Poland

by James A. Michener

  The generals engaged in vigorous discussion of this critical mistake; they could not comprehend how a military man as successful as Kara Mustafa could allow it, and when they were satisfied that he had indeed made it and was persisting in it, they agreed that this opened a chance for victory.

  ‘And where will the twenty thousand Tatar horsemen be?’ Sobieski asked.

  Duke Charles rubbed his chin and said: ‘Now, there we have a problem. They are far removed, on the Turkish left flank. This means that when you come through the Vienna Woods, Poland, you will have to face first the ravines in the hills, then the Turkish cavalry when you break through, and always the threat of the Tatar attack on your flank, each footfall of the way.’

  ‘Where exactly are they camped?’

  ‘Here. From where they can strike at your flank, no matter where you are.’

  ‘Well,’ Sobieski said, ‘we fight on two fronts. East against the Turks, south against the Tatars. Pray God they don’t both hit us at the same time.’

  ‘They will,’ the duke said, and Sobieski nodded; he had faced joint enemies before. But now he asked: ‘Who is leading the Tatars?’ and the duke replied: ‘Khan Murad,’ at which Sobieski frowned. ‘The best. I’ve fought him twice. The best.’

  Count Lubonski asked: ‘And how is General Lubomirski, inside the city?’

  ‘It’s very difficult for us to receive messages from inside,’ the Duke of Lorraine said. ‘A few daring souls sneak out between the Turkish lines. They say the city’s starving. Starhemberg is valiant, no doubt about it. And Lubomirski is a pillar of strength.’

  ‘And Emperor Leopold?’ Lubonski asked.

  The duke looked away, unwilling to answer that difficult question, but a lesser Austrian general did, allowing no inflection of any kind to creep into his voice: ‘When danger threatened, Emperor Leopold and his women fled the capital, heading for Linz, a hundred miles west of here. With him he took six thousand of our best troops.’ No one spoke, so after a while the general added: ‘He pointed out that in a time when disaster threatened a nation, it was important that the emperor be kept safe so that he could ensure guidance … if the battle was lost.’

  ‘I understand that feeling,’ Sobieski said generously, but he could not approve the cowardice; as King of Poland he had volunteered to march more than two hundred miles to anticipate trouble and strangle it before it could injure his country.

  At this solemn moment Prince Waldeck said: ‘We face a bad terrain and a terrible foe. But the salvation of a great city depends upon us, and the preservation of Christianity. May God allow us to be valiant.’ And on this prayer the remarkable meeting at Hollabrunn broke up. Three vain and strong-minded men had met, judged one another, and formed an alliance which would not be broken, regardless of the adversity which threatened it.

  On the morning after he was created commander in chief, Jan Sobieski launched his remorseless attack on the Turks besieging the city, and although his three armies were still twenty miles away from the battleground, they began to take those effective steps which would qualify them for victory. Duke Charles, with his 23,000 Austrians, moved slowly down the right bank of the Danube, exercising care lest he get too far ahead of his allies, who had to traverse much more difficult terrain, and in proper time he established his headquarters at Klosterneuburg, not far from the Turkish front lines. Prince Waldeck, with his 28,000 Germans, hacked his way through moderately difficult areas to reach a point from which he would be able, on the day of battle, to thrust directly at Kara Mustafa’s center.

  Jan Sobieski and his Poles had an infinitely more difficult task; first he had to move from Hollabrunn, over low and marshy land, to a point opposite the Danube town of Tulln, and there he had to assemble pontoon bridges which would lift his troops across the river and onto the side of the Danube where the Turks waited. This required four agonizing days, on each of which he expected Khan Murad and his Tatar horsemen to attack. ‘If they hit us when we’re on the river, they win,’ he told his generals, but for some incomprehensible reason of their own the Tatars did not strike. Scouts reported that all twenty thousand were waiting in a camp only a few miles distant.

  Once across the Danube, the real struggle began, because according to plan, the Poles were required to march well south from Tulln, then turn sharply east through the lovely and historic Vienna Woods, an area of low mountains, rolling hills and occasional small streams.

