Chapter 1: The Battle of Vienna
January 1242
He lay on the ground, his woolen blanket providing a layer between his body and the snow. Above him, the bare trees pointed mutely at a leaden sky, and the hill sloping away below him was spotted with the thick clumps of gorse, and trees. From here he could see the River, poderously winding through the landscape. To his right, the spires of Vienna punctuated the horizon, to his left, nothing but the plains, and hills and the river. Far off on the horizon, a thin plume of smoke could be seen. A plume of smoke that had been on the horizon for a week now. It was Bratislava, burning still though the hordes of barbarians from the east had left days before. His reason for lying in the cold was before him. With a backdrop of the Alps, and the river between him and them, was the army of Austria. It looked small, far to small to face off the hordes that had already destroyed the armies of Poland and Hungary.
He Couldn't see Duke Frederick II in amongst the knights, but he knew he was there. How could he not be, for the morale he gave his men was crucial. There had been no way to call a larger army, no one was ready, after all it was the middle of winter. No-one expected an attack now. Though he hoped that victory would be achieved, he had given orders to his family before he left: gather everything you can, herd the livestock, collect food and ale, be ready to flee when I return. The whole villiage had been preparing when he left, and he knew that his family would have help in his absence, after all his news could decide the fate of many, so who were the villagers to begrudge aiding him.
As he looked to the left, away from Vienna, he saw them. A dark mass of bodies, cavalry galloping through the snow towards the awaiting army. As he watched, they loosed a volley of arrows that flew through the air towards the knights, darkening the sky with their numbers. Several knights fell immediately, and more were dehorsed. Those few militia archers that the duke had gathered loosed their arrows, but could not match the invaders for range or power. When the enemy finally attacked, it was in a solid wall of horsemen, swinging swords and scything the heads off several knights before they had time to move their swords to a stabbing position. The battle became a rout, then a massacre, and, though he did not see it happen, he knew when the duke was dead due to the suddenly breaking and fleeing of those few remaining troops that could escape.
As he watched the survivors flee, he knew with a cold certainty that they would be caught before they could reach the safety of Vienna. As he ran back to his village, he knew also that his family would be lucky to survive the winter, though the fact they had already killed and salted the pigs meant that they had some meat, and wouldn't be slowed down by an animal that was unsuited for walking through the snow.
A week later, he stood on a hill and looked back at the smoke and flames rising from Vienna. Then, shouldering his pack, he and his family continued on their way, a few among the many heading for Bohemia.