The fate of traitors

I know his cruelty.

I witnessed his atrocities firsthand, the massacre of an entire village, including the one I was born in, leaving no one alive, indiscriminately impaling men, women, and children!

I, too, thought I would die on a sharpened wooden pestle: the pointed end inserted into my vagina would wriggle upwards, crushing my internal organs and piercing through my mouth.

That was the fate of my sister Natasha.

I still remember how she was stripped naked, her naked body exposed to everyone's gaze, before being impaled on the end of a round wooden pestle and dying a painful death.

I hated him then.

But that was long ago.

Now, I cannot suppress my love for him.

I can understand why he killed my family and others.

We betrayed him out of fear and greed.

It was my father who accepted thirty pieces of silver, like betraying Jesus, selling his lord to his mortal enemy.
Yes, many in the square that day were innocent, but indiscriminately distinguishing right from wrong has never been the custom in our area.

One person commits a crime, and nine generations of their family should be executed!

I should have been executed that day too.

My mother and sister, in heaven or hell, will never forgive me, nor will they forget that I became his mistress after witnessing their tragic deaths.

Today, I know why I survived.

They say I resemble the one he once deeply loved.

That person gave her youth and life for him.

She was his first wife, who chose to drown herself rather than become a prisoner of the Turks, leaping from the walls of the Punali Fortress, built on a stone hill surrounded by the Yag River.

Perhaps that's why he renamed me "Tana": "Tana" means "stone hill."
I have long since forgotten my original name.

I am his Tana, a tool he used to mark his beloved.

But he didn't love me.

Love had long been worn away in his heart.

I know that to him, I was just a vessel for sexual release, a way for him to vent his excess energy and repression during his campaigns.

But he wasn't bad to me either.

He taught me horsemanship, archery, and even how to use a sword and shield.

He taught me logic: something he had learned from the Turks who had once imprisoned him.

I suppose I was a good student, eager to learn and quick to understand, and at the same time, I became captivated by his elegance, his strength, and even his ruthlessness towards his enemies.

To better adapt to military life, I cut my blond hair to shoulder length.

So, when I rode on horseback, I looked like his page.

My developed breasts were hard to conceal, and he didn't mind me wearing a breastplate specially tailored to my curves.
On the battlefield, I carried his fearsome dragon banner for him.

Yes, Vlad, the Grand Duke of Valencia, also known as "Dagon," meaning son of the dragon!
But he was still not the true master of this land.

For years, he had wandered like a stray dog, banished by the nobles.

Even a stray dog has its day: now, he had borrowed a troop of elite soldiers from the King of Hungary who had taken him in, and was returning to reclaim everything that was rightfully his.

I would once again serve him faithfully, or fight alongside him…

At that moment, I truly thought so.

Our forces were one-fifth the size of theirs.

Of course, I knew he didn't care.

The Son of the Dragon never retreated in battle, but often compensated for his numerical disadvantage with ingenious strategies.

"My lord," I whispered.

"Do you know what that means to me?" he asked, his back to me.

"I understand. They told me. She was a great woman."

He nodded.

"Yes, a good woman. To give up her life without hesitation for the one she loved."

I fell silent.

I really wanted to say, "For him, I would die for him. To fulfill his dream, I would sacrifice my life, even my soul."

I didn't notice he had turned around.

After a while, I realized his captivating eyes were staring directly at me.

"So, you also think you love me?" he said.

This wasn't the first time his eyes had pierced through people's secrets.

Including many women's.

"My lord, you should know I love you."

"Then, if I command you, would you be willing to leap for me?"

I looked at him, tears welling in my eyes.

"Yes, just say the word, and I promise you I will give myself without hesitation."

He nodded solemnly and said, "No, you don't need to jump. Come, the night is deep. On a night like this, I want to be close to a soft, warm body."

I followed him into his private tent.

We ate in silence.

His men had hunted a porcupine, and the meat sizzled on the grill.

He poured deep red wine into a silver cup, took a few sips, and handed the cup to me.

I took a sip and coughed it up.

I still couldn't get used to the spiciness of the wine.

He laughed and pulled me into his arms.

I melted in his embrace.

He kissed me passionately, stripping me naked.

He played with my breasts as if they were the first snow of distant mountains.

He bit down on my neck, as if he had become a wolf.

Outside the tent, the full moon rose.

I groaned under his caresses, my legs spread wide and held firmly, feeling as if I were being torn apart.

I heard him softly call out a woman's name, a woman long gone but forever etched in his heart.
I knew I was merely her shadow, holding no place in his heart where he would remember or cherish me.
Tears streamed down my face as he fucked me: his member was cold as an iron rod, or more like a wooden pestle about to pierce me.

I bit my lower lip to suppress my moans and cries amidst the mingled pleasure and pain, slipping my fingers into the thick hair at the back of his head, offering my breasts to his sharp teeth, so they might bear his mark.
He took me again and again, as if both our desires were insatiable.

"Tana, you're going to betray me tomorrow," he said.

"No! I'll never do that!" I screamed in panic.

"No, you will. Because I commanded you to do it," he said as he fucked me.
My mind went blank; I couldn't understand his words.

But he didn't give me a chance to understand.

In the silvery moonlight that bathed the steps, we made love once more.

I betrayed him.

I stole from his camp and defected to his enemies.

I told them the route Vlad would take.

