The Lord Count Drakulya Read online

  Letter to the reader

  History has always fascinated me. I see my stories as a time machine. I want to intrigue you with a murderous mystery and a tangled plot, but I also want you to experience what it was like to slip along the shadow-thronged alleyways of medieval London; to enter a soaringly majestic cathedral but then walk out and glimpse the gruesome execution scaffolds rising high on the other side of the square. In my novels you will sit in the oaken stalls of a gothic abbey and hear the glorious psalms of plain chant even as you glimpse white, sinister gargoyle faces peering out at you from deep cowls and hoods. Or there again, you may ride out in a chariot as it thunders across the Redlands of Ancient Egypt or leave the sunlight and golden warmth of the Nile as you enter the marble coldness of a pyramid’s deadly maze. Smells and sounds, sights and spectacles will be conjured up to catch your imagination and so create times and places now long gone. You will march to Jerusalem with the first Crusaders or enter the Colosseum of Rome, where the sand sparkles like gold and the crowds bay for the blood of some gladiator. Of course, if you wish, you can always return to the lush dark greenness of medieval England and take your seat in some tavern along the ancient moon-washed road to Canterbury and listen to some ghostly tale which chills the heart . . . my books will take you there then safely bring you back!

  The periods that have piqued my interest and about which I have written are many and varied. I hope you enjoy the read and would love to hear your thoughts – I always appreciate any feedback from readers. Visit my publisher’s website here: www.headline.co.uk and find out more. You may also visit my website: www.paulcdoherty.com or email me on: [email protected].

  Paul Doherty

  THE LORD COUNT DRAKULYA

  Paul Doherty

  Copyright © 1986 Paul Doherty

  The right of Paul Doherty to be identified as the Author of the Work has been

  asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2013

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  This Ebook produced by Jouve Digitalisation des Informations

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons,

  living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  eISBN: 978 0 7553 9587 3

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  An Hachette UK Company

  338 Euston Road

  London

  NW1 3BH

  www.headline.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  About the Author

  Paul Doherty is one of the most prolific, and lauded, authors of historical mysteries in the world today. His expertise in all areas of history is illustrated in the many series that he writes about, from the Mathilde of Westminster series, set at the court of Edward II, to the Amerotke series, set in Ancient Egypt. Amongst his most memorable creations are Hugh Corbett, Brother Athelstan and Roger Shallot.

  Paul Doherty was born in Middlesbrough. He studied history at Liverpool and Oxford Universities and obtained a doctorate at Oxford for his thesis on Edward II and Queen Isabella. He is now headmaster of a school in north-east London and lives with his wife and family near Epping Forest.

  Also by Paul Doherty

  Mathilde of Westminster

  THE CUP OF GHOSTS

  THE POISON MAIDEN

  THE DARKENING GLASS

  Sir Roger Shallot

  THE WHITE ROSE MURDERS

  THE POISONED CHALICE

  THE GRAIL MURDERS

  A BROOD OF VIPERS

  THE GALLOWS MURDERS

  THE RELIC MURDERS

  Templar

  THE TEMPLAR

  THE TEMPLAR MAGICIAN

  Mahu (The Akhenaten trilogy)

