by H Schmidt
Two squires assisted in placing the large man on the ground. I held his head under my hand, to keep him as comfortable as possible. His breath came first in quick gasps, and then his heart stopped. His body was perfectly still, as if in deep sleep. The pain in his expression had gone, as if he had simply let go. To Count von Pappen, never a great leader, but lord of the castle by the good fortune to be born into the great Brandenburg family, it may have been a blessing not to witness what was likely to happen to Tannenberg Castle and its dominion. It may have been a blessing to the rest of us that his death presented us with the chance to act boldly, to save the army in the field that day and the castle.
Rupert spoke. “The count was right. Our task at this moment is not to defeat the enemy, but to strengthen the garrison at Tannenberg.”
As they talked, a rider rode in from the east. Everyone held his breath. The rider dismounted and strode forward. Glancing at the count lying beside the knights, he turned to Sir Otto.
“They are landing east of us...three kilometers. Horses, men, wagons, all being ferried across. The landings began less than twenty minutes ago.”
Again Sir Rupert spoke. “It will take them at least an hour to get their army moving at their crossing to the east. They well may be moving to our west, and we may have no choice but to fight our way through. Assemble the knights. Provide as many horses to archers as we can. Speed is our most important weapon.” I could not keep from asking, “What about the foot soldiers? Do we leave them here? They will be cut down by Wladyslawa’s archers like sheep in a pen. The same will happen to the archers.”
Rupert answered without hesitation. “We cannot wait for them. They will be told to make it to their homes or the castle as best they can. We must move now. Assemble all the knights.”
---
The great rafts had been hidden from the German knights in the dense pine forest five kilometers from the river. Three weeks before the army had marched to the borders of the kingdom of the German knights, carpenters, blacksmiths, woodcutters, and common laborers had been brought to the forest by cover of night. Finding a suitable sector out of sight of persons outside the forest, the crew of over two hundred men constructed a clearing and there began building the giant rafts. Thirty meters square, built from the straight pines of the forest, the logs had been kiln-dried for a week before the assembly began. Lashed together by rope, posts were augered into the raft, and ropes ran between the posts to prevent the loss of men and horses during the night crossing. Water tight goatskins were lashed to the sides for added buoyancy.
During construction, a roadway had been cut to within twenty meters of the edge of the forest nearest the river. To reach the river, twenty giant axles with wooden wheels over a meter in diameter had been constructed. There would be ten rafts. Each raft could carry over two hundred archers and foot soldiers or fifty knights and their warhorses.
Wladyslawa had placed the planning of the invasion in the hands of Kazimir Wojtevski. It was Count Kazimir who had forced the German knights to withdraw after a fierce battle at Woytila. For his courage and coolness in battle, the king had conferred upon him the title of Commander of the armies of Lithuania and Poland.
For the crossing to be successful, it was necessary to plan a diversion, to make the German knights think the army would attempt to cross farther east on the river. It was for this reason that Rupert and Gustav had observed the great army assembling on the meadow. It was also for this reason that the day before the battle, the army began to move south and east, to create the illusion that the armies were going home. Out of sight of the German knights, the main force of both armies had been turned west then north to the forest where the rafts were being built.
Standing on the north side of the river, with his commanders surrounding him, Count Kazimir watched his army of five hundred knights, one thousand archers, and five thousand foot soldiers begin to move north. It was dawn. He marveled at the feat of engineering and logistics performed by Siegfried von Meerberg, former member of the Order of the Teutonic Knights who had offered his services in exchange for two thousand hectares of rich land and one hundred grams of gold. Although disdainful of the knight’s sense of honor, such accommodations are part of winning wars, Kazimir thought. It was Sir Siegfried who planned each detail from the secret journey of the workers to the middle-of-the-night building of the pulley system which guided the rafts across.
Since dawn, the count had riders keeping him informed of the location of the German knights. As he rode at the head of the column, he turned to Count Kosciusko.
