The vampires waited for the marshal to issue his orders. He had horses saddled for himself, the three vampires and eight of his men. On Dracula’s advice he kept eleven men behind to protect Elizabeth should any of the French break through.
The other eighty marched to the woods just over a mile away. Armed with crossbows and swords, Dracula deployed them either side of the road. The horsemen split into two groups. The vampires took a position in the trees at the rear of the clearing. The rest, led by Bedingfield, hid in the trees on the other side. With everyone in position they waited for the French to arrive. On Dracula’s signal they would attack.
England. The woods a mile from Hatfield House.
The night of November 16, 1558.
The wait seemed to last an age. Whilst the minutes passed like hours the English sweated in their armour. Nervous tension eked from their every pore. A good few of them had never seen combat. But they were still well trained and as courageous as any soldier could hope to be. To a man they knew the French would all have served on the field. For that reason they would have to keep their resolve. If not they stood to take heavy losses.
Their hearts beat harder and faster. The men wiped sweat from brows. At last the sound of marching infantry filtered to them through the trees. They waited in silence, some dreading what was to come. Then the French came into view.
The four officers took the front. They rode into the clearing ahead. The first of the foot soldiers followed right behind.
“Hold your fire,” Dracula muttered under his breath, waiting for the right moment to signal the attack.
One of the English struggled to keep his nerve. He was the latest recruit to join the detail and still very green behind the ears. Bedingfield had not wanted him in his unit. But as the son of a noble he got his chance. He had taken a position ahead of the advancing force. With sharp twigs digging into his knees he fidgeted about.
“Stay still,” the nearest of his comrades growled through gritted teeth.
The young man sweated hard and his helmet kept sliding down over his face. He pushed it up again and began to feel nauseous and giddy. His hands trembled more with every moment that passed. The twigs and other brush on the bank continued to dig into his knees. He shifted slightly in his crouched position. In doing so he triggered his crossbow. The bolt made a sickening snap. It ripped a hole through the neck of the horse that carried the commanding officer of the French unit.
The horse’s legs buckled and gave way. It crashed to the ground, bringing its rider down with it. The officer gasped in pain as its weight crushed his left leg. He still managed to shout out. “Regarder hors!” he cried. “Nous sommes embusqués!” “Look out! We are being ambushed!”
His cry prompted the English to attack. The French braced themselves for battle. Every man fired his crossbow. Bolts ripped through eyes and throats. They penetrated helmets and body armour.
Dracula cursed and spurred his mount into action. The stench of death already filled the air. He and his sons waded into the few French soldiers that were fleeing for their lives.
The first felt Dracula’s blade across his throat. His body continued to move one way while his head went the other. Varkal and Mihnea showed no mercy in taking out two more. Then the three of them joined together and attacked the rear of the French unit.
Bedingfield and his cavalry attacked from the other side. They tore into the French. Three of the officers fell instantly. The fourth knew if he remained then he was dead too. Their mission had already proved a lost cause.
He spun his mount around. Eyeing the bank on his left he rode up it. He drew his sword as the horse scaled the short incline. By the time he reached the summit two of Bedingfield’s guards were upon him. He rammed one of them with his animal. The soldier screamed when it trampled him under hoof. The second soldier swung with his sword. The officer fended off the blow with relative ease, taking his mace in his other hand. It was spiked and deadly. As soon as he blocked the blow from the soldier, he brought it down against the man’s head.
The mace split his helmet. It also opened a nasty wound just above his ear. He staggered backwards into a nearby tree. The way he groaned indicated he was still conscious. The officer heard the muffled sound. He brought the mace down on him a second time. The spikes wedged into his neck and shoulder. Blood gushed from his severed carotid artery.
The soldier slumped down along the tree trunk. The mace remained embedded in his neck. As he fell his weight threatened to pull it from the officer’s hand. He leant a long way out of the saddle in a bid to keep his grip on it. When he jerked it clear it ripped out muscle and tissue. A large spray of blood hit him in the face.
Two of Bedingfield’s cavalry rode into the gap in the trees. They came in pursuit of the officer. Even with his vision obscured he spun around to face them. He swung again with his weapon. It smashed into the breast of one of the oncoming horses. The beast cried out and fell back on its hind legs. It ejected its rider, but also ripped the mace out of the officer’s hand.
He wiped the blood from his eyes. But in the melee he struggled to control his mount. It jostled about until he grabbed the reins in both hands. He steadied it and made good his escape through the trees.
The second horse trampled the dismounted rider. Its front hooves smashed down on his skull. He died in an instant. The second rider almost fell too. But he negotiated each obstacle with success before giving chase.
By now the French were in utter confusion. Almost half their number lay dead or wounded on the road. The rest had no officer left to guide them. Most had lost their bearings. It threw them into a state of panic and confusion.
The more seasoned campaigners among them rallied together. These men always thought fast on their feet. They knew the attack had come from the sides. In quick time they tried to organise their comrades back into a cohesive fighting unit.
