by Dan Davis
“The bastards in the city will be warm and dry and we will freeze.”
“And come spring, they will have eaten themselves into starvation and they will be ready to talk.”
“War is a miserable and tedious pursuit,” Stephen grumbled.
“You could have stayed in Buda,” I pointed out. “Warm and cosy in bed beside that fat Polish girl.”
“Do not remind me,” he said, miserably.
And yet we did not have to settle in for a winter siege. Only three days after our arrival, before our trenches and camps were even half established, a great cacophony came from within the walls.
Hurriedly, we assembled in whatever armour we could quickly don, ready to fight off a sally that was surely coming.
When the gates were thrown open, instead of the voivode and his knights charging at our camp, it was unarmoured citizens who emerged bearing a flag of truce on a tall pole.
“What is it that they are saying?” I asked Eva, suspiciously, taking off my helm.
“They say they have overthrown Vlad Dracul,” she replied. “And they welcome Hunyadi as their overlord.”
“Is it a trick?” Rob asked.
Walt scoffed. “Course it bloody is.”
Just then, Hunyadi sent for me and I rode up to him. “Richard, would you be so kind as to enter the city and see if what these men claim is true?”
I laughed aloud, drawing sharp looks from his lords and bodyguards. “You want me to risk my life and the lives of my men because you suspect this to be a ploy by the treacherous Vlad?” He turned to look at me for the first time and I laughed again. “Better a mercenary than your friends, My Lord Regent, I quite agree. And of course I shall go, happily, and if it is a trap, I shall slaughter every man in the city.”
Some of his men crossed themselves and I brought my men forward to the gates where the boyars bowed and urged us to come within.
“You cannot mean to take us in there,” Stephen said, his face white.
“He ain’t wrong, Richard,” Walter said. “Can’t be nought but a trap.”
“Walt, you will take twenty men and hold the gate while the rest of us go within. If they attack, we shall keep moving and we shall fight our way out.”
“God save us,” Stephen muttered, crossing himself.
“Grow a spine, man,” Eva said. “And ready your sword.”
Passing into the shadow of the gatehouse, I saw scores of grim-faced men in the streets beyond. Many were brandishing drawn weapons, and some of the blades and clubs they bore were bloodied. Those men watched us as we rode slowly through the streets, deeper into the city, our horses’ hooves clacking on the stones in the frozen road surface.
“Here, my lord, here, you shall see, here he is,” one of the men leading us said as we came into the market square. He was dressed in his finery and his hat had an enormous feather in it that bounced and fluttered each time he bowed and backed up, further and further. He was fair haired and I took him for a Saxon. Trailing him came a group of other men, almost all of them were old and fat. Rich townsfolk and merchants, nervous and yet proud.
“What has happened?” I asked them, not bothering to hide my contempt and distrust as I looked down at their worried faces.
“Come, come,” they said, beckoning me on.
A large, silent crowd stood at the edges of the square and they turned to face us as we drew to a stop at the corner.
In the centre was a single post, prepared with faggots of wood. A stocky young man was tied to it, his bloody and bruised face a mask of anguish.
“It is Mircea, son of Vlad Dracul,” the Saxon man leading me said, nodding and seeking acknowledgement. “Do you see, my lord?”
“By God, it is him,” I said. “What is wrong with his eyes?”
“Ah, they were burned out, my lord.”
“Merciful Christ,” I said. “You burned out his eyes?
“Burned out, as punishment for his crimes.”
“What bloody crimes?”
The Saxon townsman blanched and turned to the boyars. “Why, his misrule, my lord. His misrule and that of his father. We… we thought you would be pleased.”
“He is a treacherous little shit but his blood is royal.”
“No longer, for his father has been deposed. And so he will now receive his final punishment.”
The lord grinned, raised a hand and called out. A group of men rushed forward and ignited the pyre beneath young Mircea, who screamed and wailed as the fire took him. The crowd stood in grim silence, watching their young prince until his desperate prayers became screams that faded into silence. Soon, the smell of cooking flesh filled the square.
