It was a religious time and like all other religious times, religion was the excuse for war but not the reason. Muslims and Christians fought against each other, invading each others'' land, destroying each others’ homes, causing utter devastation whenever they encountered their so called enemy.
The Muslim and Christian soldiers on both sides were hypnotised by their religious fervour and their religious leaders. Each side believed themselves to be fighting the Devil''s own warriors.
During this feral hostility there sprang up various warlords, usually rich men, who wanted to use their idle time to either become richer or to write themselves into the history books. One such rich man was Vlad Dracula a young and vicious prince, whose brutality was renowned amongst his followers and his enemies. Many of whom lacked the courage to face him and the few who did regretted it.
This story begins over five hundred years ago near the Romanian border. A battle has just been fought and a young Slovak soldier is wandering through the battlefield. With his raven hair and his luminescent viridian eyes he was quite a striking young man, not more than seventeen.
Behind him are the flickering lights from the camp fires, there are fewer than there were the night before, and lying before him, is the blood-soaked ground of the battlefield. Broken, battered, and lifeless bodies stretched out in front of him as far as his eye can see. In the near distance the Danube glistens in the moonlight. It is the only thing peaceful and untouched by the murderous events of the day.
The young soldier soon catches sight of a cart where two Wallachians are gathering up corpses for burial and looking for survivors. As he watches them he notices that one of the Wallachians is trying to remove a ring from a dead soldier’s hand. The Wallachian seems to be having some difficulty excising the ring. His compatriot hands him a shiv, the Wallachian cuts off the finger and takes the ring.
The sight of this is not at all abhorrent to the young soldier, for despite his youth he is used to brutality like this. As far as the soldier is concerned the man is dead he has no need of trinkets and for that matter he has no need of fingers. The Slovak starts to look around to see if there is anything he can salvage.
He quickly espies the body of a Boyar Knight. The Slovak approaches the corpse slowly not wanting to draw attention to himself or the dead knight. As he draws near he is startled because not only are the Boyar Knights eyes still open, the Boyar is looking straight up at the young Slovak in terror. He almost looks alive. However blood is still gushing from an open wound on his neck, this man is dead but he hasn’t been dead for long and his death came as a surprise to him. He was probably attacked from behind. The Slovaks attention is quickly drawn away from the Knight''s deadly penetrating appearance to what he is wearing. An embroidered crimson velvet cloak eclipses the Knight''s body. The Slovak looks at his own torn cloak and promptly decides to take the Boyar''s garment for himself. As the Slovak unties the cloak and pulls it from the body he unmasks the knight’s hand which is still clasping the jewelled hilt of a magnificent and imposing sword. It was the grandest thing the young soldier had ever seen and he is compelled to take it.
He takes the sword and the cloak and makes his way back to the Slovak camp. When he arrives he heads towards the first campfire he sees. Three other Slovaks are already sitting beside the fire. The three soldiers are a strange mix and look odd sitting together. One is reading a book, which is obscuring his face. The second is quite a portly, rosy cheeked individual who looks more like a farmer than a crusader; this man is chatting away to his two companions and being ignored by both. The third Slovak is sharpening his sword on a stone; this Slovak is quite a subduing and frightening sight. His arms, hands and face are covered in scars; he is missing an eye and a few front teeth. The mere sight of him would terrify the enemy never mind having to face him on the battlefield.
The young Slovak stands and warms his hands at the fire. The portly soldier notices him and stands to acknowledge what he thinks is the presence of a Knight. The scarred soldier simply grunts to acknowledge the young man, and the other does not even lift his eyes from his book.
At first he is surprised by the salute, but then he remembers what he is wearing. The young Slovak is not afraid to explain his unintentional deception to his fellow countrymen. These men would not find fault with his conduct. They were not members of the privileged classes; in a similar situation they would probably have done the same thing. This young man knew that only rich men would be repulsed by his actions. Men who had never wanted for anything, he had learned found it easy to pas