Vampire Impaler (The Immortal Knight Chronicles Book 6)

by Dan Davis

  “To the Kosovo plain, then,” I said. “Is there anything we can do to speed Skanderbeg along his way?”

  “No,” Eva replied, before Rob could reply. “Skanderbeg may be the most competent commander for a thousand miles.” She looked at me. “Present company included. He does not need our help. If there is a way to get to us, he will find it.”

  “I think our Eva is enamoured with the new ruler of Albania, Richard,” Stephen quipped.

  I ignored him. “What makes you so confident in him?”

  “Look at what he has achieved already. He was raised by the Turks, trained by them. He will certainly have come across William in that time. We must speak with him. If Hunyadi falls, Skanderbeg is one who may be able to take up the mantle, who may be able to lead all these kingdoms to victory together.”

  “He has won a few skirmishes,” Stephen argued. “No more. Perhaps he has potential but let us see it in the coming crusade before jumping to conclusions.”

  I agreed. “That seems like a good notion.”

  Walt scoffed. “No one from a civilised kingdom is going to follow an Albanian, Eva.”

  “Let me tell you about Skanderbeg,” Eva said to me. The wind whipped at a strand of hair streaming from beneath her cap. She tucked it back inside. “His name is George Kastrioti, and according to all reports, he served the Ottomans loyally until he deserted them at Nis, the year before Varna. The Turks called him Iskander Bey, and so we called him Skanderbeg even now, though he has since proved himself to be a loyal son of Albania and a good Christian. Which is remarkable in itself, as Albania, do not forget, was long a vassal of the Turks. He was sent to Edirne as a noble hostage, and it was the Turks who trained him in battle. He even became a Mohammedan, completely embracing the religion of the infidels. Or seeming to, at least. He was rewarded with a timar, near to the territories ruled by his father. His loyalty to the Turks was tested, time and again, and always he proved himself to them. There was a rebellion in his homeland and his relatives invited him to join them but he resisted and the Turks rewarded him with further advancements. They made him a cavalry commander, a sipahi, and after the revolt was put down the Turks installed him as a governor, for a time. But he was better suited to war and they gave him a cavalry unit of five thousand men.”

  I whistled. “He cannot have been deceiving them, surely he was a committed Mohammedan and loyal to Murad.”

  “Perhaps. Who can know what is in a man’s mind? But he was rewarded again and made Sancakbey of Dibra. It was now that he must have been in contact with the people of his homeland. Had he already decided, long ago, to rebel against the Turks? Or did someone change his mind?”

  “Seeing his homeland,” Walt said, suddenly. I had not known he was still paying attention. “A man is tied to his homeland, to his ancestors, by the blood of his people and the soil of his homeland, is he not? Bloody foolish of the Turks to send him home and expect him to resist what cannot be resisted. It’s inevitable.”

  “But a man who has turned against his own people, then turned against his masters,” I said, “can he be trusted not to turn once more?”

  “He can never go back,” Eva replied. “It was a year before Varna, at the Battle of Nis, when he was fighting for the Turks, that he took himself and three hundred Albanians from the Turkish ranks and fled the field. From there, he went to Kruje, in the heart of Albania.” Eva smiled. “He handed the governor a forged letter, supposedly from Sultan Murad, and gained control of the city. He overthrew those loyal to the Turks and proclaimed himself lord of the city. Then he conquered a dozen fortresses in the area and raised his battle standard, which is a double-headed black eagle on a red field and proclaimed himself a Christian. What is more, any Mohammedans in his lands, by birth or by conversion, he commanded to embrace Christ or face death. Somehow, he united the disparate Albanian princes under his leadership.”

  “I remember when the Sultan sent armies to stop him,” I said. “But he defeated them.”

  “I heard it from a Serbian mercenary who was there. Ali Pasha had thirty thousand men and Skanderbeg just half as many. Skanderbeg, knowing how Turkish armies fight and deploy, pulled the enemy into battle at a place of his choosing. Prior to the arrival of the Turks, however, he had already placed three thousand of his strongest cavalry unseen in a forest to the Turkish rear. The Turks were surrounded and crushed. The Albanians killed ten thousand Turks that day. He smashed two more armies. At Otonete, he surprised them in their camps and slaughtered at least five thousand, taking only three hundred prisoners. Then it was just this summer when he beat Mustafa Pasha in the field at Diber.”