A second wave of crossbow bolts rained in. It decimated their ranks. Another fifty men fell down. Most of them stared up at the moon with eyes that no longer saw its bright glare. The few others still alive on the ground cried out in agony. Less than a quarter of the group remained on its feet. Scared and confused, they did not put up much of a fight. Bedingfield’s cavalry attacked them from the front. At the rear the vampires hacked at anything that moved.
The attack ended only a minute or two after it had begun. The English waded through the mass of bodies. They ran their swords through any that showed signs of life. One by one they killed them all.
The success of the attack delighted Bedingfield. He smiled when he saw Dracula again. “I thank you, sir.”
“It was a pleasure,” he nodded. “What are your casualties?”
“Two dead and I think six wounded. I have one man I cannot account for.”
“Sir Henry!” one of his men shouted, hearing them talk. “One of our riders left in pursuit of a French officer through the woods.”
“We will hunt him,” Dracula told Bedingfield. “And meet back at the House.”
The vampires rode into the woods. When they were out of sight of the soldiers they took to the air. Dracula scanned the trees below. He saw the English rider weaving a slow path through them. The French officer was a much better rider and well clear of him.
They saw him in the distance. He rode clear of the woods and spurred his mount into full gallop. The horse ate up the trail that led to the stately home. He knew he was surely the last of his unit to survive. That fact did not deter him from wanting to see the mission through.
The vampires could not make it back before him. By the time they arrived there the officer had fought his way past the two guards posted outside. He was inside the building and on the prowl for the princess. A third soldier fell victim to him inside. On his way in the officer had seized a crossbow from one of the two men he had killed. He used the weapon to shoot a bolt through the man’s chest.
A fourth man engaged him in a hallway. In that moment Ilona and Anya appeared also. The officer ra
n him through with his sword. He ran on until the two women stepped across his path.
“S’écarter, la madame.” “Step aside, madam,” he ordered, meeting Ilona’s gaze.
Ilona ignored his words. She and Anya walked slowly towards him. Their obvious lack of fear made him uneasy. In response to it he raised his sword. He wanted them to know it meant nothing to him that they were women. If they got in his way he would kill them too.
Anya dropped the shoulder on her dress. She smiled and flaunted her cleavage at him. He had not seen anything of a woman in a very long time. The sight of her in that way ignited an ache in him. He found himself drawn in by her, wanting to see her breasts.
It made her laugh. She never imagined she could play him so easily. He watched as she opened her mouth and dipped her head to one side. She arched her back slightly to accentuate her chest. He longed to see more. For a moment he forgot the task at hand. The sword lowered in his grip. He did not see Ilona move along the wall. His eyes remained firmly on Anya. She lowered her dress still further. His jaw dropped. He could see the whole of her breasts now and two pink nipples that stood proud and erect.
Anya rolled her tongue over her lips. It made him want her more and more. Already she could see a bulge grow from between his legs. She had bewitched him. Every thought other than having her had left his mind. He did not even hear the vampires enter behind him.
Ilona feared they might get to him before her and take her spoils. She hissed at him to get his attention. Their eyes met. When she bared her fangs it gave him such a fright that he dropped his sword to the floor.
He turned to run in that moment, but he had nowhere to go. The vampires blocked any hope of an escape. They all hissed at him too to compound his terror. He began to whimper like a child. Their actions made him realise his own death was close at hand.
Then Ilona was upon him. She drove her fangs deep into his throat. He screamed and struggled to fight her off. But Anya stooped down and bit into his thigh. It paralysed him. He soon lost the strength to resist and gave up as they sucked him dry.
They released him when they heard a scream from behind. Ilona turned to see who it was. Blood trickled down over her chin. Elizabeth stood there, her face pale with shock. When she saw the blood around Ilona’s mouth she fainted and fell to the floor.
Her cry alerted the other guards on the premises. In next to no time they swarmed into the area. They found her lying there on the floor. For a moment they thought the vampires had harmed her. They drew their swords and squared up to the strangers.
“You were supposed to be with her,” Dracula growled. “You fools!”
“There is a large area to guard, sir!” one of them snapped back. “You would be advised to steer clear of the Princess.”
Bedingfield walked in just as he uttered those words. He saw Elizabeth lying on the floor with his men attending to her. “What happened?” he asked, looking around for an answer.
Nobody seemed to have one. He had to draw his own picture of events inside. The French officer lay dead on the floor. He had a vicious wound to the neck. Ilona had blood all over her mouth. The image shocked him, although he kept his calm. He really had no idea who or what these people were. Looking at Ilona he was not sure he wanted to know. He could see she had killed the Frenchman. The princess must have witnessed the attack.
The marshal looked at Dracula. “Please wait for me outside,” he requested. “I will be with you as soon as I can.”
The vampires turned and left the building. The soldiers took Elizabeth to a nearby room. There they laid her down to rest. They managed to revive her soon after. The incident had left her shaken, but she could still speak.
Bedingfield knelt beside her. “Are you feeling well, Princess?” he asked out of genuine concern.
“What did I witness, Sir Henry?” she asked him, still shaking.
“I do not know exactly. All I can say is that these people came here to warn us of a planned attack on your life. They played a major part in saving you.”
