by Dan Davis
“How can we hope to defeat so many?” I asked. “We five against five hundred.”
“There is always a way to achieve a goal,” Eva said. “Now, sleep. Have patience. Trust that we will yet cut off his head and burn his foul body into ashes. Dream well.”
Disaster followed disaster, however, and when we reached Hungary, we discovered that Hunyadi had once again been caught in his defeat by an enemy. George Branković, the ruler of Serbia, had chased down and captured Hunyadi as he and his men cut across his territory, threatening to hand him over to his Turkish masters.
Hunyadi immediately promised a vast ransom if he could be released, to which Branković agreed. The Serbian despot was like a whipped Turkish dog but he saw gold showering down from a desperate Hungary and so he let Hunyadi go. Still, the delay in returning, and doing so in such an ignominious fashion, took more of Hunyadi’s remaining lustre and Christians began to wonder if the great Janos Hunyadi could be so great after all, if he only ever lost the battles that truly mattered.
In his defence, it was undeniable that on the field he had done everything correctly, even brilliantly, and yet still he had lost. It was not his fault that he faced an immortal regiment of Janissaries. Even then, he might have saved his army if not for the betrayal of the perfidious Wallachians.
The Turks were on the rise again and Hunyadi had been brought low in the minds of many. The Turks focused now on taking Albania and they invaded in 1449, and in 1450. Each time, the brilliant Skanderbeg threw them back. It seemed for a time that he might truly be the brilliant leader who could unite eastern Christendom, but then he promised peace and entered into negotiations, promising to pay six thousand ducats and swore he would accept Turkish suzerainty. I was saddened by the news but it was all just another clever ploy on his part as he never paid the promised sum and then renounced his subjugation when it came time to pay. Immediately, he began raiding Turkish forts and the invading army, he attacked supply caravans and carried off enormous quantities of booty, eventually forcing the Turks from the field without ever fighting a grand battle.
“Perhaps that is the way to do it,” I said, on reading the reports and after listening to men who had been there or claimed to have been. “Force them to withdraw.”
“That’ll work for mountain lands,” Walt pointed out. “What you going to do on the plains, when they can see you coming and chase you down when you flee?”
We were comfortable once more in our house in the city of Buda but it seemed so far from the action.
“Is it time to travel to Albania?” I asked Eva and Stephen, seeking their advice.
“How many men can they put in the field?” Eva asked. “Ten thousand? Lightly armed, at that. Enough to protect their hills and valleys but would Hungarians follow an Albanian, no matter how successful he is in raids and small battles?”
“Damn these people, all of them. The Wallachians most of all.”
“Patience, Richard. We have time. Years, decades. We know where William is, now. He has shown inhuman patience and so must we.”
“You need not repeat yourself,” I said.
“I think I do. You wish to fight. Always. I know. But to defeat William you must first defeat that need to always fight and kill.”
“I know, I say. I know, woman, now leave me in peace.”
The Turks assaulted the city of Kruje, led in person by the Sultan, but the garrison defeated every attack. The Turks attempted to cut the water supply, and undermine the walls, and they offered vast bribes, literal fortunes to any man who would open the gates. Every attempt failed and Skanderbeg’s brave Albanians resisted. The Turkish siege was struck by camp sickness and eventually the Turks, clutching their painful, watery bellies, limped back to Edirne in defeat.
And there, in early 1451, Sultan Murad II died.
He had ruled the Turks for thirty years and had been fighting and winning for most of that time. Christendom rejoiced at his passing and there was a sense that things may just improve, now. The Sultan’s son came to the throne as Sultan Mehmed II. He was very young and already in his life he had been the Sultan, when Murad had attempted to retire in his old age and hand the reins of power to his very young son. But the boy Mehmed was not capable of ruling a vast empire, nor could he lead vast armies. Indeed, the young Mehmed had supposedly been Sultan when the crusade of Varna had been launched.