“What of the voivode?” I asked. “What did you do to Vlad Dracul?”
The Saxons, merchants and boyars’ faces dropped. “We did everything in our power, my lord, but he is a very great knight and his men were too powerful. Even with the help of the Saxons, we are simple townsfolk, and—”
“Where is he?” I shouted.
A boyar raised a hand and pointed to the eastern side of the city. “He fled, my lord. But he cannot have gone far. It is a mere half a day since he—”
I turned to Stephen. “Ride to Hunyadi and tell him Vlad has escaped. Send Walt and the rest of the men to me, now.” Stephen nodded and his horse clattered through the streets. “Leave anything heavy with your squires and pages, take only food and water. We ride hard and fast.” My men prepared themselves. “You will provide me with guides, on good horses. Men who know the country and who can ride like a centaur. Hunters, soldiers, anyone dependable, strong, you understand?”
The boyars shakily agreed and began shouting orders. Almost at once, an old man in rough country clothes came forward.
“This man is a hunter and a fine rider,” a lord said, presenting him. “He says he will lead you.”
“You can find Vlad Dracul?” I asked him.
He looked me in the eyes and nodded once.
“Give him a bloody horse, someone,” I said to my men.
“The company is ready,” Rob said as we rode through the city to the south gate. “But why don’t we let the prince go free? Seems to me we’re well shot of the bastard.”
Eva answered him. “Because he will raise an army and fight to regain his throne, weakening Wallachia and only making Turkish conquest all the more likely.”
“Right,” Rob replied, nodding to himself.
“And because he is a treacherous dog who would sell his soul to the Turk if we but let him,” I said. “Come on, you men,” I shouted as we came out of the city. “Who wants to kill a king?”
My men roared their approval, despite Vlad Dracul not technically being a king at all, and we rode south in pursuit.
***
He had half a day on us and he knew the country better than anyone. But it seemed clear that he was making for the fastest, straightest route possible toward the Danube, straight down the valley toward the plain and the great river beyond. Whether he was aiming for one of his many fortresses on the river or was contemplating riding beyond into Bulgaria and into the hands of the Turks, I did not know. But clearly, we had to catch him before he reached safety and so I pushed my men hard.
Our horses suffered from the ride and from the intense cold and we were forced to leave more and more men behind every time we paused for rest. The guides provided to us failed in their strength or their will and on the first night one young lad curled up weeping and so we told him to return to Târgoviște at first light. Another man feigned an injury and could not be persuaded to continue, even when Walt lifted him from his feet and spat insults into his face.
Soon, only the grizzled old peasant who had volunteered in the city remained. He rode hard before us, his weathered face set into a wrinkled frown and his narrow eyes pointing ahead.
“Reckon he’s got a score to settle,” Walt said while we watered our horses halfway through the second day.
“What gives you that idea?”
Wa
lt laughed. “Tough little fellow, ain’t he. How old do you think he is? A hundred and one?”
“Younger than you, whatever he is.”
He turned from his crouched position and looked at us. “My name is Serban,” he said, in French.
Walt and I exchanged a glance. We had been speaking English but he had detected that we were talking about him. I switched to French to ask him a question. “Few men here speak French, especially commoners. How did you come to learn it?”
“In my youth, I travel. I fight. I return to my land. But I remember.”
“You were a mercenary?”
He raised his chin. “A soldier.”
“You own land?” I asked.
His face darkened. “Once. My family land is lost to me, now.” He pulled his horse toward the stream and let it drink just a little before he mounted and rode south again, hooves flinging back sods of frozen soil.
“Best get after him,” Walt said, “or he’ll kill the lot of them before we catch up.”
The winter day was short but we found Vlad as darkness was falling. He had attempted to hide his men in a wooded marsh, on the flat plains by a meandering river, but Serban had found his tracks and he knew where the prince was hiding.
