Son of the Dragon Read online

  And the voice said onto me:

  Child, remember the things which thou hast seen, and know the things which are, and the things which shall be hereafter. And I saw the great city, the mother of harlots and abominations, wherein were made rich all that had ships in the sea. The waters which I see, where the whore sits, are peoples, and multitudes, and nations, and tongues. And I saw her come in remembrance before God to give unto her the cup of the wine of the fierceness of his wrath, by reason of her sinfulness. For God hath turned his face from her and agreed to give her kingdom unto the beast, until the words of God shall be fulfilled. And the dwellers of the city cast dust on their heads, and cry, wailing, saying, alas, alas, for in one day she is made desolate at the teeth of the lion.

  Then I looked upon this land and behold, I saw a woman of emerald eyes. And the king of the land was smitten with her beauty. And she carrying the king’s seed cried, travailing in birth, and pained to be delivered. And behold, she brought forth a man-child who would become a dragon having a crown upon his head. And when the beast from the Euphrates saw that the dragon was cast unto the earth, he persecuted the woman which brought him forth. The beast stood before the woman to devour her child and make him its own. But the angel of God sent the child into hiding and the woman into a holy place prepared of God, that they should feed her there twelve thousand days.

  Then I looked again upon this land and behold, I saw a woman of golden eyes like a wolf. And she, carrying the seed of the dragon, cried, travailing one week in birth, and pained to be delivered. Then I saw the temple of God open up in heaven, and there was in his temple the ark of his testament: and there were lightnings, and voices, and thunderings. And the angel of God thrust his sickle into the earth, and gathered the vine of the earth, and cast it into the great winepress of the wrath of God. And behold, the woman died and brought forth a man-child with eyes of emerald in the day and gold in the night, who was the seed of the dragon, having a crown upon his head. He was to wrest his nation from evildoers and rule it with a rod of iron. And this child was caught up unto God, and to his throne. And I heard a loud voice saying in heaven, “Now is come salvation and strength, for the numbers ruling the Son of the Dragon are 9 and 1, as are also 1 and 9. He shall have the power to tread on serpents and scorpions and over all the power over the enemy; he shall trample the lion underfoot unto death to save from him the City of God. Nothing shall hurt him until the words of God be fulfilled. As a covenant of God’s promise he shall have a token of a fallen star. And behold, a great star fell to the earth shaking it to its foundations.

  “But if anyone take away from the words of this prophecy, God shall take away his part out of the Holy City, and blot his name from the Book of Life.”

  The men listened with open mouths, none daring to interrupt. When Macarios finished reading, they broke into a heated discussion. They agreed “the City of God” must be Rome. But they couldn’t agree on the city called the “mother of harlots and abominations.” Theodore heard the men pronounce unfamiliar names, like Babylon, and Damascus, and Constantinople. It was the last name they finally settled on, when someone pointed out that “waters which I see, where the whore sits” pointed to a city by the sea.

  “True, Constantinople’s the only large city on water,” Macarios said. “But are we to believe God would deliver this cradle of the Orthodox Church to her enemies and make her ‘desolate at the teeth of the lion’?”

  “The depravity of the Greeks bespeaks Constantinople as the mother of harlots and abominations,” one small man with a potbelly said, and winked with meaning at his companions.

  “So, the angel told you a prince from the House of Basarab is ‘the Son of the Dragon who will trample the lion underfoot’?” Alba asked Theodore. “You’re sure you heard that?”

  No, Theodore hadn’t heard any names; there was no mention of the House of Basarab. “The angel said only that the king of the land will have a son who will be a dragon. And the dragon’s seed will—”

  “But that could be any land, any king,” Chancellor Novak said. “For what we know, the angel might have been speaking about the king of France.”

  “And what lion?” Macarios said, puzzled. “There are no lions in Wallachia.”

  Implacable, Theodore said, “The king of the land the angel spoke of will be born this year and in this town on the Feast of Saint George.”

  “Born here? This year? On Saint George’s feast day?” Macarios asked, and Theodore nodded.