  “He has had a good run,” I said, “no one would deny that. But is he a Hunyadi in waiting? We shall see in the coming battles what this Skanderbeg can do. And yes, I shall request an audience with him and ask him about William. Let us all pray that he can throw off the Serbians and join us at Kosovo.”

  We advanced southward where we were met, finally, by the Wallachians under their new voivode, Vladislaus II, who was loyal to Hunyadi. A handful of Skanderbeg’s men made it to us but they only confirmed what we dreaded; that the main army was caught up manoeuvring against the damned Serbians. At a vast plain named Kosovo Polje, our army rested and waited for our allies to arrive before we continued on to begin assaulting Turkish-held cities in the south.

  On the morning of 17th October 1448, an uproar spread through the camp until it reached us.

  “What is it?” I cried, throwing back the flaps of my tent.

  Walt approached, his face grim. “It’s the Turks, Richard. Sultan Murad is not campaigning in Anatolia after all. He is here.”

  ***

  “My lords, we have two choices,” Hunyadi said to the assembled leaders of his army within the vast command tent. “The Turks have got behind us to the north, cutting off any chance of direct retreat back toward Hungary, and so if we are to retreat, it must be southward, towards Macedonia.”

  The men were grim and quiet but they grumbled their dislike of this proposal.

  “That would be madness,” one of Hunyadi’s companions said. “We would move closer to their routes of supply and reinforcement and further from ours. Manoeuvring will be possible but only for a time and we will be dependent on what can be foraged or taken by force as we move deeper into winter.”

  “We must cross the mountains into Albania and join with Skanderbeg,” another lord said.

  Hunyadi sighed. “Using those passes, with an army of this size, makes it likely we are drawn into skirmishes and perhaps a battle with our backs to the mountains. And that says nothing about the Serbian army of Branković out there. If we attempt Albania, we will be trapped between Branković and Murad. What is more, much of Albania remains Turkish. We cannot go that way.”

  “So, my lord,” I said, in my rough Hungarian, “our choices are between retreating south or something else? Perhaps you would provide us with the alternative.”

  A few of the greater lords scowled at my speaking out of turn, which I had a reputation for, but other men smiled because every one of us knew what the alternative was.

  Hunyadi lifted his head. “We may retreat. Or we may fight.”

  The lords wanted to fight but they were rightly cautious. Once more, we found ourselves outnumbered. Perhaps more important was that we were not prepared in our minds for a great battle.

  “How might it be done?”

  “We have three thousand German hand-gunners, war wagons, and scores of artillery pieces,” Hunyadi said. “The Turk cannot assail our position and overcome us.”

  “Then why would he attack at all?” I said. “They have only to prevent us returning to Hungary or trail us into Macedonia and need not risk an assault against our wooden walls.” Some lords shouted me down and told me to mind my tone. I ignored them and looked only to Hunyadi. “And if we wait, the Turks can bring reinforcements from a number of directions.”

  “No,” Hunyadi said. “Their most likely reinforcements will c
ome from the passes to Albania.” He turned to one of his men. “Alex, take a thousand of the Transylvanian light cavalry and take the passes. They must take them and hold them. We cannot be surprised at our rear or all is lost.”

  “How might we assail their position?” A German mercenary leader asked. “They are yet taking their places on the field but it seems the Sultan is deploying with the River Lab at his rear, so we cannot get behind him easily. There are hills on his left flank, and the River Sitnica will no doubt guard his right. He has nested himself in tight.”

  “Do we know how many they are?” I ask. “Their true numbers, I mean, not panicked guesses.”

  “It appears they are sixty thousand,” Hunyadi said, to nods from his men. “Sipahis from Rumelia and Anatolia both and of course his Janissaries are in the centre protecting his camp. We shall see what their final dispositions are but it seems the Anatolian peasant levies are being sent out to his right which we assume means the Rumelians will be put on the left, out by the hills.”

