The Dracula Chronicles: For Whom The Bell Tolls

by Shane KP O'Neill

Their status as great generals did not ease their nerves when they met with him. For they knew when he was this angry, his mood often dictated his actions. In the past, other men in their position had suffered because of it. It was best to pander to his whims, and then discuss matters with a calm approach. Such methods would usually bring him around.

  They had each received a full briefing on their way to the palace. Some had even discussed the situation in Bulgaria, as they knew of it before they had arrived. They had recalled their armies from the border between Anatolia and Persia. And now huge numbers of troops were making the trek to the Bosporus.

  “Yes, Sire,” Daud answered. “Our troops are on their way to Varna even as we speak.”

  “Good. I shall not stand for this treachery! Every man we can spare is to be sent to Bulgaria!”

  “With respect, Sire,” Karadza spoke up. “Such a move would cause problems for us in the East.”

  “I care not for Persia!” he screamed. “I want the Christians dead; every last one of them.”

  He bowed, knowing it was futile to argue. “As you wish, Sire.”

  “Do we know yet who is marching against us?” Murad asked, eager to know.

  He had the best spies that money could buy. They kept him well informed of his enemies’ actions and plans. This time, Hunyadi had guarded his plans well enough to leave Murad unsure of them.

  The generals kept their own spies too, and Togan had the information the sultan wanted. “Yes, Sire,” he spoke up. “I have all the relevant details.”

  “Go on then!” Murad urged. “Out with it! Is Dracul involved?”

  “It appears he argued with Hunyadi and refused to join with him.”

  Murad smiled. “Do you know why they fought?”

  “Dracul spoke against the new crusade. He did not want any part of it.”

  “Then he has come to his senses at last.”

  “Once again his son carries his banner, Sire.”

  “What? Damn him then!” Murad cursed. “He shall never see his sons again. I want them on quarter rations and thrown in the dungeons.”

  Karadza nodded that he would see to it.

  “So who else is involved?”

  Togan reeled off the list of names. There was one omission from the list that surprised Murad. “Branković is not riding with them?”

  “No, Sire. Our eyes tell us he has ignored all the letters he has received.”

  Murad grinned at him. “It might be an idea to blind all our hostages.” He thought of Branković’s sons, who had endured such a fate. “Have them handed over at once to the Serbs. We shall make the others colluding against us see the error of their ways.”

  THE coalition army moved east along the Danube. They fought a number of skirmishes with bands of Turkish troops. Nothing they encountered gave them too much trouble. By the ninth day of November, they camped within a mile of the walls of Varna.

  News had not yet reached them of the failure of their allies against the enemy fleet. They could not prevent a huge Ottoman force crossing from Anatolia into Europe. What Hunyadi and his people did not know was that the Venetians had accepted large bribes and actually transported the Turks to the coast in Bulgaria.

  During the night, the sound of heavy marching awoke every man in the Christian camp. Guards alerted the king and Hunyadi to it. They had heard it for themselves and lay awake in their tents.

  Hunyadi sent his scouts to comb the surrounding areas. Two hours later, the riders emerged from the darkness with news for the general.

  “My Lord,” one of them gasped when he saw his leader. “The Turks are here. They have us surrounded on all sides.”

  His face looked grim. “Do you have any idea of their number?”

  “No, my Lord. But their force dwarfs ours.”

  “And you say we are surrounded?”

  “Our army is hemmed between the Black Sea and Lake Varna,” the scout reported. “Turks are all around. They control the area between the Thracian Hills. The only area of retreat we can find is through the Frangen plateau. Even then, we would have to fight our way through.”

  “Gather the other commanders together. Tell them to meet me here.”

  Soon they joined him in his tent where he explained the gravity of the situation.

  “We must withdraw at once,” Cesarini said.

  This statement concerned the less experienced men in the group. Although a cardinal, Cesarini had fought many campaigns. They knew well of his courage.

