On an impulse he beckoned me over to the table. He pointed to a spot on the map beyond the river An.
“The main body of the army is here,” he said, “less than fifty miles away. It could be here in two days, but it labours under two difficulties. In the first place its lines of supply are already stretched, and in the second we have control of nearly all bridgeheads for some two hundred leagues. At this time of the year the river is swollen and treacherous from rain and melted snow so that there is no possibility of an effective crossing by boat. We can make their crossing of the river costly. We can raid their supply lines, but I can find no way of stemming their inevitable advance.”
“What about alliances?”
“Bohemia will only send money. Hungary has not enjoyed good relations with us for some time. They will come to their own accommodation with the Turk, but they will not lift a finger for us. The rest of Christendom will send us nothing but encouragement.”
“Is there no hope?”
“All I can do is make this an expensive war for the Sultan and destroy our land in the process so that he gets no joy from it.”
“Come to terms then.”
“We have never come to terms with the Turk,” said Ragul. But I do not think that his despair weakened him. He was the kind of man who will face the inevitable with a light heart. He had a capable mind, but there was little of the mystic in him; and it is only the mystic who can rejoice in the unknowable. I left him, confident at least that he would make the best defence possible against the oncoming tide of fate.
On my way back to the princes’ quarters I met Razendoringer trotting down a passageway as if he had been in the place for many years. He greeted me warmly, then drew me aside and asked me about my adventures. I told him that I had had nothing to eat or drink and so he led me down a series of winding stairs to a store room where wine was kept in barrels and there were sides of cured meat and cheeses. We found ourselves alone there and, for good measure, he took out a key and locked us in. How he always managed to discover the secrets of a place and its hidden comforts was a mystery I never fathomed.
The story he told me was significant. In the confusion that followed the attack of the madcaps many had shown panic. In his subdued way Razendoringer expressed surprise at the behaviour of Stanislaus, but I did not feel so censorious. One cannot control or predict behaviour in war which is composed of nothing but madness. Mircea had been paralyzed by the shock, had lost all will and energy, entranced by the flashing torches that surrounded him, and in another moment he would have been dead. Razendoringer leapt from his own horse onto the prince’s and rode out of the wood. It had been easy enough to escape, for the madcaps had laid their trap in no orderly way. Presently the dwarf had dismounted and begun to lead the startled prince through the trees.
“Darkness had fallen,” said Razendoringer “and I realized that we could be going round in a circle for all we knew. There was very little moon, if you remember, and what there was was obscured by cloud. Then we saw a flickering light of a camp fire.
“The prince had recovered his senses enough to be eager to investigate. He argued sensibly enough that even if they were enemies we might at least be able to find out what had become of our escort from them. We approached and I had to restrain Mircea for he seemed curiously excited.
“Four men sat round a camp fire. Three of them were madcaps, or rather former madcaps, since, divested of their feathers and fur, they seemed quite ordinary Turks. The fourth was a figure trussed and bound whom we recognized as Stanislaus. I decided to listen a little to their conversation having acquired some knowledge of the language in my youth when I toured for a while with a troupe of Asiatic sword dancers.
“‘By the beard of the Prophet,’ said one who was evidently the leader, ‘that was a good fight, for the infidel were scattered like snow before the wind. And we have here a goodly old grandee whom we will presently torture to death unless he swears to embrace the faith of Allah, the All Merciful.’
“‘Let us hope,’ replied the other, ‘that he does not embrace the one true faith too readily. Such consolations as ours are, both now and in the hereafter, are not to be obtained without much suffering. But why, O sage of Islam, were we forbidden by our mighty Vizier to touch the two princes of accursed blood; may their spouses all have the hides of camels and the brains of fish?’
“‘Question not the purposes of Mehmet Sokolly, right hand to the Sultan,’ said the leader gravely. ‘Doubtless he leads the infidel into some snare of his own devising. Now, let us wake up this son of seven devils and, by singeing his feet with hot coals, introduce him to the universal blessings of our infallible religion.’
“So saying, the three madcaps began to manhandle the body of Stanislaus towards the fire. Without thinking whether Mircea would follow me I rose up and with a bolt from my crossbow split the skull of the nearest madcap.
“Then, brandishing my axe, I fell upon them. I had hacked the legs off one before he could see me and he dropped like a felled tree into the fire. As a shower of sparks leapt in the face of the last Turk, Mircea, goaded at last into action, sprang at him. His first blow was wild and merely severed his ear, the second slashed his throat. Meanwhile the one who had fallen into the fire was rising from it like a blaspheming phoenix, but Stanislaus, bound as he was, tripped him so that he fell back into the flames. Then Mircea transfixed him with his sword, holding him to the fire as he writhed and screamed his last, while the smell of roasting flesh curled upwards to the gods.
“When we had cut his bonds, Stanislaus was able to lead us, with the horses we took from the Turks, onto the road to Vacaresti. But I kept the conversation I had overheard to myself.”
I advised my friend to keep silent because the time for intrigue and speculation was not now, but would come later. So began my experience of war against the Turk.
