Vlad the Impaller Chapter 8

 Growing Pains of the princes and the Lord

8.

Janissaries began as elite corps made up through the devşirme system of child slavery, by which the other nations were all taken, enslaved, circumcised and converted to Islam, and incorporated into the Ottoman army. They became famed for internal cohesion cemented by strict discipline and order. (Extracted from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Janissary )

When a non-Muslim boy was recruited under the devşirme system, he would first be sent to selected Turkish families in the provinces to learn Turkish, the rules of Islam (i.e. to be converted to Islam), and the customs and cultures of Ottoman society. After completing this period, ‘acemi’ or recruit were gathered for training at the Enderun "acemi oğlan" school in the capital city. There, young cadets would be selected for their talents in different areas to train as engineers, artisans, riflemen, clerics, archers, artillery, and so forth.

Janissaries trained under strict discipline with hard labor and in practically monastic conditions in acemi oğlan ("rookie" or "cadet") schools, where they were expected to remain celibate. Unlike other Muslims, they were expressly forbidden to wear beards, only a mustache.

For all practical purposes, Janissaries belonged to the Sultan and they were regarded as the protectors of the throne and the Sultan. Janissaries were taught to consider the corps their home and family, and the Sultan as their father. Only those who proved strong enough earned the rank of true Janissary at the age of twenty-four or twenty-five. During the initial period of formation, Janissaries were expert archers, but they began adopting firearms as soon as such became available then.

“How dare you bring the Ottoman’s army to our land?” Basarab II confronted Lord Vlad when he arrived at his home.

“Where is my family? My love and my other son, Mircea.” Lord Vlad approached the figure seated there on the high seat that was once his. Basarab II had removed the long table and substituted it with a round table that held thirteen seats. He had offered twelve noblemen the seats there and he sat at the last one.

“I will not speak to you, Basarab. I demand to see my family now.” Lord Vlad looked at the pretender. He was to strike the other when his love arrived.

“We are safe, Vlad. Your son is here too.” Lord Vlad turned to receive his family.

“Where are the other boys? Vlad and Radu.”

 “They remained at --- the court of the Sultan. I came back alone to reclaim my rank.” Lord Vlad then turned to Basarab. “Flee now while I hold mercy in my heart.”

“Why must I? You rode into this land with the Ottoman’s army.” Basarab II accused the Lord. “Bring forth the guards. Arrest this ---man.”

None of the guards or even the ones outside stepped towards Lord Vlad. Even the nobleman who once sat with Basarab took to leave the Hall.

“Basarab, you are alone. None will defend you.” Lord Vlad looked at the pretender. “Submit or have my sword pierced your heart.”

“Where is John Hunyadi? Once he learned of your betrayal, he will march to his very Hall and kill you.” Basarab thought that if he raised the name, Lord Vlad will hold some mercy for him.

“I met John with the King. The new King. The King told me to return here. John was also told not to intervene.” Lord Vlad smiled. “He is – powerless to assist you.”

“How can he sanction you when you arrived with the Ottoman’s army?” Basarab looked to the others there. “He is a traitor to the nation. The Ottomans are our enemy.”

“The Ottoman’s army did not ride into our land with me. They were told by me to stay at the border. I rode in alone and during my ride, I have many devoted followers to ride with me to here. They knew who is the real Volvode, and ---- requested that I reclaimed my rank.”

“Get up and stay away, Basarab or it will be you next if the Sultan’s desire a hostage.” Lord Vlad approached the seat that was his. Basarab had vacated it for the Lord. He was taken under escort to the previous home of Lord Vlad’s family.

“My Lord, my other two sons?” The mother of the children cried out.

“They are still with the Sultan. I cannot bring them back without his permission.” Lord Vlad replied to his lover. He was given a slap on his face by her.

“What Father who will leave their children with the barbarians?” Vlad face was stung harder by the words of his lover than the physical pain.

“I have no choice. He held the lives of both mine and my children. I could ---”

“And you left them there. You are a monster like them.” The mother of the children stormed off in anger. Lord Vlad looked to his other son standing there. Mircea was silent but his expression was pained.

“Mircea, I did what I could. I did---”

“Yes, Father. I know you did. Mother will ----get over it soon. Welcome back, Father.” Mircea then stepped away. He then turned to the older man who was his adviser.

