“Indeed. It should be put in here with the rest for safe-keeping.”
He took it from Andrei and placed it in the box. Andrei settled back on the sofa while the pope returned the box to its hiding place.
“Is there anything more I need to know?” Alexander asked him.
Andrei did not answer. The pope walked over to him to see him lying there with his eyes closed. He shook Andrei gently, but got no response. Andrei’s arm flopped down over the edge. He was dead.
The pope looked down at him. He thought about everything the old gypsy had said. Even now, he could not make up his mind over how much of it was the truth. He had never heard anything of the like. What better way for a pauper to ensure the perfect burial than to procure such a story?
Piccolomini had remained outside with his ear to the door. He heard most of what Andrei had said. What an amazing story, he thought. There might be a time when I can use it to my advantage.
Alexander walked over to the door. With an effort, he pulled the sofa away. He slid the bolt back and pulled it open to see the cardinal there. “You were listening?”
“I was concerned for your safety, Holy Father. The man sounded quite mad.”
“Yes, he told an incredible tale.”
“What shall you do with him?”
“Go and find my secretary. We shall bury him in the palace grounds.”
Alexander closed the door behind the cardinal and returned to Andrei’s side. A great wind blew through the room from nowhere. It hit him full in the face and took his breath away.
He fell down onto Andrei’s legs. When he looked up, the most amazing sight met his eyes. The Archangel Michael stood there, dressed all in white. His long white hair and beard fell down about his shoulders and chest, and his awesome bulk towered over the terrified pontiff.
Alexander gazed at his mighty arms. Michael’s huge biceps rippled and bulged. Behind his shoulders, his wings rose up almost to the ceiling.
His deep blue eyes pierced right through the cowering Alexander, and he pointed an accusing finger at him. “You wretched excuse for a man!” he bellowed. “You shall bury him in the vault lest there be no place on this earth where you can hide from me!”
He extended his wings and flapped them hard. Sofas and tables turned over, and the mantelpieces emptied all over the floor. Each book on the shelves that lined the room flew up into the air and crashed down.
Alexander climbed from the sofa and dropped to his knees. “Forgive me,” he begged. “I shall do as he said.”
“You were in the presence of greatness today,” Michael advised him. “See to it that you do.”
Chapter 30
WALLACHIA. THE ROYAL PALACE AT TIRGOVISTE.
MARCH, 1503.
A slow drizzle fell on the city. Dracula glided unnoticed over his former capital. He was just one more obscure shadow against the dark night sky.
He settled onto one of the rooftops of his old palace. It still had its own special smell, and he took in a deep breath to savour it. This had been his seat of power for the longest of his reigns, and for his father before him. He had ruled from here for six years, between 1456 and 1462. His nephew, Radu cel Mare, held court here now. That did not interest him too much and had no bearing on his being here. He just wanted the feeling of home, if even for just a short while.
The moon briefly broke through the clouds, catching his eye. Its rays bathed the city with a murky light. From it, he drew a clear view of the tangled web of streets below.
It was a full moon. Each one marked a period that left him feeling restless. Something had drawn him back to his old city. He had no idea what that was, but if he stopped here on the roof of his old palace, he hoped it might come to him.
He had wanted to come alone. Ilona and Varkal, he left to hunt by themselves. She sensed his agitation and left him be. Later in the night, she would seek him out. Then they could hunt side by side as they liked to do.
Varkal had other things on his mind. He liked to go his own way, and tonight was no exception. He had cast his eye on the wife of a noble, a woman he had known many years. She lived with her husband on the outskirts of the city. Her bed was one he had longed to enter for years before his mortal life had ended.
Standing there stirred some strong memories in Dracula. He let his mind slip briefly from the business at hand as a strong wind tugged at the ends of his long hair. The heavy drizzle had left it stuck to the sides of his face and small rivulets of water ran down the back of his coat. He closed his eyes and cast his mind back. It was late June in 1462. The armies of Sultan Mehmed II were close to descending on the city.
It was a desperate time for him and his people. The might of the Ottoman Empire weighed down on them. He had to take extreme measures to keep his throne, faced with an army that outnumbered his by four to one.
This forced him to drop back to his capital. Wallachia’s greatest defence was its difficult terrain. Few were as aware of this as he. He knew he had to draw his enemy deep into his territory. Then he could defeat it.
He planned his strategy around these great natural defences. To the south, he had the buffer of the marshy soil of the Danube frontier. From east to west, the Vlacia forests extended across the plains. In the north, the impenetrable mountains provided an obstacle to even the smallest of armies.
Dracula adopted a scorched earth policy. He left a desert in the path of the invading force. As his army retreated, he abandoned huge areas to the Turks. All civilians, regardless of their status, made the trek with him. They brought with them all the livestock they could herd.
The animals he could not take, he had destroyed. His men burned the crops and poisoned the wells. Even the towns and cities he had burned to deny the enemy shelter. They dug huge pits along their line of advance. These they covered over to disguise beds of stakes below. The pits proved a major success, trapping and killing many Turkish soldiers and horses.
