Chapter 47 Chapter Forty-Six

my dear friend: As we walked around the solid ruins of the palace this afternoon, Georgescu pointed out the different chambers and described their possible uses. Dracula was not born here, but in a small town called Sigisoara in Transylvania.He told me that the house where Dracula's father lived—Dracula's birthplace—still stands. We had dinner at a small inn near the center of town.As we ate bread and stew, we could still see the ruined outer walls of the palace.Georgescu told me that it was most convenient to go from Targoviste to Dracula's hill fortress. "In 1456, when he took the throne of Wallachia for the second time, he decided to build a castle on the upper reaches of the Arges, where he would be protected from invasions from the plains. The Wallachians always fled To the mountains between Targoviste and Transylvania—and to the wilds of Transylvania."

He smiled and broke a piece of bread for himself, and dipped it in the stew juice. "Dracula knew that there were already two ruined fortresses up the river, dating back at least to the eleventh century. He decided to rebuild one of them, the old Fort Arges. He needed cheap labor— Aren't they always useful?—So he, with his usual kindness, invited all his nobles—his lords, you know, to a little Easter celebration. They wore their best Clothes, came to a large courtyard, here in Trgoviste. He gave them a good meal, and then killed the handicapped, so that others - including their wives and children - walked Fifty kilometers, came to the mountains to build the Arges Fort."

Georgescu looked around the table, apparently looking for bread. "Well, the situation is actually more complicated than that - Romania's history has always been like this. Years ago, Dracula's brother Mircea was murdered by his political opponents in Targoviste. When Dracula came to power, he dug Uncovered his brother's coffin and found that the poor man had been buried alive. So he sent out an Easter invitation, which ended in both avenging his brother and getting cheap labor for building a castle on the hill. He had people near the fort Brick kilns were built, and those who did not die on that trek were forced to work day and night, moving bricks and stones, building walls and building forts. Old rumors in this area say that the lords lost their beautiful clothes before they fell. Rotten to rags." Georgescu scratched the contents of the bowl, "I've discovered that Dracula is not only hateful, but real."

To-morrow, then, my friends, we shall retrace the steps of those unfortunate nobles, but in a carriage, and they trekked up the hills on foot. Yours sincerely, Bartholomew my dear friend: To my delight, we drove around in a farmer's wagon, which Georgescu said would only take a day to get to the fort and back, but still no one wanted to take us there.They talked of wolves and bears, and of course vampires. This evening we were talking to a few gray-haired old men who were drinking, and most of the town stared at us warily, and I couldn't help laughing out loud, making them all stare at me.

Continue tomorrow. faithful to you, Rossi my dear friend: We took a trip to Vlad's Fortress and it left me in awe. About dawn we set off in the wagon of a young local farmer, who didn't like the task very much.The man was tall and out of tune with his fear of the trip, which struck me as slightly comical.On the way Georgescu tried to get him into the thick woods, but the poor fellow sat there, holding the reins, in hopeless silence, and then he stuck his hand into his shirt, where he seemed to be wearing some kind of amulet.I sympathized with him and resolved to pay him more when I came back.

We intended to spend the night there, for which the young farmer's father had provided us with blankets, and we went into the forest, obviously feeling an unexplained cold.On a flat spot we drove into a great silvery forest, with huge trunks supporting domes of a million tiny leaves. After the car walked for nearly half an hour, the forest sank straight into the canyon.For the first time I saw the Arges, a silver band below.Far below there was a similar clearing, with only one shepherd in a white coat and a broad brown hat.The flock he guarded floated around him like white clouds. I thought, maybe from ancient times to the present, he has been standing there like that, leaning on his stick.An overwhelming peace came over me, and the frightening nature of the trip seemed less frightening.I felt like I could stay forever in that fragrant meadow, like the shepherd.

In the afternoon, our way up the mountain became steeper and steeper, and finally we entered a village.Our coachman made it clear that he intended to stay with the horse, and we would walk to the fort, which he would never go up there.We hustled him, and he grunted disapprovingly, keeping his hand on the strap around his neck.Georgescu told me it meant "never." The man was so stubborn about it that at the end Georgescu laughed and said walking was fine too, the last leg of the trip seemed Can only walk. Georgescu led the way up the undulating stone road, and at last we stood in the middle of the ruins.I immediately saw that the fort was small and had been completely abandoned long ago.Georgescu explained that there were originally five towers from which Dracula's minions could monitor the Turkish invasion.In the courtyard where we were, there had once been a deep well in case of siege, and it was also a secret passage leading to a cave deep in the bottom of the Arges.Dracula used the fort on and off for five years, before in 1462 he used the passage to escape the Turks.Apparently, he never came back after that.Georgescu believes he has identified the church on the other side of the courtyard, where we see a collapsed arch.

"How do we get to the nearest village?" Georgescu thought, "but if we want to see it in the morning, we'll have to take a ride back here. I'd rather spend the night here, you Woolen cloth?" At the time, I felt like I was reluctant to do it, but Georgescu seemed so natural and matter-of-fact that I didn't want to say no.It occurred to me that he was both a Scot and a Gypsy. At dinner, while we were eating, he talked about the history of the place. "One of Dracula's saddest legends comes from here. Have you ever heard of Dracula's first wife?"

