The Swiss from the five abbeys gained entry to the Park. They could not find the open ground they loved for fighting. Instead they ended up bogged down in the swampy area to the south. Their ranks fell into confusion in the fog. Hardly able to see each other, they lost their bearings.
Matters got worse when the huge force under de Bourbon located them. His army of Germans outnumbered them two to one. On de Bourbon’s command the Germans charged at their lines.
There was no fight left in the Swiss. They fled for the bridge over the Ticino. There they believed they could escape the field. The Germans set upon them with vicious intent. They wanted to wipe them out to a man. Screaming out their war cry they drove the Swiss towards the river.
D’Alencon’s men heard the roar on the other side of the water. The fog was thickest in this area. Because of it they did not see the Swiss running for their lives. Fearing their enemies were coming for them they destroyed the bridge.
The Swiss ran to the water’s edge. The sight of the raging river terrified them. Where had the bridge gone? With the Germans close behind they had no choice but to jump. The Germans arrived there to see the river teeming with the enemy soldiers. The Swiss struggled to stay afloat. All those that could, discarded their armour in the water.
Half of them made it across to the other side. They crawled out of the water on all fours. Many of them collapsed, coughing and choking like drowned rats. The other four thousand drowned. The river washed their bodies away and the battle was finally over.
The scene was now quiet in the centre of the Park. Francois remained safe under the guard of the Imperial officers. He could not draw his eyes away from the broken bodies of his dead comrades. The losses cut him deep.
Dracula and Pescara felt for him. His knights had fought with a level of courage neither man had seen before. In death they covered themselves in glory. Dracula knew he would never forget them. They were the finest he had met in battle.
Just as had happened at Snagov, Dracula saw the souls of the dead rise from their bodies. They waited there to be claimed, both black and white. It made he and his sons restless. Mihnea looked to his father, eager to depart the field.
Pescara sensed he was about to leave. He clutched Dracula’s arm to acknowledge his part in the victory. “Thank you, my esteemed friend,” he said. “For everything you have done for us.”
“Savour your great victory, my friend,” Dracula replied. “But ensure Francois has safe passage to Madrid. He is a great warrior and a great King. It is only fitting that he is treated as such.”
Pescara nodded that he would. “You have my word of honour.”
He then watched with a touch of awe as the three vampires rode off into the fog.
Castile. The royal palace of Emperor Charles V in Madrid.
March 1527.
Dracula stood on the highest point of the palace. He had always liked to come up here. Many a time he stood there and gazed down at the streets below. An icy wind blew all around. Spring had arrived yet it still remained cold in the nights.
He did not like the first few months of the year. The cold kept people off the streets. He loved the chase and the kill. Taking his victims from their beds did not have the same appeal.
Dracula held onto the spire. He closed his eyes to savour the wind blowing through his hair. A faint sound told him he was not alone. He did not need to look around. It was Ilona.
“I thought you might be here,” she said.
“You know how I am,” he said. “I like it here. It is quiet.”
“Charles was asking after you.”
“What did he want?”
“I am not sure. Some business with the Pope I think.”
“It can wait. I am not in the mood.”
She joined him on the small ledge. He put an arm around her waist as she leant into him. She rested her head against his chest and wrapped her arms around his torso. The wind tugged hard at her white gown. A draft ghosted up her thighs that made her shiver all over.
“You are thinking of leaving?” she asked, without looking up.
“Yes,” he said, his eyes still closed. “It is time for us to move on.”
She sighed. “I liked Castile.”
“My work is done here.”
“Very well. But it has been a good time. I will miss it.”
“Times are changing. We have to move with them.”
“Where are we going next?”
“England.”
“What is there for us?”
“A great opportunity.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Henry, the King, is seeking a divorce from his wife.”
“Yes I know. What is so unusual about that? The Pope gives many kings such dispensations.”
“Henry’s wife is the Emperor’s aunt.”
Ilona smiled. “Yes. Of course.”
“Charles will not want to see his aunt cast aside.”
“And he has the Vatican on a tight leash.”
“Yes. So he can pressure the Pope into refusing Henry’s demands.”
“Which will bring England into conflict with the Church?”
“Yes. That is exactly what it will do.”
“Then England it is.”
“We will need to acquire an estate.”
“That should not be difficult. You have the wealth.”
“The English have such airs and graces. We will need to have that status to have any standing there.”
“Let us not worry about that for tonight. I have a thirst.”
“As do I. Let us go. I can see Charles on the morrow.”
The victory at Pavia had a huge bearing on the situation in Europe. It also went a long way towards helping Dracula achieve his ends. He wanted to bring down the Catholic Church. Pavia gave him a strong platform to build on.
He looked now to break the alliance between France and the Vatican. Had Francois won the war it would have increased papal influence. Dracula could not allow that. To achieve his goals he had to curb the Pope’s political power.
