by Iny Lorentz
Michel nodded his agreement at first, then changed his mind. “We don’t have enough provisions, while the Hussites surely found plenty in the village. Also, we don’t have enough men to encircle the hill.”
“Then we’ll need God’s help.”
“In that case, all we can do now is pray and hope for the best!” Michel patted his faithful friend’s shoulder and looked uphill again. Men had come out from behind the wagon fort and were hurling mockery and abuse at the imperial army to provoke them. Though their Czech words were incomprehensible, their gestures were unmistakable, and the few who spoke German yelled down in strong language what they thought of the king and his followers.
Godewin von Berg angrily turned to his peers. “My horse can manage this hill, and if just a hundred of you follow me, we’ll rout this dirty pack.” Without waiting for an answer, he spurred his stallion up the hill. The heavy animal stumbled and struggled with every step, groaning pitifully, but fought its way higher and higher without slipping back. Reaching the wagon fort a short time later, Godewin rode along its side, poking his lance at the men standing on their wagons, waving their pikes and morning stars and staring at him in surprise.
For a few moments, it seemed that the knight’s courage had paralyzed the Bohemians. But then a good dozen of them jumped down and surrounded the attacker. Morning stars crushed the horse’s legs, toppling it, while Godewin was dragged out of the saddle with several hooked pikes and thrown to the ground. Then, ringing sounds echoed down the hill, as if giants were banging sticks against an iron cauldron. The kaiser’s men heard Godewin’s screams, which stopped shortly afterward, and they saw the warhorse rolling on the ground, neighing pathetically. Wild cries for revenge filled the air, and the knights and some of their horsemen stormed ahead without paying heed to the rest of the troops or the shouted orders of their commanders. At first, the horses made good progress, but as it got steeper, the weaker ones soon slowed down, fell, or tumbled backward. Many rolled on top of their riders and took the people following down with them.
Staying behind with his people, Michel could hardly believe his eyes. Couldn’t the noble lords see that their mindless attacks only helped their enemy? By his estimate, there were five Bohemians for each of the attacking knights. The Hussites weren’t wearing any heavy, obstructive armor and were just waiting to beat the helpless knights to death with their armor-piercing clubs and morning stars. The kaiser, who had initially hung back, was now moving uphill as well, and behind him, Heribald von Seibelstorff, who was supposed to be commanding the foot soldiers, was forcing his stallion up the steep hillside so as not to be the last knight to meet the enemy.
Michel could easily foretell the coming catastrophe. Jumping off his horse, he drew his sword and pointed its blade at the enemy. “Soldiers, follow me!” He started to run and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that not only his palatine soldiers, but also a large number of the other foot soldiers began to advance. To his right, Urs Sprüngli nodded, swung his two-handed sword, and gave a guttural battle cry.
In the following minutes, Michel barely had time to see what was happening above, as he was occupied with trying to climb up the loose, steep hillside, dodging fallen horses that were madly thrashing around, and spurring on his men with wild battle cries. When a loud explosion shook the ground, he looked up in shock and saw a thin cloud of smoke drifting away from one of the wagons. At the same time, he heard the screams of injured men and the horrible sounds of dying horses.
“The filthy pigs have cannons!” Timo shouted next to him. Michel shook his head in disbelief. Cannons were heavy pipes of wrought iron, difficult to transport, capable of breaching castle walls, but unsuited for battle in an open field.
“It must have been thunder!” he shouted back at Timo, then turned to his men, who had stopped in their tracks with fright. “Come on, men! Or do you want to camp here for the night?”
His soldiers followed close on his heels. A minute later there was another bang, and this time Michel saw the piece of artillery. It was attached to one of the wagons and looked almost like a toy compared to the cannons he knew, but its effect was devastating. It appeared the enemies weren’t firing balls of stone, but small pieces of metal that were ripping open large gaps in the German ranks. The line of armored knights had long been broken, and the cannons were scattering the groups still trying to attack. Some of those in front began turning around their exhausted horses and heading back downhill to escape the withering cannon fire. But this only made the confusion worse, and dancing on their wagons, the Hussites waved their weapons in the air.
