The Dracula Chronicles: The Path To Decay

by Shane KP O'Neill

  “Well, Sire,” Hazar began. “Basarab appears to have control of the province.”

  “That is not good news. He is Hunyadi’s puppet. Steps must be taken to remove him.”

  “Yes, Sire. We are of the same opinion.”

  “Good. I am glad to hear it.”

  “We understand he is in Bucharest at this time. He is trying to win over the boyars that have not yet joined with him. With Oltenita and Poaresti in ruin he is not venturing too far afield. At the moment, I daresay he has little support in the north.”

  “Can we exploit this?”

  “It is hard to say, Sire. The north is barren. Tirgoviste is in ruin and should be for a long time to come. That is the last point of note before the border.”

  “I am not stupid, Hazar. I know my geography.”

  “Forgive me, Sire.”

  Murad waved his hands in despair. “Continue.”

  “We believe we can use this to our gain. With the right man in place, the people in the north might rise up against Basarab.”

  Murad nodded. “Good. Perhaps we could create a diversion of sorts along the Danube to draw him in. Then attack Wallachia from the east. With his power base in the south we could easily isolate him.”

  “Yes, Sire,” Hazar agreed. “That is a sound strategy.”

  “All we need is someone to lead our army. Do you have anyone in mind?”

  He looked to the others. “Yes, Sire. We have the perfect candidate in mind.”

  “Out with it then. Who?”

  “Vlad, the son of Dracul.”

  Murad burst into laughter. He laughed for quite some time. Soon the others joined in. “He is an invisible man. Like his father, he is nowhere to be seen when he is wanted.”

  “This is true, Sire.”

  His mood changed in a second. “Then why waste my time with such a foolish notion? You shall need to think of another. Who else do we have that is suitable?”

  “There is no one, Sire. Except for George Skanderbeg.”

  Murad looked up at the ceiling. “Allah, give me patience.”

  “Skanderbeg is a leader of men, Sire. He is more than adequate for the role.”

  “For one thing he is old. And he is no longer an ally. Do you not remember our conflict only three years past?”

  “Forgive me, Sire. I thought it might be an avenue we could explore to bring him to our side once again.”

  “He is at war with Venice. The Venetians have offered us to join them in attacking him.”

  “It does not suit us to aid Venice, Sire.”

  “I know this! But Skanderbeg is not a friend to us either. Who can know what he might do next and I do not want him in Wallachia!”

  “My apologies again, Sire. We did not consider you might feel this strongly on the issue.”

  “Perhaps a good flogging would help your powers of reason.”

  “As you wish, Sire,” Hazar said, bowing again.

  “Oh stop!” Murad shouted. “As if I would have you flogged? Is there any sense about you, man?”

  “Forgive me, Sire.”

  “And stop apologising! You are driving me mad! Before I employed you as my advisor you were made of stone. Nothing fazed you. But look at you here!”

  “I strive to be humble in your presence, Sire. I have such little significance beneath your shadow.”

  “Stop it. Be yourself or leave the palace. Talk to me straight and take your tongue from up my rear end.”

  Hazar nodded, unable to hide the smile on his face.

  “Good, that is what I want to see. I am your Sultan, yes. Some call me great. Some do not, I am sure. One ability I do have is my wisdom and wherewithal.”

  The men in the room nodded.

  Murad continued. “You can relax in my presence. You all know me well enough. I trust you, or you would not be here. Let us act like men from here forward. Do not be disrespectful, but be yourselves. It is all I want. We have common interests here.”

  “With respect then, Sire. We need to consider the son of Dracul.”

  “Very well. Go on if you must.”

  “We have to appreciate he has lost everyone he ever loved. He is certain to be grieving, wherever he is.”

  “Yes, let us accept that to be the case. But what is the basis of your argument? If he cannot keep his word to me, why are we considering him at all?”

  “That is my point, Sire. I believe he shall keep his word. It can only be because he is grief-stricken that he has not yet returned.”