  There was silence for a moment, then Macarios began to laugh, louder and louder, until a fit of coughing ended his laughter. “With the Feast of Saint George only a month away,” he said between gasps for air, “Princess Raluca would have to be eight months pregnant already to give the king a second grandson. I think we’d know it if that were the case.”

  “True, true,” the men around the table said in a chorus, then they chuckled and giggled.

  Only Alba remained somber and pensive. His left eye squinted and took on a pronounced slant. Theodore observed Alba’s eyelid fluttering when he said, “Unless that new king were not born to the House of Basarab. Other great boyar houses are apt to be expecting babies in April.”

  “This is treasonous talk,” Novak said with a menacing frown. “A Wallachian king from outside the House of Basarab? Pray to your Maker, Ghenadios, that none of the Alba Clan fillies gives birth to a son on Saint George’s Day.”

  Theodore saw the other men distance themselves from Alba and glance at each other with knitted eyebrows.

  “I meant it as a laughing matter, Chancellor,” Alba said, raising his palms to the ceiling and showing his yellowed teeth in a mirthless grin. “Isn’t it obvious that we’ve all been duped by this little urchin and his accomplices? Can you doubt he’s been put up to it by people who are seeking some gain from all this talk about angels, and lions, and dragons?”

  “The boy uses the language of the Bible, yet he cannot read,” Macarios said, and gave Theodore an accusatory look. “I recognized passages from a dozen different places in the Good Book, all mangled and mixed up. Evidently someone with a bit of Bible learning’s behind this farce.”

  “The child had us going,” Alba said. “Priests, monks, royal councilors... all grown men. Well, if we want to escape the ridicule of our own servants, as well as the anger of the king, we’d do well to destroy the records of these interrogations and deny they ever took place.”

  Macarios waved his hand in Theodore’s direction. “What do we do with this child, who’s had his fun fooling a bunch of gullible men?”

  “I charge myself with teaching him a lesson,” Alba said, mussing Theodore’s hair in a paternal manner. “Then I’ll send him back to his parents a much-chastened young man.”

  At Alba’s mansion, Theodore was locked in a shed at the back of the courtyard, next to the pigpen. The enclosure was barely tall enough for him to stand upright; when he lay down he had to curl up his legs to fit. The only light came into the shed through cracks in the plank walls. Straw and a threadbare blanket served him as bedding. A servant brought him millet gruel and water once a day. His slop bucket was changed weekly.

  Theodore couldn’t tell how many weeks passed before the angel visited him in the shed. But when he came, the boy’s cold, fear, hunger, and loneliness vanished, and were replaced with that happiness he’d come to crave. “Not long now,” the voice said, “and I’ll be with you all the time.”

  Next day, Alba’s secretary took Theodore into the mansion’s great hall. It was heated by a fireplace and lit by sunshine pouring in through stained-glass windows.

  “You could’ve sluiced this creature down before bringing him in here, Philip.” The young man who said this held his nose as he entered the hall. Alba and another youth followed him. The youngsters appeared to Theodore to be brothers; they resembled each other much in build, color of hair, and shape of their mouths.

  Theodore looked into Alba’s face, hoping for that friendly smile the treasurer s
howed him the first day at the castle. But the treasurer avoided his gaze.

  “Why would anybody care a jot about what some lowly worm like this says, Father?” the older of the brothers asked. “How can you give any credence to—?”

  “Be quiet, Martin,” Alba snapped. “When someone predicts the unpredictable, wise men take heed.”

  “So he predicted the king will have another grandson, and now it turns out Princess Raluca is indeed with child. Is that really such a big thing?” Martin looked at his brother for support. “Don’t you agree, Lucas?”

  “Yes, Father,” Lucas said, holding a kerchief to his nose to ward off Theodore’s stench, “wasn’t that just a coincidence?”

  “More a lucky guess,” Martin said. “Besides, the little liar got it wrong when he said the king’s grandson would be born on Saint George’s feast day.”

  “Therein lies the problem,” Alba said, and turned to face Theodore. “It was we who got the date wrong, not he. Right boy?”

  Theodore watched the three men and marveled at the way the left eye of each one had the same squint, as if they were looking into a bright light.

  Alba cleared his throat. “You didn’t mean the Great Feast of Saint George in April commemorating his martyrdom, did you?”

