The Fused & The Muse Ch.2

Wallachia, Romania

Late 1459

The village was busy as usual. Men were tending the farm, women were laying out the washed clothes for drying, and children were running around pig pens with mud on their face. The sun was shining brightly until the clouds moved, blocking the light. There was no single droplet of water, but the dark clouds stood still. "Hey! What happened to the sun?" A frail man looks up at the sky in irritation.

The frail man kicks the bucket in front of him. "I knew it! It's that darned witch-s' doin'! Ever since she n' er darned mate mov er' the droughts worsen n' the 'nmals stop givn birth!" He stands up and rushes toward his barn. Another man shows up from the corner and looks around the farmhouse. "Hey Wilson! Yer in der? I git sum news out frm the folks down d pub at Leads!" Wilson, the frail man, comes out of the barn with a rake.
 

"Whtr' you wailin' on about James?" Wilson walks toward the man with the rake in his hand. James took a hand and placed it just above , as if he were going to tell a secret. "Git this! Radu of House Draculesti ...his wife dee Albanian Princess... hird she geets a baby last year! Sum say eets a' boy! 'Twas kept seecreet so no one knew!" Wilson's eyes grew in surprise. "D-does K-king Vlad know bout' dis?" James looked around then shook his head. "Noones' say nothin' bout' King Vlad."

-Marketplace-

The marketplace was bustling with life. Men and women shouted out to customers and children played sword-fight with sticks. The horn suddenly blew and the whole place got quiet. Turkish envoys marched in and made their way to the castle. The townspeople stared at the men coming in. There was fear and empathy written in the eyes of the townspeople as they watched the men go off to the castle.

He watched outside the window of his bedroom–onto the forest. He stared at the bodies hanging on the spikes—how their bodies slowly slid down as trails of blood stained the pole—their wailing heard well...pleading for help and forgiveness. Then...a knock. "What is it?" A royal servant comes in the room, slightly shaking—surprised by the darkness of the room. "It's the Turks your highness." He took a deep sigh before heading out with the servant following behind him.

His footsteps were all that was heard from the room. He sat on his throne and shifted his hands, gesturing the knights to let the Turkish men in. The men stepped in and kept their distance. There was a moment of silence in the room. He noticed that the men did not raise their hats to him, so he turned his head, slightly disturbed. "Speak." One of the Turkish men cleared his gullet and began. "We are Turkish envoys sent on behalf of Mehmed ll. He urges that you pay a delayed tribute of 10,000 ducats and 500 recruits to the Ottoman forces."

Vlad lll folded his hands together. He closed his eyes. Then opened. "He dares ask me of such? With men who show no decency in front of I? I am Vlad lll of Wallachia Romania, member of the House of Draculesti! You dare come to my kingdom, demanding me to pay tribute, give my kingdom over to the Ottoman, and yet...you show no respect to I!?" He slammed the palm of his hands on the arms of his throne, making an echoing sound across the room. Its very sound was like thunder rumbling. The envoys stood their ground, but there was fear in their eyes as they stared up at the throne. Vlad takes a wiff of the air and smiles an evil smile. He smelled it. It was all too familiar to him. "I refuse to pay such tribute." The envoy hastily spoke, sensing the irritation and anger in Vlad's tone. "T-then we shall send word to sir Mehmed ll." The men turned from the throne and made their way out of the room.
 

"Wait! Stop right there..." Two knights blocked the door with their weapon, preventing the envoys to walk any further. There was sweat rolling down the men's forehead. "Pardon me, but I don't quite remember dismissing you men." He took another wiff of the air. *Fear* The men turned their heads back, to face the fearsome man. "For your unkindly gestures, I shall have your turbans nailed to your heads!" The envoys fell on their knees in plea. "Your majesty! Please! We have our families waiting for us back home!" Vlad rolled his eyes. "Family is indeed important. It's a shame you'd have to lose yours." He stood from his throne and walked slowly away from the room. "Wait! Wait! Your majesty! We have news to tell you!" He stopped on his tracks and turned his head, slightly looking behind him and waited for the man to continue.

"I-if I tell you this, will you let me go?" "You have my attention. Speak and I shall reconsider." The man gulped his saliva and the envoys stood up. "It is your brother...Radu Bey." Vlad turned around—the name of his brother had completely caught his attention. He made his way back to his throne and sat. "Speak!" None of the envoys dared to stop the man from speaking. "His wife,  Maria, Princess of Albania had given birth to a child a year ago. It is a young lad." Vlad chuckled. "It is indeed good news." The envoys began laughing along with him. "Thank you. For the wonderful news!" He signaled his men. "Have the nails ready." The envoys broke out in chaos. "Wait! You can't do this! I have offered you the story!" "Indeed you have. I have also kept my word. I thought about it, and now I have decided. This time, however, I will stay here and watch–as a gesture of gratitude, for bringing such great news into my kingdom." The men screams in pain as their turbans were nailed onto their head. "Since you all wanted to keep them on your head, I figured, why not just take them with you to the grave?"

"Aaaaaagggghhh!!!!" They held their heads, screaming their lungs out. Vlad watched as the men dropped to the ground, holding onto their head, bloodied from the nails piercing through their skull. In a few seconds, the men lie on the floor--dead. The sight was just perfect for him. Vlad sighed heavily and stood up from his throne. "Have the floor cleaned...collect the blood remaining in their bodies will you?" Servants swarmed in on the bodies and had done what he asked of. "Oh! And send one of the bodies to the Ottomans, once you're done."
 

He returned to his room and admired the view outside his window once more. "It's beautiful isn't it?" "Yes my liege." Vlad looks at the royal servant. He was young—fairly tall. "How old are you boy?" "I am 20 this year, m'lord." "Quite young aren't you...someday, my nephew may be 20 years old too." Vlad stared at the boy, picturing his own brother. "You are dismissed." The boy closed the door after him and there was dead silence in the room. The wailing outside had also stopped. He watched as the sunset swallowed the bodies in the distance. "My dear brother...I will surely see you very soon."

"No one is more insufferable than he who lacks basic courtesy." 

-Bryant H. Mcgill