VLAD
Spring 1443
Sultan's Palace in Edirne, Anatolia
"He's a pasha, right?" Vlad turned to the guard after a man in a tall broad turban, silk robe, and matching shoes strolled by.
The guard grunted yes.
Vlad stood a little taller. "Is the man in the green robe an aga?"
"You're a quick learner."
Vlad's lips pressed into a satisfied smile. It had been less than a week since he and Radu had been transferred from the stone fortress in Egrigöz to the sultan's palace in Edirne. In that time Vlad learned to differentiate between the various kaftans and turbans. Knowing a musti from an aga from a pasha was not easy. The sultan's palace was a hive of activity surrounded by military headquarters, officer lodgings, and imperial residences.
"If only the sultan was as quick about bringing us to our father," Vlad mumbled under his breath.
"I heard that." The guard scowled. "You want my scimitar across your insolent little throat?"
Vlad slunk back against the wall.
On the seventh day, two guards escorted Radu and Vlad through the white marble halls and crimson-tiled rooms to a large chamber filled with boys and books.
An elegantly attired boy rose from a silk cushion. "We've been waiting for you."
Vlad bowed. "I am—"
"You are Vlad and Radu, sons of Vlad Dracul, Prince of Wallachia." The boy embraced Vlad like a brother. "I am Mehmed Celibi, future sultan and ruler of the world."
Ruler of the world...
Vlad's eyes grew wide. One day, this boy would demand a ten-thousand-ducat tribute, abduct Wallachian boys, pillage Wallachian villages, slaughter men, and rape women.
The thirteen-year-old Vlad swallowed the sourness rising in his throat. "We are honored to be your guests and look forward to seeing our father."
"He will arrive shortly." Mehmed looked down his nose with a superior smirk.
"I miss Father." Radu, speaking Romanian, huddled close to Vlad. "I want to go home."
Mehmed laid his hand on Radu's shoulder. "How old are you?"
"Eight years," he whispered and shuffled behind Vlad.
Mehmed turned his attention to Vlad. "Did you enjoy your visit to Egrigöz?"
"Very much." Vlad met Mehmed's false smile with one of his own. "We are indebted to the sultan's...hospitality."
"I like this castle better." Radu peeked around Vlad. "It's beautiful."
"All our palaces are beautiful in their own way." Mehmed spread his arms wide. "We have the finest builders, artists, craftsmen, and scholars in the world."
Radu came out from behind Vlad. "Can I see the harem?"
"You are too young to enjoy its pleasures." Mehmed stroked Radu's cheek. "But one day, oh, how the women will fawn over your sweet face."
One day? Vlad winced, unsure if he heard correctly.
Mehmed's eyes lit up. "Father!"
Vlad and Radu spun about. Their own beloved father strode into the room with Sultan Murad. Vlad Dracul, looking like a Turk in a white turban, loose gown, and robe, opened his arms.
"Tăti!" Radu threw himself against his father.
Vlad held back, looked for signs of torture, but saw only that his father had grown more rotund.
"Look at you. Tall and strong." Dracul clapped Vlad's shoulder. "Turkish food and climate make men of you."
A beaming Sultan Murad held out his hands, rustling the golden folds of his silk robe. "I told you your sons would thrive in my care."
Dracul smiled and nodded. He agreed. He had no choice.
Sultan Murad peered down his long narrow nose at Vlad. "How did you find Egrigöz? Pleasant?"
The sultan asked him a question! Vlad's ears and neck turned red. "M-m-my brother and I are indebted to you, Your Majesty. Your generosity will never be forgotten."
Sultan Murad's eyebrows rose in surprise and turned to Dracul. "Your son speaks our language flawlessly."
"They are intelligent and obedient boys, Your Majesty." Dracul turned his tight smile on his sons. "I have good news. Sultan Murad and I have decided you will continue enjoying his gracious hospitality for a while longer."
"Nooooo." Radu threw back his head. "I miss mother and Mircea and—and everybody."
Dracul lifted Radu's chin. "The sultan bestows a great honor on us. You will receive the finest education in the world, be tutored by the same scholars as his own son. You owe him gratitude not tears." He wiped Radu's cheek with his thumb and then gently pried himself from Radu's clutches.
Vlad caught his father's eye and felt the truth stab his heart. Their fate was sealed. Vlad and Radu must live with the enemy. It was a common arrangement. Vlad and Radu would expect kindness as long as Dracul obeyed the sultan, pledged Wallachia a vassal state, and paid yearly tributes. The consequences for disobedience—by son or father—were brutal. Death by beheading.