We had heard that young Mehmed II asked his father to reclaim the throne but Murad II refused. Our agents had reported that Mehmed wrote to his father thusly. “If you are the Sultan, come and lead your armies. If I am the Sultan I hereby order you to come and lead my armies.”
It sounded to me like the sort of thing William would say but whatever the cause of it, Murad had returned for Varna and for every battle since.
“We shall pray that the boy Sultan remains incompetent,” Stephen said.
“Was it incompetent to command his father to return?” Eva said. “Or was it in fact the only thing that saved their damned empire from destruction?”
“It was William,” I said, “Whispering in the boy’s ear. I have no doubts. But the old man is dead and now we have this young fellow. What is he now, nineteen years old? In command of a vast empire. No, William will have this lad wrapped around his finger, mark my words. We may wish for incompetence but we must plan for further conquest.”
“Have you thought any more about making us our own immortal army, Richard?” Rob asked. “To counter the Janissaries in red?”
“I think of little else,” I said. “But the questions remain, Rob. Who can we trust enough? Can I make a hundred Hungarian immortals and trust them to keep the secret? If I make a hundred, let alone five hundred, how will we find blood enough for them? Already, there are endless rumours about us here and the drinking of blood. William had Murad to shelter him and now he has Mehmed. Who do we have? You think Hunyadi would comprehend it? He is already walking a knife edge and if we brought him into it, his lords would overthrow him and then we would have chaos. And if there is chaos, William will walk right up to the gates of Buda.”
A knock at our door proved to be one of Hunyadi’s messengers. “My lord wishes to speak with you, sir. At your earliest convenience.”
That meant immediately. My servants prepared my finest clothes and I made my way through the city to the royal palace, whereupon I was brought at once into Hunyadi’s private audience chamber.
“Vladislaus II has not proved himself to be the ruler that I hoped he would be,” Hunyadi said, inviting me to sit with him by a window overlooking the Danube below.
“You mean he is not obeying your commands,” I said. “And you were the one who placed him on the throne of Wallachia.”
“I do not issue him commands,” he snapped. “But I have just had word that Vladislaus has sent a delegation of boyars to congratulate the new Sultan.”
I shrugged. “Wallachians are duplicitous. None can be trusted.”
Hunyadi eyed me, weighing up his next words. “And yet some can be trusted more than others. And it seems that Vladislaus can be trusted to throw in with the Turks, just as Vlad Dracul had done. We need a loyal man on the throne, or at least one who hates the Turks more than he fears them.”
“You need a man who hates the Turks more than he does Hungary,” I said, which did not please the Regent. “Are there any such men in Wallachia?”
“Perhaps there are not,” he admitted. “Not amongst the boyars in Wallachia at this moment. But perhaps there is one who feels this way who is not in Wallachia?”
“Very well,” I said. “Who is this man?”
Hunyadi looked out of the window before speaking. “We have had word that the Turks recently released a Wallachian who was their hostage for many years. He is the eldest of the two surviving sons of the former voivode, Vlad Dracul. The son’s name is also Vlad. He is coming here.”
I nodded. “The son of the man I killed is coming to Buda?” As I spoke, Hunyadi smiled. “And you wish me gone before he comes
, is that it?”
“It would not be for long. You see, I have a task for you. We must begin to move against Vladislaus by taking at least two of the fortresses on the border of Transylvania and Wallachia so that we control the passes and not him. And while you are away, taking possession of these places for Hungary, I will speak to this young Vlad and I will see how he feels about things. And, yes, it might be best if the man who cut off his father’s head was not present when he arrives. It may have an undesired effect on the young fellow.”
“I am pleased to hear that he is coming,” I said. “When I do meet him, I will be able to fulfil a duty that I swore to uphold.”
“A duty? Swore to whom?”
“Before he died, Vlad Dracul asked that I look after his sons. He gave his sword, and a dragon amulet, into my care, and requested that I pass them to his eldest, this Vlad. I wondered if I would ever get the opportunity.”