  Mountains worry generals and horses; they terrify peasants, who know that horses are too valuable to be used hauling cannon up steep slopes, and therefore it would be they, using ropes and skids, who would do the work. Now Janko learned what warfare was, because he and eighteen men older than himself were assigned to one rope, another two dozen to a second rope, and three dozen to the job of turning the heavy wheels by hand, grabbing first one spoke, then the next as the cannon made its way slowly up the hills.

  It was murderous work, from the fourth of September to the tenth, and on two occasions, as they struggled in the fiercely hot summer sun, they saw on the crests of hills to their right bands of Tatar horsemen who kept track of their progress. When these men from the steppes would strike, no one could guess, but if they did so now, when the entire Polish flank was exposed, they could create havoc.

  As he slaved over the cannon with Janko, Piotr, sweating and swearing in his monk’s garb as he hauled on the ropes, advised: ‘Only the hussars know how to make war, Janko. They don’t waste their horses on work like this.’ At dusk he was too exhausted to seek out the cavalry encampment, but at dawn he had to go back to the cannon.

  It was brutal work, and it succeeded only because Kara Mustafa refused to believe his Tatar scouts when they reported that the Poles were dragging their cannon right over the mountains. It was inconceivable to him, accustomed as he was to orderly battle in which one army approached the other on flat ground, that Sobieski could move an entire army across terrain as rugged as the Vienna Woods and come out on the right flank prepared for battle. And as to the possibility that the Poles would bring cannon and hussars through such forests—he dismissed the idea.

  So inch by inch, while the Austrians and the Germans waited in their prepared camps, Sobieski’s men crept through the grassy woodlands, watching always for the attack of the Tatars who could have destroyed them so easily.

  On 10 September, Janko and Piotr, straining at their ropes, reached the crest of the final hill, and when they looked eastward they sighted something that both horrified and enchanted them. Before the walls of Vienna, and for as far as their eyes would carry, were the tents and the guns and the emplacements of the huge Turkish army, dug in and waiting. Piotr gasped: ‘It’s like a field of flowers. They’re everywhere.’ But Janko looked in silence, realizing that within the next days he and the other peasants, armed only with clubs and knives, would be expected to march through that vast assembly of tents and battle the men now waiting in them. It was an awesome moment, and the boy appreciated its gravity.

  The Poles spent the next day making their way down the steep slopes and onto the level ground on which the battle would be conducted, and now Piotr and his men had to tie their ropes to the rear of their cannon, and work just as hard to keep it from running down the hill as they had done to drag it up.

  When the fearful passage was completed, the Polish forces assumed battle formation, still waiting for the Tatar strike—which never came. ‘Khan Murad must be mad to have allowed us to come down that final slope unopposed,’ Sobieski said as he reviewed the disposition of his troops. ‘But for that favor we thank Almighty God. Now if Murad strikes, we can repel him.’

  The roles of the men from Bukowo were clearly understood: Count Lubonski would ride not with the hussars, for they were a special force, but with the gentry’s cavalry. He would be supported on horseback by Lukasz, a man of proven heroism. Brat Piotr would march with the foot soldiers, brandishing a pike. And Janko would tend the extra horses, which he would keep close to Lubonski in case either the
count or Lukasz might need a remount. All four would be in the location of greatest honor, the right flank of the right flank. ‘May God permit us to deport ourselves with bravery,’ Lubonski said as he explained their responsibilities.

  On the evening before battle Supreme Commander Sobieski, surveying the field from the courtyard of a church high on a hill, told his associates three things: ‘Kara Mustafa continues to divide his forces, half at the walls, half here. Our flanks will harass the Turks badly, but we must depend upon you Germans to punish the main body. And although our Polish position is strong, with our cannon in place, we are still vulnerable on our right flank, for the Tatar cavalry is waiting until we get stretched out. We shall have to watch carefully.’

