- excerpt -

The gale roared throughout the night, plastering the crenels with heavy snow. By dawn, its intensity had lessened, but the sky remained grim and the snow gave way to occasional squalls of freezing rain. On the battlements, the bitter gusts made the sentries miserable, but their mood was lofty, for in such despondent weather the bombardment could not be resumed.

The morning light was slow in coming, but when it did, it revealed a strange sight. Thousands of Ottoman soldiers were standing up to their knees in the water that now filled the marshland. Lined up in perfect order, they waited silently under the leaden sky. The colorful banners above their heads stood stiff in the icy wind.

Trumpets blared on the battlements, and the walls rapidly filled with knights, men-at-arms, archers, and arbalestiers. Their banderoles were few but waved in a desperate defiance.

"Haydi Ya Allah!" A single cry was heard across the lake. "La ilaha illa Allah!" was answered at once by thousands of booming voices. The call and answer roared three times, reverberating through the high peaks. When the echo of the last battle cry died away, the big kettledrums began pounding, shaking the guts of every man on the walls. The drumming lasted unabated for some time then suddenly stopped.

'This is the signal for their archers and arbalestiers to start shooting. Take cover!' Gregor turned and yelled as loud as he could. He lowered his visor and stepped under the arch of the north tower entry. The order was barely repeated along the walls when a trumpet blared from the marshland. Before its call had faded, the big drums began to boom again, measured at first, then faster and faster.

"Aim high!' the Ottoman sergeants were heard yelling across the ranks.

Suddenly the drums stopped and a gray volley of hissing arrows and bolts soared high in the sky, arched gracefully, and fell with a mighty crash upon the soldiers on the allure. Those who didn’t seek cover were hit. Some died instantly, others screamed in agony, and a few stood up to look over the crenels. Gregor barely had time to yell to them to remain covered before the second wave came crashing. Then came the third and the fourth, and on and on, one wave after another, until they lost count. Cries of pain and fear were heard. Some of the unarmored militiamen ran in panic toward the stairs, but were killed instantly. The rain of bolts and arrows continued, while from the marshes below, the odd sound of thousands of boots sloshing through the water grew ominous. Ladders were propped up against the wall.

Moments later, when the shooting abruptly ended, Gregor glanced over the wall. In the gray light, he saw the janissaries climbing up in waves of three men at a time. An arrow from below ricocheted off the top of his visor.

"Take cover, my lord!" the captain of the armigeri yelled in his ear, raising his shield to protect him.

"My armour can stand tougher blows than that," Gregor yelled back. "You had better cover yourself."

"The castellan said he will forfeit my wages if I let you die, sir."

Waves of janissaries amassed at the bottom of the ladders. On every third beat of the kettledrums, a cry of "Allah hu Akbar!" rose from below.

"Archers, string your bows!" The order was heard along the battlements. "Use bodkin heads. Aim, release!" The volley of slender pointed arrows was answered by hundreds of cries of agony, and the water at the bottom of the ladders turned red. Zooming bolts immediately answered from the marshes. Some of the archers were pierced and fell backwards.

"Make the scurvy grunts bleed before they reach the walls!" the captain of the Hungarian mercenaries yelled.

One of the archers, holding a five-foot yew longbow, notched an arrow and drew the string back, putting every bit of muscle into it. With the feathered tail at his ear, he carefully took aim at a janissary commander far below. The arrow flew swiftly and pierced the man right through his open mouth. His head snapped from his spine and jerked backwards, pulling the rest of his body with it.

The besieged were throwing anything they could lay their hands on over the crenels. Javelins, spears, rocks, and bits of timber pummeled the heads of their assailants, and a maelstrom of cries rose from below. The freezing rain wasn’t hard enough to wash away the smears of blood left by the falling bodies as they hit the sloping batter of the wall. Mangled corpses piled up on the ground not yet covered by the rising waters. Dirt and blood was churned to a muddy paste by the hundreds of boots waiting to set foot on the ladders.

The iron surge could not be stopped, and soon the first janissary landed on the allure of the wall, pushing back the defenders with wild blows of his huge axe. Many more quickly followed, and the fight for the walls began.

Roars of fury, howls of madness, screams of terror, and cries of pain blended with steel grinding on steel. Swords slashing, javelins piercing, and axes hacking mixed in a sinister sound that echoed into the nearby peaks. Those warriors who quivered and fell were minced into piles of steel, flesh, and bone.

A janissary raised his battle-axe and crushed through an archer's helmet as if it were a wool cap, splitting his skull wide open and spewing his brain. Swinging a huge flanged mace, an armigeri closed in and with a tremendous blow split the janissary's shield and broke his arm. With a second blow, he smashed his shoulder and crushed the bones beneath his mail shirt. The man fell backwards but the blows kept coming, and soon blood spouted through his chest plate.

With his sword in one hand and his shield in the other, Gregor, like a god of war, fought the surge of screaming janissaries rushing toward the north tower. Corpses sprawled upon the allure around him and anyone who came within the reach of his sword joined them.