Trapped with a Way Out

by Jeffery Martinez

  Ladislaus grunted as he crawled out of his tent and stretched his limbs, yawning out the morning. Taking in a deep cold breath, he looked at his surroundings and smiled. Soldiers bustling with movement around the camp carried firewood, saddles, food, and fresh pails of water. A few men nodded to the young Lord and bowed their heads as they jogged off. Nothing felt better than a day out training for another battle.

  "Andor!" Ladislaus shouted to a young man, "Come here, please."

  The young boy, newly turned seventeen, jogged up while balancing his own pale of fresh water, "Yes, my Lord?"

  Ladislaus pointed to his horse, "Do you think you could go scouting for me? Do you think you could try and find where the Ottomans might have their camps in hiding on our grounds?"

  Andor's face brightened at the honorable task, "I would be most honored if my Lord even considered me worthy of it."

  Ladislaus slapped the young man on the back, "Fantastic. You ride out now. They probably will be on the outskirts, and from our scouts last night, they reported that the Ottomans were above Bagamér. Where they could be now is a mystery that needs to be solved. But," the nobleman stopped the boy, "You must be very careful. If you even sense that they are around, run to the nearest hill to higher ground and try to see if anything is there."

  "Yes, Sir!" Andor bowed his head and jogged back off to his horse.

  The young Lord waved him goodbye, fastened his belt around his hips, and walked over to sit down next to a morning campfire. A few young soldiers moved to make room for Ladislaus and greeted him with warm smiles.

  "Nothing like a freezing Hungarian morning to cheer everyone up, eh?" one joked as he sipped on some soup.

  "We will kick Ottoman ass by the time we're finally done practicing," another said.

  "Yeah, right. By the time everyone is done, I'll be one hundred years old," the first laughed bitterly.

  Ladislaus scoffed with a smile, "We will be done by midmorning tomorrow, and I can promise you that."

  The man stirring the soup grunted, "Ah, there he goes again."

  Ladislaus followed the man's gaze and turned around to see Vincent arguing with another soldier. Both were gesticulating their viewpoints and shouting profanities at the other. The soldiers around the small campfire chuckled and went back to sipping their morning breakfast. The first scooted closer to Ladislaus and cleared his throat.

  "What do you know about Sir Vincent, my Lord?" he glanced back at the arguing men. "All of the soldiers here don't trust him, and I think it wasn't wise to put such a man in command of the army."

  Ladislaus felt his jaw tighten, "I wouldn't question the regent's motives, if I were you. His judgment is fine…" his manner softened, "As it is, I do agree with you. He is a shady man. I don't know much about him, other than the fact that he was taken as a hostage to the Ottoman Empire at a very young age, poisoned and infected by them, and now lives here supposedly speaking of 'annihilating the Sultan and his armies'."

  "He has switched sides…just like that?" the soldier snapped his fingers.

  Ladislaus took another glance at the Wallachian, "I believe so."

  The man stirring the soup laughed, "Who believes him? You?" he asked in disbelief, not in the slightest considering the idea that a young Lord of Hungary would side with an Ottoman.

  "No," Ladislaus admitted, "But my father does believe him. And…so does my sister."

  One raised his eyes brows, but before any other words were shared around the campfire, a fight broke out between Vincent and the officer he was arguing with. Both men began to punch the other mercilessly. Soldiers stood up to watch the fight, but didn't dare impede. Instead, everyone seemed to gather in a circle and shouted. Some begged them to stop while others egged them to continue fighting.

  Vincent feinted right and swung left, hitting the officer right in the jaw. The man staggered back, but charged Vincent once more head on. Vincent juked the man and grabbed his swinging fist. Pulling it forward, Vincent then swept his right foot underneath the officer, tripping him. The man fell back-first into the dirt with a thud.

  Vincent grinned and spat out the rest of the blood in his mouth, "I told you that my allegiance lies with Hungary, not the Ottomans. But that doesn't change the fact that we must attack today!"

  Ladislaus broke through and into the ring in time to put himself between the officer and the angered Wallachian.

  "What are you trying to do, Sir Vincent? We have training to practice," the young Lord locked eyes with him.