  Duke Charles asked when Sobieski intended to release his winged hussars, and the king said regretfully: ‘We’ve scouted the land in front of us, and it’s too uneven for a major cavalry charge. The Turks have cut trenches across it. But once we get past that, about four in the afternoon, I’ll set them free.’

  ‘How long do you expect the battle to last?’ the German prince asked, and Sobieski said with great caution: ‘No battle of this size can be decided in a single day. But by the night of the second day, if God supports us, we shall have a victory.’ And the generals prayed.

  While Sobieski and his generals were planning their attack on the Turkish camp, Kara Mustafa was urging his men, sometimes with whips and hangings, to speed the capture of Vienna. If the sappers could place their charges beneath the walls and at various spots throughout the city and explode them before the coalition forces could strike from the west, his Janissaries would be able to storm into the city and capture it before the battle even began. His sappers were so skilled in their work—engineers from France, Germany, Italy and Hungary—that the ground underneath the city was beginning to resemble a honeycomb, and his experts assured him that the explosions would become possible sometime around the middle of September, less than a week away. On his crucial gamble, Kara Mustafa seemed to have won, and as he moved about, always wearing his green silk cord, he exuded confidence.

  Certainly those inside the city were aware of the likelihood of its fall. General Lubomirski, endeavoring to maintain discipline among his starving Polish troops, tried not to hear the sounds of the sappers underfoot, and once when he was inspecting conditions in Anna Gasse and came upon the beautiful small house at Number 22, he shuddered when he heard the distinct sounds of Turkish engineers chipping away the last bits of earth before the gunpowder was installed.

  For three weeks he had eaten nothing but horsemeat, and very little of that, and good water was more precious than wine. More than a month had passed since either he or his soldiers had seen any vegetables, and nights were sometimes made unbearable by the cries of hungry children. Rarely had a major city been so completely isolated as Vienna was now, but rarely had one been besieged by such a formidable force.

  ‘If Sobieski said he was coming by mid-September,’ Lubomirski assured his troops, ‘he will be here,’ and with this daily encouragement the Poles became one of the mainstays of the city. Accustomed to meager rations, they managed the deprivations better than most, and their unflagging courage heartened the citizens. But major credit was also due the stalwart deportment of Von Starhemberg, who consistently turned down Kara Mustafa’s repeated demands for capitulation: ‘We will all die here, in defense of a city we love.’ And when the Muslims tied messages to the rocks they were catapulting into the city, he did not endeavor to censor them; instead he read them personally to crowds that gathered: ‘Mustafa promises that if we surrender, all Christians will be allowed to remain Christian, without let or hindrance.’ Whenever he read this promise he paused, then shouted: ‘Ask the Greeks what that promise means. Ask the Bulgarians. Ask the Thracians, the Albanians.’ Then he would pause dramatically and cry: ‘How do the people of Vienna reply to that invitation?’ And men planted in the starving crowd would shout ‘No!’

  But the digging continued and soon the city must explode.

  Another general besides Sobieski and Lubomirski was also perplexed by Kara Mustafa’s obstinate refusal to take troops away from the walls so that the army facing the coalition might be strengthened, and that was Khan Murad, who had fretted for some months at the sorry misuse to which his gifted Tatars were being put. Hidden in a camp far to the south as if they were pariahs, not used in any of the assaults on the city, and now forbidden to attack Sobieski’s exposed flank, the Tatars had justification for deeming themselves insulted by the Turks, but this had often happened in the past and Khan Murad was familiar with such treatment.

  Now, however, such insolence had become more than a matter of pride to a valued ally; the misuse of the Tatars threatened the success of the whole enterprise, and Khan Murad was not disposed to see his Tatars defeated in some pitched battle when by clever thrust and parry they could have so harried the enemy that the set battle would never take place.

  So Khan Murad left his camp, accompanied by two subordinates, determined to confront Kara Mustafa, but as he rode he saw two things which infuriated him: coming down the slopes, which he could have attacked so easily, was the Polish army, unimpeded except by the difficulty of the terrain; and spread out in the battle camp of the Turks were countless tents of lavish construction and elaborate adornment. He was ashamed of this army of which he was a fighting part.

