A similar scene unfolded in a forest near to the northern borders of Transylvania with Hungary. There, a gypsy woman was giving birth to her seventh child. The birth was cause for much excitement despite the circumstances that surrounded its conception. The woman herself was a seventh child. The gypsies saw the birth of the seventh of a seventh as a magical event.
The previous winter she had lost her husband after a short illness. Providing for her six children, even within the tribe, proved a difficult task. In the spring that followed, the gypsies moved south. They set up camp outside one of the towns on the border with Wallachia. The woman spent her nights crafting various items. This she did while her children slept. She then ventured into the town the next day. Her hope was to raise extra money to bring food home for her little ones.
A patrol passed through the town while she was selling her wares. The lord who commanded this unit caught sight of her. Her beauty made her stand out from the crowd. With her long dark hair falling about her face and her crystal clear blue eyes he took a fancy to her almost at once.
His guards arrested her for selling her goods without a licence. They dragged her away to a quiet location. She fought them, but could do nothing.
“Take your hands off me!” she screamed as they threw her to the ground.
Their lord climbed down from his horse. She eyed him with contempt as he slowly approached her, removing his gloves one at a time. He looked regal in his black uniform and cape. It bore the red insignia of the Dragon. Despite only receiving the honour a month before, his fame had spread far and wide throughout the land. She knew at once who he was.
“So the mighty Lord needs his men to find him a woman?” she spat.
One of the guards punched her to the side of the face and she crashed down hard against the ground. The blow scrambled her senses. Dracul waited for a moment while she dragged herself up. He dismissed his men with a slight shake of his head. They moved away and left him alone with the young gypsy woman.
DRACUL broke into a cold sweat. He looked left and then right along the corridor. When his friend spoke he did not hear it. He felt something else was there with him and his trusted captain; a presence he could feel, but not see.
“My Lord,” Rodrigul said, for the third time.
Dracul stepped back against a wall. He continued to look both ways, trying to make sense of the uneasy feeling that filled him inside.
Rodrigul grabbed his arm. “What is wrong, my Lord?”
He looked his friend in the eye, but did not respond.
“You are not letting that old witch bother you, I hope?”
“Do you feel cold?” Dracul asked him.
Rodrigul stepped back a foot or so. “Yes. It is cold, but then it is the winter.”
“It is a different type of cold. It feels almost sinister.”
“You are tired,” his captain reasoned.
“No,” Dracul argued. “I can feel it.”
“You have much on your mind. The last few days have been testing for us all.”
He looked around again and stepped away from the wall. Maia screamed out loud. It took his attention back to the door of his wife’s bedchamber.
His friend put a hand on his shoulder. “Try and be at ease.”
Dracul did not hear him. The gypsy girl materialised before his eyes once more.
HE stood over her, but did not speak. She looked up in fear; aware of what was to come. Blood trickled from her lip, the cut inside her mouth stinging her. When she had fallen she had not been able to put her hand out in time to save herself. A swelling had begun to show from just below her eye. She knew there was no way out of this. It made her determined to be strong and not let him see the terror she felt inside.
Dracul pushed her down again and lifted her skirts. She groaned when her bruised face rubbed against the hard earth. The cold air touched against the backs of her thighs and her exposed sex. She bit into her hand and closed her eyes, emitting a muffled cry when he entered her.
MAIA screamed again. He shifted nervously where he stood. Rodrigul felt concern for his lord’s state of mind and ran down the corridor.
Dracul looked to see him turn the corner. His mind drifted for a moment, but then the hairs stood up on the back of his neck.
The figure did not move. It stood at the end of the corridor, tall and imposing. Dracul could not see a face behind the heavy cowl. In spite of this he knew the figure in the cloak was scrutinising him.
“What do you want of me?” he shouted. “You have no business here! Get away from my family!” When the figure did not respond, Dracul ran towards it. “Go away!”
Rodrigul turned the corner again with a cup of water in hand. Dracul glanced at him and then back to the cloaked figure. It was gone.
“Did you say something, my Lord?”
“No,” he mumbled. “You are right. I am tired. Very tired.”
“Come and sit down and drink this. It might help you feel better. I sense this could well be a long night.”
DRACUL’S guards stood a little more than twenty yards away. They watched all that he did, cursing him out of earshot. The woman was a sight to behold. Each of them to a man wished they could have a piece of what she had to offer. But this was a pleasure reserved for the rich and wealthy. He would not permit them any time with her.
The episode did not last long. After a few minutes he ejaculated and was done and she thanked God quietly that it was all over. Dracul tidied his clothes and stepped away. He threw three pieces of silver down on the ground beside her.
She did not touch it.
He turned away and rode off again with his men. When she knew he was gone she fell down against the ground and sobbed.
The act angered the elders, but they knew there was little they could do. Life was hard for the gypsies at the best of times. They could not seek any sort of justice for this crime. It would only heap more misery on the tribe.
They asked the woman to put it behind her. She agreed to do so for the good of the group. For that reason they helped her when she fell pregnant. Now on this cold winter’s night the other women were on hand to assist with the birth.
