HistoryPark: Here There Be Dragons

Kevin,

Your opinion of the boyars matches my own. For all that they are greedy and self-centered, do not forget that they have long experience at intrigue, guile and retaining power. When I was Prince, some of the boyars had seen a dozen Princes come and go…

The war seems to have gone well for Wallachia. You may not have known, but the Turks were also fighting a bitter war in eastern Asia Minor. I am gladdened to see the proud sons of Osman brought low. It does seem that Wallachia must now have a navy, or good relations with the Byzantines, or both.

Do not accept any regional post. Andru will be impatient to return home; go with him and seek a position in the Prince’s household.

Your humble & obedient servant,

Vlad



Letter #3

Spring, 1458

Vlad,

I have done as you suggested. Andru’s recommendation got me a post with Prince Vlad and I’ve become a general-purpose gopher – go fer this and go fer that.

I have been having odd dreams of people and places I seem to remember but cannot name. I do remember when I recognized one dream-couple as my mother and father – it was as if I had never seen them before, but then I did recognize them somehow and I could not believe I had not known them. The best I can explain it is that sometimes I see a word, and I know I know it but it does not make sense to me – it looks strange. And then I do recognize it and feel silly for having been at a loss.

Prince Vlad is eerily like you and yet very unlike. Even physically, there are noticeable differences – more striking differences between him and that famous portrait of you as an adult. He’s a little taller than you, I think. The fashion in Constantinople is for men to be clean-shaven, so he has only recently begun growing out his mustaches. Mostly there is a difference of attitude: you seem sad, the portrait looks obsessed (even crazed) and Prince Vlad just exudes confidence.

Only a few days ago, I saw all the proof I ever needed that he is indeed Vlad Dracula. He invited a large party of boyars and their families to Tirgoviste to celebrate Easter. Then he barred the door to the banquet hall, read out indictments for the murder of his father and brother, and had the accused taken out and beheaded. He didn’t torture them or harm their families, but he had every one of those men killed. For the short term this pretty much guarantees the boyars will not cross him, but they will resent and hate him.

Sometimes the years he spent in the Byzantine court become all too obvious. After the last revolt in Antalya, he decreed religious tolerance for Islam so long as certain fees were paid. This is, in fact, very much like the policy of Islam toward other religions.

Then he ordered the rebel leaders rounded up, executed, and their heads stuck up on pikes. The people there now call him ‘Shaitan’ – and ‘Impaler’ – but they don’t revolt any more.

Fall, 1461

We have received word from the usual spies and informants that King Charles VII of France is dead. As I understand it, the Hapsburgs have been trying to marry into the Valois line for some time; now, with Charles dead, they have moved to more direct action. Bohemia, Austria, Mantua, the Palatine, Saxony and Bavaria have all declared war on France. Her allies – Aragon, Scotland, Gelder and Munster – have all abandoned her. The only question seems to be how hard France will fall. Unless his son Louis (XI) is smart enough to make a fast peace, this could get ugly.

Spring, 1463

Vlad is occupied with more empire-building. We have snapped up the rickety, decadent Duchy of Athens. Like a wolf that brings down a kill, we now must defend it from the scavengers. Tuscany, Modena, England and the remnants of the Baltic Hanse (Mecklenburg, Bremen and the Teutonic Order) seem to have coveted Greece for themselves and are now swearing to take it from us. All to ‘defend the right of the legitimate claimant’, of course, who is an incompetent decadent by-blow of a Norman pirate. Ah, well.

Summer, 1464

Serbia and Bosnia are at it again. We have supported our ally but I hope we will not need to back up our words with troops. The terrain in the Balkans is almost entirely rough, rugged and roadless: dense forests broken by steep hills and mountains. Very difficult ground to campaign upon, and the people are sullen, suspicious and deadly fighters.

1465

Resistance to the long-running war and to Vlad himself is increasing. Rebellions and outright revolts are reported in Bulgaria, Hellas, Antalya, Rumelia and Macedonia. Vlad finally bribed the Italians and settled a ‘status quo’ peace with Bosnia. The Byzantines stayed in the war and promptly took Bosnia, leaving Burgundy, Savoy, Navarre and Ragusa as enemies.

All is well here. Best,

Kevin

Sytass - Thanks!

Stuyvesant - the telling of Dracula stories seems to have become a small industry in Romania. You can find someone linking almost any local legend to Vlad.