  Vincent laughed, "This man was trying to make me admit that I was still an Ottoman, trying to find ways to make me guilty in the eyes of the Hungarian regent, trying to elicit a response that would kill me while I was trying to tell him that we all need to attack today!"

  "You know we don't have time for this. I know you like to put on a show, and it's been very entertaining. But what the soldiers need is a strong leader, not one who is fighting amongst his other commanders in his own army. We must stand together, not divided," Ladislaus picked the man up and straightened him.

  Vincent narrowed his eyes at him, "I see you're comparing this little skirmish to losing the battle completely, my Lord."

  "Soldier," Ladislaus warned, "We cannot move out and attack the Ottomans head on. We do not have the men for it nor do we know exactly where they are."

  "But with the right tactics, we can!" Vincent insisted.

  Ladislaus turned his back away and shook his head, "We cannot afford to waste bodies trying to find out where the enemy is or when they will strike. I will not allow it, just because of your blood-lust."

  The young Lord was about to walk into his tent when a knife was sent flying right next to the his head and into the main wooden pole that held his tent up. Ladislaus whirled around with an astonished face and looked at the knife that was inches away from his head. He then turned back around and faced an enraged man.

  "No one accuses me of blood-lust without hearing my reasoning first," Vincent gritted his teeth.

  Ladislaus squared his shoulders and reentered the circle, watching his own men murmur in anticipation of another fight.

  "I don't need to hear your justification for why you adamantly think we must attack. I am Lord Ladislaus of Hungary, and I can make my own decisions," Ladislaus turned and glanced at his men for support. Soldiers grunted in agreement to his words.

  Vincent exhaled in defeat when another option occurred to him. He smiled devilishly and side-stepped closer to the noble.

  "It's funny," Vincent began to say as Ladislaus started to walk away again, "Your sister always lends an ear to me when I talk to her."

  The nobleman stopped to a dead halt and turned around slowly, his eyes a murderous, icy blue. "What…did…you…say…?"

  Vincent chuckled and threw his hands up in mockery, "I said your sister, Lady Richard, always listens to me when we talk, which is quite often."

  "You…you spoke to her?"

  "Indeed, I did. Last we spoke was the day that I left. She fared me well on my journey, sweet girl that she is," Vincent grinned as Ladislaus pulled out his own knife.

  "Do not talk about my sister as if she is your friend, and do not call her by her first name!" he shouted and slashed at the Wallachian.

  But Vincent was too quick and turned out of the way. "I must warn you that I was trained quite well in the defense arts at Edirne on how to fight without throwing a single punch."

  "Lies!" Ladislaus charged Vincent again with his knife out like a spear, "You'll always be an Ottoman, you freak!"

  But Vincent just as easily dodged him again and kicked his foot out in front to trip the nobleman. The act sent Ladislaus sailing into the pillows of his tent. "It may humble you into silence, dearest noble," Vincent grinned, tossing his own knife from hand to hand.

  The young Lord growled as he tried to pick up his knife quickly, looking like an uncoordinated whelp at his first match.

  Vincent placed his hands behind his back and smiled, "Best to just give up now
."

  Ladislaus roared in anger as he righted himself from his tent, gave up looking for his knife, and unsheathed his sword, "Consider these to be your last words, filthy Ottoman."

  Vincent bent his knees slightly and watched as Ladislaus ran up to him and slashed at a downward angle to his neck. But the Wallachian crouched and darted through the arch Ladislaus's arm had created when the sword hit the ground and switched to the other side, now facing his back to the tent.

  Ladislaus turned around and wielded his sword through the tent, trying to stab his enemy. Pillows exploded into feathers and sheets were ripped and torn all around the luxurious abode as Vincent concentrated on his feet and made his way backwards through the tent. It wasn't until the end of the tent provided a barrier when Vincent unsheathed his own sword from his belt and clashed into Ladislaus. Within the struggle, both men slashed open the end of the tent and proceeded to fight outside once more.

