Vampire Impaler (The Immortal Knight Chronicles Book 6)

by Dan Davis

  I laughed and covered my eyes. “So, Basarab is another traitor to his people and to Christendom. I will never understand Wallachia. What is wrong with those people? Why do they continue to do this?”

  “At least he has shown his true intentions,” Stephen said, shrugging. “He is an enemy of all those who oppose the Turks and so in time he can be removed.”

  Walt scoffed. “Easier said than done. We just have to defeat this great army first. How many does old King Stephen have, anyway?”

  I sighed. “He had word this morning from Hungary that the Pope’s call to crusade has been answered by Corvinus who sends a paltry two thousand men from Hungary.”

  Walt shrugged. “Better than a kick in the bollocks. Is that it?”

  “Poland has likewise sent two thousand. King Stephen has recruited five thousand mercenaries, though many of them look to me like nothing more than desperate fortune hunters and outlaws.”

  “Takes one to know one,” Rob quipped, to much amusement about the room.

  I ignored him and continued. “The Moldavians can field fifteen thousand of their own soldiers and Stephen’s heavy cavalry can beat anything the Turks might field. There are just not enough of them. And the peasant recruitment of all able men aged fourteen years or older has resulted in thirty thousand sullen and incompetent sons of Moldavia assembling.”

  “Vlad defeated the Turks with less.”

  “King Stephen has heart and he is a bright fellow but let us not be fooled into thinking he is the equal of Vlad Dracula on the battlefield.”

  “Well,” Walt said. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we.”

  “Are the sluji prepared?” I asked them. “In that case, we must assemble them. The weather grows ever colder and William will not hesitate to strike hard and soon.”

  ***

  The battle would be fought near Vaslui, deep inside Moldavia. But first, we had to draw the Turks to it.

  We were by now experts at this type of warfare. When William’s great army of Turks crossed into Moldavia, they found nought but burning fields and poisoned wells. Every resident had been removed north and there was not even a single animal larger than a cat in the entire country. Those people who could not fight were sent into the mountains in the northwest where it was hoped that they would be safe.

  Every step that William’s army took, we made them pay for by endless sudden raids. Every point that we held in force, they gathered a detachment with which to attack and when they did we fought briefly for a time before retreating. Every company that did so retreated toward Vaslui over prepared ground, stopping only to delay the massive army pursuing them. We used the sluji in some light skirmishing that helped to prepare them and also supplied us with enemy blood to drink. But I wanted them fresh and ready for the main battle to come.

  The town of Vaslui had been well fortified by King Stephen. In addition, he had ensured that of all the lands for miles around across the march of the enemy, the fields and villages around Vaslui alone would remain whole. Livestock remained on the outskirts and stocks of grain filled storehouses, like a trail of breadcrumbs.

  It was all a trap and the Turks, starving and cold and desperate, surged toward the city in their thousands, drawn by the promise of grain, meat, and fodder. Whether William knew it was a trap or not, he must have known he needed to capture the supplies we were sitting atop in order to complete his conquest and so save his plans for total domination.

  What was more, our army blocked the route to Suceava, the capital, which William no doubt expected to use to quarter his army over the bitter winter.

  They had to cross the River Barlad to reach Vaslui and our constant harassment of the massive army had served to funnel them into a narrow crossing over the river. The High Bridge was the only way across into the valley beyond and the fact that we had allowed it to stand was certainly a giveaway of our nefarious intentions. No doubt, William and the other commanders expected that whatever we planned by way of mischief could be overcome by their numbers and their hundreds of artillery pieces.

  In comparison, we had twenty-one cannons.

  The Turks needed to strengthen the bridge before they risked bringing their massive army and heavy pieces across it. And while they did that, our army waited anxiously unseen over the hills beyond. It was cold and damp and deeply unpleasant weather to be waiting around in but we could do nothing else until William took the bite and crossed into our trap.

  “He will not take the bait,” I said for the hundredth time.

  “Stop saying that,” Rob muttered, shivering.

  “He ain’t got no choice but to take it,” Walt replied.

  We peered at the vast army on the other side of the river from our vantage point on a ridge, hidden by the trunks of an unruly stand of scruffy pines. On our side of the river was a boggy valley almost entirely empty of soldiers. Across from us, though, William’s army filled the plain as far as the eye could see. Low cloud and drizzling rain hid the full extent of the forces but even so it was enough to make my heart race.

  “By God there’s a lot of the bastards,” Rob muttered, echoing my thoughts. “Have you ever seen so many men in one place in your life? Got to be a hundred and fifty thousand, all told. More than Stephen reckoned with his bloody idiot calculations.”

  “If only we could knock down the bridge while all their biggest cannons were on it,” Walt said.

  “Or when the Blood Janissaries cross,” Rob said.

  I snorted. “And William, also, but no doubt they would survive the fall and the dunking and come up merely smelling sweeter than when they went in. Come on, their woodworkers are almost done with the bridge and they will be across today or tomorrow. We must prepare for battle.”

  “Thank the Lord,” Walt said. “It’s bloody freezing.”