Many of the 'horror stories' were popularized by the German settlers of Transylvania (all called Saxons by the locals) - one of the first instances of propaganda by printing press. One tale at least can be verified.

On Easter Sunday (possibly 1459) he invited the boyars of Tirgoviste to a feast. Having gotten them all into one place without their weapons and supporters, he then arrested them for treason against his father and older brother. Some were sentenced to immediate death and others compelled to build a castle at Poenari - the real Castle Dracula - with their own labor. He replaced them all with his own men.

So that is what happens when you move the centralization slider to the right!

calcsam2 - so what did you do with calcsam1?

My attention was 'distracted' from the Turks by a wave of wars with Western powers and revolts in my new territory. By the time my attention turned east again I saw the Turks had recovered. You'll see how in later posts and maps.

So, no war of annihilation against the Turks yet. Other things have priority as we shall soon see.



I am still struggling with posting pics to my web site. I don't want to go much further with this until I can get Brother Ionnes' portrait and the 1466 map up. There will be a post within 48 hours, I hope.

Interlude

“Ray! How’s it going?” The speaker plopped down on the sofa where Ray Montero was contemplating an empty soda can.

“Oh, hullo, Barbara. About as expected, I suppose. Whenever you take a lot of territory, all your neighbors hate you. My BB score isn’t all that high, but it is high compared to the countries around me. I thought it was worth the risk, better to grab what I could before Wallachia fell behind in the technology race.” He chunked the soda can in the nearby waste can and stretched, yawning. “Wallachia is so poor… I need money for research, money for merchants, money for missionaries, money for troops… I’m concentrating on promoting tax collectors and researching trade, and I’m moving the slider toward centralization as fast as I can.”

“I’m ready to help you anyway I can,” she said. “It’s a shame something like this had to happen to a nice guy like Kevin. Just let me know what you need me to do.”

“I could use some help with data retrieval,” he said. “And check out the map and tell me what you think.”


Wallachia is bordered in white, her allies are bordered in yellow. Moldavia is a vassal of Wallachia.

She walked down the low, wide steps from the stage to the holomap, then strode knee-deep through a virtual Mediterranean Sea. “Wallachia and the Byzantines are allied?” she asked.

“Yeah. Plus Moldavia and Serbia. None of them is very strong, so they make natural allies at least for the short term. Those territories are all mixed together, now, so that’s awkward. And the Byzantines keep taking more territory in the Balkans… I think if I’m going to keep them from becoming a real rival, I had better move now.”

She looked up, troubled. “You mean…”

“Hey, I remember that you have a soft spot for the Eastern Empire. Last August, when we had that multiplayer marathon weekend, your Byzantines cleaned my clock when I was Aragon. But I don’t benefit from taking Muslim or Catholic territory: the missionaries are too expensive and have almost no chance of success. Unfortunately, most of the Orthodox provinces that are easy for me to get to are Byzantine. In the long-term, the only hope I see is to consolidate the southern Balkans, bring in Moldavia and take in the Byzantines… one way or another.”

She nodded slowly, sadly. “Have you tried talking to the Byzantines?”

He lifted the laser datawand and flicked off the map. “Vlad Dracula isn’t much of a diplomat. He keeps inviting the Emperor to a stake dinner… no, that’s just a joke.” She smiled. “Anyway, the Byzantines keep turning me down. You know Wallachia only gets one diplomat a year, and can’t afford much in the way of gifts. I’ll ask again, but if they refuse I may have to do something drastic.”

calcsam2 - Ah. I hope I didn't pry. I'm relieved you don't have multiple personalities. Or if you do, they don't have their own screen names.

To All - Yes, the map doesn't show. I've loaded the XP service pack, loaded the newest Java engine, and still no go. Going to deinstall AOL tomorrow and reinstall it... pray for me.

Here's another tidbit to keep you occupied...

Second Interlude – The Scent of Roses

Approaching Constantinople from Europe, the Balkans and northern Greece are pinched between the Black Sea and the Aegean, forming a funnel-shaped corridor that points directly to the old city on the straits. Down this ancient Roman road flows the produce and commerce of nations – at least the portion that does not move by sea – and the armies that those nations employ.