“Have I done wrong, old friend?”

“No, my Lord. You done well. You --- have returned.”

If only return was that simple for the two boys in the care of the Sultan. Radu was sent to be Mehmed II’s companion. Vlad was however sent to the barracks of the Janissaries.

“Warriors, we have with us a warrior.” Vlad was introduced to the ones where he was to share the place with. He was brough there by the leader of the house there. His name was Wahidi. “His name is --- What is your name, boy?”

“I am named Vlad of Wallachia---”

“Yes, a whelp which our Sultan had gracefully taken into his care.” That line brought on laughter from the others. “He will join us as a recruit. He will train, eat with us and clean our shoes.”

Wahidi turned to look at Vlad.

“With us are many nationalities’ Serbian, Saxons and even Hungarians. Or rather we used to be of that nation but not anymore. We now train to serve the Sultan. We all have new names. Mine was Helmut Dieter but now I am Wahidi the Cunning.”

“Learn with us and you will be fine. Do not speak of your name. Others detest the Wallachians.” Wahidi cautioned him. “How should we name you?”

“Call me---" Vlad bit his words. “Call me Dracula.”

“Dracula? What kind of name is that?”

“It means the son of Drac,” Vlad explained. “It sounds different.”

“Very well, Dracula. You may train with us.” That was Vlad’s situation in the barracks but he learned hard and well.

There was one other boy that was to be mentioned

Janus had joined the Hungarian army. He was young and inexperienced in the life of a soldier but he learned hard and fast too.

“So, young one. Show me your skills.” Janus stood there with his legs firmly planted on the ground looking across to his opponent in the ring. The call was to hold a physical fight with each other, but scrawny Janus was pitted against the other who was twice his physical and held a reputation as a brawler.

“Come on, Pietro. The boy won’t come to you but you can go to him.” Pietro heard the call of his friends and rushed towards Janus. The younger lad stepped aside and then rolled to safety avoiding the charging Pietro.

“You run well, lad. Let us see who you fare with fists.” Pietro swung the right fist at Janus who evaded it with a side step and swung out his right fist into the other’s waist. Janus felt as if he had struck his fist into a hard surface. He drew back but could not avoid the returning swing of Pietro. He was punched and went slipping back into the rear. He fell on his haunches with a dazed expression. He saw Pietro rushing towards him, and rolled to the left. He was caught by Pietro’s right foot at the spine when he rolled. He cried out in pain but kept on rolling.

“Roll on, lad. You cannot escape me.” Pietro roared out.

Janus stopped and crouched on his knees. He was hurt at the spine but was determined to fight on. He stood up and faced the other.

“You stand, lad. That’s good. I don’t want to say I hit you on the ground.” Pietro laughed. It was then Janus charged into the other with the body slam. He got in hard and threw Pietro onto the ground. Janus’s fists rained down on the other’s face with repeated punches until Pietro was screaming for mercy. Janus was lifted by the others and pulled to the side.

Pietro was on the ground with his face bloodied.

“I will ---” Pietro was cut off in his words.

“You had your fun now scram off.” It was the veteran of the Black Army who dispersed the gathering. He approached Janus.

“You are brave, young lad but reckless. Why did you pick a fight with Pietro? He is a ---brawler.”

“I had to learn and the better way was to get into it.” Janus rubbed his spine and then looked at the veteran. His name was Jan Capet, of the King Sigismund army who fought the uprising by the Hussites who was deemed to oppose the Catholic Church then.

Jan was formerly from the German Alpines and rode with the Royalist crusaders. He was in the last battle of Deutschbrod where the army was defeated by the Hussites. It was a humiliating defeat for the Crusaders, and Jan; one of the survivors left to join the Black Army. It was then comprised of mercenaries paid by the King.

“A fool rushed into battle. If you are to stay alive, pick your fight, and above all, when you strike, strike them that they will fear you.” Jan told Janus. “You do have the strike and now Pietro will fear you.”

“Why then stopped me?”

“If I don’t, you will be dead. Pietro may fear you and so are his friends. Therefore, they will not strike you alone but together and you will die. That’s why I have to stop the fight. I saved your life.”

“Then teach me, Jan. I will learn.” Janus was to take on a mentor then.