Fifty

Wallachia. December 1476.
Life has neither treated me with respect nor with kindness, and my existence has been a battlefield full of hate, fights, and loneliness. I’ve been beaten, injured, judged, cursed, misunderstood, and the only person who knew the real me, who loved me more than life itself, died about fourteen years ago.
They had just released me from twelve years of prison in Hungary because of some letters I never wrote. They were forgeries. I would never lick the Sultan’s boots. I’d die first. Traitors surrounded me like vultures to carrion. In the meantime, Anton would secure some of my business and travel around, bringing me news of how things worsened in my country. Politics deteriorated in my land, and somehow they needed me again.
My traitor cousin, Stephen, had a sudden pang of conscience, writing to king Mathias from Hungary, to have faith in me again and place me back in Wallachia. Of course, I had to abide by some sort of deal, marry into the Roman Catholic Church with one of Mathias’ relatives. I was aware it would put me in trouble with my faith, but that’s how my life was, right? Business and politics.
We were in an offensive campaign against Basarab Laiotă from Transylvania to Wallachia. It had begun a month ago, and this Turkish doormat advanced on us with an army of 18000 men made up of Ottomans, some boyars, and his own men.
Anton and I led our troops, and the battle took place at the border near the town of Rucăr. The fight was hard, but we defeated them. Once again I had my cousin’s support, and we drove away the enemies from the whole northeast of Wallachia.
Both of us met in front of Stephen Báthory, swearing eternal allegiance to one another, as later I discovered it wouldn’t be that eternal. Together, we continued to sweep the land, and by the end of November I was again in my rightful place as the ruler.
“Vlad, something doesn’t smell right. We need to build some trust with the right people to back us up,” he said in a grave tone.
“Don’t you think I know that, Anton? We have mistaken letting that bastard escape us. We should have gone behind him and ended his miserable life after our victories at Rucăr.”
“Eventually, Laiotă will counterattack us. We have to prepare for him. Maybe it’s time for some old friends to pay for the favors they received. If I leave now, I’ll be back in a week with reinforcements.” Blessing him, he left as lack of time closed in on us.
All odds were against me, and deep down I knew my days were thinning, even though we had driven most of the Turks away, they were still too close for comfort, many boyars were shit deep entrenched with Basarab Laiotă and my late brother Radu, may the devil have him, for me to have any hope of reconciliation.
For the sultan, I was better dead, and even the Saxons were quiet for now, but they still conspired with my enemies behind my back, and once my cousin Stephen and Báthory left the country, I was in danger. I still didn’t have the time to strengthen my reign and rebuild the trust and loyalty to make this work.
I had settled in Bucharest, and Stephen left behind 200 Moldavian men for my protection. Things were boiling up by the Danube, and an attack could happen any time coming from the south. I wasn’t mistaken.
Anton was about to arrive with more troops, but Laiotă and a Turkish contingent of 4000 men, twice the number of my defenders, attacked us by the monastery of Snagov, the one I rebuilt and made into a fortress. Fighting outnumbered wasn’t anything new for me, but the cowardly way it happened took me by surprise.
“Kazîglu Bey**, we meet again! I came to deliver justice upon you, and all your acts of treason and disobedience against the sultan, all these long years! Are you ready to pay for your sins?” The bastard was mocking me with my own lines.
“I’ve committed no sin, nor I was disobedient to that spoiled brat who entitles himself as sultan. I’ll never bow down to him or acknowledge him as my superior. He’s an infidel and I’ll die before that happens!” I growled at him.
“So I have no choice, but to assist you with that.” Then it started. All men crashed into each other, swords swung and clung, crashing heavily at the speed of light, in a coordinated dance for dear life. Shouting and agonizing screams made its way to me. The potent smell of fear and uncertainty mixed with sweat and spilled blood assaulted my nostrils.
It was a bitter wintry day, and my men fought like lions, holding on to their bravery and loyalty to their land. But something wasn’t right. More enemies appeared from nowhere while I was in a deadly fight with that asshole. He was keeping me busy. Out of the blue, three more of his men came up to us.
I hit Laiotă square in the face with my elbow, while swinging on my feet and slaying the one on my left, and went back to that mouse. Then it happened.
Time and space paralyzed, and the world came to a stop. Thunders roared in the sky and angry, ominous clouds rolled in, bringing a storm. The excruciating pain that followed was unbearable, and I looked at the smug face of the bastard, then down to my stomach. Someone slain me from the back, as I could see the tip of the blade, which had pierced me with no mercy.
