by Dan Davis
There was much agreement to this and my suggestion for a night attack was dismissed as unnecessary. Certainly, these men, their fathers and grandfathers had been fighting the Turks for decades and I was willing to believe their expertise.
Despite the endless cannon fire, I lay down in my tent and slept for what seemed like a few moments before Eva shook me awake and bade me come outside.
The sun was lightening the sky in the east and already we could see the glints of metal and fluttering colours of the banners in the blackness across the field.
“They did not move,” I said, shaking my head. “Damn them.”
“What are they playing at?” Walt said. “Who wants to bet they come straight at us today? Stephen, how much gold do you have?”
“If we had some prisoners,” Eva said, “we would not have to bet.” I turned to look at her and saw that old glint in her eye. “We would know.”
“Rouse the men,” I said to Rob. “Prepare the horses. We are going to snatch up some Turkish sentries before the sun rises.”
At the command tent, as a haggard-looking Hunyadi made his finishing remarks, I strode in, covered in dust and sweat, breathing hard. They turned to look at me, scowling.
“By God, you did not make a night attack alone after all, did you man?” some knight quipped.
“My lord,” I said, “just before dawn, I took a small company out to the left flank and we brought back five sentries to the camp where we questioned them, separately. Two were Greeks. Well, Thessalians. They said almost the entire Thessalian cavalry was sent far around our left flank in the night. A small number of them were left with banners, so that we would not notice they had left the field. They will attack our left flank from the rear once battle is joined.”
Everyone began speaking at once until Hunyadi’s men shouted them down and commanded silence. Eyes fell on Hunyadi.
“Where are these men?”
“Outside. I brought them, in case you wished to question them yourself.”
Hunyadi nodded to one of his men who ducked outside the tent to do just that. “If what you say is true, Richard, then we must strengthen the left at all costs. The only way to do that is to take men from the centre. And also from the reserve. And so that is what we shall do.” He turned to the German mercenary lords. “And also ensure your hand-gunners are ready for a cavalry assault on the wagonberg from the rear. If there is nothing else? Then, God be with us all.”
Hunyadi crossed the tent as they went back to their units and he grasped my arm in two of his in a powerful grip, nodding. His eyes were watery from exhaustion and the lines of his face were deeper than ever.
“They will come at us hard, today,” he said, letting me go. “Harder than yesterday.”
“You still want my company to assault the Sultan, my lord?”
“You still wish to do so?”
“More than anything.”
“And if it is a choice between your enemy, Zaganos Pasha, and the Sultan?” He peered at me. “What will you do?”
“I would slay the Sultan, of course,” I said, which was a lie.
“Then God be with you,” Hunyadi said.
Stephen elected to join us on the field, clad in the most expensive Italian armour that could be bought, though he was careful to ensure he hid its brilliance behind poorly-applied paint and unremarkable cloth. He had no desire to be mistaken for somebody of importance.
“The Germans seem to think they will be attacking today,” he said to me. “And I do not relish being guarded by the camp followers and the wounded.”
I slapped him hard on the back. “That’s the spirit, Stephen. And remember, if a cannon shoots in your direction, ensure that you duck.”
“Very amusing,” he said, closing his visor.
The battle began much as it had before but both armies were full of tired men and perhaps it was my imagination but everyone was tense and fearful. The entire plain was soon filled with the drumming rumble of thousands of horses and the blaring of trumpets and banging of drums.
The Anatolians came hard against our left but we had so many men there now that it held. On the other side of the plain, the Rumelian light horse almost turned our flank but the reserve drove them off.
With our flanks holding, Hunyadi committed his entire centre and all our infantry into an attack on the Turkish centre. The azab infantry were pushed back by our hand-gunners who advanced and fired, advanced and fired. Our cannons were pulled forward and deployed again behind our advance.
When we came into range of the Janissaries, our hand-gunners and the Sultan’s elite soldiers stood in ranks and shot into each other. The Janissaries had the advantage of their prepared positions, their trenches and palisades, which protected them from our infantry’s fire. Even when our cannons opened up on them, blasting holes in sections of their palisades, it made little difference. Battalions of infantry in lines, shooting their firearms into each other would in coming centuries become a familiar sight for me. But at the time, it was truly astonishing. Billowing clouds of smoke and the endless crash of the guns filled the air while we watched from a distance.
Our Germans began edging back from the withering fire of the Janissaries.
“Prepare to attack!” the cry went up and down our line and the men-at-arms in their armour prepared to charge the Janissaries lines.
“Lances!” I cried and my men called for the same from their squires. “Lances!”
“By God, no,” Stephen said. “It shall be Varna all over again, Richard. You must stop them.”
“No man can stop this now, Stephen. The battle has become a beast with its own mind. All we can do is ride it and try to hold on. Come, we shall join the charge.”
We were many thousands of heavy cavalry and our front must have been half a mile wide. Ahead of my company, I watched the steel clad men and horses weaving through the trenches on their way to the Janissaries and I led my own men through safe routes.
