A Prince to be Feared: The love story of Vlad Dracula (8 page)

Maria gave a shaky giggle. “You’re laughing at me,” she accused. She peered up at Ilona in the darkness. “You mean I still have a chance with him?”

Of course, Ilona didn’t understand. “In time,” she said vaguely. And Maria felt her slipping away again.

Clutching her to keep her there, Maria said desperately, “I don’t have time. I need him
now
.”

“You’ve only known him a few hours! Even you can’t fall in love so fast!” There was a rare irritation in her voice that made Maria answer in kind.

“Of course I can’t! But I
could
have, Ilona, I could, with him. When he kissed me, I sensed such passion, such
hunger
that I thought I could die for him. It was so wonderful… But I don’t have the time anymore, do I? This was my last chance!”

“Last chance? Maria, what are you
talking
about?”

“I’m talking about…” She was shouting, and realization brought her up short. Even in the darkness, she turned away from her friend and squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m talking about the baby. I’m going to have a baby.”

The silence enclosed her. Ilona was such an innocent. She knew Maria made assignations with men, sneaked off to meet them, but it never entered her naïve little head that this meant more than kissing in dark corners. Or perhaps that was how she thought babies were made. And now she would despise her, cast her off. Right now that seemed the ultimate tragedy.

She heard Ilona’s breath come out in a rush. “A baby,” she whispered. “Oh, Maria…”

Maria sat up and threw herself into her arms. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” She sobbed. “I’ve been mad with worry this last month, and then today I saw
him
, and I wanted him, and I thought that if only he wanted me and took me, then he’d marry me when I told him about the baby.”

“Pretend it was his?”

She felt Ilona’s hands take her by the shoulders, pull her back. She could imagine the shock in her friend’s face. She didn’t need the light to see it.

“Oh no, you couldn’t do that.”

“It’s been done before,” Maria said bitterly. “Trust me, when you’re desperate, your standards drop.”

Unexpectedly, Ilona seemed to understand that. “Not just women’s either,” she said ruefully. “But seriously, you mustn’t, not with Vlad. Apart from anything else, Wallachian princes don’t see any particular need to marry the mothers of their children. Vlad himself has several illegitimate half siblings. Besides, if he ever found out you’d lied…” She broke off and shivered.

She was right, of course. Vlad Dracula was not the man to bear lightly any such humiliation.

Maria sighed. “Well, it won’t arise, will it, because he wouldn’t lie with me. And to be honest, my heart quails at approaching anyone else.”

“Oh, Maria, there must be another way. Who
is
the father?”

“Josef.” She caught Ilona’s inadvertent squeak and added with defiance, “Yes, married Josef—you see my problem?”

Ilona tugged at her hair. Even in the dark, Maria knew she was frowning. Eventually, she sighed. “We can’t do this by ourselves. We need to tell Countess Hunyadi.”

Maria shook her head violently. “Are you mad? Of course we can’t! Ilona, you must promise me not to say a word to her, to anyone!”

“Then what will you do, Maria? Wait until a bump starts appearing beneath your gown and people start sniggering and asking questions? She
will
dismiss you then, and if your family… Oh, you’ve thought of all this before; you must have. How long do you have?”

“Seven months, maybe—I’ve missed two courses now.”

“That’s time enough, I’m sure. She’ll stand by you, Maria, I know she will.”

“Why should she?” Maria said miserably. “She’ll see it as that I betrayed her trust, as I suppose I did, and brought disgrace upon her house. My family is not worth placating. We all know she did us a favour taking me into her household in the first place.”

“And for that reason, she’ll cover it up. In her own eyes, she’s failed you by not protecting you. She doesn’t want the world to know that. So she’ll find you a husband and make it right.”

Maria wiped her streaming eyes. “It won’t be the husband I dreamed of.”

“Who knows? He might be.” Ilona put her arms around her. “I wish you’d told me sooner. You must have been in hell.”

I am. I am in hell.

“It will be better now,” Ilona said gruffly. “We’ll tell the countess in the morning. I’ll speak, but you must come with me, for she despises cowards. And she’ll find you a haven.”

Against all sense, hope of something better than disgrace and destitution began to rise once more. “And if she doesn’t? If she throws me out?”

“Then my mother will help. But it won’t come to that. Trust me.”

And curiously, despite Ilona’s youth and innocence, Maria did trust her. That night she slept more peacefully than she had for weeks.