  We had discussed the battlefield for weeks and months. It was one the Moldavians had used in years past to defeat the Poles and it was as good a place for the purpose as I have ever seen in my life. The valley was surrounded on three sides by steep, densely wooded hills and the ground throughout the valley floor was soft and in many places marshy indeed. Horsemen would find their pace slowed to a difficult walk and even infantry would have difficulty fighting or even coming to order. I had walked it myself, lifting my knees high to make headway and found myself quickly exhausted. Yes, it was a fine trap but even so the odds were severely against us.

  We waited overnight in our camps for them to come on but as the night ended and sunrise approached we were greeted by a thick blanket of freezing fog.

  It was hard to see from one tent to the next, let alone across the battlefield.

  “We must continue as if they will,” King Stephen said as we stood sipping warm wine in his tent and stamping our feet. Outside, the Moldavian and allied forces prepared themselves and within the king’s tent their lords and masters were subdued and apprehensive. “You will at all times listen for the trumpets and send riders with messengers. We must stay in contact. You each must send a rider to me at intervals to tell me where you are and what is happening. Do you all understand? You must select sensible men and give them good horses. Each must know where my position is before the day begins.”

  It was good advice and I was impressed by his command of the situation and of his commanders.

  “Are the cannons in place?” the king asked.

  “They are, Your Grace,” said the Hungarian artillery commander. “Every one of them aimed at the bridge. We will knock a few of their heads off as they come over, will we not, my lords?”

  They muttered their assent and some smiled. Still, they were subdued. No man feels victory is near when they are so outnumbered. I resisted attempting to give them good cheer. They did not like me and it was not my place.

  “Cuza, you will keep the cavalry back here until it is needed,” the king said. “We will send all the mercenaries out, infantry and cavalry, to screen the cannon. Send the mercenary captains in and we shall explain it to them.”

/>   Everything was in place and yet so was the fog. The reports coming back all morning confirmed that the Turks were probably waiting for the air to clear, afraid to march into what they could not see.

  King Stephen called me to him. “If Zaganos Pasha is truly your brother, perhaps you know a way to encourage him to cross the bridge today.”

  I sighed. “He knows we are waiting in the hills to descend on him and yet he means to cross anyway, convinced that his strength will overcome ours. But he would be mad to march into it while he cannot see us coming. It costs him nothing to wait for the fog to clear. Once he can see, it might give him confidence to march across but he is by nature a cautious soul and he would rather delay than risk disaster.”

  The king scowled and sipped his steaming cup of wine. “I know all that. I asked you if there was a way to encourage him across today.”

  “Have you tried praying for the fog to lift, my lord?”

  His men bristled but the king ignored my tone. “I have,” he said. “And my priests are praying for that very thing as we speak. Very well, that will be all.”

  I did not obey him as I was beginning to warm to the idea of tricking William further. “If we could make him believe we have left the field, he might advance.” One of the king’s men scoffed openly but he ignored them, staring at me as if urging me to continue. I did so, thinking out loud. “How could we make him believe that? Why would we ever abandon such a perfect spot? Any army placing itself down there will be enormously disadvantaged. After all, that is why you did not—” I broke off.

  The king stared, waiting. “Yes?”

  “If we brought our army down into the valley, he would attack.”

  The king’s men groaned and told me to get out.

  “Of course he would attack,” King Stephen said. “We would be suffering that very disadvantage which you have mentioned.”

  “But we have the fog,” I said, still thinking as it came to me. “And the Turks could not see us assembling even if we did so.” I clicked my fingers and grinned. “Your Grace, can you please summon all of your musicians. And all of those of the peasantry with loud voices for singing. And serjeants and captains who might be spared.”

  King Stephen peered at me. “I do not know how it is done in England but in Moldavia it is our tradition to hold the festival celebrating victory after the battle has been won and not before.”

  I could not help but laugh, briefly. “Please, my lord. Other than praying for the fog to lift, this may cause the Turks to act.”

  Taking the mounted sluji with me, simply as I did not wish to be separated from my men, I marched the hastily assembled drummers and trumpeters down into the boggy valley and advanced toward the bridge. There were hundreds of us and more came running after us down from the wooded hills.

  “Spread out and play,” I shouted at them. “Play for all your worth. Make enough noise to startle God in Heaven!”

  I had the peasants sing together whatever working songs they knew and to raise their voices louder and louder. Other men amongst us were various captains and serjeants with mighty battlefield voices who I commanded to roar out imaginary orders to their imaginary companies.

  In very little time, we had made a sustained and mighty cacophony that echoed through the valley and across the river.

  “God help us but that’s a nasty noise,” Walt cried, his hands over his ears.

  “Tell them to sing louder,” I shouted to my Moldavian detachments. “Command the trumpeters to sound an advance and the signal to form a line. Send the serjeants forward to sing their orders. Hurry!”

  Whether it was truly my scheme that motivated them, I cannot say, but all of a sudden from out of the fog came our riders who shouted that the Turks were now crossing the bridge.

  Rob burst out laughing. “You mad bastard, Richard. You mad old bastard, you’ve only gone and done it.”