The Janissary line broke against our charge, fleeing in sections until the entire line turned and fled. Our cries of victory went up all along the line of our attack and we pushed deeper in toward their camp, cutting down fleeing Janissaries left and right. Our horses were tired and the men’s arms grew heavy but the elation that we had won gave strength to us all.
Ahead, the flags atop the Sultan’s great tents fluttered in the breeze.
“Pull the company together!” I roared at Walt and Rob. “We make a final charge there, do you see?”
Eva threw her horse against mine and nudged me with her bloody mace. “What is that? Richard? What is that, there? There!”
I followed her pointing and saw the advance of a reserve unit of Janissaries coming forward in good order, shoulder to shoulder, about five hundred of them. The front ranks with their guns levelled and pointed. They were equipped as Janissaries, with the long robes and headdress, with polearms, hand-guns, bows, and side swords at their waists.
But their robes and long felt hats were dyed a vivid, blood-red.
“There!” Eva cried, jabbing her mace.
I tore my eyes to their right flank, on the far side of the formation from me.
William.
Riding an enormous iron-clad warhorse, he wore heavy mail, and had a Turkish helm on his head, with his face exposed. I would know it anywhere, as I knew his bearing and manner. A chill shot through me.
William’s unit of blood-red Janissaries stopped as one and couched their gunpowder weapons.
“Halt! Pull back!” I ordered and led my men away from the front of the firing line. Just in time, as the Janissaries fired and scores of Hungarians fell to the volley.
I expected more gunners to step forward and take another shot but instead, the Janissaries dropped their guns and advanced quickly, drawing their wicked swords. Others in rear ranks raised their polearms, long spears with axe blades on one side.
Another order was called and they broke into a run, advancing like lightning on the Hungarian horseme
n.
“Good God,” I muttered.
They moved with unnatural speed.
Inhuman speed.
In moments, they crashed against the advancing men-at-arms and killed them. Their spears flashed and their swords whirled into men and horses. The red-robed Janissaries swarmed up onto mounted knights in the saddle and killed the riders. They grasped horses with their hands and dragged them to the ground, crushing the men’s helms with maces or cutting off their heads with their swords.
“William!” I roared.
Eva had hold of my horse’s bridle and would not let go. She commanded Walt and Rob to hold me back.
“He has five hundred immortal soldiers, Richard!” Eva shouted. “We cannot defeat them. Richard, we cannot! We must live so that we may kill him.”
I allowed them to pull me away and I ordered my men to retreat away from the advancing immortal Janissaries. The red-robed monsters cut a swathe into the rest of our army before the retreat was sounded and we fell back, riding across the plain all the way to our reserves before the wagonberg.
Instead of pursuing us, William held his Janissaries back and the mortal Turks came forward to occupy their positions amongst the trenches and surviving defensive works. Our men were shocked and confused by the sudden reversal in the battle but they saw we were safe for now and they trusted Hunyadi to see them through and order was restored.
“What now?” Stephen asked, flipping open his visor. “Can even our entire army defeat so many immortals?”
“God damn his soul,” I said. “God damn that bastard.”
“Can we get around to his rear?” Walt suggested, gesturing with his weapon. “Slip through between their flank and centre, and circle in to the Sultan’s camp and close on William’s position?”
“He’s right,” Rob said. “We go around those red-robed bastards and avoid them altogether.”
“We shall do it,” I said. “Ready the men.”
“Richard,” Eva said, her tone level, pointing at our centre, where the surviving knights were preparing for another mass charge at the Sultan. “Hunyadi must be warned not to attack again.”
It would undoubtedly be suicidal to assault hundreds of immortal soldiers, that was true, but there was a problem. “What can I say to him? What reason can I give that he would believe or even understand?”
None of them had an answer.
It was at that moment that the Turk’s Thessalian cavalry finally arrived on our left flank in their thousands and assaulted the rear of the men still engaged there. We watched from our position in the centre near to the rear as our men were surrounded by the flanking manoeuvre.
“All is well,” I said to my concerned men. “Hunyadi heeded our warnings and placed the Wallachian reserves there, you see? They are advancing and the Thessalians will themselves be pinned by the Wallachians. The flank will be ours again and their horsemen will be destroyed.”
But it dawned on me that something was very wrong.
The Wallachians were not fighting.
“By God, those treacherous dogs are at it again!” Walt cried. “Do you see? Do you see it?”
“What is it?” Stephen asked us, turning from me to Walt, to Rob. “What is happening?”
“The Wallachians,” I said, knowing then that the battle was lost. “The Wallachians, thousands of fresh horsemen, our reserve. They are surrendering to the Thessalians without offering battle.”
“What?”
“We are betrayed. The Wallachians are surrendering! The battle is lost.”
4. Dracula
1448 - 1452
Hunyadi might have been defeated but he and his Hungarians again showed their ability and experience during the retreat, saving much of the remaining army.
The Wallachian’s treacherous surrender allowed the Anatolian sipahis to overwhelm our left flank and so Hunyadi ordered the retreat. Their professionalism allowed the left and centre to disengage, with units taking turns to hold the Turks at bay while we did so.