***

Ilona wasn’t looking forward to the morning. Having slept badly, she rose early, put on her cloak, and went for a brisk walk around the castle grounds. The necessary interview with the countess loomed large in her mind, and she spent much of her walk rehearsing the precise words she should use to enlist the countess’s sympathy. The support she would give anyway, Ilona was convinced, but the quality of that support could make a huge difference to Maria’s future. Maria should be married. She needed a husband to give her love and attention instead of seeking it from unprincipled and opportunistic young men who should know better.

The countess would say some nasty things to Maria. There would inevitably be insults and accusations of betrayal and loose behaviour. And the trouble was they were true in one sense. Only Maria wasn’t
loose
; she was just—loving. Ilona suspected she’d been taken advantage of several times, and Ilona would not and could not judge her. Sitting in the window last night, gazing down at Vlad and Stephen by the well, how much had she longed for the courage to do what Maria had done? Only Ilona had had the sense to know that she’d be rejected—and for more reasons than Maria had been.

She was the precocious child who played tag, and it was no longer enough.

And so she walked in the cold light of dawn to ease her pain and need, and bent her intellect to Maria’s problem, which at least she knew she could solve, with the countess’s help. It wouldn’t be perfect for Maria, but it would be something she could make the best of. Any husband would adore her. And Maria…

The sounds of horses’ hooves broke into her thoughts, brought her back to reality. She was approaching the front of the castle as several horses rode out from the direction of the stables. Vlad Dracula, Stephen of Moldavia, and their following.

She raised her hand in farewell, unsure that she’d be seen and even half hoping that she wouldn’t be. But he pulled up, holding in his wild, snorting horse with one strong hand and the pressure of his knees. She could do nothing but go up to him and play the scene honestly.

He bent from the saddle, holding down his hand. She laid hers into it and looked up into his blazing green eyes.

“I wish you well, Vlad Dracula. I hope your waiting is soon over.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “And yours.”

“Oh, in my case I’ve decided waiting’s not so bad. Especially when I don’t know what or whom I’m waiting for.”

“Then I wish you all you want from life.”

A choke of laughter fought its way out. “No, you don’t,” she said ruefully. “But I thank you all the same.”

He smiled again, releasing her hand and straightening in the saddle. “You intrigue me, Ilona Szilágyi. One day you must tell me what it is you wish for.”

She stepped back, and he released his anxious horse, plunging away from her in a cloud of dust. His boyars paused only long enough to bow to her before galloping after him to the bridge. Only Stephen of Moldavia bade her a more formal farewell, bending from the saddle as Vlad had done, to take her hand. Then, outdoing his cousin in gallantry, he kissed it respectfully.

“Thank you for making our brief stay so pleasant.”

“If it was pleasant, I regret not having more to do with it,” she said dryly.

“You’re as modest as you are charming.”

Ilona drew her hand free, making a derisive hoot before she remembered how unladylike it was. Stephen, however, merely grinned, and a teasing gleam appeared in his fine eyes. “No, I insist that you are.”

“Will you join your cousin in Sibiu?” she asked hastily.

“Probably. We are sworn to help each other. I hope we shall see you there, now that we’re respectable again.”

It crossed Ilona’s mind then, somewhat belatedly, that Stephen was flirting with her. The idea made her laugh, which seemed as good a time as any to end the conversation. Stepping back, she watched Stephen gallop after the others. No one looked back.

With reluctance, Ilona turned her feet toward the castle once more. It was time to seek out the countess and negotiate for Maria.

However, when she entered the castle, the sound of her father’s voice coming from the knights’ hall, gave her pause. Because he spoke Vlad’s name. Ilona hesitated, but as ever, curiosity won over good sense. To say nothing of manners. Since there was no one else around, she trod quietly across to the half-open door and listened.

Mihály Szilágyi said, “You’ve given him a difficult task, with very little authority. Vladislav will pressure Sibiu to defy you and eject him. He’ll have to deal with that as well as any incursions from Wallachia.”

“You think he’s not up to it?” Count Hunyadi asked. His voice was more mocking than doubtful.

Her father sighed loudly. “On the contrary, I think he’s a most unusual and able young man, but none of us can do the impossible.”

“It shouldn’t be impossible.”

“You’re testing him,” Mihály observed. Impossible to know if he approved or not. Probably, he would have done the same. In any matter of importance, Vlad Dracula was untried.