The gypsies lived their lives by a strict code. They worked together as a group for the good of the whole. Yet the adults could rely on no one to care for their children. They had to do that alone. If a woman conceived with an outsider the tribe would often cast them out. It did not apply in this instance. In the main the women pitied this poor soul. She had played no part in the conception of this child.
An air of excitement filled the camp. This baby was going to be the seventh of a seventh. To the gypsies such a child would grow to be a person bestowed with great powers. The women grew more excited with each new contraction. Some of them felt it a gift from God. They would revere this special child over all others.
There were problems during the birth. The elder of the tribe had to take drastic action to try and save mother and child. He decided the welfare of the baby had to come first. When the baby turned his only option was to cut it out. With a heavy heart he did this. He managed to deliver it safely, but as it took its first breath its mother breathed her last.
MAIA screamed louder than at any time before. Dracul’s heart raced. “Maia?”
The cry of a baby followed it. He let out a long sigh of relief. Gazing up at the ceiling, he was barely able to contain his joy.
Rodrigul reacted in much the same way. “I told you all would be well.”
Dracul looked to his friend, tears welling in his eyes. “Not quite yet.”
Both men waited for the door to open. For Dracul it seemed to take an age. You may not pay for the wrong you have done. But your son shall.
The door swung open. He breathed in hard and held it. The same midwife that had evicted him appeared there. “My Lord,” she said. “You can come in.”
Dracul did not move. He tried to gauge something from her expression. She neither smiled nor grimaced. Her face remained a blank.
MANY of the gypsies cried when she died. She deserved so much more than this. Death had taken her, leaving her seven little ones behind. Now they had no one.
“We must love her children as though they are our own,” one of them said.
“Yes,” the elder’s wife nodded. “The poor little angels. This is not their fault.”
It was the elder of the tribe, Constantin, who had delivered the child. He cradled it now in his arms. After its first cries it sucked on his smallest digit. “The child is hungry, Helga,” he said to her. “Go and get it some milk.”
He waited while one of the women saw to it. “What should we name him?”
His wife reached out to take the child. “Oh, he is so beautiful. Hello, special little one,” she said with tears in her eyes, gently rubbing his chin.
“His mother wanted to call him Andrei,” one of the others interceded.
“Then Andrei it is,” he agreed.
A brilliant white light appeared outside the tent. Everyone inside gasped at the splendour of it. Helga laid Andrei down in the crib they had ready for him. It glowed from inside. An incredible blue aura surrounded the baby.
“He is the Special One,” she exclaimed, tears streaming down her face.
Everyone dropped to their knees and clasped their hands together in prayer. Constantin did the same and looked on in awe when the blue aura extended to the child’s dead mother.
He watched the blue light surround the outline of the woman. It dazzled him and everyone else inside the tent. Moments later they saw the image of the dead woman rise from her body. She stood up and smiled at them all.
Her eyes drifted over to her new-born. She walked to the crib and leant over. Andrei giggled when his mother looked down on him. Already he showed signs of how special he was. It should not have been possible for him to do any such thing. She kissed him lovingly on the cheek and whispered her goodbyes.
Tears now ran down the elder’s face too. The emotion of the moment was too much even for him. When the woman turned to face him he looked deep into her eyes. He saw the peace within her and felt it himself for just a moment.
“Watch over my baby,” she said. “All shall one day depend on him.”
He nodded his head as a promise to her. Words were beyond him. The woman turned towards the light from outside. Closing her eyes she walked through the covering of the tent and into the dazzling brightness.
The light continued to shine even after she had gone. Constantin wiped his eyes and stood up. He walked to the crib and looked down on Andrei.
The baby looked up at him and smiled, waving his arms and legs.
To see the new-born smile filled him with awe and choked him at the same time. “I shall watch over you, little one.”
DRACUL went straight to his wife’s bedside. He knelt on the floor beside her and took her hand in his. She was Princess Cneajna of Moldavia; daughter of the ruling voivode, Alexandru the Good of the Musatin family. Despite her true name he had always called her Maia. On the occasion they had met she had jokingly given that as her name. It had remained with them ever since.
He wiped the sweat from her brow and stroked her hair. “Are you well, Maia, my love?” he asked.
Maia looked thoroughly exhausted. She turned her eyes to him and managed a smile to indicate all was well with her and the baby.
One of the midwives wrapped the infant in a towel. She turned towards Dracul. “You have a son, my Lord,” she said, her breast heaving with pride. “A fine healthy baby boy.”
Outside a storm had descended on Sighisoara from nowhere. Rain lashed the rooftops over the city. Dracul noticed it when he heard the wind howling around the shutters. Rain had come when he had expected snow. He looked over when they vibrated against the storm. Lightning erupted throughout the heavens and stung his eyes through the small slits.
He looked away again and collected his son from the midwife. Maia offered him another smile before he held his son aloft, laughing out loud with joy. “The boy should be named Vlad,” he decreed. “After his father.”
