Blood of the Impaler (36 page)

"And you shall remain my guest indefinitely, Voivode, until such time as it shall please me either to unleash you against the sultan or buy the sultan's friendship with your death."

The Voivode nodded slightly. "I am in all things Your Majesty's humble servant."

"Indeed you are." Corvinus laughed, knowing full well how much the Voivode hated him. "But servants such as you can ruin the reputation of a prince. Not a month goes by without someone telling me of some action of yours while you were Voivode of Wallachia—"

"I
am
still
Voivode of Wallachia," he pointed out, trying to repress his anger.

"Your younger brother, Radu, might disagree with you. It is he who now does the sultan's bidding in Bucharest."

"Radu is a weakling, a sycophant," the Voivode muttered.

"Oh, I am sure he is," Corvinus said, nodding. "But still, he is there, and you are here. But no matter. As I was saying, reports keep reaching me of things you did while you were ruling. I find it difficult to believe some of them, I must admit." He drank again from his wine. "Tell me, Little Dragon, is it true that you attempted to rid your principality of beggars and cripples by killing them all?"

"Yes, and orphans and useless old men and women also," the Voivode agreed, "but it sounds inhumane as you phrase it, if I may be so bold."

"Ha!" Corvinus chuckled. "Then, please tell me how it can be more humanely phrased!"

"You have read of the Spartans, have you not, Your Majesty? The great warriors of ancient Greece?"

"Of course I have, and I have read of their systematic elimination of the unfit. But that was two thousand years ago, Little Dragon!"

"Two thousand years ago or last month, it makes no difference. A prince must make his nation strong, and to do that he must make his people strong. You and I have both sent men off to fight and die in battle, have we not, My Lord? It is the same thing. Some lives must be sacrificed so that the nation may grow stronger and more secure. It was necessary"

"And then you fed their bodies to the bears and the wolves that you kept as pets, did you not?"

The Voivode sighed. "Mine is a poor country, Your Majesty. Should I have wasted so much meat?"

"Certainly not, certainly not." Corvinus laughed. "The point is that you are a terror to your own people, Little Dragon! A prince must be loved, not hated."

"A prince must be feared and respected!" the Voivode said heatedly. "Do not forget that while I ruled in Wallachia, there was very little crime. My people feared my justice! Why, in the town square in Bucharest, I placed a golden goblet upon the public well so that passersby could refresh themselves with it. The goblet was pure gold, unchained, unguarded, and yet it remained there for four years! No one dared to steal it for fear of my justice."

"For fear of your wooden stakes, more likely." Corvinus grinned.

"Punishments must be strict so that law will be respected."

"Strict? Strict!" Corvinus shook his head, suddenly serious. "I pride myself on maintaining an orderly realm, Little Dragon, but I have never impaled pregnant women through their birth canals or held feasts in the midst of hundreds of impaled prisoners! I have torture chambers for the use of my judges, as all rulers must, but I have none for my own use, my own amusement."

"My Lord," the Voivode said, seething beneath the surface, "pray allow me to remind you of a few things. When we were about to begin our campaign against the sultan, Torghuz Beg invited me to a parley at Giurgiu, on the Danube. A weaker man might have taken him at his word, a less intelligent man might have walked into his trap. But I am not weak, and I am not foolish, and so I sent my cavalry through the forests to fall upon the Turks by surprise before they even reached Giurgiu."

"Yes, I remember," Corvinus said. "You captured many of them."

"Twenty thousand of them!" the Voivode shouted. "Twenty thousand prisoners."

"Whom you then impaled upon twenty thousand stakes."

"Their fate was well deserved," he muttered, sitting back in his chair. "Torghuz Beg escaped, of course, as always."

"As always," Corvinus agreed, amused by the Voivode's passion.

