawless, so perfect in execution Radu came to me this morn to announce my placement on the throne of Wallachia as an emissary to the Turks to whom shall be paid tribute.
The meticulous care I put forth in my deception has come to fruition for in the months following my release I shall begin rebuilding my country and inspire within the peasants the will to fight, retaking what belongs to the Baserabs and restoring our family name.
With Hunyadi I will make penance and prove I am worthy of the title of Viovode. Blood shall fall from the Heavens, and God will be pleased. Appeals to the Church will be made, and my life as a servant of God, I will gladly give to free my homeland from the clutches of the Turks, the Boyars, and any who stand against us. For no man’s blood is as pure as that of the Baserab which flows in my veins.
Ahbrim Baserab’s Journal
5 March 1447
Sighișoara Monastery
This morn I spent time in deep meditation over my new charge, the return of Prince Vladimir from his Royal internment with the Ottoman Turks. Archbishop Mordecai shows great concern over the wellbeing of Vladimir’s condition.
“His constitution frail I fear, upon his return, Ahbrim. Guard well his heart in the hands of God. Keep well his faith and protect that which may have fallen to the heathens.”
His words stern in their manner with a certain amount of fierceness behind them that I felt also had a small amount of fear contained within. The brutal nature of the Ottomans is well known. Tales of their torturous ways have spread like wildfire throughout the Romanian countryside. Peasants fear allowing their daughters to stray too far from their sight with good sense and reason.
Mordecai has arranged for Vladimir to be formally introduced the day of his release. His charge I will serve faithfully. I pray he will not find my questioning intrusive. I must find how well he has been able to withstand his treatment at the hand of the Turks. His brother, Radu, is said to not be returning. He has converted to the Muslim faith and abandoned his life in Christ. God forgive him.
Mordecai has bade me to accompany him to Hungary in only a few days. We are to meet with Hunyadi regarding the welfare of the Baserabs and how it is we shall proceed once the young Vladimir has been freed from his torturous conditions.
15 March 1447
Hunyadi Castle
Hungary
This arrangement made without my knowledge, had the meaning been known, would have never occurred knowing the wrath it soon will infer. Mordecai said evils are necessary when ensuring the will of God is provided.
The words of what transpired this day will no doubt reach Vladimir with great haste, carried by a secret Vatican envoy directly to the Turks. They will no doubt find bliss in what I have done. The blood cannot be washed from my hands no matter the prayers or pleas, it cannot be undone. And should I have been more worldly, more educated in the political will of men who would use God as their ally to forgive their sins, this would never have happened.
By the commission of our most Holy of men, the command came from my lips to execute Mircea - a man both godly and kind. Only two days later, his father also fell at my command.
It is needed, Mordecai says, to ensure his devoted loyalty. He states that all distractions must be taken from his view and fire must be added to his belly to take the word of God and make it his own.
It is the darkest hour of my existence and no penance shall be enough to cleanse me of what I have done. I can only hope that God will shield me and that Vladimir shall never learn the truth.
2 February 1448
Sighișoara Monastery
Knowing that I would meet Vladimir today in the flesh did not lead to a restful night. I scarcely slept. I spent the majority of the evening in prayer, asking for divine guidance for what I am about to face.
Vladimir was only five years in age when his father willingly gave him as hostage of Royalty to the Ottomans. I cannot understand the makings of Kings and the servitude and tradings of human bondage for the profit and continuation of a kingship. How a man could trade his own sons to continue his own placement as royalty and kingship is unfathomable to me and yet is still commonplace. I would value a son above all that I held dear and love him above all others but God, but then I do not know who my parents are or how I came to be placed at the Order at Sighișoara, so for me to speak is not conscionable.
I have never known how I came to be a Cleric and serve as one of the Sons of the Order of the Dragon. I have only been told that I am part of the Baserab family. I, in fact, could possibly be related somehow to Vladimir in some distant manner. What I do know is that I serve God above all others and shall do so until there is no breath in this body and will protect Vladimir’s soul as
though it where my own.
Mordecai Vedesti has been here at Sighisoara as the ArchBishop now for nearly twenty years in passing. He is the favored one of Pope Pios II who desires to see Vladimir to become the favored Soldier of God. It is I who is to see that he becomes successful in that endeavor.