Guarding that vital road, Constantinople’s only land route to the west, is the ancient city of Adrianople – Hadrian’s city, famous from ancient times for its rose oil and rosewater. It is infamous perhaps for being the most fought-over city in all of human history - no fewer than eight major battles took place there before 1500 – and the natural terrain advantages of the surrounding river and hills are supplemented with strong fortifications. This is the city that was taken by the Turks in 1364 and served as their defacto capital until Constantinople’s capture, the vital outwork whose siege and fall made the collapse of the Eastern Empire inevitable.

In this year of 1471, Constantinople has not yet fallen to the Turks, and since the Wallachian alliance swept the armies of Islam out of Europe and restored Adrianople to the Byzantines, Constantinople is not likely to fall anytime soon. Adrianople is near enough to the frontier to be a logical and convenient place for Wallachians and Byzantines to meet, and large enough to furnish civilized comforts. The city is high enough to be cool in the summer, and the lush forests make the surrounding hills a pleasant vacation spot for men from the Great City of the straits. And in spring and summer there are roses, roses everywhere.

In this February of 1471, winter still lies heavy upon the land. In this country villa southwest of Adrianople, no-one ventures onto the windy courtyard to look at the frozen pool, nor does anyone venture out into the snowy woods without furs and stout boots. No, sensible men snooze under furs or in chairs by the fire, or curl up with fire-warmed stones and rare books from the well-stocked library. The few who venture outside go no farther than the woodpile when firewood is needed for warmth and for heating spiced drinks: the winter has been a bad one, and the wolves are hungry.

Given the exalted rank of the guests it was inevitable that guards would be posted, despite the cold and damp. A brace of them escorted the little mounted party up the icy track from the main road and then helped the new arrivals settle their horses in the stable. A man from the City might leave that to the stable boys, but these were experienced horsemen who knew the value of tending to your horse yourself.

By the time they had curried and fed the horses and stamped the mud and snow from their own high boots and woolly leather pants, hot food and drink were waiting to be served. The fire in the big hearth in the main room (too small to be a proper Great Hall, too cluttered with hunting trophies to be anything else) had been built up to a crackling blaze and all the great candles about the room had been lit against the wintry gloom.

“I had not expected him to come in person. Nor in the midst of winter!” The speaker ran his hands through his short-cropped gray beard and then held them out to the fire for warmth. They were the thick, muscular hands of a man who has done hard work in his lifetime, a little softer now from age and beringed as fit their owner’s station.

“A good sign, I should think,” the older man opined, his own outstretched hands showing skin drooping and creped with age. “My advice, lord, is to receive him with friendly warmth, with every courtesy. Our agents report that he is terribly proud and very sensitive to any slight. Likewise, they say he responds warmly to respect and friendship.” The first man nodded. The noise from the entry hall gave notice that they had only seconds before their guests would join them. “You make the introductions, then, Argyros. Let’s get them settled in, warm and fed, and then talk business later.”

Later That Evening

Argyros ushered the two foreigners into the library and closed the door behind them. Andreas rose from behind the massive desk to greet them, and then with his own hands poured out four cups of wine. No servants were to be permitted at this meeting, but the other ruler had been asked to bring a trusted man. It was unsaid but understood that this would keep the numbers equal on each side, two apiece.

Andreas lifted his cup in salute. “Hail, Vlad, Prince of Wallachia, friend and ally.” “Hail, Andreas, King and Autokrator of the Romans, friend and ally,” the Prince responded. Kevin waited until they all lifted their cups to their mouths to follow suit. The wine was thick, dark and very strong. Andreas used the water jug to thin the wine in his cup and then passed the jug around as the Wallachians settled into their thickly cushioned chairs. A quiet moment passed, broken only by the hissing and popping of the wet log that Argyros added to the fire before settling into his own chair.

“My apologies, Prince, for any inconvenience you may have suffered. Travel in the winter is never easy,” the Emperor began.

“I am very pleased by your courtesy. Travel on the main roads was not so difficult, and there were no storms. And a request from our honored ally is not to be taken lightly, certainly not with spring coming and campaign season not long after. But, please: among ourselves, may we not be less formal? You must call me Vlad, if I may call you Andreas?”

Argyros relaxed minutely: Vlad’s offer of informality was another propitious sign. Andreas’ great beak of nose dipped and rose in assent; the large, gnarled hands met and clasped each other over the great round belly. “You do me much honor, Prince. Vlad and Andreas, it shall be, and I thank you for your courtesy. And you have gone to the root of the issue. Spring is coming, and with it I fear must come war.”

