The boys squared off once more at their markers. Mircea imposed himself on his brother yet again. He was the much taller and stronger of the two. But this time Vlad did as Rodrigul had said and stepped deftly to the left. He brought his prop down across Mircea’s and blocked the attack. His action showed real grit and, with it, he disarmed the older boy. It did not end there though. He followed it up by striking him across the thigh.
Mircea gritted his teeth in temper and stepped forward to strike Vlad down. The sound of clapping caught his attention from somewhere to the right. It was only then that he stopped. Both he and Rodrigul turned to see his father standing there. They saw a broad grin extend across his face.
“Bravo!” he called out as he walked over. “Bravo, little Vlad!”
He crouched down and tossed the hair of his young son. “That was excellent. I am very proud of you.”
Vlad could not help but smile at his father’s delight with him. Mircea did not share in it. He vowed to get him back later when his father was not about.
“I am going to be the greatest swordsman in all the Romanias,” Vlad told his father with bold determination, his face firm and serious.
Dracul laughed out loud. “I do not doubt it, my little hero. You are shaping up well to be that.”
The boy beamed with pride and could not contain his elation. When Dracul stood up to talk to Rodrigul he danced about the men in a circle.
“How long have you been teaching him this?”
“From the time he could walk, my Lord.”
“So why have I never been made aware of it?”
“It has long been a secret. His mother wanted it that way. She said he should show you his skills on his birthday.”
“That is all of five months away though.”
“Yes indeed. Imagine how good he might be by then.”
“Yes,” Dracul agreed. His smile hinted at his excitement. “He is going to make me a proud father.”
“I would hope he and Mircea are doing that already.”
Dracul realised what he had said. He gave his other son a wink to acknowledge him. “I am proud of them both.”
“Did you want to see me, my Lord?”
“Yes, but it can wait for the now. While I am here I would like to see Vlad on a horse. Please tell me he has not yet ridden.”
“No, my Lord. He has not as yet.”
“Then this day is a good day to begin.”
Rodrigul did not feel Vlad was ready for such a step. “Do you not think he is too young, my Lord? Surely we do not want to risk injury to the boy.”
“I think he should ride. I did so when I was his age. He can begin with a pony if it makes you feel better.”
His friend nodded at the compromise. “As you wish, my Lord.” He ordered one of his men to bring out a horse and a pony from the stables.
When the soldier returned he helped Mircea up onto the back of the horse chosen for him.
Dracul stepped up alongside them and stroked the animal’s neck. He looked up at the boy. “Show me what you can do, my son.”
It delighted Mircea to have a chance to impress his father. He gripped the animal by the mane and rode bareback. His father watched him ride at speed around the courtyard. He had done three circuits when Dracul brought the horse to a halt.
“That was excellent, Mircea,” he said, helping him down. He looked to the younger of the boys. “Vlad, do you think you can do that too?”
Vlad frowned at the prospect of sitting astride the pony. His earlier chirpiness had all but vanished. Rodrigul stooped down to pick him up, but he kicked out and managed to wriggle free.
Mircea used it as an excuse to belittle him. “Vlad has grown some yellow hair,” he sang. “Vlad has grown some yellow hair.”
Vlad took the bait. He jumped on him without fear despite being little more than half his size. Mircea did not expect such a reaction and he fell beneath the angry youth. Vlad climbed onto him and lashed out with both fists. He caught him full in the nose and drew blood.
Mircea managed to wrestle Vlad onto his back. He was about to exact some of the same when his father pulled him off.
He took a firm hold of both boys. “I shall not have any sons of mine behaving in such a manner! You are brothers! You love each other so act like it. Never let me see an occasion of the like again!”
The boys stared at each other. They felt upset at incurring their father’s wrath, but still bore a grudge.
Dracul maintained his grip on their arms. “Listen to me good,” he warned them. “You are my boys and I am equally proud of you. You shall both grow into fine young men. Let this be an end to your quarrel.”
“I am sorry, Papa,” Mircea said.
Vlad continued to glare at him with real fire in his eyes.
“Vlad?” Dracul said to his son, raising his tone again.
“I am sorry, Papa,” he said.
“Embrace as the brothers you are. Vow to me to never fight each other again.”
They did as their father said and that was the end of the matter.
“Are you going to make your father really proud?” Dracul said to Vlad. “When you sit up on that pony and ride it?”
Vlad did not resist the second time Rodrigul tried to lift him on. But when he was in position he sat up rigidly. He did not look at all happy with it.
Maia stepped outside with Radu in her arms. She had observed her husband’s attempts to have her son mounted on the pony.
“Vladislav!” she called out, attracting his attention at once. “Vlad is too little to be riding. Please take him down.”
“Go inside, Maia,” he ordered his wife. “Vlad is going to ride this day. That is the end of it!” He stepped alongside his son. “Come on, my little hero. I shall walk the circuit with you.”
HUNGARY. THE SHORELINE OF LAKE BALATON.
EARLY JULY, 1436.
