The Dracula Chronicles: The Lamb Of God

by Shane KP O'Neill

  Dancu ran to the aid of Dracul. His lord and commander had hit the ground hard, but remained conscious. “Are you hurt, my Lord?” he asked, with real concern.

  “My leg,” he gasped. “It is trapped.”

  Dancu called to two of the others to help. They lifted the dead horse just enough to pry his leg free. He cried out when they moved him, but at last he was clear.

  His friend examined the injured the leg. “How does it feel?”

  “It is only bruised, I think,” Dracul said, wincing at the pain. He rubbed his shin and ankle. “I shall be fine. What happened?”

  “An ambush was awaiting us in the trees, my Lord. It looks as though they wanted to kill you. It is clear they knew you were coming.”

  Dracul looked up at him. “It is not my day to die.”

  “You!” the mother of the dead child screamed. “This is your doing!”

  The two men turned to see the woman clutching her child to her breast. The arms of the little girl hung limp at her sides.

  Dancu looked at the woman’s husband and watched as he stood over his wife and child, a hand to his face to try and shield his grief. “Take her inside. It is not safe out here.”

  When the man did not respond Dancu turned to two of his men close by. “Take them inside.”

  “Do not touch her!” the woman screamed at them. She held up a trembling hand to admonish them.

  They ignored her grief-stricken cries and dragged her back to her home. She screamed abuse at the men and cursed Dracul all the way. The child fell from her arms and they left her on her back against the cold stone of the village square.

  “This is not good,” Dancu said.

  Dracul could not take his eyes away from the little girl. “I know.”

  “I do not want to appear alarmist, my Lord. But this reeks of a plot to launch an attack against us.”

  “I know,” he whispered again.

  “What should we do?”

  “I shall think on it.”

  “Perhaps we should send word to Hunyadi?”

  Dracul took his eyes from the dead child. “I want to leave him out of this.”

  “He is right, my Lord,” Dobrul said. “Hunyadi is the power in this country. He is much better equipped to deal with this threat.”

  “I do not want to involve him. This border is my domain.”

  “This is no time to be proud, my Lord. This is a serious matter.”

  Dracul glared at Dobrul. “Do you think I do not know that?”

  Dobrul shrugged. He could tell Dracul had ideas of his own.

  “It is I that shall deal with this,” Dracul said. He mounted a horse belonging to one of the dead men. “Let us return home. We have done enough harm here.”

  IN NURNBERG HE HAD RECEIVED the distinguished honour of Societas Draconis. This was the Order of the Dragon. Founded by Sigismund, it was a prestigious fraternity of knights. Their membership and honour bound them to protect the Catholic faith. They had to halt Turkish expansion into Europe and the spread of Islam.

  The ceremony, witnessed by many, took place on February 8th. Dracul swore an oath to defend the Cross and the faith. He also promised to wear the dark costume of the Order as a sign of penance. Upon this the insignia of the Dragon was emblazoned.

  Sigismund gave him a necklace made of two chains and a medallion. It bore the inscription “O quam is misericors est Deus...Pius et justus”—“Oh how merciful God is...pious and just.” He also made a gift of an awesome Toledo sword, a blade so fine that it made Dracul the envy of all who saw it.

  The Order also charged Dracul with the protection of Transylvania. Only Wallachia to the south separated it from Turkish-controlled Bulgaria. The primary concern was this border between the two states. The Order required someone strong and reliable to marshal that area.

  It identified the Ottoman threat here. They worried about the growing ambitions of Murad II. Sigismund and Hunyadi both knew of Dracul’s designs on the Wallachian throne. They promised this position would be the first step to realising his dream.

  Dracul’s father, Mircea, fought the Turks hard during his reign. He managed two famous victories over Sultan Bayazid I. In time Bayazid’s son and successor, Mehmed I, defeated him. This resulted in him having to pay large tributes. One of the conditions imposed forced him to give Wallachian boys to serve as janissaries in the Turkish armies. Both measures had been necessary to keep his throne.

  HE APPROACHED THE GATES OF his stronghold. For now he tried to put the events of the previous night out of his mind. It was an exciting time for him as his wife was heavy with child. He only hoped he had not missed the birth of this their second.

  An old woman stepped from the shadows and walked out in front of the horsemen. It forced Dracul to pull hard on the reins to avoid running her down.

  “Step out of the way!” Rodrigul shouted.

