The Sword of Dacia
Chapter XXIII
Ionascu
The Battle of Nikopol
“Our father’s name was Ionascu de la Călăraşi, he was born some time in March in 1374, in the Muntenian town of Călăraşi. He probably knew the date of his birth… but it seems he never told anyone. He was the son of Alexandru de la Călăraşi, who himself, was the son of Nicolae de la Călăraşi who can be considered the founder of our family. As I said earlier… my own connection to my family is… rather poor… all those shared memories families are supposed to hold are nothing but stories to me. I did not know my father well… I will probably never know my real mother… and Octavian’s mother… well I will get to that later. But as I said earlier… my family is almost nothing more then a fable to be, recited to my sister and I as we lay in bed. I think I can speak objectively about him because of this. I have no personal memory or attachment to the man… I can’t even bake like my relatives could… but the way I see it, there’s nothing to cloud my judgment… I’ve had to keep perspective of the whole ordeal… all I have dozens of stories of a man who was my father. But… they are my only family and I hold these stories close to my heart”
“You seem rather comfortable with the idea…”
“I’ve… grown used to the idea… Well my father wasn’t originally supposed to be heir to Alexandru, he had an older brother, Petru, but he succumbed to illness at the age of eleven before he could inherit his father’s title. So it was passed to my father. Ionascu and Alexandru it seems did not get along. My grandfather Alexandru was a resolute soldier, a tough bastard apparently. He fought in countless battles during the reigns of Radu and Dan, he could always seem to be counted on for loyalty and strength. His second son though… was… not one would expect from such a fierce warrior. Ionascu was a boy of flaws. He was lazy, fat, and unmotivated. My father would rather sit around and eat then do anything useful. This aggravated my grandfather to no end. He wanted his son to be strong, and to be able to bear all the pressures of being a boier. Alexandru tried to beat some sense into his portly son but nothing seemed to work. Ionascu’s leisurely lifestyle remained intact. Eventually though, rather out of the blue it seemed, Ionascu developed and interest in warfare after seeing his father meet with an old friend who had brought Alexandru a finely crafted Saracen scimitar as a gift. It was a brilliant piece of metallurgy; it was a shamir, made of the finest Damascus steel, the brilliant patterns on the weapon resembled the rolling and swirling tides on the Marea Neagră, mysterious and enchanting. Ionascu became obsessed with it. After cutting himself on this magnificent sword while trying to play with it, Alexandru offered to teach his son how to properly wield a sword.
Alexandru was a very tough teacher, from the wee hours in the morning to when the sun faded into the East they would train constantly. They eventually moved on from just swords to polearms, archery, mounted combat, wrestling and dagger play. Everyday Alexandru would push his son harder and harder and Ionascu would become more and more talented. He was also getting more confident, bolder and stronger… Alexandru was happy to see his son actually excel at something-”
“Umm… sorry to interrupt you Nistor but… what is that smell?”
“Oh… that’s my brother’s drink,” said Nistor who gestured towards a bizarre little pot on the table surrounded by small saucers and cups.
“What is it?”, asked Stefan.
“Umm… I think I heard him calling it
kahveh or
caffè or something… it’s some sort of drink made out of beans”
“Beans?”
“Yes, beans… rather odd if you ask me”
“It smells… Very good actually”
“You probably shouldn’t drink it… my brother wouldn’t like it… it’s a lot of work to make this and he’s very protective of the large sack of beans he brought over from Italia, he says he wants to make a glass house so he can grow his own!”
“Why would he need a glass house?”
“I’m not sure…”
“Well… I think we can have a little sip, Octavian wouldn’t notice!” laughed the old man as he lifted up a small cup. He poured the small engraved pot’s hot liquid content into his cup, filling the room with more interesting smells.
“My brother drinks this stuff all the time, he doesn’t really drink alcohol, all he ever drinks is this stuff!”
“Your brother doesn’t drink!? That would probably explain why he was such a light weight when we went out last night!”
