A Prince to be Feared: The love story of Vlad Dracula (26 page)

“What’s happened?” Vlad snapped. But he knew. He must have known, because Turcul had been in command of the troops at the Moldavian border.

Turcul drew in his breath. One of the few admitted into the inner sanctum of the prince’s friends, he knew the blow he was about to deal. Ilona could see it in his eyes.

“Prince Stephen has attacked Chillia. With Ottoman help.”

***

He’d been expecting it. Otherwise he wouldn’t have divided his forces as he had and left Turcul to watch his back. Stephen had allied with Poland, accepted Ottoman suzerainty, and was therefore the enemy of Vlad’s new friend, Hungary. Worse, Matthias was sheltering and supporting the unspeakable Petru Aaron, who had slain Stephen’s father. Such politics made it difficult for the cousins to remain allies.

But they had remained friends. Stephen had been to Tîrgovi
ş
te in May, to discuss their differences, including the strategically valuable fortress of Chillia, held for Vlad by a Hungarian garrison that was Matthias’s only contribution so far to the fight.

Once, during the formal banquet, she had found the Prince of Moldavia watching her with a strange expression on his handsome face.

Stephen had changed from the open, friendly youth she remembered. He had lost his hero worship of his cousin and learned a little wisdom and a lot of native cynicism of his own. In short, Stephen had matured and learned to stand alone.

He said, “I’m jealous, you know. But I believe I’m glad he has you.” He lifted his recently refilled glass and took a sizeable swig of the rich, bloodred wine.

“Why?” Ilona asked, because she wanted to know.

Stephen shrugged. “I don’t know.” He drank some more and laid the glass down too precisely for an entirely sober man. “I could see something. Even at Hunedoara. You were like—two halves of the same whole.” He smiled at that, pleased with himself. “No wonder I loved you both. I still do, God help me.”

And yet, when it mattered, he would not stand by that love. He’d chosen Moldavia first, as perhaps a prince should. All she knew was Vlad would not have done so. And now Vlad had to fight his cousin as well as the sultan.

He left at nightfall, taking his exhausted troop after the briefest of rests to march to the relief of Chillia. Ilona stood by his stirrup to bid him farewell, wishing futilely that there had been more time, that she could reach and soothe the storm of emotion behind his blank, determined eyes. When he remembered to turn to her and reach down to take the cup she held, she said, “I’ll be in the castle at Poenari.”

And he managed to smile. After a quick sip, he gave her the cup back and touched her cheek instead with his gloved fingers. He whispered, “I’ll find you there.”

And then he was gone in a cloud of dust and noise.

***

Ilona and her mother left in the morning. Already Vlad’s preparations for repelling the siege were well under way.

“Don’t look,” she urged her mother, but it was too late. Countess Szilágyi’s gaze was riveted on the forest of stakes which had grown around the outside of the town walls. Several men and women worked feverishly, hanging bodies onto the sharpened sticks any way they could. Skeletons, foully rotting corpses, people of all ages and sizes who might simply have been asleep.

“Dear God…”

“They’re dead,” Ilona explained. “They’re dead already. Dead prisoners, the battle dead from both sides, homeless dead. The rest are exhumed skeletons from unconsecrated graves. They’re impaling the bodies to frighten the Ottomans, who’ll believe this is what he does to his own people…”

The countess dragged her eyes away and swallowed. “I don’t know about the Ottomans, but it certainly frightens me. Can you really marry this man?”

Ilona stared. “He’s saving his capital city.”

And, in fact, he did. When the sultan came in sight of Tîrgovi
ş
te, he was so appalled by the huge forest of rotting corpses impaled before him that he turned his troops east and headed for home.

By then, the news didn’t make so much impression on Ilona as it should have, for the sultan had already defeated Vlad’s main army under Gales. Against the prince’s orders, Gales had attacked in Vlad’s absence and suffered huge losses. In short, Wallachia had lost most of its army. Vlad, having ensured possession of Chillia, abandoned the fight against Stephen and chased after the sultan instead.