  Theodore shook his head.

  “I knew it,” Alba said, triumphant and venomous at the same time. “You meant the Small Feast of Saint George’s Reburial in the Holy Land, which comes in November.”

  “What difference does it make, Father?” Martin asked.

  “All the difference in the world, cretin,” Alba shouted. “If Princess Raluca just found out she’s pregnant, the child might well arrive in November. Imagine she births him on Saint George’s Day, like this boy predicted.”

  “I still don’t get it, Father,” Lucas said.

  Alba swiveled on his heels and slapped Lucas across the face with the back of his hand.

  “Ouch!” Lucas cried. “You cut me with your ring—”

  “You’ll have to start doing your own thinking, boys. I won’t be around forever to do it for you.”

  Martin backed away from Alba before speaking. “What Father means is that if the seer got the birthdate right, people will accept his prophecy about the Son of the Dragon as gospel.”

  Alba rewarded Martin with a smile.

  Lucas crept to the other side of the table, beyond reach of his father’s arm. “Why should things happening three generations from now matter to us?” he said, dabbing the cut on his face with a handkerchief. “We’ll all be dead by then.”

  “True,” Alba said, exasperated. “But they matter to the House of Alba. If the Wallachians believe the Basarabs have been chosen by God to save Rome, and therefore Christianity, from some danger yet to come, our clan will never be able to topple theirs.” He breathed a deep sigh and raised his arms in a gesture of reconciliation. Martin and Lucas rushed to him with relieved looks. “Don’t you want one of your sons or grandsons to be King of Wallachia one day?” he whispered, grabbing the pair by the scruff of their necks.

  “Of course we do,” Martin said, and Lucas nodded in agreement. “But what can we do about it, Father?”

  “I’ve got the transcript of Theodore’s interrogation locked up in my safe. Without it, everyone will soon forget this matter. People’s memories are short, except for things owed to them. All you’ve got to do is... He pointed his chin at Theodore.

  Lucas and Martin gave Theodore surprised looks, as if they’d forgotten he was there.

  “He’s a good boy who’s been manipulated by others,” Alba said. “Make sure he can’t have visions anymore, then send him home.” Alba winked at his sons, then slammed their heads together, but not hard. “You don’t need me to show you how it’s done,” he said, and left the hall without looking back.

  “We’ll do it here,” Martin said, walking over to the fireplace. “Philip, tell the servants we don’t want to be disturbed, then come back and lock the doors from the inside.”

  “Can’t I just go back to my chamber, Lord Martin?” Philip said. “I’ve got a lot of work to do for your father.”

  “You’re part of this, Philip,” Lucas said with a snicker. “You and I will hold him, while Martin does what needs to be done.”

  Theodore realized they were talking about him, and his knees started to shake. “I’m not afraid,” he said to himself, and called on the angel to give him strength. When no response came, he began to feel nauseous.

  “Help me lift him onto the table,” Lucas said to Philip when the scribe returned. “I’m loathe to touch him, he’s so dirty.”

  Theodore saw terror in Philip’s eyes, and he felt sorry for the man.

  Lucas grabbed Theodore’s feet in a hard grip and the boy heard the bark of his opinch crack. Father will be upset to see them damaged—

  “Pin him down,” Martin ordered, and Philip threw his body over Theodore’s, turning his face away from him, shaking with sobs.

  “Perhaps you’d like to trade places with the seer?” Lucas said, and the two brothers giggled.

  Martin bent over Theodore, a red-hot poker in his hand. The boy squeezed his eyelids shut, but Martin’s claw-like fingers forced them open. In seconds the searing heat of the iron boiled his tears away and pricked Theodore’s eyes with a thousand needles. That moment his bowels discharged.

  “Disgusting,” Lucas bellowed.

  The hall became quiet then, bathed in the light of Theodore’s visions. From somewhere far above, the voice he knew so well filled the space. “From this moment on I’ll always be with you, Theodore.”