  “Back!” I shouted to the drummers and trumpeters and peasants, sending my men along our makeshift line to repeat the orders and get them out of the way. “Get back, now! Flee for the hills. Back to your companies!”

  I grabbed a handful of messengers. “Ride to the cannon masters and tell them the enemy crosses. They must fire now, do you understand? Go!”

  By the time we had pulled back, the twenty-one Moldavian cannons opened up from the flank, firing through the fog at the bridge itself and the bank on our side where the enemy would enter the valley and assemble. Our forward positions of archers marched into range and began to shoot, raining down volleys into the massed ranks of Turks who crossed and sought to assemble on our side. It was difficult to get a sense of what was happening down there but I was certain the enemy would be falling in their hundreds under such a barrage.

  “I bet you he’ll pull back from this,” Walt said to Rob, shaking his head. “How much money have you got on you?”

  But a handful of cannons and archers could not slow thousands of soldiers for long and so they advanced slowly, company by company, from the bridge and into our valley. Into our trap. Whether we would be enough to stop them, I still had no idea.

  Through the swirling fog, I caught glimpses of the azabs advancing. The king brought up our hand-gunners and these men fired their guns from the front and from the flanks at the advancing companies, their filthy, stinking weapons massed together and scything down the azabs that marched like lambs to the slaughter into them.

  Wherever the azabs managed to close with our infantry, our men turned and fled, retreating as far as necessary before turning to shoot or to hold position once more. It appeared through gaps in the fog that the azab infantry were running hither and thither like a leaderless mob and everywhere they went, they were killed by crossbows or by guns.

  Behind them though came hundreds of akinji light cavalry. They too attempted to break through the infantry and cannon arrayed before them but again they found themselves surrounded on three sides and were no doubt confused about where our fire was coming from.

  Our cannons kept firing at the bridge itself, blasting away continuously so that any who crossed were in danger of being blown to pieces before reaching the field beyond. Even when they crossed the bridge they would find more cannonballs crashing amongst them if they tarried there in order to assemble their companies.

  “Fog’s lifting,” Walt said, his mouth full of slices of dried sausage.

  “Reckon it’s the cannons and guns blowing it away?” Rob asked.

  “Do not be absurd,” I said but perhaps he was right for in the coming centuries I would see that very thing happen for certain. Whether it was the gunpowder or the wind, the fog was rapidly thinning.

  Perhaps it was this which gave William the confidence to send his Janissaries and sipahi cavalry across. They were superbly equipped veterans, professional horse soldiers who had fought everywhere in the empire and had won countless victories for their sultans. And William had thirty thousand of them.

  They thundered across the reinforced bridge in a seemingly endless mass, their mail and lamellar armour a dull grey and their lances held high above them.

  “Time to get to work,” I said to my men and we called for our helms.

  A great cry went up everywhere at once and my own men beside me cried out.

  “By Jesus the Christ and all His saints!” Walt shouted. “Would you look at that!”

  Through the swirling banks of fog, the High Bridge was collapsing before our eyes. It was jammed with sipahis, packed flank to flank and nose to tail along its entire length. Whether it was the weight of horses alone or if a few lucky cannonballs had helped, the bridge supports snapped and came apart and the entire bridge tilted and slipped, spilling men and horses from the side as it went before the entire thing collapsed and sent them crashing into the river below.

  Every man around me crossed himself and sent his thanks to God, for half the enemy army was yet on the far bank and they now had no easy way to cross. William was there and would be unable to send orders to his soldiers on th
e other side.

  But even though it was not the whole army, we were still outnumbered by those who had crossed already. The sipahis on our side rapidly organised themselves in, I must admit, a rather impressive fashion. A testament to the professionalism of the officers and obedience of the men. It was impressive and worrying in equal measure. The mass of surviving azabs were arranged into some semblance of order and they advanced on our flanks, pushing away the hand-gunners and archers by their sheer numbers and their mad bravery. This allowed the sipahis to advance out into the valley toward our mercenary infantry and cavalry. Behind them the Janissaries formed up and followed, ready to exploit any opening the horsemen created.

  I ordered the sluji to fall back and we kept our distance, watching as the azabs finally engaged our infantry. It was hard fought but the Turks were driven back once more, suffering incredible casualties. Azab bodies littered the field already.

  “What are we doing?” Rob asked, prompting me for orders.

  “Keep the men back,” I said. “Keep our distance. This is not yet our fight.”

  William was on the far bank with his immortals and I now doubted we would get the chance to kill him that day. Still, the enemy threatened to overwhelm the Moldavians and so we might well have to fight a retreat all the way back to Suceava, which might present more opportunities to come at him, so I thought I should keep the sluji fresh and unharmed. On the other hand, if we won the battle, we might destroy William’s partnership with the Sultan. All I could do for the moment was hold my men ready at the flank.

  Though the ground was soft, the sipahis advanced quicker than our infantry in the centre could retreat and so our mercenaries were ordered to hold their ground and fight off the cavalry. The sipahis began to charge and retreat in companies and larger formations. Cannons blasted continuously, sending their projectiles flying overhead and the hand-gunners fired at the enemy in front of them.