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Authors: The Lady of the Castle
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German yelled down in strong language what they thought of the king and his followers.
Godewin von Berg angrily turned to his peers. “My horse can manage this hill, and if just a hundred of you follow me, we’ll rout this dirty pack.” Without waiting for an answer, he spurred his stallion up the hill. The heavy animal stumbled and struggled with every step, groaning pitifully, but fought its way higher and higher without slipping back. Reaching the wagon fort a short time later, Godewin rode along its side, poking his lance at the men standing on their wagons, waving their pikes and morning stars and staring at him in surprise.
For a few moments, it seemed that the knight’s courage had paralyzed the Bohemians. But then a good dozen of them jumped down and surrounded the attacker. Morning stars crushed the horse’s legs, toppling it, while Godewin was dragged out of the saddle with several hooked pikes and thrown to the ground. Then, ringing sounds echoed down the hill, as if giants were banging sticks against an iron cauldron. The kaiser’s men heard Godewin’s screams, which stopped shortly afterward, and they saw the warhorse rolling on the ground, neighing pathetically. Wild cries for revenge filled the air, and the knights and some of their horsemen stormed ahead without paying heed to the rest of the troops or the shouted orders of their commanders. At first, the horses made good progress, but as it got steeper, the weaker ones soon slowed down, fell, or tumbled backward. Many rolled on top of their riders and took the people following down with them.
Staying behind with his people, Michel could hardly believe his eyes. Couldn’t the noble lords see that their mindless attacks only helped their enemy? By his estimate, there were five Bohemians for each of the attacking knights. The Hussites weren’t wearing any heavy, obstructive armor and were just waiting to beat the helpless knights to death with their armor-piercing clubs and morning stars. The kaiser, who had initially hung back, was now moving uphill as well, and behind him, Heribald von Seibelstorff, who was supposed to be commanding the foot soldiers, was forcing his stallion up the steep hillside so as not to be the last knight to meet the enemy.
Michel could easily foretell the coming catastrophe. Jumping off his horse, he drew his sword and pointed its blade at the enemy. “Soldiers, follow me!” He started to run and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that not only his palatine soldiers, but also a large number of the other foot soldiers began to advance. To his right, Urs Sprüngli nodded, swung his two-handed sword, and gave a guttural battle cry.
In the following minutes, Michel barely had time to see what was happening above, as he was occupied with trying to climb up the loose, steep hillside, dodging fallen horses that were madly thrashing around, and spurring on his men with wild battle cries. When a loud explosion shook the ground, he looked up in shock and saw a thin cloud of smoke drifting away from one of the wagons. At the same time, he heard the screams of injured men and the horrible sounds of dying horses.
“The filthy pigs have cannons!” Timo shouted next to him. Michel shook his head in disbelief. Cannons were heavy pipes of wrought iron, difficult to transport, capable of breaching castle walls, but unsuited for battle in an open field.
“It must have been thunder!” he shouted back at Timo, then turned to his men, who had stopped in their tracks with fright. “Come on, men! Or do you want to camp here for the night?”
His soldiers followed close on his heels. A minute later there was another bang, and this time Michel saw the piece of artillery. It was attached to one of the wagons and looked almost like a toy compared to the cannons he knew, but its effect was devastating. It appeared the enemies weren’t firing balls of stone, but small pieces of metal that were ripping open large gaps in the German ranks.
Godewin von Berg angrily turned to his peers. “My horse can manage this hill, and if just a hundred of you follow me, we’ll rout this dirty pack.” Without waiting for an answer, he spurred his stallion up the hill. The heavy animal stumbled and struggled with every step, groaning pitifully, but fought its way higher and higher without slipping back. Reaching the wagon fort a short time later, Godewin rode along its side, poking his lance at the men standing on their wagons, waving their pikes and morning stars and staring at him in surprise.
For a few moments, it seemed that the knight’s courage had paralyzed the Bohemians. But then a good dozen of them jumped down and surrounded the attacker. Morning stars crushed the horse’s legs, toppling it, while Godewin was dragged out of the saddle with several hooked pikes and thrown to the ground. Then, ringing sounds echoed down the hill, as if giants were banging sticks against an iron cauldron. The kaiser’s men heard Godewin’s screams, which stopped shortly afterward, and they saw the warhorse rolling on the ground, neighing pathetically. Wild cries for revenge filled the air, and the knights and some of their horsemen stormed ahead without paying heed to the rest of the troops or the shouted orders of their commanders. At first, the horses made good progress, but as it got steeper, the weaker ones soon slowed down, fell, or tumbled backward. Many rolled on top of their riders and took the people following down with them.
Staying behind with his people, Michel could hardly believe his eyes. Couldn’t the noble lords see that their mindless attacks only helped their enemy? By his estimate, there were five Bohemians for each of the attacking knights. The Hussites weren’t wearing any heavy, obstructive armor and were just waiting to beat the helpless knights to death with their armor-piercing clubs and morning stars. The kaiser, who had initially hung back, was now moving uphill as well, and behind him, Heribald von Seibelstorff, who was supposed to be commanding the foot soldiers, was forcing his stallion up the steep hillside so as not to be the last knight to meet the enemy.
Michel could easily foretell the coming catastrophe. Jumping off his horse, he drew his sword and pointed its blade at the enemy. “Soldiers, follow me!” He started to run and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that not only his palatine soldiers, but also a large number of the other foot soldiers began to advance. To his right, Urs Sprüngli nodded, swung his two-handed sword, and gave a guttural battle cry.
In the following minutes, Michel barely had time to see what was happening above, as he was occupied with trying to climb up the loose, steep hillside, dodging fallen horses that were madly thrashing around, and spurring on his men with wild battle cries. When a loud explosion shook the ground, he looked up in shock and saw a thin cloud of smoke drifting away from one of the wagons. At the same time, he heard the screams of injured men and the horrible sounds of dying horses.
“The filthy pigs have cannons!” Timo shouted next to him. Michel shook his head in disbelief. Cannons were heavy pipes of wrought iron, difficult to transport, capable of breaching castle walls, but unsuited for battle in an open field.
“It must have been thunder!” he shouted back at Timo, then turned to his men, who had stopped in their tracks with fright. “Come on, men! Or do you want to camp here for the night?”
His soldiers followed close on his heels. A minute later there was another bang, and this time Michel saw the piece of artillery. It was attached to one of the wagons and looked almost like a toy compared to the cannons he knew, but its effect was devastating. It appeared the enemies weren’t firing balls of stone, but small pieces of metal that were ripping open large gaps in the German ranks.
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