“They have less than two hundred knights and five hundred bowmen. Their foot soldiers will be no match for ours. We have ten times more than they.”
It was midmorning. The rain had stopped. Kazimir stood astride the trail the German knights and their army had taken to the river. He did not know how many men remained in the castle, and prepared for an attack from the north. Looking at the countryside, he could see the patches of land where the water still lay. These, he knew, would be the areas where there were patches of clay, which became impassable by horse when it received this much water. Between those patches, the water had soaked into the porous sandy soil, and moisture made it firmer for men and horses. Small knolls, most wooded, hid the river from Kazimir and his army. Still, the gentle slope of the land made surprise in daylight impossible. Hundreds of meters of open fields led south to the river.
Turning to Kosciusko, “There will be no miracle for the German knights today. Count, I want to force the Germans to our center. Two companies of knights to our right, two to our left. I want the reserves behind those companies. We want no mass at the center. Let them see the possibility of breaching our line in the center. When they try, hit their flanks and rear with our horsemen.”
---
We had one hundred ninety-two knights and almost one hundred bowmen as we rode toward Tannenberg Castle. The rain had stopped and the sky had turned brighter, the sun filling the clouds with an opaque glow. I rode beside Rupert. We had moved at a steady canter, for our great horses were not bred for speed but for strength and courage. As I rode, I watched the ears of Donner, for at the first signs of danger, they would begin to twitch and point to the rear. They were doing so now.
“Sir Rupert, they are close. Let us hope they are behind us.”
We were climbing a small hill on the trail now, and I felt my ears begin to tingle, my heart begin to race. I looked at Rupert, his face impassive. There were shouts ahead!! All of us heard it, and each in his own way prepared himself. Some crossed themselves. Some touched their swords or reached for their shields. I felt Donner shiver. Some of the warhorses began to scream their battle cries. As our heads rose above the knoll, my lungs sucked in air greedily as I looked at the trail no more than two hundred meters ahead.
Sir Rupert, cool in command despite the sight ahead, raised his hand to halt the German knights. Many brave soldiers before us must have lived this moment; this brief moment when they knew that they were about to embark on a voyage through the mist which separated this life from the next. They must have prayed as I did now, that God may grant me more time.
Three hundred men, two hundred knights against numbers of Wladyslawa’s army so much greater that the calculation of odds seemed a futile waste of life’s precious time. Sir Rupert turned to his right. “Sir Friederich, the army seems equal in strength across its front. Do you see any reason why we should not head straight to Tannenberg?”
“None, Sir Rupert.”
Sir Rupert glanced at me then looked quickly at Sir Friederich and Sir Otto. “Knights, Tannenberg needs assistance. Fifty able men could hold out until help arrived. We could charge their army while sending fifty of our knights around their flanks to the castle. Our best chance would be to send the swiftest and youngest.”
“I knew what Sir Rupert was trying to do, as did the other knights. I spoke up, knowing that they would listen to me, since I would be one of those Sir Rupert’s plan would spare.
“Then our chances to break through will be less.”
It was easy to see that Sir Rupert sought to save my life, but I knew that such a tactic would be unsuccessful. Wladyslawa would simply move to block our entrance to the castle and lay siege, while protecting himself from a very small force of knights. I wanted to escape. To my shame, I must admit that the chance to see Elsbet again tempted me greatly. But I also knew that our chances, no matter how small, would be greater if we smashed into the thin line which faced us and with good fortune, breached it. Although one of the youngest, I spoke out as forcefully as I could.
“While your proposal offers the young knights a chance to live another day, it would not improve the chances at the castle. The force that landed to our east is undoubtedly on its way to the castle. If they do not reach it before us, I am certain that Count Kazimir, who faces us today, will break off sufficient men to stop us.”