But too late. The sultan hastily invested Radu as Prince of Wallachia, left him a contingent of Ottomans to protect him, and turned his own nose toward home. And there was nothing left for Vlad to do but harry the Ottomans’ miserable departure. They were already dying of hunger, thirst, and plague, but still triumphant, because they’d done what they set out to do—put Radu on the throne.

***

The war hadn’t changed Poenari or the prince’s castle on the Arges river. Here, gazing out over the forest where Vlad had first made love to her, Ilona could put the horrors of war to one side, forget her fears for the future, and daydream of the previous summer when all that had concerned her was her next assignation with Vlad.

While her mother rested in bed, recovering from the arduous journey and the threatening return of the illness which had laid her low a few years earlier, Ilona rode out in the countryside and spent hours at the top of Vlad’s favourite tower, just gazing along the road in the hope of finally seeing him.

In the end, he took her by surprise once more, arriving after dark, unannounced and unexpected as she finished eating in the hall with the two ladies who’d accompanied them from Tîrgovi
ş
te.

A blast of cool night air hit them as the door was thrown open, and abruptly their quiet, feminine companionship was invaded by maleness. Vlad and two officers all but fell into the hall, bringing Ilona to her feet in alarm.

“Forgive us,” Vlad said at once. “We’re just exhausted.”

But Ilona was already across the floor to him, and it seemed no restraint in the world could prevent his arm from circling her waist. For an instant, she thought he would simply crush her in his arms and kiss her, but though he pressed his cheek hard against hers, he drew back almost immediately, calling for more food and wine.

Then, seated, he spilled out the latest news. That although Radu was crowned prince, the boyars stayed away from him. He could not form a council, since the only nobles he had were the handful of exiles he’d brought with him.

“What will you do?” Ilona asked.

He shrugged. “Wait it out. The country is exhausted by war. I have few enough soldiers left to fight Radu’s Turks. I could do it, but God knows I don’t want to lose anyone else if it isn’t necessary. When the Hungarians come, I’ll just walk in and Radu will flee.”

Ilona bit her lip. “
Will
the Hungarians come?”

Vlad nodded once, and finished his wine in one draft. “Apparently the King is finally on the move.” His smile was twisted. “To rescue me.”

Ilona frowned. “Do you know, I wish I’d
smacked
Matthias when we were children.”

Vlad laughed aloud, and when she glanced at him in wry appreciation, his eyes were much too warm for company. Flushing, she looked away. It struck her that she’d never eaten with him under so little chaperonage.

As if he heard her, though, Vlad said, “Where is your lady mother?”

“Asleep. She hasn’t been well since we came here. Travelling isn’t good for her anymore.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said with civil but genuine concern. His gaze was too intense, lingering on her too long before it flickered across the other women. “I know you have finished your meal, so don’t let us detain you. We are poor company tonight in any case, fit only for sleep.”

One of his officers was asleep already, facedown in his plate. Vlad and the other pulled him out, and he jerked awake, crumbs and grease trickling down his dazed face into his moustache. Vlad gave a lopsided smile and stood.

“I think the feast is over. To bed, men. We’ll eat tomorrow.”

The ladies curtseyed and scuttled away, giggling at the unfortunate soldier, whose friend was already dragging him away to their own quarters. Ilona gave Vlad her hand, smiling. She felt bold yet safe, knowing that tomorrow, at least, they would be together. It added a curiously calm contentment to the excitement of being all but alone with him now in this precious instant.

Perhaps he felt it too, for when he took her hand, he closed his eyes as if imagining a different world, a different setting. Or perhaps just falling asleep…

He said, “It’s madness. I’m so tired I can barely walk, and yet all I can think of is loving you.”

He opened his eyes, gazing into hers like a man drowning. “Come to my bed,” he whispered. “Please.”

She nodded, once, unable to say more, and he smiled, touching his forehead to hers. “I’m covered in travel dirt and fit only for sleep.”

“Is that how you seduce all the girls?”

He kissed her, still smiling. “Of course; but for you, I’ll bathe, tomorrow.”

It seemed neither his tiredness nor his dirt mattered. He led her by the hand to his dark, deserted private chamber. He didn’t light a candle or even undress. Instead, he tumbled with her onto his bed, fully clothed, and fell instantly asleep.