“Coward!” I barked, coughing up some blood. “You didn’t have the guts to do it yourself, weak bastard.” When I thought my legs would give out, the mouse behind me pushed the blade deeper as I screamed in agony and fell to my knees.
“There, there, that’s the place you’re supposed to be, the great Impaler at my feet, begging for mercy.” He laughed out loud in the middle of that mayhem. “Any last words?” He raised his sword. My head was about to fall.
“Never! One day, I will see the sultan’s ass up in a stake,” I hissed at him. Sweat poured out of my face, mingling with my blood. “I’ll never accept him as my master and neither will my people!”
“What a waste of last words!” He mocked me. Then I heard a rough, pissed voice thundering at that coward, resounding throughout the battlefield, and swinging his sword. Anton! He jumped from his horse, while Laiotă fled like the mouse he was.
“Sire!” He sighed in disbelief and took the sword out of my chest, and I howled in pain, falling on my face.
He put me on his horse, and we left from there. My wound was lethal and my end was near. There was nothing else he could do. When we got to the marsh fields close to the monastery, I asked him to stop and put me on the ground; I had lost so much blood already, and every time I coughed, more would come out of my mouth.
“Sire, we have to reach the monastery. You need help!” His desperate tone told me at least one friend I had in this brutal life of mine, and a good feeling filled my soul.
“Anton, you fought beside me for too long. You know this is the end, my friend.” He nodded. It was a done deal.
“What do you want me to do, sire?”
“Don’t worry about me, I’m already dead.” I flinched in pain. “Go to my cousin, go to Stephen, and tell him what happened.” I didn’t know what hurt most, the stab or once again being cowardly, betrayed.
“Let me at least take you to the monastery. The monks can take care of you there, please Vlad?” I didn’t want to hear the sorrow and concern in his voice.
“We don’t have time, just go, Anton,” I growled at him, since he didn’t follow my orders and my strength waned down.
“But sire, I can’t leave here for the vultures!”
“Anton! I’m already dead! There’s nothing you or the monks can do for me, just go. We don’t have time. Thank you for being a good friend, now go!” I choked on my words as emotions took me.
“As you wish, sire. It was an honor to fight by your side! I won’t fail you!” We stared at each other for some time in silence, saying our goodbyes. Then he nodded, jumped on his horse, and without looking back he galloped away. Once more, I was alone. Only death and me.
I had been in and out of conscience for some time now. Seconds seemed minutes, and minutes turned into hours. I didn’t know anymore, and the pain that once tore through me was no longer. It became a dull ache, wasting away little by little.
“Look who we have here!” I blinked several times, trying to bring into focus the owner of that far-away voice, but he was right on top of my head. “If it’s not the bloodthirsty sinner.”
“Father Ioan?” I croaked. My throat was so dried, and thirst assuaged my body. I could barely move. “What… I…” even talking was tiring.
“Your thirst for blood and revenge drove you into madness, and as if it wasn’t enough, you ended your life in heresy against your faith.”
“What are… are you saying?”
“You lived your life in darkness, son of the dragon, and became the devil itself. I denounce you, Vladislav Draculea, for your crimes of heresy and corrupted soul, and I bless you with the darkness you so much dwelled in it.” This pitiful monk was cursing me in my last moments. The sky, once so clear, became dark as furious clouds rolled in. A flash of lightning struck close to us when he spoke in Russian. “You disowned your church, your beliefs, staining even more your blackened soul. Not even that poor creature, who loved you so much, years ago, could change your nature, and she paid the ultimate price for it.”
“Don’t you dare talk about her!” I gritted out. “Don’t you dare…” My eyes filled with tears, but the wind was so strong it blew them away. “I did it... to get out... of that prison.” Blood came up to my mouth again, and I was choking on it, as even to swallow was hard at that point.
“Your soul will remain corrupted and thirsty for blood, as hell won’t accept you, much less heaven. You won’t find peace, until the only one who dared to love you in this life chooses you above all else, above all her suffering and grievances, otherwise, you’ll be damned for all eternity.” Still speaking in Russian, he plastered the holy crucifix on my forehead. Fire rushed inside my body, searing everything in its path.
I wanted to scream my misery out, but I wouldn’t give that son of a bitch the pleasure. My eyes burned and my teeth felt strange as something inside me came alive. My vision blurred, the air got scarce, and my time came. I was dying helpless and alone, like an animal on the field.
“I should have impaled you when I had the chance, Father Ioan…” I spat in anger, my eyes fixed on his old and glassy brown ones as darkness took me. Then I died. Well, I thought so...
**Kazîglu Bey = Lord Impaler