Hunyadi said, “We know the sultan thought highly of his military prowess, and we know he fought with distinction in Moldavia. But I need him to grow quickly into this task if we’re to face the Ottomans in Serbia. As we will, very soon. We know they’re coming for Belgrade, and when they do, he must be capable of holding Transylvania for us. At the very least. We can’t trust the King or the Hungarian nobles to act, so we must take care of it ourselves. And Mihály…”

Footsteps from inside had made Ilona draw back, preparing to dash across the passage and upstairs, but since everything seemed to pause inside the hall, she did too.

Her uncle said, “I’ll want you to hold Belgrade for me.”

Ilona’s gut twisted. It was an honour, of course, proving once again the governor’s trust in her father’s loyalty and ability. But to hold a city under siege by the conquerors of Constantinople, with neither support nor relief certain from any of the bickering states and factions of Europe—that was something of a poisoned chalice, and both men knew it.

However, her father said only, “When?”

“Hopefully not till next winter, but if our spies bring different news, we’ll have to move a lot faster.”

It felt as if something was running through her fingers, slipping away. The security and safety of the last few years, her old, privileged life divided between Horogszegi and Hunedoara, her old companionship with Maria. All about to be ripped apart by events over which she had no control. And nothing would ever be the same.

But at least she could do her best for Maria. With determination, she turned toward the stairs and prepared to face the countess.

Chapter Six

Transylvania, 1455-6

The sky was filthy, promising more snow before nightfall. The maid in the carriage with Ilona kept up her vocal hopes that they would at least make it as far as Sibiu before then. Ilona was sure they would. They were making good progress, despite the difficulty of the snow-covered roads, and it was only just midday.

Wrapped in furs and muffs and the countess’s own blanket lent for the occasion, Ilona was cozy enough to appreciate the white beauty surrounding her. Snow capped the thick forest of trees on either side of the road, and when, occasionally, she could glimpse the more distant hills, they too were covered. It made the countryside she knew so well look unfamiliar and exciting.

Although much of the excitement came from inside. It had been a difficult year at Hunedoara, where tension and frustrations had run high. Not just over the business with Maria—although Aunt Erzsébet still bore a grudge about that, despite the Hunyadis now having an effective if insouciant spy in the house of one of Prince Vladislav’s loyalist supporters in Wallachia.

It had become Ilona’s job to trawl through Maria’s letters and separate the barrage of news and gossip from anything useful to do with her new husband’s or Vladislav’s policies toward the Ottomans and toward Hungary. And although the task made Ilona grit her teeth with discomfort sometimes, she guarded it jealously so that the good-natured Maria’s private chatter remained just that. The odd passages that revealed Vladislav’s treachery she was glad enough to pass on.

In some ways hardest to bear was John Hunyadi’s fall from grace. In truth his standing had never fully recovered from the defeat at Varna, but to watch his enemies, the unspeakable Cilli family, who had neither the brain nor the heart to achieve a fraction of what Hunyadi had, gradually close in on the king and work against a far greater man was galling in the extreme. The countess was permanently enraged, and Hunyadi himself had grown so disgusted with the intrigue and lack of trust that he’d resigned virtually all his influential positions.

Not that this had altered his determination to find any way he could to meet the inevitable Ottoman threat that his enemies denied existed…

If she had been her uncle, Ilona thought she would have pulled all her hair out by now. Who could live like that? It was bad enough observing from a safe distance.

But for a week or two, she could put all that aside. She was going to Sighisoara to spend Christmas with her family. One of her brothers-in-law had a big house in the town, and it had been decided that this was the best place for the whole family to meet up for the holiday celebration. It made her feel like a child again, reminding her of past Christmases, of the wonder of gift giving, and the sense of goodwill that had always seemed to go with it. And of course the fun and games and the joy of having her father home.

She had all that to look forward to, and before it, a night in Sibiu with trusted family friends of both her parents and the Hunyadis. And a letter from John Hunyadi to put into the hands of Vlad Dracula—a duty that created an equally powerful if secret excitement.

As the day wore on, she had to wrestle with the insane urge to throw off the blanket and leap out of the carriage to run through the snow beside the horses, making her own deep footprints in the pristine snow. She wriggled again, because she couldn’t be still. And then the carriage stopped.

Ilona and the maid exchanged glances. Was the snow impassible after all? As one, they stuck their heads out of either window. She could hear voices, low but urgent. The men of her escort were gazing about them, swords drawn.

