The Dracula Chronicles: For Whom The Bell Tolls

by Shane KP O'Neill

  “Be at ease,” Murad said, smiling at the four before pointing to a sofa nearby. “And be seated.”

  Dracul nodded to Rodrigul to do so and sat down on the sofa as instructed.

  “Why not send the boys to play? I know my son, Mehmed, is always happy to have new companions.”

  He clicked his fingers. In a moment several of his aides came running to escort Vlad and Radu to another part of the palace. Radu contested them taking him from his father. Indeed Dracul did not like to let his boys from his sight. But if he did not agree he would only serve to insult the sultan.

  “Go,” he whispered to Radu. “Run along and make a new friend. Vlad shall take care of you.”

  Vlad was not happy at having to chaperone his little brother, but he was not one to disobey his father. Once they had left, the men in the room were able to discuss more serious business.

  “I imagine you know why I summoned you?” Murad asked Dracul, his tone more serious and direct.

  “No, Sire. I must confess I have no idea why you wish to see me.”

  “Yet you still came?”

  “I am not expecting any kind of treachery to befall me,” Dracul said, keeping calm. “Nor would I insult you by declining your request.”

  “Good. We have important matters to discuss.”

  “I am at your disposal, Sire.”

  “Yes,” Murad said, biting into a grape. “When it suits you, at least.”

  Dracul acted perplexed. He knew what Murad was alluding to, but felt it better to remain guarded. “What do you mean, Sire?”

  “Oh come, come, Vladislav,” Murad cautioned, waving a finger at Dracul. “It is best to not insult me. We both know to what I am referring.”

  “You are talking of Sihabeddin?”

  “Exactly!” Murad shouted. He sat up rigid in his seat and pointed at his guest. “You signed a treaty with me five years ago.”

  “Yes, Sire. I know I did.”

  “Yet you declined military assistance when it was asked of you!”

  “I granted your general safe passage through my territory.”

  “That was not our agreement!” Murad shouted, his face red with anger.

  “His army plundered half my country before it moved on. They took what they pleased, emptying whole villages of food and using our women for their pleasure. That was hardly the act of a friend. And for that reason no man in my army was going to die in support of him.”

  Dracul had to fight to keep his composure. He sensed his life was in danger and worse still, the lives of his children. By dismissing the concerns of his wife he had drastically underestimated the intentions of the sultan. He quickly weighed up his options and decided he would need to give a show of strength.

  He straightened up and got to his feet. “So who would protect me if Hunyadi turned his armies against Wallachia? Would it be you?”

  A soldier pushed Dracul back down in his seat. “You were not given permission to rise.”

  Dracul ignored him and continued with his tirade. “Your armies do not appear to be in a position to fight Hunyadi; not at this time at least. Even with the advantage of five to one they fail. Had I taken up arms against him, my kingdom would be burning as we speak.”

  Murad was not accustomed to any man addressing him so bluntly. And he did not like it on this occasion. Yet he admired Dracul’s courage all the same. “The welfare of your kingdom is not relevant to this discussion.”

  “It is to me.”

  “All that concerns me is that you broke the terms of our treaty.”

  “I did no such thing,” Dracul argued in the strongest possible way. “I meet your payment of ten thousand ducats every year. And I allowed your army safe passage in my domain.”

  Murad shrugged. “What of it?”

  Dracul felt his own temper rising. “I also met your request to come here without delay. To show I am not hostile to you I even brought along my children.”

  “Yes, this is true.”

  “So why am I being treated with such disregard? I too am a monarch.”

  “For as long as I allow it.”

  “Do you consider me any less able than Hunyadi?”

  “Are you calling yourself an opponent?” Murad teased, though remaining stern.

  “Are you making an opponent of me?”

  “We are discussing your past actions.”

  “I stand in the present, not the past. Otherwise, I would be at war with the entire world.”

  “If that is to remain the case, then you best remember to whom you are talking.”