“There is a small place there,” Serban said, speaking softly. His voice was like a growl. “Through the trees, high and dry land. Some people live there.”
“A village?”
He shrugged. “Some houses. It is called București’s place. Wet earth beyond, very soft, all the way to the river.”
I turned to my men. “Sounds like the prince and his men are camped on something like an island of dry land, protected by that beech wood, there.”
Rob scratched his stump. “Easily defended. Especially in the dark.”
“We should wait until morning,” Eva said. “Hunyadi’s men will have caught up with us, then. We can surround the wood, and the marsh, and either he gives up without a fight or he does not. Either way, we have him.”
Serban’s head snapped around at the mention of Hunyadi’s name. “Not wait for Hunyadi. Vlad Dracul is there, now. We go. We kill him.”
“I am inclined to agree with you, Serban,” I said.
“Hunyadi wishes to use him to keep the new prince in line,” Eva said. “He will be grateful if we provide him this prisoner.”
“And yet it will not be us who provides him, if the entire bloody army comes down here in the morning to roust him out,” I said. “Hunyadi will take Vlad prisoner, lock him in Buda and use him in his political games. These people are too keen by far on their politics. Vlad is better off dead. And it is better by far if I am the man to do it. Our influence at court wanes every day. This act shall purchase for us some influence. We go in, now. Tell the men. We take no prisoners.”
Eva grabbed my arm and pulled me to the side. Lowering her voice, she leaned in. “How do we know to trust this Serban? He volunteered to help you rather quickly, did he not? Perhaps the prince left him behind in order to lead you into a trap. Vlad may be there, waiting for you. Or he may be miles away in another direction.”
Straightening, I turned and raised my voice. “Serban, are you leading me into a trap?”
“No, lord.”
“If you are, then you shall be the first one I kill.”
“Yes, lord.”
“There you are,” I said to Eva, who pinched her nose and said nothing.
We followed Serban through the darkness beneath the trees. Admittedly, it was not as eerie a place as the dark green woods of the mountains in the north and beech forests were as familiar to me as the back of my hand. Even so, there was a wildness to Wallachia, even on the lowland plains. Much of it was unpopulated and untamed, and deer and wolves roamed the woods and I half expected us to scare up a boar big enough to disembowel my horse. My men were disciplined and there was not a word spoken as we advanced but still the noise we made crashing through the brittle undergrowth was loud enough to wake the dead, let alone alert Vlad’s sentries.
“Faster,” I said to Serban just ahead of me. “Faster, man.” I turned to Rob beside me. “We shall rush them.”
A noise clacked in the trees ahead and a bolt whipped unseen through the darkness.
Rob drew his mace and spurred his horse forward. “Sir Richard!” he cried, not as a warning but as a war cry. “Sir Richard!”
I raced after him and my men came behind, all them taking up the cry.
“Sir Richard!”
The enemy were ready for us, dismounted with their spears in hand, the blades flashing in the twilight, their roars of defiance filling the darkness. “Dracul! Dracul! Wallachia!”
My men dismounted and rushed in close, overwhelming the defenders with our numbers and our ferocity. Crossbowmen on the flanks shot at us and horses in the rear of the enemy position drummed their hooves as their riders galloped away from us.
“Vlad flees,” I shouted to Walt, before forcing my horse around the remaining men. Something banged against my helm, a bolt or a spearhead, but then I was through and chasing the fleeing riders through the trees. They thinned and the ground grew soft and my horse began lifting his hooves high and tossing his head. Ruthlessly, I raked my spurs and forced his head up. “On, you bastard, on!”
I was chasing three riders through the dwindling light. The moon, low over the horizon ahead, shone through wisps of cloud even as the last of the day’s light faded behind me. My horse splashed through shallow water and then onto dry ground again before running into wet ground once more, softer and slower. Ahead, my quarry had also slowed, though they struggled on toward the silver glint of the river in the distance.
Opening my visor, I raised my voice. “Coward!”
