“And service to God,” interjected the preacher Markolt, with his mouth full. “The heir of Opole must receive the sacrament from the Chalice and swear on the Four Articles.”
“There will be time for that, too.” Prokop put down his bowl. “Finish your food.”
The milk and dumplings were drying on Prokop’s moustaches. Behind Prokop, the town of Głuchołazy was turning to ash. The townspeople were wailing at various pitches as they were killed.
“Prepare to move out! On to Nysa, Warriors of God! On to Nysa!”
Chapter Eighteen
In which, on Thursday the eighteenth of March 1428—or, as it is usually written in chronicles: in crastino Sancte Gertrudis Anno Domini MCCCCXXVIII—around 14,000 men go for each other’s throats at the Battle of Nysa. Fatal casualties among the defeated number circa M. As is customary among chroniclers, the victors’ losses are passed over in silence.
“Huss is a heretic!” chanted the front ranks of the bishop’s army arrayed on Monk’s Meadow. “Huss is a heretic! Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!”
News of the Taborites marching on Nysa must have reached the Bishop of Wrocław long before—and no wonder, since it’s quite difficult to carry out a secretive manoeuvre with an army numbering over seven thousand men and close to two hundred wagons. Particularly if that army is burning every settlement on the route of the march and the surroundings, marking its path clearly with fire and smoke. Thus, Bishop Konrad had enough time to form up his soldiers. Sir Půta of Častolovice, Starosta of Kłodzko, had enough time to come to their aid. Having gathered under his command one thousand one hundred horse and nigh on six thousand peasant foot, having a powerful reserve and support in the form of armed Nysa burghers and the town walls, the bishop and Půta had decided to join battle in the field. When Prokop the Shaven appeared at Nysa, he found in the region of Monk’s Meadow armed Silesians with standards, arrayed and ready for battle. He accepted the challenge.
As the hejtmans were organising their men—which they did quickly—Prokop set about to pray. He prayed calmly and softly, entirely ignoring the insults being hurled by the Silesians.
“Huss is a heretic! Huss is a heretic! Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!”
“Lord,” he said, putting his hands together. “Lord of Hosts, we flock to You in our prayers. Be our shield and protector, rock and stronghold in the perils of war and the spilling of blood. May Your grace be with us sinful folk.”
“Devil’s sons! Devil’s sons! Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!”
“Forgive us our sins. Arm the soldiers with strength, be with them in battle, give them courage and valour. Be our solace and refuge, give us strength to defeat the Antichrists, our foes and Yours.”
Prokop made the sign of the cross, as did the others: Jaroslav of Bukovina, Jan Bleh, Otík of Loza and Jan Tovačovský. Prince Fedor of Ostrog, who had just returned from having burned down Malá Stínava, crossed himself in the Orthodox manner. Dobko Puchała and Jan Zmrzlík, who had returned from burning down Strzeleczki and Krapkowice, crossed themselves. Markolt, kneeling beside a bombard, crossed himself, beat himself on the chest and repeated that it was his culpa.
“God in the Heavens.” Prokop raised his eyes. “Thou rulest the raging of the sea: when the waves thereof arise, Thou stillest them. Thou hast broken Rahab in pieces, as one that is slain; Thou hast scattered Thine enemies with Thy strong arm. May the enemy forces leave the battlefield vanquished today, too. To battle, Brethren. Go forth, in the name of God.”
“Onwards!” bellowed Jan Bleh of Těšnice, riding up before the army on his skittish horse. “Onwards, Brethren!”
“Onward, Warriors of God!” Zikmund of Vranov brandished his mace, giving the signal for the monstrance to be raised before the regiment. “Go forth!”
“Go foooorth!” The captains passed it down the line. “Go foooorth!… Foooorth… foooorth…”
The mass of Taborite infantry shuddered, their armour and weapons rattling like a dragon’s scales, and like a great dragon moved forward. The formation, numbering many thousand men, a thousand and a half paces wide, two and a half paces deep, marched straight towards the Silesian army mustered at Nysa. The wagons within the formation rattled.
Reynevan, in imitation of Scharley, had climbed up into a pear tree for a better view, searched but couldn’t locate Bishop Konrad among the Silesians. He only saw the bishop’s red and gold standard. He caught sight of the pennant of Půta of Častolovice and the man himself, trotting in front of the knighthood and holding them back from a chaotic charge. He saw the large Knights Hospitaller regiment, among whom must have been Ruprecht, Duke of Lubin, the Grand Prior of the order. He saw the arms and colours of Ludwik, Duke of Oława and Niemcza. He ground his teeth on seeing the banner of Jan of Ziębice, with a half-black, half-red eagle.
The Taborites proceeded, marching with regular, measured step. The wagons’ axles creaked. The line of Silesian peasant infantry, hidden behind pavises, blades upright, didn’t budge, and the mercenary commanding them, a knight in full plate armour, galloped up and down the ranks, yelling.
“They hold fast…” said Blažek of Kralupy to Prokop, and anxiety sounded in his voice. “They’ll wait, letting us open fire… The cavalry won’t move before that.”
“Trust in God,” replied Prokop, eyes fixed on the battlefield. “Trust in God, Brother.”
The Taborites marched on. Everybody saw Jan Bleh ride to the head, in front of the array. Saw him give the signal. All knew what order he was giving. A song rose above the marching companies. A battle chant in Czech.
Ye, who are warriors of God,
And of His law,
Pray to God for help and have faith in Him;
That ever with Him shall you victorious be!
The Silesian line trembled visibly, the pavises wavered, the spears and halberds swayed. The mercenary—now Reynevan recognised the ram’s head on his shield and knew that he was a Haugwitz—roared and issued commands. The song rumbled like thunder, rolling above the field.
Christ is worth all your sacrifice,
He will reward you as is foretold
When you give up your life for Him
You shall join the heavenly fold.
The Lord commands you
To disdain all bodily harms,
Thence give up your mortal lives,
For your brothers and take up arms!
Crossbows and harquebuses peeped out from behind the Silesian pavises. The Haugwitz bellowed until he was hoarse, forbade the men from firing, ordered them to wait. That was a mistake.
When the Hussite wagons had approached to a distance of three hundred paces, trestle guns fired and a hail of bullets thudded against the pavises. A moment later, a dense cloud of bolts hissed towards the Silesians. The dead fell, the wounded howled and the line of pavises shook. The Silesian foot soldiers responded with answering fire, but chaotically and inaccurately. The bowmen’s hands were shaking. For on Bleh’s command, the Taborite regiment had speeded up. And then began to run. With savage cries on their lips.
“They won’t hold…” There was first disbelief and then hope in Blažek of Kralupy’s voice. And then certainty. “They won’t hold! God is with us!”