  CHAPTER 2: A Long Awaited Day

  October 1441

  The door to Vlad’s sleeping chamber crashed open with a bang. In the milky dawn seeping under the curtains, he saw the outline of a man flying at him. Vlad’s right hand shot out at the attacker’s wrist, deflecting the knife thrust to his neck. To Vlad’s dismay, his assailant’s body landed heavily on him, pinning his arm under its weight. Fighting to recover his breath, he reached his left arm under the blanket, withdrew his dagger and shoved it into the attacker’s right flank.

  “You’re going to bleed to death now, Marcus,” Vlad said, finally able to fill his lungs with air. “It takes your liver about twenty minutes to ooze the life out of you, and nothing can staunch the bleeding.”

  “I should’ve come at you with my left hand,” Marcus said, panting and laughing at the same time. “It would’ve caught you defenseless.” He sat on the edge of the bed and massaged the place where Vlad had poked him with the scabbard of his dagger.

  “Stop dreaming, Brother.” Vlad threw back the blanket and revealed a second dagger lying at his right side. “You’re too slow, anyway. And watch out, next time my blade might be unsheathed.”

  “My attack would’ve worked had you not been lying here awake like a bride waiting to be deflowered. I bet you haven’t slept a wink all night.”

  “Never slept better,” Vlad lied.

  “I don’t blame you for being excited. At my coming-of-age I could hardly sleep until after the hunt.”

  “That accounts for the sorry trophy you got,” Vlad said, though he knew there was nothing sorry about a bear that stood taller than you. “Father didn’t trust you with a large beast, seeing how dazed you were.”

  “I’ll let you get away with just a bite this time, since your big day’s coming up,” Marcus said, and pretended to sink his teeth into Vlad’s neck. “But get a lesser trophy than mine, and I’ll challenge you to a duel for being a coward.”

  Coming-of-age. Test of manhood. The big day. Sure, Vlad had wanted this moment to come, and it was getting harder and harder to sleep as the day approached. But why did it have to be a hunt, not a trial-of-arms like in the old days? Yes, it took strength and courage to kill a wild animal. But it was nothing like fighting a man to the death. That was the only thing to really test what you were made of.

  On Marcus’ big day a year before, Vlad told the king, “I�
�m as strong at twelve as Marcus is at fourteen, Lord Father. Why do I have to wait two more years?”

  “Impatience is proof enough you aren’t ready, Son. Men know how to bide their time.” His father spoke in a severe tone, but his eyes were smiling.

  So Vlad was left to brood at home, while Marcus went on the hunt. When he returned with the skin of a bear he’d killed all alone, Marcus was seated at his father’s royal council table.

  In Vlad’s view, anyone could see he was more mature than Marcus. Incensed, he concealed his feelings and decided to feign indifference to any future mention of the hunt. When the time came he’d bag his trophy, just to gain a place at the table among men. But once the hunt was behind him, he’d do something no Wallachian had done at age fourteen for a hundred years: bring home the head of a vanquished enemy. And it wouldn’t be a highway bandit, or a market thief, for sure; they weren’t true fighters. Only a Turkish soldier would do. If only he could come across one before it was too late to make a difference.

  Pretending he didn’t care yielded better results than confronting his father. Vlad was only six weeks past his thirteenth birthday when his mentor, Lord Michael Novak, informed him the king had decided it was time for Vlad’s test of manhood.

  “Your father’s impressed with your strength and courage,” Michael had said with a proud smile. “He thinks a bison’s a better match for you than a bear.”

  “A bison, Uncle Michael?” Vlad said, disappointed. Was Father trying to prevent him from outshining Marcus? “That’d be just like killing a cow.”

  “Not at all, Vlad,” Michael said. “A bull in the rut will gore a horse and trample its rider to death.”

  Vlad wasn’t persuaded, but he dropped the matter. He’d come to regard the entire ritual as benign. His thoughts drifted more and more frequently to that other test he envisioned for himself.

  When the hour arrived for the royal hunting party to leave, the entire population of Wallachia’s capital lined the main street to gawk at the procession. First came King Dracul, flanked by his sons, Marcus and Vlad; then the ten boyars of the royal council and their retainers; finally, the baggage train, escorted by uniformed castle guards. For the three thousand souls living in Targoviste who led hard, dull lives, this spectacle brought a needed touch of color.