  “I know well whom I am talking to.”

  “Then address me as Sire.”

  “Then you address me as Voivode, Sire.”

  Murad paused for a moment to look him over. Dracul met his gaze. He did not waver, although his situation was a precarious one.

  “The dilemma I have is this. My advisors feel we can no longer trust you to remain our friend. Fickle, I think is the word used to describe you, Voivode.”

  Dracul took exception to the remark and rose to his feet again. “I care little for your advisors or what they think, Sire. Many of them enjoy lives of excess and having some poor woman, or boy, sucking their small cocks. They know little or nothing of the real world.”

  He had made a grave error and he knew it, but it would not have served him better to act timidly in front of one with such power.

  Murad felt incensed at his outburst though he kept his calm. “You should care,” he warned. “They can have the final word on whether you live or die.”

  “I imagined the decision to kill a monarch rested with a monarch. And not to one who whispers in ears.”

  When Murad’s guard approached him a second time, Dracul struck the man hard with his fist and floored him. He and Rodrigul reached for their swords, but found themselves surrounded by ten times their number.

  Murad glared at him, his eyes burning with rage. “When any man dares to draw a sword in my presence I have his hands cut off.”

  “You would gain nothing from such an action,” Dracul said, showing remarkable composure in spite of his situation. “I am neither a fickle man nor an enemy to you. I came here in good faith.”

  The sultan ordered his men to step down. When they did, the two Wallachians sheathed their swords.

  “So what am I to do with you?” He sighed and waited to see what Dracul would say.

  “A decade ago I was initiated into the Order of the Dragon. I took an oath to protect the Catholic faith against the spread of Islam. To that end, I took an oath against you.”

  Murad put his hand across his mouth and listened.

  “However, being a man of peace I made mine with you. My oath prohibited me from taking up arms against Hunyadi. Yet I did not side with him against you. I allowed your army to pass through Wallachia and remained neutral. It was as much as I could do.”

  “I appreciate the delicacy of your situation,” Murad said, his tone genuine. “But that does not appease my advisors. It is their good words that help me rule my empire as well as I do.”

  “Are you not able to make your own decisions?”

  As soon as he had uttered those words Dracul regretted it. He could see at once Murad had taken great exception to his comment.

  “I insist that you surrender your sword to me.”

  Dracul put his hand on the hilt of the Fier Negru. He had no intention of giving up his sword, even if it meant his death. “If a man surrenders his sword he does the same with his honour. I shall die before I do such a thing. My honour lives and dies with me.”

  “As you wish,” Murad said with a slight shrug. He clicked his fingers so that his men surrounded the two Wallachians once again. “Before you give up your life in so noble a manner, have you not considered the fate of your sons?”

  Dracul knew his situation was hopeless and placed his hands on his head in submission. “You have at least demonstrated to me you have no honour. You argue the sanctity of treaties yet you use a man�
�s children as weapons against him.”

  Rodrigul sheathed his own sword and submitted in the same fashion. He looked around nervously, expecting one of the guards to run him through.

  Murad ignored the remark. “You shall all remain in my custody,” he said. His guards seized the swords from the two men. “I shall decide in due course what to do with you.”

  TRANSYLVANIA. THE MOUNTAIN FORTRESS OF JOHN HUNYADI AT HUNEDOARA.

  SEPTEMBER, 1442.

  Murad had agreed with his advisors the course of action he had taken with Dracul well before his new prisoner had arrived in Gallipoli. He knew this would leave the throne at Tirgoviste vulnerable to attack from the north. The moment John Hunyadi learned of his treachery he would be sure to act on it.

  Wallachia provided the buffer Hunyadi needed to protect his home state of Transylvania. With the throne in the hands of an ally it afforded him the time to prepare in the event of an invasion from the Turks. He had already defeated two large Ottoman armies that year and was in no mood to have a third enter his domain.