We stayed in Vacaresti only three more days during which only one incident of importance occurred. One morning the body of Stanislaus was found hanging from a beam in the citadel’s guardroom. Whether his death was self-inflicted or not, I cannot say, but it was soon forgotten by nearly all of us.
XX
We left Vacaresti without regret with the main bulk of the army. Our quarters had been confined and the system of rationing confused. Now, on the move, we — that is the princes, Razendoringer and I — had been assigned to a detachment of the palace guard who seemed to be expert if unscrupulous in the art of foraging. Moreover, we were never far from the watchful eye of Ragul who allowed the princes and myself to attend many councils of war with his captains. I noticed that often during the course of these he would cast an eye in the direction of Vlad to see if he was attending and invariably he was. Mircea, on the other hand, after showing great initial interest, was soon bored by the proceedings. He had no taste for detail.
We saw very little of action in those first days, for both sides were looking for the advantage. Every day messengers and spies came in to alert us of troop movements and we knew that the Turks were receiving similar information about us, perhaps from the same informants.
Occasionally small squadrons of men were sent across the river to attack supply columns which brought provisions to the main body of the Turkish army. These actions, while not endangering the great army itself, slowed it down considerably and put it from time to time in some jeopardy. Lack of food in particular was the cause of much distress and disease in the Turkish ranks. It also increased the savagery of their attacks on the towns and cities in their path, but the men of Transylvania neither expected quarter nor gave it.
These raids, while they did no more than slow down the progress of the Turks, proved an excellent and comparatively riskless means of training Ragul’s raw troops. Though the enemy responded by attaching more and more troops as escort to these supply trains, Ragul usually managed to anticipate this. His intelligence service was at least as efficient as that of the Ottoman army which was saying a good deal. Ragul himself would occasionally g
o on a raid and would take the princes and myself with him to watch events. He would give me strict instructions that Mircea and Vlad were to remain spectators. One of these expeditions I remember particularly.
The supply columns were guarded mostly by a selection of auxiliary troops who fought hard for a while but tended to disperse if there was a distinct chance of their being routed and massacred. On this occasion the troops guarding were a party of mounted soldiers in blue uniforms with embroidered caps from which descended great white feathers. When he saw them Ragul uttered one word: “Janissaries.”
These Janissaries are the fiercest and most valued troops of the Ottoman army. They constitute a corps of men dedicated to fighting, for though they are allowed many privileges, they are not permitted to marry or possess land. Their members are levied as children from the families of the conquered and thereafter trained with the greatest possible rigour. They all have to shave their chins and cultivate great moustachios which is meant to enhance their fearsome appearance. Their name derives from that given to them by their founder, one “Black Khalil” who called them “Yeni Cheri”, meaning “new armies” which was corrupted by European lips to “Janissaries.”
We fell on the train, taking it by surprise, but though the Janissaries were outnumbered by two to one they fought like demons. I never saw men swing the scimitar with such terrible effect. I wondered what they were guarding in those covered wagons that could be so important.
As usual I and my charges stayed with the reserve, ready in theory to commit ourselves should something untoward occur. Mircea sat on his horse looking on with undisguised relish while showing no inclination to join in. Vlad on the other hand leaned forward in his saddle, making nervous little movements as if impatient of his role as a mere observer.
The Janissaries would not give in. I saw their captain, a huge man with moustaches like tusks, engage Ragul. Ragul used all his skill with the sword. He pierced and wounded his adversary in many places, seemingly to no effect. Slowly he was being beaten down by sheer brute strength. Now he was on the defensive. Then with one great blow the captain brought his great scimitar down upon Ragul’s sword and shattered it in two. Ragul reeled back and fell from his horse. Vlad, who had been stirring his horse impatiently all this time, now seized a lance from a nearby trooper and sped down the defile like an arrow towards the captain who was now charging after Ragul. Ragul on foot was dodging behind rocks to slow down his pursuer, but it would only have been a matter of time before he was dispatched. The captain, however, failed altogether to notice the boy’s charge until a lance pierced him in the side and knocked him clean off his horse.
Such was the force of the impact that Vlad was unseated too, but he got up, apparently unscathed, and went over to where the captain lay. Then, drawing his sword, he placed its point deliberately where the rib cage divides and plunged it upwards towards the heart. His victim died instantly. Meanwhile Ragul was mounting the captain’s horse. Without a word Vlad handed him the dead man’s scimitar, as if some message had passed between them without the aid of speech. Ragul looked at him for a moment, said one word — “Fool!” — and rode back into the battle.
The hardness of the fight was a chastening experience for the troops. No prisoners were taken among the Janissaries. They were butchered without mercy. Mircea suggested that their moustachioed heads be set up on poles as an example, and this useful advice was followed. It was only after that task was accomplished that anyone had the inclination to examine the covered wagons. After their crude outer coverings of sacking were removed silken hangings were revealed. Huddled beneath these were some forty young women and girls, of all kinds and races, fair Circassians, dark and sensuous Persians, fine-boned Indians, and the ebony Ethiops and Nubians — some as tall and well-knit as men — who remained proud and impassive while the others cowered and wept. I doubt if any of us had seen such a diversity of beauty gathered together in one place. They constituted, we were told, one part of Vizier Sokolly’s harem. He had sent for them from Stamboul having tired of the concubines he had brought with him.