Dracula did many other things to blight their progress. He released the few hardened criminals not yet put to the stake. These he employed to kill off stragglers from the Turkish army. For that, he gave them their freedom. Lepers, and others afflicted with disease, he sent to mingle with and infect the enemy.
These tactics had the desired effect. The Turks could find nothing to eat or drink as they advanced. In the punishing heat of that summer, it drove their morale to an all-time low.
Dracula was a genius for his day. He did not limit himself to these tactics alone. His enemy could find no peace. He added to their misery by waging a well-thought-out guerrilla campaign. Time and time again, his men attacked them. They struck at random, and with much success, and often at night. It deprived the enemy of rest, this torment draining the Turks of their resolve.
Despite these setbacks, Mehmed pressed on. His need to defeat Dracula bordered on obsession. Defeat at Belgrade in 1456 had greatly damaged his pride, and his reputation. Dracula was a part of the coalition that had risen against him. His consort of many years, Radu, was Dracula’s brother. He shared in this hatred of the great voivode. It was he who drove Mehmed on.
Mehmed cut a path from Turnu north to Glavacioc. From there, he turned east to Bucharest. His march then took him north again to Snagov. He set up camp here, sixty miles from Tirgoviste.
It was while Mehmed camped there that Dracula played out his masterstroke. On the night of June 17, he hatched the most cunning of plans. He divided his army into two and attacked the Turkish camp while his enemy slept.
The carnage was horrific. Dracula’s men gave no quarter, and slaughtered the Turks without mercy. Even now, he could remember the stench of death. The blood of the dead flowed downhill through the middle of the camp like a river into the nearby lake.
The second half of his army he gave command to a boyar named Gales. When Dracula moved in from the south, Gales was to attack from the north.
Gales did not keep to the plan. His lack of courage in the vital moment cost Dracula a decisive victory. Fifteen
thousand Turks perished that night. Dracula lost a third of that number. Gales’s refusal to attack from the opposite flank cost most of those lives.
Mehmed had a lucky escape. The force of assassins chosen to kill him attacked the wrong tent. This gave him precious time as his two thousand Janissaries rallied around him. A vicious battle ensued, in which they warded off the attack and saved his life.
Killing Mehmed would have clinched victory. His army would have lost its stomach to fight after that. Dracula tried to put this setback out of his mind. He had still dealt his enemy a huge psychological blow.
He managed a faint smile. They were exciting times. Only in those days had he felt truly alive. His acts in defending his nation in that campaign were what would make his name live on forever. He looked down over the ramparts. The best was still to come, and he gloated at the mere thought of it.
The rain continued to fall. In his short time on the rooftop, it had become heavier. The moon hid again behind the clouds and plunged the city into darkness once more. This did little to dim the glow his memories brought him.
His gaze fell on the courtyard below. From there, his eyes drifted up to the battlements. He recalled how they were awash with life. His men prepared to defend the palace. He could still see them loading the cannon. The archers took their positions up high. Down below, thousands of his men waited, ready to charge out through the gates. The din of it all rang loud in his ears. His men shouted their war cries, for they knew this mighty enemy would breach the walls. Then all fell silent again. It was but a memory.
The attack from Mehmed did not come. He recovered from the night ambush to receive one more shattering blow. His army pressed on, in spite of all Dracula did to mar his progress. The Turks did not see a soul while they marched. As they advanced, they sang a song that promised death to all Tirgoviste. Dracula and his men waited for them. The moment was close now.
Mehmed marched over the crest five miles to the south of the city. The sight that met his eyes would haunt his dreams forever. He walked straight into the “forest of impalement.” Turkish soldiers sat atop stakes for as far as his eye could see in any direction.
By that summer, Dracula held more than twenty thousand Turks in his prisons. He wanted his enemy to know who they were dealing with. Every last one of them, he had impaled. The line stretched for three kilometres west to east and one kilometre in depth. The bodies of the dead decomposed fast in the searing heat. Crows and other birds of prey ravaged them. Rats scaled the blood-soaked stakes to gorge themselves too. It was the most gruesome sight any of them had seen. Mehmed and his army fled in terror. He found the price of victory far too high.
Dracula had to stifle a laugh as he thought of it. The speed of the Ottoman retreat amused him still. But it had not ended there. The memory of the events that followed soured his mood again. He still had to face the treachery of his brother, the one known far and wide as Radu the Handsome.
Radu held a high rank in Mehmed’s army. Being the sultan’s lover secured him this role, and he sat at the head of four thousand cavalry. When Mehmed left for home, Radu stayed on with a small army in the Baragon region of the country.
Mehmed hoped Radu could win the support of the boyars. It was then his task to sway the people to favour him over his brother. He promised them peace, as their ruler. Wallachia would then keep its autonomy for a yearly tribute and the terror of Dracula would be gone forever.
Dracula’s younger brother won many of the boyars over with ease. Few had forgotten the vicious revenge Dracula had exacted on the boyar class only a few years before when coming to power. To add weight to these links, Radu married Maria Despina. She was the daughter of his brother’s most hated enemy. Vintila Florescu had fled north to Brasov after Dracula’s rise to power. It meant he survived the stake and remained a thorn in his side. Now he was Radu’s ally too.