THE gypsies settled for a time in the west of Hungary. There they found a spot on the coast of Lake Balaton. The men in the tribe worked on the farms of the noble family who owned the land on which they settled. It was a good arrangement for both parties. The boyar enjoyed the free labour while the gypsies could stay on his land without the payment of rent. It meant they would have the peace they craved. For years they had suffered from every kind of prejudice and Constantin felt it would be good for the children to escape all that for a time.
From the night of his birth Andrei had thrived within the group. Constantin raised him and his siblings as though they were his own. Even at the age of four Andrei was well beyond his years. His adopted father loved him as much as a father could love a child. The boy he saw growing sometimes left him in awe.
The elder sat under the shade of a small grove of trees. He liked to watch the children playing at the lake’s edge. Andrei stood knee deep in the water with the others close by. He and the other children had enjoyed a whole hour of frolicking and splashing about. Suddenly he seemed anxious and, out of character for him, he shouted at them. It concerned the old man so much that he left the trees to walk towards the lake.
“Come!” Andrei shouted. “We must go! We must go!”
The children looked at him with equal confusion. Normally a quiet and happy child, they had never seen him so excited before.
Andrei ran out of the water. He turned to face his companions, the urgency still in his voice. “Come at once! We must go and hide!”
Many of the women heard the commotion too. They left their tents to see what was wrong.
“Is that Andrei?” Helga asked. “What is it that is ailing him?”
“I do not know,” another of them replied. “It is not his way to behave like this.”
She shouted to her husband. “Constantin! Go and see what is ailing Andrei!”
The elder turned to his wife’s call. He waved to let her know he had heard her and continued on. “What is wrong, Andrei?” he asked the boy when he drew close.
“Tell them, Papa!” he cried out to the elder.
“Tell them what?”
“They must get out of the lake! We have to go and hide!”
He knelt down and put his arms around the boy. “Calm down, little one. Why must they go and hide? Is there something in the water?”
“No, Papa,” he said, calming a little. “It is up there.”
He followed Andrei’s finger when the boy pointed to the sky. “What is it?”
“The stones, Papa! We must hide before the stones fall from the sky.”
“But the sky is clear and blue,” he reasoned. “It is a lovely day.”
Andrei grew even more agitated. “No, Papa! No! We must go and hide!”
“Very well,” he sighed, humouring the boy in the hope it might calm him down. He released his grip on him and watched him run off towards a cluster of oaks. After a moment he turned to the other children. “Come then. We have to go and hide.”
Andrei had stopped by now and waited anxiously in the trees. He gasped for breath while alternating glances between his father and the clear blue skies.
Constantin turned and began to jog slowly for the trees. Without looking around he waved his arm to the children to follow suit, not caring for their moans of dismay. Long past his sixtieth birthday, such an exertion was hard for him.
His wife laughed when she saw him, as did the other women with her. “Look at him. He is a bigger child than any of them.”
The children passed him with ease and ran for the trees. He stopped when he heard the youngest of them crying behind him. “Come, little one,” he said to the girl, holding open his arms for her.
“Hurry, Papa!” Andrei cried out. “You must hurry!”
He whisked the small girl up into his arms. In that very moment a chunk of ice the size of his fist hit the ground only inches away. He clutched the child hard in his arms and looked up.
A dozen more lumps of ice hit the ground hard all around him. His heart pounded in his chest as he summoned the strength to run for cover.
He attempted to turn to warn the women, but tripped and dropped the child. “Run!” he shouted at them. “Get out of the open!”
The women lingered for a moment. A chunk of ice the size of a human head smashed into one of the tents nearby and brought it crashing down in a heap.
Helga grabbed the hand of the woman nearest to her and ran towards her husband. “Quick!” she urged. “We must get to the trees!”
The other women stopped what they were doing and ran for cover. Constantin picked the child up from the ground and told her to run after the others. He scrambled to his knees, but cried out when one of the falling chunks of ice crashed down on his leg.
His wife screamed in horror when she saw him collapse. The women grabbed him and helped him out of harm’s way. He groaned when they laid him down.
“Oh, dear God,” his wife gasped. “The leg is broken.”
One of the women ripped the cloth away to reveal a smashed tibia. “What on earth shall we do?”
“Stand back, Mama,” Andrei said. “I can help Papa.”
“Be a good boy, Andrei. Stand over there with the other children.”
“Let him through,” the elder gasped.
Andrei made his way through the crowd of women and hugged the old man. “I shall make it better, Papa.”
“Seeing you makes me feel better, my son.”
He eased back and cradled Andrei the same way he had the night he was born. The others stood there in silence. They watched the shower of ice destroy all that they owned. The teams of horses struggled to break free of their restraints. Most of them succeeded and bolted off.
Constantin’s cherished old mare remained tied in the corral where the ice pounded her worn body. She cried out in agony as the missiles smashed against her flesh and bone. After a short time she could stand it no more and dropped down to the ground. One last chunk crashed against the side of her head and put her out of her misery.