"And remember, My Lord, that when the sultan arrived at Giurgiu and found the twenty thousand bodies, or what the crows had left of them, he stopped his invasion of Wallachia and returned to Constantinople. And then, when I invaded Bulgaria and freed the Bulgars from the Turkish yoke, the people sang hymns of praise to me, and the bells of the churches rang in celebration!"

"Ah, yes, but the Bulgars did not know you, Vlad the Impaler. They knew only the sultan. They had no reason to suppose that they had traded one whip for another."

The Voivode poured himself some wine from the pewter pitcher. "What matter what the peasants know or do not know? The point is this, My Lord: The Turk points his sword at all Europe. Yesterday he took Constantinople. Tomorrow, he may take Buda-Pesth." He sipped from his goblet. "You need my sword arm more than you need give my head to the sultan."

"Maybe, maybe," Corvinus said, nodding. "But if and I say
if
,
my dear Vlad, not when—if I choose to unleash you against the sultan, I must be assured that your violence is, shall we say, surgical, not general."

The Voivode laughed disparagingly. "Does the blood of peasants and prisoners trouble My Lord?"

"No," Corvinus answered. "Blood and I are old companions. But a dead peasant is one who cannot harvest wheat, and a dead prisoner is one who cannot be ransomed." He leaned forward. "That is the difference between you and me, Vlad. I kill when I must, as often as I must, but no more than I must. I kill without regret, but without passion. You, Voivode, you are in love with violence. You are in love with pain. You are in love with blood."

Vlad the Impaler smiled.

Malcolm sat up in bed.

He was shaking, frightened.
I just slipped into the memories
, he thought,
no transition, no awareness of its happening, not the slightest feeling that anything was wrong.

It's getting stronger! The blood is getting stronger!

He leaped from the bed and began to pace about his bedroom.
There must be an explanation for this
, he thought desperately.
I've taken the sacrament, I've purged myself, I've beaten the blood back down, and yet the memories still rise to the surface. How can this be happening?

He sat back down upon the bed, feeling his chest contracting painfully from his labored, panicky breathing. "Lord Jesus, help me," he whispered as he folded his hands and pressed them against his forehead. "Help me, Lord, help me, help me, help me!"

"Do you renounce your adherence to the excommunicate in Constantinople?" the archbishop asked.

"Yes, yes," Malcolm replied. "Help me, Lord, help me."

"Do you make obeisance to the Vicar of Christ in Rome?" the archbishop asked. "Do you bind yourself to the one holy Catholic Church and to the successor of Saint Peter, who is its lawful master upon this world?"

"Yes," the Voivode replied.

"Will you live as a faithful son of the holy Mother Church, defending her against her enemies, and putting your sword at her disposal?"

"Yes," the Voivode said.

The archbishop turned toward Matthias Corvinus and nodded as he said, "Rise, then, Vlad of Wallachia, Voivode, vassal of His Majesty the King of Hungary."

Vlad the Impaler rose slowly from his knees and then leaned forward to kiss the proffered ring of the archbishop of Buda-Pesth. He bowed slightly as the prelate said, "The Lord be with you, Prince," then turned to leave.

King Matthias smiled at the Voivode and said, "And so now you are Catholic, Little Dragon, and thus an acceptable tool in my war upon the sultan."

"Yes, Catholic indeed." The Voivode laughed. "A true and devout son of the Church." The king shared his laughter. Each knew the depth of the Voivode's devotion. "And now to my army," the Voivode said, "and back to my principality."

Corvinus began to walk toward the exit from the chapel, and the Voivode followed him slowly. "Your army, I am afraid, will consist only of whatever mercenaries you can recruit," Corvinus said.

"It is no matter," the Voivode replied. "My brother, Radu, has the military skill of a little girl, and his army is commanded by inexperienced fools. I shall topple him in a day, and after I have reorganized his army—my army, I should say—then I shall meet the Turk."

Corvinus paused before speaking. "We have received word that the sultan has sent Torghuz Beg to occupy Wallachia in anticipation of my sending you against your brother. I am afraid, Little Dragon, that you will have to deal with Torghuz Beg before you deal with Radu, not after."

