Memoirs of an Immortal Life (3 page)

I have never known how I came to be a Cleric and serve as one of the Sons of the Order of the Dragon. I have only been told that I am part of the Baserab family. I, in fact, could possibly be related somehow to Vladimir in some distant manner. What I do know is that I serve God above all others and shall do so until there is no breath in this body and will protect Vladimir’s soul as though it where my own.

Mordecai Vedesti has been here at Sighisoara as the ArchBishop now for nearly twenty years in passing. He is the favored one of Pope Pios II who desires to see Vladimir to become the favored Soldier of God. It is I who is to see that he becomes successful in that endeavor.

“Your task is not an easy one, Ahbrim. Vladimir is difficult. He will fight you each step of the way. He is headstrong, willful, and unwilling to listen. He has been this strong and determined since childhood. It is our hope that your ability to be soothing and reasonable will be beneficial to our now aged and tempered Vladimir. But use caution, he is wary of everyone.”

“He has reason to be distrustful. Would you not be distrustful when your own father offered you and your brother as leverage so your kingdom and kingship remained in your control?”

“Your reasoning is logical but not practical in this world’s ways. It is, I am afraid, the state of affairs of Kings.”

“Yet it does not make it right in the eyes of God,” I replied.

Mordecai did not answer me. I decided to change the direction of our conversation.

“How soon is Lord Vladimir due to arrive?”

“Within the day, as he travels by caravan from the South. Do not be nervous, Ahbrim. God will show you the way.”

But in truth, I was slightly apprehensive about my new charge. Vladimir did not have a reputation that preceded him. In fact, little to nothing is known about Vladimir except his insolence and arrogance in the face of his captors. I prayed he was not damaged beyond repair.

2 February Dusk

Vladimir’s caravan arrived, not with the splendor of the son of a King but with what one would expect of a supply wagon. He dismounted the driver seat, dressed in the not as a Turk but that of well-dressed Romanian Noble, all in black and red with gold trim. He was taller than I expected him to be and his build was slight but muscular. His hair was long and dark with a slight wave that hung far past his shoulders. His demeanor was cool and unwavering as he was introduced to the Boyars of Romania, Wallachia, and Hungary, though Hungary and Romania were merely out of respect and formality.

I bowed to Vladimir being he was to be our newly placed King. I was surprised when he told me to rise.

“No man of God is lower than a King. He stands alongside God and guides the hearts of men. Bow not to me, Ahbrim but walk alongside me as a friend.”

“Archbishop Mordecai has told me little about your captivity, sire, only that your treatment was less than preferable. I assure you that you find no such treatment within these walls, and I shall do all this within my power to absolve you of the sins they put upon you.”

Vladimir laughed slightly as though my words were amusing to him in some manner that was beyond my understanding.

“I have learned many things that I did not wish to learn and much that will benefit me when the time comes to make war. In times of
despair, there is much that can be taken away from the darkness that is not always obvious. God gives us strength, Ahbrim, when we least expect it.”

I found his faith in the face of such adversity surprising. His brother could not adhere to his faith nor find strength in the darkness to hold Christ in his heart. He abandoned his savior for the God of the heathens rather than face the hand of his captors. How slight his fortitude.

“Wallachia awaits its rightful King and true ruler, Prince Vlad. We are honored at your return. I am afraid, my lord, you shall find our beloved homeland in a wretched state of affairs.”

“Do tell, Ahbrim,” Vlad replied as he walked alongside me.

“Constant war has resulted in rampant crime. Lawlessness abounds. Women are not safe nor are their children. The crops fail with no way for Wallachia to find trade for export. Hungary closes its borders to us. Hunyadi wishes to control Wallachia. I believe he wishes to invade and claim our land for his own because of your father’s betrayal. Romania has remained loyal to the Baserab family and the Order of the Dracul. King Matthias and Romania will offer you aid if you seek it.”

“Elaborate more on this wretched state of affairs, Ahbrim.”