Where they could ambush him and rout him!

"Little girl, if you tell even half a lie, you will suffer a fate worse than death!" said Vladishlav, the one who had usurped his throne.

"Why should I lie? He cruelly slaughtered my family, ravaged my body like a whore, I hate him!"

Vladishlav laughed.

He divided his forces, deploying them to lay an ambush.

At the last moment, the general in command realized

he had been tricked. Vladish slaughtered them all.

When news of the defeat arrived, I was brought before the usurper by soldiers, my hands bound.

"You traitor!" Vladishlav roared, gripping my neck with both hands.

Seeing his predicament, I chuckled at how easily he had fallen for the trap.

Now, he had lost half his forces, and Vlad could wipe him out effortlessly.
"Kill me!" I challenged him.

His face was as black as charcoal in his rage.

But he didn't kill me immediately.

"I'll set an example for those who dare to deceive me. You'd rather be pierced by a wooden pestle than live or die!"

I was thrown into the dark prison.

In the sunless cell, my last remaining undergarment was torn to shreds by the hungry hands of the prisoners.

My body became the object of their lust, a tool for prisoners who had long been deprived of female bodies.

One by one, strange men, their numbers too many to recall.

Every orifice on my body was used.

My hands were forced to masturbate, my mouth was forced open to let their penises penetrate and swallow their spurts.

I was forced into a kneeling position, my anus raised to receive the excruciating thrusts!

"It's all for you! My lord, for you…!" I accepted all this humiliation with tears and with joy!
I was dragged from the prison at dawn.

They tossed me a white robe to cover my filthy body.

Barefoot, I climbed onto the prison cart that would take me to the execution ground, where a wooden platform, completed overnight, awaited me.

With all my might, I held my head high: I may not have been loved by him, but I loved him with all my heart.

When we reached the center of the square, I was pushed off the cart and walked towards the execution platform.

There, my robe was torn, and then a red-hot iron rod branded me with the mark of "traitor."
The iron hissed and emitted a pungent odor as it pressed against my skin.

I gritted my teeth and endured the pain, climbing the ladder back up to the platform.

"Your abdomen will be cut open, then I will cut off your head, and then cut your body into four pieces, distributing them to the four corners of the land to show everyone the tragic fate of a traitor!" the usurper read my sentence to me.

"Vlad will avenge me. Your deaths are near," I cursed him, spitting at him.

Under his slap, my body slammed against the wooden stake of the execution platform.

I wanted to stand up again and show him my defiance, but my legs, wounded and filled with fear, had lost all strength.

Yes, I was still afraid of death.

I was only nineteen; facing death in the prime of my youth was too early.

But I had resolved to die bravely for him.

Would he ever think of me? As he would of another woman who had drowned herself in the icy river for him? I knew that if he did remember me, I would be happy.

It would be a strange kind of immortality for me.

The half-naked executioner ordered my wrists to be bound behind my back.

His assistant pulled me back, exposing my naked body to the many onlookers.

Another assistant brought a short sword.

The executioner used it to cut open my abdomen…

“Ah…!” I finally screamed as I saw my intestines being pulled out.

I felt as if my heart was about to leap out of my mouth; blood gushed out like a flood; my breasts, still bearing the marks of his teeth, heaved violently as I desperately tried to breathe again.

“Let her suffer a little longer.”

The executioner picked up the giant axe but stood there motionless.

I looked at the crowd gathered before the execution platform, then looked up at the flock of hungry crows stretching across the sky.

So this is what death is like: the final struggle to breathe, fainting, feeling the blood rush to my head as my pulse races…

“Cut off her head!”

I was forced to kneel, my chest pressing against the wooden stake, thinking that cutting my blonde hair short was perhaps to make it easier for the executioner to bring down the blade today…

“My lord, do not forget me…” I offered my final prayer.

At the executioner's shout, the giant axe, whipped by a fierce wind, cleaved towards its sweet target…

(Postscript)

Tana was beheaded with a single blow.

Her head, washed with water, was placed on a wooden mallet and displayed atop the city wall.

Her body was cut into four pieces and sent by fast horse in all directions as a warning to all who intended to rebel, of the terrible fate that awaited them.

But Vlad the Dragon misjudged the people's sentiments.

They feared that if Vlad entered and learned of their silence, the retribution would be far greater than the possible execution for rebellion.

So they rose up and joined Vlad in

his assault on the capital. In a final duel, the Dragon Prince cleaved Vlad the Dragon from the crown of his head to his testicles, splitting him in two! His remains became food for a flock of kites.

Vlad found Tana's head atop the city wall, her almond-shaped eyes wide open, as if she longed to see his victorious entry into the city; her expression was as serene as a sleeping princess.

That night, Vlad the Impaler climbed the city walls and gazed at the cold, silvery moon.

He wept alone in the silence.

(The End)

PS: Vlad is the prototype for the later Count Contdracula.

Even today, he remains a figure of both love and hate in the hearts of Romanian people: on one hand, a national hero who repelled the enemy (the Turkish Muslim army); on the other hand, a tyrant who inspires fear.

His castle still stands today, but has become a tourist attraction.

Whether Tana's sacrifice was foolish is a matter of opinion.

Perhaps, as someone once said: love has no absolute right or wrong, only truth and falsehood.

[The End]

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The fate of traitors

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