d’s men.”
* * *
Taking their first fortress was easier than Lada had expected. The Ottoman troops here were lazy, unused to resistance or fighting. She had sent her Janissary-trained men on ahead. By the time they reached the fortress, the guards at the gate had been slaughtered and everything was wide open, waiting for them.
She lost one hundred and twenty-seven men, and added their deaths to the count required in vengeance.
Before they impaled the Ottoman troops, they stripped them. The guards at the next fortress opened their gates without question when they saw the uniforms of their fellow Ottoman soldiers coming toward them in the night. Lada rode at the front and killed both gate guards herself. Most of the Ottomans were sleeping, slaughtered in the chaos and tangle of their sheets. Those who were awake fought well.
Her men fought better.
The next day they reached a small city. It was made almost entirely of wooden structures, with a high fence encircling them. Two gates, one at the front and one at the back, let people in and out.
Word had preceded them. Hundreds of Bulgars were outside the city gates, prostrate. “Please,” a man said as Lada rode up. He did not look up at her. “Please, do not kill us.”
“Who protects you?” she asked, looking from side to side with her arms extended, palms up. “I thought this country was under the protection of the sultan.”
The man trembled. “No one protects us.”
Lada dismounted. She gestured impatiently for him to stand. He did, shoulders stooped, balding head respectfully lowered. “Are you Christians?”
He nodded.
“Would you like protection?”
He nodded again, shivering though the day was warm enough to hint at spring.
Lada lifted her voice. “Any Christians this close to Wallachia are close enough to be my people. I have farms and land and safety for any who go back with me. Which is more than the sultan can offer you.”
“But our city…our homes.”
“Your city and homes were sold by your prince to the sultan. Just as your lives were.” Again Lada looked around. “I see neither your prince nor your sultan here. There is only me.”
The man nodded rapidly. “Yes. Yes. Come in with me, for food and wine, and I will—”
A woman nearby stood up. She was gaunt but had a strong face, and a stronger spirit than the man, indicated by the lift of her chin and unflinching gaze. “Do not go into the city,” she said. “Infidel soldiers are waiting to ambush you. I saw them on my way out.”
The bald man let out a low moan of despair. The air suddenly smelled of piss.
Lada smiled at the strong woman. “Thank you. I will see to it that you have home, land, and animals to start your new life as a Wallachian.”
The woman smiled grimly, bobbing her head in a bow.
Lada examined the wall. There was no one watching that she could see. They were probably all hiding. The city did not have a tower where she could be observed. “Nicolae, secure the back gate. Quietly.”
He rode away with several hundred men to circle the city. Lada raised her voice. “The offer remains for those who wish to take it.”
The Bulgars pushed themselves up off the ground. Many carried children. Eyeing Lada’s men warily, they walked past them and onto the road toward Wallachia. She could be generous, too, and word of that would spread. Not as quickly as word of her violence, but both had merit.
Lada turned back to the man. “Go inside.”
“I—I am sorry, I—”
“Go back to your city.”
He let out a quick, terrified sob, then turned and walked slowly back through the gate. “Close it behind you,” Lada called.
He did as he was asked, a flash of his eyes, wide with terror, the last thing she saw before the gate shut. Lada gestured toward it. “Let us help them keep it secure.” A dozen of her men hurried forward with hammers, nails, and a few solid planks. Nicolae would be doing the same at the other gate.