I walked with Vladimir for hours about the grounds of the monastery advising him. Only a few months earlier, his brother Mircea was blinded and buried alive at the marshes in Targoviste. His father had been killed at the marshes of Balteni. I found it surprising that Vladimir held no ill will toward his father, despite the fact he had been the one who had sentenced him to the treatment he had received at the hands of the Turks to keep his own kingship intact. He became enraged at learning of both his father and his older brother’s death. A darkness came over him that was both frightening and disturbing; a darkness that I knew held sway over Vladimir in way that even God would not be able to control.

Vlad set forth in planning a means in which to restore Wallachia to its former glory. He said he would see it done, be it
now, or be it over a span of several years, but he would see it done. It would be in three stages. He would strengthen the country’s economy, its defense, and his own political power. He would aid the peasants by building new villages and raising their agricultural output. He would increase trade, oust the current Boyars, and hire mercenaries.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulder as we stood in the now moonlit garden.

“You will see, Ahbrim. Today I make a pledge before God that it will be glorious. The strife of my beloved homeland will end. God will be pleased, peace will be restored, and the Order of the Dracul will hold the glory it once held. God as my witness, the Soldier of God has returned.”

I watched as he stood alone looking at the moon above him wondering what horrors he endured at the hands of those monstrous Ottomans. I pray in time I will gain his trust and he will take me into his confidence.

3 February 1448

I arose this morning to screaming coming from the adjacent room. In the confines of the monastery, here exists only women who are the wives of the clerics, all others are forbidden. They
work on the grounds as cooks and assisting with laundering and other tasks during the daylight hours. Apparently, one of the women had taken fresh linens to Vladimir’s room to leave at the end of his bed and discovered a forest of impaled small creatures covering the floor of his room. Dozens of rats and mice lay impaled on whittled pieces of wood, the shavings piled neatly in the corner of the room. She was so distressed by what she saw she fainted, barely recovering nearly an hour later. Vladimir appeared unscathed by her reaction, collecting his miniature forest of impaled creatures, and taking them to the garden.

I deliberated whether or not I should question him about what would drive him to behave in such a manner and decided against it. I could only discern it arose from what he endured at the hands of the Turks. My heart cried for him. I prayed for him to grant them forgiveness.
And as I gazed upon Vlad I could not help but wonder what manner of treatment he had endured at their hand and the irreversible damage they had done.

Chapter Three

Ahbrim Baserab’s Journal

Sighisoara Monastery

6 February 1448

Vlad wished to discuss this morning his plans at length for Targsor, a small peasant village in the province of Mordovia. Here he says the restoration of Wallachia will begin. His plans were well laid to create a
statehood, which he placed as the rightful Viovode of his homeland to rival the accomplishments of his brother Mircea. He speaks little of what happened to Mircea and the harshness of his death. I know those events trouble him deeply, but I find it difficult to urge Vladimir to speak of his past or even the days of his captivity.

“The Mordovian Forest contains the finest wood in all of Wallachia and Romania. I will trust you, Ahbrim, to place in our employment as many
peasants as you can hire to begin the process of cutting and planking. It will require much hand-hewn wood to be brought by wagon to begin the construction and rebuilding. The forests, once cleared, I wish to be burned,” he said.

“Burned, Vladimir, but why?” I asked.

“In the spring once the terra has thawed we will terrace for planting rye, turnips, and oats. Targsor will be reinstated as the agricultural center of Wallachia she once was before Hunyadi began this quest to destroy us. The villages we shall re-establish first then the borders refortified. Once this I have accomplished, only then will my attention turn on putting him to ruin.”

“The Hungarians?”

“Not merely the Hungarians, my dear Ahbrim, but the Boyars as well for they grew wealthy on the backs of those who could not support them in the presence of their Viovode. Only if Hunyadi accepts the treaty will the Hungarians be spared. Bad blood lies between us not from actions of my own. The Baserab must be restored.”

“Vladimir, what are your intentions?” I asked. But I found only silence greeted my query. Vlad was looking ahead to caring for those in Targsor.

“Make the arrangements for us to leave later in the day and, Ahbrim, let know no one know of my arrival.”

The snows, still quite deep with winter not yet passed, were little hindrance for the horses as we traveled through the mountain pass toward Targsor. We carried with us three pack mules and
provisions. Several smaller villages fell upon our path to Targsor in which we paused to take refuge from the cold and darkness. Vladimir did little to conceal his identity. He bore the Baserab family crest on his horse’s saddle, a crest well known to every villager between Targoviste and the far edge of the Romanian border.