  She was not too imposing a figure, but stood firm. Hunched over she leant against a stick for support. She slowly pulled back her shawl to reveal her face.

  Dancu stifled a laugh. “It is Valeria the Gypsy.”

  “I wonder what the old hag wants,” murmured one of the men.

  “Move aside,” Dracul ordered.

  She pointed a twisted finger at him. “I have words to tell you, Dracul.”

  “Lord Dracul has no time for this,” Dancu spat. “Move on.”

  “Wait,” he said, holding up a hand. “Let her speak.” He turned back to the old gypsy woman. “Say what you have to say.”

  “Your sins shall live beyond you,” she warned, still pointing at him.

  “What is she speaking of?”

  “She is mad,” Dancu said. “Everyone knows that.”

  They spoke in whispers, but she heard them clearly. It did not deter her from the message she wanted to deliver. “You may not pay for the wrong you have done,” she continued. “But your son shall.”

  “We have heard enough!” Rodrigul shouted, deliberately cutting her off. “Be on your way before I have you thrown in the stocks.”

  “You should not be so unkind,” she said to him. “The fate that awaits you is not a good one.”

  Her words had the desired effect. He eased back in the saddle and went quiet.

  Valeria stepped closer to him. “Dracul!” she said, raising her tone. “Two sons you shall sire this night. One is an angel, but the other a devil!”

  He did not take his eyes from hers. In that moment he wanted to run her down.

  “Are we too late?” Dancu wondered. “Has Lady Dracul had twins?”

  “You have had your say,” Dracul hissed. “I shall hear no more.”

  “Open the gates!” Dancu shouted to the guards at the garrison.

  Dracul steered his mount to the left to ride around her. Valeria moved to her right to block his way. “Dark days lay ahead, Dracul,” she warned. “Dark days for the family whose crest you bear! Dark days for all mankind!”

  The gates opened before him. It allowed him to gallop into the courtyard where he quickly dismounted. He felt a cold sweat on his brow. The words of the old gypsy woman had struck a nerve with him.

  Rodrigul stopped to speak to her. “If I see you in this place again I shall have you burned for the witch you are!”

  Ionel Lutu ran from his post to meet Dracul. He was the officer in charge at the garrison. “My Lord,” he said, a hint of urgency in his voice. “You must make haste!”

  The tone in his voice concerned Dracul. “What is it?” he asked.

  “It is Lady Dracul.”

  On hearing his wife’s name he feared the worst. Driven by that same fear he grabbed the officer by the collar and pulled him close. “What of her?”

  Lutu felt a little afraid at his glare. “Lady Dracul is in labour, my Lord,” he said. “She is about to give birth.”

  The words took a moment to sink in. When he realised his wife was well he released his grip on the man. He took a deep breath and smiled. Lutu smiled too, relieved at the change in his
master’s mood. Dracul turned and entered his home through a side entrance. It was the one used by the servants, but the nearest to hand.

  He limped all the way through the house to his wife’s bedchamber. His leg still pained him from the night before. There his wife, Maia, lay screaming on the bed. He burst in to see two midwives and several other female servants attending to her.

  “Push, my Lady,” one of the midwives urged her.

  Maia screamed again and pushed with all her strength. The second midwife left her side to confront him. He saw at once her annoyance at his intrusion. She forgot her station and pushed against his chest with both hands.

  “My Lord!” she beamed. “Out at once! This is no place for you. Go!”

  Despite his great excitement he did as she asked and stepped back into the hall. The image of the pain etched across his wife’s face touched him deep inside. A moment later the midwife slammed the door shut in his.

  He waited in the corridor, his nerves a little frayed. Very soon a nanny appeared with Mircea; his only child. He was three years of age now and his father’s pride and joy. Seeing his little one helped put everything else to the back of his mind. Dracul dropped to one knee and smiled, reaching out to his son. “Mircea!” he called, excited to see his boy.

  The infant smiled too and ran into his arms. “Papa!” he cried, kissing his cheek.

  Dracul lifted him up in his arms. He swirled him around in the air a few times. It was something that always made Mircea laugh. “How is Papa’s sweet little man?” he asked, caressing his son’s cheek.

  “I missed you, Papa,” Mircea said, in his timid little voice.

  He closed his eyes and held his son close. “I have missed you too, my little one.”