Some of the knights withstood the fire and reached the wagon fort, but the lightly armored Bohemians easily dodged their lances and pointed their cannons at the attackers as well as the fleeing men. Seeing the thinning ranks of knights, large numbers of Hussites jumped off their wagons and stormed toward the imperial men, bellowing loudly. Morning stars flew through the air, smashing armor and horses, and knights were yanked off their horses by hooked pikes, then immediately surrounded by three or four Hussites and swiftly dispatched. Panic broke out as everyone realized that this mindless onslaught would end in a bloodbath, and the imperial men fled without concern for anyone else. All of a sudden, the kaiser, with only a few bodyguards left, was faced with a group of Bohemians running toward him shouting, “Zygmunt! Zygmunt!” as they called more Hussites to come.
Michel yelled, “Attack!” and started to run without turning to see whether his men were still following. As he encountered the first enemies, trying to breach the wall of triumphantly howling Bohemians with angry thrusts of his sword, he heard the hoarse shouts of his men behind him and the sharp sound of metal meeting metal. This unexpectedly disciplined attack surprised the Hussites, who had already believed their enemy beaten, and made them draw back. The men who had just dragged the kaiser off his horse and were about to beat him let go of their victim and scrambled back to their comrades. Michel fended off a spear in midair, pulled Sigismund to his feet, and dragged him along despite his bulky armor.
One Bohemian, not wanting to miss the opportunity to kill their ousted king, jumped out from behind a bush and attacked them from behind. Michel didn’t see the raised morning star until the very last second. Pushing the kaiser over a ledge into his men’s arms, he turned around and struck with all his might. The morning star scraped across his back, ripping open his leather doublet and piercing a few links of his hauberk without more than a scratch, while the Hussite rolled down the slope without a head.
Michel didn’t have any time to inspect his injury, as he could see the Bohemians gathering to combine forces against this unexpected contingent of foot soldiers, and so he ordered his men to form a cordon around the kaiser. He also shouted to the remaining knights on the hillside to close ranks and join his foot soldiers.
“If you try to flee on your own, the Hussites will easily catch you! This way we can let them run into a wall of lances and pikes.” Much to his surprise, the men listened. Urs Sprüngli led over his Appenzellers and other foot soldiers and helped to build a wall of bodies around the kaiser, receding into the valley step by step and keeping the Hussites at bay with lances and pikes. The knights and soldiers who had fallen back from the hill had reassembled in a huddle near the burning village and were now attacking the Hussites from the side, thereby relieving the men around the kaiser.
Down in the valley, the Hussite attack lost momentum, and Michel succeeded in uniting foot soldiers and knights into an armored column, retreating like a porcupine with hundreds of quills and thousands of feet. Just when the men thought it was over, they heard a piercing cry from a woman by the wagon train; then loud screams and the clanking of weapons filled the air. A group of Hussites had attacked the wagons, trying to set them on fire, and already the first clouds of smoke were rising. Michel ordered the men to march faster. As the looters noticed the approaching soldiers, they quickly disappeared into the bushes
, and their comrades gave up their pursuit of the imperial soldiers. German scouts reported that the Hussites were regrouping at the destroyed village.
Realizing that they wouldn’t have much time to catch their breath, Michel walked toward the kaiser. Horror and mortal fear were still written on Sigismund’s face, and his hand trembled as he gestured for Michel to speak. “Your Majesty, we also need to arrange our carts in a wagon fort to better defend ourselves. I am certain the Hussites will attack again.”
Sigismund nodded absentmindedly. “Do that, Adler.”
As Michel gave the order and they started to push the wagons together, he saw the kaiser’s frozen shape come back to life, bracing himself against one of the wagons to push the heavy vehicle into position. The other noble lords followed his example and, together with the surviving servants and camp prostitutes, grabbed the wheel spokes and dragged them through the thick mud. In no time they had formed an elongated rectangle that offered some protection from the enemy arrows raining down on them from the safety of the forest.