Her heart lurched. They only had a small escort, enough to deal with any wild animals and frighten off any hardy, enterprising robber, but this was not a dangerous road, especially at this time of year. Although there had been a few Ottoman raids from Wallachia toward the end of autumn, the Ottomans never fought in winter…

The men seemed to loom out of nowhere, black, menacing, and terrifyingly silent in the muffling snow. They sprang out of the trees, armed with javelins and bows, and then stood perfectly still, covering each of the helpless men-at-arms and, by the look of it, her drivers too. More men ran beyond them, quickly and just as silently surrounding the carriage.

“Oh my lady, my lady!” wailed the maid. “What’s happening? What can we do?”

Her voice cut through the dreamlike silence like a knife.

One of their attackers spoke, low and irritably. “Somebody shut that wench up.”

Ilona dragged her head back inside the carriage, urgently pressing her finger to her lips. It made excellent sense not to annoy their captors until it would help their cause. But before she could speak to warn the maid, the door was wrenched open and a man said, “Be silent, or you die.”

The maid moaned, and Ilona didn’t blame her. His words were hardly comforting. He held a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. But this paled into insignificance beside one other fact.

Ilona frowned at him. “I know you.”

“You’ll know me a damned sight better if you don’t…” He broke off, his eyes widening with recognition. His name still eluded Ilona, but abruptly he fell into place. “Lady! Oh the devil. I beg you, be silent and shut the woman up. No one here will hurt you. Sir,” he hissed over his shoulder, “it’s Hunyadi’s niece.”

Ilona’s hammering heart lurched. Through the carriage door, she saw the legs and body of a horse, flanked by stirrups and long, leather boots which pressed the animal farther forward. She saw a tangle of black hair as the rider bent in the saddle, and then the face of Vlad Dracula. His eyes blazed in his vital, arresting face.

“Ilona Szilágyi. Come to fight the Ottomans?”

***

The Ottomans, it seemed, had crossed the border from Wallachia to set a trap specifically for Vlad. But forewarned, Vlad was surrounding them before he rode openly into their trap. Ilona’s carriage would not only have drawn Ottoman attention in the wrong direction but driven straight into a nightmare she didn’t even want to think about.

“The Ottomans have come in winter? Especially for you?” Ilona repeated as she walked with Vlad through the snow into the cover of the trees. He moved like a wolf, covering the ground efficiently, silently, speedily, his eyes never still. Behind them, the carriage wheels grumbled softly; the horses’ hooves were muffled.

“There may be Ottomans there,” he allowed. “It’s a myth we keep up for national pride. Most will be Wallachians, and both come on the direct orders of Vladislav.”

Of course, Vladislav must fear this pretender to his throne now he was the openly preferred candidate of John Hunyadi, who’d even taken him to meet the Hungarian king and reswear the Dragon oath of his father.

Casually, Vlad said, “He’s been trying to attack Sibiu for months, to punish the town for ‘harbouring’ me. In fact, once we’ve dealt with the ambush, we need to return quickly to Sibiu in case their forces split to draw me away. I advise you to accept my escort but warn you it will be an uncomfortable ride.”

Energy seemed to surge through him. He spoke briskly, his eyes and his mind clearly busy on the forthcoming fight. Ilona, unused to war at quite such close quarters, felt her stomach churn and twist. And yet the excitement wasn’t all unpleasant.

“Do you have enough men to defeat them?”

He didn’t laugh at the naïvety of her question. He simply said, “Yes.” And stopped. “Don’t come closer than this. Keep as silent as you can.”

The drivers were hooking nose bags to the horses, feeding them to keep them content, at least until the fighting started, when any more noise would scarcely matter.

Vlad nodded to her and spun on his heel, searching for his horse. Someone gave him the reins, and he vaulted lightly into the saddle.

“Be careful,” Ilona urged, and this time he did laugh, briefly, soundlessly.

His men surrounded him once more, almost like some silent, magical materialization. Attuned to his deep voice, low yet commanding, Ilona heard him give his final instructions. Most of the words were lost, but she did hear the clearly spoken, “No mercy.”

“For the Ottomans,” one of his men amended.

“For anyone. Kill them all.”

***

Kill them all.
The words stayed with her, chilling her to the bone as the cold could not. While the maid stayed huddled in the carriage, Ilona paced around the outside of it until she had worn a ring of snow almost completely away.

What exactly had she expected of him? A stranger, an exile by his own admission bent on revenge. She lived in a ruthless, war-torn world, but it had always seemed an honourable one before, at least on the side of good, where men who surrendered to greater odds or to better men were treated with mercy. Vlad, it seemed, had none of that particular commodity. Infidel or Christian, Ottoman or one of his own people over whom he hoped to rule one day, all would die.

Unless he did.