  “So I accept that reasoning. Why should he lead my army?”

  “There is no one better than him,” Hazar pressed. “He is sure to feel the throne there is his by right. I wager that his need to avenge his loved ones consumes him completely. No one would be more determined to see Basarab dead.”

  Murad knew it made sense. Still, he felt unsure of the young man. Vlad had never proved himself in such a role. “This need is sure to cloud his reason.”

  “I have seen the fire in his eyes,” Hazar went on. “I know he has steel in his character. He would sweep all of these setbacks aside.”

  “I am sure the fire in his eyes does not match the fire in yours,” Murad joked.

  The comment raised a laugh from the others. Many knew Hazar, even feared him, for the mad look in his eyes. Only the sultan seemed unperturbed by it.

  “Yes, quite, Sire.”

  “Go on. I am jesting with you, man.”

  “We all know of his abilities in a military sense.”

  “Yes, he is quite the swordsman.”

  “By all accounts, Kazic was full of praise for him on their recent campaign. He believes Vlad to be a leader of men.”

  “I admire your passion for him, Hazar. But I still require more than that. It is not any man who leads an army of mine.”

  Hazar knew Murad was right. Not just anyone took command of an Ottoman army. They had to prove themselves worthy first.

  “We have thought on that, Sire. We recommend that he serve as an officer in our armies in Persia. Then he can show us what he can do.”

  Murad nodded that he liked the idea. “All we need then is for him to return. We shall see if your instincts about him ring true, Hazar. I doubt he shall come back. He knows he is a free man with his father dead.”

  A knock at the door disturbed the meeting. One of the palace guards stood there.

  “Do you have some news?” Hazar asked him.

  The man bowed to Murad, and then turned to Hazar. “Yes, my Lord. The son of Dracul is here.”

  Murad sat forward in his seat. “This is excellent news. Send him in. I wish to see him.”

  The guards ushered Vlad inside. He appeared with Natalia in tow. Walking into the room, he bowed when he saw Murad. “Thank you, Sire, for receiving me.”

  “Welcome back, Vlad. I knew you would return,” he lied, smiling. “We were only this moment discussing you.”

  Murad was genuinely pleased. At last he had encountered a man true to his word. This meant a lot to him.

  “I hope you were speaking well of me, Sire?” Vlad said with a wry smile.

  “Of course, Vlad,” Murad said, returning it. He could see this young man did not fear him. “Our friend, Hazar, is full of praise for you.”

  Vlad looked to Hazar and was surprised. He was not aware the sultan’s advisor thought so highly of him.

  “With respect, Sire,” Vlad said. “I have taken the name Dracula. As the son of Vlad Dracul, that is how I wish to be known from hereon in.”

  Murad smiled. “Indeed, you are Dracula. Your wishes are duly noted.”

  “I thank you, Sire.”

  “Who is the woman with you?”

  “She is the sister of Basarab,” he revealed. “And my prisoner. I would ask, with your kind permission, that she remain here with me ‘til such time as I leave.”

  “That is fine. She is your responsibility, but welcome here all the same.”

  “I thank you, Sire.”

  “I want
to express my sorrow at your father’s death. I admired him very much.”

  Vlad nodded, but could not smile, as hard as he tried.

  “Also for your mother and brother. It is with a heavy heart that I do so.”

  “Thank you, Sire. You are most generous. It is the reason I have not returned sooner. I hope you can forgive my indiscretion.”

  “There is nothing to forgive,” Murad affirmed. “You are here. A man of your word. I hope you know how much that pleases me.”

  “I am glad that it does, Sire.”

  “So, Dracula. Hazar has an idea for your consideration.”

  He turned to Hazar, still not comfortable to meet his gaze, but keen to hear what he had to say.

  “We have a proposition for you,” Hazar said.

  “I am listening, Vizier.”

  “We are viewing you as a candidate for the throne that was your father’s.”

  He nodded his understanding. It was not something he was expecting just yet.