  AN EVIL SPIRIT OUT OF THE WEST

  THE SEASON OF THE HYAENA

  THE YEAR OF THE COBRA

  Canterbury Tales by Night

  AN ANCIENT EVIL

  A TAPESTRY OF MURDERS

  A TOURNAMENT OF MURDERS

  GHOSTLY MURDERS

  THE HANGMAN’S HYMN

  A HAUNT OF MURDER

  Egyptian Mysteries

  THE MASK OF RA

  THE HORUS KILLINGS

  THE ANUBIS SLAYINGS

  THE SLAYERS OF SETH

  THE ASSASSINS OF ISIS

  THE POISONER OF PTAH

  THE SPIES OF SOBECK

  Constantine the Great

  DOMINA

  MURDER IMPERIAL

  THE SONG OF THE GLADIATOR

  THE QUEEN OF THE NIGHT

  MURDER’S IMMORTAL MASK

  Hugh Corbett

  SATAN IN ST MARY’S

  THE CROWN IN DARKNESS

  SPY IN CHANCERY

  THE ANGEL OF DEATH

  THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS

  MURDER WEARS A COWL

  THE ASSASSIN IN THE GREENWOOD

  THE SONG OF A DARK ANGEL

  SATAN’S FIRE

  THE DEVIL’S HUNT

  THE DEMON ARCHER

  THE TREASON OF THE GHOSTS

  CORPSE CANDLE

  THE MAGICIAN’S DEATH

  THE WAXMAN MURDERS

  NIGHTSHADE

  THE MYSTERIUM

  Standalone Titles

  THE ROSE DEMON

  THE HAUNTING

  THE SOUL SLAYER

  THE PLAGUE LORD

  THE DEATH OF A KING

  PRINCE DRAKULYA

  THE LORD COUNT DRAKULYA

  THE FATE OF PRINCES

  DOVE AMONGST THE HAWKS

  THE MASKED MAN

  As Vanessa Alexander

  THE LOVE KNOT

  OF LOVE AND WAR

  THE LOVING CUP

  Kathryn Swinbrooke (as C L Grace)

  SHRINE OF MURDERS

  EYE OF GOD

  MERCHANT OF DEATH

  BOOK OF SHADOWS

  SAINTLY MURDERS

  MAZE OF MURDERS

  FEAST OF POISONS

  Nicholas Segalla (as Ann Dukthas)

  A TIME FOR THE DEATH OF A KING

  THE PRINCE LOST TO TIME

  THE TIME OF MURDER AT MAYERLING

  IN THE TIME OF THE POISONED QUEEN

  Mysteries of Alexander the Great (as Anna Apostolou)

  A MURDER IN MACEDON

  A MURDER IN THEBES

  Alexander the Great

  THE HOUSE OF DEATH

  THE GODLESS MAN

  THE GATES OF HELL

  Matthew Jankyn (as P C Doherty)

  THE WHYTE HARTE

  THE SERPENT AMONGST THE LILIES

  Non-fiction

  THE MYSTERIOUS DEATH OF TUTANKHAMUN

  ISABELLA AND THE STRANGE DEATH OF EDWARD II

  ALEXANDER THE GREAT: THE DEATH OF A GOD

  THE GREAT CROWN JEWELS ROBBERY OF 1303

  THE SECRET LIFE OF ELIZABETH I

  THE DEATH OF THE RED KING

  Praise for Paul Doherty

  ‘Teems with colour, energy and spills’ Time Out

  ‘Paul Doherty has a lively sense of history . . . evocative and lyrical descriptions’ New Statesman

  ‘Extensive and penetrating research coupled with a strong plot and bold characterisation. Loads of adventure and a dazzling evocation of the past’ Herald Sun, Melbourne

  ‘An opulent banquet to satisfy the most murderous appetite’ Northern Echo

  ‘As well as penning an exciting plot with vivid chara
cters, Doherty excels at bringing the medieval period to life, with his detailed descriptions giving the reader a strong sense of place and time’ South Wales Argus

  Contents

  Letter to the reader

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Author

  Also by Paul Doherty

  Praise for Paul Doherty

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Postscript

  Author’s Note

  1

  I, Rhodros, have listened to all the questions that fat clerk hurled at me, as well as those of his companions and other visitors to my dark prison cell. I know what they are trying to do. They want me to depict Drakulya as a barbarian, a born killer who did nothing more than execute his enemies in a barbarous fashion. This is not true. When he returned from exile a second time in 1456 Drakulya took up the reins of government and did more than just carry out a purge against his enemies or prepare for war against the Turks. True, the Boyar classes were always on his mind but you cannot blame him; as he always remarked, it was a rough and dangerous game he was playing. If he did not destroy them, they would destroy him. The same is true of his dealings with those German towns on the Wallachian frontier. They posed a constant threat to his rule, harbouring his enemies, interfering with the trade of the country as well as giving sustenance and comfort to traitors in Drakulya’s own court. Naturally, Drakulya was concerned, encircled by such a ring of enemies; only a foolish man would fall asleep if he knew he was surrounded by hungry wolves and Drakulya was no fool.