For the first time, she began to understand her aunt’s misgivings about him, her father’s ambiguity. Hunyadi, it seemed, had unleashed a terrible weapon in his war against the Ottomans and their collaborators.

And yet if he lost, would the Ottomans or their Wallachian allies show any more compassion? If Transylvania fell, what then would happen to the Christian world? What would happen to her home, her family?

She had lived with this issue for so long that it had become a background to her whole life. It came as a shock now to be actually
thinking
about it—the possibility of losing everything to the Ottomans. The old childhood belief that neither her father nor Uncle John Hunyadi would ever let it happen no longer rang true. And that made her feel very small and very cold. The possibility was suddenly real, frightening, compelling, brought powerfully home by those three callous words.
Kill them all
.

“That’s it,” said one the men-at-arms suddenly. “Listen.”

Ilona paused in midstep. In the distance, muffled by the trees and the snow, men’s voices shouted. She couldn’t distinguish war cries from the screams of soldiers or horses. The men-at-arms listened intently, visibly torn between conflicting desire to be in the thick of the fight and relief to be well out of it, guarding their charge in safety with all honour.

Is he dead or victorious?
She knew it had to be one or the other. It would be such a tragic way for him to die, so young, before he had even done more than wait.

Pain gripped her stomach like a claw and squeezed until she forced herself to breathe and loosen it. Men died all the time. It was one of the things women endured. And in her heart, she knew he’d survive. He’d set out like a hunting wolf, with such confidence, such brisk efficiency that he couldn’t lose. Could he?

Which meant the forest would be full of the dead.

He rode back into their little makeshift camp at the head of his victorious troop. A little bloodied, a little torn around their clothing, the men buzzed with excitement and triumph, their laughter occasionally too boisterous but never undisciplined. Vlad himself didn’t laugh. There was blood on the knuckles of his right hand, trickling between the fingers which so effortlessly held his agitated horse in check. His eyes still flashed with the same restless excitement, and Ilona soon realised why. His task was not done until he returned to Sibiu and saw it safe.

She didn’t know if he read the relief or the accusation in her eyes when he met her gaze. Certainly, he didn’t appear to care.

Dismounting, he said, “We must leave now. We travel at speed, so the carriage may get stuck behind. Either way, it will not be a comfortable ride. I suggest alternative transport.”

Frowning with incomprehension, she followed his gaze to his men—and the two vehicles they guided.

Vlad said, “This is how they covered the ground so quickly.”

“Sleighs,” said Ilona, stunned.

“I haven’t driven one of these since I was a child playing on the hills of Sighisoara,” Vlad said happily.

It couldn’t be resisted. In spite of everything, fun bubbled up from her toes as the horses were quickly harnessed to the sleighs. Ilona found herself seated on the bench of one while the prince in person laid the countess’s blanket over her knees.

He winked at her, more like the boy who’d climbed the wall at Horogszegi than the man who’d just slaughtered umpteen other men in battle, and climbed onto the bench beside her. There was an instant when she remembered exactly who and what he was, and excitement spiked through her, overwhelming the sudden, unspecific fear. Then Vlad yelled a challenge to the sleigh on the other side and let his horses go.

It was exhilarating, swishing through the snow at high speed. Sometimes they moved off the road and swerved among the trees to avoid the carriage, which careered along beside them. Ilona clung to the side, ridiculously happy to be thrown from side to side, sometimes unable to avoid bumping against him. Vlad’s attention was necessarily on the road and the horses, but she caught an occasional flash of his teeth as he grinned.

The emphasis was on speed, though Ilona noticed the frequent arrivals of lookouts and their reports yelled to the prince without stopping.

“I think we’re clear,” he called to her once. “No sign of any other parties. We can slow down if you want.”

“Oh, no,” said Ilona, and he laughed and urged the horses faster. He was like some god of ancient legend, and yet giving her more fun than she’d had in years.

Her stomach twisted with inconvenient protest. “Vlad?”

He glanced at her.

She blurted, “Did you kill them all?”

He twitched the reins, and the horses swerved left. The sleigh flew between two trees with inches to spare.

“Yes,” said Vlad. “I killed them all.”

It felt like pain, only she didn’t know where. “Why? Why no mercy?”

It was none of her business. Even from the privilege of marriage, her mother had never questioned any of her father’s military decisions. She wasn’t even sure why it mattered so much, except that it was he who’d done it. In her mind, foolish and childish, she’d made him into something he wasn’t. Because she’d understood him once, she’d forgotten she didn’t really know him at all.