by Dan Davis
Voices were raised in agreement and many a man nodded to himself and to his neighbour.
Hunyadi caught my eye and nodded once to me.
I peered over the heads of the men in the command tent and looked down at the princeling that spoke to the great lords of Christendom with such surety. He was a stocky lad with a fluffy beard and moustache beneath a long, sharp nose.
“I beg your pardon but how old are you, little lord?” I called out. A round of stifled laughter flowed through the tent. Even Hunyadi’s mouth twitched and he covered it by scratching his cheek.
“Who said that?” the young prince snapped, turning around from the lords at the front. “Some coward who speaks from behind the safety of—”
He stopped as I pushed forward through the men and looked down at him. “I meant no offence, my lord. Your suggestion is not such a bad one. I simply wondered how much experience you have in warfare.”
The swarthy young fellow drew himself up as tall as he could and lifted his long nose. “I am Mircea of Wallachia, eldest son and heir of Vlad Dracul, Voivode of Wallachia. I bring seven thousand horsemen and am one of the leaders of this army. Who are you, you great Frankish oaf, to even address me?”
I smiled widely and bowed low. “Of course, now I recognise you. I met your father a few months ago, when he returned to his homeland. I believe your revered father said at that time that we had no chance of victory, did he not? In fact, I recall his very words. The Sultan’s hunting party is larger than your entire army, Hunyadi.” A few men behind me snorted and young Mircea of Wallachia’s dark face darkened further and I quickly raised my voice. “And he was right.”
The tent fell silent.
Mircea nodded and spoke warily. “So, you agree with me, sir? We must withdraw tonight, is that not so?”
I lifted my head and pursed my lips, tempted to ask whether he still demanded my name now that he thought I agreed with him but there was no purpose to humiliating the fellow further, especially when he wielded such power. “A withdrawal through the hills at night is possible,” I said and turned to address all those present. “For some of us, perhaps. A thousand men might make it out, escaping detection. Two thousand, perhaps.” I turned back to Mircea. “Seven thousand, even.” His eyes widened. “But any man that attempts to leave this place shall be breaking his oath. What is more, he will be committing a great sin. The greatest sin, perhaps. Yes, any man who attempts to take his men away from the battlefield will not only be abandoning the King of Hungary and his fellow Christians, he shall be abandoning Christ.”
Mircea of Wallachia stiffened. “What are you suggesting, sir?”
“Yes,” Janos Hunyadi said. “Make your point, sir. There is much to discuss. Surely, you do not suggest dividing our army?”
“My lord,” I said and bowed, then I paused while every man looked at me, including the King of Hungary from his throne. “I suggest that tomorrow, we attack the Turk and drive him from Bulgaria forever!” Men cried out and began arguing with me and then with each other. Many seemed to agree with me, especially the French and German lords. But others disagreed, calling into question my sanity and my ability so that I raised my voice above them so I would be heard.
“We do not have the numbers!” the Bishop of Talotis cried. “Even with God on our side, we cannot defeat so many.”
“Do not let your eyes fool you, my lords,” I said. “Their numbers are swelled by the many thousands of azabs they will throw at us. These men are peasants, with no armour and almost no will to fight. We shall run them down without slowing our horses.”
“It is not the peasants but the sipahis that concern us,” said a young Hungarian nobleman named Stephen Bathory who was the Palatine of Hungary, which I understood to be as high a rank as a man could achieve in that kingdom and he was well-favoured by his king. “The sipahis are equal to our mounted men and they have two or three times our number. They are our only concern.”
“They are not our equal!” Michael Szilágyi said. He was another Hungarian noble and Hunyadi’s brother-in-law. I liked him, although he did not feel the same about me and mistrusted outsiders. Which is right and proper, of course, and I did not hold it against him. “Our armour is stronger and our horses far larger.”
“Precisely,” said Bishop Dominek of Varadin. “Our beasts shall tire while theirs remain fleet and strong throughout the day.”