  Nevertheless, he did more than just jump at shadows; above all, Drakulya attempted to make his capital a place worthy of a ruler. Architects were hired to develop the palace. Similar works were carried out in other cities. Artists, craftsmen and sculptors from Wallachia and neighbouring states were invited in and given powerful patronage. Drakulya was interested in the new learning which was spreading from Italy and he was especially keen to study the works of the ancient Greeks and Latins. Manuscripts were bought and scholars encouraged to visit Drakulya’s court. Envoys from other nations visited us. The Catholic Pope sent his ambassador as did those from powerful Italian states such as Venice, Genoa and Milan. Even a nobleman came from England, John Tiptoft, I think his name was, though he was more interested in visiting the execution ground (the Valley of the Shadows) than conversing with Drakulya about the art of government. Visitors from France were particularly welcome, Drakulya being fascinated by stories of a woman called Jeanne d’Arc, a peasant girl who had managed to unite the warring French factions and lead them to ultimate victory against the English. Drakulya was curious about where the girl had got her power. Several times I attempted to explain that she was sent by God but I was always brusquely dismissed, Drakulya believing that here was a woman who had been given special powers by the Prince of Darkness. Needless to say when he learnt that the English had burnt her, he despised them as barbarians, claiming that it would have been worth a journey to France just to see a woman with such powers.

  Of course, there were always the Turks. They kept up a stream of ambassadors and envoys, some threatening, some prepared to negotiate. Personal messages from Mohammed, letters from Drakulya’s brother, Radu – the Prince managed to fend them off, promising everything and giving nothing. He believed that for the moment he was safe against the Turks for Mohammed was still consolidating his forces after the capture of Constantinople.

  Nevertheless, it was these very ambassadors and envoys which brought Drakulya to the brink of death. Of course, there were assassination attempts. On one occasion while the Prince was inspecting some building work in the palace grounds of Tirgoviste, some scaffolding collapsed. If Drakulya had not moved away a few seconds earlier then he would have been trapped and crushed under the rubble. The masons claimed they were innocent but Drakulya did not trust the German architect and had him buried alive in the palace grounds. I pointed out that the man could have been innocent. Drakulya replied that he did not care and it would serve as a lesson to anybody else. On another occasion we were hunting on the outskirts of Vlasie Forest when a crossbow bolt intended for the Prince passed between us. The palace guard attempted to capture the hidden assassin but to no avail. What they did find was a powerful German crossbow unknown in Wallachia but, as Drakulya bitterly commented, easily recognised in the city states of Brasov and Sibiu. He sent the crossbow back to Brasov with the cryptic message that one day he would come and deal with its owner.

  The most serious assassination attempt, however, occurred in the very palace itself. One morning, late in October 1457, the Palace Chamberlain came to see me in the chancery room claiming there were two Catholic monks who wished a confidential interview with the Prince to reveal details of an assassination plot. I followed the man down to the large antechamber of the palace and found the monks, members of a Catholic order, waiting for me. One of them, pulling back his cowl to reveal a tonsured head and thin, sallow, narrow face, introduced himself as Father Peter. I offered wine but he refused and pressed me to hear his story. He informed me that the previous afternoon he and his companion had lodged in an inn on the road a few miles south of Tirgoviste where they had overheard a conversation between a group of German travellers who were plotting to gain entrance into the palace to kill Drakulya by poisoning him. The man seemed genuine enough. Father Peter’s companion, a much younger man of rather dubious nationality, confirmed his colleague’s story, adding a description of the travellers, their number, individual characteristics and other details.