His meals were offered to him with the refusal of the acceptance of payment. Those who behaved in this manner of graciousness Vladimir required that I record their names and that of all their family members so they might be rewarded in the coming spring. I am certain they will awake one day to find their seeds for the growing season provided, their homes repaired, and the dowries of their daughter’s delivered by an anonymous donor.

Vlad’s company I found to be delightful, as did those in each village we rested in until we reached Targsor at which his mannerisms became angered and dark. The condition in which we found the village existing is difficult to fathom. Vlad’s anger now with Hunyadi exceeded what it had before. His anger before that moment had been more tolerant being he understood the politics of war. Hunyadi had dispatched his armies against Vlad  II for his betrayal of the oath he took as a knight in the Order of the Dracul by selling his sons into hostages of Royalty, a fact that did not lie well with Hunyadi, but punishing the peasants- the less fortunate that were now in Vladimir’s charge- angered him greatly. They had not made the choice; his father did and it should have been Vlad II who was punished, not those below him who were subjected to such degraded conditions.

Targsor stood in such a state of disrepair; I could scarcely believe my eyes. Roofs were in such need of re-thatching, large animals could enter. Peasants who did have the strength to venture from their homes were gaunt and clothes tattered and worn. There appeared sickly and underfed.

“How high the reserve in stock we have for the winter, Ahbrim, at both the Poenari ruins and Targoviste?” Vlad asked.

“I know not the exact amounts Vladimir. The Boyars, I am certain, have stored enough to sustain them through the winter.”

“Dispatch a courier to Sighisoara. All provisions in the Royal Commissary are to be brought to Targsor at once.”

“Your actions will bring about their wrath, Vladimir.”

He paused midstep. I had spoken to him out of turn and without thinking.

“I find it refreshing Ahbrim that you care for me and my well-being so greatly you care not if you anger me with your honesty. So I ask you to gaze upon my face and tell me if you see any cause that I might care how much my actions will anger the Boyars?”

The tone behind his words sent to me a stern message without me having to look at him. Vladimir cared only for those who stood before him starving. He chose a small inn in which we would spend the next several days to orchestrate what it was he was planning. I stood behind him as he spoke with the innkeeper.

“Have you, sir, a son of ample health who could ride my horse to the Snagov Monastery outside of Sighisoara as my courier? For if you do, I shall compensate you well if my conditions are abided.”

“I do, sire, have son who could act as your courier,” the innkeeper replied.

Vladimir motioned to me to bring him his writing papers and sealing wax. He wrote a letter quickly to Mordecai indicating his wishes, as I tempered the wax for the imprint of the Baserab
Crest, which he bore upon his ring.

“The seal, good sir, must remain unbroken upon delivery. Your son must obtain upon his arrival a reply from Mordecai
Vedesti, which he will deliver back to me. Should the seal remain unbroken at both deliveries, your family shall receive the sum of one year’s wages, two of my prized work horses, and six barrels of malt.”

The innkeeper hurriedly left to awaken his son. I thought as I watched it all unfold before me, Vladimir’s act to be overly generous and perhaps rash. His explanation to me was slightly surprising.

“This man in his life has toiled for the meagerness that surrounds us, yet to him it is a castle. His ability to provide remains, but he feels he is less than he is. Should I not rectify whatever actions have been taken against him that were no fault of his own? Is that not the path a man of God should walk? Should I, as Viovode, not lift those up under me who are deserving and Godly to a better stature in life who are willing? I shall do so and it shall be done without question. Am I understood?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Good, then let us dine and speak of it no more.”

He placed the paper in the innkeeper’s hand.

“Now, good sir, my men and I are ravenous from our journey and will require many nights lodging. Bring whatever you have left from your evening meal, bread, and ale and I shall compensate you well.”

I knew the words he spoke this night would be but the first of many we would share and many nights more we would spend here in Targsor. I also know that I will be at his side during the rebuilding. His last words to me this night perhaps were what pleased me most.

“Pray with me, Ahbrim,” he said. “Seek God’s blessing so that Targsor and Her people might once again fall under his bountiful grace.”