Sighişoara… my ancestral home. What more is there to list for? Endless domains… an impenetrable seat of
power. My seat of power.
From thither I rule justly over my people. I smite the Barbarians of the
North. I judge the sinners. All in the name of the Lord Almighty. For I am
Rudica Basarab, of the purest Vlach lineage. The heir of countless noble
boyars of ages long past. I am the Mistress of Sighişoara. Queen by
Divine Right.
Or that is, who I should have been.
But all things do change. The Magyars had conquered our country and
invited Saxon settlers to our homes. My father, the mighty Boyar Liviu Basarab
now rotted away as a disillusioned madman in an abandoned chapel in the
village of Daşria, whilst a barbaric northerner reigned in our ancestral
castle of Sighişoara, or Schaasburg as those thrice-damned Saxons had
renamed it. My brothers Radu and Ilie had been killed but I was spared to
serve Count Lanzo von Schaasburg. Wouldst thou believe it; Princess Rudica
Basarab, of the purest Vlach lineage, the servant of a strawhaired Saxon?
Lanzo would have some important guests this night, a band of Venetian
mercenaries that he would no doubt use to pacify the last remaining Vlach
resistance. We prepared the Great Hall for their coming, cooked the best food
that we could produce, and even we servants were dressed up in our finest
attire to impress the Venetian visitors.
Lanzo von Schaasburg had ever reminded me of a bird of prey, but even more so when he sate perched at the end of the long table, with his ever-vigilant gaze sweeping across the hall, spying for the slightest fault to pick on.
To his right his wife
Gudrun was fidgeting nervously and repeatedly examining her appearance in a
copper mirror, looking for the slightest miss in her make-up. I have to
confess though, that she was just that kind of woman who would never look good,
no matter how hard she tried.
In drastic contrast
to her was the man to the left of Lanzo. He was an old friend, and advisor of
the Count, but after serving in that household for seven years I wist fully
well who really was in charge. Lanzo was a fool, skilled with his sword no
doubt, but still a fool, and his so-called advisor Alexander von Sachsen was
the puppet master, the true power behind the throne. I had ever feared
Alexander. Maybe it was that piercing dark gaze of his, or the ever too neatly
kempt hair, his dashing features that could make any girl swoon, or the
feverish pallour of his skin? That was what I had thought at first, but after
years of studying him as closely as I dared I had become sure: Alexander von
Sachsen did not breath.
“Armando Giovanni
of Venice”, the herald suddenly cried out and I straightened up quickly
whither I stood by the wall behind Lanzo’s chair, “and his esteemed father
Luciano Giovanni.”
The doors swung ope
with an echoing bang and a tall and handsome man in his 30s strode in followed
by a slightly shorter hooded shape, and two guards in shining armour with
skulls adorning their shields.
Lanzo stood up and greeted them in his politest voice:
“I bid ye welcome,
friends from the south, to our desolate lands!”
“The beauty of the
Land Beyond the Forest far outweigheth the stories”, Armando replied in a
sweet voice with an exotic accent that even made the German tongue sound
pleasing. “Not to mention its inhabitants”, he added with a quick glance
of his hazel eyes in my direction. My heart missed a beat but neither Armando
or anyone else seemed to notice and he just continued to Gudrun and kissed her
hand. She blushed like a young girl and smiled a bit too broadly.
“I must confess
that I am quite shocked by thy choice of heraldry”, she quoth in a
high-pitched voice and with a girlish giggle that would make a less patient
man than Armando snap her neck, but he just smiled gently and sate down at her
side.
“’Tis because my
men do not fear death, milady”, he answered.
The man behind him – his father Luciano according to the herald –
came gliding rather than walking behind and sate down quietly beside
Alexander. The two exchanged a glance but did not say a word. I shivered as I
saw the sunken cheeks of Luciano, who even made the pale skin of Alexander
look healthy.
“Good evening,
Alessandro, we miss thee in Venezia”, he said, or hissed rather, in a hoarse
voice that sent a chill down my spine. I do not wot what surprised me the most;
that he addressed Alexander in the Italian tongue, that I understood it (I
assumed it was because of our common Roman ancestry) or that Alexander
answered him fluently:
“It hath been too
long indeed, Luciano my friend.”
The others didn’t
seem to notice the two of them but I could not help but stare, paralysed at
Luciano’s unnaturally red lips and his far too white and pointed teeth as he
hissed in low whispers to Alexander.
A few hours later (after a dinner that could have fed two dozen serfs)
Count Lanzo and Armando wished each other a good night and everyone but
Alexander and Luciano went to bed. So would I have done as well an not for
Alexander’s gentle touch on my arm.
“Wilst thou leave
us or yet, Rudica?” he asked in a voice as sweet as honey, and still in
Italian, I was sure by then that Alexander must hail from Venice. I glanced
helplessly around the hall but it was inane. Inane, dark and silent. It had
betid all too fast, as the servants and guests had merged with the walls and
floor. A smile that made him resemble a predator formed on Alexander’s
features as he felt my panic rising inside. No one would hear me scream.