I shake my head. "In the autumn of 1462, Dracula was hunted by the Turks and forced to leave the castle. That night, the Turkish army reached the cliff on the opposite bank, and they camped in the old woods of Poenari. Cannons were fired, trying to blow Dracula's castle down. They were unsuccessful, so their commander ordered a massive attack on the castle the next morning." Georgescu stopped and stoked the fire. "One of the slaves in the Turkish camp, a relative of Dracula, secretly shot an arrow into the clearing in the tower of this castle at night, because he knew where Dracula's private chambers were. The arrow carried It was a warning to Dracula and his family to flee the castle before they became captives. The slave could see Dracula's wife reading a note by candlelight. In the old song the peasants sang, she Tell her husband that she would rather be eaten by the fish of the Arges than a prisoner of the Turks."

Georgescu looked up from the stew and gave me a wicked grin. "Then she ran up the steps of the tower - maybe the one over there - and jumped from the top. And Dracula was going to escape by the secret passage, of course." He nodded matter-of-factly. "This section of the Arges is still called Riul Doamnei, which means Princess River." As you can imagine, I trembled - I looked down from the cliff that afternoon and fell into the river below at an unimaginable height. "Does Dracula have any children with this wife?" "Oh, yes." Georgescu served me some more stew. "Their son is the bad boy Michneia, who ruled Wallachia in the early sixteenth century. Another very charming Mychnea and Mircea carry on the line of the family, full of nasty fellows. Dracula married again, a Hungarian, and she was Matthias, king of Hungary ? Relatives of Corvinus. They bore many little Draculas."

"Who else is still in Wallachia or Transylvania?" "I don't think so." He tore off a large piece of bread and handed it to me. "The second generation settled in the Seckel area, and they all mixed with the Hungarians. The last blood in the family married the Gez family, disappeared too." "Is it possible that Dracula was buried here, or that his body was moved here from Snagov for safety?" Georgescu chuckled, "Have you not given up yet? Look, remember what I said, the old guy is somewhere in Snagov. Of course, there's a crypt in the chapel over there— It's a sunken place with steps leading down. I dug it years ago when I first came here." He grinned. "The villagers ignored me for weeks. But it's empty. No bones." Soon, he let out a big yawn.We pulled things closer to the fire, wrapped our sleeping blankets, and lay still—I heard Georgescu snoring. Suddenly, deep in the thick grass of the chapel, the light of my fire caught sight of a pair of shining eyes.I feel the creeps. The eyes moved a little closer and stared at me for a long time with an expression of familiarity. They looked at me and knew who I was. Then, there was a scuffle in the grass, and a huge beast was half hidden, a wolf of astonishing size.Soon, it slipped out of the ruins and was gone. I lay down again, not wanting to wake Georgescu now that the danger was over, but could no longer sleep. Are gypsies camping in these woods?I'll have to ask Georgescu in the morning. "What happened?" He looked over the wall. I pointed. "Could it be a gypsy camp?" He smiled: "No, it's not that far away from civilization." But in the dying fire, his eyes were bright and alert, "But it's a bit strange, let's go and have a look." We reached a clearing in the woods.It was surprisingly full of people, standing in double circles around the big fire, singing hymns to the fire.Every time the singing rose to a certain level, each man raised one arm stiffly in salute, and put the other on the shoulder of the person next to him.In the light of the bonfire, their faces were an odd orange-red color, stiff, unsmiling, with sparkling eyes. "What's that about?" I whispered to Georgescu. "What are they singing about?" "All for the country," he hissed in my ear. "Be very quiet, or we are dead. I think this is the Legion of Archangel Michael." Georgescu beckoned me away, and we crawled back into the woods.But as we turned around, I noticed movement on the other side of the clearing. To my surprise, I saw a tall man in a cloak, whose black hair and sickly yellow face were revealed for a split second by the flames.He stood outside the two circles of uniformed people, with a happy face, as if he was laughing.After a while, he disappeared.I thought he must have slipped into the woods, and Georgescu pulled me up the hill. We made it back to the ruins safely—and, oddly enough, felt safe back here—and Georgescu sat down by the fire, lighting his pipe, and seemed to take a breath. "Oh my god, man," he sighed. "We almost died." "Who are they?" He threw the match into the fire. "Criminal," he said succinctly. "Also called the Iron Guardians. They raid the villages in the area. They hate the Jews especially and try to exterminate them." He puffed hard on his cigarette. "We gypsies know where Jews are killed. Gypsies are always killed." I described the man I saw standing outside the circle. "Oh, of course," he murmured. "They attract all kinds of eccentric worshipers. Before long, all the shepherds in the mountains will decide to join them." It took us a while to fall asleep again, but Georgescu assured me that once the Legion began their ritual, it was unlikely they would make it up the hill. I just managed to take an uncomfortable nap.As soon as the light was sufficient, I walked cautiously to the collapsed arch of the chapel to examine the wolf's tracks. Oddly enough, there is only one pair, and it left the chapel directly out of the recess under the crypt, with no trace of how the wolf got there first - or I can't read it in the bushes behind the chapel left traces. Rossi