Pavia had proved the crucial battle in the war between France and Spain. When it was over Francois no longer had an army. His great knights had all died in battle. Indeed their blood would stain the Mirabello Park for many years to come.
Victory gave Charles virtual control over the states in the north of Italy. Dracula had seen this outcome before he took to the field. He knew it would bring the Medicis and the Pope to heel.
The situation there remained at the top of Charles’ agenda. Dracula was happy for it to still occupy the thoughts of the young emperor. For him there was no problem now. He had dealt with it. His thoughts were with England. He cared only to know what King Henry was doing now that Pavia was gone.
The rumours were rife in Castile. After all, his wife was a daughter of the Kingdom of Aragon. Catherine was the emperor’s aunt. He heard it said that she no longer shared a marital bed with her husband. By all accounts she had not done for a long time.
Their last child, a daughter, died only a week after birth. It was the sixth time she had failed to give Henry a son. That was several years ago now. The word was that Henry had given up hope that she would produce for him an heir. For that reason he had left her bed.
Dracula went to see Charles the next evening. “Good evening, Charles,” he bowed when they met.
“You do not need to bow to me,” Charles said. “I am still in your debt.”
“No, Charles. You owe me nothing. It is an honour to serve you.”
Charles smiled. “Come and sit,” he said. “I have been wanting to talk with you.”
“Is there something troubling you?”
“There always is, Vlad,” he sighed. “That is the curse of who I am.”
“I remember something my father once said to my mother.”
“Oh? What was that?”
“He said how the throne of my country was a curse and perhaps it was not worth having for me.”
“An
d what did she say?”
“She said it was a better fate than begging on the streets.”
“Then she was a wise woman.”
His mind wandered back to her. “Yes she was.”
“Anyway,” Charles said, breaking his line of thought. “We must talk.”
“What about?”
“Have you not heard the rumours?”
“About your aunt?”
“Yes. That cur, Henry, is looking for a divorce.”
“You know that for certain?”
“That is the word that I am hearing.”
“Surely you are not given to idle gossip?”
“My advisors say it is so. Word has come from our ambassador in England.”
“How can he do that? The Church does not allow for such a thing.”
“A king can get an annulment from the Pope.”
“He must first have good reason.”
“He has one.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me what it is. I am eager to know.”
“Henry says my aunt was his brother’s wife before him.”
“Yes. Everyone knows that.”
“I received a letter. In it he claims that the marrying of your brother’s wife is forbidden in the scriptures.”
“I am not aware of such a thing.”
Charles sighed. “It is written in Leviticus. He claims for that reason his union with my aunt is cursed.”
“In what way?”
“She cannot bear him a son.”
Charles did not know it, but it was Dracula who penned the letter. He wanted a good enough reason to go to England. Before leaving he wanted to build resentment in Charles towards Henry.
“So he thinks God cursed him for marrying his dead brother’s wife?”
“Yes. That is what he is saying.”
“I doubt it will give him grounds enough for a petition to the Pope.”
“He will make the petition nevertheless.”
“Then exert your authority.”
“How?”
“You have the power since your victory at Pavia.”
“Your victory.”
“No, Charles. The victory was yours. Since then the Pope has lost all his power in Europe. If you force his hand there is little he can do.”
“And how do I do that? Go to war with him?”
“The threat of it will be enough I am sure. Make sure he does not entertain the wishes of Henry.”
“If I can do it I will.”
“You must not allow a divorce between Henry and your aunt. If it happens it will be a terrible offence against the House of Aragon. Worse still it will be a slight against your name.”
Charles fell silent. He thought about it for a time.
“You know why this has happened?” Dracula said, stirring the coals a little more.
“Why, Vlad? Tell me.”
“It is because of the victory at Pavia.”
His words seemed to confuse the younger man. “What makes you say that?”
“You must realise he made that alliance with you purely out of fear of France.”
“Yes. I have that suspicion.”
“Well, France has been crushed. It is making him bold.”
“You think he no longer fears Francois?”
“No. Why would he? Francois is sat with his tail between his legs.”
“I would not be so sure of that.”
“Why? Has something happened?”
“Yes. Francois is a snake.”
“What has he done?”
“He has signed a new treaty with the Pope.”
“I did not know of this.”
“They have called it the anti-Imperial League of Cognac.”
“They are taking a great liberty. I said to you a year ago not to release Francois from prison.”
“I had to let him go. I detained him a whole year. He had already signed a peace treaty with me two months before.”
“And he has broken it.”
“Yes. Perhaps the terms were too harsh.”
“The victor sets the terms. How were they harsh? We agreed on them together.”
“He is obviously unhappy about giving up his claims in Italy and Burgundy.”
“That is why we fought. He lost. He has no avenue of reproach.”
“Well, he has formed a new alliance against me.”
“Has anyone else signed it? Besides Francois and the Pope?”
“Yes,” Charles growled. “Genoa, Venice, Florence and Milan have all joined it. They are curs, every last one of them.”