  Hunyadi looked at him and nodded. “It is an option, but then our only means of escape would be up through the Frangen plateau. The passes up there are quite treacherous in the best of times. Our army would not have any room to fight so it would prove easy to hem us in. There is the risk we would all be killed.”

  “It seems we are likely to die here if we do not go,” Dominek said. “So why not take our chances through the mountains?”

  “If I am to die,” Mihály Szilágy said, “I wish it to be with a sword through my belly; not my back. I shall not run from my fate.”

  The men argued both points. They grew divided over what decision to make.

  That was until the young king stepped forward. “Am I not the supreme commander of this army still?”

  The men nodded in unison.

  “Then why has no one consulted with me for my opinion?”

  He waited for a response. When it did not come, he delivered his message. “I am of the belief that we came here in the name of our Saviour, Jesus Christ. We are here in His name to crush the Infidel. I would be ashamed to abandon a campaign we started for our Lord. I could no longer call myself King.”

  The speech touched Dominek, as it did the rest of them. But it did not sway him from his original idea. “With every respect, Highness, if you remain you may not be King much longer.”

  “At least I shall die a noble death,” he said, standing proud.

  His show of courage helped sway the group. They looked to each other for a moment, knowing what they had to do.

  Hunyadi beat his fist down on the table. “To escape is impossible, and to surrender is unthinkable!” he shouted. “Let us stand and fight with bravery, and honour our arms.”

  The group was unanimous after this. Tomorrow, they would stand and fight. To the death if it was so decreed.

  BULGARIA. THE HILLS OUTSIDE VARNA.

  NOVEMBER 10, 1444.

  At first light the two armies began to move into formation. The Ottoman numbers looked staggering as they took their positions opposite. Every man in the Christian ranks believed today could be the day to meet his maker.

  They watched their enemy in silence. None of them spoke a word. There was nothing any of them could say. Even when they looked to each other for hope, they found only despair in the eyes of the next man. Hunyadi knew he had to act fast. If he did not, the battle would be lost before it had even begun. He decided then to keep them occupied. It was all he could do to avert their eyes away from the enemy opposite.

  He organised his army into an arc a half a mile long. A large force of Hungarian and Polish nobles held the centre. Their number totalled three and a half thousand.

  Hunyadi split them into two divisions. He placed one under the command of Stephen Báthory. The other fell under the joint control of the king, and Hunyadi himself. Several thousand cavalry flanked this infantry on either side. Behind them Mircea and his four thousand cavalry waited in reserve.

  The right flank comprised six and a half thousand men. He positioned it so that it faced the front line and the Frangen hills. It stretched as far as the Kamenar village at the foot of the first of them. This section he split into five divisions. Overall command of the flank fell to Jan Dominek. Cesarini headed two divisions with Talotsi, Erlau and Raphael commanding one each. He deployed the flank in two deep columns with three rows at the front and two to the rear.

  Szilágy had command of the left flank. It consisted of just over five thousand men, again in five divisions. Hunyadi
kept the bulk of his Transylvanian troops here along with a mix of German mercenaries and some Hungarians. He also held divisions of Germans in reserve. Behind these he posted bombards controlled by a regiment of Czechs under the leadership of Ceyka.

  The huge Ottoman army took on a more cautious formation. The centre comprised a total of forty thousand infantry. Murad had them dug in and protected with solid palisades. Among them were his deadly Janissary Corps and the levies from Rumelia. They filled the entire area at the bottom of the pass between the two Thracian hills. The overall command of these men fell to Yazidzy Togan.

  Their right flank consisted of thirty thousand men. These comprised Kapikulu warriors and Spahis from Rumelia commanded by Pasha Daud. It spanned an area south of the Varna road as far as Lake Devnya.

  The left flank fell under the direct control of Karadza. Here, he had forty thousand. They were a mix of Azepi, Gazi and Akanjii warriors. To these, he added the Spahis from Anatolia and other Arab mercenaries on camels. Their line extended along the hill just above the Kamenar village. The nerve of the Croatian soldiers of Franco Talotsi had already begun to wilt at the very sight of them.