  To combat the risk of Hunyadi marching on the capital Murad dispatched messengers to his garrisons along the Danube. On his order they each sent sizeable detachments of men to go north under the command of Ishak Bey. Ishak had suffered defeats at Hunyadi’s hands twice before and welcomed a chance to engage him again. They camped in and around Tirgoviste to safeguard the capital and protect Ottoman interests there.

  This was hard on Mircea. His father had given him care of the throne and now he sat on it a virtual prisoner himself. He still officially ruled Wallachia, but in reality he had no authority at all. Not with a foreign army camped all around him. On the advice of his father’s most trusted officers he smuggled a letter to Hunyadi. They had no way of knowing if Dracul was even still alive. If he were dead then Ishak Bey could seize control at any time with the numbers at his disposal. They could give him a fight, but they would lose. There was no one there of the ilk of Hunyadi to lead an insurrection.

  The letter reached Hunyadi within the week. He was reading it when Szilágy walked into the room.

  “I heard a messenger had arrived with a letter. Was it anything of importance?”

  “It would seem that fool, Dracul, walked straight into the Sultan’s trap.”

  “Then the rumour is true? I imagine you shall want to act on it?”

  Hunyadi put the letter down and stood. “I have to assume the worst and that Dracul is dead. What in hell was he thinking of to go there?”

  “I know you and he are not on the best of terms, but he is a good man. I am sure he did not expect that the Sultan would take him and his sons as hostages.”

  “If he had not signed a treaty with those degenerates then he would have had no cause to go there. As it is he did not take up arms against me at Vaskapu and is no doubt paying the price for that. That is if he is still alive.”

  “Do you think he is dead?”

  Hunyadi screwed his face for an answer. “I cannot say. My spies, scant as they are, have no news of Dracul. If Murad does not need him on the throne any longer then what use is he alive?”

  “Surely then they would have killed Mircea and replaced him.”

  “Perhaps they are keeping him there to give the illusion that Dracul still lives. My actions shall not be swayed by either scenario.”

  “Then we are going to war once more?”

  “I have no choice. We cannot fight a third battle on our home soil again in this year. It is taking its toll on the people. We must take the fight to them.”

  Szilágy nodded in agreement with the decision. “I shall send word to the cities across the south to mobilise their troops. No doubt it might alert them that we are coming.”

  “It matters little. I am doing battle with Ishak Bey and I shall crush him the same as always.”

  Hunyadi left Hunedoara three days later and added to his troop number along the way. He did not push his men too hard, wanting them to be fresh for the battle ahead. The enemy knew he was coming so he thought it as well to let them wait. He sent many of his infantry and archer units up into the mountains that divided the two countries to use the old network of trails and passes. The Turks did not know these too well and were unlikely to ever use them. And with his larger numbers Ishak Bey would be more confident in open battle and keep his troops in the plains. Hunyadi believed he would find them to be closer to the entrance into Wallachia from the Carpathians than nearer Tirgoviste. This presented him with a chance to outmanoeuvre the Ottoman general yet again. In the past when he had adopted a well-planned strategy, he had prevailed.

  On this occasion Hunyadi brought with him a new candidate for the throne in Wallachia. There was no way he thought it could be safe with what he considered a boy at the helm. The fact that Ishak Bey was there at all proved his point. His new choice was Vladislav Basarab, a half-brother to Dracul but one who had defected to the Danesti side.

  In the battle that followed, Hunyadi again won a decisive victory. He hit them on the flanks and again employed his wagons expertly in the main assault. When he made the final breakthrough, his enemy scattered and ran as they tended to do. His men gave chase and cut down many as they fled.

  Mircea had scouts observing the battle from a safe distance. They rode back and forth feeding him regular updates. It delighted him when they confirmed the result of the battle. He had never agreed with any negotiation of his father’s with the Turks and was happy to see them on their way again.

  Unable to hide his great pleasure he ordered the kitchens to prepare a great feast, and sent archers out to hunt the game required. Just as his father had done the year before, he sent Lutu with a delegation to meet the White Knight.

