Chapter 11: Belgrade
September, 1688
This siege had been going on for months now. Maximilian knew his troops were tired and that they wanted to return home. He’d had to give a speech, the best he’d ever given a few days ago, to keep morale high, and it seemed to have worked so far. He knew that they just needed one last push and Belgrade would be theirs. They’d worked their way through the defences. The garrison within the town did not have food, they were living off of borrowed time. The Emperor had crushed the Ottoman relief force sent earlier also. Their time was coming.
A rider came and stopped next to him. He turned and found himself looking at his second in command, Prince Eugene of Savoy. “Well?” He asked.
“They’ve got two thousand men within the inner walls of the city, and a further two hundred manning the entire outer walls. They’re one step away from revolt. I think the moment the canon shots are fired they will surrender.” Eugene said.
“You are confident of this?” Maximilian asked. He didn’t want any surprises coming his way.
“Yes. I think those on the outer walls will surrender and then we can move from there.” Eugene said.
Maximilian thought on this. He knew that if he delivered Belgrade to the Emperor before the man got here, the man would be indebted to him. That could get him some concessions for Bavaria and when his wife inevitably delivered their son in six months time, then perhaps things might progress from there. He looked forward at the city of Belgrade and reached his decision. “We won’t use the proper cannons just yet.”
“Sir?” Eugene asked sounding surprised.
“We need to draw them out. Let them think they’re under attack, but that we’ve not got the complete might yet. We need them outside the city walls.” Maximilian said.
“So, that there is something more complete to give to the Emperor.” Eugene said, realisation hitting him.
“Exactly. He won’t want a broken city.” Maximilian said. “Give the order.” He commanded.
The Prince Eugene rode away then barking his commands. The cannons, of the lighter sort, made in Vienna for this purpose were wheeled out onto the plains before them. He waited and then nodded, and the shots rang out.
As expected the Ottoman soldiers on the walls responded with panic, some tried to muster a response, others began disappearing. There was a brief silence and then the gates opened. Clearly someone had decided to take the challenge. Maximilian smiled. He drew his sword from his scabbard, said a prayer and then bellowed a command and charged. The advance through the terrain was fine, but it was when they came clashing with the foe that it got a bit difficult.
There were bodies everywhere from the engagement of the past. Maximilian swerved, ducked and swung. Eventually connecting with one or two foes, he changed his rhythm slightly, made things fascinating, grew into the way of things, dangling around, changing his mind and then going for it again. The Ottoman soldiers tried to match him, but they were too predictable, they had not learned the new rules of engagement.
He almost felt sorry for them. Almost. They were still enemies. They managed to cut through the outer defences, they moved into the inner defences and this time, the Ottomans were waiting for them. Shots rang out, some of his men fell to their deaths, but not him. God was on his side, they avoided the enemy fire and continued. Soon the inner wall fell, and they were in the city proper. His men were buoyed by this. They cheered and chanted, but he knew they needed to get to the garrison headquarters for things to truly be settled.
This time they met stiffer opposition. The enemy were more prepared. It seemed these were the elite. They would not give so easily. Maximilian felt the blows of their weapons hit him, he felt blood trickle down his arm and his face, but still he continued. The guns rang out in the distance, but it was old fashioned weaponry that commanded centre stage. Sword met sword, and faces met fists. The streets were empty of peasants, only soldiers fought. It was bloody, but his blood sang. He knew nothing else for the time.
They pushed through the streets, he took a few more blows, but eventually the enemy surrendered. He advanced through the city, making his way to headquarters to receive the surrender of the garrison commander, feeling proud of himself for what he had achieved. He felt light headed, but ignored it. It was perhaps just a symptom of the battle that had just been fought, nothing more, or less.
They got to the main road and suddenly he needed to lie down. He ignored the feeling, getting to the headquarters was far more important. Eventually they got there. He dismounted and nearly fell, but straightened out before anyone else could get to him. He stood before the garrison commander, who knelt down and handed him his sword and said. “We surrender.”
“In the name of His Imperial Majesty Emperor Leopold, I, Maximilian Elector of Bavaria accept your surrender.” Maximilian said though his voice sounded odd to his own ears. He took the man’s sword and handed it to his servants. He then ordered the man sent away. He took a step forward, and then before he knew it his legs were giving way. The ground rose up to meet him.