Sir Otto and several of the older knights looked at Sir Rupert as if hoping he would protest, for they, too, wanted to save as many of the knights as possible with honor. As if reading the knights’ minds, Kazimir’s cavalry on both flanks moved north, making the only escape route back to the river.
“They offer us their center, brothers. They dare us to strike them there!” Rupert rose in the saddle.
“Is the count a patient man? Does he see victory and wish to hold it in his hand? Then let us tickle his fancy.”
With that he turned his warhorse and headed south to the river. “Gustav, you and Sigismund move into that wood line.”
He pointed to his right where a thick clump of poplars formed a perfect hiding place.
“We will turn and begin to retreat. If the center behind us begins to pursue, we will turn upon them and meet them on the north below the crest of this hill.” Rupert needed to get Kazimir’s army to move, for in movement there is the chance of instability, and under the right conditions, panic. What we knew by now was that the Polish count was a clever commander, one who grasped opportunity. What Rupert hoped was that he was a daring commander who took chances. In battle, with numerical superiority, any commander would be foolhardy to risk the advantage of numbers. In the heat of battle, however, errors in judgment do occur, and advantages lost.
As so often happened, Rupert guessed correctly. Kazimir, seeing the enemy fleeing, thought only of destroying the German knights now that they were within reach. He ordered the companies of knights in the center to chase and engage, hoping to fall upon the rear of the German knights. Only fifty meters below the crest of the hill, unseen by Count Kazimir’s army, Sir Rupert and the knights waited. When the horsemen coming from the north were within two hundred meters of the crest, I rode out of the trees and signaled.
At the ready, our knights charged up the hill, while Poles and Lithuanians charged from the other side. As Sir Rupert and his knights reached the crest, the Poles and Lithuanians had reached the base of the small hill. Riding down the hill now, we were able to unhorse the first wave of knights and drive a wedge through the enemy. The Polish count was at first surprised by our daring move. “They are magnificent warriors, are they not, Kosciusko. Look how they maintain their ranks. But we have them.”
“Should we order the cavalry units on their flanks to attack, commander?” Kosciusko looked worried as he watched the two companies of Lithuanian knights being decimated.
“No, hold the cavalry in place. Prepare the foot soldiers and the archers for a frontal assault by the German knights. They will try to split our center.”
Kazimir watched as the foot soldiers with their pole arms knelt in two rows across the center. To their rear, rows of archers with longbows stood. To his front, less than a hundred meters away, he watched the battle. He watched as a Lithuanian was thrown off balance as one of the great warhorses of the German knights brought his mount to its knees. As he threw his shield to the side to catch his balance, the German knight struck downward with his great sword, unseating the knight. Another knight, knocked from his saddle, was being dragged through the meadow away from the vortex of combat. From a hundred meters, he could hear the screams of the warhorses, the shouts of men in anger and terror, the screams of men savaged by swords, maces and axes.
---
“Stand together,” Sir Otto was shouting, the sound eerie through his visor. I looked at his left leg. Somehow one of the enemy knights had delivered a blow behind his thigh armor. Blood covered the great mail blanket of his horse. If we did not get through soon, he would bleed to death.
Odd how similar this battle seemed to a jousting tournament, when men would test their skills for sport. But to be unseated in a tournament meant the loss of one’s horse to the victor; today it was one’s life. Two men had fallen before my sword and with the help of Donner, who would ram his great shoulder into the shoulder of my enemy’s horse and send their rider grabbing for air, vulnerable to the sword. As we advanced, I heard the shouts of Sigismund; he was surrounded by two Lithuanian knights. Straining to keep both in front of him, his horse wheeled, first left then right. I turned Donner to reach him, but too late. As he turned left, the sword of the knight to his right pierced the armor between his helmet and breast armor. It was a mortal blow.
“Forward, young knight. Sigismund is gone.”
