The Dracula Chronicles: Bound By Blood - Volume 2 Read online

  It was rare for him to do so, but Mihnea agreed with his brother. “It is good.”

  Dracula nodded. “Yes it is. This is a proud day for me.”

  Varkal sniffed at the air. He noticed the change before the others. Dawn was close. It was seven o’clock and night was giving way to day.

  “Do not worry,” Dracula said. “You are safe.”

  “Safe from the dawn?”

  “The fog is too thick for the light to get through. Only if it lifts need you worry.”

  “It will not lift,” Mihnea said. “If anything it is getting worse.”

  “Yes,” Dracula said. “I have never seen a fog like it. It will aid us to victory.”

  He felt strong. The taste of the foetus he had consumed still lingered on his palate. It had revitalised him. Now he found it hard to sit still in the saddle.

  “There will be no victory unless we three join the battle,” Varkal said. “Those fighting it have no clue what they are doing.”

  “I know. We shall join it shortly. I only wanted to be alone with you so we could speak.”

  Del Vasto reached the rendezvous point. De Leyva was not there. “Is this the right place?” he asked his men.

  They nodded that it was. He looked all around, but saw only the fog. With it so heavy he did not realise he was only a stone’s throw from the Torre del Gallo. His men heard loud marching close by. They braced themselves for when the coming force emerged from the fog.

  The first of them appeared. Del Vasto’s men waited with their swords drawn. They had already worked up a strong appetite for death. When they saw the white vests over the armour they relaxed. It was the remnants of de Lannoy’s group.

  It did not take long for much larger numbers to appear behind them. Frundsberg and de Bourbon led the way. Their seven thousand Germans followed. In the Torre del Gallo the Swiss and French waited quietly. They knew a very large army stood not too far away. The voices speaking in German told them so.

  French forces close to Francois engaged Frundsberg on his way through. He launched a counter attack, which was repelled. This made his mind up to keep moving south.

  “Is there any sign of de Leyva?” de Bourbon asked del Vasto.

  “No,” the younger man replied. “I had hoped he would be here.”

  “Perhaps he has encountered a problem. Have you heard anything?”

  “The field is filled with the noise of fighting. It is hard to know what or where.”

  “I know. Are we far from the Torre del Gallo?”

  Del Vasto pointed at the thick blanket of fog. “It is over that way somewhere. How far I am not sure.”

  “I thought you knew this area. It is why you came in first.”

  “I do. But it is hard to see or know anything at this moment.”

  “Why did you not engage Francois?” de Lannoy asked him. “It was vital that you did so.”

  “I saw his soldiers and gave chase. It took me to the castle.”

  “Well it seems Francois has had the time to organise his troops,” de Bourbon said. “This is going to be a long morning.”

  Frundsberg shouted something, which only de Bourbon understood.

  “What did he say?” de Lannoy asked.

  “He says we are to attack the Torre del Gallo.”

  “He is right. It is time we made haste.”

  De Bourbon rode around the group waving his sword. “Get the men into line!” he shouted. He turned on his horse and pointed his sword to where he knew the Torre del Gallo to be. “Forward!”

  The French continued to wait. They knew the assault was coming. Florange took a position to the rear of the fortress. He was well aware of the situation at hand. Quickly he organised his men. His artillery he ordered to fire the moment the enemy emerged from the fog.

  De Bourbon steadied his mount. He waited there with de Lannoy and del Vasto as the infantry marched past them. Frundsberg shouted his orders to them. The Germans had taken the front.

  The first of them emerged from the fog in full view of the enemy. They heard the French officers scream the order to fire. It was the last sound many of them did hear. The French guns roared to life. Scores fell where they stood. The shot from the French cannon ripped through the lines.

  This incensed de Bourbon. He wanted Florange removed from the battle. “Come,” he said to del Vasto. “We will ride south and come in from the rear.”

