“I assume you got the same letter I did,” Matthias said to Stephen.
Raising an eyebrow, Stephen pulled out his own sheaf of parchment. He cleared his throat, then read aloud. “‘I have killed peasants, men and women, old and young, who lived at Oblucitza and Novoselo, where the Danube flows into the sea, up to Rahova, which is located near Chilia….’” He paused, looking up. “How is Chilia this time of year?”
“Quite pleasant,” Lada said, not failing to notice Stephen’s pointed question. Nor had she forgotten that Moldavia had a vested interest in Chilia. She had mentioned it specifically for that exact reason. Over the years it had shifted between Bulgaria, Wallachia, and Moldavia. Now it was hers, because she had taken it.
Stephen lifted an eyebrow in amusement. “I am happy to hear it. Continuing, more locations, following the Danube, ah yes, this is my favorite part: ‘We killed twenty-three thousand, eight hundred and eighty-four Turks without counting those whom we burned in homes or the Turks whose heads were cut off by our soldiers. Thus, your highness, you must know I have broken the peace with Mehmed.’” Stephen lowered the letter, laughing. “I should say you have.”
“Why would you do this?” Matthias demanded. “We cannot afford a war with the Ottomans!”
Lada met his intensity with a cool gaze. “We cannot afford not to have war with them. They take our fortresses, they take our villages, they take our land, they take our children. I, for one, cannot bear the cost of their stewardship any longer. I will have Wallachia free of them. And I have proved it is possible. They rule because we allow it. No more.”
Stephen tapped the letter on his knee. “Your numbers are impressive.”
“I did it all with only three thousand men of my own.”
Matthias grunted in disbelief. “You exaggerate on one end or the other.”
Lada pulled out a dagger and cleaned her fingernails with the tip. “We moved fast and surprised them, fortress by fortress. We never faced more than a thousand men at a time. So, no, I do not exaggerate, and you know it is the truth. Do not pretend you are not aware of precisely how many men I have at my disposal, Matthias. And do not do me the dishonor of implying I would falsify my accomplishments. Those of us who actually do things have no need of falsehoods.”
Matthias rose like a storm once again. Stephen stood, too, holding out a hand. “Calm yourself. Think it through. She has handed a devastating loss to the Turks. And, as she pointed out, she has proved that such a thing, however surprising, is possible. So tell me, Cousin: Why are we here? What else do you have planned?”
“We are going to crusade,” Lada said.
Matthias sat yet again. His chair groaned in protest of so much movement. “Constantinople has already fallen. Even you cannot be so delusional as to think you can take it back.”
“I care nothing for the woes of Greeks and Italians. Let Mehmed have what he has taken from them. But let him never again take anything from us. We crusade for Europe. We crusade to prove our borders are our own, immovable, inviolable, that never again will he take Christian land from us.”
Matthias was listening, his eyes narrowed. “I will not fight for Wallachian land.”
“I am not asking you to fight for Wallachian land. I will fight for my own land. I am simply asking you to fight your own battles for once in your pathetic life.”
Matthias’s sword was half drawn before Bogdan was at his side with a knife pressed against the king’s neck.
Lada let the knife stay there for the time being. “This is what we do. Antagonize Mehmed. Harass him. If Stephen does the same, we give Mehmed three fronts, three battles he does not want. His empire depends on stability. He will not risk everything for borders he does not need. We force him to withdraw from our lands.” Lada waved one hand, and Bogdan moved the knife but did not back away from looming over Matthias.
“So you want to work together? Coordinate?” Stephen asked.
“No. If we give him a single front, it is that much easier for him to defeat us. I want us to do everything separately. No clear target, no attainable path for defeating us. I used a small, unexpected force to slaughter his men up and down the border. Our best plan is to defy plans.”
Matthias rubbed his throat, his glare as sharp as Bogdan’s blade. “But Mehmed is not in Hungary. I am not going to attack other countries. What good will I do you?”
“Deal with the Transylvanians. Convince them to work with me. I need their numbers.”
Stephen laughed, idly spinning an empty wine goblet on the arm of his chair. “I have read some of their work on you, Lada Dracul. Very creative.”
“Did you see the one about the picnic?” Nicolae asked.
Stephen nodded. “Oh, yes. Charming. King Matthias will have his work cut out for him.”
“I am certain he is up to the task,” Lada said. She was certain of no such thing. “And your other role is far more important, Matthias. We need money. The only person who can give us the funds we seek is the pope.”
“The pope?” His threatened throat forgotten, Matthias leaned forward, eyes narrowed shrewdly as the conversation turned to something he was interested in. “What makes you think the pope will give us money?”
“He fears Islam invading Europe. I wrote him about my victories in Bulgaria, and he likes me very much.”
Matthias laughed meanly. “That is because he does not know you.”
“Exactly. I have neither the time nor the temperament to pursue that advantage. Will you?”
The Hungarian king steepled his fingers. “You will have to convert to Catholicism.”
“No.”
“He will not support you if you are still Orthodox.”
Why were men always trying to claim different parts of her? Her body, her name, her soul. Why should they care where its allegiances lay? She waved a hand crossly. “Then I have converted. You can inform him.”
“I think it is rather more complicated than that,” Nicolae said.
“If the king of Hungary writes to the pope that I am Catholic, I am Catholic.” Lada had converted to Islam in much the same way, thanks to Radu’s political maneuverings. That had been to save their lives. This was to finance war.
Besides, they could not touch her soul in the end, despite all demands on its loyalties.
“Your people will not like your conversion.” Stephen raised his eyebrows meaningfully. Lada followed his gaze to find Bogdan aghast. Bogdan held his Orthodox faith almost as dearly as he held Lada.
“My people,” Lada said, glaring at Bogdan, “will like it because I choose it, and everything I choose is for the good of Wallachia.” Bogdan looked down at the floor, chastised.
Matthias’s eager hunger had not quite left his face, though he tried to smooth it away. Lada was struck with a sudden, powerful longing for Matthias’s father, Hunyadi. An honest man. A true man. A man who would have been invaluable on the battlefields to come.
But all she had was Hunyadi’s son, so she would use him if she could.
He smiled tightly. “It may work. With the loss of Constantinople so fresh, I think I can convince Rome to send us gold. Perhaps a lot of it.”
“Good. We all know what our duties are, then.”
Stephen grinned rakishly, holding his goblet out to Lada in a toast. “Disrupt stability. Petition for gold. Provoke the greatest empire on the face of the earth.” He paused. “This is going to be fun.”
8
Constantinople
OVER THE NEXT two weeks, Radu kept to the palace—the least haunted part of the city for him. He spent his time writing letters and consulting with Mara on where they could look for Nazira. Mara’s smiling patience nagged at him; the calm and soothing way she spoke terrified him that there was, in fact, no hope.