“No he doesn’t drink actually, well not much anyway. It’s very peculiar, he says he prefers this stuff because it doesn’t make you drunk”
“But getting drunk is the best part!”
“Well that’s not an opinion my brother shares I guess” said Nistor who poured himself a cup of the hot brown and foamy drink. They both gave a little sip of the drink.
“This is fantastic!” exclaimed Stefan as he took another sip.
“I can see why he drinks this so much! The flavour is very unique,” laughed Nistor.
“And now I see why he keeps it all for himself! But about the story…”
“Oh right… well where did I leave off?”
“The training” replied the old shepherd.
“Well after years of training this way Ionascu emerged a changed man, he was confident, focused and had become extremely skilled in combat. He was probably one of the best swordfighters in all of Wallachia, or at least, that’s what I’ve heard. He was married to Octavian’s mother in 1393. It was the biggest wedding the town had ever seen. The dashing and gallant boier, Ionascu, and the beautiful Stela Arbore, from a wealthy Rumâni-Genoese shipping family from Cetatea Albă were the talk of the whole region for a while.”
“So is that why Octavian is so obsessed with Italia? His mother was part Italian?”
“No… but it certainly helped. Without those connections he would have never been able to study in Florenţa like he did. They shipped him free of charge from the Marea Neagră to Italia and through some business connections… and some say extortion, managed to find several schools willing to take him in. Stela was more Rumâni then Italian though, and she cannot speak Italian but she understand it a little apparently”
“Ah, that makes sense… although this Italian family sounds a bit dangerous… and why did Octavian get sent to Italia in the first place?”
“I will answer that question in good time Stefan. So as expected from a boier of his age, Ionascu was called for service to his Lord, Mircea, and took up his sword along with his father and went off to battle against the Infidel. That battle… was Nikopol”
“My god!”
“Well… I probably shouldn’t have to tell you about what happened... It was an utter failure… Mircea’s army was to the Eastern flank. There was a panic in the Wallachian ranks when they saw those rider-less French horses wander back to Sigismund’s camp, Mircea withdrew his troops back across the Dunăre but not before the Wallachians were attacked by Anatolian cavalry and Janissaries. Swarms of Turks ran screaming down the hills, and the mounted archers and light cavalry scattered our, already retreating troops. It was a disaster, not as bad as what happened to the French or Magyars but it was a debacle from the start. Heh… old King Sigismund never trusted us after that again… anyway Ionascu and Alexandru where cut off from the retreating Wallachian column on the shores of the river. Given the haphazard retreat the Genoese and Venetian ships had little time to prepare to ferry the survivors across. Unfortunately, Ionascu and Alexandru were not able to reach the ships in time. They had been cut off after a rather nasty encounter with some of those goddamn traitorous Janissaries, a bunch of vile, disgusting… errr… well anyway The two ran as fast as they could to the river, hopefully a ship would see them and come pick them up, or if they where desperate enough, they could try to swim to a small island in the river which was not too far off. But before they could do either, a small group of Turkish horseman rode up and surrounded then. Father and son drew their swords… but then… something in Ionascu… I can’t really explain it. He pushed over his father and ran as quickly as he could, leaving Alexandru to his fate. His blood curdling screams for help where ignored by his son who leapt into the river and swam back to Wallachia.”
“So he abandoned his father to die?”
“Yes, and after that, he was never the same... it seems. He became sullen and depressed. He had nigh terrors… so many sleepless nights screaming for his father. He also stopped teaching his son swordplay altogether. Stela tried to cheer up Ionascu but to no avail, Ionascu had become a drunk and a gambler, every night he would go out and lose more and more of his money. The only thing that probably kept us solvent during those dark years was a Slav named Aleksandar who my father took in after the battle, maybe because he reminded him of his father. Although he did occasionally take advantage of Ionascu he also worked hard to keep Călăraşi profitable and… he was a bit of an inspiration for me”
“You knew this… Aleksandar fellow?”
