Prince Drakulya by Paul Doherty

Author:Paul Doherty [Doherty, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: new
ISBN: 9780755395866
Publisher: Headline
Published: 1986-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Fourteen

In the following weeks Vlad, Mihail and I prepared for the imminent invasion. Vlad introduced himself to the Wallachian exiles, who rapturously received him as his father’s heir and immediately pledged ther support. Hakim Bey had wisely directed that they camp in the forest outside the fortress though he provided them every assistance and comfort. Even now I can remember Vlad walking amongst them. Of course, he had got rid of his Janissary uniform; dressing simply with little ornamentation, he made his presence felt as he moved among his fellow countrymen, accepting their salutes, teasing them about former times and astounding them with his ability to recall names as well as personal and family details. He reassured them, calmed their anxieties and won their undying loyalty by maintaining that they who had served his father so loyally would become his Curteni, his personal retinue, and be rewarded as such once he had regained his rightful position. Few survived to claim such rewards. As I watched him I realised that the boy was now gone and that here was a warrior, a possible equal to Hunyadi or Murad, and I remembered the prophecy of the old woman at the mausoleum that future generations would remember Vlad’s name when the others were long forgotten.

Vlad also spent long hours closeted with Hakim Bey, analysing the reports of spies and scouts and going over military details with meticulous care. At other times he would sit with Mihail and myself poring over maps, drawing up lists of those whose loyalty he could depend on, those whose loyalty was suspect, and those whose lives would therefore be forfeit. I noticed apprehensively how this list would grow week by week as fresh reports and rumours were brought into Giurgiu. On this matter Vlad would neither listen to me nor Mihail and we were both reconciled to the fact that if Vlad’s invasion was victorious then there would be the most terrible reckoning for the Boyars of Wallachia.

We waited for news about Hunyadi’s latest campaign and it came like a summer storm, quick and violent in its impact. Late one evening we were roused from our quarters by a servant who insisted that Hakim Bey needed to see us urgently. We found the garrison commander freshly disturbed from his own sleep, sitting in his quarters surrounded by a number of his officers, who were noisily questioning an exhausted Sipahi covered in dirt and dust, who was attempting to answer his superiors whilst, at the same time, trying to keep awake by slaking his own thirst. At our entrance Hakim shouted for silence and gestured us to sit. Mihail, Vlad and myself sat on cushions to his right while Janissary officers sat cross-legged opposite us. The messenger was quietly allowed to sink into unconsciousness and Hakim, flushed with excitement, could not even be bothered to have him removed. He came swiftly to the point. Hunyadi had invaded deep into the Balkans and met the main Turkish force at Kossovo Polje, a plain situated near the town of Pristina, in the province of Serbia.

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