  Alin Rodrigul joined him there. As his most trusted captain he was never far away. He still had a bad taste in his mouth from the old gypsy woman. They had always dismissed her as mad, yet he knew people often listened to the things she had to say. That was because many believed she could see into the future. What she said about his still unsettled him.

  Dracul passed his son to the nanny. “Give Papa a kiss,” he smiled.

  He gave his father a kiss before she whisked him away.

  The two men locked arms in friendship. They then stood alongside each other with arms folded, as men do.

  “I am glad that you are here,” Dracul said.

  “Shall Lady Dracul bear you another son, do you think?”

  “She may bear me two if that old hag is to be believed.”

  “I would not pay her too much heed. She is mad. Everyone knows it.”

  “It is what we are hoping for at least. A son.”

  “Still, a daughter would be a fine thing too.”

  “Yes indeed. I care only that mother and child are safe and well.”

  “Yes, you have an heir. Any son born to you shall be but a bonus.”

  “It is always good to have more than one son.”

  “That would depend,” his friend cautioned. “It can lead to rivalry and the spilling of each other’s blood to win a birthright.”

  “No sons of mine shall ever war against each other,” Dracul said with a firm voice. “The love of their parents shall teach them unity and kinship.”

  “I wish you many sons then, my Lord.”

  “I thank you, Alin,” he said, a half a smile breaking the serious look on his face. “If God wishes it, so shall it be.”

  He fell silent when his wife screamed yet again. The memory of her labour with Mircea had stayed with him.

  “Relax, Vladislav,” Rodrigul said, trying to ease his friend. “Maia shall be fine. I promise you.” He put a hand on his shoulder. It was rare for him to address Dracul by his first name, but the situation warranted it.

  Dracul moved away from his friend and paced up and down. They did not speak for a time. He only stopped pacing when he heard more evidence of his wife’s pain.

  Rodrigul resumed the conversation. “While we are alone…” he paused to take in a breath. “There are matters we need to discuss.”

  Dracul looked at his friend. “What is on your mind, Alin?”

  “There is much for us both to think on. That said, my thoughts in this time are of the Wallachian throne.”

  “That is hardly a discussion to have at this time.”

  “I do not understand how you were passed over. It vexes me still.”

  “Well,” Dracul said with a sigh. He took a moment to choose the right words. “John Hunyadi supports the cause of the Danesti line. For that reason he favours Alexandru.”

  “You know well how quickly things can change.”

  “Rarely where Hunyadi is concerned.” Dracul almost hissed the name.

  John Hunyadi was the Protector of Hungary. Despite starting life as a lowly peasant he was, in reality, the true authority in that country. Even though he had good cause to reward Dracul he had neglected to do so.

  Rodrigul believed the snub was due to his father and the treaty he agreed with the Turks late in his reign. “You should petition your case to him.”

  “Why would I do that?” Dracul asked. “He cares little for me.”

  “You are a stronger man than Alexandru.”

  “What does that matter in the here and now?”

  “Because of your father it is certain more of the boyars would be loyal to you.”

  “You forget one thing. My father was his father too.”

  “It is no secret that Hunyadi is eyeing this country for himself one day. He loves Transylvania. It borders Hungary and more than that, it is where he is from.”

  “His ambitions do not hold a place for me.”

  “Wait. His only fear is of the Turks pushing through Wallachia to get to here.”

  “Perhaps he does not fear them as much as you think.”

  “Forgive me, my Lord, but I must disagree. If he heard the rumours of your brother talking with the Turks he is sure to act.”

  “You can be certain if we heard of it, then so has he.”

  “The Emperor promised you the throne upon your oath to defend the faith.”

  “Well that promise has been broken.” Dracul paused to clench his fist. “It is proof that Hunyadi is the real authority there.”

  “But you have taken to the field for Hungary. He has not forgotten that.”

  “Well it is not at the forefront of his mind at this time. He has made his decision and shall no doubt stand by it. He favours my half-brother.”

  “It is all wrong.”

  “When it suits him to give me my opportunity he shall do so.”

  “Let us hope your wait is not as long as I fear it might be.”

  Dracul went to answer, but stopped when he heard Maia scream again. He thought of the words of Valeria. She talked of the wrong he had done. What did she mean? She also said his son would pay the price for it. It made him wonder if his son might not be born healthy. He tried to think back through his past. The face of another woman drifted back from memory. Perhaps that is it?

  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 falli
ng 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.”