Vlad’s wide mouth tightened a bit and his eyelids slid half-shut. “Indeed. And from what quarter comes this threat?”

Andreas smiled grimly. “Oh, from someone, Vlad. Somewhere. It hardly matters whom, anymore. That is the ugly lesson we of he Empire have learned: every spring brings war, and for centuries war has meant defeat. You had the finest tutors in the City, Prince; you spent all your early manhood there and did well in your studies. You know our history as well as we. My citizens prefer to look back on the glorious past, when Rome ruled and the earth trembled. I look to the present and future, and I tremble.”

“We’ve been whipsawed between the Turks and the Venetians for centuries. Every time we turn to the West for help we are put off, or robbed. Every time we try to draw a breath, the noose tightens further. Your people have been our only firm allies. If it were not for your assistance, the City might already have fallen to the Turks!”

“Instead, we have made some small improvements. But our situation is still dire. Grass grows on the wharves whose trade once financed an Empire. Our money is debased, driven out by Venetian ducats. The City itself is depopulated by half or perhaps more, and the countryside is worse. Our possessions are scattered, unreachable except by sea or over your territory. Worst of all, centuries of losing wars have drained our manpower and our treasury. We have no strength to match our enemies.”

“The problems of the City are not new, as you yourself have pointed out,” Vlad said evenly. “Romulus Diogenes lost his army at Manzikert four centuries ago. For lack of that army, Asia Minor was lost to the Turks – and Asia Minor was the cropland that fed your empire, the land from which your troops were drawn. Once that heartland was lost, you had money but no men. Appeals to the West for an army brought the Crusades but the Crusaders sacked the City, which destroyed your trade and finances. Food, men and gold make up three of the foundation stones a nation is built on: if they are cut short, the nation may collapse.”

Andreas shook his head slowly in regret. “Aptly put, Vlad. I would it were not so, but we must deal with life as it is, and not as we wish it were. What I wish to offer is, I think, of benefit to both our people.”

Vlad set his wine cup on the low table between the chairs and interjected, “If this is another request to hand over the lands on the Aegean, we shall have little to discuss. My people won them in war from the Turks and we will not give them up though it come to war again.”

Andreas kept his voice even with some effort. “No, Vlad, my offer is of a different kind. We shall not revisit that old topic unless you wish it. It is only a sadness for us, as though you had returned home to find your father’s lands in the hands of another man, no matter that the other might be a good friend.”

“No, this is what I wished to discuss with you. We still have some revenue, and we will have more come this spring. I am going to terminate the special trading privileges enjoyed by the Genoese and Venetians. That may bring war, but it will return our trade to our own hands. I propose to pay a sum of gold into your treasury every month for the equipage and maintenance of an army that you pledge to raise and to bring to our defense when needed.”

Vlad looked thoughtful, but interested. “How much?” he asked. Andreas named an amount and a troop size; there was a deep, shocked silence. It was a large sum, and a sizeable army.

“There are only three conditions,” Andreas continued. “One, the money will be credited to you monthly and not annually, and available through our banks. Second, payment will be contingent on a favorable report from three Imperial officers who will serve as inspectors; they will supply training and administrative help if you desire. Third, your heirs will be educated here in the City at Imperial expense.”

Vlad nodded shortly, then sat motionless for a moment. “Who commands?” he asked brusquely.

“You or an officer you appoint,” Andreas responded promptly. “My inspectors will provide advice if you ask for it, but will be under strict orders not to interfere. Their only charge will be to certify that the men are present, equipped and ready for duty… and, forgive me, Prince, but they will also guarantee the payments will not be made if we are endangered and the army does not march to our assistance.”

“And my family are to be hostages? What of the heirs of the Danisti?”

“No more than you yourself were a hostage, or Radu. We feel that the rulers of Wallachia may look more kindly on us if they are educated here, form friends here. We wish this alliance to be long-standing. The offer must also be open to the heirs of the Danisti. They are eligible to rise to the throne, after all.”

“Yes. Dear Radu. Where is my handsome brother, these days?”

“With Governor Kanaos in Tirane, last I heard. We aren’t detaining him, if that is what you are asking. He seems to have a special friendship with Kanaos.”

Vlad fell quiet again for another moment. “I accept your provisions and your treaty, with one condition of my own. The treaty that allows us to move armies over your lands must not lapse. I will not have an army held hostage as Demetrios did to us.”