Hunyadi, watching and listening, glanced at me.
I raised my voice over theirs and silenced them with sheer volume and the refusal to cease speaking. “What else can we do, my lords, but attack them and destroy them? If we take shelter inside the wooden walls of a wagonberg, with no army in the field, the cannons of the Turks will blast down our walls and destroy us. Our only way out is over the corpses of the Turks.”
Cardinal Cesarini raised his hand and cried out. “We also have cannons, sir, thanks to God. And so with our cannons we shall destroy the Turks first, from a position of safety. Until the fleet arrives.”
“There will be no fleet!” Bathory shouted. “If they were coming, they would be here by now, would they not?”
The discussion continued and Hunyadi nodded his thanks, so I stepped back into the crowd and held my tongue until they had talked themselves into action.
There really was no other choice but to attack and Hunyadi won them over with his plans. The king gave all appearances of backing Hunyadi’s plan of action and once Vladislaus stated that we would indeed attack tomorrow, the others fell in line or fell silent.
It had always been the case that no matter what anyone said, or hoped, there was no way out but forward, through the Turks.
It was to be a battle.
“He may be just sixteen years old,” Hunyadi said, nodding at the back of Mircea of Wallachia as the lords filed out. “But he is not a fool. He has the cunning of his father. And, like his father, he will continue to play both sides in this crusade. He will pay tribute to the Turks with one hand and offer the other to Hungary.”
I sighed. “He is a devious little shit if ever I met one. But one can hardly fault a lord for protecting his vassals.”
Hunyadi scoffed. “His vassals? Vlad Dracul and his son care only for themselves.” He sighed. “But I must give him some credit. The Turks hold his other two sons as hostages and he certainly risks their lives by sending his men to join us. So, Richard, no matter how we dislike them, we must try to not judge him or his father too harshly.”
“And we need them.”
“I wish it was not so but yes, we need them.”
“His men must be guarded in case Mircea attempts to withdraw his men in the night,” I said. “It is clear that he believes we cannot win the battle and so he will flee. He does not seem to be a man overly concerned with honour.”
Hunyadi sighed again, rubbing his eyes. “Unfortunately, you are right. Yes, they shall be watched. The Wallachians are always watched. But if he takes his seven thousand horsemen away from me, what can I do? Send ten thousand to stop him? Begin the battle by fighting amongst ourselves? If he decides to abandon us, all I can do is let him go.”
“We cannot afford to lose seven thousand.”
“No.”
“Whether or not we win this battle,” I said, “we must not allow any Christian land to fall to the enemy, by force of arms or diplomacy. The Wallachians have the most defensible land in the region and they must be brought to heel.”
He nodded. “It is easy for you, an outsider, to say such things. You are more right than you know but it is not so easy to do. We shall deal with such matters later. Tonight, we must prepare. Tomorrow, we must fight. God wills it.”
“He does, my lord, He does.” And so do the Turks, I thought. “With your permission, I will see to my men.”
After an uncomfortable night camped on the plain, exposed to the wind off the sea behind us, we rose in the morning and were arrayed in a crescent, with Lake Varna on our left flank and the hills rising to our right. Our forces were spre
ad across a mile or two. My place in the centre was not far from Hunyadi and his enormous bodyguard of superbly equipped men-at-arms.
The thousands of mounted Wallachians were behind us and were under orders to act as a mobile reserve to counter any breaks in the line or any flanking attack that came around by the lakeshore or from the hills. I prayed that young Mircea would do his job well, for if the swarms of sipahis could get in amongst us and behind us, we would be finished.
Behind the Wallachians was the wagonberg, our wooden fortress protected by the Bohemian mercenaries with their hand-guns and great polearms. If it came to it, we could fall back and rally at the wagonberg under cover of the guns. That was where I had sent Stephen and Eva, along with those of our servants who would be of no help in the fighting, and the youngest of the pages and grooms.