  On his last visit to the capital Hunyadi had entered the city with only a half a dozen of his men. He had no intentions of doing the same again. This time he planned to march into the city with the bulk of his army.

  Lutu met him much further out this time. He and his men rode at speed and did not slow until they were close. When they saw archers trained on them they eased to a canter.

  “Good evening, my Lord,” he greeted Hunyadi in the fading daylight. “My Voivode sends you his congratulations on yet another splendid victory.”

  Hunyadi was in no mood for niceties. “I thought the Voivode was locked in a dungeon somewhere or worse still, dead.”

  Lutu felt nervous right away, but did not show it. “If you are referring to Voivode Dracul, my Lord, his son stands by the throne in his stead.”

  “And I imagine that is why I am here removing the squatters from around his capital. I saw only my men bleeding and dying today; none of his.”

  Lutu felt his face redden. He had no acceptable answer. “And my Voivode commends you on it. He bids me welcome you to his capital as his guest.”

  He held firm and ignored some of the choice remarks he could hear around him.

  Hunyadi had a good mind to kill Lutu and his delegation there and then. But then he felt enough good men from the Romanias had died that day. Even if these were only Wallachians they were not his enemy. And to do so would mean a fight for the city. He did not doubt he would triumph, but it would cost him. Dracul had fortified his capital well and had a strong army of devoted men to protect it.

  “Your Voivode is but a boy. It is the reason I have had to come here. He is in no position to sit on the throne and defend it. Hence I must sleep with one eye open in wait for the next band of heathens to march into my territory.”

  Lutu shifted in the saddle, his unease growing more apparent. He knew Hunyadi had not finished.

  “So you can deliver a message to your Voivode from me. He has ‘til the sun turns on the morrow to vacate the city. I want him gone and all those loyal to him. To any that remain I cannot guarantee their safety.”

  “My Lord,” Lutu tried to argue, a confused look on his face. “You want the Voivode to give up his throne?”

  “That is what I said. He can relinquish it or I shall take it. If I m
ust shed the blood of my men to do so then I shall leave no one standing that opposes me.”

  Lutu nodded that he understood the demand. “Is there anything further, my Lord?”

  “Advise him it is not my wish to harm either him or his family. He can take all he wants with him, but he had better not be there once the sun has turned. I expect to see the gates open and no one in the city who is not prepared to accept my authority. That is my final word.”

  Lutu bowed and turned his mount around before riding off again for the city with his guards at his rear.

  Basarab had drawn up alongside Hunyadi, keen to hear the conversation. “Perhaps it would be better to put an arrow in his back and be done with it.”

  Hunyadi turned to him, irritated by the comment. “Enough of our people have died for the one day. They have ‘til the morrow.”

  Mircea watched through a window as Lutu rode into the courtyard below. Excited by his return he ran out of the room to intercept him. He met him in the main reception area just as his mother was walking through. Ion Dancu walked in at the same time, keen to know too what had transpired with Hunyadi.

  “How was the meeting?” he asked the head of the garrison. “I did not expect you so soon.”

  “It did not go to plan, my Lord.”

  “What do you mean? Did Hunyadi not accompany you?”

  “No, my Lord. He is on his way, but not as a friend. It is his intention to depose you.”

  Mircea’s face turned ashen. His mother put a hand to her face to stifle a gasp.

  “What were his exact words?” Dancu asked.

  “He said he does not want to spill blood, but that anyone not willing to pledge their loyalty to him must leave by the time the suns turns on the morrow.”

  “Then I should fight him!” Mircea said, his tone both cold and assured for one so young. “I shall not walk away and hand him my father’s throne and my birthright.”

  “Mircea, no,” Maia urged him. “If you fight him, I could lose you too.”

  “What would it say for me if I were to yield to him? The people would never have faith in me. They would brand me a coward.”