  Murad kept what was left of his army behind on the Frangen plateau. There, he placed a large number of his Janissary Corps. Their task was to block any escape route for the Christian army. Behind them he also placed thick lines of Azab archers. To protect them from attack, they had Akanjii light cavalry in support.

  The sultan took a position high on one of the two Thracian hills. He smiled at the scene below with his fanatical guard all around him. This was the day he would end the Christian resistance in the Balkan region. He believed he could achieve this only if he led the army himself. To his delight, his men raised the flag of the prophet on the other hill. It signalled their intent to wage war.

  Hunyadi rode along the front line of his troops. He sensed them wavering and wanted them all to see him. Looking at them, he feared it might not take much to send them fleeing to the hills. It was easy to understand in the face of such a daunting enemy.

  He noticed rows and rows of his infantry trembling with fear. Some looked so terrified, they could hardly hold up their swords. Many others mouthed silent prayers, knowing it could be their last chance to do so. Tears rolled down cheeks in the stark realisation that death was close at hand. Bladders emptied from those ready to wilt under the pressure. It all served to lower morale even further.

  The White Knight knew the moment to stand and be counted was upon him. He held his sword high and looked down on his ashen-faced men. Even before he spoke, his mere presence high upon his strong stallion instilled hope in the ranks.

  “My noble comrades!” he shouted. “Do not be afraid! Hold the line! The numbers that face you can combat neither your courage, nor your conviction! It is why they need so many! Every time they send three or four times our number and every time we prevail. You stand here to defend the honour of our one true God!”

  He paused for a moment while his horse jostled for a firmer footing. Already, he could see the colour returning to the faces of his men.

  “He is smiling down on you!” he promised them. “Even those of you that do not witness our final victory. You shall be awash with glory when you arrive at the Gates of Heaven! Such a fate is one to rejoice in, not be fearful of!”

  He heard cries of, “Strength and honour!” breaking out amongst the ranks.

  Again he raised his sword high. “I salute you, brave soldiers of Christ! Strength and honour!”

  He rode at pace along the line. All heard him shout the same three words over and over. Within moments, his entire army shouted the same salute. They added emphasis to their war cry by beating their shields with their swords.

  The thundering roar from below unnerved the ranks of the enemy. Karadza watched in silence from his horse and admired them for their courage. He thought it a shame so many brave men had to die.

  He signalled one of his lieutenants with a nod, who relayed the message further along the line. In moments, a chorus of horns rang out over the battlefield. At once the war cry of many thousands followed it. “Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!”

  Murad found the whole spectacle amusing. He turned to one of his guards. “Let us see how brave they are after they have heard our war cry.”

  The Christian force met the challenge by beating their shields again.

  The raucous response did not amuse Murad this time. “It looks as though they wish to fight after all.”

  “Of course, Sire,” the man answered. “They have nowhere to run.”

  One of Murad’s captains turned to him. “Have you never seen how vicious a rat can be when it is cornered, Sire?”

  Murad looked around to meet his gaze.

  The officer bowed to him when their eyes met. “Well, you are about to.”

  A strong wind gushed across the narrow plain between the two armies. Black clouds rolled in from the hills. They brought with them the first drops of rain.

  Christian and Moslem stared at each other across the vast field. Even then, each man noticed a sudden drop in the temperature. Black clouds rolled in from the sea also at a rapid pace. The wind blew harder, gathering both strength and momentum. With it the first flash of lightning lit the gloomy skies.

  Horses grew restless all over the field where the sudden storm had spooked them. Many riders struggled to stay astride their mounts. Their horses whinnied out loud, sensing death in the air, which served to add to the tension all around them. The soldiers from both sides tried to ignore it. They stood and waited with nervous tension for the battle to commence.

  In minutes, the storm grew in intensity. Hunyadi feared it might break the nerve of some of his men. For any hope of success the entire line had to remain firm.