  Before they marched away he rode into the thick of the German lines. He saw the fear in the eyes of the men. They could not see what was ahead, but still knew it was there. Many of them stumbled over the dead bodies of their comrades. It caused a lot of them to hesitate. De Bourbon shouted some words of encouragement. He had to address their fears. Once he had done this he shouted at the top of his voice. “Charge!”

  The rest of the German Landsknecht remained further back. They stood with the Spanish infantry and arquebusiers. The heavy cavalry under the charge of Dracula and Pescara protected their flank from Francois.

  Dracula and his sons listened carefully to all that happened around them. Despite the fog he had a clear picture of the events that had unfolded. It did not please him. The state of the battle left him angry and frustrated. He had imagined a much different scenario to the one his ears advised him of.

  In comparison his French counterparts were in utter confusion. Francois and his generals had little clue as to what was going on around them. Florange had managed a co-ordinated attack against de Lannoy and Francois. He had repelled the initial advance from the Germans. That saw Frundsberg revert to his original objective and move south to the Torre del Gallo. Despite this Francois had no idea of the position or size of his enemy. The four hours of fighting that had passed should have seen the French adopt a more coherent offensive.

  Francois had relied all along on his heavy fortifications. As the Guastadores had discovered the wall around the Mirabello Park proved a formidable defence. It gave Francois the security he desired. To ensure it remained in place he had sent regular patrols out for weeks. They marshalled the areas inside the walls.

  In recent days these patrols had grown less frequent. The ones still carried out became careless. Francois was not privy to this. In his mind they continued to do their job. It made him feel safe. For that reason he had no concerns in scattering his forces all around the Park. This decision and the confusion caused by the dense fog had now left his forces in serious disarray.

  The French king stepped out of his tent. An ensemble of his generals and finest knights stood outside. They straightened up the moment he appeared. He was dressed in full battle armour with his helmet in hand.

  He looked magnificent. His armour gleamed despite the poor light. He wore chain mail about his head. It covered his hair entirely, but still showed his face. Not one of them saw the slightest hint of fear in his eyes.

  There were a host of stories about Francois. Some talked of his excesses and love of luxury. Yet no one could doubt his courage and honour. There was a battle going on around him and he was ready to take part in it.

  “You look good, my King,” La Tremoille said when he met Francois’ gaze.

  “As do you,” Francois said, with a smile. He placed his hand on the shoulder of the elderly knight. “The finest man in my army.”

  Tears touched the eyes of the hardened warrior. “I live only to serve you.”

  Francois felt the rush of emotion in his great knight. “Then may that be for a long time to come.”

  The young king looked around at the others. He noticed right away that several of his generals were not present. “Where is d’Alencon?”

  “No one has seen him, Majesty.”

  “Why not? Has he lost the stomach to fight?”

  De Lescun shrugged. As the Marshal of France he enjoyed the highest status of anyone there other than the king. “His army is still camped some distance away.”

  “He should be here! And Tiercelin? I saw him with mine own eyes hours ago.”

  “He is e
ngaged at the Torre del Gallo.”

  “And Florange?”

  “He is too, Sire. There is heavy fighting there at the fortress.”

  “What is the situation there?”

  Nobody was sure. De Lescun shrugged again. “No one knows, Sire.”

  “It is your job to know this!” Francois raged. “Fighting for their lives I am sure.”

  La Palisse spoke up in his defence. “The Spanish have lost their minds, Sire. The fog is too thick. They cannot hope to win with it.”

  “Who fights in the fog?” de Lescun said.

  “They are doing it,” Francois argued. “Our esteemed enemy knows something we do not. Send someone for d’Alencon. I want he and his men here at our side.”

  “I have heard that de Leyva has broken out of the city.”

  Francois turned to see his namesake, Francois of Lorraine. “You are sure?”

  “Yes, Sire. He has been seen at the front of his army.”

  “When was this?”

  “A good time ago.”

  “Does anyone know where he is for the now?”