Even under cover of the rapidly falling darkness, the Hussites didn’t risk an open attack, but settled for occasionally blasting their cannons and firing off a volley of arrows at anything that moved in the faint glow of fires in the imperial wagon fort. All the while they shrieked and howled like a horde of hellish demons. Most of the missiles landed harmlessly in the branches of the mighty beech forest, but the noise, paired with the moaning of their wounded, weakened the fighting spirit of the kaiser’s remaining army.
Of the more than two thousand knights and foot soldiers who had started out, Michel estimated that fewer than half were now gathered here. The rest were dead, and those few who might have escaped into the forest would sooner or later be found by the enemy. Michel was skeptical that the exhausted soldiers could stand up to the inevitable Hussite attack. They’d be able to fill some of the gaps in their ranks by arming servants and wagon drivers, but their value in battle was more than doubtful. One could only hope that fear of death would guide their arms.
Deep in thought, he watched the prostitutes caring for the injured and trying to bolster the soldiers’ confidence. The women knew what awaited them if the imperial army was beaten, and in their fear they promised copious sacrifices to the Virgin Mary and their patron saint, Mary Magdalene, if they made it out alive and relatively unscathed.
Sometime after midnight, the noise was replaced by an eerie silence. Even the normal sounds of the forest quieted, and not a single star was to be seen in the sky, making it impossible to tell the hour. Indeed, it was as if fate itself held its breath. Then, as Michel had expected, the Hussites attacked just before dawn when the darkness had turned to a shadowy gray. If they had hoped to find a half-asleep, demoralized enemy, however, they were sorely disappointed because they were now experiencing the efficiency of a well-defended wagon fort for themselves.
Every single person—from Sigismund down to the youngest wagon train worker—was aware that they were fighting for their lives, and so they fought with a courage born of desperation. Not far from him, Michel saw the kaiser crossing swords, and right next to him Falko von Hettenheim’s heavy blows, like Michel’s, saved many of the poorly armed servants from certain death. To Michel’s left, Timo fought like a living wall, each of his movements swift and precise. He even grinned from time to time. It reminded Michel of when he was a fresh recruit of the palatine army and Timo the sergeant had taught him all the basics of warfare.
For four hours, the Bohemians attacked the imperial wagon fort without managing to break through; then bugles sounded for the fighters to retreat. The standard bearers waved their goose flags one more time as a symbol for Jan Hus, since the Czech word for goose was husa. Then it was all over. The Bohemians slipped away like shadows in the lingering morning fog that covered the long valley like a shroud, leaving behind only their cold and stiff dead scattered around the wagon fort.
Michel lowered his sword, which felt like lead in his cramped hand, and looked around in astonishment. Like many others, he couldn’t believe the conflict was over, and he thought their enemy’s retreat was a feint. But time passed without another Hussite attack. The burgrave of Nuremberg had a group of spirited lads follow the enemy’s very obvious tracks, and they returned with the news that the Bohemians had broken up their wagon fort and were heading east. One of the knights suggested following the enemies and attacking them on the march, but the men were simply glad to have survived this battle. None of them had the strength or the courage to pursue the retreating enemies and get within reach of their cannons.
About to take stock of his men and care for the wounded, Michel was called to the kaiser. Sigismund didn’t say a word but just flung his arms around Michel’s neck, hugging him like a brother. For a moment it even looked as if the kaiser might start crying. Catching himself, he lightly pushed Michel away and put his hand on his shoulder.
“You saved my life and my army today. Without you, the Bohemian heretics would have celebrated the murder of their own king, and they would have slaughtered my brave knights and faithful foot soldiers like cattle. Kneel, Michel Adler.”
Michel obeyed with confusion and saw the kaiser lifting his bloodstained sword and placing it on Michel’s shoulders and head.