However, the entire right wing was isolated and destroyed. We were still pulling back into the dark of the night. He left behind a screen of infantry to man the camp and sent cavalry to feint attacks while the majority of us slipped away. It must have taken the Turks all the next day to overwhelm the wagonberg, even poorly defended as it was, because they did not pursue our army. The men we left behind were slaughtered, of course. God bless their souls.
And despite the sudden change in the course of the battle, we still lost only about six thousand men while the Turks certainly lost forty thousand.
Their enormous losses were the main reason we were not pursued far and we broke into smaller groups to travel back to Hungary, for we would have to skirt far around the Turks on our way back north.
“It is like Varna,” Stephen said during our flight. “Like Varna all over again.”
“Yes, yes, you were right, Stephen,” I said. “Be quiet.”
Throughout the journey, riding hard through cold passes and sleeping on thin, hard, freezing soil, I could think only of William and his red-robed immortal army. In the hills many nights later, we crowded into the shelter of a roofless hovel and outbuildings but I was too angry to rest easy.
“If not for William and his immortal Janissaries, we would have killed the Sultan,” I said, leaning against the ruined wall and watching the growing fire my men had lit in the centre of the room. “And his son. We would be throwing the Turks out of Europe. If not for William. How could he do such a thing? How could he make so many? How does he find enough blood for them?”
“The Turks have learned to be efficient,” Eva said, looking up through the ruined beams at the clear sky above.
“How can we hope to defeat so many?” I asked. “We five against five hundred.”
“There is always a way to achieve a goal,” Eva said. “Now, sleep. Have patience. Trust that we will yet cut off his head and burn his foul body into ashes. Dream well.”
Disaster followed disaster, however, and when we reached Hungary, we discovered that Hunyadi had once again been caught in his defeat by an enemy. George Branković, the ruler of Serbia, had chased down and captured Hunyadi as he and his men cut across his territory, threatening to hand him over to his Turkish masters.
Hunyadi immediately promised a vast ransom if he could be released, to which Branković agreed. The Serbian despot was like a whipped Turkish dog but he saw gold showering down from a desperate Hungary and so he let Hunyadi go. Still, the delay in returning, and doing so in such an ignominious fashion, took more of Hunyadi’s remaining lustre and Christians began to wonder if the great Janos Hunyadi could be so great after all, if he only ever lost the battles that truly mattered.
In his defence, it was undeniable that on the field he had done everything correctly, even brilliantly, and yet still he had lost. It was not his fault that he faced an immortal regiment of Janissaries. Even then, he might have saved his army if not for the betrayal of the perfidious Wallachians.
The Turks were on the rise again and Hunyadi had been brought low in the minds of many. The Turks focused now on taking Albania and they invaded in 1449, and in 1450. Each time, the brilliant Skanderbeg threw them back. It seemed for a time that he might truly be the brilliant leader who could unite eastern Christendom, but then he promised peace and entered into negotiations, promising to pay six thousand ducats and swore he would accept Turkish suzerainty. I was saddened by the news but it was all just another clever ploy on his part as he never paid the promised sum and then renounced his subjugation when it came time to pay. Immediately, he began raiding Turkish forts and the invading army, he attacked supply caravans and carried off enormous quantities of booty, eventually forcing the Turks from the field without ever fighting a grand battle.
“Perhaps that is the way to do it,” I said, on reading the reports and after listening to men who had been there or claimed to have been. “Force them to withdraw.”
“That’ll work for mountain lands,” Walt
pointed out. “What you going to do on the plains, when they can see you coming and chase you down when you flee?”
We were comfortable once more in our house in the city of Buda but it seemed so far from the action.
“Is it time to travel to Albania?” I asked Eva and Stephen, seeking their advice.
“How many men can they put in the field?” Eva asked. “Ten thousand? Lightly armed, at that. Enough to protect their hills and valleys but would Hungarians follow an Albanian, no matter how successful he is in raids and small battles?”
“Damn these people, all of them. The Wallachians most of all.”
“Patience, Richard. We have time. Years, decades. We know where William is, now. He has shown inhuman patience and so must we.”
“You need not repeat yourself,” I said.
“I think I do. You wish to fight. Always. I know. But to defeat William you must first defeat that need to always fight and kill.”
“I know, I say. I know, woman, now leave me in peace.”
The Turks assaulted the city of Kruje, led in person by the Sultan, but the garrison defeated every attack. The Turks attempted to cut the water supply, and undermine the walls, and they offered vast bribes, literal fortunes to any man who would open the gates. Every attempt failed and Skanderbeg’s brave Albanians resisted. The Turkish siege was struck by camp sickness and eventually the Turks, clutching their painful, watery bellies, limped back to Edirne in defeat.
And there, in early 1451, Sultan Murad II died.
He had ruled the Turks for thirty years and had been fighting and winning for most of that time. Christendom rejoiced at his passing and there was a sense that things may just improve, now. The Sultan’s son came to the throne as Sultan Mehmed II. He was very young and already in his life he had been the Sultan, when Murad had attempted to retire in his old age and hand the reins of power to his very young son. But the boy Mehmed was not capable of ruling a vast empire, nor could he lead vast armies. Indeed, the young Mehmed had supposedly been Sultan when the crusade of Varna had been launched.