  Vincent grinned as he noticed the band of soldiers following them, eager to know who the victor would be. Ladislaus began to pant at the exhaustion of trying desperately to hit Vincent, but the Wallachian was focused on reading the nobleman's moves and hardly struck his sword toward his opponent. This made Ladislaus all the more angry and fervent in his reaches to strike Vincent. The Wallachian simply stood his distance and watched his opponent become overwhelmed by his own fatigue, eventually making it easier and easier for Vincent to dodge his sword this way and that. Finally, Ladislaus growled and lunged one last time. He hit air instead of flesh. Again.

  The Lord crouched over and grabbed them as he inhaled a winded breath of air. Vincent let his smile spread into a grin. "Has it humbled you yet, my superior?"

  Ladislaus grumbled something inaudible and straightened his stature with a smile, "Alright. You got me, I was an ass. I deserved it. I'm listening."

  Vincent smiled, but ceased rubbing the Lord's nose in a wound of his own making. He appreciated the courtesy and the calm manner in which Ladislaus controlled himself from acting out of line to prove a point. The men shook hands and parted stiffly.

  "As I was trying to say, the Ottomans have a way of…" Vincent's gaze darted across the forest-line, "…sneak attacking occasionally to surprise the enemy."

  Ladislaus's eyes widened, "You mean…you don't think this force will attack us honorably?"

  Vincent smiled, "They do not think that Hungarians have honor. They do not think you are capable of understanding what it is to have honor. They attack and peel soldiers from the sides of your flanks until nothing is left. It's something that I learned to do in times of dire need, for example, when one is outmatched."

  Ladislaus lowered his expression into a frown, "So you're saying that we should fight without honor; that we should fight dirty and attack them occasionally and…woodshed their sides until there is nothing left?"

  "Precisely," Vincent nodded, adjusting his belt and cape.

  Hushed murmurs between the soldiers erupted until voices rose to normal conversation level. Ladislaus raised a hand and everything went quiet once more. He considered every word Vincent had said, but he wasn't comfortable changing the battle last minute for Vincent's idea without consulting his father, the regent-governor, which was impossible since the army was too far out. And it didn't seem too appealing to use his father's army as a knife to stab the Ottoman's army when they could be one huge sword and cut right down the middle.

  "I don't know, Sir Vincent. I do not think it is wise to change the battle halfway before the fight."

  "It is better to be unpredictable in your enemy's eyes! Think of how confused they would be if we used their own tactic against them! It would scatter their ranks and they would go running back, thinking that a ghost was killing them off!" Vincent's voice animated with fervency.

  "Still, I think–"

  "My Lord," Vincent painfully said, "In times where you have the lesser advantage –that being fewer soldiers– then I think you should use scare tactics of peeling them off a little at a time into manageable bites, otherwise you will be overwhelmed by the massive size of their army. Is that what you want, my Lord?"

  Ladislaus sharply turned to him, "It's not a matter of what I want, but rather what my father wants. And what he desires is for us to hit them head on. You saw it and you approved it; do not accuse me of being the only one who was silent at the debriefing."

  Vincent lowered his head, "And now I regret the moment I approved it. I feel as though I've sentenced all of you to your deaths."

  The soldiers moved restlessly and began to shout at Vincent in anger.

  "What the hell, I thought you were on our side!"

  "Do you truly want to get us killed?!"

  "You're still one of them, aren't you?!"

  "I'm not going to sign on my death by following this man!"

  "Make an example of him!"

  Ladislaus faced his men, "Alright, that's enough! There is no time to argue and I won't have people start dividing themselves for or against this man," he pointed to Vincent, "As of right now, we need to get on with our training! Now, everyone, form ranks!"

  Each soldier formed into a line and held their shields up with their swords at their hips. Dead expressions followed as the nobleman examined each of the soldier's stature and place in line, making sure that everything was impeccable. He lifted the chin of one, turned another slightly one way, tapped one soldier's shield so he would lift it higher, and yelled at another who had lost one of his shoes.

  Vincent rolled his eyes in disgust and tapped his foot impatiently. If they were in battle, it would not matter how impeccable their ranks were; everyone scatters and fights individual men once it's hand-to-hand combat anyway. There is no point in shining one's shoes right before he gets them muddy. But Vincent instantly forgot about his thoughts when a beaten and bloodied rider rode up to the camp. Vincent ran to the horse with his hands up to halt the animal. The horse whinnied, and by that time, Ladislaus had noticed Vincent running toward something.