I saw a look of annoyance pass over Ragul’s face. He knew what his men wanted him to do with the women, but he was unwilling to give in to them, more however on the grounds of discipline than humanity. Nonetheless to thwart their will would be to run the risk of earning their resentment. Mircea was already off his horse and running his hands and eyes over the sleek bodies of the captives. Then Vlad rode forward and requested that, as he had taken some small part in the action preceding their capture — here casting a quick contemptuous glance at Mircea — he had a right to some say in their disposal.
Ragul turned in his saddle to stare at the perpetrator of this effrontery, but the stare that returned his was undaunted, even amiable. The prince suggested that the most politic thing to do was to send the women on their way to the Vizier’s camp; for, said Vlad, women in the first place were a burden and distraction to men on the march; in the second place they would report the destruction of a troop of the supposedly invincible Janissaries, and thirdly, it would show to the Sultan’s armies that our men despised luxury and our commander, unlike theirs, had no time for self-indulgence. I could not help feeling pride at this speech which combined the pragmatic moderation of a Thucydides with the eloquence of a Cicero. Ragul hesitated only fractionally before agreeing to this, relieved no doubt that any resentment on the part of his men at being deprived of sensual pleasure would fall on Vlad and not him.
Strangely, though, Vlad’s intervention was resented by almost no-one. It was seen as a good omen that a prince of theirs should have shown such courage and resource in one day, but I do not need to say that Mircea did not share the mind of the majority. It was an incident which once again tore the brothers apart, but it was also to save the lives of some of us at a later date and in very different circumstances.
Our army continued to win small successes against the Ottomans who made their way slowly along the banks of the An looking for a suitable crossing while we shadowed it on both sides. I was surprised at the apparent idleness of Vizier Sokolly. He could, with a supreme effort, have shaken off our force, but he chose not to. I realized later that such was the size of his army that he could endure the pin pricks we inflicted on him until he was ready to devour us whole.
I think Ragul was aware of this. He grew more resentful and morose as time went on, despite our daily ration of little victories. He knew that only a major engagement had any chance of halting let alone turning back the Turk, and for this he was ill-equipped. That frustration resulted in some rash actions and a few minor defeats. The man’s iron judgement was being bitten away by the acid of despair.
Then there came a ray of light. Reports came in that a substantial vanguard of the Turkish army had halted near a village called Tchorlu where there was an ancient stone bridge spanning the river. It looked as if preparations were being made for a crossing.
A small number of our troops were already holding the bridge, but not enough to sustain the onslaught of a major part of the Turkish army. Ragul heard the news with undisguised excitement. The vanguard consisted of some eighty thousand men. Ragul had a little over forty thousand, but he felt that the opposition was manageable, particularly if he was able to achieve surprise.
Nobody was entirely privy to Ragul’s plans. Indeed, we were mystified when he encamped some twenty miles short of Tchorlu, rested his troops and engaged in trivial sorties and expeditions. He appeared to sink into a kind of listlessness which would have deceived any who failed to notice the string of scouts and messengers who came in and out of his tent at all times. Even Vlad, whom he had taken into his confidence somewhat after the incident with the women, he kept at arm’s length.
I was glad of the respite myself. My interest in war was limited and had been exhausted by four months constant campaigning. We were now approaching the height of summer. I was giving lessons to the princes when I could find them, but I felt that they were now learning more usefully
in the company of soldiers.
Often I would walk some way from the camp to a little hill which overlooked the sparkling An. I listened to the birds and watched the beech trees shake their glittering leaves in the wind. These stolen moments of peace were made deeper by the knowledge that they must soon pass. I think they were the last moments of complete content that I knew for many years.
Yet, though I knew how fragile my tranquility was, the jolt from it still came as a shock. Both literally and in metaphor I was awakened to find myself in the dark.
I had been sleeping in my tent when I was roughly shaken. It was Razendoringer. He told me that the whole army was to move within the hour and that we were moving North along the River An to Tchorlu. Camp fires were to be left burning. Ragul had heard from his spies that the Turkish vanguard was to move across the river at dawn the following day. At once he ordered a forced night march, sending the cavalry on ahead of the main force.
All around me I heard nothing but the clink of armour and the curses of dislodged soldiery. My head was spinning. I was riding into a great battle which was none of my concern. I had been woken from a dream for this. If Razendoringer had not been there I might have ridden that very night out of the camp and back to Wittenberg, and I might have spared myself much misery had I done so.
I have found that you cannot sleep on a horse. If, by some misfortune, you fall into a slumber, you are likely to be pitched out of your saddle by a beast who is less interested in being on the move than you are. Lose your grip on the reins and you can lose the way. You must be even more alert than if you were on foot. And if it is dark, there is the additional business of keeping to the road which on this night was crowded with disgruntled foot soldiers and wagons. If, in addition to all this, the rain begins to fall in torrents, as it did that night, your misery knows no bounds. I was being taken, by a most uncomfortable route, to a place where I did not want to be.
The Dracula Papers, Book I: The Scholar's Tale Page 23