Ilona cradled him in her arms, consumed with love, and watched him until, finally, sleep claimed her too.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Poenari, Wallachia, 1462

When Vlad awoke at dawn, he was naked. Which was curious because he distinctly remembered falling asleep in all his clothes, in Ilona’s arms. Smiling, he opened his eyes. She was gone, leaving only a depression in the pillow. Vlad shifted and laid his head where hers had been, inhaling the scent that was uniquely Ilona.

He remembered a sweet dream of wakening in the dark and making sleepy love to her… In the light of his nakedness, he could probably assume it had been no dream. His smile widened as his body stirred all over again.

Sometimes, when he was at his lowest, the prospect of “coming home” to Ilona had been what kept him going. This curious mixture of contentment and excitement that he found only and always in her presence…

His body, his mind, his very spirit needed her healing to enable him to return to the fray. Although he acknowledged the selfishness of that, of letting her stay here when his life and his position were so uncertain, he still could not forego this time with her—not least because it seemed Ilona needed it too.

Turning onto his back and stretching, Vlad Dracula thanked God for the woman who was still not his wife. Then he rose and shouted for a servant and some bathwater.

After he’d bathed and dressed, when he went down to the hall, it was empty, although someone had been there before him. The loaf had been neatly cut, and the jug of water was half-empty. Vlad tore what was left of the bread in half and wandered restlessly about the hall while he ate it. He wanted to relax, to let his mind go blank and think only of Ilona, but his thoughts were wayward, still relentlessly going over what had passed and planning for what was to come.

He knew her footsteps before he turned and saw her. She was beautiful in the morning sunlight, a faint flush rising through her pale skin, which seemed to be stretched taut over the fine, delicate bones of her face. Her thick auburn hair was tied loosely behind her head for convenience, her gown clean and pretty, but plain enough to be scorned by the ladies of his court. If he still had a court.

Her murmured good-morning sounded husky, as if she was having trouble dealing with his presence. That would have bothered him if he hadn’t read the gladness in her eyes.

He walked toward her, asking after her mother’s health.

“She seems better this morning,” Ilona answered. “Glad that you are here.”

“Good,” said Vlad, and, because they were alone, he took her in his arms and kissed her mouth. Any lingering, foolish doubts vanished in her instant response.

He released her with reluctance. “Have you eaten?”

“With my mother.”

“Come, then. I want to show you something.”

He led her outside into the central courtyard. From one of the towers, he could hear his soldiers laughing. Another, angrier voice shouted orders in the kitchen. Vlad walked across to the well, and rested his hip on the wall as he gazed down into the watery depths.

Ilona gazed too.

“It’s a wishing well?” she hazarded.

A memory stirred, associated with Ilona. But no, it was Maria who had sat at his side at Hunedoara and talked of wishing wells. He pushed it aside.

“It could be,” he said ruefully. “If you’re ever in a hurry to escape. Look.”

He pointed to the narrow iron ladder that lined the wall of the well and stopped some yards short of the water.

“At the bottom of the ladder is a door. It’s disguised so you can’t see it from here, but when you get there, it will be obvious. It leads into a secret passage.”

“Really?” She sounded excited, like a child discovering a new adventure, a new game. He hoped that was all it would ever be to her. “Where does it go? Your secret passage.”

“Down to a cave on the river bank.”

“Did you build it?” she asked curiously.

“I caused it to be built. After my noble work force departed. Remember it’s there, if you need it.”

She glanced at him with clear, penetrating eyes. “Am I likely to?”

“No,” he admitted. “But especially when I’m not here, I want to know that you’re safe. From now on, we post permanent sentries on
all
the towers—including our own.” At that, a flush of memory suffused her cheeks, but even more delightfully, she didn’t break her gaze. “That way,” he finished, “we’ll have plenty of warning of any visitors. Either from Transylvania or from my little brother.”