“Turks in the hills, now,” Walt said, nodding that way. “See the little bastards glinting in the woods on the ridge there?”
I could see little enough in the trees. Walt had good eyes and a good nose for danger, so I believed him.
The Sultan’s empire was divided in two by the waters of the Sea of Marmara and the straits of the Bosporus and Dardanelles. With Anatolia on one side and Rumelia on the other, the lands of Europe that had once been ruled by Constantinople or Bulgaria or other Balkan kingdoms. And the Sultan had deployed his army in the same way, with the lords and soldiers of Anatolia on his left flank and those of Rumelia on his right.
“Their Anatolian cavalry will engage our right,” I said, “and their infantry will push through the woods, beyond our flank, and get behind them. They will have bows with which to shoot our men and they will have spears to ward them off.”
“What can we do about that?” Rob said, frowning as he squinted up at the hills.
“Nothing.”
“God damn them,” Rob said, turning to spit.
“It is a rather standard ploy, is it not?” I asked. “When one has the numbers on their enemy.”
“I do not damn the Turks but our own lords,” Rob replied. “Why in the name of God do we have almost no infantry? We need men on foot. Spearmen, peasant levies, even townsmen would do. Have they lost their wits?”
“They believe that infantry would slow them down too much,” I said. “Others say they cannot afford to pay for the upkeep of such low-quality men when we already have so many veteran mercenaries, and that the supplies required to feed them would be more than could be procured. Others I have heard state simply that they have no need for such useless oafs blundering about against our Turkish foes, being that our enemy are mostly horsemen themselves.”
“Madness,” Rob said. “Peasant spearmen could cover the woods up there. They could screen our mounted men here at the front. They could fill gaps in our lines, hold positions out on the field for us to make charges from. Anyone would think our great lords have never been to war before.”
“They haven’t,” Walt said.
I shrugged. “Some of them know. Others know that nothing can resist a heavy horse charge. Not all the Turks on earth. And they are trusting to that.”
“Can’t they bloody see how many spearmen the Turks have?” Walt said. “How many, do you reckon?”
Sighing, I pointed out vast formations all across their lines and made an estimate. “Twenty thousand? Thirty? Difficult to see through all the horsemen galloping here and there.”
“They have more in infantry than our entire army, Richard,” Rob said. “You are certain we must fight this battle?”
We have no choice, I wanted to say. But that is not what my men needed to hear.
“What happens if we do not smash them here? They may push on to the Danube and then along it all the way to Belgrade, and from there to Buda, then to Vienna. Where to then? Prague? Nuremberg? And then into France?”
Walt laughed, shaking his head. “You exaggerate, Richard. A dozen kingdoms would rout the Turk well before then.”
“How many men can France put into the field, would you say? Twenty thousand?” I pointed at the Turks. “There stands a hundred thousand veterans, armoured in plate and mail, with more and better guns than us.” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder. “How many more men could they bring up from Anatolia, if they needed to? As many as this again? Four times this many?” I pointed at the centre of the Turkish army again. “And William may be there, at the heart of them. Driving them on. It is our duty to be here. It is our duty to defeat the enemy. And so that is what we shall do.”
A few men around me cheered but their apprehension was apparent.
We had around three thousand men in the centre, mainly King Vladislaus’ Polish and Hungarian bodyguards, the Hungarian mounted mercenaries, and the Hungarian nobles and their men. The mercenaries were commanded by Stephen Bathory.
Our left flank was commanded by the very capable lord Michael Szilágyi. He had around five thousand Transylvanians and German mercenaries and a few Hungarian lords who were sworn to him. They were enormously outnumbered on that flank by twenty thousand sipahi cavalry, each man with mail or lamellar armour and quality helms, with long lances and shields for the charge. Their horses were fast and could run all day, if handled well.
Still, I hoped that Szilágyi could hold them.