  “I am sure you feel the throne is rightly yours?”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “Good. Then we are prepared to offer you the resources to claim back your throne. It does not suit us that Basarab holds the power there.”

  “He is Hunyadi’s puppet. I do not expect his exalted status pleases you.”

  “Indeed. So we have common goals.”

  “Yes, that we do.”

  “We hope you appreciate then you must first satisfy any reservations we may still have.”

  “What is it you ask of me?”

  “We want to offer you a commission. Show us your qualities as a leader. It takes a long term of service before someone can lead one of our armies.”

  “Yes, I appreciate that.”

  “It shall be a much shorter term in your case. We want you to serve for perhaps three or four months in Persia, to see what you are made of.”

  “That is acceptable to me. I am well able to prove myself.”

  “Very well,” Murad interrupted them. “It is agreed. I would like you to rest for a couple of weeks before we send you away.”

  “Thank you, Sire. A rest would be welcome.”

  “There is one other matter before you retire for the night.”

  “Yes, Sire?”

  “I give you your freedom. Any time you spend here in the palace from this day on should be as a guest and a friend. You are no longer bound by any previous restrictions.”

  Dracula smiled. “Thank you, Sire. I am honoured.”

  “Then go to your rooms and rest. Take your lady with you.”

  He bowed and turned away with Natalia at his side. This had helped him reaffirm his destiny. Just as his father had done before him, he was going to take the walk along the path to decay.

  ANATOLIA.

  THE ROYAL PALACE OF SULTAN MURAD II

  AT ADRIANOPLE.

  JUNE, 1448.

  The summer had arrived in earnest in Anatolia. Murad had never liked it at this time of year. He found the heat stifling in any of his palaces, and it made him edgy and irritable. Often he would move with his court to a more temperate climate. He liked Bulgaria, or the coast of the Black Sea in one of his resorts.

  Hostilities loomed on the horizon in the West once again. To his dismay, that ruled out a trip to Bulgaria. His spies sent word that Hunyadi was on the warpath once more. He was trying to re-build an anti-Ottoman front along the Danube.

  Pope Nicholas V had just given him the title of prince. He also gave to him a golden chain in recognition of his past services. This exalted his status once again. The defeat at Varna had left his reputation in tatters at home. This was the main reason he took such a vicious revenge on Dracul.

  Murad watched the events unfold with great interest. Basarab was busy recruiting a new army. This could only mean they planned to go to war with him again. His concerns were soon realised. With Basarab on the throne, the White Knight had a platform to launch another attack.

  The Turks felt the time right to put their plan into effect and recalled Dracula from service. He had proven his ability to lead an army of the best-trained men. Every report about him from Persia praised his name. And now, in their eyes, he was ready to lead a coup in his home country in the autumn.

  It was to greet his return that Murad remained in Adrianople. He convened a Council of War at the palace in early June with Dracula’s return imminent. The usual players were present with one or two others. The most important of these was Mustafa Hassan. He was the supreme commander of the sultan’s armies along the Danube frontier.

  Murad was keen to hear news on Dracula’s heroics in the field. “Do we have any new reports from our victory at Baghdad?”

  Until today not much had filtered through. Their army had achieved a great victory. That it was against a Kurdish army near Baghdad was all they knew. This cleared the entire north of Persia of hostiles. Hazar spent the whole day mulling over the reports that had just come in.

  “Yes, Sire,” Hazar confirmed. “The reports have arrived. We have cast our eye over them this whole morning.”

  “Good, good,” he said, eager to hear them. “What do they say?”

  “Victory is absolute. Resistance north of Baghdad has been quashed and the revolt put down with extreme prejudice.”

  “That is good,” he said, nodding to show his approval of Hazar’s summation. “What of Dracula? What is the word on him? I do not want him to arrive back without knowing in full his part in the campaign.”

  “The word is good, Sire. He already commands the love of his men.”

