THE IMPALER'S WIFE

9

"You must be more careful." Vlad stripped off his foul-smelling clothes and stepped into the water. "Refreshing," he said despite its frigid temperature.

Radu sat cross-legged on the floor and watched while Vlad scrubbed his body and washed his hair.

"Your turn." Vlad shook his head, spraying water all over Radu.

Radu laughed, the first laugh in two weeks, removed his clothes, and stepped into the tub.

Vlad draped the coarse wool blanket over Radu's shivering body when he was done, then gathered the clothes and rinsed them in the gray soapy water.

"Now what?" Radu shivered as Vlad spread their clothes on the floor to dry.

Vlad wrapped the second wool blanket around his body and settled himself against the wall. "We plot our revenge."

In the thick pink glow of twilight, the same servants brought them a pottage of onions, parsnips, and cabbage with a rye roll and a hard-cooked egg. The next morning they brought barley mush. Day after day. Week after week.

Outside, the beech and oak trees changed from green to orange to red.

Vlad kept busy. He recited old lessons, told stories, and created a physical routine of balancing, juggling, push-ups, somersaults, and handstands. He felt less helpless, more in control, when he was doing something.

"I'm tired of conjugating Latin verbs," whined Radu one afternoon.

"We must keep our minds' sharp and our bodies' agile. Our life may depend on it."

#

Winter's first snowfall floated like feathers from the sky. Vlad was watching the flakes melt in his palm when he heard the bolt screeching across the door. He withdrew his arm from the window and leapt from the table.

"Gel." The guard stood in the doorway and gestured with his pike.

Both relief and fear twisted Vlad's stomach into a knot. Either they were going home or going to their death.

"Where are they taking us?" Radu's eyes widened, his face draining of color.

Vlad stuffed his fear deep inside. "Someplace better than this, I hope."

The boys descended the stairway in silence and passed through the same chambers and courtyards they had many months ago.

In the snow-dusted courtyard waited a large supply wagon.

"Get in." A pockmarked janissary, his mustache drooping past his chin, flung open the litter door. "Aren't you a pretty one." His thick fingers squeezed Radu's cheek.

"You speak Romanian." Vlad tugged Radu forward, away from the too-friendly janissary.

The janissary narrowed his eyes. "Da. I'm from Bistrita."

"Are we going to Adrianople to meet our father?" Vlad helped Radu into the wagon.

"Nu. Tokat."

"Why—"

The janissary slammed the door shut.

Radu scooted close to Vlad. "Where is Tokat?"

Vlad closed his eyes and pictured his father's council chambers. He saw the monk-drawn maps of Romania, Moldavia, Hungary, and other territories. He even saw the labeled drawings of serpentine mountain passes, villages, churches, and monasteries. He concentrated, let his mind's memory search for the right map. Found it! He leaned back against a sack and squeezed his eyes shut, willed himself not to cry.