Maia smiled at him. “Vlad is a good name.”
When Rodrigul walked into the room, Dracul ushered him closer. “Come and look at my son,” he urged, the grin on his face one of unbridled joy. “He shall bear his father’s name.”
His friend grinned also. “Then he shall have large shoes to fill.”
“He is a Draculesti. He shall fill them and leave mighty footprints of his own.”
The hooded figure materialised beside the bed. It towered a good eighteen inches over him. Dracul froze on the spot. He recoiled slightly when he caught the stench of the foulest breath.
The figure leaned forward, allowing him a glimpse of a beard and a blackened lower lip. He clutched his son to his chest, his legs still unable to move.
The intruder reached towards the baby, extending a long bony finger. It moved the towel aside from the baby’s face to take a look. “Hmm,” it said, in a low growl.
Dracul felt a sharp pain in his lower back as his muscles tensed. His breath caught in his throat when his chest tightened. Finally the figure brushed past him and disappeared again. He exhaled slowly, his body relaxing once more. Clutching his son to his chest he remembered the words of Valeria only a few hours before.
The prophecy had already rung true.
TRANSYLVANIA. THE DRACUL HOUSEHOLD AT SIGHISOARA. JULY, 1436.
The city enjoyed a great tenure with Dracul at the helm. The people had not been so content in a long time. It showed on their faces in the smiles he saw any time he walked the streets. He built the walls up thick and strong and they were solid enough to resist any cannon. It was already a hillside fortress and the new defences made it almost impenetrable.
He had a treasury that minted its own coins and carried his face upon them. These became legal tender right across the land. In time his new currency replaced the existing one and allowed him to amass quite a fortune.
The city acted as a depot for all the main trading routes from Germany to the Balkans. It also served those heading north towards Poland and the Baltic Sea. The markets bustled as a result. It meant commerce thrived there and the wealth of the city, and the people, grew over time.
Dracul was fast to act after the incident on the border with Wallachia. He forged alliances with the cities of Brasov and Sibiu. The invasion he had feared of Transylvania did not happen as his men killed many of his rivals and imprisoned others. This was the first phase of his plans for the future. He then began to recruit an army from the two duchies under his control; Fagaras and Amlas. The growing prosperity in the city made these men only too happy to join his side. He started this process early in 1434.
Sigismund and Hunyadi had begun to tire of Alexandru. The voivode had continued to allow the Turks to form bases in his country. Hunyadi felt it was a prelude to an attack on his home state. He acted on the advice of Redvitz, Grandmaster of the Teutonic Order of Knights. This permitted Dracul to build up his army and his armoury.
In 1435 Maia gave birth to a third son, whom they named Radu. From the day he was born he possessed real beauty. Many of the people in the city spoke of it and he soon became the darling of his mother and all her close friends.
Dracul was sure now of the strength of his line. He felt it time to dedicate more of an interest in his two elder sons. To his great satisfaction they already showed signs of thriving. The emperor had given him a great start in life and he wanted his boys to enjoy the same.
Mircea as his eldest boy was the one he favoured the most. His training and education had begun two years before. Now his father wanted young Vlad to follow the same path. He gave the task to his most trusted aide, Alin Rodrigul.
Rodrigul dedicated as much of his time to this as he could. His role as Dracul’s deputy kept him busy. He had to pass much of the work on to Lutu and Ion Dancu.
Dancu was more than happy to get inv
olved. He had a strong interest in the welfare of the boys.
Dracul did not know it, but Vlad was a prodigy. He picked up his wooden replica of a sword as soon as he could walk. Already he showed great skill for one so young.
Vlad could see his father’s love for Mircea. For that reason he strove to be as good as him at everything, or better. When Radu was born he felt even more pushed to the side. His younger brother was his mother’s pride and joy. He hid his emotions well but, in spite of that, his resentment for them grew more with each day.
It was in late July that Dracul first saw Vlad with his replica sword. He walked out of the main fortress building in search of Rodrigul. Instead of finding his captain at the garrison he saw him engaged in a lesson with his two eldest boys in the large courtyard.
He stopped to watch his sons spar. Mircea poked Vlad hard in the stomach with the tip of his replica. Vlad threw his down in temper and stormed off.
Rodrigul told him off at once. “Vlad, where do you think you are going? That is not the way a young prince behaves.”
Vlad stopped and turned to face him.
“Come,” he implored the boy. “Retrieve your prop and return to your mark.”
Vlad muttered a few words under his breath, but he had learned to obey his elders. He picked up his replica and faced his brother once again. Dracul had to fight to stifle his laughter and watched on in quiet amusement.
“So, Vlad,” his mentor said, taking up a fighting stance beside him. He wanted to show Vlad what he should have done. “Remember what I told you. What do you do when your opponent thrusts straight at your body? You step to one side and bring your weapon down against his. This puts him off balance and allows you a chance to counter. Let me see you do it the right way.”
The Dracula Chronicles: For Whom The Bell Tolls Page 4