  “No cavalry at all in the centre,” a Polish knight said. “My men confirmed it. Just lines of infantry, mostly azab levies with spears. And then artillery and behind are the Janissaries. A tough centre to break with cavalry but it can be done. A massed charge of heavy horse to overwhelm them and send them flying into their own guns and on to the Janissaries. We almost broke through at Varna, we can do it properly here.”

  “Begging your pardon, my lord,” I said. “My own men have ridden so close to the enemy today that some were wounded by hand-gunners. They report that between the front line of azab levies and the Turkish guns, the enemy are digging deep and wide lines of trenches. We cannot ride over with ease.”

  They grumbled and some doubted me enough to send their own men forward to see for themselves. But Hunyadi did not question my assertion.

  “We form the wagonberg on the hill here,” he said. “The German and Bohemian hand-gunners will man the war wagons. The artillery will position between the wagons and from there fire across the field into the Turks. Within the wagonberg we will have the crossbowmen and the archers. We shall keep a unit of Wallachian horsemen safe within, also, who will follow up when the Turks break under our fire and shot. All our cavalry will be on the wings. The Albanians and Wallachians, the horse archers, and the men-at-arms also. Before the wagonberg in the centre, we shall have light horse in the first line and heavy horse in the second. I shall command the second line in the centre, with the royal troops, my mercenaries and the Transylvanians. I want the Wallachian lords under their own banners with me.” He then pointed out which great Hungarian lords he wanted on which wing and what they were to do and we were dismissed.

  “Sir Richard,” Hunyadi called and I crossed to him. “You will be with me and I would have you and your men kept out of the fighting for as long as possible, until the time comes. It may not come until late. Do you think your men can restrain themselves?”

  “They can. Each knows if we slay the Sultan then he will be famed and showered with wealth.”

  He grasped my arm. “When you strike at his heart, it must be with everything. Those damned Janissaries will be hard to break.”

  “I shall not need them to break if I kill them all instead.”

  He shook his head at my arrogance and said I could go.

  “How’s the boss?” Walt asked as I joined him outside.

  “Worried.”

  “Ain’t we all.”

  It was a tense night on watch, half expecting a horde of Turks to come screaming out of the night. I went from man to man in my company and explained that we would need to avoid fighting until late in the battle, even if it started before dawn. But the sun rose in the morning and we assembled in our thousands and stood watching each other across the plain.

  “The Turk ain’t ever going to attack,” Rob said. “Why do we not push forward?”

  “Hunyadi knows his business,” I said.

  “God save us,” said Stephen, crossing himself. “This shall be another Varna.”

  “Look out there, Stephen,” I said, pointing. “Do you see those massing lines of levies? Behind them, the field guns? Behind them the Janissaries, beneath the Sultan’s banners? There stands William de Ferrers. Our enemy. We have a chance to end it once more, today. You should be filled with joy.”

  Stephen nodded. “You are no doubt correct, yet I am filled with the sense that our illustrious leader is going to repeat the mistakes he made at Varna and so I am retiring once more to the wagonberg. Eva, are you coming?”

  She stared across the field. “I am not.”

  “Very well, I wish you well and look forward to joining you for the victory feast.”

  “Bloody coward,” Walt muttered. “Always slipping away, ain’t he. Back there, sipping on wine while we do the work.”

  “We all have our strengths and weaknesses, Walter,” I said. “You would best him in feats of arms and yet in a battle of wits, you would be defeated even by a drunken Stephen.”

  Rob snorted. “Walt would be defeated in a battle of wits by a drunken chicken.”

  “Our men are wheeling ever closer on the right,” Eva said. “They are goading the enemy.”

  “That’ll do it,” Walt said. “The Turk can’t control himself.”

  We watched as best we could. Our light horse advanced, shooting arrows into the Rumelians. When they countered, our heavy horse came up to fend them off while the horse archers retreated behind them. It was a highly effective manoeuvre and the Turks were growing frustrated, pulling ever more forces into attempts at counter attack. So much so that our flank was reinforced also.