Radu promised the people much, and his message spread far and wide. He made a vow to end the brutality and terror of his brother’s reign. If they accepted him, he would end the war with the Turks also. That, he claimed, would see the annihilation of the country if it did not cease.
He gave his word of a safe independence for Wallachia. No Turk would again set foot in the country. No more young boys would serve as janissaries in the sultan’s armies. Better still, he vowed to end hunger and poverty.
The people could not resist his appeal. The boyars saw him as the answer to their prayers. They felt sure Dracula could not save the country. His efforts to do so had brought famine and misery. They had to take the offer from Radu. An alliance with the Turks was the only way forward that they could see. The papal crusade was dead. Dracula, as its spearhead, now stood alone.
Dracula did win one more battle. He defeated Evrenos Pacha at Buzau on the 26th of June. But his army suffered heavy losses. After the battle, large numbers of his men defected to the side of Radu. It forced him to give up his throne and flee the capital. He went with his bodyguard to his castle fortress in the mountains. Here he had kept his wife and son out of harm’s way. He knew no army could scale the cliff to penetrate its walls.
He hoped now to send word to Hungary. King Matthias was his ally there. His first wife was the sister of the king. So far, Matthias had given him no support, despite many promises made in his correspondence and the treaty they had signed more than two years before.
Radu followed Dracula in his flight with a large army and pursued him all the way to the castle. The first attack failed. He rallied his forces again for a second assault the next day.
News of this reached Dracula. Only then did he realise the size of the force pitted against him. Even if Radu could not breach his walls, he could starve him out. His wife dreaded the prospect of capture. To avoid this, she threw herself to her death from one of the towers. Her body was lost in the Arges River far below.
Dracula managed to escape with his son. He used the network of secret tunnels that ran under the mountain. The Dobrin brothers acted as his guides across the rough terrain. They knew it better than anyone. The trail they took led him to the Hungarian fortress at Konigstein. There, he awaited the arrival of Matthias. The Hungarian king showed up four months later.
The worst was yet to come for Dracula. For months, Matthias and Radu had met in secret. Radu won over the young king with ease and they formed an alliance of their own. The king took Dracula to Buda as a hostage. His defeat was final.
Now, forty years on, he still despised Radu for this. His brother had stolen his throne. He was the reason his wife had jumped to her death. His treaty with Matthias saw him a prisoner for thirteen long years. These things still cut him deep. He had left his mortal life behind, but not the pain or the bitterness of it.
It angered him that he had never had retribution. Radu died at the same time as Dracula’s release from Buda in 1475. If I could have one wish, I would take a vicious revenge.
He pondered this thought long and hard. What he would give for another chance to see his brother again. He would make Radu suffer a worse fate than any other. If only he could turn back time. If only.
These thoughts consumed him so much, he did not even notice the presence at his side. Only when a voice spoke to him, did he realise he was not alone.
“I see you are troubled, my son.”
He turned, a little startled.
Lucifer sat there on the roof beside him. Dracula did not answer. It was their first meeting since the time Piera had died. He had not called on Lucifer since.
“You are thinking of your brother?”
“Yes, the rotten one.”
“Why does it still trouble you? It is long gone.”
“It shall always trouble me.”
“The past is best left there.”
“Perhaps, but sometimes the past can never be erased.”
“To dwell on it can only hold you back.”
“I lost everything through him.”
“You still had your honour. The rest you only lost to other men�
�s treachery.”
“It is hard to have honour without liberty. Even that was taken from me.”
“I know, I saw it all.”
“Then you should understand what it did to me.”
“It did not change you. I saw a more determined man emerge from Buda.”
“Determined for revenge, yes. Even that was denied me.”
“Your need for revenge is strong.”
“It drives me on.”
“It is eating away at you.”
“Hate is the best motivator.”
“Yes, there is much to be said for that.”
“Then you should understand my anger at being denied my revenge.”
“I do understand, but it should concern you no more.”
“It is all that concerns me.”
“There are many great things ahead of you. You have much to achieve.”
“This shall always hold me back.”
Lucifer sighed. “Put it behind you.”
Dracula squinted his eyes. He looked to the darkness, his hatred burning inside. “I can never rest while his memory remains with me.”
“Perhaps I should wipe it from your mind.”
“He took away all that I had. My throne, my wife, my liberty, and my pride!”
“So what would you do if you could turn back time?”
“What do you mean?”
“If Radu were here before you.”
“Alive again?”
“Yes. What revenge would you exact upon him?”
Dracula thought long and hard about it. “Death would be too good for him. Even a slow and painful one.”
“So what alternative would you create for him?”
“I would ensure he had an infinity of pain and misery.”
“Well, his soul is with me in Hell. He is suffering.”
Dracula clenched his fists. “No, I would want it to be far worse than that.”
“What could be worse?”
“I can think of many things.”
The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels Page 167