  Father Peter believed that now I knew the story I could convey the details to the Prince but, as they were travelling through Wallachia, they would appreciate a personal interview with the Voivode of whom they had heard so much. Accordingly, I took them into a small chamber behind the throne room where Drakulya was discussing munitions and supplies with a number of his mercenary captains. I apologised for the intrusion and whispered to the Prince what the monks had told me. Drakulya dismissed his captains and asked me to bring the monks into his chamber as he wished to interrogate them further. Father Peter and his companion quietly entered the room, their cowls pulled up over their heads and their hands concealed in the long sleeves of their brown habits. Drakulya eagerly waived the formal protocol and asked them to sit. I closed the door and stood behind them. Drakulya offered them wine which they declined. So the Prince lounged against the table in front of them and asked them to repeat their story.

  Father Peter leaned forward and suddenly the whole tableau in front of me burst into frenetic violence. I never really knew what happened. Father Peter seemed to lean forward but then continued to rise and I saw the glint of a dagger in his right hand aimed direct for the Prince’s throat. If he had chosen to aim lower he might have been more successful but the Prince, nimble as a cat, swung to one side. The assassin stumbled, lost his balance and Drakulya pushed him into the arms of his companion, who had also risen, pulling from beneath his habit both sword and dagger. Both of us were armed with long hunting knives, although the attackers’ real mistake was to under-estimate Drakulya’s reactions. I also believe that when the door closed behind them, they thought that I too had left the room. Nevertheless, the situation was a perilous one; ‘Father Peter’ and his companion, adopting the stance of professional fighting men, now circled u
s, each carrying a sword and dagger. I knew the horrible dilemma we were in. If I opened the door and called for help I would have to leave Drakulya by himself; if I stayed I knew that whatever aid I could give Drakulya was limited. I was a clerk not a warrior.

  Drakulya and I stood, our backs to the wall, while our attackers circled and feinted looking for an opening. Suddenly the younger one rushed in, sword and dagger held close together, one aimed at the Prince’s throat, the other at his stomach. The Prince dropped to one knee, feinted to the left and drove his dagger straight into the man’s belly. It happened with such speed that both ‘Father Peter’ and myself froze in astonishment and terror. The young man slumped to the floor, blood pouring from his body and mouth while Drakulya picked up his fallen sword and went on to the attack. I believe Drakulya could have killed him on the spot; instead he fenced and parried, thrusting and feinting, the two men circling the room like dancers in some deadly masque. Then it was over. Drakulya had his back to the table when the assassin suddenly lunged at him, Drakulya brought his sword swinging down, trapping his opponent’s weapon, while he brought the hilt of his dagger crashing into the side of the man’s head. ‘Father Peter’ slumped silently to the floor.

  For a few seconds Drakulya stood, chest heaving, the sweat pouring down his face, then he threw the assassin’s sword to the ground and sent his own dagger hurtling past my head to sink into one of the wooden pillars in the room. “Rhodros,” he murmured hoarsely, “if any other man had done what you did, I would have had him executed on the spot. You brought these two men into this chamber without asking for any proof of identification or going through the usual routine of having their persons searched!” I slipped my own dagger back into its sheath feeling utter despair at what had happened. The Prince was right. These two men had fooled me. I had acted without even thinking and that could have cost us both our lives. Moreover, I knew I had been no help in that short, violent brawl in the Prince’s chamber. I slumped on one of the stools, head in hands, and waited for the tremors going through my body and the sudden pounding of my heart to subside. “I am sorry,” I whispered. “It will not happen again. How could I have been so stupid? When I think what the outcome could have been . . .” my voice trailed off. Then I looked up and Drakulya was grinning down at me, his good temper restored. “Come, Rhodros,” he said rather wearily. “You are certainly no soldier, and one of the worst bodyguards a Prince could ask for but still the one and only man I can trust.” He tapped me on the shoulder. “Come, call the guard.” He kicked the dead assassin. “I want this rubbish removed and his companion questioned.”