It was clear from the deployment of Turkish light infantry moving through the forested hills that they would attempt to turn or crush our flank there. And it was clear that Hunyadi had seen the danger, as he weighted our strength most heavily on our right. Bishop Dominek of Varadin had six thousand men alone. Cardinal Cesarini commanded thousands of well-equipped German crusaders, and the Bishops of Erleau and Talotsi, the governor of Slavonia, commanded their own contingents.
I prayed it would be enough.
In the centre, the Sultan stood behind ten thousand Janissaries.
These were his best men. They were also men who should have been ours. They were ours by blood and by birth but they had been stolen. Taken, by the Turk’s devshirme, the Blood Tax, imposed by the Turks on all Christians who they had subjugated. Every year, the Sultan’s agents, often Janissaries themselves, would collect Christian boys from the Balkans and make them his personal slaves. These boys would be aged eight or ten or even older boys close to becoming men. When they were taken, these poor innocents were indoctrinated into believing the alien religion of Mohammedanism. They were trained in military pursuits and administration until the age of around twenty and then placed into the Sultan’s personal army or the civil service. And they were utterly loyal to the Sultan, and he used the existence of these elite troops to keep his great lords under control.
It was only the Christians under the Turks who were subject to the devshirme. Not the Jews, nor the wild Turkmen tribes in the east, or the Mongols of the Golden Horde. Only Christians—whether Anatolians whose ancestors were Romans and Greeks, or Bulgarians from Rumelia—a people strong in body, quick in wits, and loyal to a fault, were desired for the Blood Tax. Some of the highest ability might one day, after a life of service, become landowners and a very small handful might one day become governors or viziers. But no matter how high they rose, they would never be granted complete freedom.
And the Janissaries alone, the most highly trained soldiers in the world, numbered ten thousand. Not only did they hold the centre, on a small hill, they were well dug in behind barricades and were supported by an incredible number of levy troops.
And we would have to somehow overcome them all to achieve victory.
A sudden wind whipped up from the Black Sea behind us, wailing and powerful enough to stagger us and frighten the horses. Hundreds of banners were blown down and standard bearers pulled off their feet. Only that of King Vladislaus III stayed upright. It seemed to be a sign from God but what meaning the sign had, no one could agree.
“Here they come,” Walt said, pointing to our right flank.
Up along the row of hills, thousands of Turkish horsemen advanced in a staggered series of lines.
“By God,” Rob said, crossing
himself. “They are so many.”
“Our men are stronger,” I said, sitting as high as I could and peering through the upright lances and banners between me and the right flank that curved forward. “All we need to do is keep our heads.”
Even as I spoke, though, thousands of our horsemen on that flank advanced away from our lines to meet the massive Turkish attack.
“What are they doing?” Walt cried. “Why advance now? They must wait.”
“They must,” I agreed. “Yet they do not.”
We watched in horror as the horsemen under the bishops of Erlau and Varadin plunged headlong into the massive Turkish advance. Rather than leave the others to their fate, the two thousand men under the Bishop of Talotsi, also advanced into the enormous melee. All together, our men were outnumbered three or four to one and soon there was little chance for them to withdraw, no matter how frantically Hunyadi’s men signalled that they should do so.
With the right flank advancing so far forward, there was now a huge gap between them and our men in the centre.
“Richard?” Rob said. “Perhaps you might ride across to Hunyadi and suggest he close the gap?”
“Hunyadi knows his business,” I said. “But tell our men to prepare themselves. We shall see action soon.”
It was then that the Turks sent their other wing forward against our left, by the lake. Michael Szilágyi was a capable man and the Hungarians were disciplined enough to meet it in good order. The clash was incredible, with dozens of companies charging and wheeling repeatedly with neither side gaining any immediate advantage.
“There are gaps between us and both flanks,” Rob said.
“And if the enemy push between one of them?” I said.
“I suppose we in the centre would counter and crush them from both sides,” Rob admitted. “But the Sultan has enough men to attack both gaps and get around our flank on the right.”
