Vlad by C.C. Humphreys Read Free Book Online Page B

smile widened. “Not even with this?” Reaching over his shoulders, he pulled something from a sheath on his back. All knew it, the javelin about the length of the youth’s arm. “But you could never touch me with a jereed , could you?” He looked around. “None of you Balkan scum have the horse or weapon skill required to get even…one hit in eight?”
    Ion could hear the guile in the question. Vlad must have, too. Yet still he spoke. “One in eight, eh? Those are good odds.”
    “No, Vlad…”
    A raised hand halted Ion’s words. “We eight against you and yours?” Vlad said softly. “I believe we could do that.”
    The hiss from the hostages was drowned by the roar from the mounted Turks. Topping it, Mehmet cried, “But what is jereed without a wager?”
    “What do you offer?”
    “Well.” Mehmet gazed up into the sky. “They tell me you are friends with Hamza agha . That you share his love of the hawk. If you managed to score one hit, I will give you my beauty, my beloved Sayehzade.”
    All gasped, mounted and standing. You could buy a house in Edirne for the price of such a bird. Even Vlad was stunned. “I…I have little to offer to compare…”
    “Exactly!” crowed Mehmet. “You have a little…brother. Radu the Pretty. Wager him against my Sayehzade.”
    Radu spat. “I am not a wager. And I would never…”
    Vlad’s arm went around Radu’s shoulder. “My brother is not mine to give,” he said. “What else of my little would you take?”
    “Well…” Mehmet’s gaze moved rather obviously from Radu’s groin to his brother’s. “You have a little piece of skin there that is yours. Such a little thing that stands between you and Allah, the Most Merciful. It is said that you read the Qur’an as well as I. So why not take the extra step? My father will arrange a great circumcision ceremony for you when you come to the true faith—once our jereed have found their eight targets.” He leaned down, smiling. “What do you say?”
    Don’t, thought Ion, watching his friend, dreading the answer. Which came.
    “My foreskin is mine to offer, Prince. And I do.”
    Gasps again from the hostages, whoops again from the Turks.
    “A deal,” yelled Mehmet, circling his horse in excitement. “If no jereed strikes us before you all are struck, I will order the leather table cloths to be made. I will sharpen the knife myself!” He wheeled back. “Fetch your mounts and join us upon the field.”
    With that, whirling around, he led his men back the way they’d come, their features swiftly swallowed in dust.
    “What have you done, Wallachian?” It was the elder Serbian, Gheorghes, who coughed out the words. “We cannot score one in twenty against them, let alone one in eight. He tricked you with poor odds! They have practiced since childhood while we—”
    “We ride as well as them,” Vlad replied, his voice strong. “Throw as true. What we do not do is unite as them. Here, upon the jereed field. There, upon our plains, in our mountains.” Vlad gestured north, began to move that way, towards the horse lines, talking as he went. “We fight as Serb, Croat, Transylvanian, Wallachian—and Hungarian, Franks, Venetians. All the Christian lands. Separately they chop us up. But once in a while we come together. And when we do, we take Jerusalem. We just never remain together long enough to hold it.”
    “Shall we start with your foreskin, Vlad, and conquer the Holy Land tomorrow?”
    All laughed at Ion’s weary words. Even Vlad.
    “So we fight for the Holy Foreskin, not the Holy Cross, is that it?” chortled the Croat.
    “No,” said Vlad, serious again. “We fight because, however much we may hate each other, we have to hate them more. They are the enemy. Of our faith in Christ, however we see it, Orthodox or Catholic. And for our lands. Free, not under the yoke of Islam and the Turk.”
    They had reached the horse lines. Grooms, who had seen them approach, were readying their