  “Montmorency has engaged him, Sire,” de Lescun advised. “Near to the monastery.”

  “You know what this means?” Francois shouted at the group. “It means they have planned this night. Why have our spies not brought us news of it?”

  His men could not answer.

  “Because they are fat and lazy!” he cursed. “It has left us unprepared for this attack. Indeed it is a wonder I am not dead in my tent with my throat cut.”

  “We would all give our lives, Sire, before you lost yours,” La Tremoille reminded him.

  “Well, my friend, I can thank God at least that I have you.”

  An officer walked up to La Palisse and whispered in his ear. The man’s actions angered his king. “Do you not bow any more in my presence?”

  The officer bowed quickly. “Forgive me, Sire. I came to advise that your horse is ready.”

  “Come then,” Francois said to the others.

  They walked together to where their pages waited with their horses. One of them helped Francois into the saddle. He sat astride his mighty stallion and fixed his helmet to his head. The prettiest purple and white plumes showed from the sides.

  He drew his mighty broadsword and held it aloft. “To victory!” he shouted. “Let us rise up as one and crush the Spanish pretender!”

  Lombardy. The battlefield outside Pavia.

  The morning of February 25, 1525.

  The crucial factor now was the position of del Vasto. The numbers that joined him had its significance. His decision to attack the castle had turned out a good one. It meant he controlled the centre of the Park.

  His actions had split the French army in two. To the north and east of the city del Vasto and Frundsberg hemmed in Florange. Further south de Leyva and his men had isolated Montmorency around the monastery.

  The battle raged on in both areas. Neither of the French forces could move away. They struggled on against the odds, trapped and cut off from the rest. This left Dracula and Pescara the freedom to concentrate on Francois. With their army of heavy cavalry, Landsknecht and arquebusiers they prepared to attack.

  “Are you ready, my esteemed friend?” Pescara asked him.

  Dracula nodded. “Yes. It is time.”

  “The men are in formation and ready.”

  “Then lead them to victory, my friend. I shall be right at your side.”

  Their intelligence was not as good as they thought. They had not figured on the number of cannon Francois had with him around his camp. Dracula and Pescara believed the greater number lay further south with Montmorency.

  Francois had abandoned the castle five days earlier. When he did so he moved his cannon south to negotiate the swampy areas in the centre. He brought the bulk of them to form a line in his camp. Dracula missed this when he scanned the area earlier. The fog hid them well. Francois now had the cover of a formidable artillery line to protect his main army.

  He smiled when he saw d’Alencon arrive finally. “What kept you?”

  “Forgive me, Sire,” d’Alencon said. “This fog is causing chaos. We can see nothing.”

  “Well the enemy is close. Can you not smell it in the air?”

  “I smell death,” he answered solemnly.

  “Yes. The death of Spanish Imperialism.”

  D’Alencon looked around. “Where is the enemy, Sire? I do not see them.”

  “They are all around. We are only waiting for the right moment to attack.”

  “What do you want of me?”

  “Move your men to the right flank. When the enemy pushes forward meet them full on. Attack with all that you have.”

  D’Alencon bowed. “I will see to it.”

  Francois smiled. He turned to his trusted La Tremoille. “Are you in the mood for a fight, good friend?”

  “I am always ready to fight, Sire. Wherever you go, I go too.”

  His men had raised the alarm soon after midnight. Francois had his cannon in position and ready to fire. He assumed he had the capacity to aim them in any direction. The ground made this impossible. However, the improving light brought with it good fortune. It allowed his gunners to see the Imperial army ahead. They opened fire on its unprotected flank.

  The carnage was horrific. Volley after volley tore into the Imperial forces at close range. Screams filled the air. The heavy rocks crushed and broke many a body. They ripped limbs and heads away. Chaos erupted in the Imperial ranks. A wave of panic passed through the lines of infantry. They could not cope with the full frontal assault from d’Alencon and Brion. The French drove them back. The flank yielded and retreated to the second wood near the castle.