The Voivode was not pleased with this news. He thought for a few moments and then nodded grimly. "It will be difficult, but I shall choose my own ground. Torghuz Beg wants my head, and he will pursue me in order to get it."

"What will you do?" the king asked, pausing at the door of the chapel.

The Voivode placed his hands upon his hips and arched his back, which was a bit stiff from the lengthy genuflection he had just been obliged to undertake. "As you know, my cousin Bassarab is the Voivode of Transylvania."

"Yes, my faithful vassal," Corvinus said, nodding, "unlike your other cousins, the Voivodes of Moldavia and Bukovina."

The Voivode shrugged. "Mircea and Nicholae live hemmed in by the Turks, the Poles, and the Muscovites. They have
little choice in the matter of alignment. But as I was saying, Bassarab and I long ago extended to each other the courtesy of a private residence in each other's principality. I have maintained a fortress near Oradea for many years. Even during my stay as your honored guest"—he smiled mirthlessly at the king—"Bassarab has not confiscated it."

"And so you shall tempt Torghuz Beg into Transylvania?"

"Yes, by returning to my castle near Oradea. Strategic necessity will impel him to invade, for the longer he waits, the stronger I shall grow. His army is at peak strength, it cannot become stronger, not with so many of the sultan's troops tied down on the Polish border."

Corvinus nodded. "Clever. You realize, do you not, that you are attempting to draw the Turks into an invasion of Hungarian territory?"

The Voivode smiled. "Of course I do."

"And you must also be aware that I have no intention of meeting such an invasion myself under these circumstances?"

The Voivode's smile did not fade, but anger shone in his eyes. "I did not expect you to."

"Good," Corvinus replied. "Remember, Little Dragon, that I am using you for my own purposes. I will not be used by you. If you fall before Torghuz Beg, I shall assert that you acted without my knowledge or support, and he will evacuate Transylvania so as to avoid a war with me."

"He will know that you are lying."

"Of course he will, but that is an irrelevant point. Diplomatic niceties and the complexities of negotiation rarely have anything to do with truth and honesty."

The Volvode nodded. "I agree, Your Majesty. And I understand full well my position."

"My
prayers go with you into battle, of course, but if you are defeated—"

"Then at least I will be buried in the castle crypt near Oradea, with my father, my older brother, and my ancestors. Your illustrious predecessor Hunyadi allowed my father and brother to be buried there after he killed them."

Corvinus ignored the subtle rebuke, replying merely, "Vlad II and Mircea were executed because they lied to everyone, betrayed everyone, Turk and Magyar alike. Do not follow in their footsteps, Little Dragon."

"I shall strive to avoid them," he muttered.

"Yes. Well." The king stepped out of the chapel into the
warm air of the Hungarian summer. "I must meet with the Venetian ambassador. You may join us, if you wish."

"Not quite yet," the Voivode said. "I wish to remain here and pray for a while."

"Pray!" The king laughed. "By God, I think you mean it!" Still laughing, Matthias Corvinus left the chapel, allowing the heavy oaken door to close behind him.

The Voivode stood motionless for a moment and then whispered, "Ordogh! Ordogh! The time has come, has it not?"

There was only silence for a short while, and then the voice from the Pit said softly, "The time has come, Little Dragon. My time has come, and your time has come."

"I shall triumph, shall I not? I shall sit again upon the throne of Wallachia, shall I not?"

"Are you not the Voivode?" the voice asked ambiguously. "And I shall triumph over the Turk, shall I not?"

The voice did not reply.

"I shall triumph, shall I not?" the Voivode repeated.

"Must I tell you again that I am no Gypsy fortune-teller, Little Dragon?" Ordogh asked. "You shall triumph in ways you do not know, over men not yet born. Your name shall be heralded far and wide for reasons you cannot as yet comprehend. But as for the Turk, the outcome of that battle is not yet for you to know."