“Is she not
beautiful?” he asked Luciano who chuckled dryly in response. The sound made
me freeze in horror and I could not but gaze right into Alexander’s eyes as
I felt two of Luciano’s cold fingers on my neck. Alexander stood up and
chuckled slightly.
“Thou art quite the
perceptive girl, art thou not?”
He started gliding
around the hall gracefully, putting out candle after candle. The shadows grew
longer and longer. I wanted to scream, to spin around, tear out the eyes of
Luciano, but I remained whither I was, frozen like a statue with the fingers
of Luciano slowly caressing my neck.
“That is why I
chose thee as a gift for my old friend”, Alexander continued as he blew out
the last candle. “Thou could have become annoying. A pity to lose such a
beautiful girl though.”
At that moment I felt
two lips on my neck.
“P-please”, I
managed to stutter.
“What a waste, what
a waste indeed”, Luciano whispered hoarsely.
“Oh? The high and
mighty Rudica pleading?” Alexander laughed. He was close now, far too close.
I felt his lips on my cheek. All the whilst Luciano continued down my neck and
I felt his cold fingers untying my dress.
“Yea”, I
stuttered in a weak whisper. Even my pride had succumbed to the terror, and I
could not but plead for my life. “Please, stop. I will do whatever ye want.”
“Oh”, Alexander
chuckled, ”thou wilst anyway.”
With that he kissed
me. ‘Twas just as a glamoury was broken when his lips touched mine and
suddenly I started fighting. The two of them just laughed though and Alexander
pinned my arms in an impossibly strong grip. Luciano tore the remains of my
dress asunder and started caressing my whole body. I tried to scream one last
time but I was lost to Alexander or yet.
I felt something sharp pierce my lips. I felt the taste of my own blood.
The world started to fade. I, Alexander and Luciano, just the three of us
remained. Nothing else mattered. A flame of pleasure surged through my lips
and vaguely I felt how Luciano kissed my neck once again. I felt how his fangs
tore my skin asunder. I felt another slight pang of dolour. And then the raw,
animalistic lust and passion of my soul came forth. All thoughts of resistance
were drained in covetice and blood.
I should not have survived. They did not mean me to survive. Yet I did.
Somehow I did.
I woke up in a
wheelbarrow. The morning light burned my eyes as I oped them and I shrieked
out in agony. Vaguely, as it betid in another world, the wheelbarrow fell over
and I rolled over on the road.
And there I remained. Crouching together like a newborn, trying to block
out the sun, pretending for myself that I were dead.
“A-ar-r-rt thou
alive?” a nervous voice stuttered. By then I was sure that I was not dead.
No angel would have that kind of voice. And no such headache would exist in
Heaven.
I answered in some
indistinguishable moans that probably meant something like “unfortunately
yea” but still refused to ope my eyes.
“Oh… spite”,
the voice cursed to itself, or haply to me. “Why did he leave that to me?”
I rolled over and
oped my eyes slightly. Vaguely I could distinguish a silhouette against the
bright sky.
“Leave what?” I
asked in a hoarse voice. The silhouette carried something. A spade.
“Why did he not
slay thee?” the silhouette sobbed.
“Slay?”
Then I realized that
the spade was raised a bit too high. With all the force that I could muster I
threw myself aside and as I rolled down in a dike beside the road I heard how
the metal hit the ground. I cursed loudly and tried to get up on my feet but
my legs would not carry me and I fell over again. The first shock of being
alive was over and now the only thought that ran through my head was that I
did not want to die by the hand of this man an I had survived those two Beasts
of the night ere. I heard his steps coming closer and fumbled desperately for
anything to defend myself with. I found a stone and turned just in time to see
a foot coming down at my face.
I could still not distinguish anymore than his silhouette but my stone
must have hit its mark. He missed me by inches and fell right over me. His
weight almost stunned me but my spirit had woke up now and with a roar I dug
my knee into his groin and mustering up all of my forces I threw him off me. I
heard a pained moan that should have awakened my ruth escape him, but this
time it just fed my rage. I saw the spade lying beside him. He tried to take
it but I was faster. He lunged out with his fist but I blocked it and brake
his arm. Then I stabbed.
And finally I could distinguish his features. He was a Vlach, just like
me. An innocent thrall of Alexander. But then, a moment later his face was
blocked out by the spurts of blood that gushed from his neck.
I wanted to bury the poor man but there was no time. I took his gory
robes and then dropped him some hundred yards away from the road. Even though
it was early in the summer I wanted to get to Daşria ere nightfall. For
Daşria was whither I would go, I wist I would be dead an anyone
recognised me in Sighişoara, not to mention the fact that I wanted to
warn my father of the Venetian mercenaries. I wist he would not care, but deep
inside I nurtured a tiny fragment of hope that the news would bring him out of
his passive misery.
I only needed a few
minutes of walking to realise that I had lost lots of blood, more blood than
anyone should survive. But my conviction and resolve kept me going. I blocked
out all the dolour and hunger, focused on the cruel features of Alexander and
Luciano and prayed to the Lord for help in defeating those filthy Catholic
Saxons and Venetians. My life was not important anymore; the only thing that
mattered was revenge upon those two…
...and defending my home…
...revenge on those two…
...defending my people…
...revenge…
...my faith…
...revenge…