  Francois and his closest knights saw the retreat.

  “We have them on the run, Sire!” La Palisse cried out.

  “We should pursue them,” de Lescun advised, his blood boiling that the enemy had the temerity to try and attack his king. “And crush them into the mud.”

  Francois agreed. He sensed an immediate victory. Raising his sword high he shouted at the top of his voice. “Great knights of France! Charge!”

  Pescara scrambled after the men who had broken away from the left flank. “Hold the line!” he shouted after them. “No man that serves the Emperor runs away! Get back to the front!”

  The vast majority of his force was still out of view of the French. They filled the trees on the edge of the field as many as ten lines deep. Dracula waited with his sons at the edge of the woods. He wanted the moment to be right before he ordered a full-scale attack.

  Francois and his knights charged across the line of his cannon. He did this totally unaware of the huge force waiting in the trees nearby. His rush of madness caused his gunners to cease firing. He turned what had been an advantage into the exact opposite. His artillery had inflicted serious damage on the enemy. In just a moment he neutralised it totally.

  Matters were far worse for the French around the Park. Had Francois known the true extent of the situation he may not have been so keen to charge the enemy lines. His forces were scattered and lacked any real coordination.

  Montmorency could not move away from the monastery. De Leyva’s forces from Pavia kept his army pinned there. Only a half a mile from that battle Florange remained locked in a bitter struggle with the larger Imperial force in the centre.

  The initial barrage from the Torre del Gallo had seen major successes. However, del Vasto and de Bourbon addressed the situation quickly. They moved south and attacked Florange from the rear. This gave the impetus to Frundsberg and de Lannoy to push on at the front. Slowly but surely they were winning the fight for the chateau.

  Although d’Alencon had joined the battle the main part of his army remained well away on the opposite side of the Park. Their general had left to meet the summons from his king. He only took half of his men with him. The rest he had told to wait until he sent for them. They waited around in the fog with no clue of what was going on in the
other areas of the Park.

  Further back still, the Florentine Band Nere waited around. They were isolated and despondent. Their leader, Giovanni dei Medici, had died the day before. He failed to recover from his wounds from the sortie he repelled from Pavia a few days before that.

  Another eight thousand Swiss soldiers waited about around the five abbeys. This area was over two and a half miles west of Pavia. From there the cannon was just a low rumble in the distance. It left them totally cut off from the battle and of no use to Francois.

  The heavy cavalry of Francois and his nobles continued the charge. They smashed through the rear flanks of the Imperial forces. Francois led them on against a force of light and heavy cavalry. They cut them to pieces.

  His men were the finest knights in all of Europe. They provided many a jousting champion. Nothing on the field could match them and they knew it. Their superior strength and fighting ability set them apart from the rest. They rode on and into a large group of Spanish infantry and arquebusiers. The enemy wavered at the onslaught and fled in terror. Francois gave chase and his knights scattered the Spanish in all directions.

  Pescara feared the worst when he saw this. Dracula was not too distressed though. He thought Francois had drawn his heavy cavalry out of position. It would make his task easier. The strong defence they provided to the rear lines was no longer there.

  Varkal did not share in his calm approach. “When are we going to attack?” he asked his father.

  “Soon.”

  “Look at them. They have no stomach to fight.”

  “We must attack soon,” Mihnea said. “Soon this army shall lose its will to fight at all.”

  “The moment is not yet right,” his father said.

  “When will that be?” Varkal growled.

  “When I say.”

  His sons did not hide their frustration. They watched the Imperial officers struggle to rally their troops. They wanted to fight now. All around they saw men who showed only fear of the enemy.

  The French found very little resistance on their way. It led them to think they had been victorious. They stopped for a breather by the side of the trees near to the castle. The mud and their heavy armour weighed them down. Many of the horses had lost shoes. Francois wanted a little time to rest before chasing the defeated enemy from the field.