“Rise, Knight of the Reich Michel Adler. Later, when the enemy is beaten, I will give you a fiefdom and a proper name.”
Michel stared at the kaiser, unable to grasp what had just happened.
Seething with rage, Falko von Hettenheim had watched the whole scene. Now this innkeeper’s brat was no longer a simple castellan, whose feudal lord might have one day knighted him out of gratitude for his long years of service, hardly elevating him in rank. Instead, Michel was now an appointed knight of the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation, with a seat and a vote in the Imperial Diet in Regensburg. That placed this nobody above Falko—the descendant of eight noble lords, whose family tree wasn’t marred by any untitled names.
Not until late at night, when they were absolutely certain the Hussites wouldn’t attack again, did Michel allow himself to process the kaiser’s words. He was now no longer a liege man of the count palatine, but as high in rank as Heribald von Seibelstorff. From this day on, Michel Adler, son of an innkeeper, was also worthy of commanding the kaiser’s foot soldiers. Despite his exhaustion, Michel was unable to sleep, thinking of Marie and wondering what she would say to this turn of events. Fate had already raised them far above their inherited social status, blessing them with wealth and good fortune, and now they were being bestowed with honors raising them above most people of noble descent.
Suddenly, he sighed, tasting the bitterness in this cup of good fortune. He had long ago given up hope of having children, but without a son, he couldn’t hand down his knighthood. Unlike his material property, he couldn’t leave his newly gained title to an adopted farmer’s son as he had once contemplated.
Briefly, he considered Marie’s offer to find a willing maid who could make him a proud father. But even the thought of having to remind his wife of her proposal filled him with disgust. He knew that she would stand by her words, but she might also be so deeply hurt that their bond would never be the same again. There had only ever been one woman for him, and that was Marie. If he wanted to maintain their happiness, he could never let her know about his innermost desire, because she’d move heaven and earth to get him his legitimate heir.
7.
Marie woke from a nightmare, unable to shake the pictures from her mind. She had seen Michel in the middle of a bloody battle, surrounded by enemies assailing him. But somehow he had managed to free himself with heavy blows from his sword and put the others to flight. His adversaries, however, hadn’t been Bohemian Hussites but German knights, and the one who had beaten Michel the hardest was Falko von Hettenheim.
The pictures were as clear as if she had seen them in person, and, as so often was the case lately, she had to rem
ind herself that it was only a dream, probably caused by fear for her beloved husband. She wondered whether she should confide in the castle chaplain, but he would only tell her that demons and hobgoblins were sending her these images, and he would ask her to pray for her and Michel’s salvation. Ever since her unjust conviction by the church and the inhumane treatment she had received from some clergymen, she had been unable to trust a priest. And so she had to deal with her worry and her misgivings on her own, praying to the Mother of God that Michel would survive any dangers and safely return home.
Trying to ignore the horrible images still dancing in front of her eyes, she lay back down and listened to the beating of her heart as it thumped like a blacksmith’s hammer. Outside, Marga’s stentorian voice was already ushering maids and servants to work, and Marie told herself that she should take care of her duties, too. But as soon as she sat up, an intense wave of nausea shot through her body, and she barely managed to lean over the side of the bed before vomiting. Her stomach emptied itself in painful waves, and it was a while before she could perch on the edge of the bed, shaking and sweating, without being gripped by the urge to retch.
Marie was still fighting nausea when someone knocked on the door. Managing only a choked response, she dragged herself over and opened it. In front of her stood Marga, looking at her deathly pale mistress with annoyance and sniffing the air like a dog picking up a scent. The sour smell of vomit directed her gaze to the jug of wine on a side table, and she had to suppress a contemptuous grin. Apparently her mistress had enjoyed more wine the previous night than was good for her.
Too miserable to notice the scornful gleam in her housekeeper’s eyes and embarrassed she hadn’t even been able to vomit into the chamber pot, Marie asked Marga kindly to send up a maid to take the soiled rug to be washed.