“Truly? Well, that is well. Perhaps the bridges can be mended, in time. Nevertheless, the Transylvanian fortresses must still be taken. There will be no fighting, but the garrisons must be replaced, you see.”
***
The fortresses in the duchies of Fogaras and Amlas were willing to give up without a fight but honour demanded they go through the motions of demanding the legal proofs and the commanders stated they had to receive confirmation from the lords before vacating the defences.
Although I took my company and four hundred other mercenaries in Hunyadi’s pay and Hungarian soldiers, there was a lot of talking and even more waiting. I did my best to be courteous to all and remembered that it was supposed to take a long time. I was supposed to be keeping out of the way while Vlad, son of Vlad, made himself at home in Buda.
“Perhaps we can raid into Wallachia a little,” I suggested to Eva. “Keep the men busy.”
“Because you are bored,” she replied.
“It would make Vladislaus look weak,” I said. “And his people would demand his removal. Which is what Hunyadi wants.”
“He does not want lawlessness on his borders, and he does not want the Wallachians subject to raids by Hungarian soldiers. Or soldiers loyal to Hungary.”
“We would disguise ourselves,” I said, warming to the idea. “Perhaps we could find some Turkish armour?”
“You should train against Walt and Rob. Take out some of your excessive vigour.”
I scoffed. “They are no challenge. They have only three hands between them.”
“We will not raid Wallachia, Richard. You would not be so rash. Once, perhaps, but not now.”
“Have I changed so much?”
She smiled. “There will be war enough even for you, soon. Have patience.”
After a few weeks on the Transylvania-Wallachia border, my business was concluded. The towns and fortresses had written letters to the voivode, begging for forgiveness for accepting the protection of the Hungarian crown. My Hungarian soldiers and most of the mercenaries I left as garrisons in the towns. They would not be enough to resist the Wallachians should the voivode decide to take them back by force and instead the garrison soldiers were there to keep an eye on the towns. And no one believed Voivode Vladislaus would go so far as taking the towns back by force.
When I returned to Buda, the young Vlad had been welcomed into Hunyadi’s service and had sworn allegiance to Ladislaus V, the King of Hungary. Even so, I felt it best to keep my distance, literally. Until I was once again summoned by Hunyadi to the palace.
I knew what to expect. At least, I thought I did.
The summons was to his private quarters and I expected that the conversation would again be a quiet one with just him and his chamberlain and other servants.
Instead, when I was escorted in, there were dozens of men and lords present, surrounding Hunyadi. He was somewhat hidden behind those lords, engaged in serious conversation while wine was served and men drank in small groups, and I waited until his business was completed.
Some men nodded in greeting but I was not well liked by most lords, great and small, and most ignored me. I was an outsider and also I made no effort to play the game of politics by building friendships and alliances, which was unusual and so made the men who would be my peers mistrust me even more. Some looked down on me as a mere mercenary knight and others wondered if I had some secret motivation to have remained at the Hungarian court for so long.
Of course, they were right to be suspicious. I was indeed there for secret, ulterior motives, and I did not care what they thought of me. I was not a part of their society, or any society, existing outside of it. And Eva said I had a stillness that disturbed people, and I moved with a fluidity reminiscent of a wolf. Some lords were so powerful that no lesser man, even an unnatural one, was a threat to their position and so I was welcomed by kings and princes.
It was fine by me. Their opinions on warfare were idiotic, and I often listened to impassioned arguments for one tactic over another where both men were woefully wrong. Even those infuriating discussions were preferable to the fools discussing the minutiae of this piece of armour over that, or a new weapon they had obtained. Worse still was the ravings over items of clothing that they were having made, or even the absurd shoes they were wearing. Other than that, it was complaints about their sons, fathers, wives, daughters, their servants, or their vassals. It was incredibly tiresome.
“Who is that man there?” an outraged voice cried out in Hungarian.
The room fell silent and I looked up. Across the chamber, Hunyadi was on his feet and beside him a short, young lord stood glaring at me with his hand outstretched and his finger pointing at me.