  Turning away from the Poles, who were being allowed such an easy progress to the battle, he focused on the tents of the minor viziers, so luxurious that they seemed more suitable for a parade ground at some provincial capital where gallant horsemen and well-groomed women assembled than for a battlefield. One tent in particular offended him; austere on the outside, it carried near the flap of the entrance a small green embroidery signifying that it belonged to a man of rank, and since the day was warm the flap was thrown back, and Khan Murad could see inside the three beautiful women garbed in silken robes as if attending a picnic, and the ornate decorations that crowded the interior walls of the tent: Horrible! He must have spent more on that tent than I spend on my whole army.

  There were a hundred such tents, each with some refinement that the others lacked: portable bathtubs, mirrors from Bordeaux, huge hampers of figs and dates, boxes of rare clothing for the women who tagged along, and gold and silver ornaments beyond counting. Some tents, like the one with the green emblem, had walls half covered with ceremonial scimitars encrusted in gold and precious stones, and some had marshals’ batons heavy with diamonds and rubies, the mark of the Sultan’s approval. These tents represented a concentration of wealth such as Khan Murad could scarcely imagine, and he was outraged.

  When he was finally allowed to see Kara Mustafa he spoke abruptly, avoiding the usual courtesies, even though he was aware that by doing so he endangered his life: ‘Grand Vizier, you place us in jeopardy by keeping your forces divided.’

  Fingering the green cord which gave weight to what he was about to say, the vizier nodded: ‘It must seem so to you.’

  ‘And you kept us from attacking the Poles as they came across the hills, where we could have destroyed them.’

  ‘You will destroy them when the battle starts.’

  ‘And I remember well when the Sultan himself advised you not to attack Vienna, that it would cause the nations to unite against us. At that time I spoke in his support. You have done a foolish thing, Kara Mustafa, in coming to Vienna. And now you seem determined to lose our battle. I am distressed to participate in such decisions.’

  Only rarely in any tenure did any grand vizier have to listen to such words, and almost always the person who spoke them was beheaded, and Khan Murad must have appreciated the grave danger in which he had placed himself, for when he saw the vizier’s face grow red and his hands tremble, he could guess that when the battle ended he faced execution, so he said harshly: ‘And do not think to slay me, Kara Mustafa, when the battle is over, for I shall not be here.’

  And before the startled grand vizier could
respond, the Tatar chieftain was gone from the great tent in which the meeting had occurred, and from the congregation of lesser tents, and from the whole battle area itself. In disgust he rode across empty land to the segregated spot to which his Tatars had been assigned, and he summoned his commanders.

  ‘We ride!’ he shouted, and they shouted back ‘Against the Poles?’ and he cried ‘No.’

  He led them away from the battlefield, and from the besieged city, and from Austria completely. He led them across Hungary and through the glens of Transylvania and through the Ukraine and across eastern Russia, until they reached once more the steppes of central Asia, where they were absorbed by that endless landscape. Never again would Polish armies be required to fight against or with the Tatars.

  At half after three on the morning of 12 September 1683, Jan Sobieski rose, prayed, and placed about his neck the portrait of the Virgin of Czestochowa. In the growing daylight he surveyed the vast battlefield on which his three armies would perform during the next two days, and the magnitude of the Turkish camp might have appalled him had he not been inwardly convinced that his troops could subdue it. The 25,000 tents glowed in the dawn, the 50,000 carts stood like ramparts; the 80,000 Janissaries and spahis in this part of the army looked like ants, and the 60,000 horses moved uneasily as if they knew a battle was about to begin.

  ‘We shall cut them this way and that,’ Sobieski told his subordinates, and his heralds announced the start of battle.

  In the first hour the Germans under Prince Waldeck performed heroically, for as Sobieski had promised, they were the ones who encountered the main force of the Turkish army, and they did so over terrain that was forbidding: vineyards, each one protected by low stone walls behind which the Turks lay hidden. But Waldeck used his small cannon with good effect, blasting a wall to rubble, then sending in his men with lances and bayonets.