“Your task is not an easy one, Ahbrim. Vladimir is difficult. He will fight you each step of the way. He is headstrong, willful, and unwilling to listen. He has been this strong and determined since childhood. It is our hope that your ability to be soothing and reasonable will be beneficial to our now aged and tempered Vladimir. But use caution, he is wary of everyone.”
“He has reason to be distrustful. Would you not be distrustful when your own father offered you and your brother as leverage so your kingdom and kingship remained in your control?”
“Your reasoning is logical but not practical in this world’s ways. It is, I am afraid, the state of affairs of Kings.”
“Yet it does not make it right in the eyes of God,” I replied.
Mordecai did not answer me. I decided to change the direction of our conversation.
“How soon is Lord Vladimir due to arrive?”
“Within the day, as he travels by caravan from the South. Do not be nervous, Ahbrim. God will show you the way.”
But in truth, I was slightly apprehensive about my new charge. Vladimir did not have a reputation that preceded him. In fact, little to nothing is known about Vladimir except his insolence and arrogance in the face of his captors. I prayed he was not damaged beyond repair.
2 February Dusk
Vladimir’s caravan arrived, not with the splendor of the son of a King but with what one would expect of a supply wagon. He dismounted the driver seat, dressed in the not as a Turk but that of well-dressed Romanian Noble, all in black and red with gold trim. He was taller than I expected him to be and his build was slight but muscular. His hair was long and dark with a slight wave that hung far past his shoulders. His demeanor was cool and unwavering as he was introduced to the Boyars of Romania, Wallachia, and Hungary, though Hungary and Romania were merely out of respect and formality.
I bowed to Vladimir being he was to be our newly placed King. I was surprised when he told me to rise.
“No man of God is lower than a King. He stands alongside God and guides the hearts of men. Bow not to me, Ahbrim but walk alongside me as a friend.”
“Archbishop Mordecai has told me little about your captivity, sire, only that your treatment was less than preferable. I assure you that you find no such treatment within these walls, and I shall do all this within my power to absolve you of the sins they put upon you.”
Vladimir laughed slightly as though my words were amusing to him in some manner that was beyond my understanding.
“I have learned many things that I did not wish to learn and much that will benefit me when the time comes to make war. In times of despair, there is much that can be taken away from the darkness that is not always obvious. God gives us strength, Ahbrim, when we least expect it.”
I found his faith in the face of such adversity surprising. His brother could not adhere to his faith nor find strength in the darkness to hold Christ in his heart. He abandoned his savior for the God of the heathens rather than face the hand of his captors. How slight his fortitude.
“Wallachia awaits its rightful King and true ruler, Prince Vlad. We are honored at your return. I am afraid, my lord, you shall find our beloved homeland in a wretched state of affairs.”
“Do tell, Ahbrim,” Vlad replied as he walked alongside me.
“Constant war has resulted in rampant crime. Lawlessness abounds. Women are not safe nor are their children. The crops fail with no way for Wallachia to find trade for export. Hungary closes its borders to us. Hunyadi wishes to control Wallachia. I believe he wishes to invade and claim our land for his own because of your father’s betrayal. Romania has remained loyal to the Baserab family and the Order of the Dracul. King Matthias and Romania will offer you aid if you seek it.”
“Elaborate more on this wretched state of affairs, Ahbrim.”
I walked with Vladimir for hours about the grounds of the monastery advising him. Only a few months earlier, his brother Mircea was blinded and buried alive at the marshes in Targoviste. His father had been killed at the marshes of Balteni. I found it surprising that Vladimir held no ill will toward his father, despite the fact he had been the one who had sentenced him to the treatment he had received at the hands of the Turks to keep his own kingship intact. He became enraged at learning of both his father and his older brother’s death. A darkness came over him that was both frightening and disturbing; a darkness that I knew held sway over Vladimir in way that even God would not be able to control.
Vlad set forth in planning a means in which to restore Wallachia to its former glory. He said he would see it done, be it now, or be it over a span of several years, but he would see it done. It would be in three stages. He would strengthen the country’s economy, its defense, and his own political power. He would aid the peasants by building new villages and raising their agricultural output. He would increase trade, oust the current Boyars, and hire mercenaries.