Vlad, finding courage not betrayal in his father's smiling face and easy manner, sent him a silent message.
I will make you proud, Father. I will learn Turkish ways so I can use their tactics against them. I will not convert to Islam. I will not be seduced by the harem's fleshy delights. I promise allegiance to you, Lord Father, and I will defend your oath to the Order of the Dragon.
If Dracul read the promise in Vlad's eyes he gave no hint.
Vlad blinked away the disgrace of subservience and bowed stiffly to the sultan. "Thank you, Your Majesty, for this great privilege. My brother and I will honor you with our scholarship."
Dracul stroked Radu's cheek. "I will give your love to Mircea and your mother."
"May we send letters?" asked Vlad.
Sultan Murad inclined his head. "Write as often as you like."
Naturally, all correspondence would be scrutinized for evidence of treachery.
Dracul gathered both sons to his breast. "Make Wallachia proud."
A vise crushed Vlad's chest and squeezed out the first drops of cold-hearted anger. Not for his father, whom he loved, but for an empire with such power it brought good Christian princes to their knees. The Turks were a plague infesting Christendom, squashing sovereigns like bugs.
#
Mehmed introduced Vlad and Radu to the others in the room. All were heir apparents between five and eighteen years, most already kowtowing minions. But not all.
Radu pointed to two brothers with empty scarred eyes sockets. "What happened to them?"
"The sultan burned their eyes with hot pokers when he found out they sent treasonous letters to their parents," said Vlad.
Radu paled. "I will never be disobedient."
Vlad grimaced. "There's a big difference between disobedience and treason."
#
Lessons began the next day. Mullahs schooled them in Aristotelian logic, the principles of design, the art of rhetoric, and abstract and applied math. Ahmed Güranim—so respected even Mehmed was not exempt from his beatings—taught them philosophy.
Vlad devoured every lesson. Each morsel of knowledge fed his soul and nourished the promise to his father. Education was a weapon; a lethal tool giving Vlad the skills to command armies and rule a country.
And yet Vlad defied the mullahs. They whipped him for insolence, but the scars only made him tougher. They beat him for arrogance, but the bruises strengthened his resolve. Vlad felt purified afterward, each punishment a penance for enjoying the education provided by his enemy.
What Vlad gained in knowledge, Radu gained with friendships.
"Father would be ashamed of you." Vlad smeared a soothing balm on his red welts. "You enjoy our enemy's attentions."
"The Turks are not our enemy." Radu swept his blonde hair from his forehead. "You're jealous because they beat you and not me. You're jealous the sultan's successor is my friend. Father would be proud." He thumped his chest.
Vlad glowered. He despised the private jokes between Radu and Mehmed. Hated the seraglio women cooing over Radu's blue-green eyes. Detested the eunuch's preferential treatment. "You're as stupid as you are pretty. A friendship between a captive and his master isn't reliable. You are Mehmed's plaything, a toy for his amusement."
"Beloved toys are cherished forever."
Vlad's hands clenched into fists. One blow and Radu would run crying to Mehmed. Vlad uncurled his fingers. Perhaps Radu understood the art of diplomacy far better than he.
#
Vlad was listening to the muezzinintone the second ezanof a sweltering August day when Mehmed stomped into their chambers. "Your father broke his pact."
Vlad's body went rigid. Bile climbed up his throat.
"No." Blood drained from Radu's face.
Mehmed jabbed his finger at Vlad. "Your father aided John Hunyadi's rebellion. He sent a militia led by Mircea."
Vlad pressed his lips together to suppress a proud smile. His brother led a rebellion!
His lower lip quivering, Radu rung his hands. "Now what?"
Mehmed squared his shoulders. "Father made me sultan today. He said he is too old and weary for another battle."
Vlad recoiled, stepped back, all life draining from him. "You're the sultan now?"
"I must go to war." Mehmed lifted his chin. "Radu, you are like a brother to me but when I meet Mircea and Dracul on the battlefield I will run a sword through their traitorous hearts."
Radu flung himself at Mehmed and wept in his arms.
Vlad's breath came fast and shallow as he fought the urge to pummel them both.
#
Months passed. News trickled in.
Vlad buried his pride when an envoy reported that his father sent Mircea to lead four thousand cavalrymen to Hungary and Poland. He buried his despair when a messenger described how John Hunyadi, his brother, and all the soldiers fled into the forest after watching the Turks chop off the Polish king's head and jam it on a spike.
Mehmed returned gloating in his victory. Through battle-weary eyes, Sultan Mehmed peered down from his golden throne. "Your father broke his oath and now you both must suffer."
________________________
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