  He took up his position alongside the king. By the time he had done so, the whole area had fallen under a deluge. The wind reached gale force, blowing in from the wide expanse of the Black Sea. Flags and banners snapped against the force it, pulling their bearers down. They fell against the river of mud that now flowed from the Thracian Hills through the feet of the enemy soldiers. The freezing water stung the exposed toes of all that it passed on its way.

  The wind blew in from behind the Ottoman lines and gusted into the faces of the Christian soldiers on the other side. While they fought for breath, the rain battered their helmets and ran down into their eyes. It found its way through the small cracks in armour and weighed down chain mail. As the temperature dropped further, the deluge that swamped every man on the field chilled them too.

  Cries rang out from the Ottoman left flank. Several riders fell before their mounts trampled them under hoof. The strong wind drove the rain in from behind them. To combat its effect, the Christian soldiers now had to raise their shields to cover their faces.

  The chaos alarmed Hunyadi and he looked to the king. “If we wait any longer,” he said over the noise of the wind. “We might not have an army left to fight with.”

  Ladislas knew his second was right. Three hours had passed since his army had begun moving into position. While the forces waited for the freak storm to pass, even he began to feel unsettled.

  Hunyadi had briefed him, Báthory and Szilágy in secret before first light. He was shrewd enough to know that Turkish spies would infiltrate even this camp.

  He had thought about his strategy for the coming battle long into the night. His army faced huge odds. If he could have led his men away from there, he would have. But he knew Murad had removed any such chance. His enemy wanted a fight to the death and they would have it. He identified their only hope then as being a do-or-die assault through the centre. They needed to hit the enemy there with such fervour that they would turn and run.

  This idea he divulged to only the three men concerned. No one else could know about it; not until they were ready to execute the plan.

  His worst fears were realised when the Croatian force under Franco Talotsi broke rank. The storm had demoralised any sense of valour th
ey had left. Their superstitions told them it was an omen of doom and that they were all going to die.

  Karadza’s heart leapt in his chest when he saw it too. This was the moment he wanted to strike the first blow. On his order, the light cavalry in his ranks charged at them. Both his and the Arab riders tore into the Christian right flank. They focused their effort on the terrified Croatians.

  The battlefield came to life with the sounds of death. The front line of Croatians fell into disarray and scrambled about aimlessly in the mud. This allowed the enemy an easy target. The Arab units cut them down with ease.

  Their cries chilled Mircea to the bone. In his experience of war, he had enjoyed great success. Due to his great courage, he had defeated all before him. Today, though, that same courage threatened to desert him. The sheer size of the force that stood against them was enough to turn the stomach of any man. He was afraid and now his fears for his survival saw him sat rigid in the saddle. The likelihood was that neither he nor his men would see home again.

  Ceyka’s men opened fire with his bombards on the hordes of enemy cavalry. He succeeded in repelling the attack to the right flank as Talotsi fought hard to rally his flagging troops. One of his lieutenants, Simon Rozgoni, had a major hand in this. With him and Jan Dominek, he led a charge against the retreating light cavalry.

  The counter attack lacked coordination. It suffered a vicious reprisal from the Anatolian Spahis and the Arab mercenaries on their camels. They launched at the charging Christians with their sabres and maces. Screams rang out as they decapitated and smashed the skulls of all in their path.

  Fear and panic spread through the entire right flank. The troops of Talotsi and Cesarini turned on their heels again in an attempt to escape the carnage. Many of the men, in despair, hurled themselves into the lake. There, they sought the shelter of the fortress of Galata across the water.

  The camel riders pursued them. They chased hundreds of others into the Provadia River where they cut them down in a brutal execution.

  Cesarini looked on in dismay as his men fled. Shouting at the top of his voice, he charged his horse at a unit of camel riders. By engaging them, he hoped it might be enough to rally his men. He fought like a man possessed and brought two of them down. But it did not take them long to surround him on all sides and cut him to pieces with their sabres.