He wrapped his arm around my shoulder as we stood in the now moonlit garden.
“You will see, Ahbrim. Today I make a pledge before God that it will be glorious. The strife of my beloved homeland will end. God will be pleased, peace will be restored, and the Order of the Dracul will hold the glory it once held. God as my witness, the Soldier of God has returned.”
I watched as he stood alone looking at the moon above him wondering what horrors he endured at the hands of those monstrous Ottomans. I pray in time I will gain his trust and he will take me into his confidence.
3 February 1448
I arose this morning to screaming coming from the adjacent room. In the confines of the monastery, here exists only women who are the wives of the clerics, all others are forbidden. They work on the grounds as cooks and assisting with laundering and other tasks during the daylight hours. Apparently, one of the women had taken fresh linens to Vladimir’s room to leave at the end of his bed and discovered a forest of impaled small creatures covering the floor of his room. Dozens of rats and mice lay impaled on whittled pieces of wood, the shavings piled neatly in the corner of the room. She was so distressed by what she saw she fainted, barely recovering nearly an hour later. Vladimir appeared unscathed by her reaction, collecting his miniature forest of impaled creatures, and taking them to the garden.
I deliberated whether or not I should question him about what would drive him to behave in such a manner and decided against it. I could only discern it arose from what he endured at the hands of the Turks. My heart cried for him. I prayed for him to grant them forgiveness. And as I gazed upon Vlad I could not help but wonder what manner of treatment he had endured at their hand and the irreversible damage they had done.
Chapter Three
Ahbrim Baserab’s Journal
Sighisoara Monastery
6 February 1448
Vlad wished to discuss this morning his plans at length for Targsor, a small peasant village in the province of Mordovia. Here he says the restoration of Wallachia will begin. His plans were well laid to create a statehood, which he placed as the rightful Viovode of his homeland to rival the accomplishments of his brother Mircea. He speaks little of what happened to Mircea and the harshness of his death. I know those events trouble him deeply, but I find it difficult to urge Vladimir to speak of his past or even the days of his captivity.
“The Mordovian Forest contains the finest wood in all of Wallachia and Romania. I will trust you, Ahbrim, to place in our employment as many peasants as you can hire to begin the process of cutting and planking. It will require much hand-hewn wood to be brought by wagon to begin the construction and rebuilding. The forests, once cleared, I wish to be burned,” he said.
“Burned, Vladimir, but why?” I asked.
“In the spring once the terra h
as thawed we will terrace for planting rye, turnips, and oats. Targsor will be reinstated as the agricultural center of Wallachia she once was before Hunyadi began this quest to destroy us. The villages we shall re-establish first then the borders refortified. Once this I have accomplished, only then will my attention turn on putting him to ruin.”
“The Hungarians?”
“Not merely the Hungarians, my dear Ahbrim, but the Boyars as well for they grew wealthy on the backs of those who could not support them in the presence of their Viovode. Only if Hunyadi accepts the treaty will the Hungarians be spared. Bad blood lies between us not from actions of my own. The Baserab must be restored.”
“Vladimir, what are your intentions?” I asked. But I found only silence greeted my query. Vlad was looking ahead to caring for those in Targsor.
“Make the arrangements for us to leave later in the day and, Ahbrim, let know no one know of my arrival.”
The snows, still quite deep with winter not yet passed, were little hindrance for the horses as we traveled through the mountain pass toward Targsor. We carried with us three pack mules and provisions. Several smaller villages fell upon our path to Targsor in which we paused to take refuge from the cold and darkness. Vladimir did little to conceal his identity. He bore the Baserab family crest on his horse’s saddle, a crest well known to every villager between Targoviste and the far edge of the Romanian border.
His meals were offered to him with the refusal of the acceptance of payment. Those who behaved in this manner of graciousness Vladimir required that I record their names and that of all their family members so they might be rewarded in the coming spring. I am certain they will awake one day to find their seeds for the growing season provided, their homes repaired, and the dowries of their daughter’s delivered by an anonymous donor.
Memoirs of an Immortal Life Page 2