  “This is it,” I said. “It cannot be resisted now.”

  Sure enough, Hunyadi was forced to send knights and light cavalry from his centre lines onto the right. It was then that Murad ordered his Anatolians against our left, where the light Wallachians met the enemy advance.

  It was difficult to make out what was happening but suddenly the Wallachians, essentially our entire front line on the left, suddenly broke and fled straight back away from the Turks.

  “Damn them,” I said, with a sinking feeling in my guts. “The Wallachians are the most useless bloody men in Christendom!”

  Hunyadi led us out from the centre, two thousand heavy horse, to stem the collapse of the left. I kept my men back from the press of the fighting, as ordered, though it galled me to do so.

  Now that we had weakened our centre, Murad sent forward masses of the azab infantry to attack us there. I watched from the flank with my fresh and unused company as thousands of Turkish infantry marched right behind us and straight toward the wagonberg. Our last line of heavy cavalry in the centre charged the azabs and I was certain they would run down the weak, useless levy infantry. Instead, it was our heavy horse that broke and fled to the flanks.

  “Good God Almighty,” Rob said. “What is happening here? God is against us.”

  Walt sneered at the cavalry fleeing from the peasants. “Useless bastards.”

  “All is well,” I said. “They shall not break the wagonberg.”

  The German mercenaries inside unleashed the power of their hand-guns and blasted away the azabs in a hail of shot and smoke. Our cannons fired into the masses of Turkish levies and drove them back. Hundreds were killed, and then thousands, and they edged back from the storm of fire and massed together like frightened sheep. Finally, our damned cavalry returned and charged into the panicked azabs, cutting them down gleefully as the Turks fled back to their own lines and the safety of their cannons.

  It was growing late and we had stopped the Turks on both flanks and in the centre. With the spare men in the centre, Hunyadi reinforced the right further and broke that flank, sending the Rumelian cavalry fleeing into the dark hills or back to the Turkish camp.

  Darkness fell and we drew back into our camp.

  ***

  Our cannons continued their firing as night fell, and the Turks did the same. I had never seen such a thing before, the fla
shing of the cannons in the darkness and the endless repetitive crashing of the guns. It unnerved everyone, the horses especially, but Hunyadi insisted that they continue.

  “We must force them from the field,” he said in his tent. We all ate and drank standing up in our armour, even those lords who had taken light wounds.

  “Perhaps an attack in the night, my lord,” a Hungarian noble suggested.

  Many scoffed. “Such a thing would be chaos. No man could see what he was aiming for.”

  I cleared my throat. “What if a small company was to make an assault on the enemy guns, my lord? They are flashing and banging for all to see. We could come at them from the flanks and so avoid their danger. Kill the crews manning each cannon. That would give us a fine advantage tomorrow, would it not?”

  For once, no one shouted me down. They were tired, having fought a battle and were dreading fighting another the next day. Anything that might make their task easier was worth considering.

  “Who would lead this attack?” Hunyadi asked all those present. The lords suddenly found the contents of their cups incredibly interesting. It was not that they were cowards, far from it. It was simply that only a madman would take his men in a night attack.

  “I will do it, gladly, my lord,” I said. “It is just that I have a mere fifty men to lead. Even with the advantage of surprise and the confusion of the enemy, we could only do so much with so few men.”

  “I want your men fresh, Richard,” Hunyadi said.

  “Then I will leave my men in their tents and lead others. If any are willing.”

  Hunyadi looked around the scores of lords crammed beneath the canvas walls. “Who here will place his men under Sir Richard’s command for this attack?”

  Again, men shuffled their feet and cleared their throats but said nothing.

  “I would happily lend some of my men,” a lord said. “Alas, they cannot see in the dark.”

  Others murmured their assent.

  “This discussion is all for nought,” another Hungarian snapped. “Who here has ever heard of a Turkish army staying on the field for more than a single day?” There was muttered agreement. “Even now, their army will be retreating behind the guns and in the morning we shall find that they have withdrawn, only to offer battle elsewhere on another day. Or perhaps to move on altogether. We certainly hammered them today. Hammered them hard, my lords, did we not?”