The Cavalier Club. Stanley Goldyn
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will wait, however, to hit back hard when they move in force, closer, against us.”
The mayor’s mood lifted somewhat as he said this, adding, “We will wait for the Empire to send reinforcements. As Catholics, we stand together. Undoubtedly Emperor Matthias will be gathering troops to march to our aid. In the interim, we must remain strong,” he offered, his tone momentarily patriotic and vibrant. Jack looked steadily at Chauvin, expressionless. He then turned back to Hritek to respond.
“Sir, we thank you for your most gracious praise. By way of introduction, this is Corporal Alain Chauvin,” Jack nodded towards his friend, “and I am Lieutenant Jack Channing. We remain at your service! We will help, of course, where we can. May I humbly suggest that we first find an appropriately high vantage point from which to accurately assess our current situation, and then we can reconvene to discuss the most appropriate ongoing defence strategy for your city?” He spoke in broken Slavic, adding Polish words where he had to.
Echoing these sentiments, Chauvin added in a formal and diffident tone, “We are experienced campaigners, sir, and I am confident that we can add the odd tricky tactic or two to harass our hostile friends on the hill and stimulate further confidence amongst our defenders.” There was conviction in his voice as he made an effort to emulate Jack’s suggestion.
The mayor hastened to agree, nodding his head repeatedly in rapid jerks and pleased to hear their supportive proposal. “You will have an excellent, unobstructed view spanning many leagues, gentlemen, from the spire of St Bartholomew’s. God has given us this cathedral, it seems, for more than one purpose. May I suggest that we assemble again, with my captains, here in this nave in approximately half an hour?” He dabbed at his brow with a wrinkled handkerchief.
The two nodded in agreement and were led away by their nervous, corpulent guide to the staircase that would take them to the cathedral’s tower. “These stairs will lead you to the bell landing, from where you will have a clear outlook over the city and surrounding countryside. Forgive me for not accompanying you, but I am, of course, familiar with the environs and will go to gather my officers,” the mayor affirmed, still fidgeting with his now badly crumpled hat.
Hritek was a man who had been born and reared in hot water. This reflected his rapid, sporadic speech and nervous disposition. The youngest of five boys, he had been raised in the shadow of his domineering brothers in the staunchly devout and comfortable croft that had belonged to his family for seven generations. Coming from a line of respected bakers, his grandfather recognised the lucrative potential in the brewing trade and abandoned his flour and ovens in favour of a cooperage that flourished on the back of the mushrooming local ale industry. While retaining the hamlet cottage, Hritek’s astute father managed the successful and thriving business with acute churlishness, moving his craftsmen and equipment into larger, newly-leased premises in Pilsen. Shrewd and parsimonious sagacity were the red platelets that coursed through his paternal forebears’ veins, augmented by a hint of avarice. Hritek’s blood contained this same inheritance. As the family gained civil recognition and provincial prominence, unlike his brothers, Hritek excelled in following his father’s mayoral footsteps. He subdued his agoraphobic demons with an ostensible show of judicious bluster, and the family business continued to prosper. The siege was simply another financial opportunity.
“Half an hour, gentlemen?” the burgomaster repeated firmly with raised eyebrows as they mounted the stairs.
Chapter 3
Departure
The climb up the stone steps proved wearisome. They had been worn by centuries of regular pedestrian traffic and eventually took Jack and Chauvin to a partially enclosed, square platform high above the cathedral’s slate roof. Their thighs pulsed. The tower with its spire continued even higher but from this landing they were presented with an unhindered, panoramic view in all directions. A pair of ravens cawed as they flew off, disturbed by the sudden presence of the two men. The cavaliers indulged the autumn wind, which was cool and gusty at this height, by removing their hats. Fortunate to have a relatively fine day, they were blessed by a vast expanse of cyaneous sky that was marred only by distant, billowing clouds strewn across the far northern horizon.
They had reached the level of the bell tower that contained two brass bells, one larger than the other. Less ornate than the majestic icons installed at Notre Dame, these bells were nevertheless impressive. A series of ropes had been attached, allowing the bell pealers to ring either or both bells at the required times. The platform had been built to allow for the maintenance and cleaning of the bells and their cable mechanisms. Standing higher than any other structure in the city, their unobstructed plangent tolling would carry well beyond the fortifications to the nearby farms and small clusters of surrounding hamlets, calling the inhabitants to Mass.
“Alain!” Jack called in a loud voice so as to be heard over the wind. “What a pity that this landing is so high. It would have been an ideal position from which your Monsieur Roberge could fire at the attackers should the wall be breached.” He peered out at the spectacular landscape.
“My thought exactly,” Chauvin responded incisively. “Did you notice the many windows that we passed climbing up here? He could position himself further down in the stairwell and knock out the glass from those nearby on all sides. Roberge would be very comfortable, I’m sure, sniping from that height with such an open, unimpeded view. Shooting the enemy like lambs in a yard,” he laughed wistfully.
Jack made use of his telescope, silently thanking Galileo for its timely invention a few years earlier. The rest of their party could be seen gathered below, near the fountain in the square. They were smoking while waiting, as ordered, for the officers to return.
Resting against the corner column to steady his view from the buffeting wind gusts, Jack first scanned the view to the north. The pretty countryside featured predominantly undulating, wooded hills stretching into the distance. The northern periphery of Pilsen ran parallel to the Mže River, which was wide and fast-flowing just before its confluence with the Radbuza River to the east, effulgent in the morning sun. The city’s outer curtain wall closed the gap between the north bank of the Mže and the formidable Berounka River, encompassing a small cluster of buildings beyond the main wall. Their inhabitants had recently relocated inside the city for safety, leaving the buildings empty. Jack could see no sign of enemy movement in this direction.
Moving his attention further east, Jack saw wide stretches of cultivated fields between the two walls. Two Protestant companies had bivouacked outside the outer wall, their role to secure and patrol these open paddocks and the adjoining sparse woodlands beyond. Mansfeld had plainly issued orders forbidding the burning of crops and destruction of buildings outside Pilsen’s perimeter. His unreserved belief in victory meant that he recognised the value in saving the harvests for the use of his own soldiers, their mounts and the wagon animals.
Jack proceeded to the diagonally opposite column, and continuing to explain to the corporal all that he saw, peered intently through the telescope to the south. Here, beyond the expansive, proximate stretches of open farmland, he observed the main body of the opposing army. The lightly wooded hillside was inundated by their agminate camp, confirming the extent of the campfires that he had seen during the previous evening. He could only guess at their number, estimating about 15,000 troops but not knowing how far the encampment stretched out of view beyond the ridgeline.
“I can see Graf von Mansfeld’s quarters, Alain. A few banners, adjutants and guards, but, in general, all is quiet.”
Just beyond the outer wall, six companies had been stationed near the eastern corner of the city. They had apparently gathered their dead during the night and were waiting beyond effective musket range for further orders. An air of complacency pervaded the enemy camp, presumably instilled by the belief that their vastly superior numbers were undefeatable. Jack panned further to his left, now looking at the main gate and beyond, towards the northeast wall. More infantrymen had been positioned across the river and had occupied the abandoned village past the bridge. This was their main outlying force—muskets and pikes, together with cannons, trained onto the main gate. Clapping a hand on the Frenchman’s shoulder, Jack passed the glass to Chauvin so that he could appraise the situation for himself.
“Not