***

For Ilona, there was a feverish intensity about those days. Since her mother kept largely to her own chamber and the other ladies preferred to stay out of the prince’s way, there seemed little to keep her and Vlad apart. They rode and walked together in the local village, where she had already made friends with some of the families, including the large and helpful Dobrin clan, and where they greeted Vlad with every respect due their prince. And very often, since nobody cared, they didn’t trouble about finding discreet places to make love. Vlad simply took her to his bed, whether it was morning, afternoon, or night.

And Ilona couldn’t get enough of him. Parting and uncertainty had added obsession to love, and she felt alive now only when she was with him. In her heart, she knew this interlude would be a short one, and she grabbed at it with both desperate hands, aware that fate would part them once more.

Then, one morning, at dawn, she rose from Vlad’s bed, escaping his heavy, imprisoning limbs, to scamper back to her own chamber before her mother awoke and questioned her absence. It wasn’t that she wished to lie to her mother or in fact had ever done so, but she didn’t want to upset her or have this most private aspect of her relationship with Vlad under moral scrutiny.

Countess Szilágyi’s eyes were open, startling Ilona.

“Mother?”

The countess was silent. She didn’t even blink.

Oh Jesus, oh God, oh Mother…

Ilona touched the cold face as fear and shame and horror gathered within her, stifling the grief that she knew would never leave her.

“What have I done?” she whispered and laid her face against her mother’s, as if trying to wake her with her own warmth.

***

“I let her die alone. I didn’t even notice she was so ill. I took my own pleasure while my mother died.”

“She died in her sleep, Ilona. She didn’t even know you weren’t there.”

“I should have been,” Ilona whispered. “I should have been there.”

Vlad knelt at her feet, taking her hands. “There’s nothing you can do about that now. Grieve for the very fine lady who was your mother. Don’t warp it with guilt.”

Without her meaning to, she grasped his hands, holding on to them hard. “I’m afraid, Vlad,” she whispered. “So afraid. When Mihály died, I almost recognised the grief because we’d been through the fear of it so often before. This is like…the world has gone. My mother, the rock I never even realised was there, is gone.”

Vlad pressed his cheek to her hands. “I know.”

***

There was no Roman priest in the village, so after a short service in the little castle chapel beside the well, Countess Szilágyi was buried according to Orthodox rites. Ilona didn’t think she would mind. She knew God wouldn’t.

If it hadn’t been for Vlad, Ilona thought the yawning chasm that was life without her mother would have swallowed her. She knew it would pass as the sharp edges of her grief for Mihály had passed, but you couldn’t
make
them blunt. You had to get on with life and wait for it to happen. And so she devoted herself to Vlad and the people of the castle and the villages who called her their princess and seemed to truly believe she was.

Once, as she stood quietly in the chapel, praying for her mother, she became aware of Vlad beside her.

He said, “We could ask the priest to return and marry us now.”

Ilona dropped her head onto his arm. She found herself smiling for the first time in days. “Our wedding is for the world,” she said at last. “For your family and mine and everyone else who’s affected by the politics of it. If they don’t want it, they’ll only annul it. But in the ways that matter to me, we’re married already.”

She felt his kiss on her hair, soft and tender. “And you’re living with me without an effective chaperone. If this was Tîrgovi
ş
te…”

“It isn’t. And the world isn’t here yet.”

***

Their first visitor from the world was, unexpectedly, Maria, who arrived with her son, his nurse, two maids, and several men-at-arms.

With all her old impulsiveness, she threw herself into Ilona’s arms. But there was a strange desperation in that hug that Ilona had never noticed before.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Maria gasped.

“What is it? What’s happened?” Ilona demanded, trying to peer into her friend’s face.

“Oh, just this wretched war…”

“I thought you were safe in the mountains!”

“I was. But I can’t live like that, cut off from the world. It drives me insane. And I can’t go to Tîrgovi
ş
te because it’s full of Ottomans.”

Vlad, who’d lifted the delighted Mihnea onto his shoulders, curled his lip. The Ottomans were almost Radu’s only companions. The boyars still stayed away.

And the world was back in Vlad’s eyes. Ilona couldn’t help the sinking of her heart. But she knew it had to be.

“I’m glad you came here,” he said to Maria. “You can keep each other company. I think it’s time I tickled Radu again.”