  "Whoa, whoa," Vincent said in a loud but low voice.

  The horse complied and halted from trotting. It panted uncontrollably and winced as Vincent took the tied rider off of the saddle; there was blood smeared everywhere, and he didn't know where it was coming from. But as soon as Vincent turned the body over, he noticed an arrow shot through the young man's chest with a note on it. Vincent took the rider off and laid him on the cool grass. Ladislaus had run up in time to see the rider's face and glazed over eyes. He gasped and covered his mouth.

  "S-such…brutality," the noble lamented, "Andor was just a kid, barely a man…"

  Vincent ignored Ladislaus and concentrated on pulling out the arrow. In one good tug, it yanked out, spurting blood. Ladislaus winced, but Vincent knelt there and took the note off of the arrow. He held it up to his face and read every word of it over and over again, his eyes narrowing by the second.

  Ladislaus peered over it anxiously, "What does it say? I demand you tell me."

  Vincent stood up and turned swiftly around, reciting what he could read from the ink that hadn't smeared from the blood, "Vincentislaus, you have been branded a traitor. I know you have allied yourself with the Hungarian barbarians, and we will hunt you down to the last man that stands with you. Consider Wallachia a dead province since you abandoned her as well. Everyone you know will die, and everything you hold true will perish like it did in the dungeons of Edirne years ago. Farewell, brother," Vincent crumpled up the paper and stared into the Lord's eyes with hatred that could burn fields of grain.

  "Brother?" Ladislaus asked.

  Vincent nodded, "It is my brother, Radu. He is commanding this Ottoman army. Like a fool, I let your ruler believe it was feasible to attack them head on with such weak numbers! I thought there was a chance, but knowing now that it is commanded by my brother, we have no choice. We must attack them from the sides; there is no other way."

  "Sir Vincent, I told you–"

  "LADISLAUS!" Vincent shouted, "THERE IS NO OTHER WAY! YOU HAV
E TO TRUST ME!"

  The nobleman halted his words and stared at the Wallachian for a brief moment, eyeing not only him but his merits. Before long, he was nodding silently.

  "Alright," he murmured, "Alright. I trust you, Sir Vincent."

  "Good," Vincent whirled around and grabbed a hold of Andor's horse, "You must understand: Radu is already on his way to the Hunyadi Castle. We haven't much time."

  "MEN!" Ladislaus shouted and waved the soldiers over, "The enemy has swept past us undetected! They are headed to the castle, and we will not let them get that far! Mount your horses! We ride now! We ride for Hungary!"

  Infantry, archers, and cavalry all trudged through the thick mud of the spring. Every man wadded his way through the green terrain, past creeks, down small canyons, into forests, and over rolling hills. Time was against the soldiers, but men and horse alike were racing as fast as possible to save their country from invasion. They would not stand for an Ottoman invasion. Muscles ached, swords and shields carried grew heavy with weight, and mouths went dry like wells at the emptiness of water canteens. Men started to trip and fall, started to sway as they stood still for a moment's breath. Spirits began to lose their hope as men cursed and swore to the sky.

  Ladislaus took the scene in as he paused atop another hill, watching his men slowly run below. He had never ceased being proud of them, but this proved their ultimate dedication. This proved their unshaken faith, or so he hoped. Vincent pulled up alongside him on Hadúr and nodded curtly.

  "Do you think we will make it?" Ladislaus asked, taking hold of his reins on his nervous horse.

  Vincent kept a stern eye on the slowing men, "One can only pray."

  The nobleman turned his head back to the soldiers and clucked to his horse. The steed obeyed and trekked its way back down the hill. Vincent stood for a moment and then returned back to his men as well. He was proud of them too. So far, they had begun picking off the Ottoman's army's sides for three days, and casualties had been kept at a minimum. No one could quite figure out how Vincent had done it; how he was able to coordinate the lethal sneak attacks. The trick, Vincent assured, was to attack at night. Confusion and fear got the best of the Ottoman troops, and, so far, the Hungarians had the upper hand. There was only one problem Vincent had to face: how to maintain the upper hand.