Being a
brief fictional account of the Battle of Grunwald 1410AD by John Blackwood, English
Mercenary Captain of Cavalry (1386-1442).
The place of station allocated to our
squadron of five and two score armoured horsemen afforded us an un-obscured
vista over the land to our front and left. The ground sloped gently down from
our position, and then rolled in undulating fashion for some one and one-half
miles to where a thin tree line began. Thin at first then gradually thickening
into a sizeable forest common to this region of Poland. The land was cut and
carved by numerous streams and rivulets of little import, though they did help
to drain the area into a marshland vale to the furthest left side of the
woodland.
Many and varied were
the colourful banners of our foe, which could be seen within and immediately
without the tree line; many representing eagles and other birds of prey, in
white, gold, red and black. Their number in the main being the banners of
Lithuanian knights on this side of the field, though I espied the pennants of
Tartars, Russians, Moldavians and even Hungarians among their assemblage.
My men and I had
arrived only three days previously, having completed a contract in Milan the
month before. Therefore our initial deployment was not as favorable as I would
have hoped. However, during the maneuverings and posturing of the early
morning, we soon found ourselves arrayed not overly far from the commanders of
the Teutonic left flank – in particular Grand Marshal Frederick von Wallenrode
himself.
At one point he did
happen to glance over upon our position. I saluted him, but he merely curled
his lip and rode away towards his command tents located close to the nearby
village of Grunwald. I passed no comment; what could one expect, he was a
Ritterbruder, a knight of God… and a German.
It had been a bright,
cloud-free and extremely hot morning, quite a difference from the eight-hour
march in driving rain we endured the day before. Now many of the knights around
us had afforded themselves some relief from the heat - however briefly -
through removal of their helms. The colour of their sweat drenched faces and
frustrated expressions gave testament to their suffering; even though they were
strong, hardy men, veteran campaigners who wore chain armour in favour of the plate
- as was still preferred by the Poles and most other European knights of this
region.
My men were impatient
to be at the enemy and a general murmur of dissent in many tongues could be
heard. Tempers were beginning to fray within the ranks, due to the tales that
had reached us of the burning of Dabrowno and the butchery of all the German
settlers therein. The Teutonic commanders, in particular Grand Master Ulrich
von Jungingen, kept the troops under control and at about mid-morning the Grand
Master sent a handful of his knights to tempt the Polish commanders out of
their hiding places in the woods, and onto the open field. The ‘gift’ of two
swords was apparently treated with amusement by King Wladislaw Jagiello and
fury by Grand Duke Vytautas.
But the ploy to spur
the enemy forward with insults and jibes did not have its desired effect. It
seemed to me that the Allied leaders - the old Polish King – now in his
sixtieth year - and the much younger Grand Duke of Lithuania – had the upper
hand in the battle of wills. I heard tell later that the king was at mass while
we roasted in the morning sun. Men fight for many reasons – God, King, country,
and family. I fight for money.
We were brought
suddenly to attention by the thunder of the Teutonic cannons positioned both
below our position and further to the centre of the field. Unfortunately the
hellish clamour belied their almost complete ineffectiveness. Other than the
first volley, I only heard three or four sporadic explosions over the next
hour. It was the Lithuanians in fact who had attacked our thinly spread
infantry, which although much more well armed, armoured and trained than the
enemy militia foot soldiers, soon became hard pressed. However, the Grand
Master did not release the knights for their relief.
The Infantry flexed
then broke under the onslaught of the much more maneuverable Lithuanian lance-
and bow-armed cavalry. At last a messenger arrived with orders for Wallenrode
to counter-attack, and we were eventually able to enter the battle, charging down
close behind nearly a dozen squadrons of Teutonic horsemen.
But it was too late for
the infantry and it was ill-fate that some of them fled into the path of our
charge. Many spearmen and crossbowmen fell, and were trampled under the hooves
of our horses. Some men of my own company were unhorsed in the confusion.
Indeed, my own animal fell and broke a leg, but I was fortunate to be unharmed
and quickly located a remount.
I could see already
that things had changed in our favour. Our heavy cavalry tore through the
lighter enemy, killing many and scattering even more. A large group of Lithuanian
and Tartar horse archers broke from the melee and headed for a clear area
beyond the wetland. Marshalling my men, I gave chase. Some of the Teutonic horsemen
followed us, eager for slaughter. And slaughter there was.
Eventually, messengers
sought us out at our gruesome task and told of how the battle was progressing.
Our enemies were more numerous and fresher due to their shaded position in the
woods. Victory was in the balance, it seemed only a matter of a few hours
before the battle would be ended – one way or the other. We were to return with
the greatest urgency to relieve the left flank.
Horses blown and
panting hard, we returned to the fight in time to witness the climax of the
battle! The Teutonic army was in retreat, Polish knights were everywhere, it
seemed. Peasants with spear and bow swarmed from the forest to add insults to
the injuries, cursing their hated ‘Krzyzacy’.
Alas, in spite of his
many bodyguards, Von Jungingen was cut down by tenacious Czech nobles - dead
before he hit the ground from many fatal blows; the worst being a spear-thrust
through his throat. It was over… especially when the flighty Lithuanians and
Tartars we had been chasing returned to harry our flanks and rear.
The surviving Teutonic
Knights hastily retreated from the field, to regroup at their castle at Malbork
which they expected Jagiello would soon assault.
Achieving terms for
surrender with a high-ranking Polish knight who gave his name as Zawiszka, I
and my diminished company began the return journey to England upon the very
next day.
The End
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