It was Friederich ordering me to turn. All around me I saw horses without riders, wandering over the fields, confused that a rider no longer sat on their backs. Men in armor were lying everywhere, some trying to rise, others too weak to rise, too afraid, or dead. I could hear the cries of pain in Slavic and German tongues. Suddenly, the enemy knights left the field, and standing were less than one hundred German knights. There we stood, the remaining German knights of Tannenberg, looking for our comrades. As we stood, the sides of our horses heaving, trying to get our own breaths and check ourselves for wounds which are often unfelt in battle, Sir Otto dropped from his saddle and lay flat on his back. It was Friederich who dismounted and knelt down beside the old knight, who had led them for so long. I watched as Friederich removed his own helmet, and prayed beside his fallen friend. Before rising, he closed the eyelids of Sir Otto, and making the sign of the Cross, mounted. He looked at Rupert, who put his arm gently on Friederich.
I looked at Rupert. The side of his face was turning a deep purple where a mighty blow had been delivered onto his helmet. He showed me the gash in the helmet and smiled.
“A good sport, is it not?”
The knights all turned to look north. Ahead of them, rows of foot soldiers and behind them the archers of King Wladyslawa. To each side companies of knights waited, their horses facing toward them. I prodded Donner to come alongside Rupert. Friederich placed himself on the other.
It was Rupert who spoke before he lowered his visor. “If we hurry, brothers, the noonday meal will still be hot.”
With Gustav at his side, Rupert spurred his mount. A great cheer rose from the knights as they followed, charging into the mist that separated this life from the next.
Count Kazimir stood directly behind the line of archers, his hand raised, the eyes of the commanders fixed first at him, then the charging German knights. Now only fifty meters away, the count dropped his hand. In chorus, the commanders shouted: “Fire!!”
---
It was Auntie who brought me the news. I had often stood and watched as the news of the death of our knights was delivered to those who waited. My heart was always grieved by their loss, and I felt the sorrow and solace of the Mass for the dead. But never could I have imagined the pain I felt that day. My father and my dearest Gustav. Like the others, Gustav was not a member of the Order sworn to poverty, to chastity, and obedience. But as a nobleman’s son who earned his title through service and deeds, he was so close to Sir Rupert that Auntie and I often said it seemed they were father and son.
The noble Count Kazimir had allowed men from the castle to return the bodies for a Christian burial. Manfred told me he found the two of them close to each other at death. The younger man
had lain across the body of Sir Rupert, as if to protect him until the very last. I knew why I so often had sharp words for Sir Rupert, because he loved the same man as I. It has been over a year since the battle of Grunewald. For that same amount of time, I have lived in the castle of Gustav’s father on the Rhine. His father reminds me so much of his son. On this sunny morning, we stand looking out of the window overlooking the river. Below the window lay a garden. We watch the little boy in the bassinet there, whose laughter could be heard through the window.
“Why does he laugh so, father, do you think?”
---
I stood beside the bassinet, looking down at my son. Sir Rupert stood beside me, looking the part of a proud uncle, which I had reminded him he was not. Sad to say, God had not seen fit to return Rupert’s missing teeth or to change his most peculiar disposition. The old knight leaned close to young Gustav and whispered to him thinking I could not hear, “Let us hope, young knight, that the size of your heart matches that of your father...” and then louder so that I could hear,, “and in quickness of mind and beauty of feature, you grow to favor your mother.”
PART TWO
Chapter One
June 1899
Gustav and Maria sat at the table in front of the sleeping tent, watching little Maria, Wilhelm and Friederich dancing around the crackling fire, playing some magical game with Johannes. Friederich was the oldest of the four, and the others followed his lead. As they played, they spoke a mix of Swahili, Kchagga and German. The thin, shy African boy eagerly joined in the fantasies the children had created. Johannes was the son of a Chagga akida. His father had given the boy the first name of the famous German missionary, Rebmann, who fifty years before had visited the boy’s clan and had been remembered for his great courage, walking into the village unarmed, accompanied only by native porters and guides.