“Demetrios was greedy, and a fool. If the treaty is mutual, if we may both traverse the territory of the other, then I offer it freely and with thanks.”

“Done. I swear to uphold the terms of the agreement and pledge the honor of my house to your defense.”

Andreas rose to his feet and filled his wine cup. “And I pledge the honor of my house to yours, Prince Vlad. Let it be so.”



After the two Wallachians left, Argyros broke the silence with a gusty sigh. “God help us. We have fallen so far. We are no longer truly independent.”

“And may we live so as to deserve His help,” Andreas intoned. “Not the terms or the allies I would have liked, old friend. But given the Venetians to the west, the Wallachs to the north and the Turks to the east, we must do something. It is no longer a question of independence, only a question of whom we may depend upon.”

“Have we raised up another threat, though? Will he not take our money and betray us like the others?”

“For the moment – for this man – I think not. He is honorable, even to a fault. All our agents agree on that. And the terms are to his advantage, too. Wallachia is even poorer than we, but they have more men who can serve in the army. The heirs of his house will receive an education worthy of the ruler of a great state – an upbringing that will bring them into our culture. And the Danisti will come too. They will hate and fear us, but they will not allow the Draculesti to receive such an advantage and forego it for themselves.”

“Do you think he sees the power this will give him over his own nobles?”

“Money and a standing army independent of those troublesome boyars? Oh, yes, he saw that right away – that man is nobody’s fool.”

Stuyvesant - As far as posting pics to my website, nothing that I try seems to work.

I have trouble even reading about the Crusaders who sacked Constantinople. I just cringe at the thoughtless destruction. BUT there are not a lot of Orthodox provinces, and I don't have any money for missionaries... so it is coming down to the Byzantines, or me. I am trying to be the good guy by attempting diplomatic annexation, but the Byzantines frequently have better rulers than Wallachia.

No save game editing. If any occurs, I'll tell you about it.

Byzantium graciously (and FINALLY) became the vassal of Wallachia, joining Moldavia in that state.

Anibal - yes, vassalage at last! Sorry I didn't make that clearer, but of course the Byzantines DON'T see it as submission, but rather as paying for protection.

stnylan - Thanks! But the inability to get Microtrash to work with Javacrap is REALLY wearing thin. I've been trying to get pics posted for 3-4 weeks now. I've loaded the XP sservice pack, reloaded Java, adjusted my security levels and now reloaded AOL - all for nothing.

Amric - Thank you for the compliment, but no. Not even an amateur, really. Just an occasional practitioner of a nasty, solitary vice... wrting, that is.

Hold on, though... here comes the good stuff.

Valdemar - Thanks. I'm afraid this one has been off to a slow start, which means it's time for battle scenes!

Alexandru H. - Yes, Radu is handsome but thanks to EU2 he will never be Prince. To be true to history the Wallachian monarch file would have to be five times the size... Vlad Dracula alone was on the throne three times.

Help keep me correct on my facts, will you?

Letter #4

Spring, 1471

Dear Vlad,

Your other self has pulled off quite a political coup. He has convinced the Byzantines to pay a regular tribute in exchange for military protection and is using the money to raise an army loyal to himself alone. You know that the Princes here have always been dependent on the boyars to furnish troops, and that it has been difficult to put down rebellions and such because each boyar wonders if he will be the next target. Having a trained, permanent force loyal to the Prince and not to a boyar has everyone stirred up. The peasants, traders and lesser boyars love it – less taxes squeezed from them and some protection from the great boyars. The great lords all hate the idea, hate the Byzantines and hate Vlad. To make them a little happier, Vlad has begun confirming the great boyars as hereditary, and he has been pretty even-handed about granting the privilege to friends and enemies alike.

Speaking of Vlad, I asked him how long it had been since a Prince got the better of a deal with the Byzantines and he got really angry. So I’m sort of persona non grata around the Princely court right now. Maybe he’s wondering which side in that deal came out on top after all.

I wish you could have seen the court session today! Old Basarab (he’s the leader of the Danesti) showed up to protest. It sounded like he was mad about everything from Vlad’s accepting Byzantine money to the rainfall. I never did figure out if he was for or against rain, just that he was mad about it and blamed it all on Vlad, who listened with this peculiarly intense look and never smiled once. So the old man wound up with a tirade about sending sons off to foreign schools and Vlad put the knife in by assuring him that only male heirs eligible for the Principality could go. The old boyar almost went bug-eyed; he’s been scheming for years to get himself and his son (another Basarab) on the throne! So he started yelling that his son had every right to go to Constantinople if he wanted to, and then Vlad agreed with him and told him to see to it immediately! You should have seen his face when he realized how he had been had! Vlad just shrugs it off, but I think it is dangerous to humiliate an opponent and then let him brood about it.