Nobles on either side of me cleared their throats and stepped backwards, creating a space around me.
Hunyadi looked anxious but restrained, watching me carefully.
The top of the young man’s head came up to Hunyadi’s nose but he was otherwise powerfully built and had a strong face, with a long, sharp nose and the beginnings of a fine moustache beneath it. His clothes were of rich cloth, in red, with sable edges.
“I am the mercenary captain known as Richard of England,” I said and bowed. “And who are you, my lord?”
I knew who he was.
“I am Vlad Dracula, son of Vlad Dracul, the former Voivode of Wallachia.” He stalked forward, approaching slowly with a face fixed in an unreadable expression. “I have heard of you,” he said, his voice deep and steady. “You are the man who did slay my father in the marshes.”
Lords and knights shuffled further away from me.
“I am,” I said, looking him in the eye. “And I did.”
He stopped just an arm’s span from me, looking up through heavily lidded eyes and thick black eyebrows. “In that case,” he said, speaking slowly. “I must thank you, sir. My beloved father was for too long a friend to the Turk. And so it is right and proper that he was removed from power and a loyal Christian put in his place.”
Around me, I heard many a breath being released.
Still, it seemed rather convenient to be swiftly and publicly forgiven.
I bowed my head a little. “I am glad you feel that way, my lord.”
“However, Sir Richard the mercenary captain, we do have a problem, do we not?”
“We do, my lord?”
“Why yes. Certainly, we do. For there is now one on the throne of Wallachia who has also forgotten his duty to God. He also must be replaced by a man who knows where his true loyalties lie.”
I glanced at Hunyadi, who stood motionless across the room. He met my eye but I could not read his expression. “I hope that such a replacement of the Voivode of Wallachia can be swiftly brought about, my lord.”
“Will you help me?” Vlad asked, suddenly. He cleared his throat and spoke more slowly. “That is, if you would agree, I would much value your assistance in claiming the throne that is mine by right.”
Over his shoulder, Hunyadi made the smallest nod of his head. “My only desire is to kill Turks,” I said, watching closely for his reaction. “M
y only goal is to drive them from Europe, once and for all.”
“Your only desire?” Vlad raised his eyebrows and smirked. “Truly?”
In fact, my only desire is to kill William and the Turks are in my way, I thought.
“Yes, my lord,” I said.
He smiled beneath his moustache. “I am pleased to hear it. And since that is my only desire, also, then you should help me.”
“I should?” I said.
The young Vlad frowned, his eyebrows lancing down over his dark eyes. “You would be paid, of course. You and your men. You are a mercenary company after all, are you not? And you are currently unemployed.”
“It seems to me, my lord, that you have much work to do before you begin slaughtering Turks. Not least of which is taking the throne that you say is yours by right. When you have armies to throw against our enemies, I will gladly fight beside you. Assuming, of course, that my lord Janos Hunyadi, who currently pays to retain my company for his service, grants us leave to take up employment by the new voivode.”
Vlad scowled and turned to look at Hunyadi, who appeared annoyed.
“The Turks have a new Sultan, Richard,” Hunyadi snapped. “And they will be on the march once more. Our new ally, Vlad Dracula, has accepted responsibility for guarding the Transylvanian border against Turkish incursion. If Vladislaus has indeed thrown his lot in with the Turks, they will march straight through the Wallachian plains and seek to cross the passes. Vlad Dracula, therefore, shall indeed soon be engaged in your favourite pastime. And because, as you say, I pay you well in order to retain your service, I will ask that you join him in his new responsibility.”
Vlad Dracula turned back to me, his dark eyes full of expectation.
It seemed quite possible that he intended to get me alone, away from the court, and out in the wilds so that he could take revenge for his father’s murder. There was no chance at all that he meant what he said about being glad I had killed the older Vlad. No matter how one feels about one’s father, no man alive could break bread with his killer, much less serve beside him in battle.