They ran on for a few more strides but their horses slowed and turned. Almost as one, the three of them slid from their horses and came back toward me, standing three abreast with their weapons drawn.
The man in the centre was broad and short.
“Vlad!” I shouted. “There is nowhere to run, now.”
I slid from my horse and strode forward through the freezing water, which was almost up to my knees, and the ground beneath sucked at my feet. The three of them had stopped on the edge of a dry patch of land and so they were above me as I came forward, right at them, lifting my feet high as I advanced.
At the last moment, I rushed to the right, spraying icy water everywhere and stabbed up into the groin of the man there, sliding my sword point deep into his thigh as he swung his axe at my head. I continued on, caught his hand and took the haft of his weapon as I slid my blade out.
Vlad Dracul roared like a bull and thrust his sword at my neck. I batted it aside and pushed him as hard as I could, throwing him away from me. The last man caught me on the shoulder with his mace but I swatted him down and finished him on the ground.
The voivode got to his knees and launched himself at me, attempting to grapple and pull me down. I swung the axe at his arm, crushing the bone and half-severing his right hand. He cursed me and drew a dagger with his left, still trying to kill me.
I twisted it from his grasp and held him on his knees before me, pulling his helm from his head to ensure I had the right man.
“You,” he snarled, speaking French. “Hunyadi’s English dog.”
“My Lord Prince. You fought with spirit. I will tell Christendom that you died well.”
“Ah,” he said, suddenly, looking up at the sky. There were tears in his eyes. “My sons. Forgive me.”
“You should know that the men of Târgoviște burned Mircea alive after you abandoned him.”
He snarled and tried to stand but I held him. “All I have done, I did for my sons. That monster has them, my youngest two. Vlad and Radu. He has corrupted them, by now, I fear but I had to try.”
I paused. “What monster? Murad?”
Vlad scoffed, looking at the emerging stars once more.
“You mean Zaganos Pasha?”
He snapped his eyes back to mine. “You k
now of this monster.” It was not a question.
“I shall kill him,” I said. “Know that, as you die, the man who has your sons will one day die by my hand.”
“But then we share an enemy,” Vlad said, quickly. “I did as I was bid by the Turk in order to save my sons. Free my sons and I shall be free to fight the Turk once more.”
“You have been a slave to the Turks too often to ever be trusted,” I said, shaking my head. “You will not live.”
His face clouded again. “Then protect my sons from the monster, sir. With my last breath, I ask it humbly, from one Christian to another.” I hesitated and he continued. “With my death, Murad will seek to place Vlad on my throne. Or Radu, if Vlad is too obstinate. Help them to fight the Turks.”
“If the Turks free them, they will be Turkish slaves already in their hearts and they will die, also.”
Vlad smiled. “Not my sons. Not the sons of Dracul.”
“Any man who fights the Turks will be my ally. That is all I promise.”
“Grant me a single favour, then, from one knight to another. Give my sword to my son. My oldest living son, Vlad. And this.” Reaching up to his neck with his one remaining hand, he pulled up a circular metal insignia on a thin silver chain. He held it out to me. “My sword and this. Vlad is to wear it always.”
“If I can,” I said, taking it from him.
He sighed. “God strike you down if you break your word. I am ready. Make the blow clean.”
“You are strong, my lord, and you have killed many men in war. Your blood is strong and I shall take your strength into myself. Know, as you die, that I shall use your strength to kill the Turks and drive them from your lands.”
He frowned in confusion as I lifted him up, slit his throat and drank the hot blood gushing from his neck. He fought me, with all the will left in him, but his will soon leeched from his body and I drank until my belly was full and his heart slowed into nothing. I dropped him at my feet.
Filled with the power of his blood, I arched my back and let out a roar at the moon.
I turned to find the old Wallachian named Serban a few paces behind me, shaking in what I took to be shock, fear or simple awe. I thought I was going to have to chase him down and kill him before he spoke to his fellows about what he had seen.