“They do not want you in the Italian states, that is for sure.”
“It is all the work of the Pope.”
“Well Clement is a Medici. Would you expect any different?”
“A treaty should be honoured.”
“Charles,” Dracula smiled. “Where wealth and power are concerned, treaties are rarely honoured. It is the way of the world.”
“So what should I do?”
“Send your army against the League.”
“Another war there?”
“What else is there to do? At least then you can solve two problems.”
“How do you mean?”
“First of all you will crush the League.”
“Who should I send?”
“De Bourbon and Frundsberg. They still have a large army of Germans under their command. The Germans love to fight.”
“Yes. That is true. What other problem will this solve?”
“Well, once the League has fallen, Clement will be isolated.”
“Yes.”
“He will have nowhere to turn. Then you can apply pressure. You can make sure he does not grant Henry an annulment.”
Lombardy. The German camp outside the city of Milan.
April 26, 1527.
The smell of boar and deer on the spit filled the camp. The men had endured a long hunt for the day’s feast. Fires lit up the area. Even from the city people could see them.
Many of them stood and gazed at the meat cooking. Their stomachs growled with hunger. The smell of it taunted them. Food had been scarce of late and it was a large army to feed.
Less than two months ago they had gone to war again. A new threat had risen against the emperor. The League of Cognac threatened to break the peace that had lasted two years. They marched against it, and crushed it in a single day.
Now they waited around near to Milan. Charles kept them there in case trouble flared again. They knew it would not. There was no one left to fight. The League still existed, but it was weak. And it no longer entertained the whims of the Pope.
That left Clement in an even weaker position than before. He feared Charles might have him removed or even killed. To placate him he paid a large tribute. Sixty thousand ducats changed hands. This sum increased to a hundred thousand. He also signed a truce in secret.
Rumours of this reached the camp. It upset the men a great deal. On the whole they had kept quiet about it so far. But food was scarce and Charles owed them arrears of pay. They had given their blood, sweat and tears for no gain that they could see.
The men on cooking duty began to hand out joints of meat. Most ate as though they had not in a month. One man, Hans Kruger, did not. He held his joint in his hand and looked around. It annoyed him that the others just accepted the situation.
He had already voiced his concerns. No one seemed to care. They were soldiers. It was their job to fight. His anger simmered below the surface. Finally he could not take any more. He tossed his joint into one of the fires. “So that is it?” he shouted. “You are all content with your joint of meat?”
A soldier nearby reached for the joint Kruger had thrown away. Despite the dirty look he got he picked it out of the fire and bit out a chunk of it. A couple of the others grumbled that the soldier now had two joints. He did not care. They would have to kill him to deprive him of it.
Many heard Kruger’s rant. “What
is wrong with you, Hans?” Schultz asked him.
He glared at his friend. “You know well what ails me!”
Schultz was a great soldier. They all knew him as a real hard man in the field. Yet he did not want to cross swords with Kruger. Few would. “Relax,” he said in an attempt to calm him. “You are hungry the same as the rest of us. Eat your meat. It will ease your belly.”
Kruger looked to the man that had his joint. The soldier who was eating it stopped to see if Kruger would attempt to take it back.
“Damn it! I will not!” Kruger raged.
“Why? What is wrong with it?”
“Well the meat is eaten,” one of the others said.
“We are owed arrears of pay!” Kruger growled. “Yet as long as you have your joint of meat you are happy! All of you!”
“We will get our pay.”
“When? I am here only for that! I care nothing for who rules in the Italian states!”
“Then you are the same as us all.”
“Hans is right,” another said from nearby. “We can die on the field, but not get paid for our trouble.”
Several other voices piped up to agree with him. Kruger kicked a rock in temper. It flew into one of the fires. The impact sent hot embers in every direction. One hit the foot of another soldier.
He stood up at once. His own temper flared in an instant. “Watch what you are doing, fool!”
Kruger eyed the imposing figure of Kurt Hamman. Few men in the camp were as tall or as broad. He was one for whom Kruger held no fear.
“You would call me a fool?” Kruger fumed.
Hamman tossed his own joint of pork away. “It is what you are,” he said, stepping forward. “A fool and a maker of trouble.”
He did not flinch when Kruger stood and glared at him. “Perhaps it is time someone closed your mouth for you. Then we can have some peace.”
Kruger ran at him. The larger man moved to one side and struck out with his elbow. It caught Kruger on the side of the head. He crashed down against the ground with real force.
Hamman looked around at the others. “Do any of you have words to say to me? Well? Anyone?”
Not one of them spoke up. Hamman then said, “It is nice to eat in peace.”
Kruger tried to clear his head. He saw his rival looking away and kicked hard against his right knee. Hamman gasped with pain and dropped down to his left. When he did Kruger rose up and gripped him in a headlock.
The Dracula Chronicles: Bound By Blood - Volume 2 Page 14