  “I find that amazing. For an infidel to obtain such status. I do not recall ever hearing of the like before.”

  “Indeed, Sire. He is a remarkable young man.”

  “Truly an understatement. Are there any specifics in the report?”

  Hazar smiled, a rare thing for him. “The reports say he led from the front.”

  “It does not surprise me. He always had that air about him, even for one so young.”

  “He led the two regiments under his command into battle. His courage was so immense that it spurred his men on to a great victory.”

  Murad smiled in a genuine show of satisfaction.

  His son, Mehmed, lay on a sofa nearby. He did not like the way his father spoke of Dracula. They had never got along and had rarely spoken, but for a few words in passing. This only made him dislike the Wallachian prince even more. Radu lay beside him, feeding him grapes.

  “Such reports are known to be exaggerated,” he remarked.

  The comment angered Murad no end. “Look at you!” he yelled at his son. “You are fat and idle.”

  Mehmed glared at his father.

  “You have no cause to belittle acts of courage on the battlefield. You could not orchestrate a fight with a wet towel. All you are good for is lazing around and fucking young boys. You sicken me.”

  The rebuke incensed Mehmed, especially as it was a public one. He knocked the tray out of Radu’s hands and rose to his feet. His face red with rage, he stepped up to his father. “You shall be gone soon enough. When you are, my accomplishments as the head of this empire shall dwarf yours.”

  Murad faked a yawn to show he already tired of his son’s bravado. “Go away, boy,” he ordered. “Lest I shall have you removed.”

  Mehmed stormed out of the room with Radu in close attendance.

  “Where were we?” Murad asked Hazar.

  “I was about to say our protégé is ready.”

  “Yes, it looks as though he is. I am eager for his return.”

  They all were. Dracula had earned their respect and trust. As one, they revered such achievements in battle. It was what drove them on to excel.

  “He should command our armies north of the Danube,” Murad suggested. He could soon rule in Wallachia and would be a good ally to have.”

  The others in the room agreed. To achieve such status at his age was unheard of. But he had shown he was both deserving and capable of such a role
. A guard then announced he had returned.

  “Show him in!” Murad urged his guards.

  Dracula walked in, to Murad’s delight. “Welcome back, Dracula! We have greatly anticipated your return.”

  “Thank you, Sire,” he said, before bowing.

  Each man in the room beat a fist to his chest when he looked upon them. It was a real show of respect. No spoken word meant as much.

  “We have heard the reports of your exploits in Persia. We are delighted that you have justified our faith in you.”

  Dracula acted as humble as ever. “Your men were a privilege to lead, Sire. Every one of them courageous to a fault.”

  “They were courageous for you,” Murad argued. “A soldier is only as good as the man who leads him.”

  “Let me tell you,” Hazar said. “This room is filled with important men. You are not out of place here.”

  “Indeed,” Murad agreed, flashing a broad smile. “You are not seventeen years of age and yet you have earned the right to be called the equal of those who surround you.”

  Dracula smiled. He enjoyed the adulation, even though he tried to make light of it. “You called me back to Adrianople, Sire?”

  “It was the right time to bring you back,” Murad said, clenching a fist in his excitement. “There have been developments in the West.”

  He raised his eyebrows to show his interest.

  “Hunyadi is preparing for a new war with us. And he has Basarab on his side. This allows you the chance to stake your claim in Wallachia and seize the throne.”

  Dracula turned to Hazar, knowing he would have details of the plans. Hazar introduced him to Hassan. The two men nodded to each other before pressing their right fists to their chests in salute.

  Hazar went on. “Pasha Hassan has seven thousand horsemen that would be at your disposal. It is our plan that you go with him to Giurgiu and launch your campaign from there.”

  “Should we not wait and see what Basarab does first?”

  “Yes,” Hazar agreed. “That is why you shall be in Giurgiu.”

  Hassan cut in. “It allows you to move with ease in whichever direction your campaign takes you. Bucharest is no more than a day’s ride from there.”