New Year, 1473

The Byzantines stirred up a little war with the Duchy of Ragusa and annexed it. Vlad isn’t happy about it at all. Firstly, he thinks if they get stronger they’ll increase their own army and cut off our payments, and secondly it has caused quite a furor with Venice. Evidently they considered Ragusa to be in their sphere of influence. Nobody seems to have asked the Ragusans; I suppose their opinion doesn’t matter much here-and-now.

The Turks are on the move eastward and everyone here seems content to watch them go. They took Kastamo from Candar and Konya from Karaman. I remember Konya being famous for coffee, but nobody at court seems to have heard of the stuff. The Knights of Rhodes and the Duchy of Cyprus have declared war on the Ottomans but don’t seem to be getting anywhere.

Spring, 1474

We are at war with Cyprus. I don’t know who is more amazed, us or them. Anyway, Vlad has scraped up a little fleet from the Greek cities and sent a small army off to the island. Mostly infantry levies and a little stiffening from the permanent force, with some engineers we hired from the Byzantines for siegecraft. At last report the Cretan army and navy were both away, but who knows what the fleet will find when it arrives there.

By the way, Vlad has taken to calling that permanent force a legion, and the hereditary lords are now called comitu, or count. ‘Boyar’ refers now only to the lesser nobility, sort of like the knightly ‘sir’ does in the West.

New Year, 1475

Vlad is in exile. The old boyars – the comitu, now – got to Grigori, somehow; he’s the commander of the Legion. Old Basarab has been confirmed as Prince. The expedition to Cyprus left months ago; I think the new Prince and the council will wait for word of its success or failure rather than recall it.

And I? He didn’t take me with him. I suppose he didn’t have time to come for any of his guard since the plotters came for him in the middle of the night. He got out through the secret exit, but his wife refused to go – she jumped. She’s dead, of course, but his sons were still in Constantinople the last anyone knew; no telling what has happened to them. I heard the racket in the halls and ran for it. I’m camped across the border for now, hoping Stefan of Moldavia will move to assist Vlad.

One thing is for sure: the comitu may have raged about taking the Byzantine solidii, but they like them well enough now that they control the fund. And as much as they hated and resented his other reforms, I don’t think this new regime is savvy enough to undo them. The central government is stronger, trade is less restricted and there’s even a small class of free peasants and small businessmen – smiths, millers, tanners, innkeepers and the like. Those Saxon merchants in Transylvania are screaming already over the new taxes and fees. Every comitu wants to charge every merchant for crossing his land, and it adds up even over short distances.

Summer, 1475

The counter-revolution failed. Vlad almost carried the day in Greece and Old Wallachia, but his enemies were too strong. That Legion was too well-trained and too numerous. Rumors say he has fled to Hungary and I’m going to try to join him there.

Fall, 1475

Cyprus has been taken and Old Basarab’s son (another Basarab) is the new governor. That means we’ll be lucky to keep the place for two months. Vlad still has a lot of friends at court and they keep him well informed. Cyprus had a nice little fleet, which has been added to our ships in Greece.

Early spring, 1476

The Turks have turned west; the Sultan has vowed to conquer Constantinople and carry Islam into Europe. At last report, Gedik Ahmed was leading a powerful force into Thrace. Almost half of our army is garrisoning Cyprus and what’s left isn’t strong enough to stop the Turks. Vlad has decided to return to Tirgoviste and offer his services as army commander. We’ve all argued with him, even the Hungarians, but he won’t listen. I don’t know how he expects his old enemies to put an army at his disposal and he isn’t saying. He is up to something, no mistake.

When we rode in for parlay they ambushed us and shot half of us off our horses, Vlad included. Some of the arrows were turned aside by his mail shirt, but the fool had his helmet off so they could see who he was. Someone saw too well, and put an arrow through his eye as neatly as a tailor threads a needle. He was dead before he hit the ground. We grabbed his body and fled upriver, turned the tables and ambushed them twice, and broke their pursuit. We buried him near this walled monastery on an island in the middle of the river – Snagov, they call it – and then turned south towards Thrace.