“Oh yes, he was my teacher along with Părinte Teofan. He was a Bolgar, from Sofia but his family fled after the Turks took the city in 1382 and had wandered aimlessly around the countryside with his family until my father took them in. Aleksandar was a brilliant man, an expert in the field of mathematics even though he didn’t have any formal tutelage on the subject. Teofan was sceptical at first about these ‘secular sciences’ but he relented after a while… I guess Aleksandar felt responsible for taking care of Irina and I after my father… oh right my father! Well… now where was I?”
“Your father had just returned from Nikopol”
“Oh right, well also it was during this time Octavian’s mother started behaving… erratically, she was only in her early twenties when it happened. It was very odd, as Stela’s identical twin Maria didn’t show any symptoms… Well anyway she started not moving for long periods of time… her speech became disorganised, she was hearing and seeing people who were not in the room… or even exist for that matter. One of the most notable ones was a man she kept claiming to see named Adam. He kept telling her to do… strange things… like turning all the tables upside down… or to kills cats. She cried for no reason and was soon unable to dress herself. It was all rather terrifying for young Octavian, who grew up of being absolutely molly coddled by her”
“Was she possessed by the devil? It certainly sounds like something occult to me”
“Indeed it would seem like that… Teofan tried as hard as he could to exorcise what was possessing Octavian’s mother but nothing seemed to work. And word had spread about ‘The mad woman of Călăraşi’. My father loved Stela but it was only when she attacked him when he realised he had to do something drastic”
“And what was that?”
“He had either two choices… get rid of her or to make her disappear… it was a terrible decision to make because until his dying breathe he spoke about how much he cared for her… Well my father took the humane action of locking Stela in our house’s dungeon…”
“Your house has a dungeon?!”
“Yes… we get that a lot… it’s sort of hard to explain… we mainly use it as a wine celar now but Ionascu tried to make the place as comfortable as possible… After my mother was locked away my father became even worse. He was no longer simple a miserable coward… he was an absolute wreck… the only joy in life he found was in alcohol, gambling and women”
“And that is where you came from?”
“Yes… I don’t know who my mother was… I don’t think Ionascu knew either. She simply showed up nine months later with a baby and then left town the next day”
“I’m the product of my father, a shepherd like myself, having a wild night with a young gypsy girl”
“Admitting to being a bastard is never pleasant but it’s good to see I’m not as alone as I feel I am sometimes”
“Cheers to bastards!” laughed Stefan as he raised his small cup to Nistor. Nistor did the same.
“Cheers to bastards indeed!” he laughed but then realized he had gotten side tracked.
“Umm... where was I Stefan?”
“You where talking about your father’s excess’ and Stela’s madness”
“Thank you Stefan… Well, by this time Stela’s family was getting concerned… with her madness and Ionascu’s wonton inability to do anything it was decided that he should be sent to Italia. The only problem was that nobody wanted to take responsibility for the boy. He was the son of frankly, a horrible human being and a madwoman, and he was not Italian, he was Rumâni… an Orthodox Rumâni at that! Nobody wanted to be associated with him. So it was decided that he should leave and fend for himself. He was given a rather sizeable allowance and, at the age of four, was shipped off to Italia for fifteen years. He has only been back in Wallachia for four years. The journey across the Mediterană is a long voyage and takes a bit less then a year each way considering all the stopovers that are made. Soon after Ionascu died… which given his lifestyle, seemed rather inevitable… sometimes I think he wanted to die but was to scared of simply hanging himself. Afterwards my older half-sister and I went off to live with Părinte Teofan and after ten years Irina left to marry a boier in Horezu, I think his name was Dan something… Tudor maybe? I don’t really remember… Well either way she left… I’ve heard she’s had a daughter but we do not see each other very much… we never really got along anyway. She was always so bossy and prim and proper, she treated my like garbage to. My father now is buried now in the town’s cemetery, he lies… rather ironically beside his father, Alexandru, whose body they have never recovered… I don’t go there often but I can’t help but to pray for him since I am studying to become a diacon now afterall…”
“Sounds like you family is rather… dysfunctional”
“I guess you’re right, but as I said earlier, they are the only family I’ve got”