The old gypsy fought back the tears. For twenty years she had served him; from the time he had watched her mother give birth to her. She should have died in her sleep, not like this. Seeing her demise temporarily put his own pain to the back of his mind. And then, as suddenly as it had started, the ice storm ceased.
He groaned in pain as he shifted slightly to look at his wife. “Andrei saw it coming.”
“What? The ice storm?”
“Yes,” he said, turning to the boy. “He tried to warn us.”
Andrei crawled along the ground and stopped by his leg. He clutched the broken limb in both hands, his action causing the old man to cry out.
Helga motioned to scold him until she saw his hands. The image before her eyes stunned her into silence.
The others crowded around. As one they gasped at what they saw.
DRACUL gripped the halter and walked the pony around the first circuit. His son shook with nerves the whole time, afraid he would fall. When the pony came to a stop he showed the boy how to hold the reins the right way.
Vlad fought to overcome his fears. He had always possessed a strong determination to succeed, even at his tender age, and soon took to riding with real enthusiasm. No one who saw him was surprised. He tried to copy his brother and dug his small heels into the pony’s ribs to make it go faster.
Dracul laughed and applauded his son a second time. He knew there and then his boy was going to be something special.
By the time Rodrigul ran to intercept the pony and slow it down it was in full gallop. It annoyed Vlad to have to climb down.
“You can ride it again soon,” his father promised him.
Rodrigul dismissed the boys for the rest of the day. “Go and have some fun,” he urged them. “Training is over ‘til the morrow.” He smiled as the boys ran off.
Dracul gave the order to take the horses away. He knew his friend was keen to know what had brought him there in the first place.
“So what did you want with me, my Lord?” he asked once the men were alone.
Dracul smiled at the question. “Come with me. I have something to show you.”
A dazzling blue light glowed from Andrei’s hands. It was the same as the glow that had surrounded him the night of his birth.
The elder leaned his head back against the ground and felt a strong burning sensation in his broken leg. It was worse than any physical pain he had ever known.
Andrei allowed the light to pass from his hands into the open wound. The boy then raised them up until they were six inches above the limb.
The women watched his whole body tense. He remained still and with his eyes closed. His fingers arched until a ray of light shot from each digit into the wound.
Constantin clutched at his leg and cried out. Andrei’s body went limp and he flopped down on the ground. Some of the women ran to his side though Helga was still in shock and unable to react.
The elder sat up and moved his hands away from his leg.
“Oh, my God,” his wife gasped. “It is healed.”
The old man looked down to see that she was right. There was hardly a blemish on his skin. It was only a moment ago that the bone had protruded through it. He scrambled to his feet and jumped up and down. When he realised his leg had really healed he laughed and danced with joy.
His delight came to an abrupt end when his wife yelled his name. He looked to see her knelt by Andrei. “What is wrong with him?” he asked, dropping to her side.
“Andrei!” she cried out, shaking the boy. “Wake up!”
He took Andrei from her. When he felt how limp the boy was in his arms he feared the worst. She put a hand to her mouth fearing the same. They both adored him.
The elder cupped Andrei’s face in his hands. “Please, God. Let him wake up.”
Andrei opened his eyes and gasped for air. Constantin choked back the tears and held him close to his chest.
“Are you angry with me, Papa?”
“Oh no, my little one,” he blubbered. “Papa loves you so much.”
His wife knelt down bes
ide them. She tenderly stroked Andrei’s face. “You are such a good boy,” she said, smiling and with welled eyes. “You are our special one.”
RODRIGUL walked with Dracul through the streets. He was eager to know what was behind all this. His lord looked excited, and that was a rare thing. A small group of children danced in and out of them as they strolled.
Steam emanated from the door of the blacksmith’s. He glanced across to see the owner bring down the hammer on a molten rod. Two old women walked towards them. They stopped and bowed when they saw Dracul. The men eyed the baskets they set down on the ground. When they did, the children ran off to play elsewhere.
Dracul glanced down to view the scant contents in each. In one he saw a loaf of fresh bread and some fruit. The other had nothing in it, but an apple and a pear that did not look so fresh.
He reached into a pocket and pulled out a pouch. From it he took two gold coins and threw one into each basket. The gesture brought tears to the eyes of the women.
“God bless you, my Lord,” one of them said.
He smiled at them both. “You do not have to thank me. No one should be hungry in my city. Go and buy some real food for your evening meal.”
The two men walked as far as the armoury. It stood on the other side of the livery stables. More than a dozen guards kept watch there and when they approached one of them admitted the two men inside.
“We had a delivery come in earlier this day,” Dracul told him, the smile on his face growing ever broader.
Rodrigul saw at least a half a dozen unassembled cannon on the ground. He felt a rush of excitement. None of it had been there on his last visit. “The cannon have arrived?”
“Yes,” Dracul affirmed, his eyes fixed firmly on those of his friend. “But wait. There is more.”
He pulled away a large cover to reveal his pride and joy. Rodrigul’s eyes opened wide when he saw it. He stepped up closer and pressed both his hands down against the cannon and whistled.
The Dracula Chronicles: For Whom The Bell Tolls Page 5