“You are serious?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “Your sister is very ill. She may not see out the night.”
“And my enemies knew of this?”
“Yes,” he said again. “They planned to kill you so that your Scottish cousin might accede to the throne in your place.”
The revelation shocked her. But in truth, it did not wholly surprise her. “Was that my assassin in the hallway?”
“One of them, my Lady,” he nodded.
“Well how many were there exactly?”
“Two hundred in all.”
That really did catch her off guard. “Two hundred?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “But the strangers helped us to ambush and kill them.”
“Who are they?”
“The strangers?”
“Yes.”
“I do not really know. But they did come as friends.”
“I see,” she said, straightening a little to regain her composure. “Well done, Sir Henry. And thank you.”
He bowed his head. “It is my duty to protect you, Princess.”
“And it is a very commendable job you do of it too. I wish there were more men like you in this world.”
He bowed again. “I thank you.”
“Was this army a Scottish one?”
He shook his head. “No they were French.”
She raised her eyebrows while she thought about it. “You realise, Sir Henry, if I am soon to be queen then those who would hurt me must not learn of this. It is more prudent that no one ever hears of it. I would be happy if you could see to that. No one must know of this night.”
“I understand. But how can we hide it? We have lost six men.”
“Employ your men to dig enough graves to bury them all. Bury them with all they carried. Tell your men never to speak of it again. If news of this reaches the wrong ears they might try the same.”
It did not help him. He had to explain to someone how six of his men had died. Still, he bowed that he understood. He left Elizabeth and walked outside to find Dracula.
The vampires had already gone. He carried out her orders to the letter. A messenger arrived the next afternoon. He brought the news that the queen was dead.
Greece. Lepanto at the Gulf of Corinth.
October 8, 1571.
The Gulf brimmed with activity still. The vampires watched from high on the fortress at Lepanto. The night before they bore witness to a huge naval battle. Dracula wondered if it was the largest of its kind in the history of war. If not it was certainly one of the most crucial.
The two mighty fleets of the Holy League and the Ottoman Turks had met here. The Turkish navy was the most feared in the Mediterranean. It had enjoyed one great success after another leading up to the event. Their increasing domination had serious effects. It had begun to affect the trade routes of the Venetians and the Genoese. The Turks then set their sights on the south of Italy. They planned to launch an attack there through its navy. The Holy League had to act fast. If it did not then Rome could fall into Muslim hands.
The rising tension there attracted Dracula at once. The whole of Europe knew it was coming. Popular thought believed the Turks would prevail. If they did, then it would do most of his work for him. It would see the heart of Catholicism ripped from its reeking corpse.
The Turks would waste no time if they took Rome. Their armies would march across mainland Europe. It would spurn many more wars. France and Spain might even unite against them. But nothing could then stem the tide. The Catholic faith would die a death. In that event man would once again turn his back on God, as in the days of Sodom and Gomorrah.
But Dracula had nagging doubts about it all. He loathed the Turks with a passion. For decades he, his father and his father’s father before him had fought them. Year after year they had threatened to destroy his country and those he held dear. He had not forgotten this. Mihnea had not either. They agonised over it for days leading up to the battle.
“I do not know,” Dracula shrugged. “If they win then our task is almost complete.”
“But it is the Turks. What does it matter if our task takes longer? I would choose that over the Turks taking Rome any day.”
In his heart Dracula felt that way too. There had to be another way. But the temptation to let events take their natural course remained strong. No one could defeat the Turkish navy at its strongest. They were sure to succeed.
The two mighty fleets had entered the Gulf of Corinth. Both had immense power and were quick to exercise it. The fleet of the Holy League comprised two hundred and six galleys. It also brought with it six galleasses. Most of these came from Venice and Spain.
The Austrian, Don John, took command. He was a son of the late Emperor, Charles V. Phillip II of Spain was his brother, though to a different mother. He had large numbers at his disposal. Forty-three thousand rowers directed his ships. Thirteen thousand sailors manned them. To add to that number, he had with him twenty-eight thousand soldiers of the very highest quality.
The Turkish fleet comprised two hundred and sixteen galleys. It also had fifty-six galliots and other lesser vessels. The command of it fell under the young, but gifted, Ali Pasha. But the bulk of his experience came from a career as a land soldier, not a naval tactician.
They had superior sailors, but a lesser amount of soldiers. Their infantry totalled twenty-five thousand. The feared Janissaries only made up a tenth of this number. They were the only men in this force on a par with their enemy. The Turks also had a high percentage of archers in their ranks. This cost them dear against the heavily armoured Spanish.
The battle hung in the balance for a good time. The vampires found it a surreal experience to watch it and not take part. Dracula knew his sons were itching to join in. They could do much to influence the outcome.
Dracula still felt unsure. He wanted to join the side of the League too. But the consequences of that could prove dire. If he did Lucifer would know about it. He shuddered to think what the Dark One might do. If there was any chance that the League could lose, then he had to allow it to happen.
The Dracula Chronicles: Bound By Blood - Volume 2 Page 34