But that night, as she lay in Vlad’s arms, Radu tickled him.

A shout went up from one of the sentries, who’d seen movement on the hills across the river. With the dawn, it became apparent that Radu’s Ottomans were approaching.

***

“They followed
me
?” Maria squeaked in horror.

Vlad shrugged impatiently. “They might have done. It doesn’t matter. They’ve set up camp across the river, and they’ve brought cannon. Perhaps they were coming anyway, in which case you were lucky to avoid them. The point is, they’ll never take this place. But they will make leaving difficult. I’ll shoot a few of them, see if it scares them off, but I doubt it will. Radu is desperate. He needs me out of the way before the boyars will go to him.”

While Maria inexplicably hid in the guestchamber with her head under the pillow, Vlad led an attack from the castle, fording the river lower down and indulging in a quick skirmish with the enemy before returning with the news that he’d encountered an old friend among the Ottomans.

“He came with me the first time I took the throne,” he mused.

“Did you speak to him?” Ilona asked, wondering what, if any, difference this would make to the situation.

“No. But he saluted me once. Before he called off his men.”

“Perhaps they’ll go away now,” Maria said optimistically.

They didn’t. Instead, they crossed the river and set up camp under the castle. Vlad scoured them with a hail of arrows from both facing towers, but, undeterred, they stayed where they were.

“I think,” he said, “it’s time to leave.”

“Where will we go?”

“Transylvania,” Vlad said reluctantly. “It will take you home and let me find Matthias. I need his Hungarians and quickly.”

“But we can’t leave,” Maria wailed. “The Turks are down there!”

“There’s a secret passage,” said Ilona.

“It will avoid them,” Vlad explained. “The Dobrin brothers will help us down the mountain, and then we’re free.”

“And if we’re caught?” Maria stared at him as if he was mad.

“We won’t be.”

“You’re insane,” Maria whispered, burying her face in her hands.

Ilona frowned, touching her friend’s hair in pity. “No, he isn’t. Really. He isn’t.”

Vlad said implacably, “We leave tonight. The servants should come with us for their own safety, but the choice is theirs. Bring only what you can carry in one hand.”

Maria moaned and ran from the hall.

“She’s overwrought,” Ilona said, rising to her feet, torn between following Maria and the need to speak further with Vlad. “Something’s wrong with Maria.”

“She’ll be fine in Transylvania. She has a morbid fear of the Ottomans.”

Unworthy jealousy flickered through Ilona’s mind. She hadn’t realised how much she would dislike being reminded of the domestic intimacy which had once existed between Vlad and Maria. He knew things that even Ilona didn’t.

But she said only, “Will we be able to take Mihnea down that ladder?”

“And down the mountain. I’ll strap him to my back. Ilona?”

He crossed the space between them, his eyes dark with sudden, unmistakable lust. Her heart began to hammer.

“Yes?”

“Before I organise the men…come to bed.”

“For the last time?” she said, trying to smile as the tears closed up her throat.

He kissed her. “For the last time in this castle, for this month. That’s all.”

***

Maria had never liked this castle. Even after so many of her late husband’s friends had finished building it, she’d hated coming here. She would be glad to leave it, only she was running out of places to go. As darkness threatened, the blackness in her soul crept higher, catapulting her from her own chamber in search of the security that always eluded her now. Along with the peace she never found. And the fun that seemed to have slipped away when she wasn’t looking.

Maria, who’d always lived surrounded by people, couldn’t escape the inner isolation that consumed her. She knew that. It was something else entirely, something beyond thought, that brought her to Vlad’s door. She didn’t even knock when she went in. In truth, she would rather not even find him there. It was a ritual farewell for her, not for him.

But he was there. Kneeling on the bed in all his glorious nakedness. In the fading light, Maria couldn’t even make out the mess of scars which marred his back. But she recognised the beautiful woman he was with. As naked as he, her face raised to his, full of love while he wiped a single tear from the corner of her eye with his thumb.

Ilona,
Maria thought with sudden, blinding clarity.
He loves Ilona. This was never a political marriage…